by Style, Linda
Her friend frowned. “Yeah, but hell, no one figured you’d really do it.”
Jillian sighed. “Am I that predictable?”
“Not at all. Just a workaholic.” Patti gave Jillian a brief hug. “I say, more power to ya, sweetie.”
“Well, I haven’t decided if I’m going for sure. But if I do, I just wanted to make sure everything was all set with the shops and supplies and all. I’d call in every so often.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. If you’re going on a vacation, then it has to be a real vacation. Nothing’s going to fall apart while you’re gone. We can handle it. Trust me.”
“I know you can. I just don’t know if I can handle you handling it.”
Patti laughed and, after giving Jillian the name of the agency she’d used to find her parents, practically shoved Jillian out the door.
Later at home, Jillian struck out on agencies to do the work for her; all had a backlog of cases and couldn’t promise to get to it anytime soon. The agency Patti had used was now out of business.
From there, she progressed to private investigators, and while talking with one P.I., she realized that once they located the guy, she’d still have to see him herself. Which meant going to Costa Rica or wherever they found him.
It wasn’t as though a P.I. could bring him back for her to identify. Or even get his fingerprints. Especially if the man was evading the law. If he knew someone was on to him, wouldn’t he take off?
A day alone had given her some perspective. Not only did she need to know if the man was impersonating her husband, she needed to know that the man wasn’t her husband. How else could she get on with her life?
While the feelings ignited by Adam Ramsey were inconsequential, those feelings were a clear indication that she was ready to get on with her personal life. At least in some small way.
She didn’t believe for one minute that Rob was capable of such deceit. But she couldn’t write off the possibility that, as Ramsey had said, there were mitigating circumstances. And if by some wild fluke Rob was alive, if he had amnesia, or God knew what, Chloe would still have a father. And she’d have a husband. She’d still be married.
To a man who had been everything to her.
She picked up her cell again and called long-distance information. “Yes, I’m looking for a number in Mirador, Costa Rica.”
Waiting, after giving the necessary information, her heart raced. When the automated system rattled off a number, Jillian’s mouth dropped open. Impossible…and yet…
Her hand trembling, her motions robotic, she stabbed the numbers into her cell phone, blood pounding in her ears as the phone on the other end rang…and rang… and..
Oh, dear God, why was she doing this. She should hang up, forget—
“Hola,” a man’s gravelly sleep-filled voice mumbled on the other end of the call.
Oh, God, oh, God. Her throat cramped. A piercing sound vibrated in her ear and as she jabbed the end call button, the phone slipped from her shaky fingers and crashed on the floor.
She stood there looking at it, her lungs squeezing in her chest so hard she couldn’t breathe. After a moment, she picked up the phone and stumbled over to sit on the couch.
That there was actually a person answering to her husband’s name brought home the very real possibility that what Detective Ramsey said could be true. Hearing the man say hello, she’d dropped the phone so fast she hadn’t had time to even register whether the voice sounded familiar or not.
No, it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. But even though she couldn’t imagine it, she knew what she had to do. She had to know…
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, AFTER she’d changed planes in Houston for the second leg of the flight from Chicago to San José, Costa Rica, Jillian popped a Dramamine pill into her mouth to ensure she wouldn’t get airsick. She didn’t know what to expect, and it never hurt to take precautions.
When the 747 reached the appropriate altitude, she pushed back her seat to sleep for the duration—if she could stop thinking about the crazy thing she was doing.
Do something wild and irresponsible. She’d called Dana’s bluff on that one. Most definitely. And it was scary and exciting both at the same time.
That she’d been able to find a phone number in Mirador for a Jack Sullivan had come as a total shock. She’d only called information to cancel out a remote possibility, but to have it confirmed instead… Her pulse quickened just thinking about it.
After the numbness had worn off, she’d made her decision. She’d called Logan and Dana to make sure Chloe was fine, and then told them she was taking a trip and would call when she arrived to let them know the number where she’d be. They were thrilled for her. She’d then called Patti and Meadow Brook to let each know the same.
With all that taken care of, she’d called a travel agent whose number she’d plucked from the travel section of the newspaper, and he’d taken care of her flight and lodging arrangements. He’d even given her the name of a person who would meet and assist her once she arrived in San José, and who would be her guide to Mirador. How much safer could one get?
The flight attendant approached and asked what she’d like to drink. She ordered orange juice, which she drank quickly; then with renewed determination and a fair share of personal satisfaction that she’d made a sound decision, she nestled into the narrow seat and closed her eyes, welcoming sleep. She’d hardly had a wink since Detective Ramsey had first shown up on her doorstep.
She was just drifting off when she heard the flight attendant ask someone, “And what would you like to drink, sir?”
A deep, familiar voice replied, “I’ll have what this young lady is having,” and, for one brief second, she thought she was dreaming.
Jillian’s eyes snapped open. Adam Ramsey stood next to the aisle seat. Looming over her, he smiled—a lazy sort of smile, as if bumping into her on a plane bound for Costa Rica to search for an imposter who might be a criminal was an everyday occurrence.
“Hello there,” he said in a friendly tone.
She nodded. “Detective.”
“Mind if I sit here?” He gestured to the empty aisle seat.
Somewhere between Chicago and Houston she’d moved to the middle in her row of three because she’d felt a draft sitting next to the window. The other two seats were empty, and she had no reason to refuse his request.
“Suit yourself.”
“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”
When he settled, he turned to her with a quizzical look. “I’m surprised, Jillian Sullivan. I had no idea you’d be on this plane. Fancy that.”
“And vice versa. Let’s see, what were the words…something about following procedure, and your department couldn’t afford a trip like this, and if they did, there was all that paperwork to get it approved, which would take forever, and then there was a little matter of red tape because it was a different country, not to mention your office wasn’t looking for an imposter but a murderer. Or did I misunderstand all that?”
He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “What an excellent memory you have. You’re assuming, of course, that I’m on this plane for business and not pleasure.” He grinned.
After a pause, she said, “You’re right. I made an assumption. If it’s incorrect, why don’t you enlighten me? Are you on vacation? Or is it that everything you told me before was a lie and you’re going to Mirador to find the man who’s impersonating my late husband?”
“No. Not a lie. Actually, I thought your idea was brilliant and decided to forgo the paperwork and follow up on it myself by taking a little vacation time?”
She frowned. “If you’re not traveling to Mirador in any official capacity, what can you do?”
“I’m going for the same reason you are. To find the man in the photograph.”
“Well, I doubt we’re on this plane for the same reasons, Mr. Ramsey. I believe you want to find the man because you think he’s my dead husband and that he’s done something cri
minal and went missing because of it. I want to see who the imposter is because his taking Rob’s identity could affect my family and my business.”
His gaze locked with hers, his expression questioning. “You haven’t, for even a minute, entertained the thought that this guy might be your husband?”
Her nerves drew taut. “Of course I’ve had the thought. Especially since you mentioned…” she hesitated, “…those mitigating circumstances. In truth, it’s plagued me ever since. So, to get any peace of mind at all, I have to know. Because if by some bizarre twist of fate, Rob is still alive…”
A lump grew in her throat. She took a breath. “If he is still alive, it would be a miracle, and I’d do everything I could to help him.”
Adam’s brows crinkled, questions dancing in his eyes, as if she’d said something very perplexing. And wrong.
“That’s all pure conjecture, though,” she added. “I highly doubt the possibility, but I need to know so I can sleep at night.”
He was staring at her mouth, and she had an urge to moisten her lips. Her skin warmed as she realized how easily his gaze unnerved her. She didn’t want to be unnerved by this man.
“Hmm,” he said. “Since we’re going to the same place for the same purpose, perhaps we should join forces?”
Her skin prickled. “We may be going to the same place, Detective, but I guarantee you, we don’t have the same purpose.”
“Ah, but we do,” he said. We’re both trying to find the same person. Our reasons may be different, but that part doesn’t matter unless we succeed in finding him.” He looked at her from under his brows, apparently hoping for her agreement.
“And since we’ll need to rent a car to get from San José to Mirador, I think it makes good sense to do it together.”
She pursed her lips. She hadn’t planned on renting a car. On the map, Mirador looked to be fairly close to San José. “I thought I’d take a cab.”
“You speak Spanish?”
“I can get by,” she said. “I took it in high school…my freshman year.”
He pulled his briefcase onto his lap, opened it, and after thumbing through some papers, he pulled out a map. “See this dot over here? This is Mirador. See this line here? Those are mountains. Not far in miles, but still at least a day away. If you could even get a cab to take you that far, it would cost a fortune.”
“The travel agent didn’t tell me that. But he made arrangements for a guide to show me around. I’m sure the guide can take me, or advise me where to catch a bus or something.”
Adam shook his head and grinned.
Did he know something she didn’t?
“Well, if you change your mind about going together, let me know. I plan to head out early in the morning.”
“Thank you for offering. I’ve taken care of my arrangements, Detective, but if you need help yourself, just let me know.” She flashed him a smile.
He shrugged. “Have it your way, and could you please call me something other than Detective? Ramsey, Adam, hey you—any of those’d work.”
With that, he stood and set his briefcase on the seat. “Gotta stretch the legs and see a man in the back,” he said. “I feel like I’ve been doing yoga for the past hour. You’d think whoever designed these seats would take into account that everyone in the world isn’t short.”
“I know what you mean,” she said as he walked away. She did know, but to her there were worse things about being tall than having no legroom in a plane. As a gawky long-legged kid, she’d been mercilessly teased by other kids in school. And when she’d gone to live with her father, he’d focused on her height just as cruelly.
Even now, the memory of his verbal abuse stung.
The plane shuddered and the warning light above her head flashed on. She grabbed for her seat belt as the turbulence increased enough to toss her to the side. At the same time, Adam’s briefcase lurched off the seat and fell to the floor, papers spewing everywhere.
Amid the rattles and bumps, she reached down, grabbed a handful of papers, brought the briefcase up to the seat again and stuffed the papers inside. Then the turbulence subsided as quickly as it had come.
She grinned to herself, imagining Adam’s big body wedged into the tiny washroom. He’d be lucky not to get stuck inside. She reached to close Adam’s briefcase and saw some photos sticking out of an envelope.
The photos? The infamous photos? She couldn’t resist taking one more look. Maybe—
As she picked up the envelope, a letter dropped into her lap. The writing looked the same as that on the back of the photos. She stared at the letter, then glanced away.
It wasn’t right to read someone else’s mail. But if the writing on the photos was the same…
She glanced down the aisle where Adam had gone. He was standing in the back talking to one of the flight attendants, and he didn’t look in any hurry to return.
Returning the letter to the envelope, she stuffed it halfway inside, then stopped. She tried not to look, but it was right there in her line of vision. If she only got a glimpse of it as she put it back where it came from, she couldn’t be accused of actually reading someone else’s mail, could she?
No. Just shove the thing into his briefcase, Jillian. And forget it. But her gaze was all but glued to the paper, and slowly the words came into focus, instantly melding into sentences.
To the Los Angeles Police Department.
I’m writing to you with hope that you can locate my husband, Jack Sullivan, in Los Angeles.
Jillian’s adrenaline surged. She snatched up the letter and read in earnest.
I am terminally ill and have left our son with a friend in a village near Mirador. My husband went to Los Angeles on business and was supposed to return weeks ago. He hasn’t returned and I fear something bad has happened to him. I hope you can find him soon because my friend cannot take care of the boy for very long. I have no family and my son will be all alone if his father doesn’t return. Please help me, I beg you. For my little boy’s sake.
Sincerely,
Corita Sullivan
“Find something of interest?”
Jillian jerked her head up. Adam hovered over her. Her cheeks flamed. “Your briefcase fell during the turbulence,” she said guiltily. “The photos came out. I thought since they were out, I might as well look at them again, but then this letter… I didn’t…” Her voice froze in her throat.
“You didn’t what?”
Her face got hotter by the second. “I didn’t plan on reading it, but it was there and I couldn’t help catch the words and then I couldn’t stop.”
He reached down and snatched up the letter and photographs, stuffed them inside the briefcase, then shut and locked it.
“I’m sorry that happened,” she said. “But it did, and now that I’m thinking about it, I’m wondering why you didn’t tell me about that letter in the first place.”
Her blood pressure spiked. She shouldn’t have read the damned thing, but he should’ve told her about it. What purpose was served by keeping something this important from her, especially if he was trying to convince her that her husband was alive.
“Lying seems to be a habit with you, detective. Why did you let me believe this man was still in Mirador? Now I discover he’s in Los Angeles and I’ve wasted my time and money on a wild-goose chase.”
Adam spoke softly. “You’re mad at me because you read my mail and didn’t like what you read? I think your indignation is slightly skewed.”
Yes, it was wrong of her to read his mail. But she had and couldn’t take it back. What bothered her more was that she’d started to feel better about him, trust him. “You lied to me,” she said, unable to disguise her emotions. You’ve lied to me from the second you walked into my home.”
He shook his head. “This is my job, Jillian. I didn’t lie to you without reason. I have to follow procedure.”
“Even if that procedure could harm someone in the process?”
When he looked confused, she s
aid, “What about that little boy the woman mentioned in the letter? Were you just going to leave him without a mother or a father? Leave him to fend for himself?”
“My job is to solve this case, which means finding your husband’s murderer.”
“But this woman asked for the LAPD’s help. How can you just blow it off?”
“Well, there you go making those assumptions again. If it’s any consolation, the department has done everything it can to locate Jack Sullivan in L.A. So you can pretty much rest assured he’s not there. If he’s anywhere, Mirador is our best shot.”
“Oh.” She looked down, twisted the fabric on her T-shirt. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
He drew back, his expression astonished, as if he couldn’t believe she’d just said that. “Because you didn’t give me a chance.” He swung the briefcase to the overhead bin. Then he plopped into the seat and heaved a sigh.
His patience stretched to the limit, Adam cursed himself for being so careless. But now it really didn’t matter if she read the letter or not since she was on her way to Mirador, anyway. Not showing her the letter had been simply a precaution. The less she knew the better. He didn’t want the information leaked to Sullivan, inadvertently or otherwise.
But it wouldn’t do him any good to make an enemy of her, either. “Okay. Look…I’m just doing my job, following procedure, which doesn’t always make me Mr. Nice Guy. For that I apologize, but in the end, I have a job to do.”
“I thought you were on vacation.”
“Would you like something to drink?” It was the flight attendant again, making another run with the drink cart.
He ordered a beer and she ordered wine, and they sat in silence until she said, “I apologize for reading your mail. When the contents of your briefcase spilled out and I saw the photos, all I really wanted was to take another look at them, but then the letter dropped out of the envelope, too…and—” She drew a breath and shrugged. “And I know that’s no excuse. It was wrong and I’m sorry.”
He caught her gaze. “Apology accepted, but not necessary. I understand. And to answer your question, I thought as long as I’m on vacation, I might as well follow up on the lead. Unofficially.”
