One Hot Target

by Diane Pershing

  She remained seated, shocked by his cold, pointed comments. “But, I—”

  He didn’t allow her to finish her sentence. “Phoebe Kurtz is dead. If you are her daughter—and I doubt you are, as this is the first I’ve heard of your existence—please have your lawyer contact me. You may take one of my cards from the reception desk. Good day.”

  She stood, shaking her head. “But I didn’t come here to—”

  “Good day, Ms. Coyle.” Once again he cut her off, dismissing her as though she were a gnat who had dared to breathe the same air as him.

  Confused, smarting from unfounded accusations, Carmen headed for the door. But before exiting, she paused in the doorway as the healing rush of outrage took over. She looked him directly in the eye. “I’m not what you think I am, Mr. Hausner. I’m simply trying to connect with my family.”

  “I doubt that, Ms. Coyle.”

  He began to close the door, and if she hadn’t jumped out of the way, might have slammed it into her back.

  She glared at the now closed door, thought about heading right back in there and telling him off. How dare he? But caution took over, rare though that was for Carmen. This was too important to risk blowing it. She needed to think this through before acting rashly.

  Head held high, she walked down the corridor, past the reception desk—where she did not take one of his cards, thank you—and out into the hallway. Once there, she sagged against the wall.

  What was that all about? she asked herself, even as echoes of Hausner’s accusations whirled around in her head. Incredibly naive or incredibly skilled…a fortune hunter…if you are Phoebe Kurtz’s daughter. Doubt as to her claims, doubt as to her motives.

  She tried to summon the outrage again, but it had already lessened. In fact, she had to admit, had she been in charge of protecting a sick old man from the world, she might have had the same reaction as the lawyer.

  But…a fortune hunter? That was so not who she was. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind that there might be an estate, that she might be entitled to part of the estate. It still wasn’t crossing her mind. She was a Coyle, not a Kurtz. All she wanted were some answers—why had Phoebe been estranged from her family? Were any of them even aware she’d had a daughter? Was there anyone she could talk to about all this?

  Could anyone come up with a reason someone wanted Carmen dead?

  Was there anyone who cared?

  JR. His face, his chiseled, dear face, flew into her head, making her smile at the picture. JR cared. And she cared about him. More even than before. Because they had slept together? Or because she was actually allowing herself to—she gave a mental gulp before she completed the thought—fall in love?

  Was that it? Good heavens. Was she ready to face it and, as the expression went, to own it?

  Oh, boy. She needed to let this little notion simmer for a while, she realized. Wait and see if it was real or just a lifeline she was grabbing on to at a moment in time when she needed one really badly.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Okay, then. What to do next about the Kurtzes? Of course. She would go to the source, visit the man who was her grandfather.

  Or not. He was sick and old. Hausner said no one knew Phoebe had had a child, so Carmen’s suddenly popping up might be too much for him. It might shock him, make him sicker.

  At least now, though, she thought with another lightning-quick mood swing, she had information that had been worth the trip to Arizona. New details that she’d obtained by herself and about herself: she was descended from gardeners! That’s where she got her love of all green and growing things. She wasn’t a Martian. She belonged somewhere.

  Not, of course, that she didn’t also belong to the Coyles—she was Gerald’s daughter, too. But now she knew that there was a historical precedent for her green thumb.

  Kurtz Nurseries, she thought happily, willing away the sour taste in her mouth left by Hausner and his accusations. She would go visit Kurtz Nurseries, see what Hiram had created. Excited, she walked quickly out the door of the office building and was lucky enough to find a cruising taxi. “Do you know where the nearest Kurtz Nursery is?” she asked the cabbie when she got in.

  “About three miles away.”

  “Take me there, please.”

  She glanced at her watch. Noon. Arizona, she’d learned, didn’t observe daylight savings time so, at this time of year, Phoenix was in the same time zone as California. She owed JR a phone call.

  “JR,” she whispered as, again, she felt this lovely warmth fill her chest. He truly was a special man. Was she in love with him? Was this what love, real, grown-up, grow-old-together, love-with-a-capital-L felt like? But it didn’t hurt. Wasn’t love supposed to hurt?

  She opened her cell and called his office, but his secretary said he wasn’t back yet. She asked for his voice mail and when she got it said, “Hi, JR. It’s me. I just got out of the lawyer’s office. He wasn’t too happy with me—thought I was some kind of fortune hunter. He said the family knew Phoebe was dead, but had never heard of my existence. But at least I found out that my biological mother’s family were gardeners. Doesn’t that explain a lot? I’m not sure if you understand, but that makes me feel so much better. Anyway, I’m not sure if I’m going to visit my grandfather, because he’s pretty old and sick and I don’t want to upset him. Maybe I’ll contact him another day. For now, though, I’m going to check out a couple of the nurseries owned by the family. Kurtz Nurseries, that’s what they’re called.”

  She lowered her voice and whispered into the phone, “And listen…I just want you to know that…um, I’m thinking about you. Missing you, actually. A lot,” she added. “Bye.”

  She snapped the phone closed and watched the scenery go by out the window, eager to stroll up and down long aisles bursting with shrubs and flowers, trees and herbs, all of it smelling of wet, dark, soil, mulch and fertilizer.

  Eager to be where she felt totally at home.

  Chapter 11

  “You really want to know why I didn’t tell you all this before?” JR barked into the phone, aware he was raising his voice. Also that he was in his office and it wasn’t the kind of thing the members of his firm usually did while speaking on the phone, but just not giving a damn. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes, I do,” Mac said evenly on the other end of the line. “Sunday morning I dropped in on you and your girlfriend at the hotel, remember? And gave you a resource? And asked you to let me know as soon as you found anything out? Remember?”

  “Well, we’ve been kind of busy here, Detective.” JR’s temper was approaching the boiling point; he knew it and couldn’t do a thing about turning down the burner. “Carmen found out Sunday afternoon that her mother wasn’t her mother,” he said through clenched teeth, “so then we hauled it up to Santa Barbara and got confirmation from the woman who raised her, and who Carmen always called her mother, even though she wasn’t, biologically speaking, and then they had to work everything out, so we didn’t get back till late last night.” It was a run-on sentence worthy of Carmen herself, but he didn’t care. “Then, early this morning, Carmen took off without telling me where she was going. Apparently, whatever watchdogs your captain provided managed to miss her as she left, as she was wearing a disguise.”

  Furious at Carmen, the police, the world in general all over again, JR walked over to the window and gazed out, seeing nothing. “I’ve been attending to business all morning for my real job, as opposed to my volunteer job of looking out for a woman whose life is in danger. My shoulder hurts like the blazes. I can’t take pain meds because they knock me out and I can’t function. No one seems to know what the hell is going on. I now know where Carmen is but am not sure if the bad guys have gotten to her yet. And your feelings are hurt because I didn’t tell you sooner? Excuse me, Detective, but in the scheme of things, as far as priorities go, pardon me if I don’t apologize. In fact, pardon me if I don’t give a rat’s ass!”

  A long silence greete
d his outburst, during which JR wondered if Mac had hung up and he’d been too filled with righteous fury to hear the disconnect. Then the detective spoke, his voice calm and measured. “You through, Counselor?” he said, sounding like a health care professional trying to talk down a jumper from the top of the building. “You feel better now? You done with your little tantrum?”

  “Tantrum?”

  “You got a better word? Fine, one day we’ll play ‘Can you top this synonym?’, but for now, we got more pressing things to take care of.”

  JR had to admire Mac’s refusal to engage him in a pissing contest. Because, of course, the detective was right. JR—who usually prided himself on his control—might be at the end of his rope, due to pain, lack of sleep, worry and the intrusion of his work life on his private life, but all that really didn’t matter, not now. Carmen did.

  He whooshed out a breath, then said, “I’m through. I do feel better, actually. And I apologize. I had no right to dump on you like that.”

  “Apology accepted. Now, you tell me what Ben’s report said—the names, the details—and I’ll take it from there.”

  When JR had finished reading Ben’s findings to Mac, the detective said, “Got it. And you have no idea where Carmen is?”

  “The last time she called me, about two hours ago, she’d just been to see the Kurtz family lawyer, who wasn’t too pleased to see her.”

  “Name?”

  “Peter Hausner. He’s in Scottsdale. I just finished talking to Ben—apparently, Carmen went by this morning and got the name from him.”

  “Okay.”

  “After she saw the lawyer, she called me and said she was going to wander around some nurseries.”

  “Nurseries? Like babies?”

  “No, plants. Carmen loves plants and flowers. She’s got the most amazing green thumb—she’s rescued every growing thing she’s ever come in contact with.” He could picture Carmen in the tiny garden she’d cultivated in the rear of her house, her oversize green watering can dispensing moisture as she chatted with her flowers. Always so tender, so solicitous, as though each plant had its own soul. Despite his present mood, he had to smile at the image, and he felt a slight easing in his chest.

  “A pretty special lady,” Mac observed, taking a little side trip from the main topic of discussion. “You two together, or what?”

  The million-dollar question. “When I know I’ll let you know.”

  “Like that, huh? Well, look, give her a call, let her know we’re on it at this end.”

  “I tried. She isn’t answering, so I left word on her voice mail. At least she cleared her messages.”

  “And this lawyer. Hausner? Let me nose around, see what I can come up with.”

  “You’ll get back to me when you have something?” JR asked, then added ruefully, “Sooner than I got back to you?”

  Mac’s quiet chuckle was followed by, “Count on it, Counselor.”

  JR hung up the phone, drummed the fingers of his right hand on his desk, glanced at the files in his in-basket and then at his calendar. No contest, really—who was he kidding? He punched in the button that connected him to his secretary. Time to get a move on.

  JR’s cell phone rang while he was on the way to the airport.

  It was Ben. “Look,” he said, “I found something hinky about that lawyer for the Kurtz family.”

  JR was on full alert. “Go on.”

  “A while back, years ago, he conducted a search to find the missing daughter, Phoebe, right? And he told Carmen that he was unaware of her existence, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, that’s just bull. He knows all about Carmen, down to her name, address and social security number. It was all in the report he got.”

  JR didn’t want to know how Ben got hold of what was obviously a confidential report. It was amazing how your normally ethical behavior flew right out the window when someone you loved was in danger. But right now, he had more important things to attend to: Hausner. The lawyer was dirty, he knew it in his gut, and his fears for Carmen’s safety were back.

  From his daily dealings with billion-dollar corporations, JR had found that whenever there was big money, there was a major chance of big corruption. The temptation was just too hard to resist.

  “Good work, Ben. I’m on my way to see Mr. Hausner as we speak.”

  Kurtz Xeriscaping was the third and most out-of-the-ordinary Kurtz nursery Carmen had visited. It was stocked with plants and project ideas for a planet whose water supply was drying up. Not just cacti, but also new drought-resistant strains of manzanita and pyracantha, new compost and mulching techniques. As she walked up and down the aisles, Carmen was filled with enthusiasm. Idea after idea sprang to mind, not only for her own little garden, but also Mom’s hedges, and certainly Shannon’s new storefront office. Mom and Shannon kept forgetting to water—this low-hydration technique was made just for them.

  As she headed down a new aisle to examine a coffeeberry shrub, a figure darted quickly around the next corner, disappearing immediately from sight. It not only took her by surprise, but it spooked her, so she stepped behind a row of tall bushes in pots. Was it the shooter? Had he or she followed her from L.A.?

  But…she’d been so careful all day. The disguise, paying cash at the airport, watching her back every step of the way. No, she hadn’t been followed from L.A. She was sure of it.

  However…she could have been followed since arriving in town. That lawyer, Hausner, could have had her followed.

  Was she being overly suspicious? Maybe yes, maybe no. She wanted to believe badly of him because she hadn’t liked his treatment of her. But let’s say she was right and he was following her, or, more likely, having her followed. Why?

  To see where she went next, of course.

  Again, why? Why did he need to keep tabs on her? Was he afraid she was going to visit her grandfather, maybe upset him? That made sense. Hausner had no way of knowing that Carmen had earlier decided not to pop in on the old man.

  Or maybe Hausner wanted to keep her away from Hiram for less humane reasons. Maybe there was something he didn’t want Carmen—or her grandfather—to know. Well, too bad. That decided her on the next part of her plan. She would go to her grandfather’s house. Walk around, for starters, check the place out. She was curious, had a right to be.

  She glanced at her watch. Three in the afternoon. It would be dark soon. If she was going to see anything, she’d better do it now.

  As soon as JR disembarked at Sky Harbor International Airport, he turned on his cell phone. It rang immediately.

  “Where the hell have you been?” It was Mac. “I’ve been trying to get you for the past two hours.”

  “On a plane. I just landed in Phoenix. What do you have?”

  “Some answers. I called a cop friend of mine in Scottsdale, Gary Florez. Got the lowdown on Hausner. Apparently he’s always been rock-solid, respected, from an old Arizona family. However, he’s gotten into some recent trouble with debt. He’s a gambler, big-time. Kept it under wraps for years, but lately, it’s gotten out of hand.”

  His gut had been right! “Which means he needs access to money.”

  “Lots of money, according to Florez. He’s mortgaged to the hilt.”

  “And I’ll just bet he manages several trusts for several well-to-do clients. And where better to get hold of money than by milking an estate he’s in charge of?”

  “Okay, it’s a good theory,” Mac said. “But that’s all it is, for now.”

  “Yeah, but it fits. Carmen told me that the lawyer told her he had no idea of her existence. Your friend Ben says that’s a crock, that Hausner conducted a search years ago and found out about Carmen’s birth. But he kept Carmen’s existence from the Kurtz family. Why?”

  “Or maybe he didn’t.”

  “Excuse me…?”

  “Maybe they do know about her. Maybe they’ve stayed away from her, for whatever reason. Respecting her privacy. Or they didn’t want to be remind
ed of her mother. Who knows?”

  JR was nearly to the taxi stand now. “I like the first theory better. Suppose Carmen’s a major beneficiary in the old man’s will? What if there’s a clause that if she predeceases him, the money goes to the lawyer? No,” he amended quickly, “it wouldn’t be set up that way. It would go to a charitable foundation whose purse strings are controlled by the lawyer.”

  “Access to money, lots of it, for sure,” Mac said. “But only if Carmen—the potential monkey wrench to his plans—is out of the picture.”

  “Which might explain the attempt on her life.” He paused and frowned. “But why now, Mac? Why, if he’s known about her existence for years, go after her now? What’s the catalyst?”

  “Florez says he heard that Hausner had to go to moneylenders about a month ago. And that there’s a payment due that he can’t make.”

  “Crunch time.” JR nodded. “He can’t wait for the old man to die, especially if a new young heir shows up, with her own lawyers and accountants, so he has to act now. He’s planning to use Kurtz’s money to pay off the moneylenders, and it’s time to get rid of the one potential obstacle to getting away with it.”

  “You have a devious mind, Counselor,” Mac said. “Reminds me of mine. It’s pure speculation, of course. Nothing I can act on.”

  “But I can. I’m here. I have to find Carmen. And soon.” Tension coiled in his gut as he realized if his and Mac’s speculations were in any way on the money, the danger to Carmen’s life was as great as ever.