If I Loved You

by Kress, Alyssa

  Though her heart was beating at a disgraceful speed, Pattie drew herself up. "I'm okay."

  He tilted his head. "Are you?"

  "What?" Laughing in challenge, she asked, "Are you offering to help me?"

  Never did she expect him to look at her calmly and answer, "Yes."

  Pattie choked. What? Just like that? Yes? He couldn't possibly mean that, even if he was a—a born intruder. Surprisingly, and even more shamefully, she felt an instant of something close to...yearning.

  Pattie quashed the sensation in disgust. She wasn't a person who accepted handouts. She was not Savannah.

  Her lips curved into a dangerous smile. "How...kind of you. Thanks all the same. You're out of this. No worries. Go turn off Barney."

  He must have heard her resolve. From an anticipation of triumph, his face underwent an impressive transformation toward frustration and quickly on to fury. But Pattie never did find out what he intended to reply. For at that moment the world exploded with a bang and a shattering rain of white brilliance.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Zane watched, stupefied, as the big lattice window to Pattie's right shattered with all the power and drama of Fourth-of-July fireworks. Before the last shards had fallen he was moving, adrenaline shooting through him like a torpedo. He flew around the table.

  She stood pressed against the wall, but she was okay. He could see that as soon as he took hold of her shoulders. Relief was a powerful ebb tide crashing against his protective urges.

  Ignoring his touch, she turned around and uncovered her face. Her gaze went past him. "Wow."

  Zane let go of her and turned, too. He saw the blasted window and a snowfall of glass. A rock about the size of a cell phone lodged amid the papers atop the table. Meanwhile, behind the closed dining room door, the television droned on in the living room. Tristan was apparently so focused on Barney he hadn't noticed or cared about the sudden banging noise.

  "Holy shit," Pattie pronounced. "This is way too much."

  Zane couldn't have agreed more. There was too much emotion slamming through him, too much of a hunger to protect. Tightening his hands into fists, he had to ask to confirm his visual, "Are you okay?"

  "The window," Pattie moaned. Brushing past Zane, she hurried toward the ruined window. "This thing was old. It'll cost a fortune to replace. Jeezus! Michael will have a fit!"

  Michael would have a fit? Some malicious person had nearly killed her, and she was worried that her landlord would mind the cost of a window? If Zane's hands weren't clasped into fists, he probably would have strangled her.

  "Oh, my God." Pattie's gaze went out the window.

  "What?" Worried, Zane scrambled on broken glass to get to the jagged opening where the window had been.

  "There they are!" Pattie pointed. "That's who did it! It's got to be! Damn. It's not Norman, is it? Jeez, he wouldn't do something like this, would he?"

  Zane looked in the direction she pointed. Midblock, a city garbage truck plugged the street, slowly dumping out trash cans into its rooftop maw. Stuck behind the garbage truck was Pattie's suspect, somebody in a vintage Cadillac.

  "Who's Norman?" Zane asked.

  "A crazy fan of Savannah's. Who knows what maggot he might have got in his brain. He liked Savannah. And he's been bugging me for something of hers he might have— But right now he can't move." Pattie whirled, scattering glass beneath her feet. "I'm going after 'em!"

  "You're—what?" Zane reached for her, but she was already out of range, sliding across the floor to round the table. "What are you talking about?" Zane shuffled madly to catch up to her. "Whoever's in that car could be related to this whole crazy business with your sister!"

  "I know!" Pattie crowed. "This could be my chance. A real breakthrough." She reached the door and swung it open, a fighting light in her eyes. "They won't be able to move until the garbage truck gets to the corner. By then I'll be in my own car, at the street that meets the corner, ready to follow 'em."

  "But—you don't want to catch them. This is dangerous—" Zane's words fell on empty air. Pattie was already out the door.

  Damn. Zane turned back to glance out the window. The Cadillac, a jeweled turquoise in color, was still humming behind the garbage truck. The truck was picking up cans with its automatic arm at the pace of a snail. Damn and hell.

  Pattie's crazy scheme could actually succeed.

  ~~~

  Pattie's luck was fantastic. Her car keys were actually where they belonged, in the side pocket of her purse, which was actually where it belonged, on the hook in the front closet.

  She raced down the front stairs, doubled back to push through the backyard gate, and flew across the unkempt lawn toward the one-car garage that led to the alley. With a practiced shove, she got the stubborn pedestrian door to the garage open. Her Toyota Rav4 filled the stall to capacity, but she'd learned how to squeeze past to get to the locked garage overhead door.

  It took a few tries to get the old padlock working, but she finally jerked it open. With a grunt, she pushed up the garage door.

  Good. It was all good. She might still catch the guy at the corner. Pattie turned.

  And couldn't believe her eyes. Zane stood by the back passenger door of her car. In one hand, he held Tristan's.

  "What?" Pattie asked hoarsely. "What are you doing?"

  "There you go, Tristan." Zane opened the rear door. "Climb on in."

  "Are you crazy?" Pattie tried to squeeze between her car and the garage wall to stop Tristan's entry, but Zane blocked the way as he bent over to strap the child in.

  Incredulous frustration gripped her. What was Zane doing? Finally, she had a chance to find something out, or at least get someone to pay for the window. "I don't have time for games!" she cried. "For the love of— I can't do a—a car chase with a kid in the car."

  "Exactly." Zane closed the rear door and opened the front one.

  Pattie rushed to the driver's side door. She opened it to find Zane hauling himself over the console. Before she could do anything to stop him, he'd planted his butt in the driver's seat.

  With his gaze pleasant, he held up one hand. "I'll take the keys."

  "Over my dead body!" Actually, Pattie was planning to do it over Zane's dead body. This was her chance. She might discover who'd killed Savannah, and this man was square in her way.

  Zane's sea-colored eyes looked up at her with infinite patience.

  Oh, sure, he could be patient. None of this was his problem. He only wanted to—to—

  Frankly, Pattie could not fathom what he wanted to do.

  "Give me the keys," Zane repeated, "or you aren't going anywhere."

  Pattie's nostrils flared. Wasn't that the truth? There was no way to remove that solid male body from her driver's seat. Other than dynamite. Which she wished she had. She'd blow him to kingdom come. With a harsh growl, she dropped the keys into Zane's hand.

  Closing the driver door, he stuck the keys in the ignition and turned on the motor.

  "Hey!" Pattie exclaimed. Zane was pulling the car out of the garage. She raced around the nose to get to the passenger door. "You gotta— Wait!"

  He must have retained a shred of self-preserving instinct, for he stopped long enough for Pattie to throw open the passenger door. He was already reversing again, though, before she'd completely settled in her seat. Pattie only just managed to shut the door before the narrow garage would have ripped it off.

  "Holy—!" Pattie yelped. "I thought we weren't doing a car chase."

  Zane's smile was deeply pleased as he glanced over at her. "Actually, I said you couldn't do a chase."

  "Chase, chase!" Tristan cried, and clapped his hands. "Go fast, Zane!"

  "Think you can handle the navigation?" Zane zoomed down the alley.

  He was relegating her to navigation? But Pattie postponed her outrage in order to ascertain their position. At the end of the alley, Zane slowed just enough to manage the turn onto the street that led to the corner. The garbage truck was crawling acros
s the intersection.

  They weren't too late. The Caddy would be right behind the garbage truck.

  "I can handle navigation, nanny, dear," Pattie shot at him. "You'd friggin' better be able to handle the driving."

  At the intersection in front of them, the turquoise Cadillac appeared. Excitement shot through Pattie, tempered by frustration. Could Zane handle the driving? Would he?

  "Can I do it?" Zane's smile broadened. "I guess we're about to find out."

  ~~~

  This was crazy. It was ridiculous. He was embarking on a car chase, like some idiotic teenager.

  Zane hadn't felt this fantastic in years.

  "Don't follow too close," Pattie ordered him. She had her hand over her brow as if to hide her identity while they waited their turn at the intersection on the corner. "We don't want them to notice us."

  The turquoise Cadillac, roaring at its sudden liberation from the garbage truck, swept into an angry left turn, then hurtled down the palm-lined street away from them.

  Zane crossed the intersection to follow directly after. "I'm not some hotrod cop from a TV show. I've never done this before. I'm keeping as close as possible."

  Not only that, but he had Tristan in the car. Zane was sorry about that, but he hadn't exactly had time to carry out an alternate plan. Now caution would have to rule his urge to catch the rock-thrower.

  Pattie made a disgusted noise. "You should have let me drive."

  "In your dreams."

  A laugh was definitely buried in the snort she gave him. Then she straightened as she peered through the windshield. "I think there's only one person in the car. Do I see long hair? It's not Norman, then. A woman. Oh, look—"

  The turquoise Cadillac had made an abrupt right turn onto Shenandoah. Zane was prevented from following directly after by three cars who had the right-of-way. He swore.

  "Shit!" Tristan cried out, in unalloyed delight. "Shit, shit, shit."

  Chagrined, Zane slid a glance Pattie's way.

  She was grinning. "Good to know you're not perfect."

  Wondering if that was, indeed, such a good thing, Zane swung the car onto Shenandoah. "We lost her!"

  "No. She turned left on Airdrome."

  "I didn't see it."

  "But I did. Turn!"

  Zane was fairly certain Pattie had seen nothing of the kind, but he didn't have a better choice so he turned onto Airdrome.

  The turquoise Caddy was a block ahead of him. He felt his lips curve upward. "All right!"

  "Told you so."

  He glanced over. "Anybody ever mention you're a bad sport?"

  "Not that I can recall." Pattie waved her hands in front of her. "Don't get so close!"

  "We already lost her once. I don't want to lose her again."

  "We didn't lose her," Pattie corrected. "I knew where she was the whole time. Just drive, and keep your distance." She frowned, peering ahead. "It's definitely a woman, and I think she's blond."

  "Oh, that helps. And now—great." Two cars turned at the corner, getting in between Zane and his turquoise quarry. "Damn!"

  "Damn!" Tristan echoed cheerfully from the backseat. He clapped his hands. "Damn, damn, damn!"

  "Just keep 'em comin', Kincaid." Pattie chuckled. "My nephew will have a full vocabulary in no time. Turn left."

  "What?" Zane scowled back at the road. How was everything slipping out of his control? "I didn't see anything."

  "Left at the corner," Pattie insisted.

  "But I didn't—"

  "And I did—just like the last time. Turn left, Kincaid."

  He took his gaze from the road for an instant to glance at her. Their eyes met. Something sparked between them, a strangely energizing rivalry. With difficulty, he directed his attention back to the road. Heeding her instructions, he turned left.

  Turquoise gleamed up ahead.

  He laughed. His sense of excitement overflowed. The emotion seemed vaguely dangerous, but was also too good to worry about—at least not right yet.

  He gripped the wheel. "Let's catch this lady."

  "'Us?'" Pattie queried haughtily. "Turn right at Hillsboro."

  Zane was still grinning as he turned right.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Zane was a hateful, interfering rat, but Pattie's urge to murder him dimmed as, between them, they managed to keep the turquoise Cadillac in sight over a zigzag pattern across the Westside. In fact, she might even admit she was glad to have him along. Not that she was having fun or anything. She simply doubted she'd have been able to follow the Cadillac on her own.

  This became abundantly clear when the Caddy merged onto the San Diego Freeway. Things became decidedly hairy, for the blond lady driver was a weaver. Zane was forced to weave, too, roaring past slower drivers, cutting off faster ones, all according to Pattie's hasty, and admittedly contradictory, directions. Tristan was the only one who was having a good time, alternately clapping and laughing. Meanwhile, both grown-ups heaved sighs of relief when the Cadillac took the Mulholland exit at the top of the Sepulveda Pass.

  "No more fast," Tristan complained.

  "No, we're taking it slow now," Zane murmured in reply. The jewel turquoise Cadillac was the only car that turned onto Mulholland. It was suddenly too easy to follow it. For the first time since they'd started, Zane held back to create a discreet distance between them.

  Pattie bit her lower lip. It was quiet inside her car now, no need to blast out directions. Oh, boy. Were they actually going to discover something here? So far, she hadn't been able to discover a single clue to prove Savannah'd been murdered. It was almost as if fate were against her.

  "What do you think?" Zane whispered, as if the woman in the car fifty yards ahead of them might be able to hear.

  Pattie peered ahead at the Caddy. Though she knew it was ridiculous, she whispered, too. "I think, unless she really doesn't care for the Ventura Freeway, her destination is somewhere off Mulholland."

  "Yeah." Zane nodded.

  In silence, they followed the turquoise Cadillac as it wound up the mountaintop road. Inside, Pattie tensed. What if the person driving the Caddy noticed someone was following her? What if she was therefore leading Zane and Pattie on a deliberate wild goose chase? Or what if she kept driving—forever?

  Hell, it would be just as disastrous if she simply drove past Tristan's lunchtime.

  Pattie was silently imagining the worst when, a hundred yards ahead of them, the Cadillac reduced speed. Pattie held her breath. Slowly, the big car turned, heading toward an ivy-covered metal gate. Beyond the gate stretched a long driveway choked with vegetation. The gate swung open and the Cadillac swept through, apparently oblivious to any followers.

  Had they actually found her?

  Pattie's gaze shifted toward Zane.

  His expression mirrored her own incredulity.

  Apparently, for all their mutual bluster, neither of them had thought they'd achieve success.

  Pattie burst into laughter at the same time Zane did.

  "You look like you swallowed a frog!"

  "I feel like I have!"

  "Ha!" She laughed some more. "So do I."

  As their laughter faded, warmth suffused her. For one very unusual moment, Pattie felt different from her usual, separate-from-everybody self. She felt like she was together with Zane, almost like they were friends, or even partners.

  The moment felt like a knock in the head.

  As if he, too, had felt the sensation, Zane averted his gaze. With apparent care, he cleared his throat. "So, that's that, then. We did it."

  'We?' Oh, no, there was no 'we' here. They weren't actually together. It had just felt that way for half a second. A—a freak accident.

  Pattie wasn't getting sucked into thinking she was buddies with a guy, the way she'd got sucked into thinking about Nick. Lonely, alone, separate—whatever you wanted to call it, that's the way she intended to stay.

  With a muscular heave, Zane turned the Rav4 into a tight U. Pattie was still so focused on
getting rid of her unwanted fellowship feeling that it took her a second to realize he'd driven right past the gate.

  "What? Where are you going?"

  Zane shot her a surprised look. "I'm going home."

  "Home?" Pattie's eyebrows shot up. She swiveled to look back at the plant-choked driveway. "But—we found her."

  "I know. And I took note of the address."

  "But—" Gratefully, she could feel the last of the togetherness-friendship thing drain away. "I want to go knock on Sleazeballina's door here."

  Zane's eyes widened. "You can't do that."

  "If you pulled over, I could."

  Zane didn't pull over. Instead he assumed a calm tone that was completely maddening. "Look, I can guess how you feel. This lady invaded your safety and wrecked your window, but let's think this through."

  "I thought it through. She's gotta pay."

  "Of course she does."

  With her mouth open, Pattie felt the wind sag out of her sails. He was agreeing with her?

  Zane threw her a placating glance. "But we can't go after her today, not right now."

  'We' again? Pattie thought, and narrowed her eyes. If he imagined he was somehow in on this now...? "Why not today?"

  He gestured toward the backseat. "We've got a passenger on board, for one thing. And for another, it would be a mistake to confront this lady unprepared. We have her address." He glanced in the rear view mirror toward the gate. "With that, I'm sure I could dig up some information about her."

  More of those 'we's and even an 'I.' The fellow was cruising for a bruising if he thought he was involved now, or even, God forbid, in charge. Of course, he was right that it would be prudent to find out more before taking action. But they were so not together. She was not going to depend on anybody, and particularly not on a guy she found kind of, sort of, attractive. She would not permit another relationship disaster in her life.

  "Don't worry," Zane promised. "We'll come back another day."

  Pattie repressed a snort. 'We.' She crossed her arms over her chest. When pigs flew.

  ~~~

  Zane should have been reveling in triumph as he followed Mulholland back to the freeway. They'd managed to find the lair of the woman who'd thrown a rock through Pattie's window. Not only that, but by setting himself in the driver's seat of Pattie's car, Zane had shoehorned his way into her amateur murder investigation. In fact, he was near to putting himself in charge of it.