by Joanna Wayne
As it turned out, that wasn’t such a bad idea. The wait staff wasn’t on duty at this hour of the morning and the refreshment came from impersonal chrome machines, which wouldn’t be eavesdropping. This time Kelly had a cup of brew along with the detective and Jack—and Mitchell, who’d voluntarily joined them.
Kelly sat next to Mitchell. Jack sat across from her on the same side of the table as the detective, which made her feel a tad abandoned, as if Jack had morphed from confidant to authority figure.
The detective wasted no time in getting started with the questions. “Do you have any idea who shot your husband?”
“No,” she answered, “except that I assume it was the same man who broke into our rented house last night.”
“Your husband talked of a stalker. Do you have any notes the stalker had sent or any recordings of messages he may have left on you telephone?”
“Not that I know of. Nick gets stalked a lot. He loves…” She swallowed hard. “He loved to interact with fans, but he always said there were crazies out there who couldn’t recognize limits. He took precautions, such as hiring security for the rented house, but he never seemed to think there was a real threat.”
“What about you, Mr. Caruthers? Do you have the names of any of the crazed fans who pushed the limits of the law to get to know Nick better?”
“No.” Mitchell answered quickly, then buried his head in his hands for a few seconds before going on. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m still shaken, but I’ll definitely look into any correspondence that may have gone through my office and see if anything suspicious pops up.”
“I’d appreciate that. What about people he actually knew? Did he have enemies, anyone who you think might like to see him dead?”
“No.” Kelly and Mitchell both answered at the same time, blurting out the answer with confidence.
“Everybody liked Nick,” Mitchell insisted. “He was the life of the party, generous to a fault. He’d give you the shirt off his back—literally, even if the shirt happened to be a Borrelli.” Mitchell smiled, then blinked repeatedly and wiped the cuff of his own shirt across his eyes. “I can’t imagine that anyone would have reason to kill Nick.”
“And yet someone did,” Carter said. “What about love triangles? I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up, but was it possible that Nick was involved with another woman?”
“Most definitely not,” Mitchell asserted, shooting Kelly a warning look that she had no trouble deciphering. It was clear he wanted Nick’s secret sex life to die with him.
So basically, Carter had asked the wrong question. Nick was not involved with another woman. Carter continued to fire questions at them for fifteen to twenty minutes. Kelly tried to cooperate with him, but fatigue set in to the point she could barely make sense of what he was asking.
Finally, the detective announced he’d covered enough for now, but that they should call him if they thought of anything that might help him make an arrest in the case.
“Does this mean you have no suspects in tonight’s shooting?” Mitchell asked.
“Not at this time, but we still have lots of people to question and evidence to investigate. We’ll get the perpetrator. It would just make it a lot easier if we had a motive.”
Mitchell rested his arm across the back of Kelly’s chair. “What about Kelly? Do you think she’s still in danger?”
“Not likely,” Carter admitted. “The guy could have hurt her when he broke into the house. He didn’t, and he left fairly quickly when he realized her husband wasn’t there. Looks to me as if the man was out to get Nick and he did. I’d say he’s lying low right now or else he’s on the run.”
“That means it’s no longer necessary for someone from PPS to be at her side every second.” Mitchell turned to Jack. “You can consider your services terminated.”
“That should be Mrs. Warner’s decision,” Carter said, then went into his spiel about the need for them to be available for questioning though it was permis sible for them to return to Los Angeles. Jack stood when Carter made his departure, but didn’t walk away.
Mitchell dropped his arm from the back of Kelly’s chair and took her hand. His felt warm, which meant hers were cold, the same stinging cold that seemed to have penetrated the rest of her.
“I’ll take care of having Nick’s body shipped back to L.A. for burial,” Mitchell said.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “I can do it.”
“I know I don’t have to. I’d like to help. Nick’s death will be extremely difficult for Alex to handle, and you’ll need to focus your time and attention on her. Do you want me to be there when she wakes up to help you through delivering the heartbreaking news?”
“No. I appreciate the offer, but I can handle it.”
“At least let me drive you back to the hotel.”
“I’ll drive her,” Jack countered.
“No use bothering you with that. I’m staying at the same hotel,” Mitchell said.
Kelly felt as if the two men were fighting over her, though neither really wanted her. “I’ll ride with Jack, but I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Fine.” Mitchell scooted his chair away from the table quickly, as if he no longer chose to be that near her. “You have my number.”
“Programmed into my cell.”
Jack stayed silent as Mitchell stood and strode away, leaving only her and Jack in the deserted coffee shop. “I guess we should go,” she said.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
She was ready now, but she had the eerie feeling as she stepped away from the table that the nightmare that had started last night with the shooting of the guard had not ended with Nick’s death.
She prayed her instincts were wrong.
Saturday, 5:38 a.m.
Denver Hotel
DAWN WAS FAST FADING into the golden hues of daylight as Jack pulled PSS’s black escort car into the valet parking lane in front of the hotel. He glanced over at Kelly. Her eyes were swollen and rimmed in dark circles and mascara dripped down her cheeks like black tears. She’d kicked out of her shoes, and sat slumped against the seat, one foot propped on the dash. Even the paparazzi would have had difficulty recognizing her like this.
“I’m a mess,” she said, when she caught him staring.
“You’re not so bad.” The sad truth was her vulnerability was even more powerful an aphrodisiac then her incredible beauty had been at the premiere.
The valet opened Kelly’s door. She waved him away and made no move to get out. “I know that Mitchell and Carter agreed it was unnecessary, but I’d feel better if you stayed on duty awhile longer—for Alex’s sake.”
He reached across the seat and took her hand, then was immediately sorry that he had. The touch unleashed a rush of memories and produced that increasingly familiar burning sensation deep in his gut.
“I’m all yours as long as you need me.”
“That will be until I can get a flight back to Los Angeles. With Mitchell taking care of the transfer of the body, there’s no reason for me to stay in Denver any longer than necessary, and I’d like to take Alex home before I tell her about her father’s death.”
“Makes sense. I’ll drive you to the airport.”
“Deal.”
He’d drive her to the airport, and that would be it. She’d go back to her palatial mansion in Beverly Hills. He’d stay in Denver. She’d been out of his league fourteen years ago. She still was. Besides, she already had her passions.
All he had to do was manage to keep his lips from touching hers for a few more hours. That could well be the most difficult part of this assignment.
Chapter Five
Saturday, 1:26 p.m.
Highway on outskirts of Denver
Kelly had dropped into bed the minute she’d hit her hotel room, but as exhausted as she was, sleep had eluded her. Lying in the dark, the events of the past few hours had seemed more nightmare than reality, and she half expected to hear Nick open the door
and walk into the suite at any minute.
Less than two hours after she’d fallen into a restless sleep the phone rang. Nick’s only living relative, a sister in Kansas whom he hadn’t seen in years had been the first to call. She wanted to know if she was in his will. Kelly’s parents’ call had followed and they had been significantly more upset by the murder. They’d pleaded with Kelly to fly to their house instead of going home.
The offer was tempting, but Kelly couldn’t revert into childhood to avoid responsibility. When Alex woke up, she’d stopped answering the phone and set the TV controls so that all Alex could watch were the videos they’d brought with them. Still, it was a struggle to keep Alex from hearing the news before Kelly was ready to explain it all to her.
Mitchell had recommended chartering a private jet and then taken care of the details for her. They were on their way to the airport now, Alex in the backseat, Jack at the wheel.
“Look, Mommy. It’s snowing.”
Kelly stared at the first flakes falling from the dull gray sky and watched them melt on the windshield. “You’re right.”
“Can I play in it? Can I, Mommy?”
“Not today.”
“Why?”
“We have an airplane waiting for us. We have to go home.”
“Why isn’t Daddy going home with us?”
“He’s busy.” She hated lying to Alex, but she wouldn’t have to do it much longer. She turned to face Jack. “How much farther to the airport?”
“About twenty miles.”
“I haven’t seen any signs.”
“It’s a small one, just used by a few cargo planes and private jets. It’s always busy, though.”
“It must cater to a lot of skiers since it’s so close to the mountains.”
“Quite a few, but some of the smaller planes land closer to the slopes.”
“Do you still ski?” she asked, remembering that he was an avid skier his one winter on Lake Tahoe.
“I ski when I can. The job and the ranch keep me busy.”
“You have a ranch?” For some reason that surprised her, but then she didn’t actually know anything about his life for the last fourteen years, or for that matter, the eighteen years before that.
“The Single S. It’s not too far from here—as the crow flies.”
“And I guess you still ride a Harley.”
He shook his head. “Gave up the Harley when I went into the army and never got back to it. I have a couple of four-wheelers and about a dozen horses I ride on the ranch, and a black Wrangler for the highway—when I’m not driving a PPS vehicle.”
“Can I ride your horses?” Alex piped up from the backseat.
“Sure,” Jack said. “Next time you’re in Denver.”
“Goody. Can we come back to Denver tomorrow, Mommy?”
“Not tomorrow, sweetie.”
Alex grunted her disapproval and twisted her mouth into her well-practiced pout. Kelly’s emotions sank even lower as she was struck by how different Alex’s tomorrow would be. At four, she wouldn’t fully understand death, but she’d know enough to hurt. Her daughter’s grief would break Kelly’s heart.
Jack turned off the Interstate onto a two-lane paved road. They rode in silence for the next few miles and Kelly stared at the unfamiliar scenery while her mind seemed to jump from one thought to another. Finding a burial spot. Details about the funeral. All the legal aspects. There was a will, but she couldn’t remember the provisions except that Nick had included adequate provisions for her to take care of Alex if he died before she was grown.
The scenery changed. A rolling pasture stretched off to the right, dotted with cattle and a few wild pear and hackberry trees with snow just starting to stick to their bare branches. A sign on a gate they passed said Twisting River Ranch.
“What made you decide to get into ranching?”
Jack didn’t answer, and when she looked over at him, she realized he was intensely focused on a low black car that was coming toward them at breakneck speed. Then, all of a sudden, the car slowed down.
“Get out of your seat belt and hit the floor, Alex,” Jack ordered. “You, too, Kelly. Do it now!”
Kelly unloosed her seat belt while her mind struggled to comprehend what was going on. And then she saw what looked to be an assault rifle slide past the driver-side window of the approaching vehicle. Panic hit so hard and so fast, she could barely breathe.
“Hurry, Alex. It’s a game. First one to the floor wins.” She dived over the seat, her feet flying in the air, one of them making contact with Jack’s head. She pulled Alex to the floor with her.
Jack swerved the car, leaving the highway and taking off across the bumpy terrain. Kelly’s pulse was racing, keeping tune with the cacophony of gunfire and the sound of bullets hammering into the car.
“Are you two okay?” Jack’s voice echoed around her.
“Yes. Are you?”
“Yeah. Hang on.”
They hit a deep rut, and she flew into the air and back onto Alex. Alex started crying. “Get off of me, Mommy. I don’t like this game.”
“It’s like riding a wild bronc,” Jack said. “Be over before you know it.”
Kelly tried to keep her weight off her daughter but she wasn’t too successful with the car jerking and bouncing along the rough stretch of pasture. She held on and prayed until the car finally came to a screeching halt, not realizing until then that the gunfire had ceased.
“All’s clear,” Jack said. “Now tell me that wasn’t exciting.”
Kelly lifted her battered body off of Alex. The sight of the shattered window next to Jack sent a new and chilling wave of fear to her heart.
Jack opened the door and started to climb out.”
“Where are you going?”
“To survey the damage.”
“No. Let’s just get out of here. Now. Please, Jack, hurry before they come back.”
“They won’t come back, at least not now. It’s not how the game is played.”
“I don’t like this game,” Alex complained again.
“Me, either,” Kelly agreed as she helped Alex off the floorboard. “Me, either.”
Kelly didn’t fully trust Jack’s assessment that the shooters were gone, and she had no desire to see the evidence of how close they’d come to getting shot. But when seconds ticked by and there was no sign of the black car, the shuddering eased—at least on the outside.
She turned the handle and opened the back door. “Stay inside the car, Alex,” Kelly said, desperately trying for a steady voice and not quite making it.
“I want to play with the snow.”
“Not yet.”
Kelly tweaked her daughter’s nose as playfully as she could manage and climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind her so that Alex wouldn’t hear her conversation with Jack. She walked around to the back where he was examining a nearly flat tire.
“We could have been killed back there.”
“You think?”
His flippant response didn’t match his tone or the concern etched into every line of his face. “Who was shooting at us?”
“You tell me, Kelly.”
“Do you think I know?”
“What the hell was your husband involved with?”
“Nothing. Nick wasn’t involved with anything criminal. Why do you think that?”
“Because stalkers don’t hire a professional hit man to take out the wife and kid of the object of their obsession.”
“A hit man?”
“That wasn’t road rage back there, not with an AK-47.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“That either someone just tried to take you out or that was a hell of a goodbye party he threw you.”
“Why do you assume that was about me? Carter told you that there’s no reason to think I’m in danger.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Did you ever think that might have been about you, Jack Sanders? Maybe it was someone with a grudge agai
nst you—or else the gunman made a mistake and fired on the wrong car?”
“It was no mistake, and it was about you.”
As much as she hated to admit it, she knew Jack was probably right. A hit man. Her knees went weak, and when she leaned against the back fender for support, her fingers fell into a hole where the metal had been torn off by a bullet. A bullet that could have… “He could have killed Alex.”
“He could have killed all of us.”
“Especially you. We were on the floorboard, but you were driving. I don’t see how the bullet that shattered the window kept from hitting you in the head.”
“The windows on this car are bulletproof. A direct hit at close range might have still taken them out, but the shooter couldn’t get a direct hit once we left the highway and started swerving through the pasture.”
She looked around nervously. “If that was a hit man, then how can you be so sure he won’t come back and finish the job?”
“Strikes like that are meant to be quick and come as a total surprise, so that the shooter can disappear before anyone sees him in the area. Nine times out of ten the victim doesn’t react fast enough to keep from being as riddled with bullets as this car.
Nine times out of ten.
That’s how close they’d come to being a crime statistic. The difference had been Jack’s instant response to the danger. She studied him as he struggled to open the damaged trunk, his muscles straining against the fabric of his cotton shirt.
He’d changed tremendously over the years, though she wasn’t sure she’d realized just how much until this second. He’d been incredibly virile then, but wild and reckless.
He was still incredibly virile, but now he was levelheaded and pure hero. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
He met her gaze. “Thank me by telling me what’s going on.”
“I would if I knew. Believe me, I would.”
He stepped toward her and his hand closed around her right wrist. “Then let me keep protecting you while we find out.”
“I have to go back to L.A. I have to bury Nick.”
