“I’ve got it,” Tram called out. A minute or so later he passed a brimming glass to Emma, who promptly shut the door in their faces.
“How ‘bout the grand tour?” Lucas asked, with a hard slap to Rio’s shoulder.
The tour took less than five minutes, the place was that small. But it was enough to assure Rio that security measures were top notch. All the windows were fitted with heavy black bars, and thick curtains. The front entrance and kitchen door were equipped with multiple locks. The home alarm system, which was state-of-the art, was monitored twenty-four/seven.
Becca would be safe here.
With his charge squared away, he turned to other matters.
“What were you going to say back at the car?” He accepted the beer bottle Tram handed him. “Before Becca interrupted you.”
“Yeah, that.” Trammel twisted the cap off his beer and pitched it into the kitchen sink. Frowning, he exchanged an odd glance with Tag.
Whoa. Rio’s Spidey sense started tingling.
“Spill,” he ordered, hardening his tone.
“Fuck.” Tram pulled his shoulders back, looking uncomfortable. “You know I’d rather swim bleeding through a nest of sharks than dig into your love life, but you need to have a talk with your girl.”
Okay…a discussion on his love life was not what he’d been expecting.
“She’s not my girl,” Rio retorted. He paused. Frowned. “About what?” he finally asked reluctantly.
Tag stepped up to the plate. “About whatever happened that broke you two up all those years ago.”
Scowling, Rio took a step back. “That’s ancient history.”
Trammel prowled forward, his face more uncomfortable than ever. “There may have been more to whatever you saw back then. She may not have been cheating on you.”
“Who the fuck said she was cheating on me?” Rio growled. He hadn’t told anyone what had happened. Hell, he hadn’t even told anyone they’d split.
Although, to give his teammates credit, they’d probably put two and two together and arrived at splitsville thanks to his foul mood and the letters he’d tossed in the can without reading.
“You were fucking crazy about her, dude,” Tag said, his face more irritated than uncomfortable. “We all know the signs when a relationship goes sour. And a guy like you? You aren’t going to walk away unless she calls it quits, or you catch her cheating. All those letters you tossed in the bin back then? Yeah, she wasn’t the one who called it quits. Which means you thought she was cheating. Except, she wasn’t.”
“Riiiight.” Rio drew the word out disbelievingly. “And she just happened to offer that information to a couple of complete strangers?”
A tsunami of disappointment crashed through him. He’d thought she’d changed, but this divide and conquer among his buddies was the kind of shit the old Becca had loved to pull.
“She was high from whatever they gave her in the E.R.” Tram shrugged. “She asked why we didn’t like her and the conversation just…” he shrugged again. “Evolved.”
Rio tensed. He didn’t want to know, damnit. He wasn’t going to ask. “What did she say?”
The moment the question was out, he wanted to drag it back. Cancel it. Avoid getting pulled back into her song and dance routine.
“She said they drugged her,” Tram offered carefully.
“And you just walked away, and left her there,” Tag added, his voice challenging.
Rio froze for a second, and then anger exploded. He instantly knew who the they referred to. Becca had always had a hard-on for her Hart siblings, although her antipathy had been focused on Adam, more than Adele.
“Bullshit,” Rio snapped, a mixture of disappointment, frustration and anger warring within him. “She’s lying.”
“My turn to call bullshit.” Tram’s face hardened. His brown eyes chilled. “She was cooked out of her head last night. Incapable of lying. She was in the kind of condition where secrets get spilled. Something happened back when you two broke up. Something she probably tried to explain in those letters you tossed.”
Clenching his jaw so tight, his teeth ached, Rio shook his head. “You don’t know her like I do. She’s playing you.”
“No. You’re playing your fucking self.” Tag set his beer bottle down on the counter hard enough for the glass to clink against the granite. “She’s not lying. She said she was drugged, so she was drugged. She said you couldn’t have loved her, otherwise you’d have known she wouldn’t cheat. Sounds to me like she was right about that, too. You’d rather wallow in your own damn self-deception than find out what really happened? She deserves better than that, dude. Hell, she deserves better than you.”
Shoving Rio aside, Tag stalked the few feet necessary to the living room couch, where he dropped down and reached for the television remote on the coffee table.
“He’s right,” Tram offered after a few seconds of tense silence.
Rio’s fingers tightened around his bottle of beer. “Fuck you.”
Tram shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. “Sticking your head in the sand does you no favors. Talk to her, find out what the hell happened back then. Maybe it’s connected to who’s after her now.”
That brought Rio up short. He scowled and raised the bottle to his mouth, the icy slide of beer down his throat barely registering. He’d assumed Becca’s attacker was connected to her mother’s case. But Tram had a point. If Becca really had been drugged back then…his stomach twisted, bile rushing his throat…and something had happened to her…his hand clenched around his beer bottle…well hell, that could give someone motive to make sure she didn’t call them out on it.
Fuck.
It looked like he needed to talk to her after all.
Chapter Eight
Three days later, with a bulletproof vest hanging heavy over her shoulders, Becca held her breath, and slowly eased into the passenger seat of Tram’s Jeep. Once settled, the pain dialed back to bearable again and she relaxed with a sigh, absently nudging the vest’s straps closer to her collarbone. They’d found her a size small, but the armor was still too big, virtually swallowing her torso. Not that she was complaining. She’d take the loose, messy fit over a bullet any day.
Rio hovered above her in the open doorway, a frown tugging at his face. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
She forced a smile and looked up. “I’m fine, really.” When his worry didn’t dissipate, she started to shrug. A burst of pain stopped her cold. By the time she started breathing again, Rio’s frown had escalated to a scowl. Obviously, she’d failed to convince him. “Yes, it hurts. But not as bad as it used to, and I took another pain pill just in case. Besides—” She shifted to a more comfortable position. The sling was always digging into something. “You said Hilde wouldn’t talk to you, only me, and it will be wonderful to see her again.”
Although Rio hadn’t told her much, she suspected his investigation was running into walls. He’d returned from his meeting with Father Garcia blank faced, but with frustration rolling through his eyes. At her prodding, he’d finally admitted that Annie Lebronc had moved, and Martha Hugley had died. He didn’t mention what Father Garcia had told him, but considering Rio’s willingness to take her to Hilde, the good father must not have told him anything helpful.
Rio leaned down, grabbed the seatbelt, stretched it out and leaned across her to snap the clip into its clasp. After a startled inhale, Becca held her breath. He smelled too damn good. Some kind of subtly spicy aftershave. Best not to breathe him in. The last thing she needed was more ammunition to fuel this frustrating and unwelcome attraction.
“Where’s Tag?” Becca asked after Rio backed off.
“He’s watching our six.” Rio closed the passenger door and climbed into the backseat.
“Our six?” she repeated absently, concentrating on shallow, careful breathes. His scent still clung to the air and interfered with her thought process.
“He’s following behind.” Tram st
arted the SUV up, cranked the wheel and pulled away from the curb. “Making sure no one tails us.”
They sure took their guard dog duties seriously. With Tag in tow, that meant she’d have three bodyguards at the nursing home.
“Did you tell anyone in your family you were back in town?” Rio asked.
The Harts are not my family.
Before she had a chance to disavow the relationship out loud, she got distracted by his voice. It was the oddest thing. They weren’t alone in the car, but the deep, husky timbre of his voice, floating disembodied from the back seat, cocooned her in a web of intimacy.
“I didn’t. But somebody must have. Adele showed up at my hotel right after I spoke to you at the police station.” The squeak of a body shifting against leather came from behind.
“She knew where you were staying? Did she say where she got that information?”
His voice was much closer. In fact, he was so close the hot brush of his breath tickled her left ear. Goosebumps erupted along her arms and the nape of her neck and she fought the urge to squirm.
“She said Lena told her. I assumed you’d called Adam and he’d passed the information onto Lena.”
“No.” His voice was absent. “I haven’t talked to your brother in years.” His tone suddenly sharpened. “What did Adele want? Did she ask you to drop the request to reopen your mom’s case?”
“No.” Becca turned her head to stare out the window. The colorful blur of buildings and houses streaming past worked like a sedative. Her eyes grew heavy. “She didn’t know why I was in town. But when I told her, she was fine with reopening mom’s case. Even offered to help.”
A pulse of silence echoed in the car before Rio responded. “Did you tell her you suspect Rachel was pregnant and who the father of the child was?”
“Of course. Like I said, she didn’t care.”
Or at least the news hadn’t appeared to impact her. From Adele’s nervous energy, she had other things occupying her mind. Like an unwelcome wedding. Becca mentally groaned. She’d planned to call her half-sister and make sure Lena wasn’t pressuring her into the marriage. But between the drugs they were giving her, which led to hours of missing time, and Rio’s insistence that she stay off the phone, she hadn’t had a chance to contact Adele.
The wedding was the day after tomorrow, so there wasn’t much time left to hunt Adele down and coerce her into talking.
“Then why did she come?” If anything, Rio’s voice was even sharper than before.
Becca hesitated, she didn’t want to get into their personal history. Certainly not here, stuck in a car, with a witness and no place to escape. “Not that it’s any of your business, but she just wanted to apologize for some past pranks.”
“As of four days ago, everything that’s happened in your life is my business,” Rio countered. The flat, inflexible statement echoed through the car. “Have you two kept in touch?”
“I haven’t talked to her since I left town,” Becca admitted.
While Trammel kept his gaze locked studiously ahead, she could sense his interest in the conversation.
“Did she ever try to contact you?” Rio asked, his questions coming fast and hard now.
Her mind flashed back to all those letters she’d sent Rio, the ones he’d never answered. Was that what he meant by tried to contact? Letters that never got answered? Phone calls that never got returned? She almost asked him, but there was too much bitterness inherent in the question.
“Not that I’m aware of,” she said, hoping she’d kept the sudden surge of acrimony from her voice. “She said she would call me. Arrange a dinner while I was in town. Of course, without my phone…”
She let the sentence trail off accusingly.
A soft grunt of acknowledgement came from the backseat.
“She’s getting married in two days,” Becca added, compelled to break the sudden silence. “I need to talk to her before the ceremony.”
“It’s too risky.” Rio’s voice was flat. “We still don’t know who’s involved in the attempt on your life.”
Attempt on your life.
The phrase echoed in Becca’s mind, reminding her yet again that someone had tried to kill her. It still didn’t seem possible.
But Adele? It seemed even more unlikely that her half-sister was behind the attempt. But if not Adele, who? Who was behind the shots? The hit and run? As far as she knew, Rio didn’t have any suspects.
“What about Mom’s diary? Did you find anything useful in there?”
He’d asked her for the journal two days earlier. She’d been inclined to refuse his request, until Emma had reminded her that the diary might contain clues as to who was after her.
“Nothing yet.”
Okay, that was odd considering how often she found him pouring over the book. It seemed like every time she woke from a nap and wandered into the living room, he was engrossed in the journal, at least when he was on guard duty.
They arrived at Hilde’s nursing home and parked along the street before she could question him further. She mentally filed the conversation under more to come and waited for her two brawny companions to decide it was safe to let her out of the car.
“Wait here,” Rio said as he and Tram exited the Jeep. Doors closed, and they slowly pivoted, scanning the neighborhood.
Becca didn’t protest, just sat there like a chastened child. But then she didn’t relish the possibility of another attempt on her life. Being out in public again, after being shot, was messing with her head. Intellectually, she knew she was safe. The men accompanying her had gone to painstaking lengths to make certain of that. But she kept waiting for the crack of a rifle and that awful burst of pain.
Her flight or fight instinct kicked in, until the beat of her heart thudded against her ribs and echoed in her ears. Her breathing constricted to tight and raspy. She fought the tension as Tag joined his two buddies and the three huddled together.
Suddenly the masculine cluster broke apart, and Rio opened her door. Apparently, they’d decided it was safe to head into the building. She stiffened, the urge to cling to the Jeep’s shelter overwhelming.
“Remember to remain between us,” Rio told her.
“I will.” She had no interest in being brave, or foolish. Her breath hitched as she forced her legs to move and cautiously emerged from the car.
Rio had explained their strategy before leaving the house. The three men would form a tight knot, keeping her in the middle—like musk oxen protecting their calves. Whoever was after her wouldn’t be able to line up a shot from the front, back or sides because her bodyguards would block the bullet’s path. Since the three men towered above her, their heads would block an attack from above.
What they hadn’t addressed, even though they had to be aware of it, was the simple fact that three well placed shots could take them all out. While the three men were wearing bullet proof vests, as was she, they had nothing protecting their heads. She cringed at the ugly thought, horror crashing through her. If it came right down to it, she’d rather take another bullet, even if it killed her, rather than cause the deaths of three good men.
Maybe it was time to rethink this bodyguard business.
She grimaced as the men closed around her and herded her up the curb and onto the sidewalk.
Right, Becca. A little late for that.
A huge brick and stucco arch stood guard at the end of the sidewalk her guards rushed her down. The distance between the Jeep and that arch seemed to take forever and passed in snatches of impressions. The constant scan of intent male gazes. The heat radiating from the men crowding her. The oddly pleasant merging of three distinct colognes. Rio’s hand heating the skin of her left elbow.
Then they were through the red arch and converging on the nursing home’s glass doors. The men swept her through the entrance and into the lobby. Instantly, the cluster of men surrounding her slowed and stepped to the side. Tram jogged toward the receptionist desk, which was a waist high blue circle at the
back of the room.
After a brief discussion with the woman manning the desk, he jogged back again.
“Room one-eighteen.” Tram started down the hallway in front of them.
Becca followed behind, Rio at her side. His hand was still on her elbow…had he forgotten about it? The warmth of his touch was doing annoying things to her pulse and breathing. Heck even her skin was getting in on the act, sending chills down her spine and perspiration across her palms. Time to nip this crap in the bud. She took a long step to the side, relaxing as his hand fell away.
He shot her a questioning glance, which she ignored.
Luckily, Room 118 was three doors down the hall. Tag and Tram took up positions against the wall, on either side of the door, as Becca and Rio entered the room.
Hilde was a long, shallow lump beneath a baby blue comforter. Her face was deeply lined, with wrinkles bracketing her faded blue eyes and chapped mouth. A halo of crisp, snow white hair turned the pillow case beneath her head a dingy gray.
“Rebecca?” A startled huff of breath escaped the pallid lips, as a fragile, translucent hand rose to clasp Becca’s fingers.
“I’m here, Hilde. It’s so good to see you.” Without letting go of the thin, blue-veined hand, Becca caught the armchair beneath the window with her foot and dragged it forward.
“You look just like your mother…” Hilde’s voice trailed off, but the fragile hand tightened around Becca’s fingers as Becca sank into the chair beside the bed. After a second, the watery gaze dipped to the sling that bound Becca’s arm to her chest. “Oh dear, what happened?”
“A minor mishap, but I’ll be fine.” Becca brushed the question off. She glanced around the room. “Are they treating you well, here, Hilde?”
The room was larger than she’d expected, with twin beds separated by a wide aisle. The side walls held banks of built in closets and drawers. The entire room, from corner to corner, was carpeted with a thick, plush carpet, rather than industrial grade. The window, shielded by a trio of blinds, stretched across the back wall, and allowed the bright, San Diego sunshine to flood in.
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