He nodded pleasantly, apparently under the impression that anything he might have to say about himself would be riveting.
Just then Sophia strode into the room, her wet hair hanging straight over her shoulders. With no make-up to accent her hawk-like features, she actually looked pretty. A flash of unease gave way to a self-satisfied sneer before she spoke. “Well, what a surprise.”
Grace stood. “Oh really? I thought you’d be expecting me. You did leave me a handwritten invitation, after all.”
Sophia’s lips pursed as her eyes landed on Ty, who sat with his ankle on one knee and his hands intertwined. Seemingly startled by the realization that he wouldn’t be allowed to stay, he pushed himself to his feet. “I should…uh…get my things packed up.” He stood and headed down the hall.
Grace looked at Sophia, who folded her wiry arms and glowered.
“Sophia, why—”
Sophia’s voice sharpened. “You have no right to horn in.”
“Horn in?” Grace nearly lost her cool. “And you have no right to threaten me. How dare you write that note? Who does that kind of thing past the age of ten?”
“I wanted to get the point across. I’m onto what you’re doing. I’ve seen the way you flirt with him and I know exactly what you’re up to.”
Grace worked her jaw. So this was about who got the guy. “Sophia, let it go. He just isn’t into you.”
The fire in Sophia’s eyes cooled, giving way to a look of actual pain. “How would you know?”
“He told me.” A pang of sympathy cooled Grace’s rage. “Don’t you think it’s up to him to decide who he wants?”
Sophia’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “Things were going really well for us until you showed up.”
Grace felt for her. Devon was a great guy, and Sophia seemed genuinely heartbroken. “I’m sorry.”
Sophia regained her composure. “It’s just that men are easily swayed by…by…”
Grace raised a practiced eyebrow.
“By temptresses.”
She spurted out a laugh. “Oh, is that what I am?”
“Yes, it is. There are loads of single guys around here. You should set your sights on one of them.”
Grace fumed. “I’ll set my sights where I choose, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“Oh, really.” Sophia’s nostrils flared like a bull. She crossed to the window and reached into a basket on the floor. She picked up a magazine and held it up in front of her.
Grace’s self-assurance shattered. The bold white letters before her screamed a warning like an air raid siren.
Opera Times.
“Look familiar?” Sophia’s tone had lost all trace of hurt.
“What are you getting at?” Grace’s voice quaked.
An evil smile spread across Sophia’s gaunt face. She flipped the magazine open and turned it around, revealing a photo and article that Grace knew very well.
“I just thought you might like to find out a little more about that opera singer that Ruby thinks you look like.” She turned it around again, studying the picture. Her face took on a sardonic scowl. “I do see some resemblance, although I don’t know. Tracy Fontaine is so pretty.”
Grace was livid. This little lightweight had no idea what she was dealing with. “Just tell me what you want.”
“Oh, you know what I want. I want you to steer clear of my man. Leave him alone.”
“Sophia—”
“If you don’t, I’ll tell him everything. And I mean everything.” She reached for the basket, pulling out a stack of papers and thrusting them at Grace.
Slowly, Grace took the stack, then lowered herself onto the couch and started to flip through it. It was all there. Opera reviews—Madame Butterfly in San Francisco, Aida in Seattle, several from the Met. Newspaper articles about Julie’s murder—the sensationalized accounts of why the police had suspected her.
She glanced up to meet Sophia’s malicious glare. So she could do research. Big deal. Anybody with too much time on their hands could sit down and find this stuff.
As she flipped another page, Kirk’s embittered mug shot nearly leapt out at her. Her eyes shot up again. “How did you get a copy of a police report?”
Sophia feigned nonchalance as she twirled a strand of damp hair. “I made friends with a detective. You can get anything if you’re willing to pay for it.”
Grace iced her with her eyes. “This isn’t going to work. Go ahead and tell him. I was getting ready to do that anyway.”
Sophia took a step closer to her, her look defiant. “I think you misunderstood. What I meant was…” She grabbed the police report from Grace’s hands and held up the mug shot. “I’ll tell him everything.”
Grace froze. Could this woman really understand the gravity of the situation? Had she actually read this police report?
She met Sophia’s unyielding stare for what seemed like a full minute. When she looked away, she did so with the full conviction that she had very little choice for now but to leave Devon alone.
Sophia meant what she said.
***
Distracted, Grace navigating the curb. What would happen to her if Kirk found her?
She crossed Main, barely conscious of the people who milled about. Her encounter a few minutes before had shaken all her anxiety back to the forefront, even worse than the previous night. Add to that her outrage that Sophia had intentionally researched her life, digging for something to hold over her. That woman was more than a nuisance—she was downright evil.
Grace shivered in spite of the morning sun. The police report. For all the good it had done. It had only made Kirk angrier with her. How could a man pull a woman into an alley, threaten her, stab her, and leave her for dead, then just be set free? She’d suspected Kirk had ‘friends’ on the force, just like everywhere else. Friends tend to be awfully loyal when they’re on the payroll.
Acid percolated in her throat. If given another opportunity, he would make sure she didn’t walk away.
She couldn’t let him find her, nor could she just let Sophia win. Devon had come to mean too much to her. Her mind raced. She’d write Devon a letter and give it to him privately. He knew how Sophia was. Once he knew the circumstances, he’d understand. When she had her money and could set up a safe situation for herself, they could get together in New York. Make a fresh start. By then, Sophia would have no power over her because Kirk would already know Tracy Fontaine was back in town.
The thought sent a shudder down her spine. What if her security plan didn’t work? Her building back home had been ‘secure’. Her door had been locked. He’d gotten in anyway, and she still didn’t know how. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out. Did she really want to live with that constant fear? To never be able to walk into her home or a hotel room or even a dressing room without anxiously checking every closet and corner?
What was her alternative?
None. She had no choice.
She wrapped her arms around her middle as she approached her house. The thought of growing old all alone in Madison Falls while Devon and Sophia rode off into the sunset made her queasy. She needed an antacid.
Thankful to be home, she unlocked her door and stepped inside. As she turned the knob of the lock, she watched the bolt slide into the socket. Taking a cursory glance around the front rooms, she bounded toward the hallway. She gave the half-closed bathroom door a small shove and stopped cold.
No. She blinked quickly, a second glance confirming that this time it wasn’t her imagination. A spattering of deep crimson dots lined the bathtub.
Terror drew her backward as she let out a guttural wail. Suddenly her arms were ensnared by the unyielding clasp of two powerful hands.
She screamed again.
Chapter 32
Grace fought to free herself from her assailant’s grasp and spun around to face him. As her muddled mind registered recognition, she crumpled into a heap on the hardwood floor.
“Grace
! Are you okay?” Sam’s hands steadied her shoulders.
Recoiling from his touch, her palms found the cool floor. She quickly regained her balance and pushed herself up to her knees.
Sam released his hold on her and rose to his knees as well. His warm brown eyes fixed on her.
She lifted a shaky hand toward the bathroom. “What…happened in there?”
“It’s not a big deal.” His voice remained steady. “I was trying to pry the spout loose so I could replace it with a decent one. I was being a real lunkhead, using my Swiss army knife. It slipped, and I got the artery in my thumb.” He held up his neatly bandaged left hand.
“Oh…” Getting her feet under her, she forced her weight onto her trembling legs.
“I called Lucy and she ran me over to the hospital.” He scrambled to his feet, his gaze still set on her. “I just came back to clean up and finish the job.”
Relief and rage battled in her heart for top billing. “You scared me out of my wits.”
“I’m really sorry. I was in the kitchen looking for paper towels.” His face broke into an uncertain smile. “By the way you screamed, you’d think you found a dead body or something.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She lifted her arm toward the front door and forced her words out in measured doses. “Get…out…of my house.”
Confusion mixed with concern on his face. “But—”
“Go!” She jabbed a finger in the direction of the exit.
His eyes sharpened as he raised his hands to shoulder height, palms toward her, taking a step back. “Okay, I’m going. But I’m getting Lucy to check on you, alright?” He sidestepped toward the entryway.
Emotion boiled in her veins, exploding in a lava flow of torment the second he was out the door.
Stumbling to the kitchen, she splashed cold water over her face as her sobs reverberated like a siren. Incapable of silencing them, she submitted to the long overdue emotional release. Memories assaulted her, flashing through her mind in rapid-fire succession. San Francisco. The shock. The body nestled in the blood-splattered white of the old fashioned tub. The parade of policemen.
She pulled herself upright as it all came pouring over her. Julie had been an opera office employee who’d offered her place while she was away on leave. Some leave.
Grace closed her lids to the recollection of detectives asking thinly disguised variations of the same questions until she’d gotten so worn down she couldn’t make sense of her own words. No one had empathized with her vivid realization that different timing could have resulted in her own untimely demise.
Why was she reliving this nightmare?
Propping her elbows on the edge of the sink, she lifted her eyes to the backyard on the other side of the glass. If only she could go back to the time in her life before it had all gone so terribly wrong. She would make different choices, be a better judge of character. Not let things happen the way they had.
She’d made that wish more times than she could count and things had only gotten worse. So much worse.
Straightening, she turned and took in a deep breath. She had to take things one step at a time. The first step, unfortunately, was to clean up Sam’s mess. Then, she could get online and make her decision about an art dealer. There was no time to waste, especially now.
With bold resolve, she marched into the bathroom, trying not to look at the tub. Her image in the mirror caught her eye and she stopped, running a still-shaking hand through her hair. It was a safe bet that when it grew back to its natural shade it would come in pure white.
Letting out a jagged breath, she faced the bathtub. Her brow furrowed. Why had what she now saw to be just a few red drops seemed so horrifying? She shook her head as she stepped into the hallway and picked up the paper towels that Sam had apparently dropped before he’d grabbed her. She moved back into the bathroom, pulled a towel off the roll and perched on the edge of the tub. What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she at least have insisted he finish this before she tossed him out?
Catching a flash of something black from the corner of her eye, she turned. Much to her annoyance, her crowbar was hooked over the inside doorknob. A breath of pure affront huffed from her throat. The audacity. Not only had he clearly made himself at home, going to the sun porch to get the tool, but he hadn’t even bothered to put it away. The thought of him acting on a perceived familiarity with her personal space made her blood boil.
As she reached for the tool, the stabbing toll of the doorbell injected a fresh dose of adrenaline into her system. Sam must have run straight to Lucy, like he’d said he would. The last thing Grace needed right now was Lucy asking questions, however well-intentioned.
Leaving the crowbar, she hurried to the front window and heard herself gasp. It wasn’t Lucy.
Her pulse quickened as she stood back from the window and deliberated. Devon. How could she talk to him without the risk of Sophia making good on her threat?
She wavered. Now was as good a time as any to fill him in, but she’d have to act quickly. Flinging the door open, she grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. She slammed the door and whirled on her heel. “Does Sophia know you’re here?”
“No…” Surprise transformed instantly to confusion. “When I got back from my meeting, she’d gone over to her mom’s.” His tone grew tentative. “Ty said you and she had a cat fight. What did she say to you?”
A ‘cat fight’? She cringed. Leave it to a sophisticated guy like Ty to dredge up such a flattering phrase. She braced herself, fear overcoming her need to defy Sophia’s brazen tactics. “Devon, we can’t see each other right now.”
His face blanched. “Look, whatever she told you about me—”
“It’s just that…” She put her fingertips to her temples. “There’s so much I have to say to you, but I’m not sure it’s even safe for us to talk.”
“Not safe?” He pierced her with a pleading gaze. “I know things are crazy, but I wouldn’t let you be in any kind of danger. You can trust me.”
His reassurance struck a chord in her. “I do. I do trust you. I was going to write you a letter, but if you’re sure Sophia won’t know you’re here…”
“How could she?”
“Ty might say something.”
“Ty took off for Seattle. Grace…” He brushed her hair from her forehead, his gentle touch causing her trepidation to melt like ice cream on a hot day. “Let’s sit down and talk this out.”
“Okay.” As she allowed him to lead her to the sofa, her head swam. Where to begin? “Sophia has figured some things out. Things that are none of her business, but…” She glanced at him, noting that the spark of interest in his ocean-deep blue eyes was focused beyond her. Was he even listening? She turned, following his gaze to the sheet of paper she’d left on the end table.
The appraisal. How could she have been so careless?
“What is that?” He squinted toward the page.
She weighed how much she should tell him. “It’s an appraisal for a piece of art I bought.”
He picked up the paper, his eyes widening like exit lanes on the Jersey Turnpike. “You own a painting that’s worth one point two million dollars? What is it, a Van Gogh?”
She shook her head, holding up a wait-here hand. Crossing to the bedroom, her stomach danced with anticipation. She wanted Devon to know.
As she reached under the bed, a sickening thought wormed its way in to defile the last. What if Sam had seen the appraisal as well? He’d helped himself to the crowbar. How did she know he hadn’t poked around in her belongings while he was at it?
Pulling out the crate, she took in a decisive breath. What difference did it make? He most likely wouldn’t confront her about it, not after the way she’d yelled at him. If all went as planned, there was no reason for them to even speak again. Ever.
The moment she entered the living room, Devon leapt to his feet and bounded toward her, still clutching the appraisal. He took the crate from her and set it down on the floor, then anxio
usly lifted the lid and brushed aside the tissue paper Grace had nested around the artwork.
“Ahh…” He smiled in amused recognition, followed by a burst of laughter. “You’re kidding me. Does Roberts know?”
Her chest pinged. “I haven’t told anybody.” That much was true, whether he knew or not.
His eyes remained fixed on the painting. “I mean, I paid him what…ten bucks? How did you know it had actual value?”
Her stomach tightened. “I used to know a collector. I recognized the artist.” She wrung her hands, nervously gauging how much she should reveal. “Kirk has two Blackthorns that are worth a fortune. He made a big show of telling us how much he wanted to find a third by that artist because they’re so rare. He had the spot all ready on his wall. He’s infatuated with opera, and Blackthorn only painted opera themes.”
“So,” he chuckled, “it’s good to have friends who know these things.”
“He wasn’t exactly a friend.” Her stomach lurched at the thought. “He was obsessive about three things—art, opera, and me. He’s the reason I came here.”
Devon looked up from the appraisal, his eyes soft with compassion. “We all have a past.”
“True, but I came here for safety.” She braced herself. “He was stalking me.”
A visible tremor ran through him. He took her hand, his touch soothing. “Grace, that’s awful.”
She relaxed into her recollection, relieved to have his sympathetic ear. “There’s more. I haven’t been completely honest.”
He offered a comforting chuckle as he squeezed her hand. “Honesty is highly overrated.”
She smiled lightly, appreciating his attempt to diffuse the seriousness of her situation. “Maybe, but there’s a time to come clean. I’m not who you think I am.”
A hint of apprehension flashed across his face. “Oh?”
She shook her head. “No. See, I’ve been a professional opera singer for about five years now.”
He lifted a shoulder. “That’s not so surprising.”
“And I’m from New York, not Seattle.”
A look passed across his face that she couldn’t identify. “Okay. But why didn’t you tell me?”
Saving Grace (Madison Falls) Page 19