Nothing To Lose

by RaeAnne Thayne

  “I have. And your legs and your shoulders and all the really fun spots in between.”

  She laughed. “What time is it?”

  He squinted at his alarm clock. “Looks like it’s almost five. Why don’t we have a shower and then I’ll take you somewhere for dinner. Or better yet, we can order in.”

  “If I get in that shower with you, it will be morning before we find anything to eat.”

  His laugh was husky and thrummed down her spinal cord like the plucked string of a violin. “You’re probably right,” he said. “How about you shower, and I’ll round us up something to eat?”

  “Can you cook?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I can do scrambled eggs but that’s about it. I’m afraid cooking is not one of my skills, although I have been told I compensate in other areas.”

  I’ll just bet you have, she thought. “You shower, and I’ll find us something besides eggs to eat. I’ll shower after the water heats up again.”

  He agreed, although not without complaining about the wasted energy they would expend with two showers. In truth, Taylor was grateful for a moment away from him so she could find her balance again.

  Making love with him hadn’t been among her best decisions, she acknowledged ruefully when she was alone in his small but efficient kitchen.

  It had been wonderful—intense and passionate and tender. And fun. She had never realized intimacy could be so much fun. Their time together was something she would treasure for the rest of her life. But she greatly feared her heart would never recover.

  If only things could be different between them. He cared about her, she knew that, but he didn’t love her—not as she loved him. Already she could feel her heart brace itself for the inevitable pain.

  She rubbed at the heavy ache in her chest. What a tangled mess.

  With a sigh, she turned her attention to food. She opened his refrigerator to see what she could whip up. It was remarkably well stocked for the second home of a bachelor who couldn’t cook. She wondered if he had a service or something to take care of it, because she had a tough time picturing the sexy and rugged Wyatt McKinnon she knew comparing melons in the supermarket.

  Something quick and easy, she decided, settling on pasta.

  She was mixing together a basic cream sauce when the phone rang. She could hear the shower still going and paused, undecided about whether to answer. Before she could make up her mind, the ringing stopped and she realized a fax was coming through on the phone/fax unit in the kitchen.

  Whatever he was receiving was none of her business, she thought, and added peas and diced yellow squash to the sauce. She would have stuck to her conviction to mind her own business except that the cupboard containing glassware was just above the fax machine.

  When she reached inside for a couple of wineglasses, her gaze fell on the paper in the fax machine and somehow lit on the one name she wouldn’t have expected to see.

  Kate Spencer.

  Taylor nearly dropped the wineglasses. She fumbled and caught them just in time, then, with a furtive look at the bathroom door, picked up the two-page transmission.

  She got no farther than the first page, which she discovered was a letterhead for something called St. Claire Investigations. She scanned it quickly.

  “Hey, McKinnon,” the cover letter read. “Here’s the information you wanted about subject Kate Spencer. I’m dumping you everything I can find. Judging by her driver’s license photo, she’s a real looker. I can see why the interest. Let me know what else you need.”

  It was signed by someone named Dooley St. Clair.

  Taylor stared at the paper in her hands so hard the lines began to blur.

  Wyatt had a private investigator looking into Kate’s background! It was all here in black and white. She turned the page and saw Kate’s history in the foster system—not particulars, just dates and places. How she changed her name at eighteen from Katie Golightly to Kate Spencer, the last name of the foster parents who had given her love and nurturing. High school graduation, her college scholarship information, a speeding ticket she received near Pensacola—it was all there.

  Why?

  Why on earth would Wyatt investigate Kate? She closed her eyes as emotions assailed her. All she could see with her eyes shut was that day in the restaurant, how Wyatt couldn’t stop staring at Kate.

  He was obsessed with her. But how could he make love to Taylor with such laughter and tenderness all afternoon when he knew he was running a background check on Kate?

  She couldn’t handle this today, not after what had happened with Martin. Oh, her stomach hurt.

  How could one woman be so completely wrong about two men? This had to be some kind of record—betrayed twice in one day.

  Only this hurt much worse than what Martin had done.

  She couldn’t seem to think rationally, could focus only on her need to escape. The shower stopped just then and she knew she probably only had a few moments. She turned off the gas on the stove, yanked on her clothes in record time and hurried out the door, stuffing her feet in her shoes as she ran.

  By the time she drove past the pair of towering Douglas firs that guarded the driveway to the house in Little Cottonwood Canyon, the sun had nearly slipped behind the mountains and the raw pulsing pain in her heart had subsided to a dull, steady ache. Her eyes burned from the tears she refused to shed.

  She hated thinking what a fool she’d been. She had been so desperate for someone to trust that she had ignored every single blasted red flag about Wyatt. She should have clued in at lunch that day and guarded her heart better. Instead, she had only fallen harder for the man, so hard she didn’t know if she would be able to do anything but lie here on the ground winded and stunned.

  It was all her own fault. She couldn’t really blame him for what had happened earlier. She had come uninvited to his apartment, had basically thrown herself at him.

  She had made the first move, kissing him as she had done.

  What was he supposed to do? Shove her out the door? Thanks, but no thanks?

  At least she didn’t have to face Kate yet. For the next few weeks her roommate was scheduled to work the night shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be in until early morning.

  Taylor wasn’t sure she had the strength to treat Kate as if nothing had happened—which she knew was completely unfair to her friend. Kate had done absolutely nothing wrong. She was as much a victim in all of this as Taylor—more, really. Kate was the one whose privacy had been invaded, her background probed.

  What was she going to tell Kate? she wondered. How could she find the words to tell her friend what Wyatt had done?

  Taylor desperately craved a long soak in the tub. Oh, how she longed for her little house with the big clawfoot tub perfect for long bubble baths. Although this house had several comfortable jetted tubs, she still preferred her deep old-fashioned one.

  To Taylor’s surprise, Belle didn’t come running when she unlocked the front door of the cabin and walked inside. Now, that was odd. She hadn’t seen her in the fenced run outside that Hunter had built for the dog either. If Belle wasn’t inside and she wasn’t in the run, where else would Kate have left her?

  She closed the door behind her, then heard frantic, muffled barking from somewhere in the house. What in the world? For one thing, Belle wasn’t much of a barker. For another, she always rushed to the door the moment she heard it open, no matter where she was.

  More baffled than worried, Taylor followed the sound to the small bathroom off the kitchen. The closer she got to the room, the more frantic the barking became. It sounded as if Belle was standing on her hind legs against the door, whining and scratching with her forelegs, something so unlike her that Taylor had to wonder if the dog was sick, if maybe that was why Kate had left her shut inside the bathroom.

  No, Kate would never have left an ill creature. She would have called in sick to work herself before leaving Belle alone.

  “What are you doing in there, you craz
y dog. How did you manage to lock yourself in the bathroom? Come on, let’s get you out of there.” She reached to open the door, bracing herself to unleash seventy pounds of agitated canine. Before she could pull it open, though, she sensed movement from the hall to her left.

  She blinked, totally stunned when Martin James walked into the hallway.

  Taylor dropped her hand from the door and pressed it to her chest, where her heart seemed to stutter in shock. “Martin! You scared me! What are you doing here?”

  “What do you say we leave the dog where she is for now?” He stepped closer and, oddly, Taylor fought the urge to take a step back.

  “You put her in there?”

  “That bitch already took one chunk out of me tonight. I’m not in the mood to be her chew toy.”

  She didn’t know what shocked her more, his sudden jarring appearance in her kitchen, his angry tone, or the jagged rip in his black slacks.

  For some strange reason, her brain decided to focus on that. “Belle bit you? That’s impossible! She’s the most gentle dog imaginable.”

  “Tell that to my plastic surgeon while he’s sewing up the three-inch bite mark on my leg.”

  Taylor finally registered how odd it was to find Martin James in her kitchen. “Did Kate let you in before she left for work? What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” he answered.

  She wasn’t sure why those words seemed to chill her blood.

  Though she had a hard time mustering it in light of Wyatt’s more recent—and more painful—betrayal, she gathered her anger around her. “I’m not sure I want to talk to you,” she said bluntly. “No matter what you say, you’re still fired. Hunter needs a lead attorney who believes unconditionally in his innocence. I think it should be obvious to both of us that attorney is not you.”

  He continued watching her with that odd expression on his face. “I’m not here to talk about your brother.”

  Taylor decided she was sick of men playing games with her today. She was tired and confused and wanted to nurse her heartbreak by herself. “Then what? Whatever it is, can we get on with it? It’s been a long and difficult day and I’m not really in the mood for a confrontation.”

  He stepped closer, sparking more wild scrabbling by Belle on the other side of the door. “You brought this on yourself. Remember that.”

  Who was this man? He didn’t look at all like the kindly Martin she had known all her life. He looked hard, distant. Dangerous, even.

  “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you,” he said in a flat tone. “I had a messy problem but I managed to wrap it up in a tidy little package. It would have stayed wrapped up, but you wouldn’t let it go, you just had to keep tugging and tugging on the strings.”

  Nervousness was beginning to filter through her exhaustion. Still, she tried to reason it away. This was Martin. He wouldn’t hurt her.

  “I’m too tired to figure out what you’re talking about and I need to let Belle out.”

  “The dog stays where she is. And I’m afraid you and I need to take a walk.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t going anywhere, that she’d had enough and he would have to leave now. But any words she wanted to form died in her throat when she spied the gun in his hand.

  Chapter 15

  Taylor stared at the gun, her heart fluttering in her chest.

  How could this be happening? This was Martin, her father’s friend. Someone who had until today always been kind to her.

  Why was he holding a gun on her?

  As if sensing her sudden fear, Belle barked louder and scratched against the door. A second later the door vibrated on its hinges, Belle throwing herself against it.

  “Easy, Belle,” she called out softly, afraid the dog would hurt herself. It was a good reminder. Take it easy. She could figure something out. She was smart, she was young, she was strong.

  Of course, that evil-looking gun in Martin’s hand trumped any advantage she might have.

  “If that dog doesn’t settle down, I’ll shoot her,” Martin warned, steel in his voice.

  “Why?” Taylor’s voice sounded hollow, thready.

  “Because she’s annoying me.”

  “No, why are you standing in my kitchen holding a gun on me? If you’re going to shoot me, I at least deserve to know why.”

  “I’m not going to shoot you,” Martin said calmly. “Shooting you would be messy and would raise too many questions. I learned my lesson with Dru and Mickie. I’m afraid you’re going to have a little accident. Poor thing, you went for an evening hike and tumbled off a cliff. Or at least that’s what it will look like. No suspicious circumstances, no unfortunate questions from the police. Just a tragedy all the way around.”

  Taylor almost didn’t register the grim message in his words. Fear spurted through her, icy cold and relentless. He planned to kill her—just as he had killed Dru and her mother.

  Part of her couldn’t believe it, but when she looked at his face she saw something hard, something empty. “You shot those women.” It was a statement, not a question, and earned her a glare.

  “I had to. I didn’t want to, any more than I want to hurt you. But Mickie had your same brand of dogged determination. She wouldn’t leave well enough alone. When she wouldn’t listen to reason, she really gave me no alternative.”

  I’ll listen to reason, she wanted to cry. I’ll listen to whatever you want to say, as long as you don’t kill me.

  If she thought begging might help, she would certainly try it, but this man she thought she had known all her life was a stranger. Somehow she didn’t think even her most ardent, impassioned plea would persuade him to spare her life.

  “Mickie was dying,” Martin said, his tone biting, “and she wanted to absolve her conscience by coming clean. I tried to explain to her that spilling everything might purge her conscience, but it would leave the rest of us twisting in the wind long after her death. Who knows, maybe the chemo fried her brain or something, but the stupid bitch wouldn’t listen.”

  “Is this about the Valencia case?” she asked. If she could distract Martin with questions, maybe she could figure out some way to escape.

  “Poor Paul Valencia. Bastard never had a chance. You should have left well enough alone too, Taylor. Then you wouldn’t be in this mess. You were getting too close, though, and I knew this morning, when you came to my office with that Valencia file, that I would have to stop you.”

  Belle renewed her violent efforts to get free and Taylor held her breath, afraid Martin would follow through on his threat to shoot the dog. Instead he pointed the gun at her.

  “I’ll explain everything while we’re taking our lovely moonlit stroll. Let’s walk.”

  “I’m not wearing shoes for hiking. Don’t you think that will raise questions?”

  He stared at her slick-soled loafers for a moment, then gave a low curse. “All right. Change into hiking boots, then.”

  That accomplished little except to delay the inevitable, she thought a few minutes later when she walked out into the cold mountain air. But a few minutes seemed a gift when her life was ticking away.

  “Which way?” she asked, her voice roughened by fear and strain.

  Martin gestured to the steep trail that cut through pine and aspen as it switchbacked up the mountainside. Her heart sank. Either Martin had done his homework or he’d made a lucky guess. She had walked this trail often and knew there were a half-dozen places where a person could slip and fall to her death.

  “Walk,” he ordered.

  Taylor thought about refusing and forcing him to shoot her right here, messy or not, but she couldn’t quite find the courage. Part of her still hoped that perhaps she could figure out some way to escape, and instinct told her she would have a much better chance at it on the trail.

  She set off up the mountainside with Martin close behind.

  Any wild hope she might have entertained about outpacing him on the steep trail was quickly squashed when he ke
pt up with her easily. Treadmill, she remembered. Despite his round physique, he and Judy had matching units in their bedroom and worked out faithfully.

  She forced herself to slow her pace. No sense running to her own death. “If I’m going to die,” she said, “at least I deserve to know why. Can you tell me what Mickie wanted to purge her conscience about? Was there some kind of irregularity in the trial proceedings?”

  He snickered. “You could say that.”

  “What kind of irregularity?”

  Like every other attorney or attorney-in-training she’d met, Martin seemed eager to talk. “I guess you know something about the case?”

  She nodded. “A little. I’ve just read some media coverage and what was in the appellate court report. I haven’t finished the complete transcript of court proceedings.”

  “You’ve probably read enough to know the rape and murder of little Jenny Monroe had the whole state in an uproar,” he said. “The people wanted justice for that poor little girl, no matter the cost. They wanted somebody to pay. Anybody.”

  “Paul Valencia.”

  “Right.”

  They were walking through a stand of pine trees, so thick and dark that the twilight waned here. It wasn’t full dark but it was hard to see in the dim light and she almost stumbled over a rock half-buried on the trail. She caught herself but the near fall sparked an idea she decided to nurture until the time was right.

  “Valencia was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Martin continued. “He was no saint, had two priors, but they were for robberies. What convicted him was his fingerprint found in that little girl’s bedroom. Of course, they could have been left there when he was paid to install some bathroom cabinets for her parents a few weeks before the kidnapping.”

  “He wasn’t guilty,” she surmised.

  “We all thought he was. If for one moment anybody had thought he was innocent, none of it would have happened.”

  “What wouldn’t have happened?”

  They were both breathing hard by this time as the trail continued to climb, and he didn’t answer her immediately. If she could keep him talking, she thought, perhaps he wouldn’t notice this would be a logical spot for a twilight hiker to fall to her death.