by Meryl Sawyer
“This sounds like a nightmare that just wouldn’t end.”
Trish nodded. “Exactly. The police came, but Carter was long gone. When they interviewed him, he had an alibi.”
“No way.”
“He found some guy that was willing to swear they’d spent the evening playing Texas Hold ’Em.”
“What did you do?”
“I moved away. With my father’s help, I changed my name and got a new start here.” A tense silence enveloped the gallery. Trish stopped petting Brandy and the dog settled at her feet. “It worked. Carter’s remarried and doesn’t bother me anymore.”
“You never married again?”
“No. Why put myself through all that? I’m happy, successful. If I need an escort, there are plenty of men available.”
The man had ruined Trish’s life and left her bitter, distrustful. How sad. Trish had suffered and continued to suffer. Whitney wondered if there was any way to help.
“I didn’t mean to make this all about me.” Trish paused, but her melancholy eyes prolonged the moment. “I rarely discuss my past, so please keep what I’ve said to yourself.”
“I will,” Whitney quickly assured her.
“I only told you so that you would realize I understand what you’re going through.”
Whitney wanted to protest that her situation was nothing like what Trish had experienced, but the woman had shared so many deeply personal things that she didn’t want to discount those confidences.
“I put the past behind me until you came along, Whitney. I instantly knew I had to help you, and I’m afraid I may have given you bad advice.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes a restraining order can be a death warrant. You’ve heard about women who are killed by their husbands or boyfriends after they’ve obtained a restraining order.”
“I’ve seen it a lot on television. I can’t understand why—”
“They say—shrinks say—when the man realizes he’s lost power over the woman, he goes nuts. The restraining order represents a higher power. My divorce showed Carter a higher power had taken over, and he couldn’t accept it.”
“Makes sense.” Whitney hadn’t given much thought to spousal abuse until the incident yesterday morning. She still doubted Ryan would resort to real physical violence.
Trish leaned closer. “Don’t file a police report unless you have bruises they can photograph or a broken bone. Then—”
“I’m sure Ryan would never—”
“Never say never. This is the worst-case scenario. Here’s what you do. Keep a journal.” Trish rose and walked over to her desk. She took a leather folder the size of a paperback book out of the second drawer and handed it to Whitney. “Write down the time, date and place of each encounter. If there’s a witness like there was yesterday, put down the complete name, address and any other contact information.”
Whitney thought about Adam Hunter. How much of the argument had he seen and heard? Would he help her if necessary? Granted, she was attracted to Adam—but after hearing Trish’s story about an abusive man, Whitney should keep in mind how physical Adam had become on the night they’d met.
CHAPTER NINE
ADAM RELAXED IN the dark living room of his uncle’s home, his feet up on a leather ottoman that didn’t appear to ever have been used. Now that he thought about it, the whole house seemed more like a model home than a place where anyone had actually lived. The only room here with a “lived-in” look was his uncle’s office.
When he’d come in, he hadn’t bothered to turn on a single lamp. The only light bled in from the nightscaping outside that artistically illuminated the plants and trees. There was no movement in the house other than the slight whoosh of his own breath and the barely audible hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen nearby.
The night had become his friend, a lesson he’d learned in Iraq. Their enemies avoided darkness, preferring to strike during the light of day. Darkness soothed, took the sharp edge off Iraq’s blistering sun. The night welcomed him in a way that daylight did not. Night posed less threats, offered more possibilities.
Allowed him to think.
Daylight hurled distractions at him. In the dark, Adam could concentrate. He mentally reviewed the events of the day. He’d visited the forensic accountant who had been assigned his uncle’s case. Adam had been expecting an older man in a staid office. Instead, a punk kid who lived and worked out of a loft in the Marina District had been hired to review his uncle’s financial records. Despite Max Deaver’s tattoos and gelled hair that shot up like a rooster’s comb, Adam liked the accountant and could tell he knew his business.
Deaver had just gotten started on the case, but already described Calvin Hunter’s finances as an elaborate shell game. According to Deaver, his uncle had switched his funds back and forth between various Swiss and offshore accounts to other secret accounts. Why? Deaver claimed it was too early to tell exactly what his uncle had hoped to accomplish with these maneuvers.
Click. The faint sound made Adam jerk upright. A key in the back door’s lock. Whitney. He stood up and quickly switched on the lamp next to his chair. The amber light revealed Jasper huddling under the nearby coffee table.
“Jasper,” Whitney called softly. “Here boy. Are you in there?”
Adam scooped up Jasper and headed toward the kitchen. “He’s here. I’ve got him.”
He rounded the corner and found Whitney standing by the oven, wearing shorts that emphasized her tanned, trim legs and a T-shirt that hugged her breasts in a way he found damn sexy. Her cheeks were pink and her mane of blond hair was tousled. Her SUV hadn’t been in the carport when he’d arrived home a short time ago. He’d bet she was still out, rushing around, taking care of a pack of dogs.
He could have called to say he would feed Jasper, but he hadn’t. His mind refused to turn off. He kept thinking about Whitney all day. He wanted an excuse to see her.
“I didn’t realize you were here,” Whitney said a little anxiously, as if she was still afraid of him. “Has Jasper eaten?”
Hearing his name, the Chinese crested licked Adam’s hand and gazed up at him. Swell. Get used to it. For reasons Adam couldn’t fathom, the little dog had a thing for him.
“No. I just got in. I haven’t fed him. Why don’t you go ahead since you’re here? I’m not exactly sure how much to give him. Show me.”
“Okay.” She opened the walk-in pantry, where a large bag of kibble was kept. Adam noticed there wasn’t much else on the shelves. Another sign of a house not really being used. “I didn’t have time to walk him. I thought I would take him out after he ate.”
“Good idea.” He watched her scoop kibble into a silver bowl with Jasper’s name engraved on it. She bent over, giving him the opportunity to check out the provocative curve of her cute butt.
“Have you noticed the red bump behind Jasper’s ear?” Adam asked, just to keep the conversation going.
“No. Where is it?” She put down the bowl and Adam set the dog on the floor beside it.
Their gazes collided. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch her soft skin. Take it slow and easy. Let her get to know you.
He almost laughed at himself. When he’d left San Diego for duty in Iraq, he’d been a hard-charger. He would have come on hot and heavy if he’d been attracted to a woman. So much had changed. Not really, he thought. The world was pretty much the same. He was different.
He had more insight now than he’d had back then. He could sense Whitney’s vulnerability. She’d been through a miserable divorce. She wasn’t ready for a man to come on too fast.
Jasper sniffed the kibble but showed no signs of being hungry. Unlike the lovable mutts that Adam had been raised with, Jasper didn’t seem to care much about food. He spent most of his time sleeping or hiding. He was so shy that it was difficult to imagine the dog prancing around a show ring. But what did he know? The only dog show he’d ever seen had been on television and he hadn’t watched the entire progra
m.
Adam reached down and held Jasper by his collar. On the right side beneath the little dog’s ear was a red bump half the size of a dime. “See this?”
Whitney leaned over and her luxuriant hair tumbled forward. He caught a whiff of the rain-fresh scent he remembered from when he’d tackled her. His pulse kicked up a notch. Uh-oh. He did his damnedest to keep his eyes—and mind—on the dog.
Whitney inspected the raised weltlike bump carefully, then leaned back against the counter. “It looks like something irritated him a little. You know, since Chinese cresteds are almost hairless, they are susceptible to skin irritations that don’t bother most dogs. I think we should keep an eye on the bump. If it doesn’t get better, we may want to take him to the vet.”
“Right. Let’s watch it.”
She gazed at him steadily without—she hoped—giving away her inner turmoil. She hadn’t expected him to be at home in the dark house. Be careful, warned an inner voice. Don’t alienate him. Just get away from here. He’d explained why he’d mistaken her for a burglar, but she still couldn’t bring herself to trust him. Maybe it was instinct; maybe it was hearing Trish’s story.
“How are your cuts?”
“Not a problem. How’s your head?”
She offered him a tentative smile. “I have a little bump. No big deal.”
Jasper finally deigned to munch a few bites of kibble. While he was eating, Whitney tried to think of something to say. “Looks like that’s all he’s going to eat right now. You should see Lexi. She wolfs down everything in two seconds. She’s in the backyard now with three other dogs just waiting for dinner.”
Adam reached into the pantry and pulled Jasper’s leash off its hook. “Jasper’s spoiled. Let’s walk him.”
Say no, Whitney told herself. Don’t be alone with this man any longer than necessary.
“Let me show you the route Miranda recommends,” she heard herself say. “You can let the dogs off the leash and they can run. It goes along the bluff. When it’s light you can see the ocean.”
Adam followed her, noting that Whitney had taken a small flashlight out of her pocket. She stuffed blue plastic “poop” bags into the back pocket of her shorts.
“There’s enough moonlight tonight to see the trail, but I keep the flashlight on and aimed at the ground so the dogs will come right back to me. Canines have an incredible sense of smell, but cats see much better at night.”
The footpath started—or ended—at the edge of his uncle’s rose garden, depending on how you viewed the trail. Neighbors had obviously hiked along it enough so that the trail was well worn. He wondered if this might have been the way the robbers had come. If so, it could account for why so little had been taken. There was only so much you could carry along this winding path and still get away in a hurry.
The trail was wide enough for two people, and Adam walked beside Whitney. “Have you seen many people up here?”
“A few, but remember, I haven’t been here long.” Whitney looked up at him. but it was too dark to tell much about her expression. “Miranda showed me the trail and we took Lexi along it for quite a distance. We stopped at the tennis court that you can see from the bottom of the hill. I think the trail goes another mile or so, but I’m not sure. We didn’t walk very far. Why?”
“Remember I told you that a woman called 911 the night my uncle died. I don’t think she saw or heard him from the street. They might have been walking on the trail.”
Whitney remembered Adam asking if Miranda had called the authorities. She stopped and shined her flashlight on the path. “You can see it’s well used. Someone might have been out for a walk and heard your uncle call for help or something. Have the police checked on it?”
After a slight pause, Adam told her, “I went to see the investigating officer today. I knew him. Not well, but I knew him from back when I’d been on the police force.”
“Really?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re a policeman?”
“I was a detective. I worked homicide.”
“Interesting” was all she could think to say. How wrong she’d been. She’d mentally categorized him as a hit man or worse. Something menacing about him still bothered her, but Whitney didn’t have time to analyze it.
“The investigating officer didn’t think it was unusual that the woman who called 911 disappeared. Apparently, it happens all the time. People just don’t want to get involved. Since there were no signs of foul play, they didn’t pursue it.”
Something in his tone told Whitney that he was suspicious, or maybe just bitter. “Your uncle died of a heart attack?”
“That’s what it appears to be. The coroner is running a few more tests. Then we should know for sure.”
He seemed preoccupied, but Whitney ventured another question. “You’re no longer on the police force?”
He walked a few steps in silence, then said, “No. Too many homicides were drug deals gone sour. I got sick of them. Half the time witnesses were too frightened to talk. When we could nail a suspect, he was back on the street in no time thanks to a screwed-up system and slick lawyers. I started a private security firm with a friend. Then my National Guard unit was called for duty in Iraq.”
Iraq. How horrible. Images she’s seen on newscasts and what she’d read of the horrors flashed through her mind. Small wonder the man was so edgy. No telling what Adam had been through.
“What was it like?”
“You don’t want to know.” The way he said it, Whitney could tell this was a closed subject. He bent down and let Jasper off the leash. The little dog bolted into the darkness beyond the path.
“Are you sure you should let Jasper loose? He doesn’t come when I call. I let Lexi off all the time, but she always minds me. Jasper’s another story. I won’t risk having him disappear by letting him off the leash when I’m walking him.”
Adam stopped, his gaze on Jasper’s ghost of a shadow disappearing into the brush. “He comes when I call.”
“It must be a male-bonding thing.”
Adam chuckled, a deep, masculine sound. “When is Miranda returning from her honeymoon? Maybe she knows the names of some of the neighbors who use this trail. I’d like to ask if one of them called the authorities the night my uncle died.”
“In about twelve days, I think. She said two weeks but didn’t leave me an exact time or date.”
“Where’s she staying? I could call her. Two weeks is a long time to wait.”
“I don’t know.” Her revelation was greeted by silence. In the darkness she couldn’t read his expression to guess what he might be thinking. “My cousin and I aren’t really all that close,” she felt compelled to explain. “I married and lived out of state until last year when my ex came back to open his practice. He didn’t get along that well with Miranda. We didn’t see much of her.”
That was an exaggeration, Whitney admitted to herself. She’d called her cousin to let her know she was back in town, but hadn’t invited Miranda over or gone to see her. She’d behaved shamefully. She could blame it on Ryan, but in truth, it was her own fault that Miranda no longer had been part of her life.
“Like my uncle,” Adam replied, his voice low. “I knew him but I had almost nothing to do with him until recently. Then suddenly he’s gone.”
She heard a heartfelt note of regret in his voice that mirrored her own feelings. She wouldn’t have believed she had anything in common with the man who’d tackled her, but she was wrong. They both realized they’d missed an opportunity to develop a close relationship with a relative. She might have a second chance with Miranda, but Adam never would with his uncle.
“I regret not seeing more of my cousin. I should have made the effort. When I left my husband, Miranda took me in immediately. But now, I think she’ll be busy with her own life. I doubt I’ll see much of her.”
“You never know,” Adam replied, but he didn’t sound convincing.
They walked a short distance in silence. Whitney couldn’t see Jasper b
ut she could hear him ferreting around in the underbrush.
“You know to be careful that coyotes don’t get Jasper,” she told him. “It’s a big problem in these hills.”
“You’re right. I’ll take better care of him. I always had large dogs that coyotes wouldn’t bother.” He whistled for Jasper and the little dog scampered out from the brush.
“Speaking of dogs. I’d better go feed my mine.” She turned to head back toward the house.
“Why don’t you feed them, then come up to the house? I’m ordering a pizza from Mama Gina’s. The works. Everything on it, if that’s okay.”
Say no, cried an inner voice. What’s the harm, she decided with her next breath. Adam had been a policeman and he’d served in Iraq. Just because they’d gotten off to a bad start didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends.
“Mama Gina’s makes the best pizza. The works is great. I’m easy. I even like anchovies,” she finally said.
“So do I.”
It was too dark to see his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
CHAPTER TEN
ADAM HAD PHONED in the pizza order and was opening a bottle of Chianti he’d found in the sparsely stocked pantry when he heard Whitney calling to him.
“Adam! Adam! Have you seen Lexi?” She rushed through the door, a frantic look in her eyes.
“No. She wasn’t in the yard?”
Whitney shook her head. “No. The gate was ajar. I’m sure I shut it, but she may have nudged open the latch.”
“Are the other dogs there?”
“Yes. Just Lexi’s gone. She may have come looking for me. We’ve only been here a few days. She really isn’t used to the area.”
“Let’s turn on all the lights in the yard. She’s probably sniffing around out there.” He flipped the switches on the panel next to the door. Light flooded the back and side yards of his uncle’s home.
“I don’t see her,” Whitney said as she stepped outside. “Here, Lexi. Here, girl.”