Danger in Deer Ridge (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  Grace might be a better confidant.

  “Elizabeth.”

  Grinch’s voice cut through the clouds.

  “Sorry. What?”

  “I asked you what Julie Ann was afraid of.”

  Having someone hurt her son.

  “Um … I’m—she’s not big on spiders.”

  He jotted it down on the left side of his tablet, then set the pen down. He stood, crossed to the leather club chair where she’d tried to get comfortable, and slid his hand along her cheek. Cupping her chin, he lifted her face until her gaze met his. “What’s the problem here?”

  She swallowed. “You mean other than giving up my life—what there was of it—and having to become someone else?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah, besides that. You’re not with me here. What’s going on?”

  “I guess … I guess it’s the picture of Will. I can’t exactly put him through plastic surgery. It’s tough enough on him, making him live the lie. He had friends, the kind he misses. Teachers he loved. Art classes. And now he could be the way someone finds me. Us.”

  “It’s doubtful. Highly unlikely anyone Googling Will Vaughn will find him as Will Parker.”

  “You think?”

  “I do.” He perched on the arm of the chair. “He seems to be accepting his new life.”

  “Unlike me?”

  “Hey, that’s not what I meant. You’ve definitely accepted it. You’re not aware of all the little things that go along with a new identity. Which is what I’m trying to help with.”

  “So, let me see if I get this. Julie Ann didn’t like spiders. So you want me to what? Start raising insects?”

  He laughed. “Actually, spiders aren’t insects.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Whatever they are, I don’t like them.”

  “Fair enough. What I’m trying to do is make sure that if for some reason you—as Elizabeth—show up on some kind of search, whether it’s Google or someone poking around here, it has to come back to ‘That can’t possibly be Julie Ann. She wouldn’t come within ten feet of a spider.’ “

  “I get it.”

  “But I don’t think your arachnophobia is the best example. I’m getting the feeling you’re not petrified of them. What petrified Julie Ann?”

  That was easy. “Flying.”

  His eyes popped. His jaw dropped. “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely. No way. Julie Ann—or me—in an airplane? Never going to happen.”

  He pursed his lips. She focused on them, and for a moment, they became her only thought. His gaze caught hers. Lingered. There wasn’t enough air in the room. He stroked her cheek, then retreated to his desk. “We’d better get to work. Anything else Julie Ann didn’t like to do?”

  Another easy one. Which was why Grace had picked this as her relocation point. “Julie Ann was definitely a city girl. I can’t say it petrified me—her—but outdoor living, camping, wearing clothes like these—” she pointed to her jeans, plaid flannel shirt, and the lightweight hiking boots she’d toed off before sitting in the chair. “Julie Ann wore designer labels and heels.”

  “An excellent start. So, tell me what you love. What it hurts to give up. Where Victor might expect to see you. What would trigger a, ‘That could be Julie Ann. She loved to …?”

  “Cook. Almost everything else I did was because he thought it would help his career, or move him up the social ladder. I play a mean game of tennis, but I’m not passionate about it. I wouldn’t mind if I never picked up another racket. But—” she sighed—“I can’t imagine not being able to cook. Good food. Food that people enjoy.”

  Not wanting to think of her loss, she threw the question back at Grinch. “What would you do if you couldn’t sing? At least, not anywhere but in the privacy of your home? You’re good. It’s obvious you love it. And the way you sing harmony with Dylan—it’s wonderful. Would it hurt to have to give it up?”

  His expression grew wistful.

  He understood.

  “My mom sang. Professionally, until she and Dad moved here, and then she did community theater, ran the church choir. Always had music on in the house.”

  Elizabeth didn’t want to lose the moment. “What kind?”

  “It didn’t matter. But she loved show tunes, ballads. And Sinatra. She did love Old Blue Eyes.” He smiled. “And John Denver, Dan Fogelberg—Colorado guys.”

  “She taught you?”

  “Both of us. We were harmonizing from the time we were singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

  “Us?”

  “My older brother. He’s married. He and his wife work for the Park Service in the Everglades.”

  “That must have been cool. I was an only.”

  He grinned. “Well, things weren’t always harmonious when we were growing up. There were times I wished I was an only child.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “What if you couldn’t let anyone know you sang?”

  “If it would keep me alive, I guess I’d have to accept it.”

  She wasn’t sure she bought his answer—the delivery was too pat—but she let it go.

  He tapped his legal pad with his pen. “Back to work. I’d say you’re definitely not entering your pies at the county fair, or getting a job in a restaurant.”

  “Or opening a catering business, which was one of Julie Ann’s dreams. I guess it’s another line of work for me.” Work. She’d almost forgotten. “Good grief, I haven’t been able to keep two thoughts together since I left Grace’s place. She said she’d set me up with some interviews. I need to follow up.” She tapped her lip with her forefinger. “I wonder what kind of jobs Grace thought would be suitable for Elizabeth.”

  “Tomorrow,” Grinch said. “You want something stronger than that tea? You look like you could use it.”

  She smirked. “I look that bad?”

  He flushed. “I didn’t mean it that way—it’s been a stressful day—you look fine. Good, actually.”

  She smiled, then laughed. “Don’t sweat it. Julie Ann might have been offended, but Elizabeth knows what you meant. And yes, I think I’d like a glass of wine.” She frowned. “Or do I have to give that up too?”

  “Unless you’re known for drinking some specific, exclusive wine, I think you should be safe. And tonight it’s whatever I happen to have around.” He stood. “Red or white?”

  She almost said white, but gave it some thought. Although she trusted Grinch’s advice, she might as well forget about sauvignon blanc. Even with slim-to-none odds, she preferred none over slim. “Red.”

  She waited until Grinch had left the room. Should she call Grace from his landline? Before she decided, she heard the pop of a cork. Nope, no time.

  Grinch returned, holding two glasses of wine. He delivered hers, then extended his hand. “Come with me.”

  His expression was nothing like the one he’d worn when he left. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her that way, but she recognized it. Her female instincts weren’t that far gone. Her body responded immediately.

  She shifted the wine to her left hand and took his. Warm, strong. Hands of a working man, but gentle. Her nipples strained behind the confines of her bra. Heat pooled between her legs. Oh, yeah. He’d definitely put her in female mode.

  When she stood, all thoughts of her plight vanished.

  He led her down the hall. Instead taking her upstairs, he led her through the kitchen, then opened the door to the back porch. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  The cool, crisp air surrounded her with a scent of pine. He’d switched off the porch light, and she blinked into the darkness.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “For your eyes to adjust.”

  He took her hand again. She inched closer. What had she decided? That Elizabeth would be a peck-on-the-cheek woman. Screw that. Julie Ann was prim and proper. Totally monogamous. The perfect image of a society wife. Hadn’t Grinch spent the last hour explaining how she had
to ditch all things Julie Ann and do the opposite?

  She took a substantial gulp of her wine. And one more. She set the glass on the porch rail, then took Grinch’s and set it alongside hers. In the dark, she couldn’t read his expression, which was probably a good thing. She remembered his expression when he’d handed her the wine. He had to want this.

  She tilted her face upward, reaching for his head. Her fingers brushed the softness of his hair. She held her breath. If he pulled away, she’d die of embarrassment.

  He leaned forward. Breathed again. His scent—sage, cedar, and … Grinchness—erased the pine. Her fingers worked their way to his scalp, pulling him toward her. Their lips brushed. His were soft. Warm. She closed her eyes.

  His kiss was gentle, yet far from tentative. He moved from her lips to her cheeks, to her eyelids, then down again. When he returned to her mouth, his tongue tested the seam of her lips. Heart thumping, she parted them in invitation.

  * * * * *

  Sensations swirled like dust caught in a helo’s propwash as Grinch accepted Elizabeth’s offer. Red wine. Spaghetti. Meatballs. Heat. His tongue explored. Lips—soft, smooth. Teeth—hard, rough.

  With one hand, he threaded his fingers through her hair. With the other, he reached lower and cupped her round, firm buttocks, pulling her against him.

  She made soft moaning sounds, opening her lips wider, her tongue meeting his, dancing, probing.

  As first kisses went, this was more like a third. At least.

  This wasn’t the kiss of a proper housewife or a timid runaway. A tiny piece of his brain wondered if she was trying to prove something. To him? That she was the new person he was trying to pull out of her. Was she pretending?

  Then her breasts pressed against his chest, and she ground against his erection, and what few blood cells had been feeding that tiny, rational portion of his brain abandoned it for parts farther south.

  He gave in to the kiss, savoring her uninhibited response, the way she took the lead, as if she’d been lost in the desert and had stumbled on an unexpected oasis.

  His breathing grew ragged, when he managed to breathe at all. An eternity—or a microsecond—later, she broke away. Her head rested against his chest, and he knew she was aware of his heart jackhammering against his ribcage. He stroked her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

  She stayed there, warm and soft against him, until his pulse rate returned to normal. Then she turned and retrieved their wine. He took his glass, trapping her hand. “Look at me.”

  She raised her gaze. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but despite the starlit night, there was no discerning the nuances of her expression. Was she blushing?

  “I’m not sorry that happened,” he said. “So if you’re even thinking about apologizing—don’t.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve thought about it since you first showed up at my place.”

  He almost spilled his wine. “I would never have guessed, not from the way you chewed me out.”

  She sipped her wine, hiding behind the glass. “I’ll admit to a conflict of emotions.”

  “Which you’ve resolved?” He itched to take her glass away and kiss her again. A kiss he would initiate.

  She shrugged. “So, why did you bring me out here?”

  Okay, so she wasn’t going to answer his question. Probably smart. One kiss, even a toe-curling, hearth-thumping, universe-stopping one, was still just a kiss. He’d deal with going for the second one another time. He sipped his wine before answering, letting it sit on his tongue. Not bad, but it tasted better mixed with Elizabeth.

  He swallowed. “Part of your training, actually. You said Julie Ann wasn’t into the outdoors. I thought I’d show Elizabeth how beautiful it can be.” He gestured toward the sky. “No city lights. Hardly any light pollution.”

  She tilted her head back, and her mouth dropped. “Wow. Look at all the stars.”

  “You won’t see a sky like this in the city.” He pointed out the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia. “And over there—see that cloudy streak? That’s the Milky Way.”

  He sat on the top step, and she settled in beside him, looping her arm through his. “Okay, I can get into the star thing, but I’m not sure I’m ready to go camping. I’ve got a deep-rooted relationship with hot water and indoor plumbing.”

  She rested her head on his biceps, and he tried not to move, afraid to breathe, to do anything that might make her leave. The contact was a mixture of exhilaration and serenity. Like fighting turbulence until you found that perfect cruising altitude where your universe was nothing but floating amidst the sky and clouds.

  To share that with Elizabeth would be nothing short of heaven. And then he remembered, and he was plummeting earthward. Elizabeth won’t fly. He’d have to get her up. She’d come to love it. She had to.

  They sat in silence, staring at the stars. After a while, when it seemed that she’d become comfortable with him, he risked covering her hand with his. When she inched closer, and he inhaled her scent, his reaction was immediate—and if not for the darkness, would have been painfully obvious. Right now, it was just plain painful. But he’d die before he moved to rearrange things.

  For a moment, his thoughts drifted to his ex. Infatuation, madcap sex, and the surprise of Dylan. They’d hardly known each other outside of the bedroom. Had they ever done anything as simple as sit side by side and gaze at the stars? Because even if this was as far as things went with Elizabeth, he thought he might be happy.

  As if allowing his thoughts to stray had broken the spell, Elizabeth extricated herself and stood. “It’s late. And, like you said, we have a busy day tomorrow.” She brushed off the seat of her jeans—damn, he’d love to do that for her—and crossed the porch.

  He took advantage of the opportunity to adjust his jeans, then followed.

  So that was it. One hot kiss, and now she was playing the “if I don’t mention it, it never happened” card. Well, it had happened, but he wasn’t going to pursue it. Her husband was probably aggressive, and Grinch didn’t want to be associated with that bastard.

  She’d stopped inside the mudroom to give Chester a scratch. His eyes lingered on her bottom-hugging jeans. He almost interrupted to point out that anyone could have followed her in since she’d left the door open, but he didn’t want to spoil his moment. When she straightened, he said, “I’ll let him out.”

  To her credit, she didn’t jump. Had she heard him after all? And if so, had the bent-over Chester-scratching been for his benefit? He smiled. Didn’t matter.

  She gave Chester one last pat. “I’ll check on the kids. See you in the morning.”

  He’d been dismissed.

  Grinch waited on the porch while Chester did his thing. When Chester trotted back, Grinch refilled his water dish while the dog sat patiently, head cocked, tail thumping. “Asking for a bedtime snack?” He tossed a biscuit, which Chester snagged mid-air. “You keep an eye on things down here.”

  Chester gave a “You can count of me” look, and after a rigorous shake, ambled to his bed in the mudroom. Grinch heard water running upstairs. Elizabeth getting ready for bed. What would she sleep in? A thigh-length silk and lace nightie? No, that sounded like Julie Ann. Elizabeth would wear cotton pajamas. Long-sleeved. Buttoned to the neck.

  With a more sensible image established, he went to check his messages. When he found one from Jinx, his heart rate jumped. He clicked it open.

  Found Logan. Also, have news about the husband. Call.

  Chapter 18

  Stopped for a red light at a totally deserted intersection, Victor was tempted to run it. No. He’d a little more to drink than he should have—not enough to impair his driving, but his luck, a cop would show up out of nowhere. So he waited, drumming his fingers on the wheel. After a long, awkward day where he and Marie ignored each other, he’d stayed late, keeping busy with paperwork rather than going home to wait for the prearranged call to Kane. Easier to wait when there was something to do.

  He tried
to distract himself by deciding what he was going to do about Marie. She might run his office, but he’d always been meticulous about keeping his other life separate. He searched through the fog in his brain, trying to visualize anything—any scrap of paper he might have jotted a note on, a phone call he might have made—that she could use against him.

  Nothing. Not possible. Even the bitch hadn’t known about his secret—not counting the damn ledger she’d lifted, but she couldn’t know what it meant. If she had, she’d have made sure it came back to bite him. No, taking it had been a slap in his face.

  Marie had access to his office life. Period. Nothing he couldn’t deal with. Which led him to Kane. He read the message again. “In SF.” His stomach roiled. What the hell did that mean? Had the bitch really gone to San Francisco? Left the ledger there? His first PI had declared that a dead end. Hell, Victor’d gone so far as to talk to the cops himself. They’d suggested New Mexico.

  The bodies had been found off the coast highway in Oregon. Not too far a stretch to think she’d been in Frisco. Bitch probably couldn’t handle the cliffs. Never was much of a driver.

  A frequently dismissed thought insisted on being heard. What if the bodies weren’t the bitch and the kid?

  He dismissed it again. The bodies were unrecognizable, but the personal effects were definitely theirs. All the forensics matched. He’d made damn sure everything was in order before the damn memorial service. Where he’d had to play the damn grieving husband and father, even though inside, he was glad to be rid of them.

  From behind, a car honked. The light had changed. He flipped the guy off in his rearview and peeled through the intersection. Seeing red and blue flashing lights at the side of the road ahead brought him back to reality, and he kept close to the speed limit for the rest of the drive.