Detour

by Kurtz, Sylvie

  I braced myself, fearing that at any moment he’d throttle me. “What kind of person—” he started.

  “A person who owes a debt of gratitude for another chance at life.”

  He spun me around and propelled me toward the door. “Get out.”

  “Did I touch a nerve?” I’d meant for the comment to be impudent, a way to deal with my frustration, but the tensing of his hands on my shoulders and his brittle silence told me I’d hit a mark. I sucked in a breath. “She’s been haunting you, too!”

  He swept my jacket off the floor, tossed it at me and yanked open the door.

  Okay, so Wyatt James was a closed door. I slid on my jacket. I’d find another way. I was not going to let Sofia haunt me for the rest of my life. I’d just spent a long, exhausting day. I needed food, a shower and sleep before I figured out my next step.

  No! Make him see!

  I slung my tote over my shoulder. “You may not want to make peace with your wife’s ghost,” I said, “but I do.” The rightness of my mission—it wasn’t a case anymore—filled me with determined purpose. “It would be easier to find Sofia’s killer with your help. You knew her intimately. You understood her. But either way, I will solve her murder. She needs that closure as much as I do.”

  I withdrew a card from my wallet, scribbled the hotel’s address on the back and put it on Wyatt’s desk. “If you change your mind, that’s where I’m staying. Room 202.”

  As I started back to my car, the haunting jangle of the pewter horses galloped after me.

  Three hours later I’d showered and changed into gray yoga pants and a T-shirt that read Chocolate Heals All Wounds—a present from Noelle. The wind had picked up, and rain lashed against the window like a boxer sparring, turning the afternoon sky black and my pitiful motel room dark enough to have to turn on the lights.

  The TV was on, tuned to CNN, but the sound was turned down—an old habit. My laptop was propped on a pillow on the bed. I sat cross-legged before it, trying to figure out how best to infiltrate Allied Defense. Or at least run across some of Sofia’s coworkers. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t had lunch yet, and the scrawny airline breakfast was long gone. I debated hunting down some real food versus going to the fast-food joint across the road. I was supposed to watch my cholesterol intake but one burger wouldn’t kill me.

  The knock at the door didn’t surprise me. I’d sort of been listening for it for the past hour. The peephole was filled with Wyatt James’s imposing body—just as I’d expected. The hitch—I didn’t know if he’d come to run me out of town or to help me. I opened the door, leaving the security slide in place, and skimmed his body for a concealed weapon. His jeans hugged his hard thighs, leaving no room to hide anything. No telltale bulge of a holster showed through his shirt.

  “Talk,” he said roughly.

  He meant about Sofia, of course. I opened the door all the way and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the chair free for him. He didn’t move from the door frame, just stood there in silhouette against the lightning-crazed sky like some dark force of nature.

  “Where do you want me to start?” I asked as a roll of thunder rumbled by.

  “The beginning’s good.”

  “From the night we both died? Or from the first time I saw her in my nightmare?”

  His head dropped to his chest. After a moment he took off his hat, closed the door behind him and sat on the chair. He carefully placed his hat, crown-side down, on the round table at his elbow. I crossed my arms and rubbed away the urge to crawl into his lap and nest my head in the crook of his shoulder. He leaned forward as if bracing himself, his mouth firm and tight-lipped, his eyes so steely yet so tormented I regretted my story wouldn’t ease his anguish.

  His gaze speared me straight and steady. “Tell me about the nightmare.”

  I closed my eyes, both to shut off the misery etched on his lean face and to view the permanent videotape imprinted into my memory. “I fall into her body as she’s driving along the Everett Turnpike. I see what she sees, do what she does, feel what she feels. There’s a paper in her hand, and she’s worried about the numbers. About some sort of fault.” I snatched a tablet from my tote and drew the boxes and filled in the data I’d long ago memorized. “Does this mean anything to you?”

  He studied the table I’d drawn, then shook his head. “It’s data, but without context, it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “You don’t know what she was working on?”

  “Classified.”

  I’d figured as much. “A black car comes up behind her and slams her off the road. Her car crashes into an embankment. The seat belt doesn’t hold her. The air bag doesn’t deploy. Her head cracks against the windshield.” I winced at the burst of pain. My voice faltered, and I had to clear my throat. “Someone opens the passenger door and takes the briefcase. All the papers, except the one she jammed between the seats. After he’s gone, she grasps the paper in her right hand. She was hoping someone would recognize what it meant.”

  His turn to wince.

  I glanced down at the fingernails I’d chewed nearly to the quick because of Sofia’s hauntings. “She used to say, ‘People are going to die.’ Then five days ago, she switched to, ‘It’s started. People are dying.’ She wants me to fix her mistake.”

  He didn’t say anything for so long that I wanted to scream.

  “None of this makes sense, but…” His gaze went to my chest, staring at the scar hidden beneath my T-shirt.

  “If you didn’t believe me,” I said, “you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m listening. Don’t ask for more.”

  “I’m going to need more. I’m going to need to talk to people who knew her, find out what she was working on, figure out what went wrong and how come nothing’s being done about it. When I have a list of potential suspects, I’ll start eliminating, then hopefully get to the who and the why.”

  “Call the police.”

  I barked a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s going to go over real well. What do you think they’re going to say when I tell them I dreamed Sofia was murdered? They’re going to label me a nutcase, and that file’s going to sit untouched.”

  “And you think that you can find Sofia’s secret?” His tone clearly indicated his doubts.

  “I’m a licensed private investigator.” I dug out my badge and showed it to him. “Finding facts is what I do.”

  He examined the leather folder as if every inch of it was suspect. “What kind of cases do you usually handle?”

  “Mostly insurance fraud and locates.”

  He frowned. “Locates?”

  “Finding people.”

  Irritation flashed in his eyes. “How’s that going to help you find out if Sofia was murdered?”

  “Not if. She was murdered,” I said with a confidence that narrowed his gaze. “The basic principles of investigation are the same.”

  He took his hat from the table and worried the brim. “But not the stakes.”

  “No.” I curled my fingers into my palms to keep them from reaching for the stray strand of hair that had fallen across his eyes. “The stakes here are much higher. But I can’t afford to walk away. I have too much to lose.”

  He stood up and nodded once. “Okay, then. Pack your bags.”

  Chapter 5

  “Excuse me?” My spine stiffened at the deceptively quiet tone of Wyatt’s command.

  “You’re coming home with me.”

  Home, Sofia sighed with longing.

  Bad idea. I wanted to pick Wyatt’s brain, not stay under his control. So I played on his old-fashioned sensibilities. “I’m not comfortable staying at the house of a man I don’t know.”

  “You’ll stay at the main house with my mother,” he offered in such a low-key manner that I almost missed the stubborn set of his jaw.

  “You don’t live at the ranch?”

  “I have my own place farther out on the property.”

  At least he wasn’t a mama’s boy who still live
d at home. “I couldn’t impose.”

  “You won’t. It’s a big house, and Ma would love the company.”

  Why would Wyatt offer his mother’s home to a total stranger? I was an outsider, maybe even an enemy. That was it, of course. He was suspicious of my motives, and he wanted to keep an eye on me. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he’d turned right around and hired someone to check my background. I’d have to tread carefully. I needed his input to get my search started, but I couldn’t let him take over my investigation. “I’d still feel more comfortable here.”

  “I insist.” Wyatt smiled but there was nothing gentle about it. Before I’d quite realized his intention, he’d taken my elbow and was leading me toward the door.

  To my dismay my prickling feet were eagerly following him. What the hell was wrong with me?

  His jaw tightened. “I’ve got a ranch to run, and I can’t keep an eye on you out here.”

  “No eye needed. I’m a big girl.”

  “You said you wanted my help. You’ve got it. Where’s your bag?”

  “You Tarzan? Me not Jane.”

  Ignoring me, he grabbed the soft-sided bag on the bureau. “If you didn’t want me involved, you shouldn’t have come to me with your tall tale.”

  “It’s no tale, and you know it or you wouldn’t be here.” I stepped in front of him and immediately regretted my decision. I wasn’t into the he-man type, but there was something about him that pressed against me like some sort of force field and itched whenever he got too close.

  No, not something. Someone.

  Sofia.

  I miss him. Her yearning unspooled into me, making my body feel like a cooked noodle.

  Don’t do this to me, Sofia. I need a clear head.

  Time to play the pity note, I thought, focusing back on Wyatt. “Your ranch isn’t exactly the best place for me.”

  He quirked a brow as if I’d insulted his family’s honor. Considering the ranch had been in his family for five generations, could be I had. “Why not?”

  “The animals.” I took my bag from him and dropped it back on the dresser. “They carry germs, and the drugs I take lower my immune system.”

  He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face him. His eyes were fierce lances. “My God, woman, why didn’t you say something sooner? That’s why you didn’t want to shake my hand or pet the dog.”

  “I just have to be careful, that’s all.”

  He frowned, the hardness of his features bearing down on me like a car compactor. “You can’t go around taking that kind of chance.”

  I snorted. “That’s the whole point. No one’s making me. I volunteered. For Sofia’s sake.” And for mine.

  Immediately he released my shoulders. “No, you’re right. I apologize.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “My mother doesn’t keep any animals in her house. You’ll be safe there.”

  He was a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question. His old-world protectiveness would be charming if it was directed at anyone but me. I wasn’t about to take orders from him. I already had a ghost trying to run my investigation.

  “Look,” I said, “if you’re going to treat me as if I’m breakable, we’re not going to get anywhere. I’m fine. Strong. Healthy. I can take care of myself. Always have. I have to be careful in crowds and around animals, but otherwise I’m just like everyone else. The best thing you can do to help me is answer my questions about Sofia.”

  He grabbed my bag again and started for the door. “I’ll answer your questions—at the ranch.”

  “You’re going to get in the way of my investigation, aren’t you?” I asked, hands on hips.

  He stopped and sliced me with a dark glare. “I am. You can let me help or I’ll go around you for answers. Sofia was my wife. I can’t let this go.”

  Which actually brought him up a notch in my esteem. A man with principles was a rare thing in my line of work.

  Sofia’s joy lit up my skull like fireworks.

  Two against one wasn’t a fair fight.

  I sighed. Considering the state of my bank account, I couldn’t afford to argue too hard. Still, the thought of sleeping at the ranch with the echo of Sofia’s ghost all around me didn’t exactly appeal.

  “I’ll get the rest of my things.” I stuffed the samplesize bottles of shampoo, lotion and toothpaste into my toiletry bag, then gathered my files and laptop and crammed them into my tote. That he eyed my every move didn’t endear him to me.

  “I have a car,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”

  “I’ll have someone pick it up.”

  He carried my bag to his truck where he settled me into the passenger seat as if he thought the rain would hurt me.

  I snapped the seat belt in place. “I don’t need special handling.”

  He nodded and said nothing as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Once on the highway, he asked, “It’s been thirteen months since Sofia died. Why now?”

  I stared out the window. Through the beads of rain glazing the glass, I admired the bluebonnets, Indian blankets and evening primrose smearing a wash of blues, oranges and pinks on the side of the highway. “The transplant coordinator convinced me I shouldn’t attempt to make contact with the donor family. My shrink said that my nightmares about Sofia were paranormal delusions due to the drugs and to survivor guilt. And everyone else wanted me to pretend everything was just like before.”

  I slowly turned back to Wyatt. “I tried to please them all. I mean, I was alive. That should’ve been enough.” I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a strangled choke. “If you knew me before, you’d know that pleasing others just isn’t like me. Usually I don’t give a hoot what anyone thinks.”

  I shrugged, wondering why I was spilling my guts to a perfect stranger whose every tense muscle told me that even though he’d asked a question, he didn’t really want an answer.

  “And like I said, Sofia wouldn’t let it rest. I figured if I did this for her, maybe then things would go back to normal.”

  His attention riveted to the road, he said nothing.

  “Why did Sofia go to Nashua?” I asked.

  His jaw flinched. “On business. She worked as a systems engineer for Allied Defense. She’d gone to the Systems Integration Lab for a test on one of her projects.”

  “Could she have stepped on some toes there?”

  “Sofia?” He shook his head. “No, she wasn’t one to make waves.”

  “Not even if she thought there was a good reason to? Some sort of mistake?”

  “Sofia had a really hard time standing up for herself. She’d have made darned sure there was something wrong before she’d have said anything to anyone. Then she’d have been discreet as to who she’d tell.”

  “If she suspected something had gone wrong, who would she have told first?”

  “She’d have come to me.”

  That seemed to fit my nightmare. Sofia had asked Wyatt what she should do. “You said the project was classified.”

  “She’d have couched her questions in suppositions. She’d never do anything to break the rules.”

  Unlike now when I was pretty sure she was breaking several karmic laws with her haunting. “Did she do that often? Come to you with suppositions?”

  A small nod. “Often enough. She was a good engineer, but she wasn’t a confident woman.”

  “What if the someone she trusted this time turned out to be the wrong person?” I asked, tiptoeing through the minefield of male ego.

  Wyatt ground his teeth as he fought for self-control. “Sofia was always timid, meticulous, cautious to a fault. I questioned the seat belt, the air bag, the missing briefcase. But the investigators had a logical explanation for all of it.” He jerked one shoulder. “I accepted all the theories because it was easier to believe the accident was an accident than to admit that my failure to listen to her sent her to her death.”

  Rain drummed harder, pelting the awkward silence of the cab. Nothi
ng I could say would make him feel better.

  “I won’t fail her a second time.” His guilt-darkened gaze pierced through me. “I need to do this. For my own closure.”

  The admission of guilt had clearly cost him dearly, and I found I couldn’t deny him what I was seeking for myself. “Then work with me, not against me. Without understanding what was going on in Sofia’s life a year ago, I can’t figure out what happened to her.”

  Wyatt’s jaw tensed so hard that it had to hurt, and his silent treatment was starting to saw at my nerves.

  “The night she left,” he finally said, “I was busy with a mare who was having a hard time foaling. I could see something was troubling Sofia but I brushed her off. I asked her if it could wait. She said it could. There was time, and she wasn’t sure anyway. I kissed her, and she left. Two nights later when the phone rang…”

  Oh, Wyatt. Sofia’s tears tightened my throat.

  “Her death wasn’t your fault,” I said gently, my fingers tingling with the need to hold him.

  “If I’d listened to her, maybe I could’ve saved her.”

  Sofia’s sobs made it hard for me to focus.

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” I said. Whoever had wanted Sofia dead was bent on doing the job right.

  He concentrated on the highway as if a blizzard raged outside. “She was a gentle soul. She didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Between his grief and Sofia’s my emotions felt wringer-washer battered. I raked a hand through my hair to ground myself. “Any more thoughts about the data sheet I showed you?”

  He shook his head. “Without knowing what she was working on, there’s no way to say what the data means.”

  “Then finding out what she was working on is our first step.” I fished a pen and a pad of paper from my tote. “Do you know any of the people she worked with?”

  “A couple.”

  “Can you introduce me?” Introductions usually fared better than cold calls.