Voices sounded behind her.
Clutching his arm as if it hurt, her attacker stumbled to his feet, that death’s mask turned to her. She felt the eyes burning into her, and then he turned and ran again. The second man swore, leapt up, too, and took off after the first, leaving her bag where it lay.
Whimpering, Naomi snatched it up.
“Naomi? Are you all right?” It was Monica, but she wasn’t alone when Naomi turned. With her was Elias Burton, the artist, tall and rangy, with his gilt hair and silver eyes.
He reached her first, but was looking past her. She swung around again to see the second man limping back toward her. And – oh, dear God – it was him.
Shaken, she had the odd thought that he was as beautiful as Elias, but was the dark to Elias’s light. Except for those eyes, not dark at all.
And he had lifted a hand to the side of his face, where redness surrounded an abrasion right where skin stretched taut over his cheekbone.
“You’re hurt.” She sounded shell-shocked.
“Nothing serious. What about you?” His voice was a little gritty, as was the scrape, she saw when he got close enough. It needed cleaning and antibiotic ointment.
“I’m okay.” She thought.
“I’ve called 911,” Monica said breathlessly.
Second time in two days. Different departments, but…would whoever responded know?
She had to tell them. It would look…odd, otherwise.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t catch him,” her rescuer said. “He disappeared in that damn parking lot.”
The good size lot was right in front of the beach access, where there was also a narrow strip of grass with picnic tables, a public restroom, and outside showers so people could wash off sand before returning to cars.
He frowned. “I saw the car he jumped into, but I couldn’t read the license plate. Looked to me like it had been deliberately coated with mud.”
They all heard the siren, cut off as a squad car turned in to the alley but stopped a short distance up it, blocking that end. At least in Cape Trouble, you got a quick response.
Naomi didn’t know whether to be relieved or not when the police chief himself got out. She had managed to avoid even meeting the man during the first ten months of his tenure, but had let herself get drawn into planning the auction that was part of the Save the Misty Beach campaign. When Doreen Stedmann, the woman who had launched the campaign, was murdered in the storage unit where auction donations were kept, Police Chief Daniel Colburn had scrutinized all the volunteers. Naomi hadn’t liked the thoughtful way he had looked at her. He suspected something about her, but enough time had gone by now, she assumed he had either let it go, or she’d been imagining things. She’d gotten to know him a little better, since she’d become almost-friends with his fiance.
His blue eyes took in their small group. “Naomi, Monica.” His eyebrows raised a little, as if in surprise. “Elias.” Then that gaze settled squarely on Naomi’s rescuer.
“Chief Colburn,” he said, holding out a hand.
“Adam Rostov.”
They shook.
She had a name to go with that extraordinary face now. It fit better than the ones she’d come up with from credit card slips. Rostov sounded as if it could be…she didn’t know, Romanian, Russian, Ukrainian. Dracula, she thought, in a completely unsuitable flight of fancy, given where they were and why.
And the fact that her back was starting to hurt. Her stomach, too, for some reason. That jerk really had barreled into her hard. She shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Gaze resting on her, Rostov seemed to be the only one who noticed.
Daniel wanted to know what happened. The story came out in bits and pieces. Naomi realized events had a weirdly fragmentary quality already in her mind. She described getting smashed into her car, feeling her bag being wrenched away. The guy taking off, intercepted by Adam Rostov.
“Him, I recognized. He’s eaten in my restaurant a couple of times,” she said. She looked shyly at him. “Although I didn’t know your name, of course.”
“I still don’t know yours, except I gather you’re Naomi.”
“Oh. Kendrick. I’m Naomi Kendrick.” She introduced the other two, at which point they offered what little they could as witnesses, then allowed themselves to be dismissed by the police chief.
His interest was in Adam Rostov, who said he’d had lunch at Naomi’s café. “Great chili,” he told her, his gaze resting on her face briefly before he turned his attention back to the police chief. “Then I wandered down to the beach for a few minutes. I’d just gotten back to my rental—” he nodded the direction from which he’d first appeared, “—when I saw what looked like a mugging. I thought I could at least get the lady’s bag back.”
When Daniel asked if her assailant had been armed, she frowned, remembering her impression.
“For a minute I thought— But I don’t know. He just sort of whammed into me. I didn’t actually see any kind of weapon.”
“He had a handgun,” Adam Rostov said flatly. “He was reaching for it when I kicked him. Fortunately, at that point Ms. Sanchez and Mr. Burton had appeared and he panicked and decided to take off.”
“How did you know—?” Naomi asked.
“It was holstered in the small of his back, visible when he ran.”
She should have seen, too, but…everything had happened so fast.
“Thank you,” she said suddenly. “I haven’t said that yet, have I? Everything really important is in this bag. My laptop, my wallet, my phone. It would have been awful if he’d gotten away with it.”
His mouth curved. “You’re welcome.”
She looked at Daniel. “This probably doesn’t have anything to do with what happened, but, um, yesterday I thought I’d had an intruder at home.”
The gazes of both men sharpened.
“Did you call it in?” the chief asked.
“Yes. I don’t live within the city limits, you know. A Detective Payne came. He said he’d been the closest. He walked through the house with me, but—” This was embarrassing. “The more I looked, the less sure I was that anyone had been in there after all.”
“What made you think someone had?”
She explained.
“It’s…odd, to have the two events so close together.”
She didn’t like the penetrating way Daniel Colburn was looking at her. It was all cop. He knew there was something she wasn’t saying.
As a diversion, she turned to the other man. “You should go to the clinic so they can clean up that scrape. And…you’re not hurt anywhere else, are you?”
“I’ll stop at the pharmacy and pick up some antibiotic cream.” The grit in his voice seemed to be natural, not the residue of the fight or the chase. “I just rented a house for a couple of weeks. I’ll go back there and clean up.” He glanced down ruefully. He was not only wet, she saw a tear in his dark brown trousers – and, through it, another red, seeping scrape. The reason for the limp, she realized belatedly.
“Oh, no!”
The grin that flashed was disarmingly boyish and sexy. “I played soccer through college. Intramural rugby, too. Believe me, this is nothing.”
“You’ll be here in town, then?” Chief Colburn asked. His tone was not-quite casual.
“Actually, the place I found is on the other side of the point with the lighthouse.” Her rescuer frowned. “Jasper Beach? Is that right?”
That momentarily chilled her. What were the odds…? But how could he possibly have known someone was going to grab her bag?
“I wasn’t aware any of the houses there were available for short-term rental,” the chief remarked.
“The house is for sale. I guess the owner decided he’d like to make a little money while he’s waiting for a buyer.”
Daniel Colburn nodded, his relaxation noticeable only because she was watching closely. “Makes sense.”
He took a description of the car, which sounded like the average rental, then wrote down
Adam Rostov’s cell phone number. Adam didn’t know the address of the cottage he’d rented. “I have the paperwork in my SUV, if you want it. The owner’s name was Ingersoll, if that means anything to you.”
“Oh, that’s just down the block from me,” Naomi was surprised into saying. “Bert Ingersoll was a nice old man. I remember when—” She stopped, realizing somebody planning to sleep in that house probably didn’t want to know about the owner’s death.
But he raised his eyebrows, those compelling eyes on her. “When…?”
“Well… He’d been dead several days when his next door neighbor began to wonder why newspapers and mail were piling up. That’s all. But I know the house has been thoroughly cleaned.”
He grinned again. “Don’t worry. I’m not that sensitive. Although I can see why that Realtor didn’t tell me.”
“I shouldn’t have,” she said remorsefully.
“Don’t worry about it.” He glanced at Chief Colburn. “You done with me?”
“Yes, thank you. And for getting Naomi’s bag back.”
Rostov nodded politely at both of them and walked away. The limp was no longer in evidence. He moved the way she’d thought he would, fluid and contained. It was easy to believe he’d been an athlete. Daniel had that unnervingly thoughtful expression on his face as he watched him go, but he shuttered it after a moment, raising his eyebrow at her. “You okay to drive?”
She assured him she was. Yes, she’d let him know if anything else out of the usual happened. He held open her car door as she lowered herself carefully into the seat, then slammed it closed. Because his car blocked the way she usually exited the alley, she went the other way. She had reached the cross street and put on her turn signal when she glanced in the rear view mirror and saw that he hadn’t moved. From this distance, she couldn’t read his expression, but she knew he was thinking hard about her.
The temptation was there: to go out to the highway and start driving. Don’t stop. She had everything really important with her. She could get a long ways before tomorrow morning, when Anita arrived to find a dark, locked café.
Of course, she’d have to get rid of this car and buy another. Figure out, eventually, how to create a new identity.
Fingers gripping the steering wheel tight as she waited for a light to change, she tried to believe this had been a simple mugging. The guy hadn’t tried to hurt her, after all. He just wanted her bag. He could probably tell she carried a laptop, and assumed she’d have money and credit cards besides.
Yesterday…had been all in her imagination.
And even if it wasn’t, she had been reluctantly considering one option to fleeing. Back in southern California, she hadn’t known anyone in law enforcement she could be sure was honest. Daniel Colburn would be trustworthy, she did believe that. Whether he could protect her, or would want to once he knew the whole story, though… How could she be sure?
She couldn’t, of course. But…if the choice came to running again, her possibilities even more limited this time, or going to Daniel… She still didn’t know.
As she passed the road leading to the resort that was under construction, a couple of protesters waved placards at her. She couldn’t imagine what they thought they were going to accomplish now.
Her turn signal went on when she reached Jasper Beach, although she suddenly wished she’d asked for an escort home. What if the guy who’d grabbed her bag really had searched her house? He’d already gotten in once. He could be waiting for her.
She stopped a block from home and called the Cape Trouble Police Department, reaching Ellie Fitzpatrick, who served as dispatcher, receptionist and who knew what else. Naomi identified herself and asked if the chief was in.
He came on the phone. “You reached home yet? Has somebody been there?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m having a panic attack. I guess I should have called the sheriff’s department, but that would take a lot of explanation, and…”
“I should have offered,” he said immediately. “Sit tight. I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you,” she said meekly.
He was as good as his word. In less than five minutes, he passed her, stopping in front of her cottage. She followed and pulled into the driveway.
Here she went, going in the side door again with a police escort. This one pushed the door quietly open and went in first.
They were alone. He had her check doors and windows while he opened closets and even bent to peer under the bed. Frowning, he looked around.
“I’m going to have my officers drive by regularly. And yeah, it’s out of our jurisdiction, but it’s not far, and adding the loop here won’t kill any of ’em. Tonight, leave both outside lights on. If either is off, we’ll take that as a signal.”
Naomi nodded, almost speechless at his kindness.
Maybe I can trust him.
He was still a cop. What if he didn’t believe her?
As he was going out the front door, an unfamiliar black SUV approached. No, wait – could it be the one that had been parked around the corner yesterday? It swerved to stop behind the Cape Trouble squad car. Adam Rostov got out and came up the cracked walkway.
“Tell me somebody wasn’t waiting for you here.”
The slight roughness of his voice felt like the touch of calloused hands. Hearing it, seeing him again, gave her goosebumps.
“Were you sitting over there yesterday?” she asked abruptly, nodding toward the corner.
Daniel stayed silent, but she felt his awakened interest.
Adam turned and looked. “Oh, yeah. I was parked there for a while yesterday afternoon. I saw a cop show up here. I should have realized this was your place. A lot of these houses don’t have numbers, and street signs seem to be in short supply, too. I was waiting to get into the house, but it turned out I was in the wrong place.”
“Oh.” That made sense. She relaxed infinitesimally before giving him a stern look. “You should already have put ice on your cheek. You still haven’t cleaned it up, either. You might end up with a black eye.”
He smiled at her. “I went to the pharmacy, as ordered, ma’am. I now have first aid supplies.”
He’d saved her today. Well, not her, but most of her important possessions. She ought to offer something besides a thank you.
“Why don’t you come in?” she suggested. “I have ice, and you probably don’t, do you? And…was the hot water tank turned on?”
He looked taken aback. “I didn’t think to ask. Or check. If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
Daniel eyed him narrowly, but only nodded at Naomi. “Remember what I said.”
“I will.” She smiled at him, too. “Thank you. You’ve gone above and beyond. I may have to make a huckleberry cobbler just for you.”
He grinned. “Bribery. Turns out I’m susceptible.”
“I could be susceptible, too,” her rescuer put in hopefully.
She laughed. “I do make very good huckleberry cobbler. And you definitely deserve your very own.”
It wasn’t until she turned to go into the house that she saw the way Adam watched Daniel walk away. It was speculative. Cold. In fact, it looked an awful lot like the way Daniel had watched him.
She didn’t know anything about this man.
No. I do. We aren’t friends or even acquaintances, and yet he jumped in without hesitation when he saw I needed help.
That was recommendation enough, wasn’t it?
“Let me get some ice for you,” she said.
He followed her in, reassuring her again by the careful distance he kept from her. He must have guessed she’d be easy to alarm.
This was the decent thing to do, that’s all.
CHAPTER THREE
He felt like a vampire stunned to receive an unanticipated invitation. Please, come in. No extraordinary effort on his part required. All he’d had to do was loiter with an eye on where Ms. Kendrick would emerge from her café, and bingo.
She sat him down at her small kitchen table and took out a bag of frozen peas rather than the ice he’d expected.
“I think this will work better,” she said, seeing his expression. She wrapped it in a dish towel and handed it to him. Then her gaze fell to his knee. “Maybe a second one would be a good idea.”
Adam shook his head as he pressed the cold pack to his cheek. After wincing at the sting of the ice, he said, “The knee really is just scraped. Let’s talk about you, instead.”
She didn’t move a muscle, but he had the fleeting image of a doe that had just spotted a predator. Paralyzing fear. If I don’t even breathe, he won’t see me.
Adam was disconcerted to discover he didn’t enjoy being responsible for that expression in her eyes.
“You’re walking carefully,” he said. “You can’t tell me something doesn’t hurt. Did he knock you down? Hit you?”
Her relief was like seeing someone who’d been concussed regaining consciousness. Warmth, humanity, a sense of self, came back online. His guilt ratcheted up a notch until he reminded himself who Ms. Naomi Kendrick was - a hired killer’s girlfriend, and a liar.
“He...shoved me against my car. I think I wrenched something in my back.” Her forehead creased. “I don’t know why my stomach hurts.”
Setting the frozen peas aside for the moment, he reached for the hem of her T-shirt and said carefully, “May I?”
She quaked. “You want to look at my stomach?”
“Yes.”
“Why...? Oh, never mind. You can... Oh, my,” she finished, staring down at the beginnings of what was going to be a bruise closer to black than the usual purple. It was an obscenity on her smooth white belly.
“What the hell?” he growled. It looked like she’d been stabbed, lacking only the cut.
“Oh,” she said again, but this time on a rising note. “My keys. I’d put them in the car door, and he shoved me flat against it. That’s...right where they would have hit me.”
See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2) Page 4