“What’s wrong?” he demanded. He strode forward. “Who was on the phone?”
She tried to laugh but the sound came out brittle. “When I answered, the person hung up.”
The talons flexed in reaction to her words.
“It was probably a wrong number, Greg.”
“Not a chance. Hurry and change, we’re getting out of here.”
Her hands reached for the bag. Greg expected her to go all shy on him and take the bag into the bathroom, but once again, she didn’t do the expected. Her pleasure at the sight of the brightly colored outfit was genuine.
“It’s beautiful.”
Satisfied, he smiled. “Will everything fit?”
“I think so.”
Greg watched with unabashed interest as she dropped her pants and stepped into the bikini panties he’d selected. They reminded him of the gold bathing suit, nearly disappearing against her skin. While her actions were brisk rather than seductive, Greg found himself wanting her again Only the color in her cheeks told him that she was aware of him watching—aware and just the smallest bit uncertain. This sort of intimacy was obviously new to her. She didn’t have a coy bone in her body.
He forced himself to reach for his own bag. He struggled out of the T-shirt, replacing it with a more dressy sports shirt. He was still grappling with the light blue twill pants when McKella’s hands were there, helping him.
Her fingers on the button at his waist were almost his undoing. “If you keep touching me, we’re getting right back into that bed.”
Her hand stilled and she stepped back. “If I didn’t have to get to the hospital by seven, I’d take you up on that boast.”
“Boast?”
She laughed, then twirled for his inspection. “What do you think?”
“I think we need to get our clothes back off.”
“Later.” Her smile was filled with promise. “Are these shoes for me?”
He let himself be diverted, knowing they didn’t have time for what he wanted to do, and relieved that she still wanted him and wasn’t having regrets.
She tried on the sandals dubiously. “A bit big,” she said, “but they’ll stay on my feet—and they certainly go better with this outfit than the shoes I was wearing. What do you think?”
He said what was in his heart. “I think you’re exquisite.”
She looked away quickly, her gaze fastening on the last bag. “Want some help with your new shoes?” she asked.
He lifted a pair of loafers from the box and dropped them on the floor so he could slide his feet inside.
“Smart thinking,” she approved.
“Thank you. Shall we go?” He was anxious to leave the hotel. If McKella’s husband was trying to locate her, she needed to be out of harm’s way.
At the hospital, after seeing her disappear inside the relative security of the ICU, Greg went downstairs to look in on her private investigator. Eric Henning was sitting up reading a western.
“What happened to you?” he asked as soon as he spotted Greg in the doorway.
“McConnel,” Greg answered.
“Didn’t I tell you to watch out for that knife?”
Greg grinned. “This time he had a gun.”
Henning swore. “McKella?”
“Upstairs visiting her father. She’s bruised and scared, but otherwise unharmed. McConnel got away with the process her people were developing.”
Henning muttered a more creative obscenity.
“Yeah,” Greg agreed. “How are you doing?”
“Fever’s gone. I’ll be out of here tomorrow. A friend of mine’s been doing some digging on McConnel for me. It appears he reverts to his real name until he’s ready to move on to his next target.”
“So if I go hunting for Jason McConnel instead of Paul Dinsmore, I might find him?”
Henning shook his head. “I gave this info to the cops this morning. They’re already looking.”
“I wish to hell they’d find him. Someone called McKella’s hotel room today, but no one knew where we were staying.”
Henning shook his head. “Why would her husband do that if he already has the process? I’d expect him to sell the info as quick as he could and get out.”
Greg stared at the other man thoughtfully. “Yeah.”
“I’ve been thinking about that plane the cops said flew into Bermuda. It occurs to me the pilot might have nothing to do with Jason McConnel and everything to do with Paul Dinsmore.”
Greg saw what Henning was getting at. “A hit man?”
“Those people never forget. Thanks to Betty Jane, Dinsmore’s name was being splashed everywhere. Maybe someone went to check out Paul Dinsmore.”
“And found Betty Jane instead?”
Henning nodded. “Anything’s possible.”
“If that was the case, they wouldn’t go after McKella.”
“No, but they wouldn’t hesitate to take out anyone who got in their way, either.”
True enough, and it might be the reason Betty Jane was killed.
Greg was thinking along different lines. “Can you run another check—this time on her uncle?”
Henning raised an eyebrow. “The cops are already looking at him. They say he’s a pilot. What do you think I might find?”
“A lack of money. In the event of her death, Patterson reverts to the uncle, not McKella’s husband. I want to cover all the bases.”
“I’ll get right on it. Meanwhile, see if you can keep McKella safe.”
Greg frowned. “That’s my plan.”
He didn’t like Henning’s predatory ways where McKella was concerned, but Greg comforted himself with the thought that she had given herself to him. He left the detective reaching for a telephone, and headed back upstairs.
McKella strode through the double doors of the unit a few minutes later, looking more at ease than she had in a long while.
“Is he conscious?” Greg asked.
“No, but I’m sure he could hear me.” She smiled. “The nurse says it’s only a matter of time. His vitals are strong. Even the oncologist is pleased.”
“I’m glad.” He slid his arm around her shoulders. Holding her was becoming a nice habit. “McKella, would you like me to take a look at your books?”
“Do you think Paul tampered with something? Uncle Larry will find any discrepancies.”
When he didn’t say anything, sudden comprehension lit her expression. “You’re back to not trusting my uncle.”
“I don’t trust anyone except you. Your uncle inherits the company if something happens to you.”
“Uncle Larry wouldn’t hurt me. Besides, he sold Dad his share of the company years ago.”
“Uh-huh. When he had a reversal of fortune and needed money in a hurry. Are you seeing a pattern here? Next time that happens, your dad gives him a job. But it’s a job, not joint ownership. His finances slip again and the results are a little embezzlement. He lives high, McKella. Expensive car and I’ll bet he has an expensive house. I saw his office, remember? A lot fancier than yours.”
“Greg, that isn’t fair. I told you he has no one else to spend the money on besides himself.” But her protest was weaker now. She was thinking, instead of instinctively protecting her relative.
“Uh-huh. But what if he’s having another problem? Patterson is being run by some outsider who happened to marry the owner’s daughter.”
“You make Uncle Larry sound like a monster.”
“Maybe he is.” He held up his hand to forestall her next protest. “And maybe I’m seeing shadows on the wall. All I’m suggesting is we take a look and find out.”
McKella frowned. “Let’s go.”
MCKELLA RUBBED THE BACK of her neck. They’d been poring over the files in her uncle’s office for hours now, and Greg had to admit he hadn’t found a thing wrong.
Loyalty to her uncle made her glad, but honesty made her confront the truth of Greg’s words.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking up and trying t
o rub his bad leg without bothering the sutures. “Did you find something?”
“No, and I don’t expect to, but I’ve been thinking…”
“Uh-oh.”
She made a face, but her thoughts were too troubling to keep inside any longer.
“Everyone believes Paul killed Betty Jane and Eleanor. We know he stole the research on Ben’s new process and probably stabbed Eric Henning to prevent him from telling me about his phoney past.”
“But?” Greg prodded, standing to work the cramps out of his leg.
“But…he didn’t kill us when he had the chance, Greg. And Constable Freer thinks there’s significance to that private plane that flew into Bermuda.”
“Apart from the timing and the fact that it was stolen and the pilot used phoney ID, why would he think there is significance to that plane?”
McKella grimaced. “You sure have a way of making a question sound like an indictable offense.”
He smiled, a slow sexy smile that erased the fatigue and pain lines around his eyes and mouth. Her breath lodged in her throat as he came around the desk to stand beside her chair.
“We should get another hotel room,” he said softly.
Her heart thundered at his look. “Why?”
“You know why.” He had to reach past his immobile left arm to caress her face. McKella trembled at the touch of his fingers on her skin.
“Are we done looking for shadows?”
“No, but it will take time to do a detailed audit.”
McKella set down her stack of papers and stood. “Face it, Greg. We’re wasting time.”
Greg rubbed his jaw. “You may be right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
Greg suddenly yawned and went to perch on the edge of the desk. In the process, he dislodged Larry’s in-basket. Papers scattered to the floor.
“Sorry.”
McKella hurried forward. “We’re too tired to be doing this,” she scolded. “I’ll put these back and…” She stopped moving, her eyes scanning the paper, her mind absorbing the words like blows.
“What’s that?” he asked.
She handed him the paper, trying to ignore the cold hollowness inside her.
“NewEyes?” he asked, reading the logo at the top.
“They’re our chief competitors.”
She watched him skim the document. Three weeks ago, NewEyes had offered to buy Patterson Opticals. The lucrative proposal in her hands had been made to Larry Patterson. The document referred to previous discussions on the subject.
“It’s a lot of money,” she said sadly.
“Your uncle obviously gave them reason to think he is or will be the new owner.”
She shivered. “A mistake?”
“Three weeks old? Somehow, I think it’s a stretch even for you to assume good old Uncle Larry conveniently forgot to mention he’s been having discussions of this sort.”
McKella closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“I admire your loyalty, but it’s time to take the blinders off. If you die, Larry inherits. Accepting this offer would make him a wealthy man.”
Her eyes sprang open. “We should go and talk to him.”
“We’ll let the police go and talk to him.”
“He’s my uncle.”
“Who has reason to want you dead.”
“I won’t believe that.”
But she did.
“You know, it never seemed odd that Uncle Larry seldom did things with Dad and me,” she said thoughtfully. “Uncle Larry was always spending holidays in Europe or Aspen or any number of places. He and Dad always had different lifestyles.”
And if recently he’d started to buck her at board meetings, well, she’d thought he was trying to take her father’s place as a mentor. She’d been wise enough to listen, but strong enough to make her own decisions—even when some of those decisions made her uncle angry.
“But why kill Paul’s wives?” she asked.
“Maybe he didn’t. We could be dealing with two different situations here.”
“Thanks a lot. You mean two men want me dead?”
She leaned against his good shoulder, welcoming the comfort. Greg was solid and dependable—a shield against the horrible thoughts hammering at her mind.
“Let’s call it a night, ‘Kella. We’ll take your uncle’s car and find a motel.”
“Not the place we stayed last night?”
Greg shook his head. “Not after that phone call. I don’t want anyone even guessing where we are tonight In the morning, we’ll go to the police.”
“Maybe.”
He eyed her sharply. “We’ll argue the point later.”
Greg put the offer in a manila envelope, and they closed the office and headed downstairs. Ralph wasn’t at his desk. A bag of chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of soda attested to the fact that he couldn’t be far away.
Greg studied the parking lot while McKella signed them out.
Ralph’s truck and her uncle’s car were the only two vehicles in sight. Greg was right, she decided. The parking lot was much too dark at night. As soon as she went back to work she’d make some changes—starting with a call to that security firm he’d recommended.
They were almost at the car when Greg suddenly pulled on her arm, bringing her up short. “Go back inside.”
“What’s wrong?” Tomorrow, she swore, she’d get another pair of contacts. She was tired of seeing things in the distance as one big blur.
“Something’s sticking out of the trunk of the car. Call the police.” He handed her the manila envelope and gave her a slight shove in the direction of the building.
The stubborn man just loved to play hero. “We’re already out in the open, Greg. He could have shot us by now if that was his intention.”
Greg cursed, never taking his eyes from the vehicle. The only movement was some distant traffic on the street beyond the fence.
“Will you at least stay here?” He didn’t wait for her answer. He moved forward, limping slightly.
He reached the trunk and fingered the dark scrap of cloth. McKella would never have even noticed it. Slowly, he inserted the key. The trunk popped open.
McKella hadn’t even realized she’d followed Greg, but now she stood to one side as the trunk light bathed the interior in a muted yellow glow. Something lay crumpled inside. McKella walked closer as Greg lifted a man’s head by the back of his hair.
“Greg?”
“McKella, get back!”
But it was too late. She’d seen enough. The man she had known as Paul Dinsmore was dead. A single gunshot wound to the temple.
She gagged and turned away, horrified.
“He’s been dead a while, McKella. Probably since last night. The stuff he took is under the body.”
“But who—?”
“It looks like a professional hit to me.”
“But he wasn’t really Paul Dinsmore.”
“I know. But maybe they didn’t. Or maybe they just wanted to send a message to anyone using that name.”
Greg closed the trunk and led her inside. He headed for the information desk in search of the telephone, while McKella stared blankly around the empty lobby. Her gaze locked on the pair of dark shoes protruding from behind the planter along the far wall.
“Greg—” Her voice cracked and broke.
“This phone line’s been cut,” he told her.
“Greg!” She moved forward, terrified of what she’d find, but unable to stop herself. Ralph was a family man, so proud of his ten-year-old son and nine-year-old daughter. If he was dead…if it was her fault…
She heard Greg come after her. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised when he reached Ralph before she did. Blood trickled down the older man’s face from a cut near his temple.
“Is he—?”
“No. He’s still breathing. Come on.”
He practically dragged her to the bank of elevators.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you up
stairs where we might be safe.”
Horror gripped her. “You think the killer is still here?”
“Someone is.”
They rode to the second floor in silence. Greg checked the hall before he let her step out of the elevator. He hit the hold button to keep the doors open and locked on their floor, then, quietly, motioned for her to follow.
They made little noise going past the row of closed offices. Greg entered hers, looked around and motioned her inside. “Keep the lights off,” he whispered, closing the door without a sound.
“Greg, if the killer is here, he heard the elevator.”
“But he won’t know for sure where we are unless we make noise.” He reached for her telephone, obviously relieved when the line lit up.
“Unless he’s in a connecting office. Then he’ll see the light,” she pointed out.
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. This is Greg Wyman,” he said into the mouthpiece. “I’m at Patterson Opticals with McKella Patterson. We’ve got a dead body in a car outside and the night watchman is injured and unconscious in the downstairs lobby. We’ve reason to believe someone is inside the building.”
McKella listened to his low voice, and tried to stop shaking.
“No, ma’am. I can’t do that. I’ve got to go back downstairs to open the gates so the officers can get inside the lot.”
McKella hadn’t thought about that. The police couldn’t get in unless they overrode the security system. Greg hung up as she turned and started for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.
“To release—”
“You’ll stay right here.”
“No, I won’t. I know where the circuits are and it’s my company.”
“And the killer wants you dead, McKelia.”
“Who turned you invincible?”
They both heard a distinct thump. The muffled sound came from somewhere down the hall.
“Wait here,” he ordered. “This time I mean it.”
“Don’t go out there.” She clung to his good arm, blocking his path to the door. “Don’t you watch horror movies?”
Married In Haste Page 19