Haunting Rachel

by Kay Hooper

  Graham was silent for a moment, then repeated, “I don’t trust him.”

  “You checked him out, didn’t you? Like you said you would?” She rubbed her forehead slowly and thought longingly of a bath and peace.

  Again, Graham hesitated. “I did. The company exists. Delafield Design. It was founded about five years ago. It appears to be successful.”

  “Then he told me the truth.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he just told you some of the truth. His background information is too damned sketchy for my taste. I’m going to keep digging.”

  Rachel sighed. “Fine. You do that. In the meantime, I’m going to go soak a few bruises away. Good-bye, Graham.” She hung up without waiting for a response.

  She was accustomed to Graham’s caution, knew it came from affection and concern, and sincerely valued his opinions—but this time he was taking things too far. She could trust Adam.

  He’d saved her life, hadn’t he?

  Mercy hung up the phone and gazed across the kitchen at Nicholas, who was clearing up the remains of the Chinese takeout they’d had for dinner. “You heard?”

  “Your half of the conversation, yeah. So Rachel’s all right?”

  “I think so. What do you know about this Adam Delafield she says probably saved her life?”

  Nicholas dumped several empty cartons in the trash and turned to look at her. “We knew each other a long time ago.”

  “That’s what Rachel said. That you two were old friends.” She left it there, but watched him steadily from her stool at the breakfast bar.

  Nicholas came to the bar and poured fresh wine for both of them. “It isn’t a long story, love. About ten years ago Adam worked for a design firm I did some business with.”

  “Had you known him before that?”

  Nicholas shrugged massive shoulders. “As a matter of fact, I had. We first met about fifteen years ago. He was in college. We had some mutual interests, and a mutual friend introduced us.”

  Mercy smiled wryly. “You’d think I’d learn.”

  “Learn what?”

  “Not to ask questions about your past.”

  His brows rose in surprise, carving deep furrows in his forehead. “There’s just nothing to say that would interest you, love.”

  “I have my doubts about that, but never mind. What do you think about this explosion?”

  “That they’re damned lucky they got out in time.”

  “Don’t you think there’s something strange going on? I mean, a week ago Rachel practically wraps her car around a tree, and today she’s nearly blown to smithereens. She went twenty-nine years without so much as a sprained ankle—and now this? Am I the only one who thinks this is something more than just a bad week?”

  Nicholas sipped his wine for a moment, studying her with one of his more enigmatic gazes. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I don’t know.” Mercy shrugged helplessly. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt Rachel, can you?”

  “No.”

  “Nick, something’s going on.”

  “Two violent accidents in one week is a bizarre coincidence, I admit. But how could it be more than that?”

  Mercy hesitated, then said, “Rachel wrecked her car because the brake lines had been cut. Deliberately.”

  “How do you know that?” Nicholas was intent, but not frowning.

  “Rachel told me. Graham’s gone all suspicious of your pal Adam, but so far he isn’t convincing Rachel, especially after today. But somebody cut that brake line. Somebody wanted to hurt Rachel. Or scare her.”

  “Scare her? What would be the point?”

  “To make her go back to New York, maybe. How should I know?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “The explosion might have been arson, but it doesn’t appear to have been aimed at anyone in particular. Rachel and Adam were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. As for the cut brake lines— even the best mechanic can make a mistake, and brake lines have been known to fail without helping hands. There’s no solid evidence either occurrence was anything more than an accident, love.”

  Mercy knew when she’d lost an argument, especially with this man. She sighed. “Okay, okay. But I’m worried.”

  “You told Rachel to be careful. What else can you do?”

  “Worry.” She smiled.

  He came around the bar and lifted her easily off the stool. “I can think of a few better things to occupy your attention.”

  As always, she felt engulfed in his embrace, blissfully wrapped in warmth and strength. “I’m certainly open to suggestion,” she murmured, tilting her head back to smile up at him.

  “Good.” He lifted her completely off her feet with an ease that never failed to astonish her, and carried her through the sparsely furnished apartment toward his bedroom.

  Mercy spared a passing moment to consider the bland color scheme and minimalist decor, and sighed. “You’ve got to get more furniture.”

  “Why?”

  He had a point. He never entertained here that she knew of, and there were enough chairs—and a big enough bed—for two, so what did it matter?

  “Never mind,” she said. “The next time I’m out shopping I’ll find you a plant or two, and maybe a rug….”

  When the phone on his nightstand rang a couple of hours later, Nicholas reached over so quickly that he got the receiver in hand before the first ring finished. “Yeah?”

  Half asleep, Mercy heard only his side of the brief conversation, but it was enough to bring her fully awake.

  “You fucked up,” Nicholas said. His voice was low. It was also unpleasant. He listened for a moment, then added, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” And replaced the receiver in its cradle.

  “Trouble?” She made sure her voice was drowsy.

  “Nothing I can’t handle. Tomorrow.” Nicholas shifted slightly and put a hand under her chin to tilt her face up. “Are you going to sleep all evening?”

  “I was just resting my eyes,” she explained.

  “Are they rested?”

  “I think so.”

  He kissed her, taking his time about it. One big hand was wrapped gently around her throat, while the other one pushed the covers down and began a leisurely wandering.

  Mercy tried her best not to purr out loud.

  “How would you like to spend the whole weekend in here with me?” he murmured, his mouth replacing his hand on her throat.

  She heard an odd sound, and thought it was probably her, purring. She cleared her throat “What? The whole weekend? In bed?”

  “Why not?” His mouth moved lower.

  Mercy clutched a handful of sheet at her hip. “Um … it sounds … very hedonistic.” The words were followed by another of those throaty murmurs, and she felt a vague embarrassment. Damn the man, did he have to reduce her to incoherent sounds?

  His laugh against her skin was a caressing rumble. “I like that word. Shall we be hedonists?”

  She let go of the sheet and clutched at him. “Nick, for God’s sake—stop talking.”

  With another laugh, he did.

  Rachel was in her father’s study on Saturday morning, when a still-unnerved Fiona announced Adam and quickly retreated, crossing herself once again.

  “Hello,” Rachel said. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself,” he said, coming toward her. “But I thought maybe I could take you to lunch?”

  She had been working at the drafting table and sent a surprised look at her watch. “It’s nearly noon? I had no idea.” After a virtually sleepless night it had taken her hours and another hot bath to work most of the stiffness and soreness out of her body; her unsettled thoughts and emotions had been far less easy to tame, and only fierce concentration on this work had steadied her somewhat. But she knew her control was uncertain at best.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy.” He nodded toward the sketches on the table. “Designs for the new store?”

  “Ye
s.”

  “So you’re going forward with the scheme?”

  “Of course.”

  He shifted a bit restlessly and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I guess it’d be useless to ask you to put off moving on that for a while?”

  “Until?”

  “Until the police have the fire marshal’s report on the explosion. Until I can nose around a bit, ask some questions.”

  Rachel frowned at him. “Ask who what kind of questions?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. Yet. But I know I’d like to talk to the mechanic who examined your car. Maybe to your lawyer.”

  “Why him?”

  “You come home to settle your parents’ estate and things start happening. Maybe there’s no connection—and maybe there is. Maybe something your father was involved in has survived him.”

  “My father had no enemies.”

  “Rachel, every rich man has enemies.”

  She shook her head, but instead of arguing, said, “I don’t think you want to talk to Graham. He … wouldn’t be very forthcoming.”

  “Most lawyers aren’t. But I’m sure he has your best interests at heart.”

  “Adam, I appreciate your concern, but—”

  “But it isn’t any of my business?”

  She hesitated. “I wasn’t going to say that. It’s just … I don’t need a watchdog. Or a bloodhound, for that matter. I don’t believe anyone’s trying to hurt me. Just accidents, that’s all.”

  “Rachel, I know I’m a virtual stranger to you, and there’s no reason on earth why you should listen to me. Except one.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m asking you to.”

  After a moment, Rachel moved away from him to lean against the edge of her father’s desk. She was still shaky, and hoped he couldn’t see it. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  Instead of coming toward her, he respected the distance she had put between them and remained by her drafting table. “Look, I don’t know if there’s someone out there who’s a threat to you. All I do know is that both of us will feel better when we eliminate the possibility. And the only way to do that is to find a few answers.”

  She shook her head slightly. “Suppose the mechanic tells you he’s positive the brake line was cut. What then?”

  “Then we try to find out who had access to the car between the last time it was safely driven and when you got in.”

  “And if the fire marshal’s report says the explosion was arson?”

  “Then we try to find out who was seen near the building yesterday morning before we arrived.”

  “But that won’t tell us if I was meant to be a target.”

  “It will if we find the arsonist.”

  “Isn’t that for the police to do?”

  “The police have a city to take care of. We can focus entirely on you.”

  Rachel shook her head again. “Adam, I’m not a cop. Or any kind of investigator.”

  “I know that. I’m not either. But I know how to find answers. All I’m asking is that you let me try.”

  “I thought you were going back to California.”

  “Not for a while.” He looked at her steadily. “A staff I trust is running the company for me. Anything I have to do I can do by phone and fax, or with my laptop. Right now this is more important to me.”

  Rachel asked the question before she could stop herself. “Why?”

  “I could say it’s because you’re the daughter of the man I owe everything to.”

  “You could. Would it be true?” At that moment, she forgot about being sore and shaky and afraid.

  “Partly.”

  Rachel shied away from pressing for anything further. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “All right, I’ll accept that. For now.”

  “And you’ll let me try to find out what’s going on?”

  She smiled briefly. “I get the feeling I couldn’t stop you if I tried. But you can forget about talking to Graham. He wouldn’t tell you anything about Dad’s business. Or mine, for that matter.”

  Adam frowned. “Have you gone through Duncan’s personal papers yet?”

  Rachel glanced over her shoulder at the huge desk. “I barely made a start. A few letters so far. There’s an awful lot packed into this desk. I think Dad kept every scrap of paper he wrote a note on. And I haven’t even gotten that far with the little desk in his bedroom.”

  Slowly, Adam said, “I know you want to go forward with your plans for the store, Rachel. And I know it’s … less painful to postpone going through your father’s things. But it needs to be done.”

  “You’re so sure the answer’s there? That my father made an enemy so vicious that now he’s after me?”

  “I think we have to rule it out. Rachel, none of us ever knows all the secrets of the people we’re close to. I’m absolutely positive your father was an honorable man, and if he ever broke the law, it would come as a shock to me. But he was a wealthy man who dealt with a wide range of people. It isn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he got involved in something that became dangerous. That he might have made an enemy.”

  Reluctantly, Rachel nodded. “I accept that. But an enemy coming after me now? I can’t believe that.”

  “The explosion—”

  “A random arsonist. You heard what the police said.”

  Before she could continue, the phone on her father’s desk rang. With a slight smile of apology, Rachel went around to sit in the swivel chair and answer the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Grant?”

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Grant, this is Sharon Wilkins, from the real estate office. I just wanted to call you and say how horrified we are about that explosion.”

  “A random arsonist,” Rachel said lightly. “None of you could have known it was going to happen, Sharon. It’s just a shame the building’s gone now.”

  “Yes—but at least it was insured.” The agent’s voice became brisk. “Miss Grant, I didn’t want to bother you, on a Saturday and all, but I did want to assure you that if you do lease a property we’re representing, we’ll make sure security is part of the package.”

  “Thanks, Sharon. As a matter of fact, I’ve made up my mind. I want to lease the store on Queen Street.” She was aware of Adam moving restlessly, but didn’t look at him. “So if you could get the papers ready?”

  “Absolutely. I can have everything ready for your signature by Monday afternoon.”

  “Great.”

  “I’ll see you then. Oh—and, Miss Grant?” “Yes?”

  “Did your friend find you?”

  “My friend?”

  “Yes. He called here just after you left yesterday morning, very eager to talk to you.”

  Rachel felt a slow chill crawl up her spine. “So—you told him what stores I was going to be looking at? The addresses?”

  “Well, yes.” Sharon’s voice became anxious. “I just assumed— He knew all about your plans for a boutique, and I assumed he was somehow working with you. If I did the wrong thing—”

  “No.” Rachel cleared her throat. “No, of course not. And, yes—he found me. I’ll see you Monday, Sharon.”

  Gently, she hung up the phone.

  “Rachel?”

  She looked at Adam, vaguely surprised to find that he had come around the desk and knelt beside her chair. “The strangest thing.”

  “Someone knew where you’d be yesterday? Is that what she told you?” His voice was grim.

  “Yes. Someone called the real estate office. A man. He knew about the boutique idea. So she told him.”

  “So that explosion could have been meant for you.”

  Rachel drew a breath.

  And for the first time, she really believed it.

  It was very possible that someone wanted her dead.

  SEVEN

  dam wanted to take her to lunch, but Rachel was too shaken by the phone call, and he didn’t press her. Instead, Fiona
brought soup and sandwiches to the library. Rachel hardly touched the meal, but she was able to get the shakes under control by the time she pushed her plate away.

  “Stop watching me,” she told him. “I’m fine.”

  “I wasn’t watching you, I was looking at you.” He smiled slightly. “Don’t ask me to stop doing that. And you’re not fine. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t scared and worried.”

  “I just can’t quite get my mind around the idea that someone might want to kill me.”

  “We still don’t know that for sure,” he said, now playing devil’s advocate. “Whoever called the real estate office may have really wanted to see you. Maybe he got there after the explosion, and didn’t try to approach you in all the confusion.”

  “I don’t know who it would have been.”

  “How about Graham Becket?”

  Instantly, Rachel shook her head. “He wouldn’t have told Sharon he was my friend. He would have said he was my attorney.” She smiled. “He likes the sound of it.”

  Adam leaned his forearms on the desk they were using as a dining table. “Can you think of anyone else? Any reason why someone would have wanted to find you yesterday?”

  “No. No one who knew about the plans for the boutique. That’s where the list gets really short.” “Me,” he said.

  “Yes, but—logically—you were with me the whole time. Graham knows. My uncle Cam. Nicholas Ross. Any of them could have told someone else, but why would they?”

  “Maybe we’d better ask.”

  Rachel grimaced. “Why don’t you ask Nick? I mean, since you two are friends. He unnerves me.”

  “I can deal with Nick,” Adam said.

  “I’ll ask Cam later. And call Graham.”

  Reluctantly, Adam said, “Do you suspect any of them?”

  She didn’t immediately say no. Instead, she replied with a carefully maintained detachment. “I have a will. Or, rather, a trust. It was updated after Mom and Dad were killed. If I were to die anytime soon, childless, Cam would get the house and contents. Nick would get my shares in the bank. Graham would get a relatively small bequest, some beach property. Is any of that enough to kill for?”

  Adam reached across the desk and took her hand. “I don’t think that’s it, Rachel. This all started when you came home to Richmond to settle your father’s estate. I think we have to look there first.”