by Adrianne Lee
Jake tensed. One minute Laura was bereft over his mother, the next she was harping on that package again. In the past, she wouldn’t have shifted gears so swiftly. So heartlessly. She had changed. Suddenly. Inexplicably. And his mother didn’t need this unstable woman in her life. He gestured toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll take you back to your motel.”
Laura fell into step with him. “First tell me what became of Ruthanne’s possessions.”
“In storage.” He started down the hall.
She caught him by the arm. He stopped and glared at her. She glowered right back at him. “Where?”
“Riverdell.”
Laura drew a sharp breath. Satisfaction curled the corners of his mouth. He started walking again.
She hurriedly fell into step beside him. “Did—did you keep everything?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” He didn’t stop this time, but strolled through the lobby and outside.
“You can’t tell me, or you won’t tell me?”
“Can’t.” Jake eyed her across the roof of his Cherokee. Right after Laura’s betrayal, he’d quit the police force and left Riverdell for good. A man could take only so much pity and lampooning from friends and co-workers. He wasn’t ever going back to that stinking one-horse town. “Kim packed up Mom’s house, held the garage sale and put everything else in storage.”
LAURA FELT COLD again. She was back to square one. The cream might or might not exist. Might have been, of all the awful things, sold at a garage sale. She rammed her hand through her hair. At least the killer didn’t have the lotion. He wouldn’t still be after her if he did.
Her gaze flitted through the heavy traffic, but she saw little, registered less. Worry for Ruthanne blunted her usual wary edge. Jake said Ruthanne didn’t always recognize him. But how long would it be before she didn’t know him at all?
Sorrow grabbed Laura’s stomach and twisted it into a tight knot. This visit with Ruthanne mustn’t be the last Laura had to get her life back. Had to be able to come and go at Sunshine Vista Estates for as long as Ruthanne remembered her and needed her.
Laura’s motel loomed and she eyed it with icy resolution. She wouldn’t be staying there this night No. She’d be in the Corvette, headed for Riverdell, Washington, returning to the scene of the first crime, the stomping grounds of an unknown murderer. Shards of terror spiked her.
But they wouldn’t deter her. If the cream was in Ruthanne’s belongings, she would find it. Had to find it. “Will you give me permission to go through Ruthanne’s storage in Riverdell?”
He arched an eyebrow at her and shook his head in disbelief. “You want me to call Kim?”
“N-no.”
“Oh, don’t tell me, you think Kim is a killer?” He rolled his eyes and pulled to a stop near the Corvette.
“I—I just don’t want anyone to know I’m returning.” And Kim Durant was the biggest gossip in town.
He blew out a big breath. “Sorry. Request denied. I took you to see Mom. And that’s the last favor I’m doing for you. Get out of the car…and my life.”
“Favor? You call that a favor?” Laura glared at him. She needed to get into Ruthanne’s storage unit, but Jake wasn’t the only one who could grant her that right. “Fine, don’t help me. I’ll get permission from your mother.”
“The hell you will. You stay away from her.”
“Okay.” Laura squared her shoulders. “Help me, then.”
Jake reached into the pocket that held the Glock. “The only thing I’m going to help you with is getting out of my car.”
Laura raised her hands. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”
She scrambled out of the car, slammed the door and stepped back. She didn’t need Jake Wilder to help her with anything. She would just go back and visit Ruthanne on her own.
His tires squealed as he sped away too fast.
Laura watched his taillights round the building. She stood in the empty parking lot, one woman, one car. The sense of loneliness crept over her again. “The hell with you, Jake Wilder. I’ll find out who killed my aunt and uncle all by myself.”
Laura dug through her purse, found the keys and swung toward the Corvette, which stood ten feet away. Forgetting she hadn’t locked the car, she palmed the tiny black security device and depressed the automatic lock-release. It made the usual chirping noise that sounded to Laura like the high-pitched yip of a tiny dog.
She took a step forward.
The car exploded.
Chapter Four
Anger at Laura burned hot and bitter in Jake’s gut. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The Cherokee’s tires dug into the pavement with a satisfying yelp as he left her behind, an ever-diminishing dot of reflection in his rearview mirror.
He’d fantasized coming face-to-face with her again. Knew exactly what he’d say. Do. But nothing he’d dreamed even approached the past four hours. Obviously his imagination lacked color and depth. He swore, disgusted with himself.
She’d gained control of the situation from the outset, and though he’d taken the reins back halfway through the ordeal, she’d still come out on top. Damn her. Why had he ever softened toward her? Taken her to see his mother?
He hit the steering wheel and slammed on his brakes. A couple coming out of the Days Inn office eyed him suspiciously. He swiped his hand down the side of his face, self-conscious of the scar and how sinister it made him look. He stared at the traffic cruising Main Street and pulled in several deep breaths. He needed to calm down. To think. To anticipate Laura’s next move.
He supposed the first thing he’d better do was make certain she stayed the hell away from his mother. He reached for his car phone, and noticed it was switched off. He frowned. He always kept it on. Laura. She’d been in the car alone while he’d checked out the Corvette. Damn. He hit the activate button, but before he could punch in the number for Sunshine Vista Estates, the phone began ringing.
“Jake Wilder,” he answered.
“It’s about time, buddy.” It was Don. “Where the hell have you been?”
With Laura; he thought, wincing. But that was something he wouldn’t tell Don. His partner wouldn’t approve. Wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t sure he understood. “Let’s just say Ms. Bunny Jones had a few surprises for me.”
“Such as?”
“Nothing important enough to repeat.”
“She’s not a client, then?”
“Definitely not.”
“Good.”
“Good? Why do you say that?”
“Well, for starters, because her name’s not Bunny Jones.”
“How do you know?” Disquiet chattered through Jake. What he really wondered was how much his partner knew.
“When we couldn’t rouse you, I ran over to Days Inn and checked her out.”
“And…?” Jake held his breath.
“She registered at the motel as Bunny Jones and paid cash for her room, but the car in the parking lot, which matches the one she signed in, is licensed to a Sunny Devlin.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Don fell silent for a long moment, then said, “Look, if I’m repeating what you’ve spent the past four hours learning, then I’ll shut up and let you talk.”
“You’re doing fine.” Jake slouched in the seat. “Don’t clam up on me now.”
Don made an indeterminate noise. “Do you also know this Devlin woman is a private investigator from Malibu?”
“No.” Jake sat straighter. Before now, he hadn’t cared about the car. Or that Laura was using an alias. Everything about her had been a lie from the first time she’d said “I love you, Jake” to that blond wig she’d been wearing today and that outrageous tale of someone trying to kill—
An explosion rocked the Cherokee.
The cell phone went dead in Jake’s white-knuckled grip. He jerked around in his seat. Smoke rose from behind the motel. His heart froze. “Laura.”
He jammed the gearshift into reverse, tires squealing again, and raced to the ba
ck of the motel.
What was left of the Corvette was consumed in flames. Twisted auto parts littered the parking lot. Shattered glass lay everywhere. He spotted Laura about forty feet from the burning car. She sprawled on the tarmac like a discarded rag doll, her head pillowed by her large purse. She might be a waif sleeping in a junkyard.
Jake’s scalp prickled. He scrambled out of the Cherokee and rushed to her. She was unconscious, her pulse thready. Her face had numerous scrapes, and blood oozed from a nasty-looking cut on her calf. Thinking to apply pressure, he tugged the clean handkerchief from his pants pocket, but as he did so, he drew in a ragged breath, inhaling the rank smoke…and another pungent stench. Alarms went off in his head. Gas fumes.
Terrified, Jake dropped the handkerchief and scooped Laura, purse and all, off the pavement and into the Cherokee. As he rounded the car, a couple arrived to investigate the smoke. He shooed them away. “Get out of here! The gas tank is going to explode!”
The couple turned and sprinted off in the direction of the motel office. Jake landed in the Cherokee on the run. As he drove around the corner of the building, he saw a flash of light in his driver’s side mirror. The ensuing blast quaked the car.
He didn’t slow down, but sped onto Main Street, missing a collision by inches and eliciting horn blasts of protest from the outraged motorist. Driving like a fiend, he sped ahead, swerved from lane to lane, the urgency to get Laura to the nearest hospital controlling him.
He shouldn’t have moved her. He hadn’t had any choice, but it might have worsened her condition. He glanced down at her, at the blood issuing from her calf. His chest tightened with fear. He pressed his hand to the cut. She didn’t respond. He spoke to her anyway. “It’s all right, Laura. I’ll have you at the hospital in a few minutes. Hang on, babe.”
A fire truck was coming toward them, its sirens blaring. Cars moved to the shoulder, making way for it and the other emergency vehicles following. Jake zoomed on, taking advantage of the cleared road.
Laura felt so fragile beneath his big hand, so tiny and vulnerable, no longer the tough woman who’d used a stun gun on him earlier. No longer the betraying witch who’d left him humiliated in Riverdell. Who’d haunted his dreams the past twelve months.
With her thick lashes grazing her cheeks, she so resembled the sweet girl he’d fallen in love with in junior high school he couldn’t rouse an ounce of anger at her. A pinch of hatred. He wanted only for her to be well. To survive this awful thing. The cut on her leg didn’t worry him—it seemed superficial. But she wasn’t waking up. His fear leaped a notch higher. He shouldn’t have moved her. Was her neck broken? Was she bleeding internally?
Saguaro County General loomed into view. An aged adobe structure, it hugged the edge of the desert, with Camelback Mountain as a distant backdrop. SC General was neither the biggest nor best-equipped hospital in the area. Nor was it the one most likely to be used by the rescue crew at the motel. But it was the closest.
Jake plowed through the parking lot, past the palm and orange trees and saguaro cacti that served as landscaping, around to the back of the building.
He braked outside the emergency room entrance, left the motor running and summoned help. A minute later, Laura was wheeled away on a gurney.
Watching, he felt a mixture of relief and deepening anxiety. She was in capable, skilled hands, but what would they discover? The car phone rang, jarring him from his bleak thoughts. “Jake Wilder.”
“We were disconnected, but you didn’t call back.” Don again. “Did you hear the Days Inn blew up?”
“I was there.”
Don swore.
“I’m fine, and except for the loss of most of its windows, the motel is intact.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t talk now. I’ll call you later and fill you in.”
“Do that.”
Jake disconnected, parked his car and ran back inside the hospital.
“Sir?” A compact, gray-haired woman in a white nurse’s uniform and thick-soled shoes stopped him. She was short, reaching just about to the middle of his stomach. She reminded Jake of a much-loved cat he’d had as a child—the same tiny pink nose and keen blue eyes, her hair as fluffy as angora fur. “You brought in the young woman just now?”
“Yes.” He frowned. Had something happened to Laura in the time he’d taken to talk to Don, park and lock his car? A tinny taste coated his tongue. “How is she?”
“Well, we don’t know yet.” The nurse, whose name tag identified her as S. I. Ames, strode around the reception desk and plopped herself down before a computer, positioning her hands on the keyboard. “But I’ll need some admittance information from you.”
“Of course.” He knew the routine. As an L.A. cop, taking people to emergency rooms had been as much a part of his job description as investigating crimes. He moved to the counter.
“Her name?”
S. I. Ames stared up at him as expectantly as a cat awaiting a bowl of cream, her gaze sweeping his face. Jake was used to people who encountered him for the first time being either put off by or curious about his scar. It drew neither reaction from this nurse. He supposed she’d seen as much of the seamier side of life as he had. “Laura Jean Whittaker—with two ts.”
“Address?”
“I—er…” Their reunion this morning hadn’t included exchanging addresses. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Okay. Can you tell me what happened? What caused her injuries?”
“She was standing near a car that exploded.”
The nurse’s eyes widened at this. “Drive-by shootings, exploding cars.” She tsked. “World’s tough enough without folks making it worse on themselves and all their neighbors.”
As she typed, Jake recalled a car bombing he’d seen in L.A. He’d need confirmation, but if pressed now he’d say that was exactly the fate met by the Corvette. The fact rattled his solid belief that Laura had lied at every turn. Was there a grain of truth in what she’d said about someone trying to kill her for the past twelve months?
Was that the reason she’d run away from their wedding? The thought pained him. God, how he wished he could believe it. But it just didn’t explain the note she’d written him when she eloped with Cullen. And her behavior this morning proved her mental instability. For all he knew, she was deranged enough to blow up the Corvette herself.
The nurse cleared her throat. “I said, I don’t suppose you’d know if Ms. Whittaker is allergic to any medications?”
“Actually, I do know that—she’s allergic to penicillin.”
The nurse’s gray eyebrows lifted slightly. She was likely wondering why he didn’t know something as mundane as where Laura lived, but did know something as personal as what drugs she should avoid.
He squirmed inwardly. “How soon before we know something?”
“In a little while. Would you also know if Ms. Whittaker has medical insurance?”
Last year she’d been covered by the company policy held by Dell Pharmaceuticals. That wouldn’t be viable now. He shook his head. “Sorry.”
“She didn’t happen to have a purse with her? You see, we could look in her wallet for her address and insurance information. Someone she’d like notified.”
Jake’s stomach lurched. Laura’s purse was in his car. He could easily hand it over to this woman. But what would she find inside? The stun gun? The wig? False identities? Better to hold off on that. He lied, “No. I didn’t see one.”
“Well, I guess that’s it for now. Why don’t you have a seat. I’m sure the doctor will be out to speak with you soon.”
Jake turned toward the empty row of plastic chairs lined against the wall. Impatience and worry nipped at him. He settled on the edge of the seat closest to the exit. He should go out to the Cherokee and look through Laura’s purse himself. If her injuries were as serious as he feared, she’d probably want Cullen notified. It would be the right thing to do. The decent thing.
LAUR
A FELT as though she’d collided with a wall of concrete. Her head ached, her ears rang, her eyes seemed swollen shut. She tried prying them open, but the bright shaft of light she encountered stung. She slammed them shut again. Oddly, she imagined she’d seen someone standing over her, someone with the face she’d missed every day for a whole year.
Jake’s face.
Dear God, was she dreaming? Or dead? She prayed she was dreaming. If she was dead and seeing Jake, that meant he was dead, too.
Her heart squeezed at the thought and she pried her eyes open again, determined to keep them open this time. Her gaze landed on the figure beside the bed. It was Jake. She murmured, “Are we dead?”
He looked startled at the question. Then he burst out laughing. The sound echoed with relief, as though he’d dreaded receiving bad news and been given the opposite. “No. We’re in a hospital.”
She glanced beyond him. She was in the bed nearest the hallway door of a four-bed ward. The other beds were empty. The style and structure of the room told her this was not one of the modern facilities being built these days, but someone had attempted to make it cheery by painting the walls a mellow green and adding splashes of pastel in the patterned curtains.
A bathroom door hung open between the two beds facing hers. Bright sunlight poked through the blinds covering the single large window, splintering soft yellow rays across everything.
Jake said, “You’ve got a few stitches in your leg and a slight concussion.”
Brutal memory flooded her. She lurched forward, thinking to sit up, and instantly regretted it as pain zinged through her skull. Sinking back on the pillow, she clutched her head in both hands. “The car…”
“Yes.” There was something guarded yet speculative in his voice. “If I’m not mistaken…it was a bomb.”
“A…a bomb?” Her throat constricted. She shuddered. No wonder Jake had been worried. A few steps closer to the Corvette and she might not have awakened.
She struggled to her elbows. Her head protested, the pain a hammer at each temple. But fear drove her through it. She’d been expecting him. Just not this soon. Had he followed them to the hospital?
