Complete Mia Kazmaroff Romantic Suspense Series, 1-4

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  When there’s nothing to be done, there’s always something to be done.

  Jack didn’t believe in hopeless. He dialed the number Sandy gave him the day before.

  “Hello? Who is this?” a woman’s voice answered.

  Jack looked back at his screen to double-check that he’d put the number in correctly.

  “I’m trying to call Ethan Hollander,” he said to the woman who answered. “Is this his phone?”

  “And who are you?”

  Jack hadn’t been a cop for fifteen years not to pick up on panic and hysteria bordering the boundaries of good manners.

  “Is this Mrs. Hollander?” he asked. “My name is Jack Burton. I’m a friend of Twyla Gilstrap. Is Ethan…not there?”

  A sob rent through the line, confirming Jack’s fear that the woman was barely holding it together.

  “I’m Ethan’s mother. He…he was…attacked last night,” she said, the words coming out in jerky, guttural half-sobs. “And beaten nearly to death.”

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  That night Jack surprised himself that he was able to sleep. He still didn’t know what to make of the fact that Ethan had been attacked the day before. Was it connected to the kidnapping? How could it not be? Could it really be a coincidence? When he asked Ethan’s mother if he could come by and see Ethan, she hung up on him.

  It was nearly two full days since they’d last had contact with the kidnapper. He and Sandy and Vernetta had spent the first day after the failed money drop in desperate denial and flagging hope. His only lead was to follow up on Ethan’s attack. The kid was repulsive enough on his own that someone beating the shit out of him probably wasn’t connected to Twyla’s abduction, but it was all he had to go on.

  The last time he’d been to Ethan’s neighborhood—four days earlier—the weather was warmer, the leaves still attached to the trees. Now, as Jack navigated up the street past houses that looked more like national monuments and museums than single-family homes, the road was blanketed in red and gold.

  Ethan’s Jeep Compass was parked in the driveway but facing toward the street. Jack drove up the driveway and parked behind it. Something about the way the car looked told him it hadn’t been parked there, but towed. The entranceway was a double door that soared at least twenty feet, making Jack feel like he was requesting entrance to a giant’s castle. He rang the doorbell and waited. A young Hispanic woman in a maid’s uniform opened the door.

  “I’m here to see Ethan,” Jack said.

  “Master Ethan not seeing visitors,” she replied, unsmiling

  “I’ll wait,” he said, pleasantly, but belied his words by stepping past her into the house.

  “Who is it, Rosita?” a woman’s voice called from an interior room.

  The maid looked at Jack, and then back in the direction of her employer’s voice.

  “Jack Burton,” Jack said loudly. “Here to see Ethan.”

  Rosita turned and walked out of the room as Enid Hollander entered. Early fifties, but with enough nipping and filling to pass for forties, no problem. Blonde, athletic build.

  “Mrs. Hollander?” he said. “We spoke earlier.”

  “Who are you?” Ethan’s mother was clearly in full mama bear mode. She walked over to Jack, one arm ready to shoot out and pull open the front door.

  “I am an acquaintance of your son’s, Mrs. Hollander. I just need a few minutes of his time.”

  “Ethan is very badly injured,” she said, the tendons standing out on her neck as spoke.

  “Can I see him?”

  “May I ask how you know Ethan?”

  “I’m a private detective,” Jack said. “I was investigating a case involving one of his friends.”

  “Twyla?” She turned to lead Jack through the house to the staircase that led to the upper rooms.

  “That’s right. I’m not at liberty to reveal more at this time.”

  The climbed the stairs in silence and stopped in front of a bedroom door half way down a long carpeted hallway. She held up a finger to indicate for Jack to wait. She opened the door and spoke, but her words were muffled. She opened the door wider and said to Jack in a low voice, “Please, not long. He needs to rest as much as he can.”

  Jack stepped into the bedroom, which was large enough to put the entire living room, foyer and kitchen of Mia’s condo inside, and walked to the massive four-poster bed. Ethan’s battered face peered out at him from the mountains of duvets, comforters and pillows.

  He didn’t look like the same kid.

  “Whatever you’ve come to blame me for this time,” Ethan said through swollen lips, “I got an alibi.”

  Jack squatted by the bed. “What happened to you?” Jack was conscious of Ethan’s mother still in the room. He didn’t blame her. Somebody did this to my kid, I wouldn’t let him out of my sight either.

  Ethan closed his eyes. Jack waited. He could see the kid’s face had been gone over pretty thoroughly. A broken nose, one eye swollen shut. Ethan’s right arm stuck out from the blankets. It was in a cast.

  “Went to my usual Starbucks,” Ethan said. “They hit me from behind.”

  “You were attacked in daytime?”

  Ethan closed his eyes, as if the effort to shake his head was too much. “At night,” he said. “Nobody there.”

  Enid Hollander cleared her throat. “The manager and the barista on duty said they saw the scuffle, but by the time they called the police the men were gone.”

  “How many?” Jack asked her.

  “Three. Four counting the man asking for directions.”

  Jack looked back at Ethan. “Someone asked you for directions?”

  “Uh-huh,” Ethan said. “Is why I stopped. Nearly to my car.”

  “He’s the only one whose face you saw?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  Ethan let out a long sigh that ended in a wet, rattling sound.

  “I think he’s done,” his mother said, taking a step toward the bed.

  Ethan raised a hand, his eyes still closed. “Tall. Blond hair,” he whispered.

  “And you never saw him before?”

  “No.”

  “What do the police think?” Jack asked, but he directed his question at Mrs. Hollander.

  “They think it was just a random act of violence,” she said tightly, her voice full of emotion.

  “Funny,” Ethan said, causing both Jack and Enid Hollander to turn their heads to him. “It sure felt personal to me.”

  *****

  There is nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse. Mia didn’t remember who said that—some wise old wag—but it was definitely true for anybody who rode. She stretched out her spine in the saddle, wincing only slightly from her still-sore ribs, and felt the sun of the bright autumn day on her face. She loved the way the pasture smelled, especially in the fall. It was crisp, making the horses lively and full of energy.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a hardhat?” Ned asked as he reined up beside her. His palomino didn’t get along with every horse in the pasture. Being decidedly Alpha like his owner, that wasn’t a surprise. The horse she was riding pinned its ears back as soon as Ned rode up.

  “It’s too beautiful a day to not feel the wind in my hair.”

  “Mind if I quote you to the EMTs when they airlift you out of the pasture?”

  “Wearing a helmet won’t mitigate the possibility that I’ll need to be airlifted out of the pasture, Ned.”

  “That’s true, but it would mitigate the possibility you’re a vegetable when they do.”

  “Oh, tittle-tattle.”

  “I see. Well, tell me, Miz Scarlett, what has brought on this very impish, downright obstinate bend to your chassis? I like the shiner, by the way. You didn’t mention that Herr Maxwell was making you fend off roundhouse punches now.”

  “It wasn’t him,” Mia said, touching her mare with her heels to urge her forward. “It was some homeless guy who got distracted by
my shiny new camera.”

  “Ruh roh.”

  “Where are we going today?”

  “Lady’s choice.”

  Mia glanced at him to see if there was anything going on with him. She felt an urge to lean across her saddle and latch onto his wrist but he’d mentioned in the past that he considered that move extremely lazy on her part. If she wanted to know how he was feeling, she should either ask or figure it out for herself.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, frowning into the sun.

  “And why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You seeing anyone lately?”

  He smirked. “Not longer than a night.”

  “Oh, that’s charming.”

  “How about you? Hear from Jack lately?”

  “Not since I last talked to you, but I have a new theory.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I picked up something he touched when he was in the condo a couple of days ago and I got seriously unhappy vibes from it.”

  “Okay,” he said unconvincingly.

  “Don’t you see what this means? Jack isn’t in love. He’s in trouble of some kind.”

  Ned frowned. “Is that all?”

  “Well, it seems like a lot to me. It made me realize he’s keeping secrets from me.”

  “I thought you already knew that.”

  “Yeah, but now I know the secret he’s keeping is a scary one, not a how-do-I-keep-my-new-girlfriend-from-Mia one.”

  “Is that what you thought?”

  “I followed her,” she said, ignoring his question.

  “Please don’t be telling me what I think you’re telling me.”

  “I had to see for myself. When I called him night before last, she answered and said for me to back off, that she and Jack were together now.”

  Ned didn’t respond.

  “So I drove back to her place—”

  “Oh, Mia, no.”

  “And when she left the house I followed her.”

  “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “I saw her meet up with another man at this deserted parking lot. I got pictures—”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  “And that’s when the homeless guy jumped out and grabbed my camera and kicked me in the face.”

  “Mia, I gotta say, this is crazy even for you.”

  “Did you hear the part about his girlfriend meeting up with another man? A seriously scary man, too. And they were fighting.” Mia stared at Ned, challenging him not to confirm the wisdom of her actions.

  He shook his head. “You took pictures?” he asked finally.

  “I’d just gotten some new surveillance equipment,” she said, shrugging, “I wanted to test it out.”

  “But the photos were stolen by the homeless mugger?”

  “I had two cameras. He didn’t get the ones I’d taken on the camera left in the car.”

  Ned shook his head again and urged his horse into a trot, forcing Mia to do likewise. They rode across the pasture without speaking until they reached the fringe of broad leaf evergreens at the edge of the Chattahoochee. There was a horse-sized gap in the buttonbush and maples interspersed in the pines. Ned rode through and Mia followed. She could tell he was worried about what she had told him. And, annoyingly, she wasn’t feeling a very strong flow of support from him.

  The river broke against boulders and large rocks in front of them. The bank on the other side was close, not fifty yards away. Normally they would cross, but today the water was moving too fast. Mia didn’t know her mount well enough to know how she reacted to water, but she knew Ned’s horse hated it.

  They walked in single file along the river’s edge, the only sound the rush and thunder of the water as it maneuvered its way downstream. When they emerged from the underbrush that ringed the bank, Ned turned his horse’s head back toward the pasture. As soon as there was enough room to ride abreast, Mia put her heels to her horse and came up along side of Ned.

  “Do you have the photos with you?” Ned asked without looking at her. Reaching into her blue jean jacket, she pulled out her smartphone and found the photos. She handed the phone to him.

  “These are from pretty far away,” he said, squinting at the pictures.

  “They show her car very clearly,” Mia said. “And Jack will see it’s her. He might even be able to identify the guy.”

  Ned handed the phone back to her and sighed heavily. “You want my advice?”

  “Always.”

  “Stop following Jack and this woman—whoever she is to him. No good can come of it and it’ll only make you feel worse.”

  “Okay,” Mia said impatiently, tucking her phone away. “Anything else?”

  “Delete those photos.”

  “What? Why? Don’t you think Jack needs to see them?”

  “Think about it, Mia,” Ned said to her with exasperation. “If you show those photos to Jack, he’s going to know you’ve been following him. And I don’t care how valuable you think this Intel is,” he nodded at the smartphone in her pocket, “nothing is more valuable to a guy than the information that his girlfriend is stalking him. That is going to be Jack’s main takeaway, trust me.”

  Mia made a face and turned to stare at the line of poplars and black walnut trees on the far side of the pasture. The sun had tucked in behind a cloud and she felt the pleasure of the day seep away.

  *****

  When Jack got back to the house after his visit with Ethan, he was surprised to see Sandy in the kitchen. Not unlike himself, she seemed to take comfort in cooking. Although it was well past noon, he smelled bacon and coffee. She wasn’t dressed for company like she had been when he first shown up five days ago. Now she wore yoga pants that hugged her every perfect curve and a Georgia Tech sweatshirt. Her long blonde hair was down, caught in a clasp halfway down her back. She looked so much like the teenager he’d once lusted after—and loved—that he had to shake his head to put reality back into the kitchen, and his thoughts.

  “Hey,” she said, turning to him, a spatula in one hand. “You sleep okay last night? Sorry I crashed.”

  “You needed it,” he said, moving into the kitchen.

  “I forgot to mention your girlfriend called yesterday,” Sandy said, going to the kitchen table and picking up her phone. “I talked to her but you should probably call her back.”

  “I will later,” he said, annoyed Mia had called, but more annoyed with himself that he hadn’t been able to reassure her to the point where she wouldn’t.

  “There’s something I need you to see, Jack.”

  Sandy continued to scroll through her photos and squint at the screen. Jack went to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Look at this.” Sandy held out her phone facing him. He took it from her. A video was set to play. It was a surveillance tape from the camera over Sandy’s front door. His mouth went dry. Had the camera caught the bastard?

  Jack pushed the play icon on the screen and watched for several seconds as the video showed Sandy’s front lawn, driveway and a small section of the neighborhood road.

  “I don’t see anything,” he said.

  “Wait for it.”

  And there it was. His eyes widened as he watched the car coast past the driveway. He looked at Sandy, his mouth open.

  “You can rewind it and slow it down if you want,” she said, her eyes unhappy, searching his.

  He didn’t have to. He knew Mia’s car. He saw her clearly in the driver’s seat, leaning across the steering wheel to peer up Sandy’s driveway at the house. Son of a bitch.

  “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  “So she’s just…what? Following you?”

  “Sandy, I’m sorry. I’ll handle this.”

  “I cannot tell you how upsetting this is to me, Jack.”

  He put the phone down and she went to him, snaking her arms around his waist.

  “It’s okay, Sandy,” he said into her h
air, her sweet, rosewater-smelling hair. “I promise you she doesn’t know what’s going on. Trust me. I’ll handle it.”

  *****

  Mia peeled off her chaps and dumped them on the kitchen floor. She was surprised she’d driven all the way back to Atlanta wearing them, but she’d been distracted after her ride with Ned.

  Was Ned right? He was usually so balanced and sane. But to not tell Jack? How could that be right? Jack’s new girlfriend is meeting strange men in deserted parking lots! Shouldn’t Jack know that?

  She jerked open up the refrigerator door before realizing it still held no more food than the last time she looked, except for those items now gathering mold.

  I can tell him I was just trying out the new equipment. He’ll understand that.

  The pantry was full of flour and sugar and cornstarch but nothing to eat. Mia stood looking into it, wondering if she should try the stale granola without milk. She was pretty sure the last time she did that she’d had to stay close to a toilet for twenty-four hours. She shut the pantry door in disgust, her stomach growling loudly.

  Damn you, Jack. Don’t come into my life and change it all around so I get used to it and then just leave. She went back to the refrigerator and pulled out the opened bottle of white wine she’d seen hidden in the back. It was at least four weeks old—she thought Jack used it for cooking—but it was better than a bowl of flour. Tomorrow, definitely, she would go to Kroger. She was almost positive she’d seen one in the neighborhood.

  As Mia poured the wine into a large tumbler, she heard her phone vibrate against the kitchen counter. She picked it up and was surprised to see it was Jack.

  “Hey,” she said, her pulse quickening as she sat down on the couch.

  “What the hell, Mia? You stalking me now? I got you on surveillance tape driving by Sandy’s house.”

  Oh, shit. That so never occurred to me.

  “Jack, I’m sorry—” she said, taking a hurried gulp of her wine.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” he said, his voice angrier than she’d ever heard him. And not in a you’re-so-naughty-Mia kind of way like she’d heard hundreds of times, but a definite you-disgust-me-in-every-fiber-of-my-being kind of way.