“You’re besotted with me?” He was grinning, too.
“I was, for a second there....” With a quick kiss, Chantel sat up. Taking the sheet with her, she started to stand. His hand on her elbow held her in place. She turned to look at him.
“I promise you that if I ever feel cause to doubt you, I will be cognizant of my challenges in the trust department and give you the benefit of the doubt.”
The intense look in those deep blue eyes as he held her gaze unblinkingly spoke straight to Chantel’s heart.
Yeah, she was in deep shit.
* * *
COLIN’S WAY, WHEN things felt like they were spiraling out of control, was to take action.
So he had trust issues—for good reasons. He also had instincts that were well honed, that had led him well time and time again over the past decade.
Promise me that if there ever comes a time when you’re unsure about me, you give me the benefit of the doubt.
He’d made the promise. But wasn’t sure, even as he’d done so, that he’d be able to keep it. He still wasn’t sure.
He’d once trusted David Smyth Sr., as much as he’d trusted his own father. He’d had total faith in law enforcement. In the legal system that he now knew was as much about the best argument as it was about following the law. He’d trusted more than one woman with thoughts of a future together...
Promise me that if there ever comes a time when you’re unsure about me, you give me the benefit of the doubt.
Why had she asked that of him? Had it really been as she’d said? That she was afraid of being so tied up with a man who had trust issues?
Or was she hiding something?
There was another glitch in the Japan deal. He got the call Sunday afternoon and would be on a flight later that night. Might be gone for a couple of days or more. His administrative assistant could clear his schedule.
Julie, who was used to his occasional and often unplanned absences, would be fine.
Chantel was the problem. He didn’t want to lose a second of the time he had with her.
And he didn’t want to leave town—feeling like his life was in an upheaval. He could call her—tell her he had to see her that afternoon. Get in a couple of hours with her after brunch before heading to the airport.
Or he could work toward making certain that information Julie had leaked, and the suppositions Chantel was consequently drawing, were not going to blow up in their faces, that the women would be protected while he was out of the country.
He chose the latter, of course, which was why he was sitting at a table at the country club, nursing a bottle of beer, with James Morrison across from him, doing the same.
James wasn’t much of a drinker, something Colin had always liked about him. His unwillingness to give up self-control and awareness. Ever.
He’d asked the man, ten years his senior, how things were going, and had received a shrug in response.
“I have a difficult question to ask you,” Colin said, leaning in to keep their conversation private. He’d chosen a table by the window, overlooking the tenth green and two tables away from the nearest customer in the half-filled room. But most of the men and women present knew one another—at least by sight and name—and Colin didn’t want to appear as though he and James were open to anyone joining them.
Morrison’s brow furrowed as he nodded.
“I need you to trust that I’m going somewhere with this question.”
“Of course.” James didn’t hurry him or lose his sense of calm.
“It’s come to my attention that Leslie has been...hurt...”
Morrison raised his hand, shaking his head. “Let me stop you right there,” he said, his expression clearing. “You’ve heard the rumors, and while I respect that you’ve come to me rather than indulging in them—which I’d expect from you, by the way, to come to me rather than indulge—I’m also a bit surprised you’d have to ask.”
“I’m not asking you if you abuse your wife, James.” Colin needed to make that clear. “I put no credence in the rumors whatsoever and have done what I can to squelch them.”
“I appreciate that.” James sipped his beer, watching Colin.
“The answer to my question is none of my business, I understand that, but I have a good reason for asking. Has Leslie ever been...physically mistreated?”
James looked out the window. He remained silent for a long time. Too long. Then he looked Colin in the eye.
“Yes.”
“Recently?”
Morrison’s shrug bothered Colin. “She has accidents,” he said slowly, picking at the label on his bottle. “She trips, knocks into things. Sometimes the damage is more serious than others.”
Shaking his head, Colin said, “I don’t understand. You’re telling me Leslie’s a klutz?”
“Only when she’s feeling particularly low. It’s all subconscious, but I’m given to understand that she does these things as a kind of self-inflicted punishment.”
“But...why?”
Morrison folded his hands and looked outside again. Stared at the table and picked at the tablecloth.
Colin waited for the man to look at him, and then asked, “Why?” again.
“Because she blames herself for what happened to her in the past.”
“What happened?”
“She was hurt. Bad.” James didn’t say any more, but Colin had a feeling that Leslie hadn’t suffered as Julie had. Rape was an ugly thing, but people generally called it what it was. At least at times like these.
“She was beaten up?”
The man looked outside once more, his Adam’s apple bulging as he swallowed. “Yes. More than once.”
“By a man.”
Morrison’s eyes glistened. “Yes.” The word was curt.
“One she knew.”
“Yes.”
“But not you.”
“It was before we were married.”
“Do you know who it was?”
Morrison shook his head.
He should let this go now. He had the information he’d been seeking. Confirmation that Chantel had been correct. Partially. Leslie had been hurt. But not by her husband. “Surely you asked.”
“Of course I did. Many times. But she wouldn’t tell me. She said I didn’t need to know. That she wanted to put it all behind her.”
“Could it have been her father?” Leslie’s dad, a shipping magnate, had been through multiple divorces and was currently living in San Diego.
“No. He’s a womanizer but a good man. A good father.”
“Do you think it’s someone you know? Is that why she won’t tell you?”
“I hope to God not. And no, I don’t think so. She was in LA at the time. My understanding is that it happened there.”
The story had holes. A woman suffers physical abuse but won’t say by who...
Colin’s thoughts stopped him short. Julie was bound by law not to say.
But a woman who had “accidents” to punish herself for having been abused in her past? Who was he to judge? Julie blamed herself for what had happened to her that night at the party.
“You said you had a reason for asking,” Morrison said. He took a long swig of beer and set his bottle down with a little more force than he had before.
“I’m going to tell you something, in the strictest confidence. Because I need your help....”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RIDING IN THE car with Daniel Lewis, wishing for once that he was a chatty guy, Chantel stared out the window—looking for trouble—struggling to keep her mind on the streets.
Johnson’s phone vibrated, and she gave a start.
Her partner looked over at her.
She could look at her cell phone. H
e’d never know it was Johnson’s. She waited until it vibrated a second time before she did so.
Colin had called and left a message. With her phone pressed to her ear, making sure to click the volume down so there was no chance Daniel would catch anything, she listened to her lover’s voice.
He was leaving town again. Back to Japan. And needed to speak with her before he got on the plane at seven o’clock that evening.
She texted him right back, telling him that she was getting something to eat and would be in touch as soon as she was alone. Unanswered calls didn’t sit well with him.
And a woman living in a hotel room being out to eat was believable. Expected. You could only eat so much room service.
“If you ever need any help, I’m here.” Daniel’s smoker’s voice startled her. She looked over at him, not sure where he was coming from. Or what to say. Did she look helpless? He thought she was in trouble?
“I might not be the most pleasurable guy for you to be cooped up with all day, but I’m a good cop.”
“I’ve never doubted that for a second. I trust you with my back. And I’ve got yours.”
What was it with the guys in her life? Getting all emotional and gooey on her all of a sudden? Max with his protectiveness. Colin with his...well, everything. And now Daniel, too?
“Good cops know when their partners are moonlighting,” Daniel continued, looking straight ahead now. “I’m not asking any questions. You’d tell me if I needed to know. I’m also completely sure that you’re on the up-and-up. So just know, if you get in a spot and need help, you can call me. Day or night.”
“Okay.” She nodded. Looked at him. And then stared straight ahead, too, feeling a little less alone.
Not that she’d ever tell him so. Not in a million years. He’d probably ask for a new partner if she did.
* * *
COLIN WAS IN his room packing when his phone rang.
“Hey, that was quick,” he said, catching sight of himself in his wardrobe mirror, hardly recognizing the young-looking guy grinning back at him. Weren’t there usually more lines marring his forehead? He almost asked her what she’d had for dinner; he was so far gone he wanted to know everything about her.
“I’m still out. Picking up a salad.”
Now that she mentioned it, he heard some noise in the background. Like she was outside. There were any number of build-your-own-salad places about town, most particularly in the upscale tourist section of the beach.
“You got my message. I have to go back to Japan. And it might be a little longer this time.”
“Yes. I’m sorry to hear that.” She sounded lonely already.
“Think of me tonight, when you crawl into that great big bed...”
“I’m afraid I have no choice in the matter. It was already happening before you spent the past two nights in it. I severely doubt I’ll ever be in it without thinking of you now.”
He grinned some more. And then sobered. “I’ll text you as often as I can.”
“Good.”
“I have a favor to ask, Chantel.”
“Of course. You know I’m here for you. What do you need?” God, it felt great having a woman he could count on, having anyone he could count on to help ease the guilt of leaving his responsibilities behind every time he left town.
“I need you to look in on Julie,” he said. “With all that’s been happening—her worry about Patricia on her committees, and now Smyth going to the library event—I don’t want her holed up alone in the house for days. I asked her to come to Japan with me, but she adamantly refused.”
“Does Leslie know you’re leaving?”
“Her husband does.” He’d told Morrison some of what was going on. Not Smyth’s name. Or the exact nature of the harm that had come to Julie ten years before. Only that his sister had been in danger at one point. He’d asked the other man to be on alert in case Julie needed some real protection and told him to call their private security service, not the cops, if something materialized. He’d also asked him to keep an eye out for Chantel, to take care of her if she needed anything. “Julie knows she can call him if she needs anything. Leslie will also be getting a text from someone in my office if I’m going to be missing the next library committee meeting.”
It was scheduled for the following Thursday evening. They were going to be finalizing all the details for the big night.
“We aren’t going to have much time to practice our parts for the murder mystery, but if you’ve read the script yet, you’ll see that there’s not much.”
The script. Shit. He’d left his copy at the office. He’d taken it with him on Saturday when he’d gone into work because he’d left it in the car after the meeting. Completely unlike him. “My copy’s at the office.”
“Like I said, it’s not much. We can ad-lib most of it. And we’re still almost three weeks away. I’ll go over it with you when you get back.”
He liked the sound of that. “Over a pot of chocolate fondue?” he asked, wishing he didn’t have to leave that night.
“Of course. You owe me a body drawing...”
Picturing exactly how he’d do that, Colin turned away from the mirror. A man his age shouldn’t be looking that sappy.
“In the meantime, of course I’ll stay in touch with Julie. I would have, anyway. I like her.”
“You two are becoming friends.”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad.”
He kept her on the line for another five minutes—teasing her, getting himself too hot under the zipper in the process.
And when he finally rang off, he was actually starting to believe that life—his life—could be more than just monetarily successful.
* * *
THOUGH SHE HADN’T expected to, Chantel slept well Sunday night. She was in her own bed—in underwear, as she always slept—with the television she’d mounted on the wall across from her bed streaming sitcoms softly in the distance. When she awoke, they talked her back to sleep.
Probably helped that after two nights of extreme lovemaking, not to mention working two jobs, she was exhausted.
On the noon-to-eight shift through Wednesday, she could have been fully back into a normal routine—have a real chance to convince herself that what she felt for Colin Fairbanks had been an aberration—if not for the need to check on Julie. But the need fit her purpose, too. Visiting with Julie, at Colin’s behest, gave her the perfect excuse to hang out with her and steer the topic back to Leslie Morrison. To get Julie to trust her enough to tell her what she knew about Leslie’s battering.
Because one thing was quite clear to Chantel, most particularly after hearing that Colin was in enough with the other man that he’d already told him he was leaving town after only having found out an hour or so before. Whether Colin truly believed in the other man’s innocence where the rumors circulating about his wife were concerned or merely believed the justifications Morrison must surely be giving him, was immaterial to Chantel.
She wanted the truth. The man needed to be stopped.
A little hampered by her work schedule, she nevertheless called Julie Monday morning, hoping to find some time to get together for breakfast the following morning. Julie suggested that Chantel might want to come watch a movie with her that evening. When Chantel told her that she’d planned to work on her book until at least eight, Julie suggested that she spend the night at the mansion. That way they could enjoy a glass of wine. Watch a movie or not. And have breakfast together in the morning.
Remembering that breakfast with Colin was part of Julie’s normal routine, Chantel agreed immediately—mentally calculating the logistics of getting out of her police uniform, into Johnson’s clothes, packing a bag of Johnson’s things and driving Johnson’s rental car over to Colin’s house by nine. She’d have to pick up a Johnson-type
overnight bag on her way into work and hightail it to the resort as soon as she was off shift.
With the new pseudo understanding between her and Daniel, she could pretty much plan to be off on time. He’d handle whatever might run them over shift if he thought she was dealing with her other “thing.”
Yes, it was all going to work. Was falling into place perfectly.
With renewed energy, she worked out in the poor excuse for a gym in her apartment complex, showered, dressed in jeans, boots and a T-shirt, pulled on her denim jacket and headed into the station a couple of hours early to check in with Wayne and help with whatever research she could.
She just wasn’t sure yet if she was going to tell him their rapist’s name. She wanted to. Trusted him. But didn’t know for sure that he’d know if someone else they’d trusted was lying to them.
Maybe Colin’s paranoia was wearing off on her. Maybe he wasn’t paranoid at all, and the man who oversaw the entire Santa Raquel police force, a man both she and Wayne trusted with their lives, really was bad.
She knew better than to keep anything from her partner. Most particularly on her first undercover assignment. But when she saw Wayne later that morning, she didn’t say a word.
* * *
IT WAS ALMOST five when Chantel’s cell phone rang. Harris’s phone. Johnson’s had received a couple of texts from Colin. He’d arrived in Japan. And he missed her.
She’d read and returned them both. She missed him, too. And would be spending the night at his house—a girls’ night with Julie.
He texted back telling her that he’d already texted his sister and insisted that Chantel sleep in his bed.
So he could imagine her there, she was sure. The pervert. But she’d be doing the same thing—lying on his sheets, smelling him, wishing...
When she saw Max’s name on her caller ID, she told Daniel she had to take a pee break and then called Max back immediately.
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