Mystique

by Charlotte Douglas

  “Throw the pack on the ground and drop your gun,” O’Neill ordered.

  Judd shook his head. “Got too much to lose. Looks like we got us a Mexican standoff here.”

  “Why did you push Debra Devlin off the overlook?” O’Neill asked. “Did she catch you stealing?”

  “Hah!” Judd hefted the backpack. “These little doodads are just a bonus.”

  “For what?” Trish said.

  “For killing Stevens.”

  “What have I done to make you want to kill me?” O’Neill said. “I’ve always treated you with respect and paid you well.”

  He’d mentioned earlier that Metcalf was on the way, and Trish guessed that O’Neill was stalling for time, waiting for backup.

  “You have always treated me right,” Judd said grudgingly, “but you never offered me a million bucks.”

  Trish gasped in surprise. “Someone’s paying you a million dollars to kill O’Neill?”

  Judd’s grin, visible in the backlight of his flashlight, was sly and greedy. “You must’ve really pissed off your former partner, O’Neill.”

  “Blaine Carter?” O’Neill said in a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “He doesn’t have a million dollars. You’ve been snookered.”

  “I don’t think so.” Judd cocked his head.

  Trish listened, too, and detected the sound of approaching vehicles ascending the steep grade of the parkway.

  “Gotta go,” Judd said. “Sorry, O’Neill. This ain’t personal.”

  As Trish watched in horror, Judd switched off his flashlight and fired simultaneously. She flinched at the corresponding barrel flash of O’Neill’s gun, and his shot reverberated through the trees. The echo of both shots faded, leaving only silence.

  Hunkering down, she cowered in the darkness, afraid to move or cause a noise that would reveal her position. Although her life was in jeopardy, she feared for O’Neill. She’d misjudged him terribly. He was just a man who’d wanted his privacy. No sound came from his direction. Had Judd shot him, or was he, like her, hiding in the darkness, waiting to assess the situation?

  Judd, too, was quiet, but whether dead, wounded or biding his time, she couldn’t tell.

  She yearned to go to O’Neill, to assure herself he was all right, to thank him for coming after her, but if Judd was conscious and awaiting his chance, any movement or noise that called attention to her position would be fatal.

  In the distance, vehicles screeched to a halt, doors slammed, voices sounded, dogs barked. But neither Judd nor O’Neill reacted. Running footsteps thundered up a nearby trail and moments later, a wide search beam swept the area.

  The light revealed Judd, lying in a heap by his pickup, his gun and backpack beside him. The beam moved, and Trish followed the light’s path.

  “On, no!” she cried.

  O’Neill, too, lay still where he’d fallen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trish straightened the desks in her classroom, replaced scattered books on the shelf and watered the pots of pothos and peace lilies in the windows. Students and the other teachers had left an hour ago to begin their Thanksgiving holidays, but she was in no hurry. Deb was spending the extended weekend with friends in Sarasota. Trish had refused her sister’s pleas to come with her, so Trish would be celebrating alone.

  Brad Larson had invited her to have Thanksgiving dinner with him and his brother’s family, but Trish had declined. She had finally accepted that, while Brad would always be a good friend, she’d never be in love with him.

  Not as long as she was in love with O’Neill.

  With a sigh, she gathered her purse and books and locked the classroom door. Loving O’Neill was an exercise in futility. She’d probably never see him again.

  Not that she hadn’t tried. After Metcalf and his deputies had arrived that fateful night, an ambulance had whisked O’Neill to the same hospital where Deb had been recuperating. Before O’Neill was out of surgery to repair the wound to his shoulder, however, his staff had formed a perimeter around his hospital room that would have made the Secret Service proud. Two days later, when Deb was fit to travel home, Trish was still trying to visit O’Neill. She’d probably never think of him as Quinn Stevens. All she had gotten was an assurance from the head nurse that he was out of danger and on the mend.

  After her return to Tampa, she’d waited, hoping for the phone to ring or a knock on her door, but she’d heard nothing from O’Neill. Not even a hint on the news or in the papers of what had happened, although Deb had certainly tried her best to gather the details of the story. Without proof and specifics, her editor wouldn’t go to press with the exposé about the confrontation between Stevens and Judd Raye.

  Trish’s belongings, complete with her aunt’s diamonds, neatly packed with a handwritten note from Janine Conover, had been shipped to her Tampa home, and she’d finally given up on hearing from O’Neill. The man was a recluse, she kept reminding herself. He didn’t need or want anyone else in his life.

  If only she could feel the same way. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t drum O’Neill from her thoughts or her heart. Crossing the parking lot to her car, she breathed in the chilly air swept in by the morning’s cold front. Its crispness reminded her of the mountains and O’Neill’s hideaway, and longing threatened to overwhelm her.

  Driving along the Suncoast Parkway, she considered continuing north instead of taking the exit to her house. Endless Sky was only twelve hours away by car. But when she imagined the chilly reception she’d receive, if O’Neill was still there and hadn’t left for St. Thomas, she turned toward home.

  Her house was her sanctuary and usually brought her joy and comfort, but this afternoon, she prowled the empty rooms like a caged animal, beset by questions, racked with yearning. She decided to call Brad and accept his invitation for tomorrow after all, if for no other reason than to avoid her current misery and to keep from going stir-crazy.

  Her doorbell rang before she reached the telephone. Peering out the front window, she spotted a dark sedan by the curb.

  Déjà vu. Had the FBI returned?

  Peering out the peephole of the front door, she glimpsed only a pair of broad male shoulders and the back of a brown-haired man’s head. When she opened the door, the man turned to face her.

  “O’Neill!”

  His expression was solemn, his eyes wary. “Hello, Trish. May I come in?”

  Stunned, she stepped aside for him to enter. He looked different. Not only were his eyes and hair brown, instead of midnight-blue and black, but fine lines of fatigue etched the corners of his eyes and mouth, and a hint of pallor lightened his usual tan.

  She followed him into the living room and sat across from him. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded. “I will be, after a few more weeks of rest.”

  He looked bone-tired.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting now?”

  He shook his head. “I would have been here sooner, but I had to get at the truth first.” His gaze burrowed into hers.

  “Telling the truth,” she murmured, remembering his deception and trying to resist his pull on her. “Must be a new experience.”

  “Not everything was lies.”

  “Just minor things, like your name.”

  “O’Neill is my name. It’s my middle name, my mother’s maiden name.”

  “And you’re not really the manager of Endless Sky.”

  “Yes, I am, several months out of the year. The job gives me a chance to meet people and interact with them without the mythical Last Man Standing getting in the way.”

  “I thought you liked your solitude.”

  “Sometimes. But mostly I enjoy being with people who like me for myself and not my money.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “How’s Deb?”

  “Mending. She’s in a walking cast for several more weeks.”

  “I’d like to see her. Give her the interview and photos she wanted.”

  Trish blinked in surprise. “Y
ou’re kidding?”

  He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do, after what she went through because of me.”

  For weeks, the sisters had plied Captain Metcalf’s office with questions about the motive for the attack on O’Neill, but “ongoing investigation” had been the only response. “Do you know why Judd pushed her?”

  O’Neill nodded. “Maybe I’d better start at the beginning.”

  “Take your time.” Stay forever. She couldn’t believe O’Neill had sought her out and was sitting in her living room.

  “Blaine Carter told the authorities the entire story, after they traced his phone records and documented his payments to Judd Raye.” He shook his head, his eyes sad. “I’m sorry I killed Raye. I only meant to wound him to keep him from hurting you, but it was literally a shot in the dark.”

  “So this whole plot was driven by Carter’s wanting revenge?”

  O’Neill leaned against the back of his sofa and closed his eyes for a moment. “More greed than revenge.”

  He looked so weary, she wanted to go to him and hold him, but she wasn’t sure yet where she stood. “I don’t understand. What did Carter stand to gain from your death?”

  “Ten million dollars,” he said with a grimace. “When we were partners, we took out key man insurance policies on each other. When I sold my shares of the company to Carter, I let my policy on him lapse. Unknown to me, Carter kept the life insurance on me.”

  “Why did Carter wait till now to try to collect?” Trish asked.

  “He needed someone else to do his dirty work. Maybe it took this long for him to line up a killer.”

  “And if Judd had killed you, Carter would have paid him a tenth of the face value of the policy?” She shivered at the extent of both men’s greed.

  “That was the plan.”

  “But how did Deb fit in?”

  “Judd feared she’d overheard him on the trail, on his cell phone with Carter, telling him how he intended to kill me. He couldn’t take the chance that she’d reveal their plans.”

  “And the shots at us on the ridge?”

  “Judd fired them at me, not you. He slipped away from his hunting party long enough to get off a few rounds when he spotted us on the ridge. A crime of opportunity.”

  “But he was going to kill me, too. You heard him.”

  “Judd was too greedy. The million Carter promised him wasn’t enough. Judd stole almost another million in jewelry from the guests. And when the police went through the backpack that held the jewels, they found your driver’s license.”

  “That’s how he knew I’m Deb’s sister.”

  “According to Carter, Judd feared Deb might have told you about the phone call she’d overheard.”

  Trish shook her head. “The irony is that Deb heard nothing.”

  “Now Judd is dead and Carter’s going to prison for a long, long time.” He leaned forward again and winced.

  “Your shoulder, it’s okay?”

  “Eventually. The doctors assure me there’s no permanent damage.”

  “That night I left with Judd, how did you know where I’d gone? And how did you reach us so fast?”

  “After Mrs. Avery reported her pearls had been stolen, I went to your room to make sure you’d locked your diamonds in the safe.”

  “But I’d already left with Judd.”

  He nodded. “Your Cherokee friend told me.”

  “You saw the ghost?”

  “He didn’t look like a ghost. At the time, he seemed as real as you do now. To catch up with the Hummer, I borrowed Henry’s all-terrain vehicle.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “Why come after me yourself? Why didn’t you just alert Metcalf and let him handle it?”

  “Because, in the words of our Cherokee friend, you walk in my soul, Trish. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  Her heart leaped at his words, but she remained cautious, fearing she’d misunderstood. “Do you know what it means, to walk in your soul?”

  He stood, grasped her hands, and pulled her to her feet. “It means I love you, Trish. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  She closed her eyes, afraid if she opened them, she’d find she’d been dreaming and O’Neill would be gone. But her eyelids flew open when his lips claimed hers. She threw her arms around his neck and arched on tiptoe to kiss him back.

  A moment later, while she caught her breath, he grasped her shoulders and gazed deep into her eyes. “What we shared at Endless Sky wasn’t a lie.”

  “But you barely know me.”

  “I know what’s important. Alicia taught me to be wary around women. I’ve known too many who are more enamored of my money than me. But from the first time I met you, I realized you’re different. Honest, unpretentious. And you’re satisfied with yourself and your life, a life dedicated to others.” A boyish grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re gorgeous, too.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  His grin disappeared. “God, I’m an idiot. I thought you felt the same way.”

  “I do.” She lifted her hands to his face and caressed the strong planes of his jaw. “I’m just…surprised. I tried to see you after the shooting, but your staff wouldn’t let me. And then when I didn’t hear from you—”

  He covered her hands with his. “I couldn’t come until Metcalf had completed his investigation and answered all the questions. I didn’t want to place you or your sister in more danger.”

  She smiled and her vision blurred with tears of happiness. “The ghost was right, O’Neill. You do walk in my soul. I’ve been miserable these past few weeks without you.”

  “Let me make it up to you.”

  “How?”

  “Spend Thanksgiving in St. Thomas with me.”

  “St. Thomas?”

  “My parents are at Endless Sea and I want you to meet them. And I especially want them to meet you.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He wrapped her in his arms and spoke against her hair. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  Epilogue

  Last Man Standing Wed in Private Ceremony

  TAMPA—Billionaire and eccentric Quinn Stevens married Patricia Devlin, a Tampa native and teacher, in a private ceremony attended by family and close friends at St. John’s Cathedral last month. In an unprecedented public appearance, Stevens and his bride posed for pictures on the church steps.

  Stevens’s wedding marks the second time in six months that his name has headlined the news. Last December, in a startling exposé by Tribune reporter Debra Devlin, now Stevens’s sister-in-law, Stevens recounted the attempt on his life by his former partner, Blaine Carter, who has since been indicted for conspiracy to commit murder and is now awaiting trial.

  Reliable sources disclose that Stevens, one of the wealthiest men in the nation, did not sign a prenuptial agreement. When asked why he refused the usual legal safeguard, Stevens replied, “Everything I have is my wife’s, because she walks in my soul.”

  The couple is honeymooning at an undisclosed location.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-2843-6

  MYSTIQUE

  Copyright © 2005 by Charlotte H. Douglas

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

>   ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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  *Identity Swap

  †A Place To Call Home

  Table of Contents

  Letter to Reader

  About the Author

  Books by Charlotte Douglas

  Cast of Characters

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright