by Lisa Harris
“Well?”
“My boss can’t share information with me on my old case but assured me he would let me know if he learns my identity has been discovered and I’m a target. In the meantime, he suggested I lie low.”
“I can’t begin to figure out the who and the what without all the facts, so, I need to ask . . .”
He turned to face her. She took in the stubble and dark brooding eyes. Behind them she thought she read anger mixed with regret, and maybe a sparkle of something else. Shared memories? Even . . . longing? No. That couldn’t be it.
Still, her traitorous heart pounded.
Her question would effectively shut down any potential romantic thoughts Reg might have. He seemed to sense her shift in mood and shuttered away whatever emotion she thought she’d seen in his gaze.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You want to know if I stole the painting.”
A small gasp escaped. “I told you earlier that I don’t believe you did, but that was an assumption. I’ve been making too many assumptions since this started, so I need to ask. And, after everything that happened today, I can’t let my emotions get in the way and avoid the hard questions.” She bit her lower lip—maybe that had revealed a little too much.
“It’s not your emotions telling you I didn’t steal the painting. It’s common sense.” Once again, he rested his head against the seat back as if in both emotional and physical pain. He lifted a hand and massaged his temples. “I have no idea how my grandmother could think I would. There’s something else going on.”
Nicole heard the pain in his voice. She touched his arm, and an electric current surged up her own, but she kept her hand in place lest she give herself away. “Maybe she has trust issues that stem from some other cause. I suggest we just ask her.”
“No.” He shook his head and winced.
Well, maybe he wouldn’t ask her, but Nicole would. She exhaled long and slow. “So what happened anyway? Why are you on medical leave?” He might have shared that story with the police while she was busy giving her own statement, but she had a feeling he held everything close. “Why—?”
He lifted a hand to stop her. “I promise to tell you, at least what I’m allowed to share. But right now, we have bigger problems. I’m worried about my grandmother’s safety. If I go back to her house, I could lead someone there.”
“I think whoever is behind this already knows where you’re staying. That is, if you’re the target instead of me.”
“There’s that, too, and, if that’s the case, then I need to be there to protect her. I don’t know what to do.” Eyes closed, his frown deepened.
“Are you . . . are you okay?” A pang shot through her heart. Reg had never been indecisive. At least the Reg she’d known before.
He’d been in his mid-twenties when she’d sent him on his way after breaking up with him—a decision she had second-guessed a thousand times because he’d been everything she’d wanted. His warm smile had lit up his face and drawn her in. That, and his compassionate, see-right-through-her eyes. Now, his broad shoulders and charismatic presence alone drew her in, and her attraction to him intensified with every moment she spent with him.
It would be better if they went their separate ways. What am I going to do? But going it alone wasn’t a reasonable option.
“Reg. Did you hear me?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m going to need you to drive.”
Chapter Five
The migraine affected his vision, incapacitating him. The motorcycle accident might have permanently changed his life. Still, he could have died. That fact gave him only a small measure of relief. He was accustomed to being in control. Unaccustomed to relying on someone else.
The pain crawled through his brain and forced him to hesitate before he could climb from the driver’s seat and let Nicole take the helm. Except she didn’t get into the driver’s seat. Instead she assisted him all the way around the grill and into the passenger seat.
He appreciated that she didn’t offer reassurances and platitudes. Sound could make the pain spike. She gently shut the door. He fumbled with the buckle, glad she didn’t see that as she made her way back around.
Nicole slid into the driver’s seat and started the Range Rover. “What’s going on?” Deep concern laced her voice.
Yep. He’d known she would ask.
“I have a severe migraine. I need to rest in a dark quiet place. I can’t see to drive.”
“I’ve never had one of those. Is there anything you can take for it?”
“Not at the moment.” Unfortunately those meds were back at Grandmother’s house.
Nicole sighed. “Where am I taking us?”
“Away from here. I don’t care. Maybe we need to find one of those places with cabins on the coast so we can keep a low profile.” After all, his boss had suggested he do just that, even four months after his cover had been blown. Reg had thought going to Grandmother’s had been good enough to comply with both his boss’s request and the doctor’s suggestion to go someplace rich with memories.
Nicole steered the vehicle slowly through the small parking lot. Reg wished he could relax without concern they would still be followed. His head would continue to pound until he could find a place to recover.
“I’m going to stop talking.” His own words, uttered at a near whisper, caused stabbing pain to his head. He gritted his teeth. “But if you see trouble, anyone following, I need to know.”
“Okay.”
Frustration coursed through him. He would have punched the dashboard if he’d thought that wouldn’t cause him more pain. He did not need to be debilitated while someone was trying to kill them.
“You rest.” Her voice was even and soft. “Even sleep if you need to. I promise, Reg, I’ll let you know if I even suspect trouble.”
Good.
Sleeping was the best way to move beyond the agony and often when he woke up, he would be pain-free. Without the migraine medication, he had no choice. Even if he had the medication, it was too risky to take because it made things hazy. Until he had moved beyond his memory lapses and this migraine, he couldn’t work for the FBI, and that thought pained him almost as much as the headache.
What felt like moments later, Reg opened his eyes to Nicole’s beautiful gaze, her features drawn with concern.
“Did you hear me?” The sound of her soft, even voice didn’t cause pain.
Realization dawned. He swiped a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
“Your face isn’t as twisted up. I can see you feel better.”
“I looked that bad?”
A tenuous smile lifted her lips. “You were in severe pain. I’m glad you’re no longer suffering.”
He nodded and eased forward. “Me too. It’s gone.” Until the next time. Unfortunately he had no idea when it would hit.
“Here you go.” She dropped a package in his lap.
“What’s this?”
“I had to get gas. Got us a couple of burner phones while I was at it.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. It was a risk.”
“What? Getting gas? Relax.”
“Fine. Not like I have much choice. Thanks, Nicole. Thanks for getting us . . .” Now that his vision was no longer blurry, he took in his surroundings.
His grandmother’s mansion. Though the vehicle windows remained closed, he could still hear the sound of waves crashing nearby and smell the strong scent of a salty ocean breeze. Reg slowly turned his face to Nicole. She must have read the question in his eyes.
“I decided to bring you here because I was worried about you. You probably have medication here, right? I thought your grandmother might know what to do.”
“She doesn’t know the details. She can’t help.”
“We still need to talk to her, tell her everything if we’re going to protect her. But first, Reg, before we go inside, I want to hear everything about your current situation. Why you’re on a medical leave and why you return
ed here. Knowing that would go a long way in helping me to tell her that you didn’t steal her painting. What happened?”
“I was working undercover—I can’t tell you more than that, except, well . . . I had a motorcycle accident.”
Her forehead creased, and her worried gaze drilled into him. “Oh, Reg, I’m sorry.”
“I spent four months in rehab.”
“And your grandmother knows, right? Your family knows.”
He shook his head. “My undercover work was priority, and my identity needed to remain hidden. More than that, I asked my superiors not to call anyone.” Hesitant to tell her everything, he averted his gaze, unable to fully explain his reasons when he wasn’t even sure himself. “I just need to get back to my old self so I can go back to work.”
“What haven’t you told me?”
But she wasn’t one to be fooled apparently. “I have a traumatic brain injury that left me with lapses in memory. Some fuzzy thoughts, and I get these headaches.”
Nicole gently gripped his arm. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want her sympathy. Maybe that was why he hadn’t wanted his family’s help. It would have come with their sympathy or pity. He could do this on his own. Except, in the end, he’d come back to stay with Grandmother.
“I know how much working for the FBI means to you.”
Right. He’d tried to give it up for her, but she’d wanted her career more than she’d wanted him. The irony. He huffed. “I thought the shooter could have been related to my undercover work, but now I’m not so sure. We need to talk about what you got yourself into.”
A knock at the window startled him. Grandmother. She smiled and waved. He hadn’t been ready to see her yet. He climbed from the vehicle, as did Nicole, and prepared to face off with his grandmother, who had always been intimidating. Even in his mid-thirties, he didn’t want to displease her or incur her wrath. Apparently, he’d already done just that. That she’d used the term ‘prodigal’ when describing him rankled.
He had to make this right, but he also wanted to find out why she would ever think he could have been involved in stealing that painting.
Grandmother’s gaze shifted between the two of them. “Well, I see my plan worked.”
Nicole stared at the woman. The deep crinkles around her eyes had increased, along with the mischievous glimmer in her lively gaze.
“I don’t understand.” What was the older woman up to?
Harriet chuckled. “Come inside, and let’s discuss this over tea.”
Reg’s frown deepened.
Nicole forced a smile and sidled next to Harriet to walk with her. The woman supported herself on a cane and, with her free hand, she held the Chihuahua she called Lulu. Her grandson followed them. Nicole glanced back to make sure he didn’t need her help, but he appeared to have recovered. She suspected that he hadn’t wanted his grandmother to know just how bad things were, but she was a sharp and apparently shrewd woman, and probably suspected Reg hadn’t been completely honest about his health or what happened before.
Inside the old mansion that could have been the star of any gothic novel, Harriet hobbled through the foyer, passing the immaculate antique staircase to enter the modern, updated kitchen boasting granite counters and stainless-steel appliances. The kitchen contrasted the old-styled European décor of the rest of the house.
Harriet gestured to the small round table in the cozy breakfast nook, which offered a fantastic view of the rocky coast. On either side, sandy beaches stretched for miles.
“Please, have a seat. I’ll make the tea.” Harriet released Lulu to sniff.
Nicole did as Harriet asked, as did Reg. They would have to wait for her to explain. No pushing Harriet into something she didn’t want to do. Nicole had garnered that much from Reg’s stories when they were dating. And from Nicole’s few encounters with the woman.
Harriet filled a teakettle and placed it on the stove.
“Can I help you?” Nicole made to stand.
“No, please stay right where you are and enjoy the view. My grandfather bought the place, you know. There was only a small one-room house at the time. Everything has been added on over the decades to build a house that’s much too big, if you ask me.”
Actually, Nicole hadn’t known. She grew up in Seattle and attended the University of Washington, which was where she’d met Reg, fallen in love with him, and then broken up with him. He’d brought Nicole to meet Harriet and his grandfather once. She’d met his parents and brothers, Jake and Connor. She hadn’t been to the coast since, not until she received the call from Harriet three days ago when the woman persuaded her to take this assignment.
Nicole was a creep to take the job for the money. She should have turned the woman down, in which case she wouldn’t be here now. Her gaze drifted over to Reg who sat back in the chair and thrummed his fingers on the table. The man still stirred her, and she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about that.
Harriet set out brightly-colored teacups. No coffee was offered. “Joyce comes three times a week to clean and cook a few meals for me. Otherwise, I’m alone in this mansion. I have too much time on my hands to think.”
Given the plan to get Reg and Nicole to work together that Harriet had concocted, Nicole couldn’t agree more.
With those last words, Harriet’s gaze landed on Reg and lingered.
He stopped tapping his fingers and clasped his hands in front of him. “Grandmother, please tell us what’s going on.”
He’d shifted a bit in her presence. Like he was a little boy expected to put on the best of manners. Nicole could see behaving the same way, if this woman were her grandmother.
The teakettle whistled. Nicole suspected it had been boiling hot not too long ago. Maybe their arrival had interrupted Harriet’s tea.
She lifted a finger. “Un momento, please.”
She left the table and got the teakettle. Nicole might suggest Harriet get involved in social work of some kind, but it could be she was too physically limited. There had to be something she could do, though, considering her sharp mind.
Reg tapped his fingers. Harriet poured the water into each of three teacups then returned it before sitting again. “Well, what are you waiting on? Go ahead and choose your tea from the display.”
A demand, not a request. She was definitely a character. Nicole thought she might have an idea why Reg didn’t return often enough to please the woman. Still, she sensed they loved each other.
Nicole selected a green tea bag, as did Reg. While their tea steeped, they sat back.
Reg zeroed his attention in on his grandmother, who had a rather smug expression. “You can’t think I stole the painting.”
Harriet worked the teabag up and down and around, her mischievous smile returning. “Indeed, I don’t think you did. Although, you always have a few tricks up your sleeve.” She winked.
“Then why hire me?” Nicole asked.
“Because, my dear, someone stole the painting. You’re a private investigator who used to work for the FBI Art Crime Team. I want you working with my grandson on finding the thief.”
“What?” Nicole and Reg’s asked simultaneously.
“I couldn’t see either of you agreeing to my terms. I hired you, Nicole, to follow Reg, expecting that, sooner or later, you would end up together.”
Together. Nicole didn’t miss the hidden meaning there. Harriet’s intentions for them together went beyond investigating the stolen painting.
“This is unacceptable, Grandmother.” Reg shoved from the table and paced the small area, venturing out into the foyer and then back into kitchen. Foyer. Kitchen. Foyer. Kitchen.
Finally he stopped in front of his grandmother. “This isn’t a game.”
“But Reg—”
“Someone tried to kill us.” He shoved his hands in his pocket.
Harriet’s face twisted up. “What?”
Nicole sighed. Maybe he could have found a gentler way to share that news.
&nb
sp; “Someone followed us.” Nicole inserted a gentle tone to dial down the tension, if she could. “One of us. We’re not sure if it was me or Reg, but we’ve both been targeted now for simply being together, if nothing else.”
Harriet blew out a breath and slumped in the chair. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I couldn’t have . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“It’s all right.” Reg sat and pressed his hand over Harriet’s. “You couldn’t have known. It would have happened anyway to at least one of us.”
“In my case,” Nicole said, “I would have been alone and unprepared, and possibly killed. Reg protected me.”
“Grandmother, we’ll look into the theft, I promise, but right now we need to focus on who is trying to kill us.”
“Agreed. It’s just as well that it was stolen. I always hated that painting. Too much bad blood involved.” Harriet had composed herself and sipped her tea. Nicole suspected she was still upset at the news.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Nicole said, “what do you mean by bad blood?”
“That painting has been in the family a long time. At one point it was stolen by . . . some very bad people, let’s say, but eventually returned to the family.”
Nicole swallowed that news.
“Grandmother,” Reg said. “Nicole and I will be talking some things through. I didn’t want to bring danger to your door, but Nicole suggested it’s already here. So we’re here to figure this out, but also to keep you safe.”
“Go ahead and talk. I’m happy to listen.”
“We’ll take it to another room.” Reg got to his feet.
“Very well, then. Use the parlor. I’m busy, busy around here, as you know.”
Nicole wanted to invite Harriet to join their conversation and drew in a breath to speak her mind, but Reg cut her off with a subtle shake of his head. His grandmother didn’t know the details about what had happened, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Reg moved to the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a box of cheese crackers. He glanced at Nicole. “You want anything?”