by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
“Let me through, please.” A robust guy sporting a full black beard stepped up, shouldering Owen out of the way and motioning for Jordan to move. He reminded Lindy of a friendly bear, and his warm brown eyes scanned her quickly before meeting her gaze. “Talk to me. What’s your name?”
“Belinda Kn—” She swallowed hard and stole a glance at Owen. He still wore the same thunderous frown. “O’Neil.”
“I’m Mike, and I’m going to take real good care of you, Belinda.” He bustled around, digging through a bag while asking her questions about pain and whether she’d struck her head, which, luckily, she hadn’t. After testing the range of motion in all of her appendages and checking her vitals he finally stood. “You want to try to stand?”
“Yeah. I’m feeling way better now,” she said. He held out both hands and leaned back to stabilize her. She rose to her feet, marveling at how easy it was compared to the twenty times she’d fallen in practice. Then she realized she was no longer wearing skis.
As she straightened fully the twinge in her lower back worsened. “Ugh. Not awesome.”
“Yeah, you’re going to be sore. I gotta tell you, that’s a win all day for you. From what the lift operator said, we’re lucky we’re not dealing with a broken femur or worse.”
She refused to think about what the “or worse” could have been.
“Good thing you’re so fit. I think that might have saved you a lot of damage. You okay on your own two wheels?” Mike the Bear asked.
“Yes. I prefer it. My muscles are getting tight, and I think I’ll feel better if I walk it off.”
He nodded and thrust a thumb Owen’s way. “Is this your boyfriend?”
“Husband,” she corrected with a stab of guilt. She wasn’t fond of lying anyway, but lying to someone who’d helped her made her feel like crud stuck to the bottom of a shoe.
“Make sure your wife takes it easy,” he said, turning to face Owen. “She doesn’t appear to have a concussion, but to be on the safe side, watch out for—”
“I played rugby for years, I know the drill. Wake her up every hour, look out for vomiting. I’ll stay on top of it.”
Lindy wanted to kick him in the shin. Mike was trying to do his job, and Owen was being such a jerk, and for no good reason. She squeezed the medic’s hand and worked up a warm smile. “I really appreciate you looking out for me, Mike. I was freaking out for a minute and knowing you were there doing your thing, making sure I was okay, made all the difference. We’re very grateful for your quick response, aren’t we, hon?”
She sent Owen the death stare and he released a pent up breath. “Yes. We truly are.” He extended a gloved hand to Mike who took it with a curt nod.
“Just doing my job.”
Mike made his way back to his snowmobile, and she had a moment of relief that she wasn’t being carted out in the sled attached to it.
“I should get back.” The relieved looking lift operator gestured to the booth and sent Lindy a questioning glance. “If you’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Nico and Jordan stepped up as the other bystanders scattered. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jordan said. She wrung her hands together nervously and eyed Lindy from head to toe. “You hit so hard.”
“Yes, I have to confess, I feared the worst,” Nico said. “Jordan had asked for a private ski lesson, and we were just going over how to slalom using your hips when this flash went by. I swear, I felt the breeze when you passed, it was so fast.”
“Yes, well, as I mentioned, my skis had gotten the better of me.”
“Is this your first time? What with the house in Stowe that Owen mentioned on his application, I would’ve assumed you were avid skiers.” His dark eyes searched her, narrowing with what could easily be suspicion, and at that moment, a sneeze away from melting down, she just needed to get out of there.
“My wife prefers snowboarding but agreed to try skiing as a favor to me.”
“Ah, lovely to have a spouse who is so interested in your activities and willing to try new things to make you happy.”
When Owen stiffened next to her, she held her breath, waiting for him to blow it. This was the first time he’d seen Nico in action, effectively trying to drive a wedge between them. He’d offered a pointed reminder that Owen wouldn’t make the same concessions for her.
Nico seemed oblivious to Owen’s anger, laying a gentle hand on Lindy’s shoulder instead of getting the hell out of Owen’s reach.
“Please come see me later. I’m certain we can set up a special healing spa treatment for you once we get back to the château, if you’d like.” He turned his attention to Owen. “And you mentioned you had experience with concussions? Be sure to take special care, and if she has any problems in the night, don’t hesitate to contact me. I’ll get a doctor over immediately. She had her trap rattled pretty hard there. For a second she even forgot her last name.”
They both thanked him, and he and Jordan skied off, leaving Lindy alone again with Owen. He quietly gathered up the ski paraphernalia that had apparently shot off her body on impact. He didn’t need to say anything, though. His ashen face and clenched jaw said it all.
“Sorry I blew it,” she muttered. “But I think it’s going to be okay. He was a little suspicious, but as long as we don’t do anyth—”
His motions became terse and instead of walking, he got all caveman stompy. “Is that what you think is bothering me? Even if he is suspicious, it’s based on next to nothing, and he’ll get over it. What’s bothering me is that you almost just got killed. What is the matter with you, running off half-cocked that way? Why didn’t you wait for me?”
Her guilt dried up faster than a worm on a Texas highway. “I repeat, I did not know that was going to happen. Geez, I nearly broke my ever-loving neck trying to get some intel, for you, I might add, and you’re mad at me?” Her voice had gone shrill. She considered toning it down, but screw that. “I was going to let you off the hook for yelling at me before, but it’s been twenty minutes. Surely rational thought has re-entered the building.” She reached out and rapped him sharply on the noggin with her fist. “Anybody home?” she called loudly into his ear.
His eyes, previously glittering with fury, widened in shock. She’d struck Owen Phipps. She knew a split second of regret for her rash deed. Until his shoulders shook with laughter.
…
That night Owen stared down at a sleeping Lindy and brushed a gleaming lock of hair from her forehead. She was fine. Everything was fine.
The memory of her falling replayed in his head on a continuous loop, and it was making him mental. He had to get a grip. Maybe tomorrow, when she woke up and got out of bed, still in one piece, the cramp in his gut would loosen and he’d feel better. There was no escaping the hard truth, though. It was long past time to admit that, at some point, he’d begun caring about her. Sure, part of that was a sense of responsibility. He’d brought her here, after all, and if she hadn’t been trying to see what Jordan and Nico had been doing, she probably never would have lost control. But there was more to it than that. For a second, out on that mountain, he hadn’t known if she was alive or dead. Once the screaming, crimson panic of it all subsided, he realized that the world would be a lot worse for it if she were no longer in it. When she’d started laying into him, and Dear God, cracked her knuckles against his forehead? The relief had been overwhelming.
She stirred and he pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders. He’d woken her four times already, and felt confident she wasn’t concussed. Another hurdle cleared. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he crept from the room to answer it.
“What do you have for me?”
“I’m doing well, thanks for asking,” Gavin sniped. “Glad to see being loaded hasn’t improved your street-rat manners any.”
There weren’t a lot of people he would tolerate that kind of talk from, and lucky for Gavin, he was on the short list. They’d both gone to the school of
hard knocks early on. Owen and his mother had to scrape together enough coin just to eat when his father had dumped them, and Gavin’s mother had been a prostitute and eventually left him with his crazy aunt at the age of nine. They hadn’t met until they were both adults, and successful ones at that, but like recognized like, and they’d hit it off famously. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were so sensitive. Did you want me to send you flowers, too?”
Gavin let out a short laugh. “I wouldn’t accept flowers from an ugly mug like you on a bet, so don’t get all hot and bothered at the thought. Now, down to business. Got a pen handy?”
Owen cracked open the desk drawer and pulled out a pen and pad. “Go ahead.”
“One Sarabeth Lucking. Twenty-nine years old, graduated top of her class at Loyola. Went to grad school and got her doctorate in psychology. As of last year, worked in private practice, now is an employee of The Healing Place, LLC. No priors, no warrants…no nothing.”
Gavin continued to rattle off names and information, but none of it was setting off any warning bells. “I got your email yesterday about Marcel Goudreaux, but I haven’t gotten the reports back. And last but not least, Liza Ingram. Licensed fitness instructor and nutritionist, graduated from University of Connecticut. No priors, no warrants. Had a restraining order against a boyfriend back in 2008. Works for The Healing Place, LLC. And…”
There was a long pause. “Yeah, and?” Owen prompted, impatience sharpening his tone.
“And, Liza Ingram died three years ago in a car accident.”
A heavy silence crackled over the phone. Adrenaline pulsed through him, but he kept his tone even. “You sure?”
“Sure as I can be. I tracked your Liza’s driver’s license to the dead woman’s social security number. I’m going to do some more digging, see if I can find some credit cards, do some backtracking, but a recent photo or a fingerprint would really help. If you can manage it, I’ve got a lot better chance figuring out who the impostor really is.”
They exchanged goodbyes, with Owen promising a photo or print in the next few days. After he clicked off, he poured himself a scotch and sat on the couch with his latest notes. Liza pretending to be someone else didn’t necessarily mean she was involved in whatever Nico’s game was, but it didn’t look good. He tried to stay calm. There was a lot they still didn’t know. Still, his blood buzzed with the thrill of the hunt.
He picked Cara’s number off speed dial and settled in for a chat. They’d found a thread, and if they tugged on it exactly right, the whole thing would unravel. He could feel it in his bones.
Chapter Fifteen
“I don’t get it. Why can’t I get the fingerprint? I warm up in her class three times a week before going with Nico. It would be so easy. I’ll grab her water bottle on accident and call it a day.”
They’d gone around on the topic several times and hadn’t managed to come to an agreement, mainly because Owen was being a big fat jerk, which seemed to be happening more and more. Ever since her accident the day before, he’d been unbearably overprotective. If she didn’t know better, she might think he’d rather have her spend the rest of the trip locked up in their room like some demented aunt he was ashamed of or something.
When she accused him of exactly that, he’d nodded. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”
She slammed a pillow over her mouth and muffled a scream. “Why are you acting this way?”
“Because I can take it from here. We’re in the facility, we’ve met people, got the lay of the land. Now Gavin has a lead and I can work it while you stay in the background and keep a low profile. Besides, I want to give Nico some time to get the little skiing glitch off his radar.”
She looked away and didn’t respond.
Owen blew out a long-suffering sigh. “Just give it a few days, all right? It makes no sense to keep going to the fitness classes right now when you’re still recovering. Talk about suspicious.”
“Recovering from what? Embarrassment that I nearly punched my ticket on the bunny slope? And what the hell kind of name is that, anyway? Bunny slope. Completely demeaning.” She let out a snort so unladylike it would’ve given the proper wife of a man like Owen Phipps a fit of the vapors. “Frozen Slick of Doom is more like it.”
Owen’s lips twitched. He sat on the chair across from her. “You do seem a lot better,” he said cautiously. “How about I do this one thing tomorrow, and if you’re feeling up to it, and we need a print from one of the other staff members, it’s all yours? And tonight we can go to that couple’s game night downstairs if you’re feeling antsy. Maybe we can try to strike up a conversation with Margie and Steve.”
It was a tempting offer. Margie was a tough nut to crack. Super aloof and she neatly avoided all attempts to make friends. That made Lindy all the more determined to crack her. Plus, while she wouldn’t admit it to Owen, she did feel a little like she’d gotten hit by a bus. Everything was sore. Ibuprofen helped, but probably not enough to make it through a yoga class without some major discomfort.
“Okay, but before you walk into that classroom tomorrow, we’ve got to make sure we have a good reason you’re finally taking yoga the one day that I’m not there, so start thinking on that. And no hanging back to babysit me today. You have to get out there, take the daytime classes, stay in the loop. If you don’t, I will literally expire of guilt and it’ll be on your head. I refuse to let my clumsiness ruin this for you, Owen. Not when we’ve come so far.”
His dark eyes went soft in a way they hadn’t since the night they’d nearly made love. He’d been kind of aloof in the days following, and then, since the accident, he’d vacillated between anger and annoyance. Sad to say, she preferred the latter to the former. At least if he was mad he was feeling something toward her. How pathetic was she?
“All right. I’ll stop back later to bring you some lunch and check on you. Then, if you’re feeling all right, we’ll make an appearance at dinner and go to the evening event.”
“Sounds good.”
By the time he left a few minutes later, the drama of the past twenty-four hours had caught up with her. She put her head back on the pillow, her last waking thoughts bouncing between two men, similar in so many ways. Both willing to go to almost any length to get what they wanted. What set them apart? Nico achieved his goals at the expense of others, whereas Owen paid the price himself. Any emotional investment she’d made had been by her own choice. Now she had to find a way to finish the job while she still had some currency left in the bank.
…
“Good evening, couples. We’ve got a fun game coming up that also emphasizes the need to be present for one another. We’re going to steal the husbands for a moment.” Brandi with an “I” shuttered one false-lashed eye in a broad wink. “But we promise to give them back.”
The men filed out of the room and one of the other staff members came around to hand out blindfolds to the wives. Lindy took hers and peered around the room. Everyone had come except Nico. She wondered if he’d make an appearance. It seemed as if he was always under foot until now. Owen had had the gym to himself this morning and hadn’t seen the usually omnipresent proprietor all day. She filed that tidbit away and focused on their hostess.
“In a minute, the men will be coming out in different clothing than what they wore here tonight. The object of tonight’s game is to see if you can identify your husband based on feeling a certain body part.” She waited for the requisite laughs before responding. “Not that one, ladies. Now let’s slip on our blindfolds and a staff member will lead you to the row of husbands.”
Lindy slipped the blindfold over her eyes and realized with a start that it was pitch black. She couldn’t say she was overly fond of the sensation. A cool, dry hand closed gently over her wrist. “Hey, you,” Sarabeth whispered.
“Hey yourself,” she replied with a genuine smile. She hoped with all her heart, and not for the first time, that the young doctor wasn’t a part of whatever was going on here.
“We’re go
ing to walk straight ahead,” she said. Lindy followed her lead until the other woman tugged her to a stop.
“Okay. Bring them in,” Sarabeth called toward someone in the adjacent room.
Steve, the stuffy banker, blustered a little, but from what she could discern most of the men sounded playful and were ready for some laughs.
“Make sure you don’t get too fresh with me, ladies.” Calvin Cedarhurst’s alto thundered through the room.
Lindy strained to make out Owen’s voice, but to no avail. She wondered how he was taking it. This was way out of his comfort zone, but it could be exactly the icebreaker they needed to get in with some of the folks that had been standoffish.
“Ladies, we’re shuffling the men around now. Men, stay quiet so that your wives don’t cheat by following your voices.”
A couple of the ladies balked good-naturedly at the accusation, but soon they were in line. “Bitsy Cedarhurst, you’re up first.”
Bitsy gave a self-conscious laugh as she was led away.
“This is the fun part,” Brandi said, on with a giggle. Lindy mentally added in the wink for her. “All the men are going to let you feel their shoulders with nothing but a tank top on. After you’ve tested all six men, you’ll go back through and stand behind the one you think is your husband. Piece of cake, right?”
Sarabeth’s smooth tone interjected now. “What we’ve found is that, even though we’ve been with someone a long time, we might not know them as well as we thought we did. When you’re with your husband…your lover, we want you to be focused on the moment. It leads to more meaningful interactions, less taking one another for granted and, frankly, better lovemaking.”
One of the men let out a shrill whistle and the room broke out into laughter. There were times, like now, that Lindy marveled at the insightful and interesting games some of the staff designed. She hoped to God that some of these couples would come out better for it in the end in spite of Nico’s intentions.
“Number one,” Brandi called out.
Presumably, Bitsy touched the husband standing first in the row. “Come on, don’t be bashful, get in there!”
