Ben's Wife

by Charlotte Douglas

The door closed behind the doctor and Ben reached for the phone. He’d never been able to hide anything from the shrewd and knowing eyes of Tom Hendrix, but this time he’d managed. Even his old friend hadn’t guessed the depth of his feelings for Morgan Winters or that he would move heaven and earth to keep her safe, no matter how much pain and personal risk he suffered.

  Even if saving her was the last thing he ever did.

  A BIZARRE FEELING of déjà vu descended on Morgan as she rode down the lighted streets of Gulfside beside the red-haired, red-bearded Josh in his battered old Chevy. With her hair tucked beneath a billed cap pulled low over her face, she watched Josh check the rearview mirror to see if they’d been followed from their rendezvous point in the crowded grocery store parking lot.

  Except for Josh’s disguise and their surreptitious meeting, the outing reminded her of dates she’d had in high school. The same tingling anticipation those occasions had triggered, only a hundred times stronger, consumed her. Josh and the accompanying danger proved a heady combination.

  “Ben called before dinner,” she said. “The doctor says he’s recovering as he should be and can come home tomorrow.”

  Josh kept his eyes on the road. “Maybe by then we’ll have some progress to report. Did you bring the keys?”

  “Right here.” Morgan patted the pocket of her jeans. “What are you looking for at Dad’s condo?”

  “Notes to prove the instability of his last discovery or anything that could incriminate Lashner.”

  The prospect of searching through her father’s belongings saddened her. “Wouldn’t Dad have kept everything about the formula in his office at the plant?”

  “I’m sure Lashner cleaned out anything incriminating from your father’s office immediately after the explosion.”

  “Wouldn’t he have searched the condo, too?”

  “Maybe. But the condo is in a gated community with the best security service available. Breaking in would be tough.” He turned to her with a glint of humor in his eyes. “We’ll be lucky if they let us in.”

  Even framed by the ridiculous red beard, his smile caused a happy flip-flop in her stomach. Or else her body was reminding her she had eaten little breakfast and had only picked at dinner.

  “Do you suppose Lashner has someone watching Dad’s place in casel show up?”

  He jerked her cap over her nose with a playful tug. “That, my dear Watson, is why I’m in disguise and your face and hair are hidden.”

  At a traffic signal, he slowed to a stop. In the muted glare of the streetlights, he appeared rested but restless. A trace of reserve suggested he was holding something back, and his secretiveness gave rise to her persistent uneasiness.

  When the signal changed, Josh pressed the gas. The car sped away from the lighted intersection, and the interior plunged into pitch-blackness, alleviated only by the glow from the dash lights. The weak illumination cast disfiguring shadows on his handsome face, reminding her of scary games she had played as a child, using darkness and a flashlight angled beneath her chin to create a monster and frighten her playmates.

  A shiver whisked through her.

  Josh was no monster, so why was she suspicious of him? He had saved her life.

  Ben trusts him, she reminded herself, and so should I.

  Watching the black ribbon of road uncurl before the headlights, she slumped in her seat and examined her conflicting reactions to the man at her side. Maybe the overpowering pull she experienced whenever they were together triggered her uncertainties.

  Years ago, beginning after her mother’s death, she had become adept at maintaining emotional distance between herself and others. So adept that she had prevented her father from becoming too close as well, especially when she had stayed in Memphis after he took his job with Chemco.

  But with Josh, she had been unsuccessful at erecting barriers. His attractiveness, combined with the current danger, made her rebellious heart beat faster and her breathing quicken whenever he appeared. His enigmatic behavior enticed her to solve the riddle of what lay beneath that roguishly handsome exterior.

  She never had been able to resist a puzzle.

  She smiled, remembering the handsome film star she once idolized until a Barbara Walters interview revealed him as silly and shallow, proving familiarity often bred contempt.

  Perhaps if she could peel back Josh’s mysterious facade, he, too, would be less compelling. Not shallow or silly, she was certain, but at least only an ordinary man.

  A resistible man.

  She sat up, turned toward him and leaned against the passenger door for a better view of his reactions. “You promised this morning you would answer all my questions tonight.”

  “Did I say all? I must have been punch-drunk from lack of sleep. A man has to have some secrets.”

  “But you don’t have to compete with the CIA.” Her sarcasm popped out automatically, and she wished she had put her mind in gear before opening her mouth.

  He glanced at her quickly, then returned his attention to the road. “Is that how you see me?”

  She attempted a laugh, which emerged thin and feeble. “You haven’t been a fountain of information. When I’m with you, I seem to do all the talking.”

  He stared straight ahead, but the corner of his mouth elevated. “You’re blaming me because you’re a chatterbox?”

  “You know what I mean.” His friendly crack pleased her, and she socked him playfully on the shoulder.

  He gasped at the impact, and his face twisted in pain.

  “Sorry.” The intensity of his reflex alarmed her. Her abductor at the airport must have wounded him worse than she’d realized. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

  “I pulled a muscle lugging you through the parking garage last night.” An oncoming car illuminated a twinkle in his eyes, and his grimace gradually relaxed. “Actually, considering the substantial burden, I probably pulled quite a few muscles.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  She felt more comfortable with him at this instant than she had since they met. Had he guessed her apprehensions and tried to quiet her worries with his teasing? Or was he allowing her a peek at the real Josh for the first time?

  She leaned back and closed her eyes. Even when he wasn’t being secretive, he presented her with new mysteries.

  “I thought you had questions for me,” he said.

  She opened her eyes and straightened in her seat. “If, as you said this morning, it isn’t for the money or the danger, why are you working for Ben?”

  His handsome profile settled into hard lines, like the granite face of a cliff sheared by blasting. “Frank Winters was my friend. Ben’s my friend. I owe it to both of them to see that Frank’s killer is brought to justice.”

  That answer, at least, seemed straightforward enough.

  “Have you known Ben long?” she asked.

  “All my life.”

  “What’s he like?”

  Josh raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with this picture? You’re the one who’s married to the guy.”

  She resisted the urge to sock him again. “I’m serious. Ben tires so easily, I haven’t had a chance to really talk with him. What’s the harm in your filling me in?”

  Josh slowed at the intersection, turned west and headed across the causeway to Gulfside Beach where her father’s condo was located. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. Everything. I know Ben was much younger than my father, but they enjoyed each other’s company. They played chess once a week, and racquetball.”

  Josh nodded. “Not only was Frank Ben’s friend, he was like a father to him. Ben never really knew his own father. His parents were killed in a boating accident when he was eight. He was raised by an elderly uncle who died while Ben was away at college.”

  Ben had told Morgan he’d always lived in the Norman-style mansion. She pictured him as a small boy wandering through the long hallways and cavernous rooms of his impressive house. “He mus
t have been lonely.”

  “He still is,” Josh said quietly.

  “Why didn’t he marry?”

  Josh was silent for such a long time, she had decided he wasn’t going to answer when he finally spoke. “Ben has a hard time trusting people.”

  “That doesn’t track with my impression of him.”

  Josh shrugged. “He felt abandoned by his parents when they died. When his uncle passed away, he discovered the old man had misappropriated most of the revenues from Ben’s trust.”

  “Ouch. That must have hurt.”

  “Ben didn’t have time for bitterness. He had to work hard and smart to keep from losing his family home. When he founded Chemco Industries with Robert Lashner, he believed he’d finally gained financial security and a partner he could depend on.”

  Sympathy for her husband poured through her. “So Lashner’s betrayal was the unkindest cut of all.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.” Josh’s expression was grim. “Even before your father’s murder, Ben suspected Lashner of mishandling Chemco’s funds.”

  “It’s no wonder Ben doesn’t trust anyone,” she said, “but he trusts you.”

  Josh shot her an engaging grin. “I’ve never given him a reason not to.”

  Morgan turned and stared north across Gulfside Bay’s dark waters where the lights of Ben’s house flickered like distant stars on the high bluff. She had believed Ben Wells trusted her. He had taken her into his home. Good grief, he had even married her. That his actions weren’t based on trust had never occurred to her. Now she realized he could have wanted her close to keep an eye on her. Maybe he had her working with Josh for the same reason. Was Josh a guardian—or a spy?

  “What about me?” she asked.

  “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me, either, have I?”

  Josh had either misunderstood her question or intentionally sidestepped it. She closed her eyes and remembered her father. Evidently, he had trusted both Ben and Josh. If she intended to see his murderer brought to justice, she had no choice but to trust them, too, whether they reciprocated that trust or not.

  She didn’t answer Josh’s question.

  JOSH BROUGHT THE CHEVY to a stop at the gate of the condominium complex and remained in the car’s shadows. The security guard, a tall bulky man with the build of an aging football player, stepped close to the window.

  “Give me the apartment number,” the uniformed guard said, “and I’ll call for clearance.”

  Morgan leaned toward the driver’s window and pushed her cap off her face. “It’s Morgan Winters, Burt. We’re going to Dad’s apartment, number 253.”

  “Sure, I remember you, Miss Winters. I’m awful sorry about your dad. He was a great guy.”

  “Thanks, Burt.”

  With her face so close, Josh savored the exotic fragrance of her perfume and watched tears well in her eyes at the guard’s condolences. He quashed the longing to console her. The sooner they were out of the bright, public glare of the entrance lights, the better. Lashner was certain to have a man staking out Frank’s residence in hopes Morgan would appear.

  Burt stepped back and lifted the striped bar that blocked the drive. Josh sped through and circled the building to Frank’s parking place on the opposite side.

  “You’ve been here before,” Morgan said with a hint of surprise.

  “I picked up your Dad when we played racquetball. And sometimes Frank would have me over for grouper he’d broil on the grill on his balcony.”

  “But Burt didn’t recognize you.” Her voice oozed suspicion.

  “I’m in disguise, remember?” He parked in a space marked “visitor” and killed the engine. “And I kept my face averted. Burt would have wondered what the heck was going on if he’d realized the red-haired guy was me.”

  Josh yanked off the wig and beard and combed his fingers through his hair. The movement caused his chest to ache worse than a tooth with an exposed nerve.

  Damn Lashner and his hired thugs. They were wearing him down.

  The night had barely begun, and too many nights without sleep were catching up with him. He was already tired. Tired of being wary, of screening every word in case he revealed too much, of sneaking around in an itchy disguise, of lying—

  “Are you coming?”

  Morgan’s question jerked him from his silent grumblings. She had exited the car and circled to the driver’s door. When she removed her cap and shook out her hair, pale light from the tropical moon turned her golden tresses silver and illuminated her face with a magical sheen.

  He had forgotten how petite she was, only slightly taller than the roof of the car. As she stood waiting, awash in moonbeams, with her hands propped on slender hips and head cocked to one side, she looked diminutive and fragile, as ethereal as a dream.

  Given the chance, Robert Lashner would squash her like a bug.

  The disturbing image drove away his fatigue and propelled him from the car. “Want to take the stairs or the elevator?”

  “The stairs are closer.” She pivoted on her heel and trudged toward the end of the building, her sneakers crunching on the graveled path.

  Despite his fatigue, he issued a silent prayer of thanks, not knowing if he could have trusted himself not to touch her in the intimate confines of the small elevator, even for a ride up only one floor.

  “Hey, Watson,” he called, “wait for me.”

  She turned, and his breath lodged in his throat at her smile, incandescent in the moonlight. Blaming his light-headedness on lack of sleep, he plodded past her onto the open stairs.

  At the second-floor landing, he stepped to the railing of the open hallway. From that elevation, he could view the parking lot and the street beyond the privacy walls. With a sweeping glance, he checked parked cars for signs of anyone watching and searched the puddles of shade along the sidewalks for a lurking figure.

  Nothing moved inside the cars or in the shadows of the trees.

  But just because he couldn’t spot someone, didn’t mean a lookout wasn’t there.

  Josh turned quickly and covered the few feet between him and Frank’s front door, where Morgan wrestled with the key. As he reached her, the stiff lock yielded and she stepped inside. He followed and locked the door behind him.

  Morgan flicked the light switch in the entry hall that turned on matching table lamps in the living room. “Someone’s been here.”

  Expecting to find the condo tossed and trashed, he scanned the room, but everything stood neatly in place. Exactly as he remembered. “Looks fine to me.”

  Shaking her head, she stepped through the door on her right into the kitchen and turned on the light. “No, someone’s been taking care of the place. It doesn’t have the musty smell of a house that’s been closed for almost three weeks.”

  She crossed to the pass-through window that opened onto the dining area and reached into the ceramic pot of a large, healthy fern. “Someone’s watered the plants.”

  She wheeled and yanked open the refrigerator door. “And the refrigerator’s been cleaned out. No moldy food or spoiled milk.”

  Josh wrinkled his forehead. “Maybe Frank’s attorney—”

  “He gave me his only key.”

  With lightning speed, Josh slapped the light switch and swamped the kitchen with darkness. In the same movement, he dragged Morgan close and drew his gun from the holster at his back.

  “Don’t make another sound,” he whispered against her ear.

  A rush of adrenaline washed away his fatigue, and his blood rumbled in his ears. No wonder he’d spotted no one on the street. Somehow Lashner had obtained a key and placed someone inside to wait for Morgan’s arrival. With her clasped against him, he sidled back to the entrance hall and placed his lips against her hair.

  “Wait here. If you hear me yell—” he released her long enough to press his car keys into her hand “—run like hell to the car and drive straight to Ben’s.”

  “But—”

  “No argumen
ts.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Just do as I say.”

  She nodded, and the soft silkiness of her hair brushed his face like a kiss.

  He released her and advanced several feet down the hallway, groped to his left around the door frame and flipped on the lights of the spare bedroom that had doubled as Frank’s study. With his gun at the ready, he swung into the room.

  Empty.

  He crossed quickly to the louvered bi-fold doors of the closet and flung them back.

  Only stacked boxes, winter clothes on hangers and an assortment of odds and ends filled the closet.

  A quick check of the adjoining bathroom also revealed no one. Josh crossed hurriedly through the obviously deserted living room, searched Frank’s bedroom and bath, then the balcony that overlooked the water.

  Satisfied no one lurked in the apartment, he called to Morgan. “All clear. Whoever was here is gone.”

  He secured the sliding glass doors and turned to find Morgan in the middle of the living room, hands rammed in the back pockets of her jeans, straining her small, firm breasts against the silk fabric of her azure blouse.

  “This is the first time I’ve been here since Dad’s…accident,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “I couldn’t…it seems strange, empty, without him.”

  Josh slid his automatic into its holster, not knowing what to say to relieve her pain. Her love for her father was obvious, and its depth equaled that of her loss.

  She gazed at him through unshed tears. “When Dad took the job at Chemco, he wanted to buy a big, roomy house and have me live with him.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was eighteen and reveling in my first taste of independence. I wanted to stay in Memphis with my friends. After all, I assumed I had the rest of my life to enjoy my father’s company.”

  “If it’s any comfort, I think he understood.”

  She paused in her inspection of the room. “Dad talked to you about me?”

  “All the time. He was very proud of his little girl.” Josh nodded toward a picture on the television of a young Morgan in shorts and T-shirt, her face freckled, knees skinned, her wide smile exposing a mouthful of metal.