“The widow still lives in the old manor house,” he answered after a moment.
“Is she all alone now?” Mia imagined a frail little old lady shuffling about an old, dank manor in her slippers and housecoat, with no company but cats and the memories of her dead husband and son.
“Isabel, the daughter, was only seven when her father and brother disappeared, and she’s all grown up now, married and moved away. Ben’s older sister, Ophelia, the one married to one of the Whitlea cousins, lives close by. They look after Mrs. Whitlea.”
“That’s nice of them.” Clearly something was troubling Will, and Mia was torn between wanting to respect his need for keeping secrets and needing to be a full part of his life, the good as well as the bad. “Did you visit Mrs. Whitlea?”
“No, not yet. I’m going to have to do that very soon, though.”
“Hmmm.”
Will rolled his head, smiling. “You’re fishing.”
“I am, but only if you take the bait.”
At that, he laughed. “I’ve been working on the murder of Maria Balestrini for months now, and I’ve still got nothing. Since she was killed back in the forties, in the middle of a world war, I expected things to be slow-going. I still can’t see how she’s connected to the Whitleas, but I figured that, to understand why Ben felt otherwise, I’d have to dig a little deeper into the Whitlea family itself. To say that I started turning up a few surprising details is to make a huge-ass understatement.”
“This would be where all those lies of omission come in?”
“Yeah, and bald-faced, outright lies, too. Like how the second baronet didn’t die in a drunken car crash in France. He disappeared in Nazi-occupied Poland in 1939. What he was doing there, I don’t know, but two baronets from the same family disappearing into thin air, in the space of some sixty years, isn’t a coincidence.”
“I don’t know, Will. It was right at the start of World War Two, and extreme events during times of war aren’t unusual.”
“Except I have information the guy wasn’t some dumb bastard who wandered into a country full of Nazis, got himself shot, and was dumped in an anonymous hole in the ground. I’m talking murder, family secrets, and government officials covering up inconvenient truths—and some of this shit went down not all that long ago. Ben Sheridan is in it deep, and he was in it deep when he was only seventeen fuckin’ years old.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, exactly . . . and Ben should’ve told me all of this, but he didn’t. I have a pretty good idea why he’s kept quiet, and it’s also why I can’t say much more to you about it now, because there are people who’d kill for this information. You’ve met some of these people. One of them threatened to blow you up in a factory unless I gave him what he wanted.”
Mia met his gaze, widening her eyes as the significance of his words grew clearer. “Oh. My. God,” she whispered.
Will shifted his focus to the ceiling. “And the frustrating part is that none of what I’ve discovered is going to help me find the sonofabitch who killed a pretty girl over sixty years ago and dumped her in a ditch. If I’m right, what I’ve discovered is who runs Avalon. You know Sheridan isn’t going to be happy about that, yet he had to anticipate I might figure out the truth. So what does he really want from me?”
Mia blinked in startled confusion, uneasy. Ben Sheridan had always been polite to her, but something about the man had unsettled her from the moment she met him. “I don’t know, Will. I really don’t.”
“I bet that nice old lady at Whitlea Manor knows,” he muttered, his tone tight with anger. “And I’m going to get the truth from her this week. I’m done with running around in circles, and I’m tired of being played.”
Chapter Fourteen
Friday morning, Philadelphia
Vincent was late—thirty minutes, to be exact.
Sitting in her rental, parked across the street from his house, Claudia scowled at his front door, as if that were enough to instantly conjure him from wherever he was at the moment. She didn’t relish the idea of waiting much longer; the thick, humid air was already making her skin sticky and her hair frizz.
The heat wasn’t stopping the neighborhood joggers, though. A blond housewife honey was bouncing along the sidewalk, breasts straining against a damp white tee, and her running shorts—which barely covered her butt cheeks—had writing across the back. Claudia squinted, trying to make out the words, until she realized she was staring at another woman’s ass.
She opened the car slightly to catch any breeze and told herself to relax. Vincent was probably caught in traffic; she should just tip the seat back and grab a quick nap. Having sex into the wee hours of the morning was great, but now the lack of sleep was catching up with her. A sweet languor still weighed down her tired muscles, and she smiled.
Vincent had been very, very good to her. Too bad that while he seemed willing to make a go of a relationship, she wasn’t so sure it would be worth the effort. Ben was pulling her out of Philly, and while she was certain she’d cross paths with Vincent again, she couldn’t see a way around all the obstacles between them.
Last night, she’d been willing to hope. This morning, it seemed smarter to make a clean break. It would be easier on him, and easier on her as well. If she were a cop or an FBI agent, it might be different, but working for Avalon wasn’t exactly ideal for hooking up with a guy who wasn’t already a coworker, understood the lifestyle, and accepted what came with it.
The realization didn’t improve her mood any, and she absently watched cars zip along the street. Men and women off to work for the day, taking the kids to school or day care. The jogger with the distracting shorts ran by again, and when she stopped in front of Vincent’s house to retie her shoelaces, Claudia could finally read the words on her back end: a work of art.
Hello, ego.
The woman resumed her jog and Claudia briefly tracked her, amused in spite of herself, before checking her watch again.
How long should she wait? She was hungry but hadn’t grabbed anything from the hotel’s continental breakfast tables before heading out, expecting to eat at Vincent’s. If he didn’t show up in the next twenty minutes, she’d leave him a note and go find a McDonald’s to quiet the grumbles in her stomach. If she waited too long to eat and slug back her morning hit of caffeine, she’d get the shakes.
As she waited, she occupied herself by mulling over everything Vincent had told her last night about the security data.
It was a lot more than they’d had before, when combined with what she’d turned up. They were dealing with more than one thief, the thieves were taking the easiest opportunities, were at least a little smarter than average, and were careful planners. Knowing this boosted her mood, since chasing down smart targets was a lot more challenging and exciting.
When her belly let out a long rumble, she tried calling Vincent’s office but got his voice mail. She sighed and rummaged in her purse for a piece of paper and a pen to leave him a note. Halfway through the note, she noticed the jogger with the work-of-art ass pass by Vincent’s house once more. She’d stopped again by his driveway, this time to gulp down some water.
Instincts snapping to attention, Claudia stared closely at the woman, whose face struck her as vaguely familiar.
This didn’t feel right at all—and what a bad time to have gone conscientious and left her gun in the hotel room. She slipped out of the car and started across the street, trying to keep as quiet as possible, but something must’ve caught the woman’s attention, because she suddenly spun around, eyes widening.
In a split second, Claudia realized where she’d seen her: in the hotel bar last night with the drunk Amazon who’d nearly knocked her over.
Except last night this woman had been a brunette, not a blonde.
“Hey!” Claudia quickened her pace. “Who the hell are you and—Oh, fuck!”
The woman turned and bolted, rabbit-fast. Claudia followed, pushing herself to match the speed. The woman weaved through
parked cars, hedges, and trees, forcing Claudia to slow down. Her breathing was labored already, and a mix of embarrassment and anger shot through her, giving her an extra boost of speed. She began to close in. Just as she realized the woman was heading toward a small playground, she heard the squeal of tires as a car braked hard. Distantly, she heard someone call her name.
Vincent.
It had to be, and the sudden cacophony of car horns, followed by a gunning engine, told her she’d guessed right.
Not that he’d be much help, with Miss Arty Ass zipping toward a playground.
A car began backing out of a driveway, and the woman jumped, landing on the trunk and launching herself to the sidewalk on the other side. The driver braked, car rocking, staring openmouthed as Claudia darted fast behind him, opting against the airborne route.
The playground was in plain view now, and the woman turned up the speed even more. Her lungs and muscles burning, Claudia matched it, her longer legs eating up the distance between them. Behind her, she heard running footsteps but didn’t break her momentum to look back.
A young mother pushing a stroller emerged from behind a small hedge, right into the runner’s path. Claudia shouted, “Look out!” The startled mother turned on instinct, hunching protectively over the baby, and took the full force of the glancing collision.
The mother fell, managing to keep the stroller from toppling. The runner stumbled but kept her footing, and barely broke her stride. Claudia ran past the frightened mother, who was now clutching her bawling infant. A quick look assured her neither was hurt. Vincent wasn’t far behind her; she trusted him to take care of the situation if necessary.
Even more angry now, Claudia pushed herself all-out. She didn’t bother wasting breath to yell “Stop”; once she got close enough, she’d tackle the bitch.
Swing sets and playground equipment passed in a blur. A street corner lay just ahead, busy with traffic. Arty Ass would have to slow down, and then Claudia would have her.
Claudia heard Vincent’s shouted waning at the same moment she glimpsed a flash of white out of the corner of her eye. A body slammed into her, knocking her off-balance and sending her skidding down the sidewalk.
Rough concrete scoured away her flesh, but she had the presence of mind to roll, tucking in her head, until she finally came to a stop. Despite the pain, despite the world spinning wildly around her, she pulled herself into an unsteady crouch and looked up. It took a moment for her eyes to focus, but she found them: two women, one tall and one short, racing away, distance rapidly shrinking them smaller and smaller . . .
The dizziness took her under, sudden and swift, and she fell back on the grass, gasping. No, no, she would not faint; it would be too damn embarrassing!
Over the sound of her harsh breathing came the howling of an angry baby and the thud of running footsteps, much closer. Vincent shouted, “Claudia! Jesus, are you all right?”
“Second time that bitch has body-slammed me,” she mumbled as he reached her.
“Are you all right, Claudia?”
“Yeah,” she said, sitting up with his help. “Except I left half my skin on the sidewalk. Ow, ow!”
“You’re bleeding.”
“No shit,” she snapped.
He made a strange sound—a laugh?—and then demanded, “Is anything broken?”
“I don’t know.” The screaming baby caught her attention again, and she asked, “Is the kid okay? And the mother?”
“Yeah, I stopped to make sure of that.”
“I knew you would.” She closed her eyes with a wince. Damn, she hurt.
As his fingers firmly searched out any broken bones, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, determined not to groan or yell. She was always a wuss when it came to pain. Humiliating, but true.
Sound fuzzed in and out, and she forced herself to stay upright, to focus. She could hear Vincent on his cell phone, talking to a police dispatcher.
Maybe she’d get lucky and a patrol would find those two women and haul them to lockup. At the sound of sirens, her eyes snapped open. “I don’t need an ambulance. Just help me back to your place so we can talk.”
“Too late. They’re already on their way. Dammit, sit still! I can’t feel anything broken, but let them do their job and check you over.”
The sirens were much closer, and she scowled. “I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Fine, but let them check you out.”
He was splitting his focus between her and the mother and baby. The stroller lay on its side in the grass, likely knocked over when the mother yanked out her baby. The woman paced in a tense, tight circle as she jiggled the baby and patted its pink, diaper-puffy bottom. A crowd had gathered, and several women were comforting the distraught mother.
“Claudia.” His voice sounded ever more terse than before. “Claudia, look at me.”
She obeyed, though it took an effort to focus. His expression was a mix of anger and worry. He looked so safe and solid, and the concern in his dark eyes made her insides twist in a little pang. All she wanted was to crawl into his arms, close her eyes, and make the world go away for a few minutes.
Instead, she went for flip: “What’s with the hollering and the worried looks? It takes more than skidding across concrete to hurt me.”
“You are hurt, you dumb-ass,” he snapped. “And what the hell was all that about? What’s going on?”
“We need to discuss this in private,” she said as three EMTs hurried toward her. At Vincent’s gesture, one veered off toward the mother. “Those women were at the hotel bar last night. The tall one bumped into me and nearly knocked me down. I’m thinking it wasn’t by accident.”
Surprise flashed in his eyes, but the EMTs had arrived and the time for questions passed. A patrol car pulled up shortly after that, and Claudia spent what seemed like hours answering questions when she wasn’t swearing and hissing in pain as the EMTs disinfected and dressed her raw, oozing scrapes. Her knees and elbows had taken the brunt of her fall and hurt like hell. She finally got to her feet, slowly, as one of the EMTs supported her.
Vincent abruptly walked away from the cop and joined her, slipping a strong, solid arm around her. Gratefully, Claudia leaned against him. She provided the cop with descriptions of the two women but didn’t tell him that she’d encountered them the night before.
Finally, the crowds dispersed. As the ambulance and patrol car pulled away, Vincent turned to her. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah. Just go slow. Nothing’s broken, but my ankle’s not right. Must’ve twisted it a little.”
“Okay. I’m parked over there.”
He waved toward a distant clump of trees, but Claudia only nodded, not bothering to look. Five feet or five thousand, it was going to be a painful walk, limping along clumsily with Vincent’s arm around her.
After a minute he stopped, bringing her to a halt. “This isn’t working. Get on my back.”
“What?”
He hunkered down in front of her and motioned at his back. “Get on. I’ll piggyback you to the car.”
“Vincent, that’s sweet and all, but I’m not exactly a featherweight and—”
“Shut up and climb on.”
Anger flared but quickly turned to amusement. “Way to go with the smooth talking, DeLuca.”
He simply waited.
She rolled her eyes. She could continue to argue, but this was something he clearly needed to do. And, in all honesty, it would feel nice to lean on someone for a change. She didn’t allow herself that luxury very often. Swallowing her bruised pride, she wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned against his back.
“I haven’t done this since I was like . . . six or something,” she said as he slid his arms firmly under her knees and hoisted her up. His muscles bunched and hardened beneath her as he stood.
“Hang on.” Vincent set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. The awkward silence that followed was broken by his quiet laugh. “I’d been thinking all morning about ge
tting between your legs again, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Claudia blinked, surprised by his bluntness, then realized he was trying to distract her, to cheer her up.
“Aw, that’s so sweet.”
His shoulders shook as he laughed again. “You sure have a unique view of what’s sweet, Claudia. You’re one of a kind.”
“Thank you for noticing. It’s about damn time.” She leaned fully against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head against his. “I’m getting blood all over your suit.”
“I’ve got others.”
She smiled into his hair and tightened her hold a little more. “I figured as much. A hundred of ’em, all exactly the same.”
“Listen to you, sassing off at a man who can drop you on your ass.” He grinned. “Which means you’re okay.”
Again, that funny little flutter deep inside. “I told you so.”
“When you said you’d seen those two before, I was thinking maybe you’d hit your head.”
“Nope . . . and the one I was chasing? Last night, she was a brunette.”
As her meaning sank in, his body tensed. He glanced back, holding her gaze. “Is that so?”
“Uh-huh. The big one that hit me, she’s tall enough to pass for a man. I didn’t get a good look at her face, though. Didn’t last night, either.” She paused. “You got the security stuff with you?”
“Yup.”
“Good.” She sighed. “And remind me to tell you why I think those women know who I am to begin with.”
He shot her another quick look. “Count on it.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Ow!” Claudia yelped. “Ow, ow, ow . . . goddammit, DeLuca, that hurts!”
“I didn’t think you’d be such a freakin’ big baby about this.”
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