Chapter 10
When Lincoln ended the call from his sister, Sabrina could tell he was upset. From what she could glean from the conversation, some of Tristan’s thugs had gone to his house and harassed Arizona and his other sister, Autumn. Two detectives had also come looking for him. Good and bad. They’d helped to scare the men away.
The threat of harming his sisters had pushed Lincoln over an edge. It was something to see, and she had to smother the way she loved that about him. His fierce protectiveness. The only problem was where it stemmed—from feelings he had for Miranda, the woman who’d died and he hadn’t been able to save.
Desperate to stop Tristan, Lincoln had driven them here, where they now sat parked in front of Tristan’s house in the Cadillac CTS-V rental. It was a bold move, according to Sabrina. What if Tristan or one of his men saw them?
A car passed going the other way. A woman jogged by wearing an iPod tucked into a holster clipped to her spandex shorts. Sabrina wished she was doing something like that rather than fighting to clear her name and having to go up against a man as dangerous as Tristan. At least she was comfortable. When Lincoln had said they were going on a stakeout, she’d worn something she could sit around in for a while, a black sundress. A little on the sexy side, she’d drawn a few stares from Lincoln, but that was okay.
Catching him looking again, she stole another look of her own of him. He was in tan khaki pants and a vivid blue knit shirt that really brought out his eyes. They were both dressed well for this activity. She pushed away the thought that she may have done it on purpose. Him, too. That attraction they had.
The houses on this street were good in size and nice. Nice enough for their Cadillac CTS-V rental to blend in.
Even from here she could see security cameras mounted to Tristan’s house. She couldn’t see any guards, but there had to be some. They were probably disguised as servants. The house itself wasn’t so expensive that it would raise red flags. It wasn’t anything that an upper-level manager at OneDefense wouldn’t be able to afford. It was the electronics that did it. It must have cost a fortune to set it up.
“How are you going to bypass all that?” she asked.
“Don’t know. For now we’ll just watch.” He twisted to reach into his duffel bag, coming out with binoculars.
“What if he sees us?”
“I’m not sure I care if he does.”
He certainly seemed brave. Maybe his experience gave him that power. Experience and a lot of connections.
“How did you find the policeman and arrange to meet with him?” she asked. “And that background check on Tristan.”
He looked through the binoculars at Tristan’s house. “I just know people.”
“Do you pay them?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes they prefer to swap favors.”
“Huh.” She nodded with a wry frown. Swap favors... What kind of favors? She looked around, not seeing anything special or significant. Or anyone.
Putting the binoculars down, he twisted again and this time retrieved what looked like a radio.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I need to have a way of listening to what he’s saying in that house.”
She eyed the cameras. “How are you going to do that?”
“He has a baby. With any luck, his wife has baby monitors.”
Mystified, she watched him start up the radio. “Kirby told me Tristan had a baby. He’s so old.” Yet one more thing that disgusted her about him.
“This is a shortwave radio. It will pick up any sound in that house through the baby monitors.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. Baby monitors are highly sensitive.” He turned a dial on the radio.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“You are so impatient. I’m looking for the right frequency.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“I know people who know all of this.”
Popular guy. “You must have a lot of friends. All of your neighbors love you. I’ve noticed that much.”
He stopped searching for the frequency as his eyes lifted from the task. “Most of them think I’m a pretty good guy. You’re my neighbor, too.” He wiggled his eyebrows, teasing her.
“I—I didn’t mean love.”
He chuckled.
Static smoothed out, and a crying baby came through the speakers. Was that coming from Tristan’s house? The background report had revealed the twenty-five year gap between Tristan and his wife. Having a baby with such a young woman merely stroked his ego.
The sound of a telephone joined the crying. “Tristan,” a woman’s voice said. “When will you be home?” After a brief pause where only the baby could be heard, she sounded disappointed when she said, “Okay. I need to go. I can’t get Everett to stop crying.”
“Bingo,” Lincoln said. He’d found the right frequency.
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah.”
“And frightening. Anyone could listen in on someone with a baby monitor.”
“Some people probably do.” He leaned his head back, ready to listen all night.
The baby monitor was quiet now.
“What now?” she asked.
“We wait.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes.”
She was no good at waiting. She’d rescheduled appointments when the wait was too long. She’d bought plane tickets to escape the idle moments. Sitting here doing nothing was going to torture her.
“How long do you think that will be?” she asked.
“As long as it takes,” he repeated, looking over at her.
Ignoring the fondness of that blue gaze, she leaned her head back like him.
She was really no good at doing nothing. Part of the reason she’d gotten as far as she had in her career was because she liked to be busy. She worked hard and she was efficient.
There was nothing efficient about sitting in a car waiting for a random appearance of Tristan.
Lifting her head, she rubbed her thighs, shifted on the seat, wishing she could stretch out. Resting her arm on the armrest, she tapped a tune with her forefinger to the song that kept going through her head. Feeling Lincoln still watching her, she looked over at him.
The fondness remained in his eyes. “You sure do have trouble sitting still, don’t you?”
“Turn on the stereo. I have a Bob Seger song running through my head.”
“That’s what’s making you fidgety?” He turned the key for battery power, not starting the engine, and the stereo played the latest Katy Perry song.
Sighing, she leaned her head back again, tapping her finger to the new song.
“This is better than Bob Seger?” he asked.
“Are you a classic-rock man?”
“Anything else is a bad attempt to reinvent the best.”
She lifted her head off the back of the seat. “At least it’s new. Don’t you get tired of listening to the same thing over and over again?”
“I don’t listen to music that often.”
“Too busy tracking down bad guys?” To avenge Miranda?
He didn’t say anything and his eyes no longer held fondness, which told her he suspected where her thoughts were heading.
“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” she said. “Miranda.”
“I wish my mother would keep her mouth shut.”
“Not talking about it isn’t healthy. It makes you do stupid things like cheat on women you date.” She couldn’t say he’d cheated on that poor woman, Rayna, who’d opened her heart to him in just a few dates. For some reason she just wanted to push him.
He turned his head with a derisive frown that reached his eyes. “You hav
e a lot of anger on the subject.”
About Miranda? “No, I don’t.”
“You’re quick to accuse me of infidelity when none exists.”
Oh, that was what he meant. “Trust, faithfulness and commitment are important to me.” Something she doubted he’d be able to give her. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Why are those things so important?” he asked, anyway.
“Why isn’t it important to you?” she countered.
“It is. Within reason. I’m not going to treat every woman I take an interest in as though I’m going to take her to the altar.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that you should. Geez, talk about anger.”
He grunted a laugh. “I’m not angry. Those things become important when the relationship is serious enough to warrant it.”
Which was never for him, not since Miranda. She didn’t respond, her mood sinking. What a depressing thought. He’d never be serious enough about her. She tried to control the emotion but couldn’t. Sometimes it was so hard to be strong when she was constantly up against love.
“I loved Miranda,” he surprised her by saying.
He faced forward, elbow on the door frame, masculine fingers brushing over his mouth.
She should admire him for holding the other woman in such high regard. Instead, it kept her mood low.
At last he lowered his hand, returning to the present and looking at her. “Why are you so defensive about it?”
“About what?” Commitment?
“Cheating.”
Why did he want to know? “I was cheated on, remember? Introduce me to anyone who isn’t changed after experiencing that.” She heard her own tone as she spoke. Defensive. Lashing out, even when Lincoln didn’t deserve it. “I’m just angry with myself for allowing it to happen to me.”
“Allowing it? You mean you tried to prevent it?”
She began tapping her thigh to the tune of the next song that played on the stereo. Anything to perk her mood up. “Of course. I choose the men I date very carefully. I don’t date just anyone. I have certain criteria that must be met first.” She had to truly know the man she was interested in before she let go.
“Trust, faithfulness and commitment?” He looked down at her tapping fingers. She bobbed her leg now, too.
“Yes. I find out the man’s history as much as I can and make judgments based on that. I also ask him questions that reveal his opinion about women in general.” She didn’t see any harm in telling him that. They weren’t dating and likely never would.
“What do you ask?”
“If he does the laundry or the dishes. Grocery shopping. Replacing the toilet paper on the holder.”
He chuckled. “Really?”
“I also ask him how he feels about a woman making more money than him, and, of course, whether he’s ever been unfaithful before.”
“The insurance guy obviously lied.”
So had Kirby. She turned away, looking out the window. It was dark now. “Yes.”
“Why are you so careful? Why screen the man at all? Why not just get to know them?”
“I do.”
“By interrogating them?”
“I don’t interrogate.” Again, her defensive tone rang in the car.
“I’d believe the insurance guy breaking your heart would make you defensive, but you were like that before the insurance guy.”
Was he deliberately steering the discussion away from Miranda? It didn’t matter; she answered, anyway. “I didn’t want to end up like my mother.” With a man who didn’t respect or love her.
“You have abandonment issues,” he said.
“Everyone does.”
“No, yours shape how you live. You grew up without a father, and have tried so hard to avoid men like him. It’s no surprise you ended up with one just like him, despite your efforts not to.”
“I don’t need any man to be happy and successful in this life.”
“I disagree. I think your happiness depends on it. Too much. You need to let go. You won’t find happiness until you do.”
“I could say the same to you about Miranda.”
“That’s different. We were in love. She died. If she hadn’t died, I’d still be with her and we’d have a family by now.”
His declaration of love chafed her. She did want that from a man. Real love. True and strong enough to withstand the temptation of other women. Why hadn’t she found it yet?
That was when it dawned on her that they both had some letting go to do.
A car drove by and turned into the driveway. Tristan was home from work.
“Now what?”
“We wait.”
More waiting? “For what?”
He turned his head to look at her, annoyed.
Sighing, she leaned her head back again. She had to find something to do.
“Hi,” Tristan’s wife said over the shortwave radio. The sound of a quick kiss followed. “I kept dinner warm for you.”
“I don’t have time.”
“What? You’re going out again?”
It sounded as if Tristan had gone to the bedroom and was now changing. “I shouldn’t be too late. But don’t wait up for me.”
“Tristan,” she complained. “I was hoping we could spend some time together tonight.”
“Don’t pressure me. I said I wouldn’t be late.”
“You’re always gone. It’s like I live alone now. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“How do you think it makes me feel when you don’t support my work?”
“I do. But you spend too much time there. You’re not even an executive. Why do you give that company so much when they give you nothing in return?”
“Stop it. It will pay off. You’ll see.”
“That’s what you always say. I’m sick of it.”
“You’re sick of it?” Tristan’s voice raised.
“Are you seeing someone?”
“What kind of question is that?” Tristan was really angry now, and with little provocation.
“You’re always gone. I—”
The sound of Tristan hitting his wife accompanied her startled and pained gasp. Some furniture tipped over as she must have stumbled, possibly fell.
“Once again, you’re out of line,” Tristan growled. “I work hard so you can stay home and do nothing more than take care of this house!”
Sabrina put her hand on the door handle and was about to open it and break down Tristan’s front door. Lincoln stopped her with his hand on her other arm.
“Wait,” he said calmly. “He’s leaving.”
“What if he hits her again?”
“Wait.”
“I’ll be home when I want to be home.” Tristan’s voice came through the radio again. “What I do is none of your business.”
His wife was crying and didn’t respond. She was probably afraid to.
“If you would just listen to me and do what I say, I wouldn’t have to do this.” Now he sounded almost contrite. Sabrina felt like throwing up.
“I just want you home, Tristan.”
“You don’t appreciate me,” Tristan spat. “If I end up with someone else, you don’t have to wonder why. Stop nagging me about what I do with my time. If I want to be with another woman, I will. Is that clear?”
His wife’s sobbing breath revealed her shock.
“Is that clear?” he shouted.
Sabrina imagined him raising his fist in a threat.
“Y-yes!” his wife shrieked.
The sound of Tristan’s footsteps were followed by the slam of the garage door.
Tristan’s car backed out of the garage and driveway. Lincoln waited for a moment before following; the sound of
Tristan’s wife crying filled the car.
“Turn that off,” Sabrina said. “Before I kill him.”
Lincoln turned the receiver off and started to follow Tristan.
* * *
Tristan led them to The Focus, a trendy nightclub in Newport Beach with a view of the ocean and a large patio off the back. Lincoln parked a good distance away.
“What’s he doing here?” Meeting someone? Sabrina would not be surprised.
“Let’s go and find out.”
Sabrina climbed out of the rental and walked with him to the club entrance. Inside, they stayed in a dark corner near the dance floor and watched Tristan meet a woman at a table. She was about twenty years younger than him. Slender and big breasted, she had long, thick, blond hair and wore too much makeup. The V of her dress dipped inappropriately low.
“Is she a hooker?”
Lincoln smothered a laugh. “Probably not.” He found them a bistro table and sat across from her.
“Can I get you something?” a petite waitress asked, wearing the short black skirt and halter top that was the uniform of the club.
“Two beers.” Lincoln told her what kind.
Tristan sat close to the blonde, flirting with her in a way that made her eyes droop sexually. A waitress dropped off two drinks.
Their beers arrived. Sabrina sipped and watched couples dance as the music slowed to a more romantic tune.
Lincoln slipped his arm around her, twirling her into the thickening crowd on the dance floor. She caught sight of Tristan. He was still involved with the blonde woman.
“He looked over here,” Lincoln said.
He’d swept her into a dance to avoid being seen. She was aware of everywhere they touched. Holding her hand, his other rested on the small of her back. She reflexively moved her fingers over Lincoln’s hard chest, her gaze alternating between his subtly watchful eyes and Tristan.
“What kind of man hits his wife and then goes to meet another woman in a bar?” she asked.
“Not a very nice one.”
She looked up at him surveying the bar and covertly keeping track of Tristan. Lincoln wasn’t the type to harm a woman. No, exactly the opposite. He hadn’t intended to hurt Rayna, and he’d come to Sabrina’s rescue, no matter the danger to himself.
Armed and Famous Page 14