Illusions

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Illusions Page 29

by Janet Dailey


  “I know.” She poked at her omelet, aware she hadn’t taken a single bite of it. “That doesn’t bother me as much as—” Her voice broke, her throat muscles knotting up. Painfully she tried again. “I can’t help thinking—what if they’re right? What if she didn’t have a gun? I knew she was blackmailing Lucas. I was upset about it. I even tried to think of some way to stop her. What if…what if subconsciously I recognized Susan? What if subconsciously I wanted to hear a shot so badly that I convinced myself I did? What if I subconsciously justified firing at her by telling myself I was protecting Lucas from a blackmailer? What if I imagined the shot?” Crazily she felt a whisper of relief at having finally voiced the fear, the questions, that had haunted her all morning.

  Jared’s fingers tightened on her hand. “Do you think you did?”

  “No.” She shook her head, then hesitated. “At least, I don’t think so. But what if—”

  “Stop it.” Riley’s voice was rough with command, his gaze hard on her. “Don’t do this. You have enough grief without borrowing more.”

  “I know.” Sighing, she pulled her hand free of Jared’s fingers and gave her fork a push onto the plate.

  “You’re not going to eat that, are you?” Riley guessed.

  Delaney looked at the omelet and the congealing cheese. “I can’t.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Riley picked up her plate and carried it to the corner wastebasket, scraping the leftovers into the garbage.

  “I feel as though I should be doing something,” she murmured, an agitation and restlessness surfacing.

  “There is nothing you can do right now.” Riley wandered back to the table, snapping his lighter and holding the flame to the cigarette in his mouth.

  “That’s what is so frustrating. I’m not used to sitting around twiddling my thumbs.”

  “What you need is a change of pace, a change of scenery,” Jared announced. “Something to get your mind off all this. What do you say we go riding, like we planned to do? Bannon won’t mind if I saddle up a couple of his horses.”

  Delaney shook her head. “I know you mean well, Jared, but I’m not in the mood.”

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea anyway,” Riley put in.

  “Why?” Jared turned a challenging glance on him, their eyes clashing.

  “Because right now, it’s better if Delaney stays close to the house, in case something new develops. However—” Riley shifted his attention to Delaney, a sparkle of devilment in his eyes, a smile deepening the corners of his mouth—both were a sharp contrast to his cool treatment of Jared—“if you are really bored, I know where there’s a pile of paperwork to be done. I can easily arrange for it to be delivered to you.”

  Amused in spite of her situation, Delaney smiled. “Thanks a lot. Maybe tomorrow. I don’t think I could concentrate on it right now.”

  “Now, there’s a likely excuse,” Riley mocked as the telephone rang in another part of the house. Startled, Delaney half-turned in her chair, her nerves tensing in instant reaction. Riley saw it and rose from his chair. “I’ll get that.”

  He left the kitchen. Delaney listened to the sound of his footsteps, each ring of the telephone jarring her. Finally the ringing stopped, and she caught the muffled sound of Riley’s voice, his words indistinct.

  “Delaney.” Jared reached over and covered her hand again. “It’s probably just some telemarketer.”

  “Probably.” But she didn’t believe that, not when Riley was still on the phone. She clasped Jared’s fingers briefly, thanking him for trying to reassure her.

  Part of her attention was tuned to the phone conversation in the other room while she tried to pretend, for Jared’s sake, that he had diverted her from it. “Maybe I should have Riley bring out that paperwork. It might force my mind off things.”

  “You’ve turned the operation over to Riley. Let him handle it.”

  Delaney smiled at that. “Riley and paperwork are like oil and water. You can put them in the same container, but they don’t mix. By now there is bound to be a good-sized stack waiting for me,” she said, her thoughts turning to business. “I wonder if Riley called Scotty.”

  “Who is Scotty?”

  “Scott Cameron. He’s handling things in L.A. while I’m here. We have a contract to provide security for the premiere of Tom Cruise’s new movie in L.A. at the end of this month. Scotty will have to get started on the legwork for it.”

  Jared frowned in apparent surprise. “I thought—Aren’t you going to sell out? Get out of the security business?”

  “No. Why would you think that?” Delaney stared at him, for a moment completely mystified. “You mean, because of this shooting?”

  “It would be more than enough reason for a lot of people,” he replied. “After all, look at the mess you’re in. And for what?”

  “For acting within the course and scope of my employment.” She cited the legal terminology that defined justifiable homicide in this case. “The shooting isn’t a reason to quit. I admit none of this is pleasant—not what happened or the felony charges—but that’s a risk in this profession. I knew that when I started Wescott and Associates.”

  She couldn’t quit. Not now. It was like being thrown from a horse—she had to get back on and prove to herself that she could do it, that she hadn’t been beaten by it. But she sensed that Jared wouldn’t agree with that logic.

  “Some risks aren’t worth it. I thought you would have figured that out after all that’s happened to you.”

  They were a breath away from a full-blown argument when Riley walked back into the kitchen. “That was Bannon on the phone,” he told them, his gaze falling on Delaney. “We have permission to go over the crime scene tomorrow. Bannon has to be in court first thing in the morning to file a motion on another case. He expects to be free by no later than ten o’clock. I said we’d meet him and go over everything.”

  “Sounds good.” At last there would be movement, action, something constructive happening. “Is there anything else new?”

  “Nothing.”

  There seemed to be little else to say, but the silence felt thick, heavy with vague undercurrents. Right now Delaney didn’t feel that she wanted to summon up the energy to dispel them—or to be sociable.

  “Look, there isn’t really any reason for you two to stay here. I know you probably have things to do. I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m not going to leave you here alone.” Jared settled back in his chair, a determined set to his jaw.

  Riley smiled coolly. “And I’m not leaving until he does.”

  “We don’t need a chaperon,” Jared declared.

  Riley’s smile lengthened even as the blue of his eyes turned icy. “I think you’re wrong. If some reporter comes snooping around out here, I don’t want him to find Delaney alone with the victim’s ex. There are enough rumors flying around town without adding that twist to the story.”

  Discomfort tinged with guilt flickered in Jared’s expression as he darted a quick look at Delaney. “I hadn’t looked at it that way.”

  “Then maybe now you realize,” Riley pressed the advantage, “that the best thing you can do for Delaney is to make yourself scarce for the time being.”

  “Jared, you don’t—” she began.

  “No,” he broke in with a shake of his head. “As much as I hate to admit it, Riley is right. My being here could come back to hurt you. I don’t want to be the cause of more trouble for you.” He stood up. “Will you walk me to the door?”

  “Of course.” She rose from her chair.

  “I’ll tag along with you,” Riley said, earning an irritated glare from Jared. Riley smiled one of his slow smiles. “Just in case there’s some photographer out there with a telephoto lens.”

  The kiss Jared gave her at the door was light and quick, not the kind he wanted to give her. But Riley’s presence proved to be an inhibiting factor, making it all awkward and stilted.

  As Jared walked off the porch, shoving his hat on, Riley c
losed the door and turned back to Delaney, looking very pleased with himself.

  “For a wet blanket, you look very smug,” Delaney observed.

  An eyebrow shot up in silent challenge. “You know I’m right. Having your name tangled with his wouldn’t be smart right now.”

  “Maybe not, but—”

  “There are no maybes about it,” he cut in. “Unfortunately, you are the kind who will stand by a friend, regardless of any negative repercussions. An admirable trait, but not very wise, under the circumstances. Which is why I took the decision out of your hands.”

  “I’m not about to thank you for that.”

  “I know. Which is another reason I admire you.” He paused, looking her over, a smile lingering despite the serious light in his eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine. Besides, Kit should be back from town any time now.”

  “I’ll only be a phone call away if you need me.”

  “I know.” She smiled, taking great comfort from that.

  “In that case…” His fingers tangled in her hair. He hesitated, then planted a brotherly kiss on the top of her forehead. Delaney almost tilted her head back to invite a kiss of another kind, for an instant wanting it and confused because she did. “I’ll call you tonight,” Riley told her. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she confirmed.

  TWENTY-THREE

  MORNING SUNLIGHT SHAFTED THROUGH the cotton-wood trees that shaded the ranch buildings. It was a painter’s light, Delaney decided, and leaned a shoulder against one of the porch’s smooth log posts. And a painter’s setting, too—the barn’s weathered wood still showing dark, wet patches from the rain, the split-log fence contrasting with the emerald green of the grass, the mountain peak rising beyond the trees, showing its burnt-red face to the sun. All around were nature’s sounds: the stamp of a horse in the corral beyond the barn, the chirp of a jay in the cottonwoods, the distant lowing of cattle in the pasture.

  The quiet was shattered an instant later by the purring drone of a car’s engine coming up the lane. Delaney straightened from the post as the rental car came into view with Riley behind the wheel. He saw her on the porch and honked. She pushed her purse strap higher on her shoulder and went down the steps. With long, quick strides, she hurried to the car.

  “Good morning.” She climbed in the passenger side.

  “Good morning.” Riley waited until she had her seatbelt fastened, then let up on the brake. “You look like you’re in better spirits this morning.”

  “I am.” Truthfully, she felt as though some massive weight had been lifted from her. “I’m not even sure why. Nothing has changed, except me—my attitude.”

  “Sometimes that’s enough.” He turned the car in a circle to head back down the lane.

  “It was for me,” Delaney admitted. “Yesterday—the murder charge, the fingerprinting, the arrest photographs—the whole procedure made me feel as if I had joined the ranks of the maniacs and the terrorists, the same kind of people I am supposed to protect my clients from. It disturbed me—and made me question everything. It even made me doubt myself. But I know what happened, Riley. I didn’t imagine it, not any of it. Given the same set of circumstances, I would do it again. That sounds cold and ruthless, doesn’t it?”

  “A little. But knowing you the way I do, I also know that isn’t the way you mean it.”

  “It isn’t.” Delaney leaned her head back and gazed at the ridge of wild mountains before them. “I keep waiting to feel grief, but all there is inside me is a hard fist of regret. Some part of it will always be there, I know. I killed someone, and I’ll never be the same person again because of that.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” he told her. “If you were, then you really would have reason to worry.”

  “Indeed,” she murmured in agreement. For a few miles, a silence stretched comfortably between them. “What has Rina been doing all this time?”

  “Who knows? There haven’t been any surprise visits. No phone calls.”

  “Is she still in Aspen?”

  “She’s still here,” Riley confirmed. “I spoke to one of the reporters yesterday afternoon and he told me he’d talked to a hotel maid. Supposedly she was in Rina’s room while Rina was watching the news coverage on the shooting. The maid made a comment about ‘what a pity it was’ about Susan. To which Rina replied, ‘The pity is that the St. Jacque woman didn’t kill the bastard before she died.’ Then she started ranting about the way Lucas used women—and how he wasn’t going to get away with using her…the usual stuff.”

  “I’m surprised Rina hasn’t taken her case to the press.”

  “She’s smarter than that,” Riley said, then quoted, “‘Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’ Having her own words on tape might be more damning than the hearsay of a witness.”

  “True.” A rueful smile tugged at a corner of her mouth. “You know, the professional side of me wishes she’d give up this obsession with Lucas. And the selfish side of me wishes she’d make another attempt and help prove my case.”

  “I understand.” He lit a cigarette, then cracked his window open to let the smoke trail out.

  “Are we picking Bannon up at his office or is he meeting us at the house?”

  “He’ll meet us at the house.” Riley glanced at his watch. “In fact, he’s probably there. He wanted to familiarize himself with the scene before we walked through what happened and when.” He sent her a quick grin. “Got your memory cap on?”

  Delaney nodded. “There have been times when I wished I could take it off. I’ve replayed the shooting so many times in my head, I think I know it frontwards, backwards, and sideways.”

  “Good. Just keep the picture sharp and pay attention to the details.”

  “I will.”

  A half-dozen photographers lounged outside the driveway’s entrance, chatting among themselves, occasionally trading comments with the two uniformed policemen on duty. When they saw Riley driving up, they scrambled into action, crowding close to the car and aiming their lenses at Delaney. She ignored them as best she could.

  “How long before that gate’s installed?” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

  “It can’t be too soon, can it?”

  Vance backed the rental car out of the way and Riley drove through the opening. As they drew level with him, Vance rolled his window down and waved an arm to stop them. “Mr. Bannon said to tell you he’d be in the house.”

  “Right.” Riley nodded and drove on. “He’s probably interviewing Lucas, finding out what he remembers about the shooting.”

  “Probably,” Delaney agreed.

  They parked alongside Bannon’s black pickup, then got out and followed the walk to the front door. Wyatt opened it, the two-way radio in his hand. “They’re in the living room.”

  “Thanks.” Her glance strayed to the foyer’s antler chandelier. It had been a mere thirty-six hours since she’d been in this house. Thirty-six hours, yet so much had happened, so much had changed.

  Suppressing a sigh, she headed for the snow-white living room. Arthur met her at the archway.

  “It’s good to see you, Delaney. I won’t even ask how you’ve been. I know it’s been hell. Pure hell.”

  Beyond Arthur, Delaney spotted Tom Bannon sitting in one of the white armchairs, quietly observing their meeting. He was dressed in Levi’s and a short-sleeved white shirt. A tan sport jacket lay over the back of the chair.

  “I hope you know how terrible I feel about all this, Delaney,” Arthur said with unexpected briefness and sincerity.

  “I think we all feel that way, Arthur.”

  “I know,” he said with a sudden troubled frown. “But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  A movement in her side vision caught her eye. She turned as Lucas came striding toward her, a black polo shirt covering his muscled chest and black slacks running their sharp creases down hi
s long legs. With his dark hair and eyes, the effect could have been somber and funereal. Instead it was sexy and virile.

  “Delaney.” Relief was in his voice, concern in his eyes.

  “Hello, Lucas.” She moved past Arthur to meet him. “How are you?”

  “No, the question is—how are you?” He stopped before her, his hands coming up to curve around her upper arms.

  “I’m fine.” Yesterday morning, that answer would have been a lie. Today she meant it.

  “Are you sure?” His hands slipped up and down the silk sleeves of her blouse, absently rubbing at her arms.

  “Very sure.”

  “God, I can’t believe what’s happened,” he said tightly. “It’s my fault. I said it was Rina—”

  Arthur broke in, “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s Rina Cole’s. She had us all jumpy after that phone call. Hell, she had us jumpy before it.”

  “I just told your attorney, Mr. Bannon, about the call from Rina.” Lucas released her and partially turned to include the lawyer.

  “Bannon,” the attorney corrected, rising to his feet and extending a hand toward Delaney. “Glad you could make it, Delaney. Hope you managed to get some rest.”

  “I did.” She went over to shake hands with him.

  “Have a seat.” He motioned toward the twin of his armchair. “We were just going over what Mr. Wayne remembers about the shooting and the events leading up to it.”

  When Delaney sat down, Lucas moved a Peruvian-design pillow out of the way and took a seat on the white sofa opposite them. Arthur remained standing. Riley and Wyatt drifted over to stand out of the way.

  “All right,” Bannon continued, “what happened after the phone call? The one from Rina Cole.”

  “Nothing. I mean, it shook me up. The woman is crazy. Sick.” Leaning forward, Lucas propped his elbows on his knees and combed through his hair in obvious agitation. “Anyway…after that we ate dinner, although I don’t think anyone had much of an appetite. I know I didn’t. Then we came back here, into the living room. I had a drink—I don’t remember if I fixed it or Arthur did.”

 

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