To Laney, With Love

by Joyce Sullivan

  Footsteps thundered on the asphalt path behind her. “Wait up, Laney,” she heard Ben call. “Where are you going?”

  “Anywhere. As far away from that woman as I can get,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Ben caught up with her and handed her her jacket. “Here, you forgot this.”

  She took it gratefully, tears stinging her eyes at his kindness. She jammed her arms into the sleeves without missing a step, terrified she’d fall apart if she let herself stand still. Ben kept pace with her silently, his head bowed. “How could Reese have loved her, Ben?” she demanded, ignoring the zipper. “She isn’t anything like me. Look at that house she lives in— and her life. She looked down her nose at me, like I was pond scum. And she’s so tall!”

  Ben lifted his head, his expression solemn. “Do you think you could only love someone exactly like Reese? ‘Cause I’ll tell you, if that’s the case, you’ll probably spend the rest of your life alone. When I started dating after Rebecca passed away, I tried very hard to find someone like her. But where do you find someone who grows mountains of zucchini so she can pass it all over the neighborhood, has cravings for strawberry yogurt at 3:00 a.m., is afraid of the sound Velcro makes when it rips, and writes down every cent she ever spent in a ledger?”

  His voice grew husky and raw. Laney could barely hear it over the sound of the sea. “I met a few women who vaguely resembled her. Or liked gardening or were devout penny-pinchers. But there was no chemistry. It took me a while to realize that I wasn’t ever going to find anyone like Rebecca—to even try seemed to me to minimize her uniqueness as an individual.” He laced his fingers through Laney’s and she felt a tingle race up her arm. How was it that she always seemed to connect with him on some basic, elemental level? “Now all I want is purely unscientific magic that lasts longer than three dates.”

  He tugged gently on her hand, causing her to draw up short. “Stop. I want to tell you something and I want you to listen.” His other hand cupped her chin and forced it upward until their gazes locked. Alarm tumbled in somersaults in her stomach at the tight lines bracketing his mouth and the deep, black heat in his eyes that seemed wilder than the wind and as unfathomable as the dark water lifting and pounding against the shore. Laney couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, spellbound by the callused warmth of the fingertips stroking her chin.

  “In my humble opinion,” he said with a sexy growl, “you’re a beautiful, loving woman and it was Reese’s misfortune that the avalanche caused him to lose his memories of you. Because you are definitely memorable.”

  Laney stared up at him and blinked away a hot flood of tears as his words hit home and rubbed out the burrs of insecurities clinging to her heart. “Oh, Ben, thank you,” she murmured. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”

  Impulsively, she rose on tiptoe, intending to kiss his cheek. But Ben angled her chin toward his mouth and within the beat of a pulse, Laney knew from the determined look in his eyes that he was going to kiss her. On the lips. Uncertainty and anticipation snapped her nerve endings to a full state of alert as he lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers.

  Laney stilled a moan as the fiery heat generated by the tentative joining of their mouths cut through her like a jagged spear of lightning and literally knocked her off her toes—abruptly ending the kiss. ,

  Ben, with the split-second timing and agility of a man who can fly over ice on skates, steadied her and set her on her feet. “Careful.”

  “I’m so clumsy.” Laney felt the embarrassing heat of a blush infiltrate her wind-chilled cheeks and kept her head lowered, terrified at the prospect of meeting his gaze after that kiss. If she did, would he kiss her again? Did she want him to?

  There was no question in her mind that he had deliberately kissed her, but for all she knew, he could merely have intended it to be a kiss between friends, part of his pep talk. Ben had certainly given her no sign before that he was interested in her romantically. Now she’d probably never know for sure, because she was vertically challenged!

  Silence stretched between them, punctuated by the steady one-two punch of the incoming tide and the rhythmic slap of approaching footsteps.

  Ben cleared his throat and Laney leveled her gaze on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, then wished she hadn’t. The dark stubble of a five o’clock shadow gave a dangerous and tempting allure to his skin. The need to be held and comforted by him, to touch her tongue to the mysterious contours of his neck and feel the rasp of his beard, welled so strongly in her breast that she closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her mouth. Lord, what was the matter with her?

  “Laney—” he began, breaking off suddenly as a pair of female joggers in black leggings and neon jackets skirted them.

  “Excuse us, handsome,” one of the women puffed, darting a flirtatious smile at Ben. Laney wondered how Rebecca had stood this...women ogling her husband all the time. The fact that Ben had most likely kissed a lot of women made what had just happened between them seem even more insignificant.

  “Let’s walk,” she said with an inward sigh, moving out of the way and lengthening her stride. “We’re blocking the path. And I could use the exercise to clear my mind. Then we can find a place for dinner and figure out what we can do next.”

  “We’ll call McBain from the restaurant. Maybe the police have learned something more that can help us.”

  She waited expectantly for him to bring up whatever he’d been about to say earlier, but he remained silent, as though the incident was already forgotten or not worth mentioning again. Laney zipped her jacket up snugly under her chin and told herself that Ben had far too many women in his life for her comfort, anyway.

  BEN COULDN’T BELIEVE he’d kissed her. What an idiot! Laney probably thought he was an insensitive jerk. Her husband had died yesterday and her friend was making passes at her. Still, for just a golden moment when their lips had met, Ben had tasted pure magic and thought he could have it all: Laney, love, a complete family again.

  The memory of it warmed him body and soul.

  Then she’d pulled away from him as if he were a monster, and he knew he’d blown it. She wouldn’t even look him in the eye afterward.

  Was he a fool to think a relationship could work out between them?

  Gripping the steering wheel of the rental car tightly, Ben kept his eyes trained on the Sea to Sky highway as it narrowed from a wide highway to two lanes after Brackendale and the speed limit dropped to accommodate the rocky terrain.

  They’d called McBain from the restaurant and had decided to drive back to Whistler tonight because McBain had told them the autopsy and forensic results were in and he wanted to see them tomorrow morning at the Walkers’ chalet on Horstman Lane. He’d also advised them of their right to have a lawyer present at the meeting, but Laney told Ben it was ridiculous to waste valuable time seeking out a lawyer when she could be investigating what happened to Reese. But Ben was worried. Did McBain have some incriminating evidence on them—or Laney? Was that why he’d advised them of their rights? Or was it just standard procedure because they were obviously suspects?

  Laney was quiet in the passenger seat beside him, her posture stiffer than an oak plank. Their conversation had been stilted over dinner and he’d noticed that she’d only picked at her salmon steak and wild rice.

  The headlights of a car loomed up behind them. Great, someone in a hurry. Ben put his foot on the brake and slowed into a sharp curve that angled around a knuckle of rock. The car behind him stuck to his bumper, pinning them in the glare of its high beams. Ben swore and hoped there would be a passing lane ahead where the car could safely get by. No such luck. There was another curve.

  But to his relief, the car backed off. Then, next thing he knew, he heard the roar of a car engine gunning behind him and noticed the car’s headlights swerve left. The jerk wasn’t going to try to pass going into a curve, was he?

  “Oh, my God, Ben! What’s he doing?” Laney cried out in alarm.

  “I
don’t know.” Ben braked hard and blared the horn in warning, praying an oncoming car wouldn’t emerge from the pitch-black recesses of the blind curve and turn them all into corpses. Fear pumped in his lungs, seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness as he expected the other car to overtake them.

  Instead, his head was slammed against the headrest as their rental car was rammed from behind and sent skittering across the lane toward a solid wall of rock.

  Chapter Eight

  Ben fought for control of the car to avoid hitting the wall head-on. The sound of rubber screeching on asphalt filled his ears as he jerked on the steering wheel.

  Steel scraped against stone like nails on a chalkboard and crumpled like an aluminum can as they impacted. Then all he heard was Laney’s scream, high-pitched and terrified.

  The car bounced and jolted over the rocky debris littering the base of the rock face. Ben managed to get the car back on the road and slowly rounded the curve, every cell in his body primed for danger.

  The other car was nowhere in sight.

  The road was too narrow to risk stopping here. They could cause an accident. He’d pull over in the first turnoff he could find to check out the car.

  “Are you hurt, Laney?” he demanded, reaching over to touch her leg. Her trembling matched his own.

  “N-no, I’m fine,” she stammered. “Frightened out of my wits, but not hurt.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  Laney gripped his arm. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay.” Ben gave her a dopey grin and patted her knee. At least the accident had got her reaching out to him again. “I don’t suppose you happened to get their license plate, did you?”

  She shook her head. “No, everything happened so fast I didn’t think of it. But it was a two-door sedan—red or burgundy—I saw that much. Two passengers. Probably kids or a drunk driver.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Ben saw a wide shoulder ahead and pulled off the road. His heart was still thundering and his legs felt like putty as he put the car in neutral and switched on the hazard lights. He left the engine running—just in case.

  “What do you mean...maybe?” Laney asked.

  He turned on the interior dome light and shifted toward her. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. The knowledge that she might easily have been injured or killed a few minutes ago made him feel as if someone had tried to steal the keystone from his soul.

  And the thought made him damn angry.

  Ben wet his lips. “You said you didn’t want me to lie to you, so I won’t. That car hit us on purpose. I think someone is trying to shut us up.”

  FIFTY MINUTES LATER, Ben heaved a sigh of relief when he unlocked the door of their suite at the Chateau Whistler. All he wanted to do was get Laney inside and call McBain from a secure phone. They’d driven the last forty kilometers without further incident. There’d been no sign of the red sedan along the highway. He’d had the feeling this morning that maybe the police were watching every move they made, but they hadn’t come to their aid after the accident. Maybe they’d dropped the tail when it appeared they weren’t trying to hit the Butterfields up for some “shush” money.

  Or maybe someone else had been tailing them.

  Ben wasn’t sure who, but the questions he and Laney had been asking were obviously making someone nervous.

  He gave Laney a probing look as he reached in to flick on the lights, then held the door for her. She seemed to have shrunk inside her jacket, as though the garment were protective packing for a fragile doll that might shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment.

  Ben dropped the two small overnight bags they’d packed in the event their questions necessitated a night’s stay in Vancouver on the plush carpet and helped Laney remove her jacket. Her expression told him she was a million miles away. Perhaps lost in her fears?

  Something inside him snapped.

  He kneaded her shoulders lightly, feeling the stiff coils of tension. “How about a brandy and a bubble bath to help you relax?” he suggested, tamping down a delectable image of Laney luxuriating in the enormous tub in their suite, her auburn hair swept up on top of her head and bubbles caressing her creamy shoulders. “You’ve had a rough day.”

  It was all he could do not to fold his arms around her and let out the feelings in his heart.

  Laney tilted her head back toward him and crinkled her nose. “That’s putting it mildly! It’s not every day a woman has a close encounter with her husband’s wife and a boulder the size of one of the Gatineau Hills, though I’m not sure which was more traumatic. A bath sounds heavenly, but I’ll pass on the brandy. We should call McBain first, though, and report the accident.”

  “You’re right.” Ben experienced an overwhelming sense of loss as she stepped away from him and walked into the living area of their suite. He could still sense the delicate warmth of her in his fingers as he shrugged out of his coat and followed her. Boy, he had it bad. He pulled McBain’s card out of his wallet. “I’ll call if you like.”

  Her state of fatigue was evident in the soft glow cast by the table lamp. She reached out an unsteady hand for the card. “No, thanks, Ben. I should do it. He was my husband.”

  Ben hadn’t expected her to accept his offer. He’d already learned she’d never delegate a responsibility she felt was her own, no matter how tired she was. But still, he thought he’d heard an extra emphasis in her voice when she’d said husband as though she were trying to stretch the word into an impassable line between them.

  Which it was.

  He kicked himself again for kissing her.

  Her phone conversation with Corporal McBain was surprisingly brief. Laney hung up the phone and ran her fingers through her hair. “Looks like my bath will have to wait. Corporal McBain wants to see us—and the car—at the detachment right away. Maybe the accident will finally convince him we didn’t have anything to do with Reese’s murder.”

  Ben nodded and gave her a supportive smile. “Yeah. Let’s hope.” Hope was about all he had to live on these days.

  LANEY TAGGED ALONG, worrying her lower lip as Ben and Corporal McBain circled the rental car beneath floodlights in the parking lot. After noting Ben’s account of the accident and the location on a form attached to a clipboard, the RCMP officer crouched down to examine the rear bumper.

  “You said the sedan hit you here on the left side?”

  “Yes,” Ben replied, crouching beside him.

  “Hmm.” McBain peered at the bumper. “There aren’t any noticeable marks of an impact,” he observed in his booming voice. “The taillights are intact. Were there any witnesses to the accident other than yourselves?”

  Ben shook his head.

  McBain scrawled something on the form, then rose and walked to the right side of the rental car. Ben and Laney followed him.

  The considerable amount of time McBain took to examine the damage to the body of the vehicle made Laney uneasy. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with cold, fresh air and hopped from one foot to the other in an effort to stay warm.

  McBain straightened. “Well, you definitely came in contact with some rock here. You’re lucky you both escaped without injury. It’s unfortunate you didn’t contact us as soon as the accident occurred. We might have stood a better chance of catching the other driver.” The underlying hint of disapproval in the corporal’s statement was unmistakable.

  Ben, however, shrugged it off. “Yeah, well, the idea of searching for a pay phone in the middle of nowhere made me feel like a sitting duck. I wanted a lot of lights and a lot of people.”

  McBain’s expression was unreadable. “In any case, we’ll do our best to find the car that hit you. If you remember anything more about the car or its occupants, don’t hesitate to speak up.” He tore off a copy of the accident report form and handed it to Ben. “You should give your rental-car agency a call first thing in the morning.”

  “Corporal,” Laney said, clearing her throat. “I appreciate your seeing us this late. But you don’t seem t
o be lending much weight to the possibility that someone ran us off the road on purpose. My meeting with Mrs. Walker wasn’t exactly a tea party. Come to think of it, Dallyn Vohringer came close to kicking us out of his office this afternoon. He mentioned an officer had gone through Graham’s desk drawers this morning. Did the officer find anything that could shed some light on the murder?”

  “Nothing that appears to be of importance as yet,” McBain said carefully. “But we’re still in the early stages of the investigation and we aren’t ruling out any theories—or anyone as a potential suspect.”

  “Well, what about the fingerprint check?” Laney pushed. “Have you gotten confirmation that Reese and Graham are the same man?”

  “Unfortunately no. But then, I really wasn’t expecting them until tomorrow morning.”

  Laney pressed her palms together to prevent herself from tearing her hair out in clumps. “I see. Since we’re here, maybe you can share the results of the autopsy and forensic tests now. Were they able to estimate a time of death?”

  “Yes, they were, but I’d prefer to hold off discussing this with you until after the walk-through tomorrow. You’re a key witness and the best way you can assist us in catching Graham Walker’s killer is by helping us clarify your movements in the house. I don’t want any test results altering your recollection of what happened.” McBain lightly touched her shoulder. “You’ll know more in the morning. I promise.”

  Laney shuddered and moved out of his reach. McBain’s promise had an ominous ring to it.

  McBAIN PROVED he was a man of his word. As soon as Laney and Ben met with him, Constable Henry and another uniformed corporal in the circular drive outside the house on Horstman Lane, McBain informed her they’d heard back from Ottawa on the fingerprint check.