For Love of Money

by Cathy Perkins

  “You need stitches for that cut, and you should be checked for concussion.” The medic pressed a bandage to Holly’s temple.

  Her eyes cracked open. “It’s not going to scar, is it?” Warmth immediately climbed her face and she hoped JC hadn’t heard her question.

  The woman smiled, showing the strained teeth of a smoker. She nodded in JC’s direction. “Don’t worry. He’ll still think you’re pretty.”

  Holly started to protest, “It isn’t like that,” but the EMT was urging her to the ambulance.

  JC stepped over. “Just a second,” he told the EMT.

  The woman moved to the vehicle and helped her partner load their gear.

  JC clasped Holly’s arm. She wasn’t sure what to make of him constantly touching her. On the outside, she thought she was doing a pretty good job of faking calm and collected. He was watching her like he was afraid she might start screaming or doing something hysterical and really hoped she wouldn’t.

  Inside, she was screaming. All she wanted to do was curl up in his arms again and let him protect her, but hello, the world didn’t work that way. She sighed and rubbed small circles into her uninjured temple. “I do not need this right now,” she muttered.

  JC smiled, dimples and all. “When exactly is it a good time to get run over?”

  She dropped her hand, ready to glare at him, but realized how crazy her comment sounded.

  “Did you get a look at the driver?” he asked, back in detective mode.

  “I only caught a glimpse of a floppy hat and clenched hands on the wheel.”

  “We have a description of the truck, an old, white half-ton. Like there aren’t a million of those around here. At least this one has a brand-new dent in the front fender. But the driver—” JC blew out a disgusted breath. “Hell, we’ve heard everything from a Mexican farmworker to a middle-aged woman. The only thing everyone agrees on is long hair and a hat.”

  “Sorry. It all happened so fast. The lights were shining right in our eyes.”

  “It’s okay.” His fingers squeezed her arm. “We’ll find the truck.”

  One of the Pasco police cruisers pulled out of the parking lot. JC’s hand moved to her shoulder and gripped it. “They want to know”—he nodded at the remaining Pasco cops—“if you’re aware of anybody who’d want to hurt you.”

  “Wait a minute. I know there’s a murderer running around.” And all the other creepy bad guys. “But before you assume this was my fault, can we at least consider the possibility it was some drunk. A hit and run.” She stepped back and shook off his hand.

  He sighed, as though she was being unreasonable. “Holly…”

  He reached for her, but she held up a hand. “That’s what Shr—Dickerman said it was. A hit and run.” Her head pounded in time with her words.

  “I understand. It’s scary. And it’s personal. I want to help you figure out why. Denial isn’t helping.”

  She brought her fingers to her forehead, testing the growing lump. Her hand trembled. She dropped it to her side. “I didn’t ‘provoke’ this. I’m so normal and law-abiding I bore myself.”

  “So I’m supposed to think someone’s after Laurie?” JC’s tone dripped skepticism.

  Their heads turned toward the ambulance. “Of course not. Don’t let the spiky blue hair fool you. Laurie is the sweetest person I know. Her life is even more boring than mine. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend. She has—”

  “She has what?”

  Warmth climbed her cheeks. Okay, maybe not so boring. “Fantasies,” she substituted for “an inflatable friend.”

  The look on JC’s face would’ve been priceless in any other circumstances. “I see.”

  She seriously doubted that. “Look, I get that this could’ve been somebody like Creepy Security Guy.”

  “Who?”

  “The security guy at the Tom-Tom. He looks like Frank and he pointed at me. He made his fingers like a gun,” She held out an index finger and cocked thumb, demonstrating. “And he might have been dating Marcy before she—”

  JC’s face tightened with every word she babbled. “And you planned to tell me this, when?”

  She snapped her mouth closed and examined his stony expression. Oops. “Um, when I knew if there was anything to it?”

  “Holly.” His tone was pure frustration and exasperation.

  One of the patrol officers appeared beside them. For once she didn’t mind the interruption. “We need you to get in the ambulance, ma’am. We’ll meet you at the ER and take your statement. We may need you to come to the station afterward.”

  “But my car—”

  “We’ll make arrangements,” the officer said, and returned to his cruiser.

  “C’mon.” The skin crinkled around JC’s eyes. He tipped his chin toward the ambulance. “Or do you need me to drive you to the hospital?”

  “No, thanks. I can take care of myself.”

  He picked up her left hand and examined the abraded palm. “And doing a terrific job, I might add.”

  Doors on patrol cars slammed. An officer revved an engine and fired up his siren. Holly grimaced in pain.

  “Between your hand and head, if you think I’m letting you behind the wheel, you’re nuts. Get in the damn ambulance.” JC dropped an arm around her shoulders. “And Holly, there better not be more to this security guy story, because if you mess in my investigation again, I will personally arrest your pretty little ass.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  FRIDAY MORNING

  Using only the unabraded tips of her fingers, Holly shifted her BMW into drive. She’d managed only a few hours of restless sleep after getting home from the hospital the night before. Tired, cranky and sore, she’d called Tracey and asked her to reschedule most of the day’s appointments.

  Still, a routine was therapeutic. Even if JC was right about some maniac gunning for her, no way would she let him bring her life to a crashing halt. She’d sworn after the miserable experience with Frank she’d never again let a man dictate her choices. Either the maniac or JC.

  And if there was any merit to JC’s notion the truck incident might be a warning about poking into Marcy’s death, that meant she simply had to work harder to figure out who or what was behind it.

  She wasn’t exactly sure how to go about that, other than to keep asking questions. Of course, that was what JC insisted had gotten her into this predicament in the first place.

  But he had to be wrong about the truck incident as a warning. Because if he wasn’t wrong, Laurie had gotten hurt because of her.

  “Dammit,” she muttered as she approached the next red light. The good part about coming into the office so late in the morning was the lack of traffic.

  The downside was that she noticed the black 350Z right away.

  With dark-tinted windows and a distinctive profile, the Z was hard to miss. Any car following her would have made her nervous after the truck incident, but this particular vehicle packed emotional baggage. It followed her up the long hill on Grandridge and into the office park’s entrance.

  Damn it, Alex.

  She pulled into her usual spot and cut the Beemer’s engine. Her emotions were already all twisted up, trying to figure out what to do about JC and his apparent interest in her. She didn’t need Alex getting his ego out of joint, too. For a second, she considered peeling out of the lot and avoiding whatever Alex wanted, but that childish maneuver would only postpone the confrontation.

  She climbed from her car, stiff and sore in places she didn’t know could be stiff and sore. Her hair was a wreck. They’d shaved part of it off at the hospital when they’d stitched the cut on her temple. Bruises peeked out of her blouse, leaving her looking as though she’d been on the losing end of a World Wide Wrestling event.

  She opened the back door and removed a folded suitcase trolley. Alex parked his Z in the slot beside her, but she kept her attention firmly on her briefcase. Tugging the handles, she maneuvered the satchel off the backseat and onto the trolle
y.

  “Hi.” Alex stepped from the sleek two-seater.

  Holly headed toward the office building. “Whatever it is, it can wait until eleven.”

  The meeting with the Stevens Ventures owners was the one appointment she hadn’t rescheduled.

  “Holly, wait.”

  “Not now.” She kept walking.

  “This isn’t about the company. If you’d answer your phone or return my calls I wouldn’t have to show up like this.”

  She looked over her shoulder, impatient. “There’s nothing to talk about. Your mother—”

  “This has nothing to do with my mother,” he interrupted.

  Actually, nearly everything about their screwed-up relationship had to do with his mother. She turned and faced him. “Fine. What is it?”

  Alex closed the Z’s door and eyed the trolley. He gave her a quick inspection, a question puckering his forehead. “This is about you and me.”

  He had to be wondering about the Dockers and sweater she was wearing instead of her usual business suit. “There is no you and me,” she said. “There never was. You’ve known all along I planned to go back to Seattle.”

  “You could stay if you wanted to.”

  “Why should I stay? What’s here for me?” She wondered if her questions—and the answers—would be different if she were having this conversation with JC.

  “What’s in Seattle besides a job? You know, I happen to like you. There could be a ‘you and me’ if you’d give us half a chance.” Alex narrowed the distance between them.

  “Alex.” She raised and dropped her free hand in a frustrated gesture. “We want different things out of life.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How would you know what I want from life?” He stopped a few feet away. Feet flat, hands resting on his hips, he looked more like a grown-up than she’d ever seen him before. It was rather disconcerting.

  She stared at him, then sputtered, “Of course, I know. The restaurant. Your family.”

  “Those are outside things.” He made a brushing wave of his hand. “I’m talking about what’s in here.” His curved fingers tapped his chest. “You don’t have a clue because you never stopped and opened up long enough to let me in. You’re so busy running around being important, you’ve lost sight of what really is important.”

  “You’re wrong.” Warmth scalded her cheeks, as if she’d been slapped, but she held up her chin in defiance. “Trust me, I know what’s important. I’m figuring out where and how I want to live my life and who I want in it.”

  And one thing was pretty clear. She wasn’t interested in spending it with him.

  “Where is this coming from?” she asked him. “Why are you here? We broke up. Remember?”

  “We argued.” His fingers flicked in a dismissive gesture. “I’m over being mad. I’m ready to make up.”

  Seriously? She wanted to smack her forehead, except that would hurt. She thought about smacking him instead. You said some pretty hideous things. And what did you do with the pig, by the way? Yeah, so not going there. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “What?” Alex’s expression grew a little pissy. “People don’t fight in the perfect world you live in?”

  “Let me get this straight. You came over here and threw it in my face that I don’t know anything about you, right? Well, you’re doing exactly the same thing, making assumptions about me. If I’m so important to you—” She raised her left hand, palm out, wiggling her fingers for emphasis, and then gestured at the bandage on her temple. “Hello? When you decided to come play Mr. Sensitivity and Self-Awareness, did you happen to notice the bandages?”

  “What happened?” Alex frowned for a second, then stepped forward as if he was going to hug her.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand to fend him off. “I’m tired. I’m sore. This is pointless. All you’ve ever seen is the outside of me. When you drove up just now, all you noticed was that I was here and I wasn’t wearing a business suit.”

  “That’s not true,” he protested.

  “Admit it, Alex. You’re not upset about breaking up.”

  Alex’s cheeks darkened as a flush rose along with his temper. “I don’t know why I bothered.”

  He took two steps toward his car, then stopped and pivoted on his heel. Fixing her with a glare, he said, “When you’re all alone this weekend and want to know why, don’t lay it at my doorstep. Just look in the mirror.”

  He climbed into his car, slammed the door, and drove away.

  She stared after him. Did he actually think they could patch things up? Or was the canned speech supposed to make him feel better by painting her as the villain?

  She couldn’t help but compare Alex’s actions to JC’s. Last night she’d seen yet another facet of JC’s personality.

  One she liked.

  A lot.

  She could still feel the solid strength of his arms and chest, the gentleness of his touch as he examined her injuries. He’d maneuvered her past most of the red tape at the hospital and waited patiently while bureaucracy ground through the rest.

  Her face creased with a wry expression. Of course, he’d also had a great time pushing her buttons, including that shot about looking sexy with her hair all messed up—but the comments had served a purpose. They’d kept her distracted, preventing her from obsessing about the accident.

  She turned toward her office building. She’d saved obsessing for last night after she’d gotten home. JC had offered to take or follow her home, but she wasn’t ready to make that leap. Now that she thought about it, he’d looked kinda relieved too, when she’d said, “No, thanks.”

  The rest of the night had crawled past with a lot of tossing and turning. Glaring lights, the truck roaring toward Laurie and her. The screech of metal, crash of breaking glass, and Laurie’s scream. It was all jumbled up with “Who?” and “Why?” in a crazy tumble of images and impressions.

  Holly tugged her briefcase trolley onto the entry walkway. She wasn’t stupid. Even as she’d insisted, at the hospital, the police station, It could be an accident, she’d tried to figure out what she’d done, who she’d made nervous enough, for whoever it was to lash out at her.

  The name that kept surfacing wasn’t Alex, Frank, Creepy Security Guy, or even Lee Alders.

  It was Tim.

  She didn’t want to believe Tim would deliberately hurt her.

  Maybe it really had been a drunk driver. The reporter who’d shown up at the library while she wasn’t paying attention had said so on television last night. The news snippet had generated a flood of calls—to her and, according to JC, to the police. So far, none of the tips had led anywhere, but it was simply a matter of time before the police found the truck and its driver.

  The outpouring of concern proved one thing to her. Alex was wrong. She did let people into her life. She had friends. Lots of them.

  She tugged the door handle with her fingertips.

  His cruel comments still hurt.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Back pressed against the building’s glass door, Holly struggled through the entrance. She eyed the door to Desert Accounting, then turned toward Stevens Ventures. As she wrestled with the cart, Brea jumped to her feet and hurried around her desk. “My God, what happened?”

  “It looks worse than it is.”

  Brea elbowed her out of the way and tugged the trolley inside. “In that case, are you lost? Tim and Alex are supposed to meet you at your office.”

  “I know. I need to talk to Lillian for a minute. Okay if I leave this here?”

  “Sure, I’ll keep an eye on it.”

  Holly nodded her thanks and headed toward the payroll clerk’s office. Without the impediment of the cart, movement was easier. She rolled her shoulders, shrugging off residual stiffness.

  Lillian lifted her head, apparently catching her motion at the doorway. With furrowed eyebrows, her fingers rolled through “What happe
ned?” She pointed at Holly’s bandaged hands and temple.

  “I fell.” She didn’t want to dredge up the details. Dodging those explanations was one of the reasons she’d ditched her clients today.

  Lillian watched her with worried eyes. “If you want to talk about…” Her hands finished in a vague, encompassing gesture.

  “Really. I fell in a parking lot.” Holly briefly held up her bandaged palm, then continued. “Road rash.”

  The payroll clerk nodded, as if she still believed an evil boyfriend had taken his fists to her.

  “Earlier this week, you said you wanted to talk to me.” Holly’s hands were stiff and the bandages across her palms made her gestures awkward.

  Lillian glanced at the doorway, as if she didn’t want anyone to see them together.

  Holly took a seat with a dismissive wave. As if anyone in the office could handle more than basic signs. They certainly weren’t going to be overheard. “Is it something about Marcy? Tim?”

  Lillian’s gestures looked tentative. “The Southridge building. Tim hired a lot more people than he usually does.”

  Holly waited for Lillian to continue. “And,” she prompted.

  “We’ve never used this many people before.”

  “It’s a big project.” Holly didn’t want to jump to conclusions, even with her internal monitor screaming warnings about all of Tim’s business. “Is there something specific making you uncomfortable?”

  Lillian chewed on her lip for a moment, then signed, “Marcy filled out all the paperwork.”

  Holly fidgeted with the stapler, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. Finally, she forced her hands through the gestures. “Maybe the workers needed help with the forms. Or didn’t speak English. Or…”

  Lillian again glanced at the door. “A lot of them used the same post office box for an address.”

  “Damn.” Holly’s shoulders sagged as she considered the implications. Marcy, honey, what did you get yourself into?