“Absolutely.” He was glad one of his major clients spoke highly of him. Perhaps it had been Reese Kendall’s young wife, Persia, who’d passed the word along. In her early twenties, the exotic former executive trainee at Kendall Technologies had quickly taken her place among the cream of Safe Harbor society. “How long has the affair been going on?”
The question seemed to startle her all over again. Most likely she’d expected to control the interview, but that wasn’t how Mike handled things.
She recouped quickly. “Longer than most.”
“Most?”
“I’m not naive, Detective. Roy and I have been married nearly thirty years. He’s a good-looking man in a position of authority. Women gravitate to him.” She seemed to take pride in that fact.
His wife must carry an image of him from thirty years ago, since the jowly Roy Hightower didn’t fit Mike’s idea of a handsome man. Yet if she was right, at least one other woman found him attractive. “He’s had affairs before?”
“Nothing of substance.” She swallowed. “When I smelled perfume, well, I didn’t make too much of that. Then the phone calls started.”
Mike scratched “phone calls” on a pad. While it would be more convenient to take notes in the computer, that tended to bother clients, particularly in a personal matter. “Tell me about them.”
“A few months ago, the phone began to ring at odd hours. When I answer, there’s no one there.” She scowled.
“Does Roy ever pick them up?”
“If he answers the phone and starts talking to someone, how would I know if it’s the mystery caller?” she snapped.
“I meant, has he ever mentioned hang-ups?” He adjusted his reading glasses. Not only did they help with the paperwork involved in running the agency, he’d also learned that they softened his appearance and made some clients more comfortable.
“No. But he’s in a prominent position. Some council votes are controversial. I’m sure he’d take that sort of thing in stride.”
He never mentioned them and you never asked. Not exactly a close relationship, Mike mused. “Did you notify the phone company?”
Her nostrils flared. “I don’t wish to involve anyone official.”
“Understood.” His thoughts returned to the nature of the phone calls. While a mistress would have Roy’s cell number, she might call the house if the in-box was full or the cell turned off. Or to disturb the wife, hoping to spark a confrontation and divorce. “Ever hear anyone breathing or whispering on the line?”
“No.” Gemma folded her hands tightly. “But I did notice a pattern.”
“What kind of pattern?”
“If I don’t answer immediately, there are two rings and then it stops. Then one more ring and then it stops again.”
That was strange. “Has he ever used coded signals like that with you?”
She stared at him coldly. “Why on earth would he? Anyway, I dismissed it as someone’s idea of a prank. Then this past month, there were gifts.”
“Someone’s sending anonymous gifts?” That didn’t fit the usual signs of an affair. Still, it might be another tactic to spark a fight and clear the path to become Wife Number Two.
“No. I meant, my husband began giving me gifts.” The woman rattled a diamond-and-sapphire bracelet on her slim wrist. “Expensive ones.”
“Did you ask him why?”
“He said I deserved them for putting up with the hard times.” Her mouth twitched in suspicion.
“You think he’s salving a guilty conscience?” Mike asked.
Gemma leaned forward, her high cheekbones dotted with angry red spots. “What bothers me is that he’s probably giving the same jewelry to his mistress, and we can’t afford it. With the real estate market so unpredictable, his business nearly went under. That’s confidential.”
“Everything you tell me is confidential,” Mike confirmed, and made another note.
“This weekend, he was out of town at a conference. He got careless and left his list of passwords in an unlocked desk drawer.” Her mouth curved in a bitterly triumphant smile.
“Any interesting emails?”
“He’d deleted them all.” She folded her arms. “Then I went into his credit card account online.”
Good move. “Did you print out what you found?”
From her designer purse, Gemma pulled a sheaf of papers. “Here.”
Mike scanned the charges. The name of a jewelry store jumped out, with three purchases in the ten thousand dollar range. “Are these all items you received?”
“Yes.” For having received such generous gifts, she showed no signs of pleasure.
“Does he have any other credit cards?”
“Two. One business, one personal. I checked them both,” she said. “He pays his bills online and his bank didn’t list any other cards.”
“Any hotels or motels?”
“No, but he did charge a lot of meals at an expensive Continental restaurant in Orange, where he’s less likely to be recognized. Those go back nearly a year. It’s longer than he’s ever fooled around with anyone until now.”
Evidently she’d snooped on her husband before. “Did you print out a copy of his bank deposits and checks?”
“There were no checks that I consider suspicious. Other than that, I don’t see that our financial situation is any of your business,” she replied tautly. “In case you’re wondering, I accessed his business accounts, as well. I didn’t see any jewelry purchases or hotel bills. As for his credit card for city-related expenses, that gets audited. He isn’t stupid.”
While Roy might be hiding his purchases in any number of ways, the man was hardly a financial wizard. And he hadn’t been terribly clever about the passwords. Unless he deliberately left them for her to find, to allay her suspicions. Mike decided to accept the situation, for now. “This doesn’t necessarily add up to an affair,” he told her. “He could be putting together a sensitive business deal.”
“For an entire year?” She shook her head. “If he were, I’d have got wind of it by now.”
Mike asked a few more questions. Since real estate brokers often worked evenings and weekends, his absences didn’t prove anything, and Roy had always dressed well. He hadn’t taken off his wedding ring, but then, if his mistress knew the home phone number, she realized he was married. No new musical interests or catch phrases that might indicate he was socializing with someone much younger.
Gemma blanched when Mike asked whether her husband had tried any new approaches to lovemaking. “That’s revolting!”
“It’s a common sign that someone’s learning those things during an affair.”
“I always considered that a plus,” she said, and flushed bright red. Quickly, she added, “Nothing out of the ordinary, thank heaven.”
This might not be Mike’s idea of a good marriage, but he wasn’t here to judge. “Our next step is to try to spot him with this woman. Discreetly, of course.”
“Once he gets his business back on solid ground, he’s planning to run for the state assembly.” She shot Mike a that’s-confidential glance. “I’ve stood by him all these years. I’m not giving up my position to be one of those pathetic cast-off wives that nobody invites anywhere. Also, it would devastate our son. Gary’s away at college, but he still depends on us emotionally and financially.”
Although Mike suspected a guy that age would handle his parents’ divorce well enough, she was entitled to her opinion. “Since Mr. Hightower might recognize me, I’ll assign one of my other agents to keep an eye on him.”
Her hand shot up in a Stop! gesture. “I don’t want anyone else involved. Can’t you do this yourself?”
“It adds to the risk of getting spotted, but if you prefer…”
“
I do.”
“Please understand that to tail him would require several agents, and it would be hard to avoid notice in such a small town,” Mike explained. “I’d rather try to pinpoint the days and times when he’s most likely to meet this woman, and try to spot him at the restaurant. My guess is that she might live near there. If they’re meeting at her place, that would explain the absence of motel bills.”
“That did occur to me.”
He couldn’t resist asking one more question. “Why so concerned about this affair, aside from the fact that it’s lasted longer than most?”
Gemma blinked in what appeared to be irritation. “There are just…anomalies. If necessary, I’ll persuade her to break it off without having to confront Roy. There are ways, believe me. Perfectly legal ways.”
“I see.” It sounded as if she’d done this before. She must have taken his previous affairs more seriously than she’d indicated.
They squared away the matter of Mike’s retainer, which Mrs. Hightower paid from a bank account her husband didn’t know about. She also provided a copy of the mayor’s schedule for the next few weeks, as far as she knew it.
With a fluid motion, she rose. “Do you carry a gun, Mr. Aaron?”
“I have a carry permit,” he said. While he wore a .38 on a belt and kept a smaller weapon strapped to his ankle in case someone managed to disarm him, she didn’t need to know that.
“Well, don’t shoot him until I figure out what I want to do.”
“I’ll try not to.” Mike hoped he’d never have to shoot anyone. In his law-enforcement career, he’d drawn his gun many times but fired shots only twice. Once, a gunman had gone down in a hail of bullets from three officers, and the other time both Mike and his opponent had missed. He’d wrestled the guy to the ground and cuffed him.
When they shook hands, hers was cool and dry. Escorting her out of the office, Mike resolved to keep her file to himself.
He had no idea what kind of situation they were dealing with or who Roy might be boffing, if anyone. Political careers hung in the balance, and a misstep could hurt Mike’s reputation as much as Roy’s.
He had to be careful.
* * *
ON SUNDAY, PAIGE stood sipping a cup of tea and wondering what Aunt Bree would think of her living room now. The blue sofa and off-white armchairs faced a giant TV screen instead of each other, and she’d had to move the shadow boxes into her bedroom to make space. As for the grandfather clock in the corner, while she’d always found the soft chimes soothing, she’d stopped winding it after Mike spilled his beer when it went off while he was watching a game. It had never kept accurate time, anyway.
On Tuesday evening, he’d arrived with a pickup truck and a couple of muscular friends to cart off the extra furniture, which Dr. Forrest had been thrilled to receive for her center’s yard sale. The guys had returned with far more belongings than Paige had expected. There’d been a slight problem finding a place for his treadmill, but Mike had measured the garage and found just enough room to wedge it into the back right corner, as long as she parked carefully. He’d managed to stow everything else neatly by last night, when his friends arrived to watch a DVD of motorcycle racing.
Paige wasn’t accustomed to the rumble of high-powered motors or the soaring level of testosterone in her small house. However, the fact that these were police officers more than compensated. With them around, she didn’t have to worry about intruders.
Mike’s buddies had departed by eleven. From her bedroom, where she’d been catching up on medical journals, Paige had listened to the unfamiliar sounds of a man moving about her house. Even with her door closed, everything felt different. Smelled different. Echoed differently.
She heard water running in the bathroom and a tuneless hum as Mike washed up. How strange to know his razor was curled on the counter next to her hair dryer and his toothbrush angled beside hers in the holder. And that he was showering in the same tub where she stood naked every morning.
Paige had pulled the covers tighter around her and torn her thoughts away. She didn’t want to picture Mike’s muscular back and narrow waist, which she recalled in far too much detail from when she’d seen him at the beach.
To restore her concentration, she’d tossed the journals aside and thumbed through a baby magazine. That only substituted one temptation for another. Now Paige had to resist the urge to go on the internet and order a crib, a changing table, toys, picture books, a diaper stacker and all those other darling items featured in the ads. As she advised her patients, it was wise to wait until after the first trimester. In addition, she pointed out to them, friends and relatives were likely to give many of those items as gifts.
Gifts. Showers. Excited family members. How would her sisters react? And her brothers, for that matter? Although she didn’t want to deal with them yet, she longed for someone to talk to.
This morning, Mike had gone out early for a jog. Besides, Paige wasn’t about to discuss her pregnancy with him.
Suddenly she realized who she wanted to talk to. Crazy as it seemed, she needed to share her situation with Aunt Bree. Relieved at the thought, Paige deposited her empty teacup to the kitchen and went to grab a jacket against the morning chill.
* * *
THE MORNING BREEZE WHIPPED away the heat as Mike jogged along the beach. Despite the cushioning effect of the sand, his muscles burned and his shoulders were beginning to ache. He’d run west nearly to the city limits and back again, but it wasn’t far enough to escape his dilemma.
Spying on Roy Hightower had proved ridiculously easy, thanks to the guy’s predictable habits. On Friday, Mike had spotted him entering the Continental restaurant Gemma had named, and a few minutes later he’d seen a woman go inside.
A woman Mike recognized. A woman he knew to be predatory, hard as nails and physically dangerous should Gemma confront her.
About an hour later, the pair had emerged together. He’d captured shots of Roy’s arm around Yelena Yerchenko’s waist and her hand slipping into his pants. They’d paused and shared a kiss, her ripe body pressing into his fleshy one. Not very subtle, in full public view in the middle of the day. Roy seemed too caught up in his lust for a blonde woman a decade his junior to think about consequences.
When they departed in separate cars, Mike had debated following them, but what more proof did he need of their affair? Anyway, he’d had to duck to avoid being seen as Yelena passed. No question that she would recognize him.
For one thing, she owned Lyons Way Escrow, right next door to Mike’s office. For another, a couple of years ago when he worked at the police department, he’d investigated a nasty assault case in which she’d nearly gouged out her boyfriend’s eye with a kitchen knife. The guy had contended it was an unprovoked attack motivated by jealousy; she’d pointed to a bruise on her cheek and claimed self-defense.
During the investigation, Mike had noted her lack of remorse despite the severe injury to the boyfriend and the way she turned her charm on and off as it suited her. He’d also picked up inconsistencies in her statements. In the end, the D.A. had considered it mutual combat and declined to file charges against either of the pair.
Now, while Mike had an obligation to report the facts to his client, the possibility that he might be throwing Gemma Hightower in the path of a violent sociopath disturbed him. Also, Yelena’s involvement with the mayor struck him as odd. Unlike Roy, the boyfriend had been good-looking and younger than her. Nor was Roy wealthy enough to hold on to Yelena for an entire year, even if he was giving her jewelry that hadn’t showed up on his credit cards.
That line of thinking brought him back to Gemma’s possible danger. If Yelena had set her sights on marrying Roy and rising to prominence as the wife of a political up-and-comer, she wasn’t likely to let his current wife stand in her way.
He’d cau
tion Mrs. Hightower, of course. And with Yelena running a business right next door to Mike’s, he’d need to subcontract out any further surveillance to avoid being recognized.
Ahead on the nearly empty beach, he saw a tall, slim figure gazing at the sand. A fiery cloud of hair billowed about her, setting the horizon ablaze. Why was he worrying about the Hightowers on this splendid morning, when the woman who’d teased him all night in his dreams stood gloriously before him?
As she bent to pluck something from the ground, Mike slowed his pace. No use trying to catch his breath, though. Paige Brennan had just stolen it all over again.
Chapter Nine
When Paige went to the beach to talk to her aunt, the way they’d often walked and exchanged confidences in the past, she’d hoped that expressing her uncertainties would calm her restlessness. The ocean stood in for a gravesite, since Aunt Bree had chosen to have her ashes scattered at sea, and it seemed only natural to come here to seek insight.
What Paige hadn’t expected was an answer. Perhaps two.
There in the sand nestled a glimmer of rare purple sea glass. Among several hundred pieces of the ocean-buffed shards, Paige had found only one purple bit previously, a few years ago. As they exclaimed over it, Bree had told her with mock solemnity, “Now I know what to send you as a sign after I’m gone, the way people send pennies from heaven dated with their birth year.”
“Don’t be silly,” Paige had told her. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”
Now here it was. And as she straightened, she saw the man who’d figured prominently in her silent confessions pacing toward her along the beach. An amber T-shirt clung damply to Mike’s broad chest, while tan shorts displayed the toned power of his legs. The man might be utterly wrong for her, but his firm stride and curving mouth sent a delicious trembling through her knees.
Was this part of Bree’s answer, or mere coincidence? Paige cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
“What did you find?” As Mike halted alongside, his large hand cupped hers. Warmth burst around her while he examined the polished shape.
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