by Adrianne Lee
The possibility dampened his palms, grabbed his chest.
“I’ve made scrambled eggs.” Laura smiled at him. “Jake, I’m so relieved that you’ve agreed to go to Riverdell with me.”
He nodded, his mouth too dry for him to speak. Just don’t make me sorry, Laura.
Laura discerned his unspoken warning as though he’d shouted it at her. She pressed her lips flat, her hand reflexively tightening on the frying pan handle. The last thing she wanted was to let him down. But his doubts mirrored her own. If the evidence wasn’t among Ruthanne’s belongings, he would never trust her again.
Forget that she’d had no control over where the sample jars might have been put. Without them, there was only her word that any of this had actually happened as she claimed. A man with Jake’s law enforcement background could conjure a number of counterscenarios for Cullen’s disappearance, Sunny Devlin’s murder and that of the woman at the motel.
Laura knew none of those concepts would shed favorable light on her. She scooped the eggs onto plates, layering the largest portion onto the one she meant for him. She doubted she could choke down a single bite now. “When do you want to go?”
“I’ve got to call Kim.”
“Why?” The knot in her stomach doubled.
“I told you—she’s the one who packed up the house and arranged storage.”
“Of course. I’d forgotten.” Laura took the stool next to his. She lifted her fork and poked at the fluffy egg mixture. Contemplating facing Kim, and all the other Riverdellites who thought the worst of her, destroyed her appetite.
But Jake attacked his breakfast with the same gusto he’d shown since hitting his teens. A wistful smile swept through her at the memory of Ruthanne standing in the Wilder kitchen—amid a sea of grocery bags—laughingly complaining that it would be cheaper if she bought the Shop-rite until Jake was grown and paying for his own meals. “The boy’s as bad as his papa’s old Chrysler—a regular fuel guzzler.”
It seemed he still burned calories like mad, Laura thought, recalling last night’s passion in his garage, recalling the feel of Jake’s leanly muscled body pressed against her. A flush swept her, and she strove for something else to concentrate on. “Did you sell your mom’s house or keep it?”
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Sold it.”
The discomfited look that stole across his face twitched her nerves. “Who bought it?”
He finished chewing, swallowed, took a sip of coffee, then dug the fork into the last of his eggs—all without meeting her gaze. “Ralph Russell.”
Laura’s pulse leaped. One of their suspects had been living in Ruthanne’s house? Dear God, what if the skin cream had never made it into storage? What if it was left in the house? Laura shoved her plate aside. “How long has he lived there?”
“Since escrow closed.” Jake swabbed his plate with a last wedge of toast. “About nine months.”
Her hopes hit the floor.
He finished the toast, reached for his coffee cup again and stood. “If you’re not going to eat, we can call Kim now.”
“Are you going to mention me or tell her why you’re coming to Riverdell?”
He frowned, obviously still unconvinced that his cousin might be involved in something as heinous as murder. “I won’t tell her anything worth repeating.”
“You call, then.” She gathered the plates. “I’ll clean up here.”
“DELL PHARMACEUTICALS,” Kim Durant answered in that falsetto voice that had annoyed him since they were kids. Why Payton had hired her as the receptionist, of all things, baffled Jake. He’d think the first impression Payton would want customers to have of DP would be something melodious. Harmonious.
“Hello, Kimmie.” Jake settled down at his desk and leaned back in his chair. He could almost see her, tucking a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear, her deep-set hazel eyes heavily veiled in the latest makeup craze.
“Jake?” There was a note of expectancy in her tone. “Is Aunt Ruthanne worse?”
“About the same.” He suspected this news disappointed his cousin. Not that Kim didn’t truly love Ruthanne; she just loved gossip more, and sources outside of Riverdell were far and few between. “I wanted to make sure you were going to be around tomorrow.”
“Well, yes, I am. Why?”
“I’m coming to town.”
He heard her draw in a sharp breath. “My goodness—this is unexpected. What changed your mind?”
Her curiosity oozed through the phone line. Jake raked his hand through his hair and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He’d told Kim months ago that he’d never step foot in Riverdell again. Damn. She’d jump on this news like a cub reporter gathering her first big scoop. Seeking to cool her ardor, he said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Business.”
“Really? Payton doesn’t have any meetings with bigwigs scheduled. So, who’s visiting this one-horse town who needs a bodyguard?”
Laura’s image filled his mind. How much she needed someone to guard her luscious body worried the hell out of him, wore on his nerves, shortened his temper. “Personal business.”
“Oh, I see. Well, in that case, the guest room is ready and waiting,” she said, a bouncing, eager note in her voice.
“I won’t be there that long.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “I was hoping to get some of the gang together and give you a real welcome home.”
“Riverdell isn’t my home anymore, Kim. I won’t be back after this trip.”
“I see.” She was quiet a moment. “Well, then just why are you coming?”
As Jake had expected, “personal” didn’t register on Kim’s brain as being “none of her business.” He’d thought long and hard about what to tell her, realizing it had to be something believable—something to do with his mother’s belongings. “I want to make arrangements to dispose of Mom’s things. Close out the storage unit.”
“I don’t understand—I thought you said she wasn’t any worse.”
“She’s not, but let’s face it—she won’t be getting any better.”
“Well, that’s pretty brutal.”
“It’s realistic.”
“Well, forgive me for finding it just too sad.” There was a catch in her voice now that cut straight to his heart and roused the anger he felt at losing his mother bit by bit to the ravages of the disease she’d developed.
But it wasn’t his cousin’s fault. “I’m sorry, Kim. Didn’t mean to bark. I just hate this, you know?”
“Yeah. Me, too,” she said on a sigh. “Well, look, if this is too painful for you, Jake, I could empty the storage unit.”
“No.” The word snapped out of him, sounding a bit quick, as though he had something to hide. He strove to soften his tone. “Er, I appreciate the offer, Kimmie. But there might be one or two things I’d like to keep.”
“Well, sure, silly,” she said. “Just tell me what they are and I’ll ship them to you.”
He frowned, his brows coming together with such force a jab of pain poked his forehead. Dear God, one day soon he would have to empty that storage unit for real Dispose of all the items that had constituted his parents’ lives, his childhood. His throat closed as if grabbed by a giant fist. “That’s just it—I may not want anything. But I have to look.”
“Oh. Well, sure.”
She giggled, a nervous tittering that grated on his ragged nerves.
“Well, I’ve got the key. I’ll either be home or here.”
“I’ll call when I hit town.”
AS SHE STACKED the dishes in the dishwasher, Laura considered the problem of the missing skin cream. They had to find it. Nothing else would restore Jake’s trust in her. His love for her. He’d been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. Losing him had felt like losing her parents all over again. It had opened the wound in her heart and left an ache as deep and mean as some viral strain, rendering her vulnerable in ways she detested.
That could change tomor
row—if they found her evidence. Just thinking that she might have a future filled with friends and family—instead of the bleak one she’d envisioned these past twelve months—roused her anxiety. Her hands trembled and her skin prickled. She doubted she could get through the next twenty-four hours on hope alone.
If only somewhere in her befogged brain Ruthanne knew where she’d put the sample bottles.
Laura closed the dishwasher with a thump. And if Ruthanne did know, could she tell them? Just how “good” was she on her good days? Perhaps they should visit her today. If Ruthanne could tell them what she’d done with the sample jars, they’d have a starting point.
Better that than a blind search. Thinking of all the furnishings and knickknacks Ruthanne had in her home, Laura imagined a storage unit filled to the rafters. It would take forever to go through all the boxes. And it might be a waste of time if the jars were still in the house now occupied by Chief Russell.
She headed for Jake’s office. Strange that she should feel so disquieted. Anxious with anticipation, yes. The hair on her arms standing up, no. She rammed to a stop. She knew this sensation. This gut-crawling premonition. It came whenever her pursuer neared.
Jake! If the killer had seen her with him at the hospital, he would know to look for her here. Laura hastened down the hall again, realizing as she neared the office that Jake was still on the phone. She slowed as she heard him tell Kim that he was coming to Riverdell to get into his mother’s storage unit. She froze. He’d promised he wouldn’t mention that. Promised he wouldn’t mention her. Had he broken both promises?
Disappointment wedged its way into her heart, but she understood he would continue to betray her until he truly believed her. If the sense of foreboding she felt was any indication, she doubted his trust would come soon enough. She tamped down her resentment, bit back the sting of tears behind her eyes and shrugged off her hurt feelings. She didn’t have time for the luxury of self-pity.
Jake settled the receiver on its cradle as she stepped through the doorway. For half a second, she watched him staring thoughtfully at the phone and wondered what had caused the sadness searing his face.
She moved closer to him. “I think we need to leave as soon as possible.”
He shifted toward her, his features rearranging themselves into a concerned expression. Frowning, he stood. “What’s the rush?”
She buffed her arms, rubbing down the gooseflesh. How did she describe this sense of impending doom without sounding hysterical? “It’s just a feeling…”
Once, that would have been enough for Jake; once, he had trusted her hunches. She held herself rigid. What would it take to make him heed her instincts now?
He cut across the distance between them and caught her gently by both upper arms. “Are you okay?”
He searched her face, his gaze intense and probing, the scar giving him the look of a menacing inquisitor. But such kindness issued from him, caring so palpable it could only come from deep within and then only if it was genuine. This Jake believed in her. This Jake owned her soul.
All her misgivings about him fled. She wanted to fold herself against his beloved body, huddle in his embrace like a small child escaping from the world and its evils But they weren’t children. The passion brewing in his darkening teal eyes was pure adult male…and it thrummed a chord deep within her woman’s body.
She gathered a shaky breath and reached up to stroke his cheek, feathering her fingers across the scar. He flinched, but she whispered, “No. Please, let me…”
He hesitated, then swallowed hard and nodded. His grip tightened on her arms. She knew him well enough to know he feared her revulsion and the humiliation and pain that would follow if she recoiled in disgust. But nothing about Jake disgusted her. And as she traced the uneven skin from the ridge of his cheekbone to his jaw, she reassured him with a tender smile. “It isn’t deep, is it?”
“No. I was lucky. No muscle damage. It’s just ugly.”
She cupped his face in both hands. “I’ll admit it’s given you a dangerous visage, but ugly? No, Jake. Ugliness comes from within, and by that measure you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly, then dipped low. He shook his head and laughed softly. “You never did have good taste in men.”
She trailed a fingertip down to his mouth, her tongue sliding out to lick her dry lips. “My taste in men is singular and A-one.”
He groaned and pulled her against him, his arms slipping around her waist. She buried her hands in his hair as his mouth claimed hers. The instant their lips touched heat poured through Laura, spilling life into every corner of her being, this man’s touch as essential to her as electricity to a lightbulb. But this wasn’t the urgent, anger-driven kiss of last night. This was two wounded hearts testing, discerning, relearning.
Her body melted against his with all the ease of fitted pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, natural and right, both complementing the other, both incomplete without the other. Joy hummed through her veins, numbed her mind.
She wanted nothing more than to be swept away on these delicious sensations, nothing more than to savor every ounce of Jake’s sweet love, nothing more than to be one with him, to feel him inside her, to have all that should have been theirs…
If not for a murderer.
The thought swept through her like an Arctic tide, shattering the crest of desire she rode and bathing her with renewed foreboding.
“No, we can’t…” She gasped the words on a ragged breath, struggling against the embrace she’d ached so long to enjoy.
Jake blinked, confusion and suspicion written on his ardor-flushed face, heady in his gruff response, “Why not?”
“I told you we have to get out of here. Now.”
He stepped back, shaking himself as though he were shaking off his feelings for her—the way a wet dog shook water from his fur. She expected anger from him—hurt, even. Anything but the disappointment and distrust etching the tight line of his mouth. “Why?”
She cast him a silent plea for understanding. “I don’t know how to explain it. Call it woman’s intuition.”
He dug his hand through his hair. “Call what woman’s intuition?”
“This awful feeling I have that my pursuer is closing in on me. On us.” Her smoky eyes turned the color of charcoal with fear and her hands trembled.
The last of Jake’s frustrated passion fled as he realized she was terrified. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, reassure her that he’d keep her safe. But at the moment, she needed solid reason, not well-meaning promises. “Your hunches are seldom wrong, Laura, and I’m not dismissing this one, but…I don’t think the person after you would try something as blatant as coming to my house to kill us. That’s not his M.O. So far every attempt on your life has been made to look like an accident—which shows our murderer is a patient person. He’s not going to panic now.”
She twisted her hands together. “Tell that to this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“Okay.” He nodded, and smiled wryly, hoping to ease her distress. “Our flight isn’t for two more hours, but it won’t hurt to go to the airport a little early. Get your things and meet me in the garage.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Her grin was all the thanks he needed. She hurried into the hall.
Minutes later, they were backing out of his garage. The sun shone golden in a sky as blue and wide as the Pacific, reminding him of the day he’d found this hilltop, had stood staring out at its see-forever view. For the first time in months he’d been able to breathe and set aside his disappointment, his heartache. He’d bought the house immediately—without a second thought to its access: a winding, single-lane road with several sheer drop-offs on either side.
“I didn’t realize on the taxi ride up here last night how treacherous your driveway is,” Laura said, her gaze craned over the edge.
“That’s why I own this four-wheel baby.” He patted the steering wheel as though the Ch
erokee were a person he admired.
“It must be pretty dicey when it snows or there’s ice.” She glanced questioningly at him.
The concern in her smoky eyes spread warmth through his chest, but he was instantly dismayed. Having Laura near felt too normal, too comfortable. Once this was over and she walked back out of his life, would his private aerie still hold the heartache at bay? “There’s a cot in the downtown office for those nights the weather misbehaves. It’s not—”
His car phone interrupted. He snatched it up. “Jake Wilder.”
“Oh, good.” Relief rang through the vaguely familiar female voice, followed by a heavy sigh. “This is Mrs. Thatcher at Sunshine Vista Estates.”
The tremor in her voice pricked his nerves. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Thatcher?”
“Well, dear me, yes, I’m afraid so.”
“What?” Disquiet chattered through him. He hadn’t expected his mother to suddenly worsen. Had helping Laura set the killer after Ruthanne?
He asked tightly, “Has something happened to my mother?”
Laura’s eyes were huge, the fear in his heart mirrored on her lovely face.
Mrs. Thatcher hesitated. “Then…she’s not with you?”
“Of course she’s not with me.”
“Oh, dear me. We—er, I had so hoped she’d come to your house.”
“Come to my—” He shook his head as what the woman was trying to tell him sank in. “She’s missing?”
Laura gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Mrs. Thatcher said, “Dear me, yes, it seems she is.”
“I’ll be right there.” He dropped the phone on the seat, then grasped the steering wheel with both hands and accelerated. The wheels keened as he rounded a curve.
“Jake, I know you’re scared—I am, too.” Laura pressed her body against the seat as though braced for a crash. “But if you don’t slow down you’re going to drive off the bluff.”