“What about your dad?”
“He left before I was born. I guess single motherhood runs in the family.” She smiled past her difficulty in talking about her father. Many times she’d gotten curious about who he was and had always stopped taking action to try to find him. He obviously hadn’t been interested in her, so why should she bother tracking him down? Still, the curiosity had taken root. Seeing her mother die alone hadn’t helped. Her mother had loved the father of her child, and like her own mother, had never remarried.
“Well, if you wind up in this family, you’ll probably wish you were back in the days you were an only child.” Autumn breathed a laugh.
How would she end up in this family? Why had Autumn said that? Remy looked over her shoulder at Lincoln and caught him staring, intent blue eyes and sexy, messy blond hair. His arm was resting on the table, biceps round and strong.
“He keeps looking at you like that.”
Remy dropped her hands from the back of the chair, uncomfortable.
“Are you two seeing each other?” Autumn asked.
“Oh, no. We’re just neighbors, and Maddie loves him.”
At the sound of her name, Maddie trotted over and sat, lifting a white paw, looking up with sweet eyes. Then a low growl began, puffing her whiskery cheeks, building into a soft, communicative bark.
Autumn laughed. “I was going to ask who Maddie was.” She knelt and pet the dog. “No introductions necessary. Hello, Maddie.” The dog shifted her butt so that she could put her paw on Autumn’s leg now.
“What a sweet dog.”
Remy shook her head as Maddie’s gaze moved to her, as though saying, “She likes me more than you.” “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Food’s on,” Camille said.
Remy surmised that Lincoln kept paper products on hand for events such as this. He had a big pantry full of them.
“Here you go, honey.” Camille handed Remy a plate and took one herself. “Let’s fill up.”
Oh, no. Did she mean to sit by her? Remy had no other choice than to precede the woman to the spread on the counter by the stove. She put a dog on a bun and covered it with chili, followed by a few fries.
Just as she’d feared, Camille led her into the dining room off Lincoln’s living room, where someone had lengthened the table and added a few chairs, and sat beside her.
Camille ate a few bites before using her fork as a conversational pointer. “You know,” she said, “Lincoln is my oldest.”
“Yes, he told me.” She ate a fry.
That news seemed to give Camille pause. “You two have been getting close.”
“Oh, no.” Why did everyone think that?
“Lincoln isn’t exactly an open book. Especially after Miranda.”
Remy sensed his mother testing her. Did she know about Miranda? “Who is that?”
“His girlfriend. He was going to marry her. He’s never told me that, but I know.”
“What happened?”
Camille abandoned her fork, and sadness sobered her eyes. “They were on vacation in New York, walking down a busy street when a drive-by shooting took place. The shooter was targeting someone else, but she was in the way. It was completely random.”
The violence of it caught Remy unprepared. Lincoln seemed to attract that kind of mayhem. And now Remy had dragged him into her mess.
“That’s horrible.”
“He still thinks there’s something he could have done. It happened more than seven years ago, and still he can’t let it go.” Camille shook her head with lingering sadness. “It’s the reason he became a bounty hunter.”
Remy went still. Bounty hunter? “I thought he taught martial arts.”
“He does. But he hunts bail jumpers, too.”
Lincoln entered the room with his plate, joining the rest of his family at the table and sitting on the other side, two chairs down from his mother. He caught her look and eyed his mother, clearly picking up on the somberness of their talk and not liking it.
And didn’t it just figure that he was a bounty hunter? If Remy could, she’d get up and run out of here and keep running. Her dog and fear of Tristan stopped her. Maddie sat beside her, begging for food with just a look and a string of drool hanging indecorously from her whisker-peppered cheek. She had to find a safe place for Maddie while she cleared her name.
* * *
Lincoln shut down his computer, simmering over what he’d just learned from his internet search. It hadn’t taken long.
His family had finally left after midnight, and after he took Remy over to her house for a bag of clothes and toiletries, she’d gone to bed and he’d sneaked into his office. He’d still been annoyed after trying to get his mother to tell him what she and Remy had discussed at dinner. His mother had feigned ignorance on her way out the door, claiming she had only tried to get to know his new girlfriend. Remy wasn’t his girlfriend. Nor would she ever be after what he’d just read.
Now he understood why she was so reluctant to talk to police. She was wanted for murder in Newport Beach, California. And he was drawn into the trouble.
Lincoln was furious.
Not caring about her privacy, he went down the hall and opened the guest room door. She stood beside the bed, covers in hand, ready to climb in. Freezing when she saw him, she stared, unconcerned with the spaghetti-strap, knee-length nightie she wore. Right now, neither was he.
“We aren’t going to sleep until you tell me about Kirby Clark. And make sure you don’t leave out the reason why you tell everyone your name is Remy Lang.”
A couple webpages had revealed that. Clark’s murder was all over the news, and so were pictures of a striking look-alike to Remy Lang, known in Newport Beach, California as Sabrina Tierney, top HR executive for OneDefense Corporation. A far cry from the assistant she was now. He’d stopped reading then. He wanted to hear it from her. Better yet, he’d rely on some strategic friends for better intel.
At last she gathered her wits and straightened.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said. “Tristan Coulter is trying to frame me for his murder.”
“Why?” His patience had already worn thin, and he struggled to hang on to what was left of it now.
“I was a friend of Kirby’s.”
He stepped forward. She stayed on the other side of the bed. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
Ramrod straight and still, she didn’t respond. Why would she? She’d assumed a false identity to escape the trouble that had chased her away from California.
“What kind of friend was Clark to you?” he said to help her open up.
Several seconds slid into the past before she turned and sat on the bed.
He went there and sat beside her, partly to let her know he wasn’t leaving until he had answers, and partly as a supportive gesture. He had no idea where the latter came from. The woman had lied to him. But he wanted her to tell him the truth.
“I met him at a conference,” she finally said. “We struck up a friendship after that. He wanted more. An opening came up at OneDefense, and he helped me get the job.”
“What conference?”
Again, she hesitated. “It was a gun show.”
A gun show. “You like guns?”
“I’ve taken up an interest recently.” She sounded almost sarcastic.
“What’s recent?”
“Over the past two years. But I’ve target practiced before that.”
She didn’t strike him as the type to have an NRA membership. “Did you know about the job when you went to the gun show?”
“No. The gun show was a few weeks before the job became available.”
“And you suddenly took an interest in a job at OneDefense? Didn’t you already have a job?”
&
nbsp; “I worked for an insurance company that wasn’t paying well. Certainly not as well as OneDefense. And...”
And what? Had she known about the illegal gun sales? Had her allegiance with Kirby primed her to get in on the profits?
“Did you ever become romantically involved with Clark?”
Her eyes blinked. “As I said, he wanted more. I didn’t.”
He’d seen from pictures that Kirby Clark was an attractive man. Divorced. Available. Had she used him to get in on the gun sales? She claimed to be trying to gather evidence against Tristan. That much must be true. Lincoln had seen the envelope, and Tristan was trying to kill her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have her own agenda where the gun sales were concerned. And she had developed an interest in guns before she’d met Kirby.
“Why was he murdered?” he asked.
That upset her. She averted her head and again didn’t reply immediately.
“We had plans to go for drinks and dinner one night. I was early getting to his office.” She looked up at him, and he saw the truth in her eyes. “Tristan was there. He was trying to convince Kirby to join him in his illegal operation. I couldn’t tell if Kirby was seriously considering it or if he was playing along to keep Tristan under control. Tristan saw me in the doorway. There were still a lot of people in the office building, so he didn’t do anything right away. He pulled me into Kirby’s office and closed the door. That’s when he told Kirby he thought they should get rid of me. Kirby argued with him, and eventually we were able to get out of the building.”
She lowered her head, tears springing to her eyes. “We were sure Tristan would try to kill me. We went for a quick dinner to make plans. He gave me Wade’s name and told me to leave California. When he drove me home, Tristan was waiting inside my house. He had a gun.”
Wiping away a tear, she took a pillow from the bed and hugged it, then slowly turned to look at him, cheek resting on the pillow. “Tristan found a knife in my kitchen and tried to stab me. Kirby stopped him. He and Tristan fought, and Kirby was stabbed. Tristan forced me to handle the knife. He was wearing gloves. He never used his gun and took the knife with him when he left. The police found it in a Dumpster near my house. As Kirby lay there dying, he told me to go as we’d planned. I called for help for him and did as he suggested. Now I wish I never had.”
Because going to Wade had led to more trouble. Lincoln reached over and touched her back, rubbing gently. “Did Wade help you the way Kirby said he would?”
“At first. He arranged a false ID for me. But he held that over my head, tried to get me to start buying guns through his store so that he could sell them illegally on the street. He was getting greedy. I refused, and he began to get violent. Then he discovered I was gathering information on him. Most of the money he made from the illegal gun sales went to Tristan. Tristan is running the operation.”
“Why was Wade killed?” Lincoln asked, although he already had a pretty good idea.
“He knew about Kirby, that Tristan was the one who murdered him. I told him. He must have threatened to go to the police.”
Because Wade wanted more money out of the gun operation. So Tristan had killed him. If what Sabrina was saying was true, she hadn’t known Wade was in on the gun sales until after she’d gone to him for help.
Lincoln believed her. She was telling him the truth. But there were some things she was keeping from him, such as why she’d gone to the gun show. Why would someone who worked for an insurance company take interest in firearms? He supposed it was possible. Lots of people had hobbies outside of work they didn’t share. But other aspects of Sabrina’s personality didn’t fit the profile of a gun enthusiast. Her femininity. Her relationship with her dog. Hell, the dog itself. Although a hunting breed, Maddie was no hunter.
Perhaps she’d known about OneDefense, taken an interest in the company and planned to get a job there. What drove her? What was she after? To expose Tristan? Or use what she had on him to get what she wanted? What could that be? Money? Or was meeting Kirby innocent?
Now that Tristan had thwarted her efforts to clear her name, what would she do? What would they do? It was time for him to take charge.
“Go pack a bigger bag. We’re going to California,” he said.
“What? No. The police are looking for me there.”
“They’re going to be looking for you here, too. If they haven’t pieced together Kirby’s murder and your false name yet, they will very soon.”
“How do you know that?”
“They’ll recognize you in photographs, for one.”
The rest would be simple logic. How could she be Sabrina Tierney, wanted for questioning in one murder investigation, and Remy Lang, a person of interest in another? Both in different states. Of course, it would appear she’d run from one only to land herself in trouble with another.
He watched her lower her head as she drew the same conclusion. The only way to clear her name was to expose Tristan. And how would they do that when she was continually being linked to murders?
Chapter 4
Sajal Kapoor whistled as he pushed his blue janitorial cart along the polished floor of a wide hallway at OneDefense Corporation. He’d grab himself a soda before heading up to the executive and management offices to finish up his night. He was more anxious than usual to leave. His wife worked part-time at a bank. Their schedules worked well for their son and daughter, ages ten and fourteen. Sajal took them to school in the mornings and his wife picked them up. But he was always eager to get home to see her. His wife and kids were his world. He was a simple man and, frankly, was glad there were people like the ones who ran this company. He preferred his undemanding job over that life. He put in his forty hours and went home. His weekends were devoted to his family, not work.
Things sure had turned out different than his dad had always taught him. Left out of those teachings was the reality that a man had to sacrifice a family life if he wanted to make a lot of money. That wasn’t something Sajal had the slightest desire to do.
His parents had moved to the United States before he was born and raised him to believe this was a country where dreams came true. This gun company wasn’t his idea of a dream, but it gave his family health insurance and a roof over all their heads. His wife’s income went for food and clothing, and his income covered the rest. They even managed to save a small amount each month.
Hearing Enrique and Jasper at the espresso machine, a smile perked up Sajal. Tuesday night at ten o’clock in Newport Beach, California just got a little brighter. Jasper always wore jean overalls. He was OneDefense’s senior electrician. Enrique was one of four handymen. Leaving his cart near the long cafeteria island, he went to the two.
“Sajal,” Enrique greeted in his Spanish accent.
“Good morning,” Sajal said with a slight Indian accent he’d gotten from his parents, who still spoke their native language frequently. They hadn’t mastered English as well as Sajal had. Growing up here was different than immigrating.
Jasper handed him an espresso. He took it with a nod of appreciation and sipped.
“We were just talking about Kirby Clark,” Jasper said. “I heard on the news this morning that there’s still no sign of Sabrina Tierney.”
The entire company had been abuzz over Kirby’s murder. And why wouldn’t they? It wasn’t every day a man was murdered at your place of employment.
First, a rumor had spread that Kirby and the head of HR had been having an affair, then he’d turned up dead and the woman had disappeared.
“You think she did it?” Jasper asked.
“I heard another woman who was seeing Mr. Clark showed up last Tuesday asking questions about Sabrina,” Enrique said. “The two didn’t know about each other. He was bangin’ them both. And you will not believe this...the other woman is married!” Enrique’s eyes popped wide open,
and a big, white, toothy smile formed on his face. He was loving the gossip.
“Explains why he kept her a secret,” Jasper said.
Sajal wasn’t so sure all of this gossip was accurate. “Sabrina’s assistant said Sabrina and Kirby were just friends. They went to lunch and dinner a lot but didn’t sleep together.”
“That’s what they’d want you to believe.” Jasper finished his espresso. “I think Sabrina found out about the other woman and killed him.”
Sabrina Tierney had always been kind to Sajal. She’d worked long hours and had usually been in her office when he’d come by to empty her trash, one of the last things he did before leaving for the night. She’d hand him the trash can and ask him how his family was doing. She even remembered their names. It was rare when someone at that level acknowledged him so genuinely. No, that woman had a good heart. He didn’t care what the news said. She didn’t kill Kirby. He may not be the brightest man on Earth, but he had a good sense about people, and Sabrina had never given him a bad feeling.
“Have you ever met her dog?” Sajal asked.
Both Enrique and Jasper looked at him without answering, mystified over his question, in such contrast to the scandal.
“No owner of a dog like that could be a killer,” he continued. “She brought her in sometimes, when she worked real late.” Which had been often. “That dog would jump up on me and try to lick my face off. Always had a stuffed toy to show me, too.” He wondered what had happened to her and Sabrina.
“You really don’t think it was her?” Jasper asked.
Sajal shrugged. “I’m no detective, but it just doesn’t seem that way to me.”
After a bit, Jasper said, “You think you know people, and they end up getting arrested for murder. It happens.”
Enrique nodded. “Yeah. The quiet neighbor. Teachers molesting students. Priests.” He nodded again. “Yeah. Sabrina seems nice, but she could have murdered him.”
“Who else could it have been?” Jasper asked.
“The married woman,” Sajal said.
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