“Let’s get something straight here.” He zipped up his trousers with a swift, economical motion. “I wasn’t walking out. I was going for a walk. Big difference.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment. You’ve been acting weird for the past couple of weeks and I think it’s because you’ve changed your mind about wanting to be married.” Tears burned in her eyes. “You’ve changed your mind and you haven’t got the guts to tell me, do you?”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t want to be married. Is that it? You’d rather be involved in an affair. You want to be free to walk away when things get boring. Admit it.”
“Damnit, stop putting words in my mouth.” He closed the gap between them in two long strides and gripped her forearms. “I’m not looking for a way out of this marriage.”
“No?”
“No.”
She raised her chin. “Then why are you acting like a man who’s hunting for the nearest exit?”
“I don’t want out,” he said roughly. “But it might be better if I moved back into Nightwinds for a while.”
“I knew it.”
“No, you don’t know anything. You just think you do. This has got nothing to do with you or our marriage.”
“That’s a lie. Whatever is going on here is causing some serious damage to this relationship.”
“Zoe, I’m not good company right now.”
She unfolded her arms and put her hands on his shoulders. “We’re not dating, we’re married, remember? That means that you don’t have to worry about whether or not you’re good company.”
“Yeah?” He sounded grimly amused. “That hasn’t been my experience, and I’ve had plenty of it.”
“We will not go into your previous marital experience. It was all warped.”
“Warped, huh? I wondered what was wrong.”
“You put up with my bad dreams.” She gave him a small shake that did not move him a fraction of an inch. “I put up with you when you’re not good company. That’s how it works.”
“Zoe—”
“Tell me what’s going on with you. I know there’s something wrong. Talk to me, Truax.”
He released her and took a step back. “I get a little restless this time of year, that’s all.”
“What is it? The weather?” That did not seem likely. Granted, it was November, but this was Arizona. The weather had been Chamber of Commerce perfect for the past few weeks. “Do the shorter days bother you? Have you got that seasonal thing with the light syndrome?”
“No. It’s not the weather or the hours of daylight.” He looked at her from the other side of a wedge of moonlight. “It’s something that has happened to me for the past couple of years in November. This is the month that Drew was kidnapped and murdered.”
“The anniversary of your brother’s death.” She suddenly understood. Relief mingled with an upwelling of sympathy. Hurrying toward him, she put her arms around him. “Of course. I should have realized. I got very depressed for a few days in August this year. I couldn’t figure out why until I remembered that it was very close to the date that Preston died.”
Her husband’s murder had precipitated a series of devastating events that had included the nightmare of her involuntary commitment to Candle Lake Manor Psychiatric Hospital. August would always bring back the bad memories. November would no doubt forever be bad for Ethan.
Ethan folded her close. “Bonnie and the boys go through the same thing each year.”
She thought about the meals they had shared with his sister-in-law and nephews in the past few weeks. There had been a certain tension in the air, she realized.
“Bonnie seemed a little quiet for a while at the beginning of the month. I noticed that Jeff and Theo have been squabbling more than usual, too,” she said.
“Bonnie and Theo got through it much easier this year but Jeff is still having problems.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I am, too.”
“When does the bad time usually end for you?”
“At the end of the month.” He hesitated a fraction of a beat before adding, “Right after the date of Simon Wendover’s boating accident. He died two years after Drew, almost to the day.”
“I see.”
She knew that Simon Wendover was the man who had been responsible for the murder of Drew Truax. Ethan had tracked him down and gathered evidence against him. But in the end the wheels of justice had not only ground slowly, they had ground very poorly. Wendover had walked out of the courtroom a free man.
He had not enjoyed his freedom for long, however. A month after the trial ended, Wendover died in a boating accident.
She stood with Ethan in the moonlight, hugging him until she felt some of the tension go out of him. Then she took his hand.
“Come on.” She led him out of the bedroom. “Let’s go into the kitchen and get you some warm milk.”
“That’s what I give you after one of your nightmares.”
“It works, doesn’t it?”
“I think maybe I’d do better with a shot of something stronger.”
She smiled. “Whatever.”
He followed her into the kitchen. She got the brandy down from the cupboard and poured some into a glass. They sat together at the table while he drank it.
When he finished the brandy they went back to the darkened bedroom. Ethan took off his clothes for the second time that night.
Zoe yawned and crawled into the rumpled bed. “If you can’t sleep, go out into the living room and read or something. But promise me you won’t sneak out for a late-night walk alone.”
“All right,” he said.
He got into bed beside her and tucked her into the curve of his body. She felt him relax heavily against her.
After a while he slept.
She did not. Instead she lay awake for a long time thinking about what Ethan had said. She was pretty sure that what he had told her was the truth, as far as it went. He had not lied to her. She knew what lies sounded like. She had told a lot of them, herself, in the months after the escape from Candle Lake Manor, when she had been forced to assume a new identity.
No, Ethan had not lied tonight. But he had not told her the whole truth, either. She wondered what it was that he had left out and why he had felt compelled to do so.
5
Shelley Russell shook the photos out of the envelope and put them on the desk. “Will these do?”
The big man reached out and scooped up the pictures. She was proud of the shots. It had taken her three days in Whispering Springs to get all of them, but she thought John Branch and his secretive employer would be satisfied.
She studied Branch while he flipped through the stack of glossies. She was eighty-two years old and he was in his early thirties, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a few interesting fantasies. And Branch was definitely a walking fantasy if you liked the macho, clean-cut, military type.
She’d always had a weakness for a man in uniform. Hell, she’d married two of them. Buried one and divorced the other.
Branch was iron-jawed, cold-eyed and good-looking, with the kind of cheekbones that would have done a Viking proud. He could have modeled for a recruitment poster for some elite military unit. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’d been Special Forces at some time in the past.
Branch clearly took his workouts seriously. He rippled and bulged in all the right places. This was her second meeting with him. He was dressed very much as he had been the first time. His jeans were so snug around his bulging thighs it was a wonder the seams hadn’t split. His gray, short-sleeved pullover was stretched so tightly across his chest she could see every well-defined muscle.
But even if she had been forty or fifty years younger, she didn’t think she would have allowed herself to do more than fantasize about John Branch. After what seemed a lifetime in the investigation business, she knew better than to get personally involved with a client. But it wasn’t professional ethics that would have st
opped her. She’d broken the rules and slept with a few clients over the years and the sky had not fallen.
But John Branch was different. She was starting to think that there was something slightly screwy with his wiring. The man had more than a military bearing; he possessed a robotic quality that was downright spooky.
“These are excellent shots, Ms. Russell,” Branch said. Each word was enunciated with clipped, military-style precision. “You do good surveillance work.”
“I’m glad you’re satisfied.” Her chair squeaked when she leaned back. It had squeaked like that for at least twenty years. One of these days she would have to oil it. “You’re sure that’s the woman you’re looking for?”
“The subject has obviously changed her hair color and is dressing in a different style, but some things can’t be altered. Looks like she fits the physical description I gave you.”
“I got real close to her on several occasions. Definitely the same height, build and eyes. Maybe a little thinner is all.”
“I’ll show these to my boss. He’ll make the final ID.” Branch put the photos down one by one on the desk, arranging them in a neat, orderly line. “Were you able to identify everyone who is closely associated with her?”
“Yes.” She handed Branch the two pages of notes that she had written up on her laptop. “They’re all there in that group shot taken outside the pizza parlor. The two women on the right are Bonnie Truax and Zoe Truax. Zoe is the former Sara Cleland. She used the name Zoe Luce for most of last year and then married a man named Ethan Truax.”
Branch looked up sharply. “Why the different ID?”
“Apparently she was trying to conceal the fact that she had spent some time in a psychiatric hospital.”
Branch frowned. “What about the young boys?”
“They belong to Bonnie. Their father is dead, murdered about three years ago in LA.”
Branch concentrated on the two men in the shot. “Who’s the bald guy in denim, the one who looks like he rides with a biker gang?”
“His name is Singleton Cobb.” She was amused by Branch’s assessment of Cobb. “Appearances can be deceiving, as they say. He operates an antiquarian bookshop there in Whispering Springs. Deals in old and rare volumes.”
Branch moved his head a couple of times; an android trying to assimilate data that did not compute. “Doesn’t look like a book dealer.”
“No,” she agreed.
“Got anything else on him?”
“You didn’t give me enough time to do an in-depth background check on any of those people,” she reminded him. “You said your boss was in a hurry for the ID on the woman.”
Branch tapped the photo. “Think this Cobb is personally involved with the subject?”
She shrugged. “Just a friend, as far as I could tell. Want me to dig around some more?”
“Not at this point. I’ll see if my boss needs more info on him.” Branch switched his attention to the next man in the picture. “What about him?”
“Ethan Truax. The husband of Zoe. He’s a private investigator. Has a small office in Whispering Springs.”
“An investigator?” Branch hardened all over. Muscles swelled in his upper arms. His neck got thicker. “My boss will want to know what the subject is doing with a PI for a friend.”
“She’s not doing anything in particular with him as far as I could tell. Certainly not in a professional capacity. Like Cobb, Truax appears to be an acquaintance. He’s definitely not intimately involved with the, uh, subject.”
Branch contemplated Truax for a while longer before pointing to the next photo. “The subject owns this shop?”
“Gallery Euphoria, yes. It’s located in an upscale shopping arcade called Fountain Square in Whispering Springs. Features high-end gifts. Handmade jewelry, ceramics, artwork, that kind of thing.”
“A real change of pace for the subject,” Branch mused. “She used to be a financial trader.”
“Mr. Branch, are you absolutely certain this is the woman your agency is looking for? I agree that she fits the physical description you gave me, but I’ve got to tell you that nothing else matches. I did a more thorough background check on her. Arcadia Ames appears to be a completely different person.”
“She bought herself a new ID. Maybe a couple of them. Not that hard to do these days.”
“I know,” Shelley said patiently. “But if that is the case, she got a very, very good package. I’ve been in this business a long time and I’ve never seen anything this complete. I tracked her all the way back through college, high school and grade school. I can tell you when she got her childhood vaccinations. That sort of detail is not typical of most fake identities.”
“She made a fortune laundering money for terrorists and drug dealers,” Branch said softly. “She can afford the best.”
“I just want to be absolutely certain that this is the person your boss is looking for, that’s all. This isn’t the kind of situation where you folks want to make a mistake.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Russell. My boss won’t make a move without being absolutely certain.”
“What happens next?”
“I’m not allowed to give out that kind of information.”
“Never hurts to ask. I’m a little curious, that’s all. Not often the Feds come to a one-person operation like mine for assistance.” She paused a beat. “Not that I don’t appreciate the business.”
Branch’s blond brows came together in a serious line. She knew that he was debating how much to tell her. The Feds always hated to answer questions from civilians. They preferred to work on a need-to-know basis.
“Whispering Springs is a relatively small town,” Branch said finally. “My boss didn’t want to risk sending in a team to do the initial surveillance and verification. Figured the subject might notice pros. He decided a low-profile investigator who knew how to do things the old-fashioned way would be less obvious.”
She pretended to be oblivious to the small insults. She was a pro, damnit. She’d been an investigator since long before Branch was born. But he was right about one thing. She was about as low-profile as they came.
“There’s a good-sized private firm in Whispering Springs,” she said. “Radnor Security Systems. Why didn’t your boss give them a call?”
“Similar reasons.” Branch got to his feet and started to gather up the photos. “In a small, close-knit community it’s never a good idea to use local talent for this kind of thing. Everyone knows everyone else. Too much chance that someone will talk. First thing you know, the subject gets wind that she’s being watched and does another vanishing act.”
“Your boss sounds like the careful type.”
“He is.”
She was about to try another question or two about his boss, aware that she was pushing the envelope, but she was interrupted by a soft, insistent ping, ping, ping.
Branch frowned. “What’s that?”
“My watch. Sorry.” Irritated, she pushed the tiny button to silence the alarm. “Time for my pills. When you get to be my age, you wish you’d bought shares in the pharmaceutical companies.”
He nodded once, apparently satisfied.
She watched him square the edges of the photos and insert them neatly back into the envelope. There was something unsettling about the way he performed the small action, as if he were folding a parachute or cleaning a rifle. Making sure everything was shipshape and battle-ready. You’d think that his life might depend on how perfectly he angled the corners of those photos.
“Order” and “precision” were obviously words to live by as far as John Branch was concerned.
“We appreciate your assistance, Ms. Russell. Your government thanks you.” Branch tucked the envelope of photos and the file folder she had given him under his arm. “Do I owe you anything else?”
“No. The advance you gave me covered my time and the cost of the photos.” She hadn’t charged him for the duplicate set that she had ordered for her office file. Her contribut
ion toward reigning in the national debt, she told herself.
Branch inclined his head once, turned on his heel and walked out of her office.
When the door closed behind him she got to her feet, went to the window and watched him get into an unmarked white van.
Branch managed to make the simple act of exiting from the parking lot and merging with the Phoenix traffic look like a carefully calculated military maneuver.
She stood there for a while, thinking, until her watch pinged again.
With a sigh, she went into the bathroom that doubled as a storage closet, opened the drawer beside the sink and took out the large, seven-day pill organizer. The long plastic box was divided into a series of squares, one for each day of the week. Each daily square was, in turn, subdivided into four smaller openings labeled Morning, Noon, Evening and Night. Each opening was filled with pills, a lot of them. She had prescriptions for everything from arthritis and mild incontinence to heart and blood pressure problems.
So many pills, she thought, but none of them gave her the one thing she missed the most these days: a good night’s sleep.
When she finished swallowing the meds, she went back out into her office, sat down at her desk and pulled out the little notebook she had used to jot down her initial observations of John Branch and his mysterious employer.
She studied the one word she had written and underlined twice after Branch had showed her his ID. Feds.
6
I’m not concerned about her two female friends,” Grant Loring said into the pay phone. “From what you’ve told me, neither of them sounds like a potential problem.”
“Yes, sir, I agree,” John Branch said on the other end of the line.
Grant had to listen closely to catch the words. The dull roar of background noise in the huge mall made it difficult to hear clearly.
It was ridiculous having to conduct business on a pay phone in a shopping mall, he thought. It was also tiresome and inefficient. Over the course of the past few days he’d spent an inordinate amount of extremely valuable time in cabs coming or going from malls and sprawling Scottsdale resorts in order to make use of anonymous phones.
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