“Not at all. I never met her. You?”
She shook her head. That didn’t fall into the good explanation category. “Don’t you think it’s odd that she’d leave a portion of her estate to two strangers?”
“I don’t believe Dr. Hartwell knew any of the six people named in that letter.”
Yet another miss at a good explanation. Dana wanted him to tie all of this up into a neat package so she could put it on a metaphorical shelf. Because the shelf was the first step to getting him out of there.
“She left her entire estate to strangers?” Dana hesitated. “Why?
“I don’t know.” He took a step toward her, but she held her hand out traffic-cop style to stop him.
“Keep talking,” she insisted. “And don’t move. I’d prefer some distance between our bodies.”
The corner of his mouth hitched. Just a fraction. Almost a smile. But there was no humor in it. “I’ve learned that Dr. Hartwell passed away four days ago at the age of eighty-nine. She was a long-time resident of the San Antonio area. Widowed. Her only child, a son, died about thirty years ago. He never married and had no family.”
So, Cornelia Hartwell had no other heirs. Maybe that meant…well, Dana didn’t know what it meant exactly, other than the woman probably wasn’t her birth mother.
Not that she wanted Dr. Hartwell to be.
It was simply one of those possibilities that’d come to mind when the lawyer first told her about the inheritance.
Jack Cain slipped his hand into his coat pocket. Not quickly. A slick move that had Dana readjusting the pepper spray as he withdrew his hand.
“Plan to spray yourself?” he asked.
His question prompted her to glance down at the canister. Good grief. Even through her rain-speckled lashes, Dana could see that she did have it pointed right at her face. So much for the façade of being able to protect herself.
He calmly reached out, and without touching her fingers, or any part of her skin, he rotated the canister nozzle in his direction.
“Last night, when I was leaving my office in Houston, someone fired this at me.” He opened his hand and showed her what he’d taken from his pocket. It was a one-inch long metal capsule like object.
“Am I supposed to know what that is?”
“It’s a tranquilizer dart, and it was filled with enough barbiturates to incapacitate and even kill me. Someone shot it into my right shoulder blade. If the security guard in the building hadn’t seen it happen,” Cain continued, his voice a calm, steady drawl, “I’d probably be dead.”
Dana felt as if someone had sucked all the air right out of her lungs. She heard herself gasp. A helpless, wimpy sound that she hated.
And one she couldn’t stop.
He paused and made eye contact with her again. “I’m going to reach in my pocket, and I’d prefer you not pepper spray me when I do that. Okay?”
He waited until she gave him a nod before he pulled out a single sheet of paper and unfolded it. Not that he had to unfold anything. Dana recognized it. It was the letter.
“You’ve obviously heard the names Patricia Snyder and James Murphy?” he asked.
“Of course. According to the letter, they’re also in Dr. Hartwell’s will.”
“They’re the first two names on the list,” he supplied. “And they’re both dead.”
Her breath returned with a swoosh and lodged in her throat. “Dead?”
“Murdered. I just found out a few hours ago. I don’t have a complete report yet on either of them, but both appear to have been shot with a tranquilizer dart like the one someone used on me. Then, they were strangled. James Murphy was killed yesterday morning, and Patricia, yesterday afternoon. That’s why I’m here.”
Because she didn’t want to do something as dignity-reducing as falling flat on her face, Dana leaned against the rough exterior of the Purple Longhorn and let it support her.
God.
This couldn’t be happening again.
“You’re lucky. We’re lucky,” he corrected. “So far. The attorney who brought me this letter wasn’t.”
Dana lifted her gaze to meet his and tried to brace herself for what would almost certainly be more bad news. “What do you mean?”
“He’s missing. I tried to call him when I learned of the murders, but no one’s seen him since he delivered the letter to my office.”
It took Dana several tries to gather enough breath so she could speak. “That means three people connected to this letter are either missing or dead.”
Jack Cain paused a heartbeat. “Yes, and our names are the next two on the list.”
Dana was shaking now, and she couldn’t make it stop. She couldn’t stop the thoughts, either.
“I don’t understand any of this.” She pressed her hand first to her chest. Then her throat. “I don’t understand why I’m feeling these things.”
“Or thinking them,” Jack added. “I’m thinking them, too.”
He leaned in, put his mouth to her ear. “Where’s your soul?”
Chapter Three
Jack watched Dana process what he’d just tossed at her. Judging from her gaping stare and the slight tremble of her bottom lip, she didn’t process it well.
Not that he’d expected her to.
He’d known bits and pieces of this nightmarish puzzle for hours now and was still trying to come to grips with all of it. Hard to do. Because he knew firsthand that murder often didn’t make sense.
Especially these murders.
And especially these bat-shit crazy thoughts.
With her chest pumping as if she were starved for air, Dana started walking. Away from him. And she didn’t do a steady job of it. She wobbled a couple of times. Probably because her sleek black heels weren’t made for treks in rain-slick cobblestone alleys. Or more likely because the news he’d just delivered was enough to unsteady anyone.
Jack followed her.
The wind whipped at her thin black linen jacket and her above-the-knee green skirt, lashing it around her thighs. It played with her wet hair as well. Blond with threads of brown. The shoulder-length choppy cut suited her and framed her face and those cautious gunmetal gray eyes.
Because of the many newspaper articles dealing with her nearly fatal assault, Jack knew a few personal details about Dana. She was twenty-eight, just a year younger than he was. He knew that she’d dropped out of college in the middle of her sophomore year so she could take care of her adopted mother. A failed nursing attempt since her mom had succumbed to breast cancer. Then instead of returning to school, Dana had used nearly every cent of the life insurance money she’d inherited to renovate the bar that her mother had owned, and apparently loved.
And then the attack had happened.
Her ex-boyfriend had stabbed her, left her for dead. Jack couldn’t imagine any man doing that to a woman. Especially Dana. He also didn’t have to imagine how hard it was for someone to survive that. Yet, she had.
More or less.
The four-month long stay in the psych ward told him that the survival had come with a high price tag attached. Jack knew a little about those kinds of price tags, too.
What the newspaper articles and reports hadn’t told him, however, was that her scent would seem so familiar. Something that touched deep, dark places within him.
A scent that aroused every inch of him.
She stopped walking, and with her back still to him, she mumbled something and scrubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Why did you ask me that question?”
“Where’s your soul,” Jack repeated. “Because it’s what I’ve been thinking for hours now. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how I knew you were thinking it, too.”
“Are you a mind reader or something?”
“Not even close. I’m just a man very short on answers.”
Even though the temperature was only in the low fifties, she was obviously freezing because of her damp clothes. Jack eased off his coat, went closer and slipped it over
her shoulders.
Maybe because she hadn’t expected the gesture, she stiffened and snapped toward him. Dana looked at him with suddenly hard, accusing eyes. She didn’t refuse his coat, however. She hugged it to her.
“Thanks,” she whispered, her teeth chattering.
She stepped back, keeping at least two feet of space between them. Normally, that would have been a safe distance, but not this time. Nothing about this felt safe.
They just stood there. Watching each other. Sizing up each other.
With the chilled air sizzling hot between them.
“Do the police know everything you’ve just told me?” she asked.
Ah, so she wasn’t so distraught that she couldn’t come up with the one question he didn’t want to answer right now. “Some.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What exactly do they know?” she pressed, her voice impatient now.
“No one’s connected all the dots, yet.” And they probably wouldn’t on their own. Well, they wouldn’t until it was too late. Jack needed to make sure that too late didn’t involve the deaths of the others, including Dana and him. “Both respective police departments know they have an unsolved murder on their hands. I figured I’d make some calls after we talked and worked out a few things.”
She nodded, but he didn’t think it was an indication of agreement. “And what do you know?”
Yet another tough question. One that would require a detailed answer. Some of those details he couldn’t give her. Not because he thought she was involved with the murders.
No, she wasn’t a killer.
Jack would trust his instincts on that.
“Why don’t we go inside, dry off and then we can talk?” he suggested.
“That’s not going to happen.” With the pepper spray still white-knuckled in her hand, she motioned toward the handful of people who were racing on the sidewalk to get out of the rain. “If you don’t mind, and even if you do, I prefer not to be behind closed doors with a stranger.” She paused only long enough to glare at him and draw breath. “So, what do you know, Mr. Cain?”
“Jack,” he corrected. When she just stared at him, he repeated it.
“Jack,” she finally said. Not nicely, either. She said his name as if it were a persistent fungus.
“I’m having everyone associated with that letter investigated,” Jack explained. “I’ve managed to find some of the beneficiaries.”
“How many?” she asked.
“Alive?” But he didn’t wait for that particular clarification. “Just you.”
“Just me,” she repeated, sounding a little hysterical. She made a frantic circular motion with her hand. “Keep going.”
Alarmed that she might be on the verge of losing it, he stepped closer in case he had to latch onto her and stop her from running. “There doesn’t seem to be any solid or obvious connections among the six of us.”
Another frantic motion for him to continue. “But there are unsolid, unobvious connections?”
“A few. For instance, both you and I are adopted. Maybe the others are, too.”
The frantic motions stopped, and Dana bunched up her forehead. “You think we’re siblings?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “Do you?”
“No,” said just as quickly.
And she looked away.
The speed of her answer wasn’t something he wanted to explore beyond the possibility that she’d experienced the same intense physical reaction to him as he had to her.
Not that it mattered.
“Dana,” he tested and waited to see if she’d object to the use of her given name. She objected. Her peach-tinged mouth tightened. But she didn’t voice that objection. “You’re in danger.”
“Believe me, I’m beginning to understand that.”
“Then, I hope you’ll understand this. I want to offer you protection. A safe house. It may be the only chance you have for staying alive.”
She made a sarcastic burst of sound. “Why would I trust you with my life, huh?”
“Because you can’t trust the police.”
Jack left it at that. If Dana disagreed, he would remind her that the police’s promise of protection and the restraining order hadn’t stopped her former boyfriend, Trey D’Angelo, from nearly killing her.
Judging from the way she glared at him, she didn’t need a reminder. “I can handle this on my own.”
It was pure bravado.
And both of them knew it.
“How?” Jack challenged. “Where will you go? Back to your apartment? The killer will be expecting you to do just that. The other two were murdered within a few blocks of where they lived or worked. You’re in this monster’s kill zone right now. He could be watching. Waiting. Hell, he could already be in place to strike.”
She groaned, and paced. Like a caged tiger, she only ventured a few steps in each direction, keeping beneath the meager cover of the awning before turning back to him.
“I can’t go through this again, okay?” Her voice trembled. He was betting it wasn’t the cold causing the trembling but rather the raw emotion she could no longer completely contain. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “It nearly cost me everything last time.”
It took him a moment before Jack could trust his voice so he could speak. “I understand.”
Her head whipped up, and she sliced at him with a scalpel-sharp glare. “You can’t possibly understand what I’ve been through.”
Since words weren’t likely to convince her, Jack unbuttoned his shirt and pulled back the sides to expose the four-inch scar across his stomach and chest. Not a precise surgeon’s incision. But the effect of a violent gash that had nearly claimed his life.
Dana’s glare faded, morphing into shock. Then, maybe even sympathy. Her breath shuddered, and her bottom lip quivered again. Each quiver, each shudder sliced through him as effectively as a lethal switchblade.
“I understand what you’ve been through,” he told her. “But we can’t catch this killer if you don’t stay alive. You need a plan. Protection. A safe place to stay. You need me.”
Dana stared at him, her gaze sliding from his face to that scar. She seemed on the verge of at least considering his offer of protection, but then his phone rang, violating the silence. The spell was broken.
The moment, lost.
She reached into his coat pocket, extracted the phone and passed it to him.
“It’s Rusty,” the caller greeted Jack the moment he answered it.
Rusty Roberts. One of his best PIs. And under normal circumstances, a man Jack would have wanted to talk to. Too bad he hadn’t waited another five minutes so Jack could have made more progress with Dana.
Because one way or another, he would make progress.
He wouldn’t let her die.
Especially now that he’d met her.
“I’ve been at Dr. Cornelia Hartwell’s estate for the past six hours,” Rusty explained, his words rushed. “I’m posing as part of a clean-up crew, so I’ve been able to search through her files.”
It was perhaps the break they needed, but Jack didn’t get up his hopes. “And?”
“You said you didn’t know Dr. Hartwell. Or the other beneficiaries?”
“I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Because I found something hidden away in an unmarked file in the double-locked bottom drawer of Dr. Hartwell’s desk. How close are you to a fax machine or a laptop?”
“Probably close but not accessible since the owner refuses to let me go inside.”
That earned him another of Dana’s disapproving looks. Jack only lifted an eyebrow in return. It should have been a quick, nonverbal encounter where they both expressed their displeasure at each other’s stubbornness. Instead, a dozens things passed between them.
An entire argument.
And a reconciliation, too.
It was downright spooky. As if they had some kind of connection. Some primal encoded response that kept insisting that Dana was…
His.
Oh, shit.
Why the hell had that thought ever entered his mind? She wasn’t his. She never would be.
And Jack was almost certain he believed that.
Almost.
“Where are you?” Rusty asked, regaining Jack’s attention. Which was a good thing. Because his attention wasn’t where it should have been.
“I’m here in San Antonio in front of the Purple Longhorn pub.” Jack sandwiched the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could button his shirt.
“Then stay put. I’ll fax this to a PI we have in the area, and I’ll have him run it over to you.”
The urgency put another knot in Jack’s stomach. Not good because there were already enough knots as it was. “What’s this all about, Rusty?”
“I’m not sure, but from what I’m looking at, you might not have known Dr. Hartwell, but she knew you. Or rather, she saw you. She has pictures. I would just send them to your phone, but you'd miss the details, and these are details you'll want to see.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jack pressed.
“I’ll let you check it out for yourself, boss. In this case, a picture’s definitely worth a thousand words. And these pictures, well, they’re telling a son-of-a-bitchin’ story.”
Chapter Four
Whatever the caller had just told Jack Cain, it’d caused his jaw muscles to declare war on each other. Probably his other muscles, too. His whole body was suddenly rigid, and he seemed distracted.
Dana knew how he felt. She was tense to the point of being painful. And the distracted part? Yeah, she was feeling that, too. Distracted. Confused. Crazy.
What the heck was going on here?
Who was this scarred, intense man who’d just invaded her life with the bombshell that a killer might be after both of them? And why was he thinking the same thoughts that she was?
“What’s wrong now?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Jack slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “It might be nothing.”
“Right.” And Dana knew it conveyed the huge amount of cynicism that she wanted it to convey. “Please don’t tell me the lawyer who gave me this letter is dead.”
Dead Ringers Page 2