Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Three Complete Novel Box Set: Trust Me Once, Twice Burned, Fourth Victim

by Jan Coffey

“You can set the table and pour some juice. By the way, tea or coffee?”

  “I smelled coffee. If you have enough, I’d love a cup.”

  Mick poured her some and then showed her where everything was. As he went about making breakfast, Léa took the opportunity of saying what she had on her mind.

  “I was wondering if you would object if I were to offer Heather a job.”

  “What kind of a job?”

  “Helping me with some projects next door.” Léa folded and refolded the same napkin. “I…I have no choice but to stick around for a while. So I thought, if it’s okay with you, since she seems to be home for the summer, I could talk her into doing some painting. It would all be inside. I promise to give her only safe jobs. No high ladder work. No power tools.”

  She saw the hesitation in his face.

  “Mick, I absolutely understand if you’re against it. I haven’t mentioned any of it to her. Actually, now that I think of it, with this thing happening last night—” She touched the bandage on her forehead. “It was wrong of me even to—”

  “Heather’s darn good with power tools.”

  Léa couldn’t hide her delight with his response. “Is she?”

  “I taught her myself. I am not too bad with power tools myself.”

  She threw him a suspicious look. “It must be a man thing. You all claim to be good with power tools.”

  “Well, I just happen to be better than most.” He dipped the raisin bread into the batter and put it on the griddle.

  She went to a drawer to get some silverware. “If this is one of those lines for impressing the girls—makes great breakfast and is good with power tools—you don’t need it with me.”

  “So, nothing about me impresses you, huh?” His arm wrapped around Léa and she was pulled snugly against his side.

  The shock of his act caused the breath to catch in her chest. He’d showered and shaved. Léa was drawn to the faint scent of his cologne, to the full curve of his bottom lip, to the deep blue eyes that were staring at her lips. More than anything else, she realized, she wanted him to kiss her in that moment.

  “Contrary to what you think,” she whispered, “everything about you impresses me.”

  The sizzling of butter on the griddle broke the moment, and he released her to flip the French toast. She forced herself to move out of his reach and return to the breakfast table across the room.

  What was wrong with her? She laid out the knives and forks.

  “I use the stuff as part of my job, Léa.” He glanced around at her. “Power tools. I’m a contractor. A builder. We renovate people’s houses or businesses for a living.”

  “You are?” She was genuinely surprised. And then it all dawned on her. “Of course you are. The truck you were driving yesterday.” She moved to the window that looked out over the driveway. Next to the black Volvo he’d used to bring her home from the hospital, there was the same red pick-up truck she’d seen him driving yesterday. “The name on the side. Stone Builders. I wasn’t thinking. That’s great! So you really do this for living?”

  He placed the first batch of toast on a metal platter and put it in the oven and started on a second batch. “Yes, and yes, I left medical school to use my hands for other things and to work in the sun and be my own boss. Pretty unimpressive, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely not.” Léa shook her head, going back to setting the table. “But don’t make me give you one of my long speeches on the importance of every career. I go through this every year with my ninth-grade kids. Actually, what I’ve found out over the years is that they have it right, and the so-called grown-ups have it wrong. The kids look at jobs as a way to get pocket money. They work to live. Most of their parents live to work.”

  “Where do you fall on that scale?”

  “I guess I’ve been sliding between the two ends for a while. At least since Ted’s trial started, I’ve had to work for financial reasons. At the same time, there were many days that I couldn’t wait to get back to my job as a way of escaping that reality.” Léa didn’t want to think of that. She didn’t want to remember it was still the driving reality in her life now. “Enough about me. How did you get hooked up with Stone Builder’s? They’ve been around for a while, haven’t they?”

  “Some fifty years.” He came over with the coffee pot and topped off her mug. “I bought them out.”

  Léa wasn’t actually surprised. Mick’s mother had come from a lot of money and his father must have made his share during the years of practicing medicine in Stonybrook. And Mick was an only child. The golden boy.

  “It was a second generation thing. The founder’s son had practically bankrupted the business, so I worked there and eventually ended up running it for them for over seven years. When he had a name worth cashing in again, I was the one he approached. So that’s what I really bought—the name.”

  She paused, feeling guilty. Mick had been fighting a lifetime of labels, too. And she was no different than anyone else at jumping to conclusions.

  “Which brings me to where we started.” He flipped the French toast. “Léa, if you are open to it, I can arrange to have some of my people work on your house. They can do the bulk of the work for you in no time.”

  Her objection was immediate. “Mick, you and Heather have done enough for me already. I can’t accept something like that.”

  “You can treat it as a kind of a loan that you can pay off down the road. Look at it as a business proposition.”

  “Then you’re a poor businessman. I can’t let you do that.” Léa shook her head when he started to argue. “I do appreciate what you are trying to do, but I don’t even know myself how long I’ll be around, or how much work I will be doing on the house, or if I’ll be putting it on auction, or if I’ll rent it or whatever. Too many things are up in the air right now. And hiring some part time help is really the extent of any commitment I can handle.”

  “Okay. I just wanted to offer. And I have no problem if you want to ask Heather.”

  “Thank you.” His consent meant his trust, and Léa was grateful for that. She leaned on the fridge door, watching him add spices to a cooking pot of applesauce. “It’d be great if she’d consider it.”

  “Heather told me you are also looking for a new lawyer. Have you found someone already?”

  “I have. Or at least, I hope I have. She has an excellent reputation. But I don’t know yet if she is going to take the case or not. She is looking at trial transcripts over the weekend, and I am supposed to call her tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Sarah Rand. She is not originally from around here. From what I hear, she moved to the area not too long ago. She’s already making a name for herself.”

  “I know her.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. And her husband. She’s married to Owen Dean, the actor. Actually, he’s producing now. She’s the same woman police thought had been murdered by a judge friend of hers a couple of years ago. Up in Rhode Island. Owen somehow helped her out and when the whole mess was resolved, they ended up getting married. Their names and pictures were on every newspaper in the country, I think.”

  “I knew she was married to Owen Dean, but none of the rest of it. Just shows you how out of touch I’ve been. But you really know them personally?”

  “I built an addition onto a stone farmhouse they bought last year. It’s about a half hour from here. In Buckingham.” He turned off the burners under the griddle. “Initially, they were going to be away in Rhode Island for most of the summer. But Owen was involved in some movie that was being shot around here. So they were down here living in the house while we worked the job. I got to know them pretty well.”

  “Wow, now I’m really impressed.”

  “They’re good people. Very normal. And you are right, word is that she’s a very capable attorney.”

  “That’s wonderful to know.” She let out a wistful sigh. “Now I have to cross my fingers and hope that she’ll wan
t the case.”

  “Everything is ready. Are you going to pour some juice or what?” Smiling at her, he moved to the kitchen doorway and called up to Heather.

  Léa cleared her mind of everything except this kitchen, these people, this breakfast. She opened the refrigerator door and stared at the selection of juices. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Let me see? Choices, choices.”

  He was standing close to her, so close that she felt the tickle of his breath on her neck. She shivered and then her back was pressing against his chest.

  “Are you cold?”

  Léa shook her head. He looked as if he couldn’t make up his mind. “You like to take your time, don’t you?”

  “I do. How about you?”

  “Hypothetically, I’d say I like to. But in my life, time is a luxury I haven’t experienced in a while.”

  “Then we’ll have to work on that, won’t we?”

  Léa glanced over her shoulder and found him looking at her lips. She didn’t know how badly she needed him until he brought his face that much closer and put his mouth on hers. It was like a dream, so she didn’t dare close her eyes for fear of everything disappearing. His lashes were long, his blue eyes smoky, and in an instant the taste and smell of him swept Léa into a whirlpool of sensations.

  Mick pulled back from the kiss too soon, but his eyes lingered on her lips.

  “Have you…decided what you want to drink?” she somehow managed to ask.

  “Yes, I definitely know what I want.”

  Léa smiled and turned slightly in his arms. Mick kissed her again, as if sealing his decision. But this time she kissed him back, stroking his jaw, his ear, running her fingers through his short hair, feeling the warmth of his skin as they stood in front of the open refrigerator.

  She came alive with the embrace. The kiss deepened and a strange exhilaration danced through her. Léa felt the exact second Mick began to lose control. His head tilted, his arms closed tightly around her, and there was a deep satisfying sound in his throat.

  Max’s scratching, tapping footsteps turning the corner at the bottom of the steps were followed by Heather’s grumble about something that the dog had done. Léa and Mick leaped apart like two guilty adolescents. Léa practically crawled inside the fridge, while Mick moved to the sink and turned the water on the dirty dishes.

  “Are you two okay?”

  Chapter 14

  Neither of their answers sounded even slightly coherent. Heather looked from her father’s back to Léa’s and then at Max’s head, which was practically resting on the breakfast table. She dropped the folded newspaper on the counter.

  “Nice article.” She reached inside a cabinet and started pouring herself some cereal. “It makes you sound like some superwoman or something. By the way, why didn’t you agree to talk to this guy? He sounds pretty fair and obviously thinks you are the next Mother Theresa.”

  Léa peeked at her over the top of the open fridge door. “What guy?”

  Heather thought she looked flushed. “Are you hot or something? Feverish?”

  “No. I’m fine. Can I pour you some juice?”

  “Soda. Don’t bother with a glass.”

  “She’ll drink orange juice.” Her father put the platter of food and a bowl of applesauce on the table. “I’ll have the same.”

  Heather watched with interest the way Mick’s gaze was slow to move from Léa. He was checking Léa out, she thought, a little surprised. He actually waited for her to come and sit before he sat down himself. He didn’t do that when the two of them were eating. His hand brushed against Léa’s a few times, and when Max tried to jam himself under the table, Heather glanced down there and found their bare feet touching.

  She hid her smile and poured the milk on her cereal. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this normal. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten cereal.

  “You don’t have to hide your hanky-panky from me, you know. I think it’s a good thing for both of you.”

  Léa blushed and smiled, then hid her face behind the coffee mug.

  Mick shook his head and grinned. “I thought I’d take you up on your advice.”

  “It’s about time.” Heather reached behind her and picked up the newspaper again, glancing at the picture. “But we have to do something about a publicity photo for you. I mean, if we’re going to hang out, then we’re talking about my reputation, too.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t think there’s much she can do about it for a while. Not with all those stitches and the bandages.” Mick took the newspaper from Heather and looked more closely at it. “Actually, I don’t know why you don’t like this one. She looks very professional.”

  “I am totally lost. Let me see that.” Léa reached over to take the paper, but Mick stole a kiss before he handed it over.

  Heather thought it was cute that Léa actually blushed.

  “Uh, excuse me. Let’s not go overboard with this, okay? I would like to keep my breakfast down.” She was stunned to have her father lean over and kiss her, too. Stunned and pleased. “Oh, let’s just get totally warped while we’re at it.”

  The phone rang.

  “I’ll get it,” her father said. “You two eat.”

  Heather watched Mick’s expression become serious as he listened to whoever was on the other end, and her nerves kicked in again. She’d gone out looking in that carriage house three times this morning and still hadn’t been able to find the bottle of sleeping pills. If she could help it, she didn’t want anyone asking her any questions about them, even though she had a legitimate reason for having the medication. Just in case, she’d quickly thought up a story. The bottle had fallen out of her pocket the afternoon before when she’d chased Max inside there…or something.

  The label had her name on it, and all she could figure was that one of those police officers must have picked it up early this morning.

  It was a privacy thing. It was none of their business that she had the pills. She’d committed no crime, Heather reminded herself, as Mick left the kitchen and took the phone with him to talk privately in his office. The only lie had been that she’d come out after Léa was already down. But even being that close, she’d not seen the creep.

  Heather looked across the table at Léa’s bandaged head. The woman’s gaze immediately lifted off the paper and met hers.

  “Just reading this little bit, I’m amazed. So in what part of the article does he drop the bomb?”

  “He doesn’t. It’s actually pretty good.”

  Léa still shook her head doubtfully before putting the paper aside. “I think I’ll just take your word for it.”

  The applesauce Léa was spooning on the French toast looked edible. Heather took a spoonful of it and put it on her cereal.

  “There must be a genetic defect in this family. Your father likes beer with his cookies. You like applesauce on your cereal. Both of you are good with power tools.”

  Heather shrugged, but couldn’t hold back her smile. “So you’ve heard.”

  “He is definitely the proud father—and with good reason, from what I can see.”

  The warm feeling spreading inside of her was surprising. This morning was just full of surprises. All Heather could think of was how close she’d come to ending her life last night. She stared into the bowl of cereal and felt herself choking up. The wide swing of her emotions over a few short hours was kind of scary.

  “I was wondering…no, actually I was hoping,” Léa paused until Heather looked up. “Would you consider doing some work for me over the next couple of weeks?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Work on the house. I don’t know, maybe some scraping and painting.”

  “That’s pretty boring.”

  Léa pointed a fork at her. “You do a good job with that, and I might let you move up to sanding floors.”

  “Does this mean you’re going to stick around a while?”

 
“I am considering it.”

  Heather tried not to show her delight at the news. “How much are you gonna pay me?”

  “What’s the going rate these days?”

  “Let me see.” She took a sip of her father’s coffee and then nearly turned inside out. There was no sugar in it. She added two heaping spoonfuls and stirred. “How does twenty bucks an hour sound?”

  “Like highway robbery.” Léa crossed her arms. “How does five sound?”

  “Make it six, and I might consider it.”

  “Done.” Léa picked up her knife and fork and attacked the food on her plate again. “I am really impressed. This is really good. What makes the French toast so good?”

  “He puts vanilla extract in the batter and thinks he’s Chef Boyardee.”

  Heather considered trying some of the French toast. She’d used to love it before, but instead she took another sip of the coffee. It needed more sugar.

  “I have some conditions. Call it fringe benefits or something.” She added another spoon of sugar and stirred.

  “Was your father the one who taught you how to negotiate, too?”

  “It’s in our blood. Back to my conditions for work.”

  “I’ll give you work gloves and goggles. What more could you possibly need?”

  “I start whenever I get up in the morning. And you don’t give me a hard time about drinking.”

  “I assume you mean soda.”

  Heather gave a half-committed nod.

  “You want to rot your teeth and ruin the lining of your stomach, it’s okay by me.”

  “Save it. I’ve heard it all before.” She took a piece of French toast and dipped it in the applesauce. “So what do you say?”

  Léa shrugged. “Go ahead. I’m not paying dental insurance. You can pick your dentures out, next time you’re downtown.”

  Heather bit back her smile. “And the second thing is you don’t give me any shit about smoking.”

  “Nope. No way.” Léa shook her head. “That stuff can kill you, and I don’t want any part of it.”

  “You didn’t say a thing when you saw me on the driveway yesterday.” She took a bite out of the bread.