Yesterday's Scandal

by Gina Wilkins

  She wasn’t surprised by Jerry’s attitude. He had a taste for flash. He traded cars nearly every year when the new models debuted, and was always upgrading his computers and electronic equipment. The past held little appeal for him—his eyes were firmly fixed on the future. She saw no need to remind him that she had a soft spot for antiques. It was something he just couldn’t understand.

  Jerry’s thoughts were still focused on Mac Cordero. “The guy’s just a contractor. I don’t know why so many people around town want to make him into something else. The rumors about him are absurd. Why can’t they just accept that he’s exactly what he says he is?”

  The mildest speculation cast Cordero as an eccentric multimillionaire who fixed up old houses for his own hideaways. Some whispered that he was an agent for a Hollywood superstar who wanted a place to escape the press occasionally. The most incredible story she’d heard suggested he was working for an organized-crime family preparing the Garrett house for a mobster who needed to get out of New York City.

  “You know how rumors get started around here,” Sharon reminded Jerry. “Because Mr. Cordero chooses not to share information about his personal life, people entertain themselves by filling in the blanks with colorful details.”

  “So what do you know about him?” Jerry’s question proved he wasn’t as averse to gossip as he pretended—something Sharon already knew, of course.

  “I don’t know anything more than you do. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time for personal chit-chat when I met him. All I can tell you is he seemed very…capable,” she said for lack of a better description.

  As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had been in trouble Friday night. Yes, she’d managed to get out of her sunken car on her own, but she’d been shaken and disoriented. She probably would have gotten to the shore on her own—at least, she hoped so—only to find herself stranded on a rarely traveled country road without a car or a phone. As frightened as she had been, there had been something about Mac Cordero that had reassured her. Maybe it was the strength of the rock-hard arms that had supported her until she’d caught her breath. Or the steady way he’d held her gaze when he’d assured her that help was on the way. Or maybe it had been the way her hand had felt cradled so securely in his.

  It embarrassed her now to remember the desperation with which she had clung to the stranger who’d pulled her from the water. At the time, she’d simply been grateful to have someone to hold on to.

  “Would you mind if we talk about something else now?” she asked, uncomfortable with the feelings those memories evoked. “It seems that all I’ve talked about for the past two days is the accident.”

  “Of course. So, what about your car? Have they pulled it out yet? Were you able to salvage anything?”

  This time she didn’t bother to hold back her sigh. There appeared to be nothing she could do to distract Jerry. Pushing her unsettling thoughts of Mac Cordero to the back of her mind, she concentrated on her dinner, answering Jerry’s questions with as little detail as possible.

  She could only hope something would happen soon to get the town talking about something else.

  “I’VE INTERVIEWED everyone I could think of who might’ve seen something suspicious around the Porter place, Wade. We’ve put the word out all over town that we’re looking for the light-colored panel van that was seen leaving the scene of the crime. We’re getting nothing. Apparently, the only two people who saw the vehicle were Sharon Henderson and that Cordero guy.”

  Chief Wade Davenport raised his gaze from the accident reports scattered in front of him to the skinny, dejected-looking deputy on the other side of the battered oak desk. “Keep asking, Gilbert. Someone had to see something.”

  Ever the pessimist, Gilbert Dodson gave a gloomy sigh. “I’ll keep asking, Wade, but I’ve talked to everyone but the chickens now.”

  Wade leaned back in his creaky chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Then maybe you should start interviewing chickens.”

  Shoulders slumping, Gilbert nodded and turned toward the door. “I’ll get right on that, Chief.”

  Wade muttered a curse as his office door clicked shut. He tended to take it personally when anyone broke the law in his town. There’d been a rash of break-ins about a month ago, and the culprits had never been caught. Now there’d been another—the Porter place. They’d been quietly and efficiently cleaned out by whoever had been in the same van that had almost killed Sharon Henderson.

  The break-ins were connected. Wade was sure of it, even though he had no evidence to support his hunch. There wasn’t that much crime in Honoria, and there hadn’t been any breaking and entering going on in almost five years. Not since the O’Brien kid and his buddies had thought it would be “fun” to start their own crime ring. Kevin O’Brien was twenty-three years old now and had done his time. The first thing Wade did when the current burglaries began was to check on Kevin’s whereabouts. As far as he could tell, there was no connection this time.

  Which meant he had another thief operating in his town, victimizing and endangering his friends and neighbors. And that made Wade mad.

  Narrowing his eyes, he picked up the report that had been filed by Mac Cordero, the “mysterious stranger” everyone had been gossiping about. It was interesting that the previous burglaries had taken place while Cordero was in town a few weeks back buying the old Garrett place. Now there’d been another one, only days after Cordero returned to begin the renovation project. Cordero “just happened” to be driving down that back road at the same time the Porter place was being cleaned out. Maybe there was no connection there, but Wade didn’t like coincidences.

  Wade’s wife and kids lived in this town. It was his job to keep them—and the other residents—safe. He turned his attention to Cordero’s statement again, looking for anything that resembled a clue.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for Mac to learn a few things about the woman he’d pulled from Snake Creek. Even though he didn’t mingle much with the townspeople, every busybody he encountered in Honoria during the next few days—and there seemed to be many of them—was anxious to tell him all about her. He found some of the information interesting, but two comments, in particular, caught his attention.

  Sharon Henderson was an interior decorator and a good friend of the McBride family.

  The motel where he was staying was not so coincidentally located within full view of the McBride Law Firm. From the window of his room, Mac could see the firm’s parking lot. He’d heard that the founder, Caleb McBride, a lifelong resident of Honoria now in his early sixties, had very recently left for a month-long Caribbean cruise with his wife, Bobbie. Their older son, Trevor, was running the law office single-handedly until Caleb’s return.

  Mac had watched a steady stream of clients and visitors entering and exiting the office building during the last five days he’d spent in Honoria. Some he could already identify, such as Trevor’s striking, red-haired wife and two young children, and Trevor’s younger brother, Trent, whom Mac had met a month ago in that same parking lot.

  Late Monday afternoon, Sharon Henderson arrived at the firm.

  Watching from his window, Mac recognized her immediately, though he wasn’t sure how. The attractive, well-dressed woman who slid out of a nondescript sedan bore little resemblance to the wet, shivering waif he’d encountered Friday night. Her hair fell in a gleaming brown sweep to just above her shoulders and she carried herself with poised self-confidence. As she disappeared inside the law office, he told himself he could be mistaken. There was no way he could know for sure the visitor was Sharon. Even if he’d gotten a closer look at her that night, he was too far away to see her clearly now.

  Drinking coffee from the coffeemaker provided in the room, he was still sitting in the uncomfortable chair watching the other building when the woman emerged again. Though he’d spent the past hour trying to convince himself he couldn’t possibly have identified her, the sense of recognition hit h
im again the moment she walked out into the parking lot. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was convinced Sharon Henderson had just dropped in on Trevor McBride.

  Interesting. He’d heard she was a friend and her visit proved there was a professional relationship, as well. He wondered just how much she knew about the McBride family history…and if she shared the rest of the town’s passion for idle gossip.

  Maybe it was time for him to pay a call on her. He’d been thinking about doing that, anyway, for professional reasons. Now that he knew her connection to the McBrides, he had more personal motives for wanting to get better acquainted with Sharon Henderson.

  “C’MON, SHARON, why can’t I go? All the other guys will be there.”

  Sharon grimaced as her fifteen-year-old brother’s voice edged perilously close to a whine. She tightened her grip on the telephone receiver, trying to get a firmer hold on her patience at the same time. “Brad, you are not going to an unchaperoned party. I know Mike Riordan’s parents are out of town this week, and I don’t at all approve of them allowing him to have a party at their house while they’re away. As far as I’m concerned, that’s just asking for trouble.”

  “But Mike’s brother Joe is going to be there to keep an eye on things. He’s a college man.”

  Sharon wasn’t impressed. “He just finished his first year of college. That makes him barely nineteen years old. I’m sorry, but that isn’t my idea of a suitable chaperon for a houseful of teenagers. The answer is no. We can go out to eat or to a movie, if you like. Or you can invite a couple of your friends over to eat pizza and play video games.”

  “All my friends are going to the party. No one’s going to want to miss it to hang out with me.”

  Refusing to be swayed by his plaintive tone, Sharon responded firmly. “I doubt that everyone will be at the party. I’m sure I won’t be the only adult who’ll think this is a bad idea.”

  “Just let me go for a little while, okay? If it gets too wild, I’ll call you to come get me.”

  “You aren’t going to a party that isn’t adequately supervised, and there’s no use discussing it any further.”

  “Fine. Great. Ruin my life.”

  She sighed. “I’m not trying to ruin your life. I’m trying to be a responsible guardian.”

  “Mom would let me go if she was here.”

  The operative word, Sharon thought wearily, was responsible—something their dear, ditzy mother had never been. “Well, Mom’s not here. While she’s away, I’m in charge. You’re just going to have to accept that.”

  Sullen silence was his only response.

  “Be thinking about what you want for dinner tonight, okay?” she suggested, her tone conciliatory. “We can go to that new Mexican place you like so much. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Might as well sit at home and watch TV,” he muttered.

  “If that’s your choice,” she agreed evenly. “I have to get back to work now. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  He hung up without responding.

  Sharon rubbed her forehead as she hung up the phone. It was Tuesday afternoon, a slow day in her home-decor shop, and for once she was grateful for the lull. Her full-time assistant was at a doctor’s appointment, and Sharon was alone. Between her confrontations with her rebellious kid brother and the almost incessant calls from acquaintances still wanting to talk about the incident Friday night, she was ready for some time to herself.

  With her back to the door of the shop, she slid the phone into its place beneath the counter, then turned to the paperwork she’d been looking over when Brad called. Her elbow bumped a thick wallpaper-sample book, which crashed to the floor at her feet. Muttering a mild curse, she knelt to pick it up, tucking it into the crook of one arm. What else could go wrong today?

  She gasped when a man’s hand suddenly appeared in front of her, offering to assist her to her feet. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the shop, so it caught her completely off guard to realize she wasn’t alone. She looked up and swallowed hard when her gaze was captured and held by a pair of eyes as dark and unrevealing as polished onyx.

  Sharon had never considered herself a fanciful person, but the image that came immediately to mind was that of a sleek, dangerous black cat. This intriguing man was as out of place in her little shop as he was…well, in this small, sleepy town.

  No wonder everyone in Honoria had been speculating about him.

  Almost involuntarily, she placed her hand in his. There was an instant shock of familiarity when his fingers closed around hers, bringing back memories of how safe she had felt when he’d pulled her out of Snake Creek.

  He helped her to her feet. Her voice was a bit breathless when she said, “Thank you, Mr. Cordero.”

  His left eyebrow rose half an inch. His voice was a deep growl that befitted the exotic animal she had envisioned when she saw him—the same voice that had echoed in the back of her mind since the accident Friday night. “I wasn’t sure you would remember me.”

  Her smile felt wry. “I’m not likely to forget our meeting anytime soon.”

  His answering smile was just a slight shift at the corners of his mouth—and only added to his attractiveness, in Sharon’s opinion. She hadn’t gotten a really good look at him in the shadowy darkness Friday night, but now she could understand why so many women in town had been whispering about him. It wasn’t often they saw a man like this.

  “Six feet of sex,” Leslie Anne Cantrell, the town flirt, had called him, eliciting delighted giggles from the women who’d overheard. Sharon could honestly say now that Leslie Anne hadn’t been exaggerating. Any normal woman would appreciate Mac Cordero’s thick black hair, gleaming dark eyes, taut brown skin and sleekly muscular build.

  He wasn’t a man any woman was likely to forget, she mused, no matter how they met.

  Realizing abruptly that she was standing there gazing up at him, her fingers still clasped in his, she pulled her hand away and stuck it in the pocket of the navy linen blazer she wore with a muted plaid shirt and khaki slacks. Though the expression in his eyes was impossible to read, she had the unnerving sensation that he could see directly into her mind as he searched her face. “You’ve suffered no ill effects from your ordeal?”

  “No, I’m fine. A few colorful bruises and sore muscles, but no real injuries, thank goodness.”

  “You were fortunate.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I know.”

  “Any word about the van that ran you off the road?”

  “No. Wade—the police chief—said it seems to have disappeared. But if it’s still in the area, he’ll find it.”

  “You seem confident about that.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Wade takes his job very seriously. When someone breaks the law, he doesn’t rest until he catches them.”

  “Then I hope he catches them soon.” For the first time since he’d helped her to her feet, he looked away from her face long enough to glance around her shop, Intriguing Interiors. The store was filled with rows of wallpapers and borders, shelves of order books, swatches of designer fabrics, and displays of decorator and gift items. “Nice place.”

  “Thank you. I bought it almost two years ago.”

  What might have been amusement glimmered for a moment in his eyes. “I know.”

  She studied him curiously. “You do?”

  His mouth quirked again into that sexy semi-smile, making her pulse race in a manner that both distracted and annoyed her. She made an effort to focus on their conversation rather than the effect he had on her—something she would think about and rationalize later, she promised herself.

  “Ever since I helped you out of that water, everyone in this town has wanted to talk to me about the accident—and you,” he said ruefully.

  She waved a hand toward the door. “That’s my town. The rumor capital of the world. So what did they tell you about me?”

  “That you’re a very talented decorator. Which is one of the reasons I stopped by.”

&
nbsp; He had surprised her again. “You need a decorator?”

  “Yes. I’ve purchased an old Victorian house at the end of Deer Run Lane—”

  “The Garrett place,” she acknowledged with a nod. “People have been talking about you, too.”

  The slight twist of his mouth this time might have been a smile or maybe a grimace, but either way, it was as sexy as all get-out. Feeling uncomfortably schoolgirlish, Sharon almost sighed.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I’m completely renovating the place. I need a decorator. I’d like to keep the decor appropriate to the period of the architecture—Victorian, but not overdone. I’ll want to start consultations soon so there will be plenty of time to order wallpaper, light fixtures and any other decorating items I’ll need. Are you interested in the job?”

  Though she loved the idea of decorating a restored historic home, Sharon felt compelled to be honest. “I’m not really a trained decorator, Mr. Cordero.”

  “Call me Mac. I understand you’ve decorated quite a few homes and offices around town. Trent McBride, who’s doing the cabinetwork for my renovation project, recommended you. He said you’re redecorating his father and brother’s law offices.”

  She wondered if she could ever be comfortable using his first name. She found herself rather intimidated by this man, for some reason. It was hard to imagine having a casual relationship with him.

  “I do some interior decorating as a sideline for my shop,” she admitted. “It’s always been an interest of mine, and I’ve taken a few decorating classes. I started out helping friends, and then other people began to request my services. But if you want a more experienced, better-known professional decorator, you’ll have to bring someone in from Atlanta.”

  He shook his head. “I prefer to patronize local businesses.”

  She knew he had hired local carpenters, plumbers, electricians and other subcontractors for the renovation project. She knew, as well, that he hadn’t demanded a lengthy list of credentials from everyone he’d hired. Trent McBride, for example, had only just gone into business as a cabinetmaker.