Not anymore. The brush with fatherhood and the pain he’d caused Olivia put a stop to his wicked ways. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time, Celeste.” He leaned closer to her. “But, yeah, I’m not into permanent or serious. Just occasional, mutual…pleasure.”
“Occasional. Mutual. Pleasure.” She shifted in her seat as she repeated his words. “That sounds very fleeting and unromantic.” Before he could respond, she held up her left hand with a dry laugh. “Of course, with four engagements under my belt, I’m not in any position to throw stones at you. But someday…”
“Someday, what?”
She wiggled the ring finger. “Someday this will be real.”
He took her hand as she laid it on the table between them. “You know, you can take off your provisional now. And it won’t go on your permanent record.”
Slowly, she pulled her hand out from under his. “That would just be too complicated to explain to everyone now, don’t you think?”
A wave of relief poured over him. He didn’t want her to take it off. Now, how stupid was that? “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“You want to leave at eight o’clock tomorrow for that blood test, right?” When he nodded, she stood. “I’d better go to bed.”
He pushed back his chair to stand next to her. “I need to ask you something. What did you mean this morning when you said that ‘everything’s changed’?”
She exhaled slowly. “I almost made a very big mistake last night.”
“A mistake?” His heart squeezed. “Is that what you think it would have been?”
“Maybe not for a man who seeks ‘occasional, mutual pleasure.’ But, for me, yes.” She took a step back and looked straight into his eyes. “It would have been no different from what my mother…or Olivia…accepted as good enough.”
He felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “This isn’t like that.”
“No?” She raised a dubious eyebrow. “I think it is.”
“Hey.” He grazed his knuckles against her cheek. “What about the man of your dreams? Were you lying to your friend?”
She closed her eyes before she answered. “No. And that’s why it would have been a mistake.”
Then she turned and walked through the sliding glass doors of the guest suite. In a moment, he heard the metal lock slide into place.
Chapter
Twenty-one
Early morning sunlight shimmered with each of Celeste’s rhythmic strokes through the water. She hummed a tune in her head, counted strokes and calculated laps, doing anything to drown out the mental debate that had raged for the last ten hours.
Call Mother and force the truth out of her…No, don’t call, just get out of town.
Donate the kidney and forgive the past…Absolutely not. She owed him nothing.
Run from Beau Lansing, as fast as possible…Who was she kidding? Give up the chance for occasional, mutual pleasure?
She finished the last lap and, panting, pulled herself out of the water. She’d been swimming furiously for nearly an hour. It didn’t stop the debate, but her muscles shook with exertion and her body had found a much-needed release. Not the one it craved, but a safe one.
“You want coffee or Gatorade, Esther?”
Beau stood next to the table where they had talked the night before, wearing khaki shorts and the ever-present twenty-three T-shirt. His hair was wet from a shower, little droplets dampening the cotton of his shirt.
“Just water, please.”
“The usual?”
She smiled and nodded, flipping a wet strand out of her eyes. He walked to a wall of built-in cabinets, opened one, and tossed a thick white towel to her. She grabbed it midair.
“Lemon water, coming right up,” he said with a wink.
Drying her face, she watched him leave. Jeez, he made one fine cabin boy.
She was wrapped in the giant towel when he came back with the promised water. “Thanks,” she said, gulping it. “Great pool. Perfect temperature.”
His gaze traveled over her hair, her shoulders. “I got hold of the doctor’s office. They’re expecting us as soon as they open.”
“Did you tell them I’m…a relative? Won’t they mention it to Travis?”
“Nope. I told them you were a friend who wanted to anonymously and confidentially see if you might be a match.”
“Okay. Let me get dressed. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Half an hour later, she found him sitting in his truck in the driveway, his eyes closed, his head back, an old Led Zeppelin song blasting from the CD player. He’d left the passenger door open. She climbed in and reached over to turn off the music.
“Hey,” he complained, his eyes popping open. “That was my favorite part.”
She laughed. “You’re a teenager trapped in a thirty-seven-year-old body, Beau.” As she closed her door, a gentler melody crooned from the purse she’d laid on the floor of the truck.
“You better answer your cell,” he said, turning over the ignition. “I gave Kaylene and Travis your cell number in case they wanted to reach me.”
She pulled the phone out of her purse. “Where’s yours?”
“It didn’t survive the fire.” He reached over to the ringing phone. “Give it to me if you don’t want to answer it. It could be the shop.”
She jerked the phone away and stabbed the talk button before his lightning speed landed him on the phone with Elise. “That’s okay. Hello?”
“Thank Christ. Where in God’s name are you, Celeste?”
Craig Lang’s demanding tone cut through her with a razor sharp edge. “Hello,” she said softly. “How are you?”
Beau shot her a curious sidelong glance.
“I’m not good, Celeste. Nobody can find you. You aren’t answering your messages. Your mother is worried out of her mind. Where are you?”
“I’m…at a spa in Arizona.” She exchanged a silent look with Beau. “I left Mother a couple of messages.”
“What spa, Celeste?” She heard the sarcasm in his voice. “I want you to come home.” He paused, to check his temper, no doubt. “I miss you. We need to talk. I’ll come and get you if you just tell me where you are.”
“No, Craig.” She almost bit her tongue when she said his name. She caught Beau’s slightly amused look, turned toward the window, and lowered her voice. “No. I still need time.”
“You need to come home. Now. Everyone’s worried. And your father’s…furious.”
“Furious that he got caught, or that he has to run a campaign with an absentee daughter?”
“He’s just…furious, Celeste. Leave it at that.” He lowered his voice a notch. “We need to talk about what you saw in the office that day.”
Her stomach turned at the memory of her father groping his mistress. “I’m trying not to think about it, Craig.”
“Your father wants you back, Celeste, and so do I.” His voice cracked a bit, and he really did sound a touch desperate. “I still think we can work this out and you…you’ve had a shock. I can help you. Your mother needs you.” He was pulling out all the stops now.
She never realized how much like her father he was—a manipulator who couldn’t stand to be told no. There was nothing wrong with her mother that a decent divorce attorney couldn’t fix.
“I’ll call her again,” she assured him, “but I’m not ready to come home yet.”
“Celeste, what’s gotten into you? You’re worrying us. I want to help you get better. I can help you with all of the things that are troubling you.”
“Nothing’s troubling me, Craig.” She clenched her teeth. “And I don’t need your help.” Suddenly Beau’s gentle hand was on her leg, and as she glanced at him, she felt a rush of affection for his quiet support.
She put her hand on top of his. “I’ve got to go now, Craig. I have an appointment in a few moments. Good-bye.”
She clicked off, then reached to the CD player, filling the truck with the deafening sounds of Led Zepplin.
&nb
sp; She’d worry about her life in New York later. Right now, all she wanted to do was just ride in this truck and listen to rock ’n’ roll with a bad boy who made her feel so damn good.
By the time Beau pulled the Silverado into his spot at Chastaine Motorsports, he was so high he felt as if he could reach up and squeeze one of the fluffy clouds right out of the bright blue Florida sky. She’d done it. And she’d talked to the doctor about the operation, took the literature, and even joked with the nurse who drew the blood.
All the way back, they made easy conversation. Sometimes he just found a rhythm with her, a magic synchronization when they talked and teased each other. And when he touched her. Wow. They just singed each other. She just couldn’t disappear from his life. Not until they got this attraction under control. Not until he had the chance to prove to her that she didn’t have to sacrifice her own pleasure because of her mother’s past.
But for right now, he was elated. She’d taken the first step toward saving Travis’s life.
He noticed a car in the parking lot that didn’t belong. Anything that wasn’t a Chevy always stood out. Tourists, VIP guests, sponsors? He couldn’t remember if he had autographs or a photo session on his calendar today.
“I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to do, now that the sponsor party’s over,” she said as they crossed the parking lot.
“We’re going to the Brickyard next week at Indy. The granddaddy of ’em all. You’ll have tons to do,” he told her, squeezing her hand. “Wait till I show you that track. It’s breathtaking, Celeste.”
“Cece,” she corrected him as he opened the door for her.
Two men stood in the lobby talking to Kaylene, and they all turned as Beau and Celeste entered the room. One was balding, middle-aged, and weary-looking. The other looked like his handpicked opposite. Tall, lean, and sizzling with energy.
Beau had no doubt at all that they were cops.
“Oh, Beau, I was just about to call you,” Kaylene said with her brightest voice. “These gentlemen need to talk to you.”
At that moment, Travis came in from the back with a uniformed police officer who Beau recognized as Sergeant McMathers, one of the local cops who often worked security at the Daytona Speedway.
“Hey, Tom,” Beau said to McMathers with a nod.
“What’s goin’ on?”
The balding man reached into his breast pocket and whipped out a badge. “I’m Detective Alexander with the Long Pond Police Department in Pennsylvania, and this is my partner, Detective Fisk.”
Fisk stared openly at Beau with the starstruck expression of a racing fan.
Alexander looked at the cop and Travis. “Sergeant McMathers was kind enough to meet us at the airport and bring us over here. We need to ask you folks a few more questions about the fire up at Pocono.”
Oh, shit. So, it wasn’t an accident or suicide. Beau felt Celeste’s fingers tighten around his. For a moment he wanted to hide her, protect her.
“Sure,” he said. “Did you figure out how she started the fire?”
“We have figured out more than that, Mr. Lansing,” Alexander said. “And that’s why we’re here. We’ve officially started a criminal investigation into the death of Olivia Ambrose. It appears that Mrs. Ambrose was murdered.”
Celeste sucked in a breath and Beau put his arm around her.
“Can we move into a private room?” Detective Fisk asked, still riveted on Beau.
Travis tilted his head toward the hallway. “Here’s a conference room.”
Beau glanced at Celeste and gave her a squeeze. Don’t worry.
They filed into the conference room, and Beau held a chair out for Celeste. He stayed standing, his hands protectively on her shoulders as everyone else took seats around the table.
“What happened?” Beau demanded before they could say a word.
Alexander took the lead. “The crime scene evidence indicates that Mrs. Ambrose was killed and the fire was set deliberately.” His gaze stayed on Beau even though Celeste’s gasp was the only audible reaction. “This is informal and preliminary, Mr. Lansing. We’re just starting the process of interviews. No one is being arrested. You don’t need a lawyer at this stage.”
“A lawyer?” Adrenaline splashed through Beau’s gut.
“Of course I don’t need one.”
“We’d like to talk to you all individually.” Alexander looked at Travis. “We’d like to interview any of your employees who had access to the motor coach.”
Under his hands, Beau felt Celeste’s stiff shoulders tighten as she leaned forward. “Excuse me, but can you please tell us what happened to Olivia, Detective?”
The older detective nodded. “The preliminary examination of the body shows a severe blow to the head, but there was quite a bit of blood at the scene that does not match hers.” Detective Fisk’s gaze moved to Beau. “We’d like to do separate interviews.”
The worst possible scenario, Beau thought. “I’d like to stay with…” Hell, what should he call her? “My fiancée.”
Alexander shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Lansing. Especially in light of the nature of your current relationship with the deceased.”
“We didn’t have a current relationship. We dated a long time ago.”
“According to her husband,” the older detective said, “it was a lot more recent than that and a lot more than just dating, Mr. Lansing.”
Ambrose had probably sold him down the river before the sun rose in Long Pond that morning. “Then let’s talk, gentlemen. I’d like to clarify that.”
Alexander stood. “Detective Fisk will interview Ms. Benson. Will we need search warrants to get hair and skin samples or will you comply without one?”
“From me?” Celeste asked as she leaned farther out of Beau’s grasp. “Why do you need that?”
“Because you had access to the motor coach. And a motive.”
“What motive?” she asked in disbelief.
Beau said, “Take our samples and run your tests, Mr. Alexander. We were together on the track for hours before the fire. You won’t find a match, a motive, or an opportunity.”
Detective Alexander narrowed his dark eyes at Beau. “She was dead before the fire was set, Mr. Lansing. And yesterday we talked to a lot of people at the track. Witnesses saw you leave the Hospitality Center shortly after Mrs. Ambrose did. And Ms. Benson apparently had an argument with her at dinner and was also absent for some time during that dinner. There’s no shortage of motives or opportunities in this case.”
He heard a tiny snort escape from Celeste just as Travis’s gaze fell on her, blazing with accusation. Beau wanted to slap him. Did Travis actually think Celeste might try to kill Olivia?
Well, why not? Harlan was undoubtedly trying to pin everything on Beau. And now Celeste would have to come clean on her real identity to convince them that a crazed stalker was trying to kill her.
He was completely screwed. This could cost him everything. He’d lose the kidney for Travis. He’d lose his ride in NASCAR. And he’d lose Celeste forever.
At that moment, Beau actually believed in curses.
Chapter
Twenty-two
As Celeste walked toward her office, followed by the lanky detective who was visibly disappointed he didn’t get to interview Beau, she knew if they made her take a lie detector test, she’d fail.
Should she tell him immediately?
I’m not who you think I am.
So who the hell are you? he’d ask.
I’m the daughter of Gavin Bennett, the senatorial candidate. Actually, I’m really the biological daughter of Travis Chastaine, the team owner. The résumé I used to get this job is, um, heavily embellished. No, I’m not really engaged to the driver, that was to ward off the woman who was…murdered.
Book ’er, Danno.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Detective?” she asked as they approached her office.
“No, thank you, ma’am.” He followed her i
n and closed the door with a click. Looking around, he dropped onto the guest chair, and she sat behind her desk. “You don’t spend much time in this office, I take it?” He glanced at the empty desk.
“Not yet.” When should she tell him? Now? Later? When he took a hair sample?
“Did I understand correctly that you’re engaged to Beau? To, uh, Mr. Lansing?” His focus shifted to her, and she felt heat burn her face.
“Well. Sort of.” How did she explain their hoax?
“Sort of?” He looked at her hand. “That’s sort of a big ring you’re wearing.”
She clenched her teeth in a tight smile. “It’s all been very sudden.”
“Where were you when the fire started, Ms. Benson?”
Ah, it’s not actually Benson. “On the track. With Beau. He likes to walk the track the night before a race.”
His eyebrows shot up. “He does? That’s cool. I mean, interesting. I never heard that. Do other drivers do that?”
She sensed a weakness in Detective Fisk. “Are you a NASCAR fan?”
He smiled, softening the angles of his face. “It’s hard to live in Long Pond and not be, ya know? I like to go to the races. Not the big ones, ’cause who can afford that? But I try to get to the Friday night rallies when I can. Just to be around the cars and stuff. I’ve never been here, to Daytona.” He suddenly shifted in his seat. “How long were you out on the track that evening?”
“Maybe an hour.”
“What time did you leave the dinner event?”
“We left around eleven, I think. After the speeches.”
He checked notes in a small steno pad. “Where were you during the speeches?”
“I was backstage with the audiovisual man—”
“Can he confirm that?”
“Yes, he’s on the hospitality staff at the track. After Travis’s speech, I was in the bathroom. Then I went back to the dinner table.”
“Where was Beau?”
Where was Beau, she wondered. “I think he was looking for me.”
Suddenly she remembered something he’d said when they left. I need you. At the time, it struck her as an odd admission. Did he need her as an alibi?
Killer Curves Page 20
