The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

  Zach's cell phone and charger sits on the bed. I wake the screen and text Maryanne. "If you're awake, can you call me? This is Vera on Zach's phone."

  Yawning, I look around the room. It's decorated with dark brown antique furniture. Two lacey wing-backed chairs sport curvy Queen Anne legs, and the four-poster bed wears carved pineapples on the top of the posts. The wardrobe is a fabulous burled walnut, dark curly grain, some ending in dark brown bubbles. I run my fingers over the highlighted doors and open it. It's lined with cedar and devoid of contents. There's a shoe rack on one side and a shelf for hats.

  I don't know what clues I'm looking for. Maybe Lillian Spencer's old diary will conveniently drop from a secret compartment under the hat shelf. I poke around and tap, but nothing happens. Instead, I spy a scratched heart enclosing the initials, K. B. & Z. S.

  Z. S. for Zach? And who is K. B.? And why would she deface this expensive piece of furniture unless . . . unless she's the fiancee.

  My gut wrenching, I slump back onto the bed. So it's true, I'm officially the "other woman." I shouldn't snoop, but I pick up Zach's cell and check his text messages.

  Sure enough, there's a series from someone named Krista. I open it and scroll to the start of the conversation.

  Krista: When did you get back?

  Zach: Had to make a detour.

  Krista: Text me when you get in.

  The date stamp changes to a day later.

  Krista: Are we still going forward with the plans?

  Zach: I thought we talked about it.

  Krista: I already had to redo the invitations once. Will you be ready in June?

  Zach didn't answer. I hastily check the call logs and note a long phone conversation. Tigers don't change their stripes and leopards don't lose their spots. A player will always be a player and I refuse to be played--not by Zach or anyone else. I spit his sweet words at his phone. There's no one but you, if you'll have me.

  I exit the call log and browse to his stored photos. Paging backward, I find a folder dated at the beginning of last year, before Zach came to America. A stunning blonde with pale blue eyes and classic features stands next to him, her height reaching to his eye-level. A perfect pair. How did I ever think a tiny Filipino girl like me could be more than a pastime?

  This is nuts. I need to leave this joint before my heart gets sliced out of my chest. I'll call Cliff and force him to give me my passport. He's going to have to if he doesn't want me to report him to the police and blow my father's cover.

  He picks up on the first ring. "Yeah?" He sneers, thinking it's Zach.

  "It's me, Vera."

  "Oh, Vera. How wonderful to hear from you. Are you okay?"

  I grit my teeth at his smarmy voice. "No, I'm not. I want to go home. If you don't want me to file a police report on my missing passport you'll have to do what I say."

  "Sure, sure. Where are you staying?"

  "You don't need to know." Even though he might have guessed, I don't want Cliff to meet up with Zach again. "Book me the next available flight to San Francisco. I'll need my clothes, purse and luggage, too."

  "Sure you don't want to come back to the mansion? Offer's still open."

  "Nope. Text me the flight number and confirmation and meet me outside the airport. Otherwise, I'll send the police and tell them who Mr. Ping really is."

  "What? You'd turn in your own father?"

  "Of course, so I better have that ticket in my hot little hand tomorrow morning, or you're finished."

  "I'll call you when everything's ready. Bye."

  My entire body's shaking by the time I end the call. I'm gambling he cares more about protecting his rear-end than messing with me. I scroll through the messages. Maryanne hasn't replied yet and I don't feel up to talking to my mother. What the hell would I say to her? Guess what? Papa tricked us all. He's rich and owns a vineyard. Oh, and he's a killer.

  I throw the phone on the bed and lie down. My sweet, soft-spoken Papa, who loved me best. Who tucked me in and sang to me, who gave me Bing-Bing, who still loves my mother. He could never cut anyone in cold blood, could he?

  His words don't ring true. I heard the inflection in his voice, suppressed as if reciting his lines. Could he have been paid to take the blame? Or is this still my wishful thinking?

  There's a knock at my door. Shit. What is Zach trying to do? Rope me in with his charms and crush my heart faster than a juiced-up kangaroo in a boxing ring?

  "Vera?" Zach says. "I waited, but I guess you're busy."

  I march to the door and yank it open. I don't know why my lips are quivering and I'm about to explode into tears, so I shove him. He stumbles into the wall before I realize he's taken off his prosthesis.

  "Zach. Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

  He balances himself on one crutch. "Is something wrong?"

  "No, nothing." I hug myself to keep from trembling.

  "You're upset. Want to talk about it?"

  How can he stand there, looking so innocent? Well, duh, maybe because we're not in a relationship. Maybe because he sees me as a temporary plaything, and my feelings don't matter.

  I hate that my eyes are swelling and I'm wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from some laser tag arena, looking like the waif he rescued from Chuck E. Cheese's.

  "Let's sit outside and you can tell me what's bothering you." He holds out his hand, but I don't take it.

  I don't want him to know. That'll just puff him up. But my body follows him as he hop-steps through a pair of French doors. The lake glitters in the moonlight, and a lonely bird calls from the top of a nearby tree.

  Zach arranges the pillows on the swing and slides into it after laying his crutch on the floor. Before I can resist, he pulls me into his lap and embraces me.

  "Stop pretending you care." I'm stiff in his arms.

  He cups my cheek, turning me to look into his eyes. "You don't know what I went through while you were missing. I couldn't eat or sleep. All I thought about was you, and how empty I'd be without you."

  "Why are you saying these things? I'm going home as soon as I get my passport. Besides, your home is here."

  "No, my home is wherever you are." His eyes darken. "I'm serious. These last few days have been torture. If you go back to California, I'll go with you."

  "What about your fiancee, the woman you're marrying?" I push off his shoulders.

  He jerks his head as if I'd slapped him. "You snooped through my messages?"

  "It doesn't matter." I jump from his lap. "I'm not your girlfriend, never was--just a friend whose benefits have been cancelled."

  He lunges for me, but I skip down the steps of the porch.

  "I'm not marrying Krista." He picks up a crutch and points it at me. "When I was hurt, you visited me every day. She gave me some line about school and field research. You were there, Vera. Night and day. You stuck by me when I was in pain. You cared."

  "I'm not your backup plan." I march toward the French doors. "I feel bad for you, but it's obvious she still wants to marry you."

  He staggers and hops toward me. It would be mean to take advantage of his missing limb and slam the door in his face, especially after pushing him earlier, so I let him come to my side.

  "I no longer want to marry her." He holds up a hand to stop me from interrupting. "It was supposed to be a merger to take on the Pings. My father lost the winery, and she has no interest in managing hers. With the Pings gobbling up all of the smaller farms and vineyards, she needed my father's expertise. He's already working for her, but . . ."

  "Where do you fit in, stud services?" My tongue tastes as bitter as the words I spit out.

  "No. It was an arrangement to keep her in her grandmother's will. She has to marry a vintner of the right background."

  "You're kidding me." I grab the doorknob. "And you went along with this?"

  "My father wants me to have a winery someday, and she can't be bothered with the day to day management. Anyway, we wouldn't have been together much. She w
ants to travel and do her biological research. I would have been traveling and competing in triathlons, so Dad would have been fully in charge. It was an arrangement."

  "You seem to make arrangements all over the globe." I open the French door and step over the threshold.

  Zach clutches my arm. "That was before the accident, before I got to know you. I'm a changed man."

  There's a twinge in my heart. He utters those words "before the accident" so mournfully, the pain etched in every shadow of his rugged face. His eyes look like pools of despair, all hope extinguished. A tingling pain runs from my heart to my fingertips, and I want so desperately to soothe and comfort him. His stump hangs uselessly from the cut-off jean as he wobbles on his single foot. He lets his hand drift to his side.

  I move back onto the porch. "What do you want?"

  "A chance." His voice comes out in a rough whisper. "When the doctors told me they couldn't save my leg . . . I wanted to die. Everyone else either felt sorry for me, or told me to buck up, that everything would be okay. But you . . ."

  I swallow, my throat tight, and I blink back tears, remembering how utterly defeated he was.

  "You didn't give me empty words, but you were there, every day. You sang in a language I didn't understand and it gave me hope that one day I, too, could care about someone besides myself."

  "I wasn't asking anything in return." I try to step away, but he drops his crutch and grabs both my shoulders.

  "Vera, I'm falling for you." He squeezes his eye shut, his lips twitching as if it were the hardest thing to admit. "Even though I'm no longer much of a man, I want you too much to let you walk away."

  He has my heart on a leash, drawing me into his arms; that broken voice melts the last of my reservations. He needs me. I've never had a man come at me with weakness. All my relationships have been sparring matches to see who had the upper hand. The one with the harder heart wins, and I always won.

  I run my hands up his sides and around his back, burrowing my face into his chest.

  Is it love when you feel his pain and would give anything to comfort him, do anything to make him smile and give him a ray of sunshine?

  Or is it love when you're drawn into his arms like it's your hiding place, safe, protected, and cherished?

  Or is it love when it just is?

  We move together to the porch swing and I sit with my head resting on his shoulder. The moon has risen above the tree tops. Stars twinkle and zip across the night sky. The swing rocks, and the words of a song slip from my throat.

  "Nandito Ako" to let him know "I'm Here."

  Chapter 19

  My body stretches with sweet languor on the crisp clean sheets. Sunlight streams through the lace curtains, but the chatter of maniacal laughter outside my window knocks me from my Zach-induced stupor. Who let a troupe of monkeys loose?

  I peek through the curtains to investigate. A pair of cartoon-looking birds with smiley beaks, dark brown wings and eye patches giggle from a tree near the window. I wonder if they are the famed kookaburras that substitute for alarm clocks in these parts.

  Jolting electro dance music beeps from Zach's phone and I fumble for it on the nightstand to answer it.

  "Vera?" Maryanne's voice pipes through the handset. "I was up all night with Emma and turned off my phone. Are you okay?"

  "Yes, I'm fine. I wanted to know how Emma's doing."

  Maryanne yawns. "I brought her home from the hospital a few days ago. We're still tube feeding, but she's doing well except for the apnea. The monitor was going crazy last night. I had to rouse her every hour or so."

  "You must be exhausted. I'm sorry. I'm so glad you called back."

  "Vera?" Maryanne's voice lilts. "You sound way too happy. Did you and Zach make up?"

  How can she tell? Butterfly wings fan my stomach, and I can't find my voice.

  "You still there?" Maryanne persists. "He's really a good man if you stop putting him on a pedestal."

  "He says he's falling for me." The words come out too fast and breathy.

  "How do you feel about it?"

  "I don't know," I say, even though I suspect I'm in too deep. "It's like when he's hurting, I hurt, and I can't turn my back on him. I can't walk away, like I always do."

  "You're in love." She sounds so gleeful. "It's finally happened."

  "You think?" I want her to confirm it. I want her to tell me it's true, even though I'm afraid the bubble will burst and it'll only be a dream of teddy bears and cotton candy and carnival rides and sticky kisses.

  "Oh, it's definitely L. O. V. E. Girl, I knew you had it bad when you went every night to his bedside, when you brought him food, and helped him learn to walk again. And when you tried to break up and kept going back? You were a goner."

  Part of me bristles to hear her explain it so glibly. "I wasn't that obvious. Besides, there are issues, problems."

  "There are always problems. That's what makes it worthwhile."

  "You're such a romantic," I tease. "Me? I'm practical. Sure, he's sweet and irresistible. But he's vulnerable right now, so he's latching onto me. Once he gets his mojo back, he'll be back to his tomcatting ways."

  "Is that what you want?" Maryanne pins me. "You say these things, but do you really want it to be that way? Or are you afraid to admit that he might really love you?"

  The butterflies scramble for the exit, and I roll onto my stomach. "It'll hurt so much more when I lose him. I can't relax. There are serious things going on."

  "Does it have to do with that Cliff fellow? Lucas heard from Zach the three of you went on some sort of expedition."

  "No, Cliff's nothing. I got rid of him already."

  "Then what's the worry? Enjoy the rest of your vacation with Zach. I'm so happy for you, and you better tell me everything when you get back. Promise?"

  "Yes, promise." My palms are sweaty, and I'm feeling a mixture of elation and dread. "Give Emma a kiss for me and say 'hi' to Lucas. Tell my mom I'll call her soon."

  "Sure, bestie." She makes a smacking sound. "Can't wait to hear the details. Bye."

  ***

  I shower and pull on a pair of Zach's middle school warm-up pants and a SpongeBob shirt. I still don't know what I'll do about footwear. I can't go into a store barefoot, but at least I'm wearing underwear. Last night's make-out session had been facilitated by my lack of meltable panties. My chest flushes with remembered tingles, and I take a deep breath to clear the haze. He left me languid and drowsy, my every nerve stroked and satiated, but took nothing for himself.

  The door to the kitchen is ajar, and I hear voices. Zach's aunt is serving someone breakfast.

  "I kept an eye on them last night," she says. "Krista's not going to be happy if he keeps hanging around with her."

  "He'll tire of her, like he has with others of her kind," a man replies.

  "I don't know, she's quite a tart, and he looks at her all moony-faced. Isn't there anything you can do? He's your son, after all."

  The man who must be Zach's father laughs. "I might have something on her that'll put her behind bars."

  A chair scrapes and the floor squeaks. I duck behind a grandfather clock. Aunt Addy looks toward the hallway and says, "I think she's still asleep. After all the noise she made out back, I'd be surprised if she can walk this morning."

  My face heats at the thought she noticed. Not only is she a sharpshooter, she's also a spy.

  He snickers. "That bad or good, eh?"

  "What do you have on her?" Addy says.

  "Her father might have been hiding out on the Ping estate. I read Zach's email. I called in a raid and they caught a gardener. He's being extradited to the United States. If I can show that Vera aided and abetted his escape, that she knew of his existence and didn't report it, I can have her charged as an accessory."

  "Kill two birds with one shot." Addy's voice sounds menacing. "I'll keep her here while you call the police."

  The smell of sizzling bacon reaches into the living room. Instead of watering my mout
h, it nauseates me. What am I going to do? Will I truly go to jail? Even worse, they'll question me and force me to betray my father when they find out the gardener's a decoy.

  "It'll be tricky though." His father continues. "I don't want Zach to know anything about his mother's death."

  "I agree. It's too sordid to think she had an affair with that monkey. I told you what kind of woman she was, but of course you men never listen." She thumps a plate on the table. "You better watch that Zach doesn't impregnate his daughter."

  I'm going to die! My father had an affair with Zach's mother and killed her? The shakes hit me. My relationship with Zach is doomed, fatally doomed, D-O-O-M-E-D.

  "I often wonder what happened to the kid," Zach's father says. "Maybe we should have kept it. I hate loose ends."

  They had a child together? Hot and cold chills creep up and down my spine. Sweat flushes my face, and I struggle to control my breathing.

  I tiptoe back to my room and call Cliff. "Did you get my plane ticket? I need to leave right now."

  "What's the rush? Sure you don't want to stay until your concert?"

  "This is serious. They have something on all of us, so you better listen. I'm going to sneak out right now. Meet me on Red Rock Road between the lake and the turnoff."

  "Got it." His tone is hard. "I'll be there."

  Quickly, I arrange a pile of towels and clothes under the blanket to make it look like someone is asleep. I exit through the back porch, walk low behind the latticed arbor and wait at the end of the road.

  After twenty minutes or so, Cliff drives up in a black BMW. I climb in quickly and duck behind the dashboard when I spy Zach on his motorcycle going toward the bed and breakfast. I hate leaving like this. After last night, I had planned on telling him everything, hoping he'd understand. But now I have no choice. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in an Australian jail. My stomach sours and my throat tightens. What if I'll never see Zach again?

  "You're looking spry this morning," Cliff says in a snarky tone. "What happened to the sexy dress?"

  "This is my disguise," I shoot back. "It seems I'm about to become a fugitive. They want to report me as an accessory to my father's escape."