by Joyce Lamb
She gave a sober, perfunctory nod. “Got it.”
When they were alone, A.J. popped up out of the chair. “What the hell is going on? That guy was going to kill you.”
He’d also gotten away. When Bailey had come to, A.J. had been frantically trying to revive her. Sirens had already been screaming in the distance, and the intruder was long gone.
She knew what he wanted now, though. The camera she’d given Austin. Or, rather, whatever was on the film in that camera. But what did all that have to do with James?
Killing you would be worth it just to see the look on your deadbeat brother’s face.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?” A.J. asked.
Bailey glanced up at her friend, who stood before her with arms crossed against her chest. Bailey had brought danger into A.J.’s home. Unwittingly, yes, but A.J. could have been hurt. Or worse. Hell, if her friend hadn’t brandished a gun at the intruder, Bailey herself probably wouldn’t have escaped with nothing more than a massive case of anxiety and a headache.
Bailey met A.J.’s questioning gaze. “So, you have a gun.”
A.J.’s eyes narrowed in response to the dodge. “My dad bought it for me a couple of years ago and showed me how to use it. I’ve got a license.” She cocked her head. “Out with it, Bailey. What the hell is that guy after?”
“I don’t know.” Lying was easy. The more involved A.J. became, the more at risk she would be.
“Did you see your car when we left for the ER?” A.J. asked.
Bailey nodded. The passenger-side window had been smashed, the glass littering the curb in front of A.J.’s building. The intruder apparently had checked her Honda for the camera before breaking into the apartment.
“What was he looking for? You must know.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Don’t try to protect me. I want to know what’s going on. Is it Jamie?”
Bailey gave her a sharp look. “Why would you think that?”
“Maybe because he’s the only shady part of your life?”
“He’s not shady.”
“Look, he’s your brother. You love him regardless. I get that. But you can’t sit there and look me in the eye and tell me he’s not carrying hazardous cargo after spending four years in prison.”
“He’s been out a year. If this had anything to do with him, don’t you think it would have happened before now?”
“Depends on what he’s been up to for the past year.” A.J. pursed her lips, as if considering her next words. “I heard what that son of a bitch said to you when he had you by the throat. I know this is about Jamie.”
Bailey slid off the gurney. “The police are waiting to talk to me.”
“You’ve always had a blind spot for—”
“Don’t,” Bailey snapped. She so didn’t have time for this.
A.J. squared her shoulders and crossed her arms. “You’re so predictable.”
That stopped Bailey, and she met her friend’s frustrated gaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Things get tough, and you shut out the people who care about you. You did it after your dad was killed, and you did it again after the stuff with Daniel.”
Bailey stiffened. “I’m really not in the mood for deconstructing Bailey—”
“Well, I am. I let you shut me out. I let you get away with … what should we call it? How about ‘quirk’? I let you get away with that quirk. You shut people out. Well, here’s my quirk that you’re going to have to learn to tolerate: A man broke into my home and assaulted you. Someone, most likely the same man, trashed your home and your car and stabbed you. I want to know what the hell is going on, and I’m not going away until you tell me.”
Bailey sighed and rubbed at the back of her neck where a knot of tension had settled. She hated denying A.J. the answers she wanted, but she also couldn’t live with making her friend more of a target than she already might be.
When Bailey remained silent, A.J. sat beside her on the edge of the gurney and bumped her shoulder against Bailey’s. “Will you at least tell me what you’re going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Another lie. She knew exactly what she was going to do. Get the roll of film that had been in Austin’s camera and have it developed.
A.J. sighed. “I called my parents. Dad’s coming to get us.”
“I can’t go with you.”
“You can’t go home. That guy knows where you live.”
“I don’t want to endanger your family—”
“Dad’s a retired cop, remember?”
“With a bad heart,” Bailey said.
“He can still handle a gun.”
“I won’t chance it. If anything happened to him … or you …”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not letting you go somewhere alone,” A.J. said. “Maybe Dad could call one of his old buddies and secure a safe house.”
“I don’t need a safe house.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ll call Payne Kincaid, okay? I can stay with him.”
“How can you be sure you wouldn’t be found there, too?”
“Even if I were, it’d take a tank and a rocket launcher just to get through the front gate. The place is locked down tighter than a maximum security prison.”
“I still don’t like it. You should have police protection.”
“Tell that to the understaffed police department.”
“What about staying with Cole again?” A.J. asked. “You were safe with him.”
“No.” She knew she spoke too quickly, because A.J.’s eyes widened. She made an effort to sound perfectly reasonable. “He’s already gone above and beyond. I can’t ask him–”
“I can.”
“A.J., seriously. You turned to your Dad for help tonight. Payne has been like a father to me since Dad died, so that’s where I’m going.”
A.J. raised her chin. “Then I’m not leaving until he comes to get you.”
“Fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”
A.J. fished in her purse and handed over her cell. “Just so you know, my dad’s going to be even more difficult than I’ve been. And he still carries a gun.”
Bailey smiled at her friend, relieved that A.J. didn’t appear to be holding the big pile of lies against her. She reached out and caught her friend’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you.”
“What? For letting you have your way and possibly getting yourself killed?”
“For saving my life,” Bailey said seriously. “You saved my life tonight, A.J.”
The redhead’s eyes misted over as she clasped Bailey’s hand between both of hers. “Then you’d sure as hell better not make it for nothing.”
Chapter 22
Draining the last of a cooling Starbucks latte, Cole waited for a clerk at the Kendall Falls police headquarters to do a database search for a year-old police report bearing the names Bailey Chase and Daniel Chambers. He’d decided that if he couldn’t get what happened out of the people directly involved, then he’d go the official, and probably most reliable, route.
The blond, twentysomething woman at the desk started to shake her head. “I’m sorry, but that case is still open.”
“Still open? It’s a year old. That’s got to be a mistake.”
She shrugged as she toyed with her ponytail. “I’m not the one who makes those decisions.”
“Can you tell me the names of the filing officers?”
“Officer Molly Jenkins.”
Perfect, Cole thought. He’d developed a working relationship with her in the past several months. “Thanks.”
As he walked away, he checked his watch and decided that 9:15 a.m. was late enough to call A.J.’s. He couldn’t explain his need to talk to Bailey, to hear her voice. He’d spent yesterday restless and pacing, unable to concentrate on anything, which had led to a night of tossing and turning.
He berated himself for worrying about her, for letting himself get dragged into someone e
lse’s problems. Again. He should have learned his lesson after Sally McCoy. That time, he’d almost ended up dead. But Bailey was different. She wasn’t a woman who couldn’t kick a drug habit and f-ed up her entire life. She was …
The thought trailed off as, frustrated with himself for being wishy-washy about Bailey Chase, he pulled out his cell phone.
No one at A.J.’s picked up.
He’d heard about A.J.’s penchant for sleeping through anything as noisy as a tropical storm, but he’d expected that Bailey would answer instead.
The intensity of his disappointment irked him.
* * *
Bailey sighed as she sipped the most heavenly coffee she’d ever had. “You always have the best coffee.”
Payne Kincaid smiled at her from across the small table that occupied a sunroom that was easily the size of her living room and dining room put together. The business section of the morning newspaper was spread before him, which was how she’d found him when she’d come down. A silver cordless phone rested on the table near his hand.
“I’m a firm believer in ‘you get what you pay for,’ “ he said.
“Well, you must pay millions for this stuff.”
He nudged the black carafe that sat between them. “Drink up. You look like you need it.”
“I really am fine, Uncle Payne,” she said. A dull headache still throbbed in her temples, but overall, she felt much better than she had the night before.
He looked unconvinced as he checked his Rolex. “Breakfast should be up any minute. I took the liberty of asking the staff to put together your favorite. Or what was your favorite when you were a kid.”
“Pancakes with pecans and cinnamon syrup?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course.”
Smiling, she sipped more coffee. As his attention went back to the business page, she studied the man who’d treated her like a daughter for as long as she could remember.
She loved his hair best. Thick and blond and salted with silver, it fell in layers as if he had only to run his fingers through it to get it to fall into place. Even the lines in his face, moderated by a deep, year-round tan, were charming. Everything about him was dignified, always in complete control, his dark brown eyes never giving away a hint of what he was thinking or feeling. She tried to remember whether she’d ever seen him sweat.
Catching her scrutiny, he smiled. And, for the first time in days, she felt safe. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here,” she said.
“I believe you were the one who once told me my home is like a fortress.”
She glanced around at the expensive blond wood, Italian ceramic tile and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on an acre of green grass and palm trees that could easily have passed for a golf course. More floor-to-ceiling windows showed a view of the Gulf of Mexico, its surface glittering like shards of glass in the morning sun.
Of everything about his home, she loved the artwork best. Every aspect of the house—architecture, décor, lighting—was designed to draw attention to the art. There were no prints here, no imitations. Everything was original, and while Payne appreciated the masters, he also had a fair amount of love for lesser-known artists.
Her favorite piece was an onyx sculpture of a sleek panther with feral eyes. She thought of Cole Goodman with his dark, almost black hair and piercing blue eyes. He moved like a panther. And his eyes …
Shaking her head, she forced her brain away from him and refocused on her surroundings. Payne’s home certainly didn’t look like a fortress. But she was well aware of its extensive security measures. In some ways, the security seemed excessive. But the artwork alone was worth millions, so she couldn’t blame him for wanting to protect what was important to him, especially when she was benefiting from it.
She glanced at him and found him watching her with an affectionate smile. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything,” she said.
“Not at all. I’m delighted to have you. I don’t get to see you nearly enough these days.”
She reached over to briefly clasp his hand. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No need to be. I know you’re a busy woman.” He folded the newspaper and set it aside. “I let you off the hook last night because you were exhausted, but we need to talk now about this trouble you’re having.”
She nodded as she sipped her orange juice. “I’m ready to tell you all about it now.”
“Good. I’m listening.”
Chapter 23
Cole went to the front desk at the Kendall Falls Police Department and asked for the police officer who could hopefully give him the answers he wanted. Less than a minute after the desk sergeant made a call, Officer Molly Jenkins appeared, a welcoming smile on her pretty face.
“I haven’t seen you in ages, Cole Goodman.”
He returned her smile as he shook her hand, struck as usual by how small she was. Petite, blonde and blue-eyed, she looked more like a cheerleader than a police officer. When he’d first met her, he’d doubted her ability to hold her own in even a mildly tough situation. Not because he was a sexist bastard but because she looked far too delicate. Turned out, she knew how to use that to her advantage. After Cole had seen her take down an unsuspecting guy twice her size, all his doubts had been sheepishly put to rest.
“Hey, Molly. How’ve you been?”
“Busy. We’re understaffed even more than usual. Budget cuts. What can I do for you?”
“I have some questions about a case you worked about a year ago involving Bailey Chase and Daniel Chambers. I’m hoping you remember the incident.”
Her blonde eyebrows scrunched together. “Of course I remember it. But don’t you work with Bailey Chase at the Sun?”
He nodded. “She’s a co-worker, yes.”
Molly considered him with quizzical eyes. “What’s going on? Is she in trouble again?”
“What kind of trouble would that be?”
She cocked her head. “Is this for a story for the newspaper?”
“No. It’s … uh, personal.”
“Then why don’t you ask her?”
“I’d like to know what I’m dealing with first.”
“Are you two dating or something?”
“No! At least … no.” He shrugged. “I’m curious, that’s all.”
“I’m not going to betray that woman’s privacy because you’re curious, Goodman.”
“Can you just stop being a cop for a few minutes and talk to me like the friends we are?”
“A couple of beers at O’Malley’s does not make us the kind of friends who share other people’s secrets.”
“That hurts, Molly.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have to get back to work.”
He put his hand on her arm to ask her to wait. “I like her, okay? And Daniel Chambers is a friend. I seriously need to know their history before I get in any deeper.”
Her eyes went to slits. “You’re a friend of that asshole’s? I thought you had better taste than that.”
“We haven’t hung out since college, if that helps.”
Her demeanor softened. “Maybe a little.”
“Daniel’s told me some stuff about him and Bailey, and I think he’s lying.”
Just like that, Molly’s expression hardened. “Oh, he’s lying all right.”
Cole’s stomach did a slow roll. Could this be worse than he even expected? “Molly, please. Bailey won’t talk to me. I … I want to help her. If I can.”
She sighed and gestured toward the exit. “Let’s walk.”
Outside, Cole squinted against the harsh morning sunshine. A storm brewed in the distance, threatening to turn the sunny, seventy-eight-degree day unpleasant.
They’d walked a full block before Molly spoke again. “I don’t know all the details. I just know what I saw.”
“Of course.”
They turned onto a side street of white stucco and faded blue awnings, where pedestrian traffic was light. Molly still took another minute before she
started talking.
“My partner and I were first on the scene. A neighbor had called 911 after hearing shouting and a loud crash. At first, it looked like an accident. Chambers said Bailey tripped and fell through the glass coffee table.”
The rich latte Cole had downed churned in his stomach. “Jesus.”
“There was quite a bit of blood, and she was already in shock when we got there. While I called for an ambulance, Chambers started losing it. He kept apologizing. The paramedics came and took her away while my partner and I talked to the neighbors who’d called it in. When we cornered Chambers with what the neighbors were saying about the shouting and the noise, he broke down. He said he and Bailey had been arguing. He wouldn’t admit to hitting her, but it seemed pretty obvious that that’s what happened.”
Cole’s fingers curled into tight fists. Bastard. That fucking bastard. “Did he say what they were fighting about?”
She shot him a sharp look as they paused at an intersection to wait for a “walk” signal. “What difference does that make?”
“I’m just trying to get the full picture here.”
“If he hit her, it doesn’t matter what they were fighting about. There’s no excuse.”
“I know that, Molly. Don’t you think I know that?”
“Depends. Are you a friend or a reporter here?”
He clenched his jaw. “Friend. I’m her friend.”
A lock of hair blew across her face and she tucked it behind her ear as she frowned at the darkening sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
She faced Cole suddenly. “A piece of glass sliced her open here.” She drew a finger across the right section of her abdomen where Cole recalled seeing the scar puckering Bailey’s skin.
“I saw the medical report, Cole. It’s part of the case file. She was nine weeks pregnant. The baby didn’t survive the trauma.”
Cole’s breath locked in his throat. Oh, God. He couldn’t think beyond that.
Oh, God.
Rage billowed up inside him like a cloud of thick black smoke.
Molly resumed walking, and Cole had to force himself to fall into step with her.
“When I finally got the opportunity to talk to her,” Molly said, “a couple of days after the … incident, she refused to press charges. Said she wanted to move on. I gave her my card and asked her to call me later if she changed her mind. She never did. I tried to reach out to her a couple of times, but she didn’t return my calls.” She squinted sideways at him. “That’s why the case is still open. We didn’t have enough to charge him. He never admitted to anything, and the neighbors just heard shouting and a crash. The case was too weak without a statement from her. I was hoping she’d change her mind.”