The Runaway Bride

by Adrianne Lee

  That had wrenched his thoughts away from his partners for a while. Now, however, he could think of nothing else, and his mind chewed their deceit like a termite on new wood, burrowing holes into the very foundation of his trust. Disappointment soured his stomach. His partners had lied to him. The wealthy Texas oilman hadn’t moved up his plans for his trip to Vegas. He was still at home in Houston.

  What was so important they’d risked their partnership, his friendship, by lying? Jake gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles ached. Why were Susan and Don in Riverdell? Why had they visited Ralph Russell? Suspicions sped through his brain faster than the cacti whipping by the windows on either side of the car. How could they do this? They knew trust was an issue with him.

  “My goodness, you’ve got a pretty view, J.J.”

  Ruthanne’s awestruck voice penetrated his dark thoughts. He smiled at her, but the chill inside him rivaled the breeze sweeping up the bluff and across the Impala. Facing the possibility that his partners could be murderers was proving the toughest thing he’d done since accepting Laura’s betrayal last year. These past two days his beliefs had taken a 180-degree spin.

  It now appeared Laura deserved his trust and Don and Susan did not. He steered the car onto the main road. He didn’t want to believe Susan and Don capable of murder, but yesterday he hadn’t thought they’d lie to him, either. Whatever else remained murky, one thing stood out crystal clear: somehow, the Bowmans were involved in this mess all the way up to their necks.

  HECTOR GARCIA RUBBED his neck with his grease-smeared hand. He trudged slowly around Rubia, inspecting her like a jeweler looking for flaws in a diamond.

  “You takes buen care of mi Rubia, Jake-man. No jealous hombres shoots your legs for Señorita Hot Tamale.” He winked at Laura and her cheeks burned.

  Ruthanne leaned toward her, looking alarmed. “Why is that mechanic talking about someone shooting my J.J.? Is he on a case?”

  Laura’s heart dipped to her toes. Ruthanne didn’t need unnecessary worry. God knows how her ailing mind might process fear. “Jake’s not on any case. His only concern is you.”

  The unconvinced look on Ruthanne’s face gave Laura pause. Although Jake had quit the police force, as long as Laura remained in his company he invited as violent an enemy as any he’d ever encountered on the streets of L.A. Every minute held danger for him and his mother, and even Ruthanne sensed it. As the thought took hold of Laura, the hair on her neck rose. Was her pursuer here? Watching them? Waiting to pounce?

  She glanced the length of Hector’s establishment. Cars in varying stages of repair were parked from one end to the other, several with the hoods up and mechanics in attendance. Garcia family resemblance dominated the busy overall-clad workers.

  Although no one appeared out of place, Laura’s internal antennae bleeped through her head like blips on a radar screen. She lurched around, this way and that. She saw nothing, no one looking back. But the sensation lingered, grew. “Jake…?”

  His head came around at the urgency in her voice. But fearing she might frighten Ruthanne, she could only communicate her anxiety to him with a look. He nodded, and turned back to Hector. “Where’s the brake line?”

  “Hector, he fixes bien good the brakes line.”

  “Where is the damaged one?” he asked again, impatience in each word.

  “In the trunks.” Hector pointed a grimy finger toward the Cherokee.

  “How much do I owe you, amigo?”

  Jake settled his account as Laura helped Ruthanne into the front seat of the Cherokee, then climbed in back. Jake and she hadn’t discussed the killer following them, but the sensation settled over her like a blanket of nettles. She couldn’t say anything to Jake. Didn’t want to alarm Ruthanne. But as their gazes collided in the rearview mirror, she saw that he understood.

  He drove a circuitous route to the Sunshine Vista Estates. Fortunately, Ruthanne seemed not to notice. She chattered on about the dirty mechanic, who had the odd limp and the sexiest smile she’d seen since Jake’s dad.

  The senior complex looked as it had the first day Laura visited, the parking lot more empty than full. Today it would have accommodated a dozen Rubias. Jake eased the Cherokee into a spot near the front of the building.

  The sensation that someone was watching struck Laura again and she jerked around. Imagination? Or intuition? The other cars in the lot seemed empty. Goose bumps lifted across her limbs. She bit down the urge to run for the front door. Always before when she’d felt this foreboding, she’d had the protection of a disguise. This time the killer wouldn’t mistake someone else for her.

  With every step, she feared a bullet would hit her in the back. But they made it through the front entrance unscathed. Still the feeling persisted. Warily, Laura eyed two elderly women residents in the entrance hall. Were they who they appeared to be? Or had her killer taken to using disguises even as she had shunned them? Her throat squeezed.

  Her gaze swept the rest of the room. Yesterday this area had seemed as small and crowded as a movie theater. She hadn’t noticed how grand it was. How large. How many huge plants someone could hide behind. The sensation that they should hurry pricked at her brain, shivered her spine.

  Jake whispered, “Hope we don’t run into Mrs. Thatcher.”

  Or anyone else, Laura thought, recalling the person who’d shown up at Saguaro County General in the guise of a florist’s deliverer. She forced herself to slow to Ruthanne’s choppier gait. Her impatience to lay her hands on her uncle’s cream gnawed at her already frayed nerves. Ruthanne continued to chatter, but her conversation couldn’t penetrate the hum of apprehension zinging through Laura’s ears.

  She rounded the corner too quickly, nearly knocking a wizened-faced, white-haired couple to the floor. The woman huffed at the rudeness of young people, and her husband scowled at Laura’s apology. “Just slow down. This ain’t a racecourse, you know.”

  But slowing her impatience proved impossible. Her stomach was a tangle of knots by the time they arrived at Ruthanne’s door. Laura bounded inside first, took three steps and froze. Her breath punched out on a loud gasp at the sight before her. All Ruthanne’s treasured photographs lay in a broken heap in the center of the floor. Drawers gaped. The bedspread and drapes brought from the Riverdell house hung in shreds. The Christmas cactus sprawled from one end of the rug to the other, limbs severed, blooms crushed, the favorite planter broken into small pieces.

  Shaking with horror, Laura stumbled to the nightstand. But her heart lay on the floor among Ruthanne’s destroyed possessions. She knew before she reached it that the drawer would be empty. It was.

  Impotent rage swelled inside her, stung her eyes. But what had she expected? She’d let her hopes climb, anticipated the joy of a gift she would never be given. She knew better. This year had taught her many lessons about hope. None of them good.

  Jake swore. “What the hell…?”

  “What is it, dear?” Ruthanne’s view of the room was blocked by Jake’s body.

  He spun around and caught his mother by both upper arms and scooted her back out into the hallway. Over his shoulder, he told Laura, “We’ll notify Mrs. Thatcher. Meanwhile, don’t touch anything.”

  AT MRS. THATCHER’S request, the police arrived without sirens. Sirens usually meant ambulances; ambulances at a senior complex usually meant disaster. The residents of Sunshine Vista Estates would be upset enough at the presence of police officers two days in a row. No sense contributing calamity to the mayhem.

  Mrs. Thatcher did not appreciate Jake’s attempt to take control of the situation—reminding him with an imperious air, which Laura found inane under the circumstances—that she was in charge. But her bluster wilted beneath his fury. Even she realized the security in the senior complex needed a severe overhaul.

  Police came, inspected Ruthanne’s rooms, questioned staff and residents and took copious notes for their report. Morning crept into afternoon; much, Laura mused, as whoever had broken into Ruthanne’s r
oom crept farther and farther away with Uncle Murphy’s cream. Even if the police found evidence that led to an arrest, it would not bring back the one thing she needed most.

  Laura gazed around the dining room of Sunshine Vista Estates. Ruthanne and she occupied a corner table. Despite the commotion the police caused, routine proceeded as normally as possible. Lunch had been served two hours ago and now kitchen staff busied themselves setting up the room for dinner.

  From where they sat, Laura could see Jake in the doorway, talking to the last remaining police officer. She felt no compunction to join them, not even for an update on the investigation.

  She’d passed the hours in a numbed state, tending to Ruthanne—who seemed not to understand that all the excitement centered on her room—and keeping out of the way of the police. But if Ruthanne felt no violation, Laura did. It was as if her possessions had been pawed and destroyed. As if her privacy had been invaded.

  A dirty, unwashed sensation climbed inside her, dominated her. She wanted to scream, to hurt the one responsible, to make him or her suffer as long and hard as he or she had made Jake and her suffer. But the only way to do that now was to find the missing evidence. And the last chance had disappeared with the little green bottle in Ruthanne’s nightstand.

  Or had it?

  The thought struck her with such fury it stiffened her spine. Why hadn’t it occurred to her to ask earlier? “Ruthanne?”

  Jake’s mother was watching the women arranging the place settings with a disapproving air. For years she’d held the reputation for setting the prettiest table in all of Riverdell. She jerked around and blinked a second. “Yes?”

  If Laura had learned nothing else this past year, she’d learned that nothing in life stayed the same. Change was so inevitable one had to relish the treasured times with each passing second. She didn’t want ever to feel the longing she saw in Ruthanne’s eyes now. And yet, she knew she had. “Where did you get the little green bottle with the good hand cream in it?”

  Ruthanne gave a startled laugh and shook her head in disbelief. “Goodness, and they say I’m forgetful. Don’t you remember sending it to me, dear?”

  Laura drew a taut breath, recalling the difficulty Jake had had last night making Ruthanne understand his questions. She schooled her impatience, taking encouragement where she found it. At least Ruthanne remembered where she’d gotten the cream originally. She ran her tongue across her parched lips. “I know that I sent it to you, but what I was asking was whether or not you brought that box with you when you moved to Mesa.”

  “Oh, well, let’s see, now.” She frowned and grew quiet, her eyebrows pinched low on her forehead. “The box was in that lovely silver-and-gold paper, right?”

  “Right.” Hope skittered inside Laura. The wedding paper she’d wrapped the box of plastic containers in had had silver-and-gold bridal bouquets on it. “What did you do with the box?”

  “Hmm. Well, at first I didn’t do anything with it.” She looked puzzled. “Why was that?”

  Laura flinched. If Ruthanne recalled she’d left Jake at the altar her animosity would return. If she became as hostile to Laura as she’d been last night, that would be the last she’d get out of her on this or any other subject. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I did finally open it Opened all the wedding presents.” Her expression darkened. She turned cool eyes on Laura. “All the wedding presents…”

  Her heart clutched. But Ruthanne said nothing more; her attention was back on the place settings at the nearby tables.

  Laura prompted, “When you opened the package, what did you do with it?”

  “What?” She glanced at Laura again. “Oh, well, the labels said ‘Venus Masque,’ but I’d never heard of that. I wasn’t sure what I should do with the bottles since I didn’t know what was in them. Finally, I just opened one and sniffed it. Smelled kind of like lavender. So, I dipped my hand into the cream and it felt delicious on my skin.”

  She looked at her hand. “You know, I swear it eclipsed these ugly freckles on the back of my hands. Hand cream you gave me this morning doesn’t do that. Look.”

  She held her hand up for Laura; age spots stood like polka dots on her pale flesh. Laura nodded. “It is special cream.”

  “Don’t have to tell me that.” She rubbed her hands together again as though the dryness irritated her.

  “Would you like some more hand lotion?”

  Her eyes widened and she smiled. “Oh, that would be nice. I’ve got some in my nightstand. Some of the good stuff. Could you get me that, dear?”

  Laura drew a shaky breath as Jake strode up to the table, toting a suitcase. He arrived in time to hear his mother’s request. Laura gazed at him, unable to conceal the sadness she felt. She didn’t know what to say to Ruthanne. She didn’t want to try to tell her about the break-in again. It was better to let her bask in her oblivion.

  Jake said, “You used up the last of that cream yesterday, Mom.”

  “Oh?” She looked unconvinced.

  “Yes.” He hoisted the suitcase. “I’ve got your clothes packed. We can go home now.”

  “Are you sure about the cream, J.J.? In the little green bottle? The one shaped like a cold-cream container?”

  “I’m sure.” He helped her to her feet.

  “Well, if you say so, but I could’ve sworn Kimmie just sent me that bottle.”

  “What?” The word choked out of Laura. “Kim Durant?”

  “Yes. She is my niece, you know. She sends me little care packages every once in a while. Almost always one of those little bottles is included.”

  Laura and Jake exchanged an excited glance and for the first time in hours Laura felt her hope surge with newfound life. “We’ve got to call Kim. Now.”

  Jake agreed. “Come on, we’ll use Mrs. Thatcher’s office.”

  But Mrs. Thatcher had gone for the day, leaving her secretary in charge. Muriel was a study in opposites with her boss: whereas Mrs. Thatcher was a dried-up beanpole, antagonistic and unobliging, her secretary was a fresh young sprout, gregarious and accommodating.

  “That’s weird,” she said, rifling through her file drawer. “I can’t find Mrs. Wilder’s file.” She shuffled through the folders again. “Oh, here it is. Someone moved it.” She opened the folder and read. “Yes, Mrs. Wilder is absolutely right. A K. Durant from Riverdell in Washington State periodically sends her a package. Toiletries usually. Cologne, toothpaste, Chap Stick, hand lotion.”

  Jake noted the hope in Laura’s eyes with dismay. She was more vulnerable than she realized. He wanted to pull her close and tell her it would be all right. But what if the missing bottle from his mother’s nightstand was the last of the bottles? He had to talk to Kimmie. Alone. “May I use Mrs. Thatcher’s phone?”

  Muriel hesitated, puckering her plump lips. “Gee, I don’t…”

  “I’ll put it on my charge card,” he assured her.

  Muriel shook her head. “I don’t have the key to her office, but I don’t see the harm in letting you use my phone as long as you’re putting it on your card.”

  She rose and Jake sat down, checking the time. “Kim should be at work.”

  But instead of his cousin’s falsetto voice, a man’s deep bass rumbled through the line. “Dell Pharmaceuticals.”

  Jake didn’t recognize the man. “Is Kim there?”

  “Nope. She called in sick yesterday with that bug half the plant’s been passing around.”

  Jake thanked the man and rang off, then immediately punched in the combination of numbers needed to reach Kim at home. But all he got was the answering machine. Frustration tripped through him as his gaze connected with Laura’s. He shook his head.

  “Kim, are you there? If so, pick up.” Nothing. “As soon as you get this message call me. It’s urgent.” He left his home and cell phone numbers and hung up.

  Laura wrung her hands. He recognized the anxiety issuing from her. The same emotion heated his blood. “Apparently, Kim has some flu bug. I got her
answering machine. She’s likely in bed. Not well enough to answer the phone.”

  “So all we can do is wait?” Laura looked as though that was not something she intended to do.

  “For now,” he said, trying to assure her, but a squiggle of alarm zipped across his gut at the lift of her jaw and the calculating gleam in her eyes. He understood that she’d sat still for too many hours without direction or purpose. Now she had both. Worry spilled through him.

  They thanked Muriel and left. Laura settled Ruthanne on the front seat of the Cherokee while Jake put her luggage in the trunk. Laura met him on the driver’s side of the car. “Jake, I’m not going with you.”

  “What?” He’d feared this. He reached for her shoulders and grasped them gently. She felt fragile to his touch, tiny and defenseless. Every protective instinct he had surged forward. “I don’t want you out of my sight.”

  She traced a hand down his scar and he felt the love vibrate through her. Could he really be that lucky? Could she really not mind how ugly he looked? She smiled. “Every minute I’m with you and your mom, your lives are in danger.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “No.” She flung an arm toward the senior complex. “This wouldn’t have happened if not for me.”

  “No one was hurt. Only possessions. And Mom isn’t aware of it, so really the harm is minimal.”

  “The harm is deep and irreparable. I can’t wait around for the next shoe to drop. I have to get the jump on whoever’s been after me. And I finally have a chance. I’m going to Riverdell.”

  “No!” Alarm leaped through Jake. “You can’t go alone.”

  She laughed. “Two days ago, you couldn’t wait for me to go alone. Two days ago, I didn’t think I could go alone. But now, I know I can. I can’t afford to put it off. If any of Uncle Murphy’s cream still exists, I have to get it before anyone figures out Kim might have access to it.”