“Is he still here?” she asked as she pulled into the space beside him, thankful that the man had arranged his car so they would be facing opposite directions, enabling them to talk without having to step out into the chilly night air. A cop thing, she supposed.
Alton nodded. “Room nine.”
Kendall breathed a sigh of relief; she’d been afraid she would miss him, but she’d had to pack up the things in her room at the house that were indispensable to her; she didn’t trust Alice not to toss them out or lock them up now that she’d so gleefully given Kendall her walking papers. And she’d had to stop by Aaron’s office at Hawk Manufacturing and gather some essential items from there; it was only a matter of time, she knew, before Alice realized some key things were not in Aaron’s big mahogany desk in his study at home. Then she’d go looking, and the office was the first place she’d think of. Especially since she no doubt now had Aaron’s keys.
“Leaving town yourself?” Alton asked, eyeing the boxes and luggage piled in the back seat.
“Not yet,” she said. “But I think it’s only fair to tell you, Mr. Alton, I no longer work for Hawk Industries.”
Alton merely lifted a shoulder negligently. “Hawk Industries didn’t hire me. Aaron Hawk did. And he made it clear from the beginning that this was purely personal, and had nothing to do with the business. And,” he added, “ ‘Mr. Alton’ is my father.”
“All right.” She smiled. “George.”
It seemed Aaron had, as always, chosen well. She remembered when she first realized that half the reason Aaron was so rough on the people who worked for him was to see which ones would stand up to him and which ones wouldn’t. The ones who did were the ones who rose up the ranks; the others were either intimidated into quitting or remained in their low-profile positions, praying not to draw the attention of the big boss. George Alton didn’t seem the type to be intimidated by much of anything, despite his easygoing demeanor.
And while he had a demeanor that was anything but easygoing, neither did Jason West. She turned her head to look across the street at the motel. She could see the racy gray coupe parked in front of a room with the lights on. A room separated from the next obviously occupied one by several dark and apparently vacant rooms in between. She wondered if it was by chance or Jason West’s choice.
“I found out from my airport source that he came in on a flight from San Jose,” Alton said, “connecting from Seattle.”
Kendall looked back at him. “So he does still live there?”
Alton shrugged. “Can’t be sure yet, but it’s a good possibility.”
“We had several Jason Wests on the list from that area, didn’t we?”
Alton nodded. “I called an old buddy of mine who has an agency in Tacoma, after I found out they were living up there when his mother was killed. I emailed him the list, and what little we knew about the kid. Now that we’ve got more to go on, we’ll find out who he is and where he’s been.” He grimaced. “Too bad we didn’t get through the list before Aaron died.”
Kendall didn’t think her expression changed, but Alton gave her a kindly look of sympathy.
“You have someplace to go?” The man gestured at her baggage. “I know you were living up at the house, so you’re not just out of a job, you’re out of a roof, too.”
Kendall smiled, touched by the man’s concern. “I’ll be fine.” Her smile turned wry. “If all else fails,” she added, pointing across the street, “it seems they have plenty of rooms.”
Alton frowned. “That might be all right for a while, but not long-term. If it’s money, with Aaron dying—”
“Really, I’ll be fine, Mr. . . . George. Aaron paid me very well, and his investment counselors have given me some good advice over the last ten years.”
It was true; if she was careful, she could live nicely for years on what she had. After that there was the trust fund, if she needed it. But unemployed idleness was not a goal she aspired to. She needed to work. She had to work. She’d find something, somewhere. Someplace without an Alice Hawk to deal with.
At the ugly reminder, she pondered telling Alton the whole story, of the codicil and the threat of a criminal frame that was hanging over her head. It seemed wise to have someone else know, but she wasn’t certain she should make that decision alone. Jason was involved in this as well, although he didn’t know it yet. He had a right to decide what should be done. She would wait, she thought, for now.
Besides, she had other things to attend to first. Like living up to the trust Aaron had placed in her. She looked over at the motel again.
“You want me to stick around while you talk to him?” Alton asked.
She glanced back at him. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Alton didn’t look very happy. “I heard he got kind of ugly at the funeral.”
Kendall sighed. No uglier than the widow, she thought. “Can you blame him?” she asked aloud.
Alton shrugged. “I suppose not. But that doesn’t mean you should try and deal with him on your own.”
Kendall, again touched by the man’s concern, considered his words. “He’s very angry. And bitter. He hated Aaron, and he had every right to. But I don’t think he’s violent.”
“If you’re wrong, you could be sorry. In a way, you still represent Aaron Hawk, and he might decide to take it out on you.”
“That’s just a chance I’ll have to take.” She turned her gaze back across the street.
The lights in room nine went out.
Seconds later, the door opened, and she saw a tall man in a dark coat step out, carrying a small black leather bag. She couldn’t see his face from here, but she knew it was Jason West; she recognized the easy grace of his stride.
“I’d better go if I’m going to catch him,” she said hastily.
Alton only nodded. But Kendall had a feeling that, despite her assurances, the man wouldn’t move a foot from his present position until he was certain she hadn’t been wrong. Until he was sure the man who had apparently inherited his father’s temperament wasn’t prone to violence after all.
Chapter Five
JASON UNLOCKED the door of his rental car, tossed his bag on the passenger seat, then threw his coat in on top of it. The heavy hooded sweater would do. He’d always felt warm in the garment his mother had long ago knitted for him, even knowing the feeling had to be only in his head. The brisk air was reviving, although he hadn’t really yawned again since he had started to pack. In fact, he hadn’t felt at all tired since he’d tossed that damned book across the room.
His mind shied away from that topic; he still had no explanation of how the book had gotten into his room, at least none that didn’t involve accepting that he’d been so out of it he hadn’t seen or heard someone come in. He might be a long way from the streets he’d once fought to survive on, but he didn’t think he’d gone that soft. Nor did he have any explanation for the puzzling lethargy that had overtaken him in the room; a call to the desk had resulted in an insistent reassurance that nothing at all was wrong with the heating system.
And he was gaining nothing by wondering about it. The message had been sent and received. That was all that really mattered.
He glanced over at the motel office and adjoining coffee shop about fifty yards away. He decided to walk; it would finish the job of waking him up for the drive to the airport.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he started walking. Coming here had been a really stupid idea in the first place, he thought. He had work he should have been doing, instead of haring off on this futile trip. He didn’t know what had possessed him to do it.
Maybe he’d just needed to see for himself that he’d left it too late. Maybe he’d needed to see the old man buried, before he could really believe it was over, that now he’d never have the chance to make Aaron Haw
k pay for what he’d done. Somebody long ago had said revenge was a dish best eaten cold, but he’d let it chill too long. Somehow he’d never expected the old man to die. Everything he’d ever read about the man had emphasized his seemingly unceasing vitality. Aaron Hawk was too damn mean and stubborn to die.
But he had. And now that his target was dead, Jason didn’t quite know what to do with the festering hatred that had propelled him through most of his life.
He settled his bill, paying for the extra day without comment, although he wondered why the clerk was looking at him so oddly. And why he was looking at his credit card like he’d never seen one before. But the man suddenly seemed to realize he was acting strangely, and became briskly efficient.
Jason stepped back outside and started to walk back toward his car. He shrugged, as if that would rid him of the odd prickling sensation that had begun as he’d walked to the office and now had settled between his shoulder blades. Although it had been a long time, he recognized the feeling, that awareness of something not quite right. It was a sensation he hadn’t experienced in a long time, and no matter how he told himself it was just this place, stirring up old memories, it wouldn’t go away. He hadn’t lived here long enough to pile up enough memories to cause this, he thought, so why was it happening, this extra hum of awareness that had him looking over his shoulder?
When he looked forward again, he thought he saw the reason for it.
His steps slowed when he saw the second car, a dark-colored expensive-looking European sedan parked at an odd angle, close behind his rental car in a way that would prevent his leaving. He felt tension snake through him, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up in primitive reaction.
Then he saw a movement next to his car, a small, slender shadow, and a completely different kind of tension spiraled through him, accompanied by an unexpected heat. He ignored it, thinking he also had his answer now to how the book had so mysteriously appeared in his room.
He knew it was Kendall Chase. He didn’t know how he knew from this distance, any more than he knew why he had been so certain the eyes of the woman in that book had been blue. And in fact, it was the same kind of certainty, deeper than gut level, and beyond explanation. And he still didn’t like things he couldn’t explain.
He started walking faster.
As if she’d heard his steps, she turned her head to look in his direction. The glow from the amber lights that lit the parking lot poured over her, giving her slender body an oddly ethereal look. Above her shoulders, all he could see was the satiny gleam of her hair, still pulled back in the demure bun that had restrained it at the funeral, the pert tilt of her nose, and the soft, inviting shape of her mouth.
Inviting?
Oh, yes, he murmured inwardly. Definitely inviting. Inviting the kind of kisses that inevitably led to other things, other carnal explorations.
He knew it hadn’t suddenly warmed up; he could still see his breath when he exhaled into the chilly air. But the sweater that had seemed barely enough when he’d stepped outside now seemed too heavy, and his body too warm beneath it.
He had better, he thought with a detachment he had to work far too hard to achieve, attend to his libido when he got home; he’d obviously ignored it for too long. He’d find some willing lady who didn’t look upon a mutually pleasing romp as a down payment on a lifetime, and that would solve that.
But first he had to get Kendall Chase out of his way.
She was standing beside the driver’s door as he came to a halt, her hands tucked into the pockets of some sort of heavy, sheepskin-lined leather coat. Beneath it was a light-colored sweater that rose in a soft, loose turtleneck above the collar of the coat. She wore dark-colored leggings that emphasized the slender curves of her legs. Not that he needed reminding of their shape. He remembered all too well the feminine calves, narrowing to slender, delicate ankles that had been nearly all of her he had seen beneath the bulky dress coat she’d worn this morning. She’d worn heels then, but moderate ones, just enough to curve her legs deliciously.
And he, he thought wryly, had better get out of this town fast, if he was now reduced to standing here cataloging the undeniably attractive attributes of his father’s mistress. Or executive assistant. Or whatever she really was. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. It meant nothing to him. Nothing. Except to prove that the old man had good taste. Kendall Chase was a beautiful woman.
So that’s all your mother was? A pretty face?
Her words came back to him so clearly that for a moment he thought she’d spoken them again. But he knew she hadn’t, she’d only been staring at him determinedly, her delicate-looking jaw set firmly, since he’d stopped in front of her.
And something about the way she was looking at him made him even more uncomfortable about the distinctly sexual turn his thoughts had taken when he’d seen her beside his car. He didn’t like the feeling. He didn’t like a lot of things he’d been feeling since he’d made the mistake of coming here. But most of all he didn’t like being taken for a fool.
“You didn’t need to come out here to make sure. I got the message,” he said abruptly.
She blinked. “Message?”
Oh, she was good. If he didn’t know that she had to be the one behind planting that book in his room, he’d almost believe she didn’t know what he was talking about. But obviously she wasn’t about to admit it, and he’d never been one to waste his time or his breath on lost causes.
“Never mind. You’re in my way, Ms. Chase,” he pointed out unnecessarily. “I’m on my way to the airport. To get out of Sunridge. Since that’s what the Hawks want from me, I’m sure you’ll be glad to move your car.”
She ignored his tone. And when she spoke, it was with a soft earnestness that sounded so genuine it shook him.
“There are only two Hawks left. One in name only. And one by blood. You.”
She didn’t sound like a woman who had just delivered Aaron’s final renunciation. She sounded as if she believed what she was saying. That she thought of him as a Hawk, more of one even than his father’s bitter widow.
And she sounded like a woman who could have charmed even an old bastard like Aaron Hawk. And apparently had. He laughed harshly, his momentary softness forgotten.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Ms. Chase. If you think I’m going to come begging now for the acknowledgment my father never gave me when he was alive, you can forget it. The name Hawk means nothing to me. I wouldn’t take it if you offered it up to me on a platter.”
She studied him for a moment. “And if that platter was literally silver?”
“Not even if it was pure gold, and you brought it to me naked.” He thought he heard her breath catch, and he looked her blatantly up and down before he added in an exaggerated drawl, “Although I admit, I might let you try to convince me before I tossed you out on your cute little butt.”
“If you’re trying to embarrass me, you can stop. It’s been tried by experts.”
“Meaning my father?”
“Your father never purposely embarrassed me. Or anyone else, for that matter. Not that he was above letting people embarrass themselves, and he used to say they did that often enough he never had to bother.”
He stiffened. Just let them run, and sooner or later they’ll trip themselves up. They always do. His own words, eerily similar and spoken so often in a conference room in Seattle, rang in his mind. The unwanted coincidence put an edge in his voice.
“Right. A genuine saint, he was.”
“No. He was a dynamic, charismatic man who became a short- tempered tyrant as he got older. As his time grew shorter, so did his patience. Your father was many things, but he was not a saint. Nor would he have wanted to be.”
Jason did not want to hear any more about the man who had been such a force in his life despite never having been t
here physically.
“Is there a point to your being here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“You have. I don’t believe a word of it. We have nothing more to discuss.”
She tilted her head and looked at him with every evidence of nothing more than curiosity. “Have you always been like this?”
“Like what?” he retorted impatiently.
“Curt. Blunt. Arbitrary.”
“Thank you,” he said, making it sound as if she’d just given him the greatest of compliments. His faintly veiled sarcasm didn’t faze her.
“I just wondered if you’d learned it or inherited it.”
His jaw tightened at the inference. “Get to the point, Ms. Chase. Or get out of my way.”
“Will you listen to me?”
He gestured toward her car. “It appears, unless I want to walk to the airport, and pay for the rental company to come out here and pick up this car, I don’t have much choice. So talk. But make it fast.”
“I’d rather not do it here.”
“Well, then,” he drawled again, expansively, waving in a vaguely southerly direction, “perhaps we could fly someplace nice and warm, like Tahiti, and have our little friendly chat over a couple of pink drinks with umbrellas in them. Then you could offer me that silver platter. Or forget the platter. Just you, naked, will do.”
Suddenly, unexpectedly, she smiled. Instead of being intimidated or mortified, she smiled. It was like the sun rising over that island he’d joked about, and he almost smiled back before he realized what he was doing.
“If you only knew,” she said, chuckling, “how much you look and sound like Aaron. That arrogant tone, the exaggerated drawl, the grand, waving gesture. He’d be proud.”
His hand curled into a fist and slammed down hard on the roof of the car beside her head. She jumped at the sudden, loud bang. He leaned toward her, surmising what his expression must be from the way she drew hastily back, pressing herself against the side of the car in an effort to get away from him. Yet he saw no fear in her eyes, only caution. Her steady nerve made him feel a reluctant spark of admiration.
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