Just Evil (The Evil Secrets Trilogy)

by Vickie McKeehan

  Out of desperation, Jake simply grunted, “Uh, I’ll take a regular.” Damn, this was not going well.

  In a clipped, angry voice, she fumed, “I’m sure you want that to-go since to-go is what you do best.”

  “For here?”

  She turned back to the tray to lift a ceramic cup. She fumbled with the pickup and it slipped out of her hands, dropped to the floor and shattered. He heard her mutter something. Then, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and filled another cup before setting it down on the counter with a slosh. “Surely the black-hearted cheapskate bastard would like a pastry to go with that.”

  “Ouch. What do you recommend?”

  “That you stay on your side of L.A. and I’ll stay on mine.” But he ignored her and calmly started scanning the array of pastries in the glass case. She huffed out a breath when she thought he was taking too long, and grumbled, “Oh for God’s sakes, order the apple tart, everyone knows it’s the house specialty.”

  Jake gritted his teeth and got the apple tart. After paying, he took his purchase over to a vacant table by the window, sat down next to a guy reading his paper—and waited.

  Thank God she was busy was all she could think as she filled orders and tried to ignore him sitting at a table by the front window. The distance gave her time to get her balance back. But every few minutes, out of the corner of her eye, Kit looked his way, and wondered why he couldn’t have choked to death on sushi over the past year. Or why he couldn’t have lost every strand of hair on his stupid head. Life just wasn’t fair.

  He’s just an idiot man―she decided―with a crop of black hair and expressive blue eyes. Thinking about his eyes pushed her back to her awkward teen years and her first dip into the one-sided pool of teenage love. But now she wasn’t a shy girl admiring the man’s tanned, lean, six-two frame but rather a full-grown woman who’d never been able to ignore the way this particular man filled out a pair of jeans.

  Okay, she needed her head examined, but it would have to wait. She needed to find out why he was here in San Madrid. He hadn’t driven in traffic for two hours in the pouring rain on a Saturday morning to see her. That much she knew. After leaving her high and dry without so much as a phone call, she deserved an explanation.

  After the line died down, she picked up a carafe off the burner and headed out to make the rounds. She took her time pouring refills here and there until after several eternal minutes, she reached his table.

  The crowded shop tempered her language when she glared at his face. “You, Jake Boston, are a first-class asshole.”

  He set down his fork in mid-bite. “Just give me five minutes.”

  “Unless you were in a coma for a year and couldn’t pick up a damned phone, it’ll take longer than five minutes. I want you out of here.”

  “You’d throw out a customer?”

  “Think of it as reserving the right to refuse service.”

  “Aw, come on, Kit. This apple tart is delicious by the way. Tastes better than the one my grandmother used to make.”

  Flattery from the arrogant jerk, now that was new. “You didn’t drive two hours in the rain for pastry or coffee, Jake. There’s a Starbucks across the street from your office.”

  “I owe you an apology. Why don’t you sit down, get off your feet for a few minutes. I’m prepared to grovel.”

  Grovel? Jake Boston? That’ll be the day, she thought, as she glanced at the counter. For the first time all morning there was no line; not a single customer waited there. Reluctantly, she sat down, waved her hand. “Okay, but make it quick.”

  “I had to leave, Kit. Get away. Put some distance between me and L.A. and what happened to Claire.”

  She sighed. So it was still about the wife. “That’s it? That’s your explanation for taking off without so much as a goodbye. That’s weak, Jake. Japan? Could you have run any farther? Not a phone call, no e-mail. Not even a one-line text. The last time—that night we went to dinner, we almost…” She huffed out a breath. “I thought we were at the very least friends.”

  He put his hand on top of hers. “We are. Always. But…you knew what a hard time I was having with—everything. I had to leave, Kit, get my head on straight. At the time, I had too many problems. It wasn’t fair to you.”

  “I see.” She jerked her hand from the weight of his, drummed her fingers on the table. “You left and took off to the other side of the world…for me. Didn’t call, didn’t write, for me. Friends don’t do that, Jake. I deserved better, I deserve…”

  “You deserve better than a damned murder suspect. But I’ve put it behind me. I’m back. And ready to do better.”

  “Right. Until you decide that you need to put some distance between us again? I don’t think so.”

  “Look, I’m back…to stay. You’ll just have to handle it.”

  “Yeah. Right. For a smart guy you’re really dumb, you know that? We both know that you coming back doesn’t have a thing to do with me.”

  To hell it didn’t. “I’m renovating the Crandall House.”

  Her heart dropped. “The Crandall House—the house on the cliffs? My Crandall house? You’re moving here to San Madrid? Why?” With another wife probably, she thought, despising the woman already. No wonder he’d moved on. Her jaw visibly tightened.

  “The house was a good investment. I can always fix the place up then put it on the market.” He tried to sound convincing.

  When the bell over the door signaled a customer, she stood up, picked up the pot of coffee and said, “I hope everything works out for you, Jake.” Have a crappy life without me, she wanted to scream into the rain, but it just wasn’t in her. She’d spent too many years caring about him to turn mean now. Oh, she wanted him to suffer for leaving, but she couldn’t get her mouth to spout off all the nasty things she’d wished on him over the past year. And what good would it do? She forced her lips into a curve. “Just so you know, I’m over you. I’ve had the disease, gone through the cure, taken my shots. You can go infect someone else.”

  With that, she whirled around, and stormed to the counter to wait on her customer.

  The man at the next table dropped his newspaper long enough to look over. Jake met his expression, saw the commiserating look and said weakly, “That could have gone better.”

  The stranger’s lips twitched before ducking back behind his paper.

  Jake sat there another hour watching the place gradually empty as the customers either left or went in to browse through the bookstore.

  Since it wouldn’t get any easier, he approached her as she wiped down tables. He patiently waited until she glanced up. “If you have some time later maybe you could ride out to the house, take a look, and tell me what you think. I could really use a woman’s take.”

  Surprise crossed her face. “My take…you mean…you want my opinion on how to remodel it?”

  “Yeah. I could really use another pair of eyes. Maybe there’s something I’ve missed. I’ve never renovated an older home before.”

  He glanced around. “And you did such a great job when you took over the bookstore from Gloria, adding the coffee shop, remodeling this place. I could use all the advice I can get.”

  When he saw interest flick in her eyes, he quickly added, “Come on, it wouldn’t take that long. What time do you close up?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  “Then I’ll be back at four.” He looked out the window, saw the rain still coming down in sheets, and muttered, “Maybe, when the rain lets up, we can go sailing.” And with that, he headed out the door.

  Kit stood there, nailed to the same spot for several minutes before she said out loud to an empty shop, “Well for goodness’ sake, what was that all about?”

  He sat across Main Street in the Chevy, listening to the pouring rain beat on the roof for what seemed like an eternity until the man finally came out of the Book & Bean.

  There was obviously a connection between Alana’s daughter and the man who had shown up out of the bl
ue. He needed to know if this Jake posed a threat to his plans.

  He re-read the notes he had on Kit Griffin. There was no mention of a man in her life. But if the man ended up being a complication, he’d have to eliminate him just as he would anyone else who got in his way.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jake was prompt. At four o’clock, just as Kit finished cleaning the last of the equipment, he walked back into the store carrying two umbrellas. As he watched her restock the condiment bar, he tried to gauge whether or not her anger might have subsided. When she turned to glare at him, he decided it was less than a fifty-fifty shot.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d actually show,” she announced.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You had several hours to kill. With the weather like it is, I thought you’d get tired of waiting and head back to L.A.”

  “Not a chance. It’s still coming down out there though.”

  “This is some storm, but hey, a little rain never hurt.”

  “I bet that’s what Noah said.”

  A joke. He’d cracked a joke. Unbelievable, she thought, and wondered if the storm had blown her into a parallel universe.

  “Thinking of building an ark, Jake?” When she’d retrieved her purse from under the counter, turned off the lights, and grabbed her jacket off the peg, she reached for one of the umbrellas he was holding. Doing her damnedest to rankle him, she oozed sarcasm when she added sweetly, “Or do you suppose your row boat can handle this heavy rain?”

  “Very funny. I remember a time when you were a whole lot nicer to me.”

  “Yeah. And look where that got me.”

  The trip through town, past the waterfront, and up the cliffs to the old Victorian Queen Anne known locally as the Crandall House took less than five minutes. But once they turned off the Coast Highway onto a spotty, gravel driveway they sat inside the car, waiting for the rain to let up. They kept the conversation light, sticking with safe subjects like building permits and contractors. He didn’t mention Gloria had been the one who tipped him off about the house and how much Kit had talked about fixing it up.

  “Have you ever been inside?” he asked.

  She’d driven by the place a hundred times. But she saw no reason to open up and let him know, so she simply shook her head. “It’s a great old house though. Did you know it was built in 1888 as a hotel, a stop on the Coast Stage Line? The place should be a historical landmark, don’t you think?”

  “You know the history then.”

  “A little. I like old things. I’m surprised you’d pick a house that needs so much work and as far north as San Madrid. Renovation’s not only costly and time consuming, but living here will be quite a commute.”

  He ignored the comment. “But it’s worth the effort, don’t you think? They haven’t been able to do much work to the outside because of the rain this week. But the inside…” Laughing when he saw the look on her face, he finished, “Is definitely under construction. You’ll see what I mean when we get inside.”

  But Kit wasn’t listening. Her gaze had fallen on the wraparound porch that ran the length of the house, its charming two-foot rock wall railing, and the ornate columns that looked like draped ivy. Her eyes drifted up to the curved second floor balcony and its rounded exterior. She’d often wondered if that wall meant there was a circular room, like a castle behind it. She’d always thought the place looked more like a castle than a house. Even with all the work it needed, she zeroed in on the idea of owning such a unique house with so much history.

  “You ready? We might as well make a run for it; this rain isn’t letting up.” He flashed a wicked grin her way before throwing open the car door and flipping up the umbrella.

  When he got around to open her door, he took her arm, and then just stood there looking down at her as the rain pelted the umbrella.

  At first she thought he’d changed his mind about going inside, but when he turned her around to stand in front of him, he pointed over her shoulder and said, “Take a look at that view.”

  The house sat on the highest cliff above the little coastal town with the ocean in front and a forest of trees to the back. Looking out over the top of the car, she smelled the rain and the fishy scent from the ocean, but she had to admit she’d never seen anything quite like the view from this spot.

  From where they were standing on the cliff, they faced the sea, looking through the mist and the spray to the gray horizon. From this height, the clouds were rolling in, drifting toward the car hugging the ground in an eerie fog that slowly began to eat up the ground and envelope them.

  “How many times do you get a chance to see the elements come together like that?”

  She drew in a ragged breath just thinking about him living here with someone else. It was a good thing she’d gotten past Jake Boston.

  To keep from getting drenched, he began to move them quickly from the car, across the yard, around mud puddles, past equipment and materials covered by huge black tarps. They ran up five, slippery, saggy steps to the long, wraparound porch.

  Jake opened one of the double front doors and let her go inside first before leaving the umbrella on the porch. She stepped into a wide entryway with a concrete floor, sheetrock walls, and not much else.

  “At least you won’t get wet. We finished the new roof before the rain hit. But the place needs some work, huh?”

  That was an understatement. The place looked like the Addams Family wouldn’t live there. And she saw now what he meant by his “under construction” comment. Everywhere she looked there were sawhorses, tools, fresh lumber, and materials stacked against the walls waiting to be used as either new cabinets, new walls, or new flooring.

  As she caught the fragrant odor of wood mingled with the smell of rain, she imagined the possibilities of the old house. A cozy fire in the stone fireplace, pictures on the mantel, a real family sitting around the dining room table.

  Whoa. Where had that come from? Down girl. This is not your house. One glance at Jake told her he was waiting for her to say something. She went with upbeat. “Who wouldn’t want to live here just to wake up to that view outside every morning?”

  “So you like it?”

  “It has potential, Jake.”

  He blew out a breath before moving her along, pointing out what work they were doing in each room. But when she spotted the bridal staircase, she ran her hand along the mahogany railing, her heart dropping a little further with each step she took. Who was he planning to share this huge house with?

  She made certain her voice never gave anything away as she started upstairs, chatty all the way to the top. “They don’t make staircases like this anymore. If you don’t mind I’d like to take a look at the view from that round balcony, though. It’s got to be the master bedroom.”

  He watched her walk up the steps ahead of him, focusing on the way she moved, the sleek shape of her body. He couldn’t remember a woman looking so damned beautiful wandering around the rooms of a cold shell of a house on a chilly, rainy afternoon and chatting the place up. It took all his will power to keep his hands to himself and not turn her around right then and there to kiss her boneless.

  When they got to the landing, he took her hand in his and steered her to the left, down the corridor, to the spacious circular master bedroom. She oohed and ahhed over the floor-to-ceiling windows and the rounded fireplace in the corner. Then she stepped outside onto the wet balcony, taking in the view again.

  When she finally walked back inside she spun around and asked, “Is there something you haven’t told me? You planning to remarry, start a family? This house is huge.”

  But when he just smiled at her, she decided to check out the rest of the room.

  She opened the door to a small bathroom then to an even tinier closet. The room started to whirl. A dizzying sickness engulfed her. The closet became a blur as she backed away from the tiny space. Panic squeezed her chest then moved up to lock tight in her throat. She swayed.

  Jake saw her start b
acking away, slowly, inching further away from the closet until she stopped in the middle of the room.

  She’d gone gray as death.

  Jake caught her right before she hit the floor.

  When she came to, he was holding her against his chest. She blinked, looked up at him and saw they were sitting on the bottom step of the bridal staircase. Sitting there with his arms locked tight around her, she felt the strength in his arms, the beat of his heart through his jacket, and began trying to get up.

  He noticed her shivering and wrapped his arms tighter, securing her in place.

  She desperately wanted to throw her arms around him and enjoy the moment. But no, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself ever again, not with this man. Been there, done that. She wasn’t going down that road again even in her sorry state. And would that ever change? she wondered. Something—he must have triggered something from the past to set her off like that.

  “You want to tell me what happened?”

  She lied. “I…I’m not sure.”

  “You went white as paste and then just dropped. One minute you’re fine, checking the place out, looking in closets, and then wham. You want to tell me anything?”

  She swallowed hard. “Like what?”

  “Are you ill?”

  “No. I’m cold.” And she wanted as far away from him as possible.

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here and get you warmed up.”

  She pushed off his chest or tried to, started to get to her feet. But he held her there locked in his arms. With her squirming against him, his lower half started to respond. If he didn’t let her go, he feared a response she wouldn’t be too pleased about at the moment.

  “Let me up.”

  “Now you’re upset.”

  “I want you to let me up. We’re not—I’m not—doing this again.”