With Livie dressed in her magical clothes, she uncovered some magical ones herself in a box just inside the door. As suspected, it held things she hadn’t picked out in the boutiques. While she’d been trying on and debating, Morgan must have been buying anything that struck his fancy.
She slipped into fitted jeans and a sweater that felt like woven silk. She pictured a million industrious silkworms in tiny French berets spinning the threads that felt so fine against her skin. Soft and yet warm. A miracle of nature. Before, she had blended modern and vintage clothes from estate sales into her own style. Now she was wearing haute couture.
Erin Spencer, pseudo wife of turnaround genius Morgan Spencer. She carried the rich—and generous—man’s daughter toward the house. At the stable, she saw Hank, not Rick, caring for the horses. Interesting.
Finding Liam in the great room surrounded by oversized Legos, Livie squirmed down to play.
Erin joined Noelle and Celia in the kitchen. “Where’s Morgan?”
“He and Rick went somewhere early.” Noelle looked her over. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.”
Celia said, “Would you like some tea?” And sounded like she meant it.
Taking the mug, Erin sipped steaming Earl Grey and remembered that first hot chocolate with Liam and Noelle. She’d left that naïve girl on the streets of Paris, and it was time to accept the choice she’d made. Blaming Morgan wasn’t productive, or even fair. He hadn’t promised or pretended to love her. She’d mistaken it in his touch.
Livie ran in for Noelle to kiss her bumped finger, then accepted banana slices from her grandma. Liam strode in with boyish energy and strident commentary, receiving a mug of milk and bananas with peanut butter. Into the melee, Rick and Morgan came, Rick in crewneck sweatshirt and jeans, removing his Stetson. Morgan’s overcoat was dusted with snow, but he didn’t remove it.
She met his eyes, wishing everything in her wasn’t drawn to him like Echo to Narcissus. When he beckoned with his head, she followed him out. “I didn’t know where you went, so I showered Livie. I hope that was okay.”
“It’s great. But I’ll show you where I went.” He drew her into the great room and took something from his coat pocket.
She gasped, seeing the jewelry box her grandma, now gone, had given her.
He adjusted the lid and said, “It can be fixed.”
Of course it could. When he produced the small framed photo, she half laughed, half cried, “Pops.”
“I thought so.” He clasped her wrist. “Erin . . .”
“Thank you.” She pressed her forehead to his wet coat sleeve with a stifled sob. “Thank you.”
His arm came around her. “Erin, listen.”
Face still pressed to his sleeve, she raised her eyes.
“Someone used your bathroom.”
“What?”
“It smelled like soap, and the shower was wet.”
Her stomach roiled. “Markham?”
“Can you think who else?”
“No, but . . .” Her euphoria fled. “He was there?”
“I didn’t see him. I got out as soon—”
Hank came in with a cheery greeting. “Breakfast ready?”
“I don’t know, Dad.” Morgan’s tone took the smile from the older man’s face. “But we need to leave.”
“Trouble?”
“Trouble.” Morgan turned. “We’ll need things for Livie, Erin. You and I can make do with our carryons, and we’ll ship the rest.”
“Okay.” Having a task helped her control the fear. In the back of her mind, she’d known she would have to run. Now, it seemed, she wouldn’t be alone.
Skulking on the Tahoe roof beneath the balcony while the man searched Quinn’s bedroom had infuriated him, but Markham hadn’t moved until the way was clear. If the man had come onto the balcony, he’d have seen the vehicle beneath. If he’d leaned over, Markham would have slit his throat.
But they’d gone. He didn’t know who they were. Friends of Quinn’s or agents acting on her behalf? It didn’t matter. Now that they’d come, his strategy had to change. No more waiting where he might be discovered.
He got into the Tahoe and headed toward town, parking at the general store instead of the grocery mart where he’d shopped for supplies. It looked like a fixture in the heart of town where someone might know everyone. He entered with anticipation and jumped when, just inside the door, a floorboard popped.
“Better than a bell,” said the fool behind the counter.
“You can say that again.” Markham hid his annoyance.
“What can I do for you?”
Forming his face into the role, Markham played a good-old boy. “I was hoping you could help me out. I’m looking for Quinn Reilly.” He held out the photo he’d carried along.
The big guy’s face went soft. “Nice picture.”
He hadn’t asked for commentary. “Have you seen her?”
“Not since Thanksgiving.”
Bingo. “She’s out of town?”
“Could be visiting family or something.”
“Oh, she’s not talking to her family. Big blowup.”
The man frowned. “That’s too bad. When?”
“A while back.” Markham plied the lie. “That’s why I’m here, to see how she’s doing.”
“I don’t know.” The guy had the brain of an ox. “You might ask Rick. He had her at the ranch on Thanksgiving. She cooked the whole meal.”
“Did you say ranch?” The pieces clicked into place. She worked for the men—one of them anyway. The rancher Rick. “Where would I find it?”
“It’s up that road a couple miles.” The man pointed. “Past the only other driveway and all the way to the end.”
Markham grinned. “Thanks a lot.” He shook the man’s hand as if he’d sold him a car. People landed in two categories: suspicious and gullible. He considered it a gift to be able to shift ninety percent into the second group.
Chuckling, he started up the gravel road to the ranch, thinking how it might take only that pawn to capture the queen. As he drew near enough to see the spread—log buildings backing to a minor creek and beautiful pasture stretching up a crag-bordered valley—he imagined Quinn bustling like a little worker bee in their kitchen.
She’d been so diligent, so observant—so suspicious from the first glance. He’d known she’d be trouble, but hadn’t imagined how much. He braked at the crest of the rise, debating whether to bide his time or make a bold approach. He decided on the latter, mainly because he was sick to death of biding time.
Erin felt Noelle’s distress as she looked from her to Morgan and asked, “Right this minute?” She’d been deeply involved in both their lives the last two years, mothering Livie as she did her own son, who would also be impacted. No doubt Morgan had considered those details when he made his original plan—all changed now.
With his daughter on his hip, he said, “Could you make Livie some car snacks?”
That meant they were driving, Erin guessed, though they hadn’t discussed it.
“I’ll do that.” Celia pressed a hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “You finish your breakfast.”
They all froze when the doorbell rang. Legs trembling, Erin gripped Morgan’s arm, needing the contact she’d avoided last night.
“Anyone expecting someone?” Rick looked specifically at Noelle, then shot a glance at them. “Get your family out of sight, Morgan.”
Hank flanked Rick to the door and stayed off to the side as she and Morgan and Livie ducked into the pantry and turned on the light.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He put a finger to his lips. Pressing close to him and Livie, she heard the house door open, then the slick salesman voice that turned her stomach.
“Hello. Are you Rick?”
Rick said, “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Ken West, a friend of Quinn Reilly. I was told she works for you.”
She and Morgan shared a look.
“Wh
o told you that?” Rick sounded vaguely friendly, but nothing like his normal warmth.
“The guy down at the store. Said she cooked or maybe catered your Thanksgiving dinner.”
Rudy. The trapped breath hurt her chest.
Morgan whispered, “He didn’t know.”
Of course not.
When Rick neither denied nor confirmed, Markham went on. “I’m hoping you can tell me where to find her. I tried calling but can’t get service. Must be the mountains.”
She pictured Rick standing there, his stoic face inscrutable. As Morgan’s hand tightened on her shoulder, she realized she was shaking, but with fear or fury she couldn’t tell.
Then Hank’s voice came. “Everything all right, son?”
In the dining room, someone silenced Liam when he started to ask what was happening.
Rick said flatly, “He’s a friend of Quinn Reilly.”
“I’ve come a long way to see her.” Markham oozed sincerity.
“Maybe you should try her house,” Hank suggested.
“Sure, sure. Can you tell me where that is?”
As if he didn’t know, she seethed.
Rick said, “About three miles east, then north on Arch Canyon Road. Little A-frame.” Since Markham had already found it, sending him back to her place might buy them time to get out.
Morgan stroked the nape of her neck, his voice barely audible. “Rudy did us a favor saying you cooked here.”
“How?”
“West won’t suspect Rick’s protecting you.”
She looked up. “He’s not Ken West. He’s Markham Wilder.”
His face showed no surprise. “Why the alias?”
“He’s a pathological liar. His whole life is one big con.”
“All right,” the liar said. “Appreciate your help.”
She pictured Markham’s ingratiating smile. He’d be holding out his hand. It sickened her to imagine Rick shaking it, but not shaking would send a message. Willing Markham to leave, she slumped with relief when the door closed.
Livie said, “We hide-a-seeking, Daddy?”
“Yeah, precious. But now we can get out.”
The others were waiting when they did.
“You did the right thing,” Celia said. “Testifying against him.”
She said him as she might snake. And it was true, but they didn’t know the rest. “How did he look?”
“Like a politician who’s done time.” Rick eyed his brother. “You want a gun?”
Gun? She blinked at those words from the holy man who raised his hands to pray.
“I’m a lousy shot,” Morgan answered.
She shook her head when Rick’s gaze shifted to her. The time she’d fired her grandfather’s pistol, she’d shaken like a leaf in a bad wind. Grandma Pearl had scolded the laughter out of his eyes, and Pops had knelt down and apologized. “Guess you’re a bit wee for it yet.”
Morgan pulled her out of her thoughts. “We have to ditch your truck. If he found your house, he might also have the vehicle registration number. Rick, can you handle it?”
He nodded somberly.
“We’ll put the bags in the Range Rover.” He slid his hand to her shoulder. “You and Livie can take that. I’ll drive the Maserati.”
She turned. “The what?”
He pulled a slow smile.
CHAPTER
18
Morgan scanned the yard through the blowing snow as he hustled Erin to the cabin to pack things for Livie. Rick had seen Markham drive away, but he could have doubled back on foot to lie in wait. A quick search showed he wasn’t in the cabin. “Lock it behind me, and wait until I park outside before you come out. I’ll most likely need to jump the Maserati’s battery, so I might be a little while.”
By now Rick and Hank were armed and patrolling. Noelle and Celia had the kids in the house. They could call the sheriff, but he’d rather get out than wait for one of the county deputies who might take hours to even get there. And what would they say? Could they prove Markham texted a threat? Vandalized her house? Maybe, maybe not. Escape sounded better.
Hurrying to the barn, he pulled open the barn door and moved past the tractor with the plow blade. He stopped beside the vehicle parked along the wall in the black formfitting cover. Softly as a mother cat opening the caul on her young, he lifted the cover off his rosso trionfale Maserati GranTurismo. Driving it was like straddling a cheetah, feeling the restrained muscles and sensing an imminent burst of speed but controlling it with a whisper. It wouldn’t be easy to sneak past Markham, but then he wondered if they wanted to. If the jerk was watching, it might be possible to pull a bait and switch.
As the Maserati ground to life like a surly beast from hibernation, his phone rang. Anselm. That gave his heart a hitch. He could count on one hand the times the investigator had phoned instead of e-mailed.
“Morgan, glad I reached you.”
“What is it?”
“Did a little more digging on that felon you asked about. It appears that three years prior to his conviction, Markham Wilder was questioned, though not charged, in a couple of homicides.”
Fear flared. “Why not charged?”
“The detective couldn’t break his alibi, a woman of faith no jury would doubt swore he was working for her the whole day. She called the inquiry a witch hunt.”
Morgan swallowed. “Who died?”
“Pair of miscreants related to Wilder. Cousins, I think.”
“Case solved?”
“Still open, but they’re not working it. Detective’s sure he’s their guy.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He disconnected. Leaving the car running to juice the battery, he went into the house, took Rick’s offer, and locked the gun in the Maserati’s glove box. He couldn’t score a target on the range, but lives on the line might improve his aim.
Inside the cabin, he found Erin zipping the bag of Livie’s clothes. “Ready?”
She nodded. “Clothes and diaper bag. I didn’t know about books or—”
“It’s good enough.” He raised her by the elbow. “And I’ve changed my mind. I want you to take the Maserati to Rudy’s. He keeps a shotgun behind the counter. I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
Her eyes widened. “And what, Rudy shoots Markham?”
“Hopefully warns him off. But shooting’s okay too.”
She searched his face. “Then what?”
“Wait with Rudy until Livie and I get there in the Range Rover.”
She forked her fingers into her hair, looking truly scared for the first time.
He went to his closet and took out the colorful ski hat with ear flaps his mother had given him last Christmas. Pulling off the tags, he said, “Can you get your hair in this?”
She looked from it to him. “Probably.”
“When you’re ready, bind it up and put on the hat. I need to talk to Rick and Noelle.”
Her hands shook when she took the hat, but she’d be okay. He went to the house and saw his parents’ luggage by the door. Celia looked up from reading to her grandkids. His dad stood at the great room window, one hand in a pocket that probably held a nine-millimeter automatic. Rick and Noelle came down the stairs, wearing matching expressions of concern.
Morgan drew a slow breath. “I just learned the guy hassling Erin is suspected in a couple homicides.” He repeated Anselm’s information. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know until now. When the investigation turned up only fraud and embezzlement, I thought Erin might have overreacted. Not so.” He shook his head as a dark mood came on.
Hank frowned. “We should contact the sheriff.”
“Do it,” Morgan agreed. “But don’t say anything about me or our marriage. I want that quiet as long as possible.”
Noelle touched his arm. “Can’t they arrest him?”
“For what?” He turned to Rick. “Did you hear a threat?”
“No. But her place is trashed.”
“Did you see him do it?”
“I
t’s a good guess he did.”
Guessing was worth about that. “Get someone out there. Maybe they can find and question him, but that doesn’t help Erin get away.”
Noelle spread her hand. “So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to draw Markham off.”
“You’re doing what?” his dad said.
“I have a plan. It includes Rudy’s shotgun.”
The three of them eyed him grimly, but no one argued.
Erin tried to look calm and brave when Morgan set Livie down and closed the cabin door.
“You remember what to do?”
She nodded.
“Drive slowly and carefully. If Markham’s out there, let him know it’s you.”
“Then why the hat?”
“You’ll see. Get the gas pumping, then go straight in to Rudy.”
She forced an even tone. “Okay.”
As she hurried through the blowing snow into the Maserati he’d left running, the tiny hairs on her neck rose. Could Markham see her? Every nerve pulled taut as she left Rick’s ranch on the one-lane road that only widened out near town. She passed Vera’s driveway about two thirds of the way down, a gravel ribbon walled by lodgepole pines. Did Markham lurk there?
Flesh creeping, she came to a stop at the intersection, then continued across the highway, parked at the pumps, and began to fuel. She hurried, heart hammering, over the roughly paved parking lot. Just before she entered, she slipped the wedding band off her finger and into her pocket. The fewer people outside Rick’s family who knew, the better.
Rudy met her inside the door with his shotgun and a rueful expression.
“Please don’t apologize. You didn’t know.” She hated that he felt bad in any way, hated that she’d dragged him and the others into her trouble. But with fear still twitching up her back, she said, “Could we wait behind the counter until Morgan gets here?”
“He’s not here?” He pressed his hands to his hips. “But that’s his car.”
“He has the other one.”
Rudy’s jaw fell slack. “He let you drive the Maserati?”
She should have recognized a shrine. Ducking past when he unlocked the hatch, she took in the relative shelter of the mostly glass counter. A barrier at least.
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