by Adrianne Lee
Don stepped outside, then lowered his voice. “Do you at least want me to do some more checking up on her?”
“No.”
“She was posing as Cathy Lewiston in Malibu. The Devlin woman died in her house. The police are looking for her. And you want me to sit on this?”
“Yes, I do. She’s not going to open up to me with you here.”
Don didn’t like that, but he knew it was true. Finally he nodded. “Soon as you know something, call me.”
“Tomorrow.”
Don blew out a disgruntled breath. “Make it a.m., man.”
“I will.” Jake shut the door and waited beside it until the taillights of Don’s car were headed down the drive.
He found Laura curled on the sofa where Don had sat a few minutes earlier.
She jerked her head up. “I see he’s still the same unpleasant—”
“He thinks he’s protecting me,” Jake cut her off. He had no patience left for the ongoing war between Laura and Don. Or for her reticence on the subject of Sunny Devlin. “It’s time you told me what happened in Malibu.”
Laura hugged herself, her back to the glorious view that now seemed a shadowed reminder of another starry night—one with smoke blocking out the Milky Way. God, had it really been only days ago? “Yes. I need to tell you.”
Jake settled himself across from her, expectation in his eyes, in the way he leaned toward her, his hands on his firm thighs.
She blew out a ragged breath. Her heart felt heavy, a lump of icy granite in her chest. “I’d been in Malibu for three months.”
The words sounded flat to her, as though she had only heard this story and not lived it. But she knew if she allowed even a speck of emotion into her voice the dam would burst again, as it had in the bathroom. Then she’d never manage to tell him this.
She forced her gaze to his. “I was starting to get that feeling again—as though I were being watched. As though he were coming closer.”
Laura swallowed hard, admitting to herself how very right she’d been about that sensation. And it hit her like a bolt; that same sense nagged her now. How much time did she have before he found her again? Tried to kill her again?
“Why don’t you start with Cathy Lewiston,” Jake suggested, as though he understood that the horrific outcome of the story made the telling of it difficult, painful, as though he sensed her thoughts were scaring her overmuch.
Gratitude cracked the icy crust around her heart, but still her distress lingered. Cathy Lewiston. The name she’d assumed for three months. Laura wondered if Jake would understand some of the things she’d had to do over the past year. If he realized she had associated with people he would arrest for the very services she’d procured from them. An awful thought clutched her heart. Had he looked in her purse? Found the half-dozen false identity cards in the secret compartment?
Deciding the only way to gain his trust was total honesty, she drew a bracing breath and said, “Cathy Lewiston came to life in Tijuana, in the back, back room of a local pottery stall, which is where Pedro Valdez does business.”
“I take it Señor Valdez specializes in fake IDs?” Jake’s voice held a wedge of disgust, reproval.
Heat brushed her cheeks. “I won’t apologize for what I’ve been forced to do. It was the only way I could get a job. A place to live. A car. The only way to stay alive.”
He said nothing. Neither did his look condemn; it was just stoic, a policeman’s mask.
She cleared her throat. “I felt as though it was time to sell my car and move on.”
“Why sell the car?” He frowned. “Why not just go?”
“I never keep a car when I move…in case he’s somehow gotten onto it.”
“Okay, so you were trying to sell your car.”
“Yes, I placed an ad in one of those giveaways. As a practice I don’t keep a For Sale sign in the window with a phone number because that would make it too easy to trace back to me.” She heard herself rambling and couldn’t stop.
But Jake was well versed in keeping a person on whatever subject he wanted discussed. “What does this have to do with Sunny Devlin?”
“She called about the car—said her parents’ anniversary was coming up and if the car was as advertised, she might be interested. I arranged to meet her at a restaurant a few miles down the beach.
“Ironically, perhaps tragically, she looked a lot like the disguise I’d taken in California. Tall. Blond. Hair about the length of my wig.”
Jake grimaced, and Laura felt the weight of guilt descend on her again. Sunny Devlin might still be alive if she’d been a brunette or if Laura had chosen a different disguise.
“Go on,” Jake encouraged.
“She wanted to buy the car. I hadn’t expected her to decide so quickly and hadn’t brought the registration. She insisted on test-driving the Taurus to my house to get it Said she had the money on her and that as good faith I could drive her new Corvette.”
“What happened?”
“I gave her quick directions and told her she could follow me if she wanted. But out in the parking lot, she jumped into my Taurus and took off. I headed over to her Corvette and found it had a flat tire. By the time I got help changing it, I was running about half an hour behind her. I hadn’t bothered to remove my house key from the ring. I arrived home to find the whole street blocked with fire trucks and gawkers. Neighbors I didn’t know told me the woman who’d lived there had just gone inside moments before the explosion. I don’t know what caused it.”
“According to Don—” Jake steadied his gaze on her”—a portable propane heater sitting in the living room had a jet leak.”
“And Sunny chain-smoked.” Laura’s hand went to her mouth as she recalled the woman lighting one cigarette after another in the half hour they’d talked at the restaurant. But it wasn’t the only thing sending shock waves through her. “Dear God, Jake, I didn’t have a portable heater.”
He reached out as if to touch her hair, then dropped his arm to the back of the sofa. “I guess you weren’t supposed to be around to tell anyone that.”
“But how did he think I’d set off the explosion? I don’t smoke.”
“The spark from a lamp would do the trick.”
“Sunny Devlin didn’t have a chance.” Tears burned Laura’s eyes and she hugged herself tighter. “Even the Taurus was flattened.”
Jake grew silent, serious.
Something else Don had said struck Laura. “The California police want to question me. Dear God, Jake. They’ll think I killed Sunny and stole her car. Just like Don does.”
She began to shiver.
Jake was beside her in an instant, pulling her into his arms as he’d done so many times after the loss of her aunt and uncle. She wanted to curl inside him and stay safe in his embrace forever. But he wasn’t holding her the way he used to. He was rigid, as though the guard around his heart were as deep as a castle moat.
Jake felt Laura’s heart pounding beneath his palm and wanted to stumble up and off of this sofa and run like hell. She felt too good nestled against his chest. Too perfect. Too vulnerable. Don’s warning rang through his mind. Don was right. Jake was the vulnerable one. The one whose heart was still in shreds.
He leaned back and gazed down at Laura. Her lovely eyes brimmed with tears, and his pulse leaped uncontrollably. He didn’t want to touch her, didn’t want to ease her distress, and yet he could no more stop himself than he could stop the sun from rising in the morning. He brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumb. “No one’s going to believe that you stole that great car just to blow it up.”
She gave him a brave, lopsided smile, but her lower lip quivered. “I pray you’re right.”
Jake wanted the subject changed. Wanted his attention diverted to some less dangerous area than Laura’s kissable lips. “Do you think Sunny was somehow connected to all this?”
Laura frowned. “How could she be?”
He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I just wonder
if your meeting her was as innocent as it seemed. If all she really wanted was to buy your car.”
She shoved away from him and sat straighter. “What are you saying?”
“Sunny Devlin was a P.I.” He stifled the urge to pull Laura back into his arms. “Is it that much of a leap to think she could have been hired by someone to track you down?”
Laura’s mouth dropped open. “You’re suggesting that Sunny Devlin flattened her own tire?”
“Yes. I think she did.”
“Why?”
“Probably wanted to snoop in your house.”
“And I stupidly trusted her with my car. My keys.” Why? Why had she let her guard down with Sunny?
Laura’s hand flew to her mouth. But of course. All this time she’d been certain her pursuer was a man. Was she wrong? Was he really she?
Chapter Eight
A bone-deep weariness settled over Laura. Could he be she? The possibility boggled her mind, jarringly altered her list of suspects. Her desperation to lay her hands on the evidence leaped. “Why don’t we call Travis Crocker.”
“It’s 2 a.m.,” Jake spoke softly. Their gazes met, and a connection as sharp as a zing of electricity passed between them. “Why don’t we call it a night.”
Laura sighed with resignation. “Okay.”
A pang of yearning tugged at her heart, her spirit, tingled through the core of her. She wanted to crawl back into Jake’s arms and stay there forever. But she knew his comforting gesture had only been an act of kindness. Something he’d do for any woman in distress. His generous heart was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.
He cleared his throat. “You take my bed.”
“No. I’ve imposed on you enough today.” She stood and watched his eyes darken as they swept up her scantily clad body, knew that he knew all he’d have to do was reach beneath the T-shirt to touch her naked flesh and she’d belong to him again. At least for the moment…for the night. Could she settle for that? “I’ll use the guest room.”
“I don’t have a guest room.” He rose, averting his gaze with what seemed an effort, but not before she saw the lingering wariness in those teal depths. Emotions he could hide from others he’d never be able to hide from her. And yet, that familiarity held no guarantee they’d ever truly be close again.
He doused the family room light. “It’s my home office. I’ll take the couch in there. No, don’t argue with me. You could be spending the night in the hospital.”
She gave him a conceding smile. “And we’ll call Cullen’s brother in the morning?”
“Definitely.”
“Good.” Did this mean Jake was going to help her now? Or was she still on her own? The uneasy sense that she should leave grated her nerve endings as she approached the bedroom. But why? What did she fear? Her aching need to be with Jake? Or that the killer was closing in on her?
Those questions haunted her, and she slept fitfully until dawn, then finally fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. She awoke to find sun streaming through the unfettered windows. For several moments she felt disoriented. Too often this last year she’d awakened in a strange place, in a strange bed.
But this was no stranger’s bed. It was Jake’s bed. She hugged his oversized pillow, catching a hint of his aftershave. A thread of melancholy stitched her heart. If only this were Jake’s and her bed.
But it wasn’t and such foolish dreams would break her heart all over again. She lurched up. Her gaze snagged on a colorful array of shopping bags that sat on the opposite side of the bed. They hadn’t been there last night. She scooted to her knees, gathered the nearest sack and peered inside. Jeans. She pulled them free. Her size. The remaining bags contained underwear, socks, a pale-yellow pullover, a charcoal polo shirt, and sneakers.
All in the correct sizes.
How had he…? Her hand went to her mouth as memory dawned. The Christmas before the wedding Jake had wanted to buy her something special. But he hadn’t wanted her guessing, so he’d insisted she give him a list of her sizes, including jewelry. His gift had been her engagement ring. Had he kept the list all this time?
As she’d kept his engagement ring?
She scooped her purse off the floor and delved into its secret compartment. A second later, she lifted the necklace free and gazed at the ring dangling from it, a small golden circle with a quarter-carat diamond mounting. It was the one piece of Jake the killer had not taken from her.
She clasped the chain around her neck, glad to have it back where it belonged. She’d placed it in her purse before meeting Jake yesterday. To wear it around him, even secretly, had seemed wrong somehow. But today, she wanted the cool metal next to her traitorous heart, a talisman against false hope, a reminder that it was not on her finger, that she was no longer Jake Wilder’s betrothed.
For as encouraging as it was that he’d held on to something as personal as a list of her sizes, she’d come to a painful realization during the night about their previous relationship. Jake and she lacked the trust in each other essential to a lifelong commitment. Otherwise, their love would have been strong enough to withstand treachery from an outside force. It hadn’t. Jake had readily believed she’d eloped with Cullen. She had readily believed Jake might be involved in the cover-up of her aunt’s and uncle’s murders. He should have known better. She should have known better.
What kind of marriage would they have had based on so little faith? Her stomach pinched. And what about now? Could they trust each other enough to work together in order to bring a killer to justice? Or would Jake abandon her to her own devices?
She tugged the tags from the panties and slipped into them, but as she lifted Jake’s T-shirt, she remembered how vulnerable she was in this room. Apprehension prickled her spine. Half expecting to find someone spying on her, she shot her gaze to the windows. Her eyes opened wider and a relieved laugh tripped from her as she saw why Jake had no curtains or blinds. This room appeared to sit two feet beyond the cliff edge.
Anyone wanting to snoop on Jake would need wings or some sort of high-powered telescope and a place to position it. His nearest neighbor’s house hugged the next ridge, at least a quarter mile in the distance. Everything in between was sheer cliff walls and deep gully.
So much for protecting her modesty last night.
Grinning at herself, Laura began dressing, mindful of her stitches. She was glad to have clothes that fit, that felt as though they belonged to her, or that would belong to her as soon as she paid Jake for them. She tied the last shoelace, then tallied up the receipts. Her joy in the new clothes flattened. The cost exceeded the money left in her purse. How would she pay him back?
Now that she thought about it, when had he shopped for these clothes? What time was it? How late had she slept? She glanced at the clock radio on the bedside table, shocked to see it was nearly noon.
She pulled her brush from her purse, but without a mirror to consult, she couldn’t determine how bad she looked, or how best to fix her hair. She settled for sweeping it off her face and securing it at her nape with a Scrunchie. Mascara and lipstick she applied by touch.
Almost as an afterthought, she realized her head no longer ached, not even one dull throb. She was lucky to be alive today, luckier still to have escaped with such minor injuries. Would she be so fortunate next time? Or was her luck running out?
Desperation nipped at her as surely as her pursuer nipped at her heels. Had Jake already called Travis Crocker? Already found out she was telling him the truth about Cullen? Would he finally help her locate the evidence…if it still existed? The thought that Kim Durant might have destroyed or disposed of it, accidently or on purpose, chilled her.
And what about Don? Jake had brushed off his questions last night, but Don was persistent. He wouldn’t stand being kept in the dark for long. And once Jake related her story to him, he’d likely waste no time disclosing her whereabouts to the California police. Then Jake would insist she stick around and satisfy their curiosity. But would they
believe a story that sounded as far-fetched as hers? Look at the trouble she’d had convincing Jake.
Worry hurried her into the hall. Jake’s voice issued from a door directly across from her. She peered inside. This was obviously his home office, a space equally as large as the master bedroom, with the same wall-sized windows offering a view that seemed to extend into the next state.
He sat behind a mammoth desk, facing the breathtaking panorama, a phone to his ear. “Yes, Detective Healy. She showed up here last night.”
He paused, presumably while the other man spoke. Laura’s heart dipped to her toes. Police detective Healy?
Jake held his head high. “I know, I know, but better late than never.”
Hearing only his end of the conversation, she couldn’t tell whether Jake was with her or against her. She hated all the doubts, but that she could even wonder where his loyalties lay confirmed that they’d never trust each other enough for a lifelong commitment.
They’d be fortunate to make it through the next few days.
Laura’s heart ached for them both.
“Thanks,” Jake said, then hung up and spun his chair around until he faced his computer.
A scowl tugged his brows, puckered his scar. His jaw needed shaving. He wore the clothes he’d had on yesterday.
Sympathy fluttered through the butterflies in her stomach. How like him to put her needs before his own. Why must he think the full measure of a desirable man was a handsome face? What made a man sexy, in her opinion, came from within. And Jake could no more contain or hide his special assets than gift-wrap the moon. She grinned at him and gestured toward her new outfit. “Everything fits great Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I have some money—”
“I don’t want your money.” His expression darkened.
“I want to pay—”
“When you have a job again,…”
She drew in a calming breath and nodded. For a moment neither said anything, then she pivoted, her gaze landing on the phone, her mind leaping to the investigation they wanted to make and the one that the police were making. “Is Detective Healy with the Malibu police?”