"A detective? To do what?"
She favored him with a "how dumb can you get?" look. "To get the dirt on Beatrice, in case we can't find the diary. And heaven knows, I've tried."
Samantha had been a trooper, poring over not only every inch of Albert's cabin but also the three others. With Lew and Pete's permission, she'd crawled into their sweltering attic spaces and poked behind the furniture, to no avail.
"I'd love to discover something devastating about my cousin, but it won't work," Kieran said. "Joel has asked me to leave any investigating up to him. He knows how to handle these matters."
"He's a stick-in-the-mud." Samantha flung the pen onto the desk so hard it bounced. "He'll play entirely by the book."
"He's a lawyer. He's supposed to."
"She's a rotten person, and she's probably wanted in six states and the Republic of Panama," Samantha protested. "Maybe she's not even the real Beatrice but some imposter."
"I know what my cousin looks like," Kieran said. "You've been watching too many old movies."
"We can't let Hidden Hot Springs go down the tubes!" Samantha’s chin rose in the air. "I'm surprised at you, Kieran French, backing down so easily."
He'd seen how heavy-handed tactics could backfire. Thanks to Beatrice's outrage over the twenty thousand dollar debt, she was now trying to stop construction altogether.
Kieran skewered Samantha with his gaze. "Let's get one thing straight. There will be no detective unless Joel Phillips hires one."
Her lips clamped shut.
"Samantha, I want your word on it."
"My word is useless," she said. "I lie all the time."
"Like when?"
She bit her lip and arched her shoulders, deepening the cleavage between her tantalizing breasts. "Like telling you I go around with my shirt open because of the heat."
Kieran threw back his head and laughed. "You little minx."
She grabbed the pad and swung her feet to the floor. "I'll see you later. There's work to be done around here, in case you hadn't noticed."
"In case I hadn't what?" he challenged.
She breezed past him in a scented cloud of suntan lotion and herbal shampoo. "Rest break is over, Kieran. Get to work."
She vanished through the door. He wondered what would have happened if he'd stuck out his arm and caught her by the waist.
She’d have kissed him, that's what. Kieran closed his eyes, swept into a fantasy in which he pulled off that damn bra and made her regret her lie. Or be grateful for it.
At the window, he watched her sultry shape undulate across the driveway. She was buttoning her shirt as she went.
*
Men waved greetings as Samantha passed the juice bar, and she waved back. She was learning their names, glad at how easily they seemed to have accepted her as a pleasant fact of life.
All except Pete.
He was Kieran's best friend. She longed for him to accept her like the others, although she wasn't sure why, since she'd be leaving in two weeks.
But since Mary Anne failed to show up last weekend, Pete had avoided meeting Samantha's eyes. Perhaps the sight of her reminded him painfully of her absent friend.
She wished she dared call and scold that silly woman. Due to low self-esteem, Mary Anne was missing a golden opportunity. Her shy friend might wait years to meet another such promising fellow.
But how was Samantha to persuade Mary Anne to come when she couldn't contact her? She didn't dare call her friend or even email her. If Hank had tapped Mary Anne’s phone, he might have found a way to monitor her email as well. One hint about Samantha’s location, and he’d be on his way here.
She had to figure out something. She refused to give up on a friend.
Without conscious intent, Samantha arrived at Uncle Albert's cabin. She no longer worried about walking around alone, despite her close encounter with the mountain lion. It had only been spotted early in the morning or late in the evening. There’d been no reports of attempts to attack anyone, either.
As she pushed open the ramshackle door, Samantha reviewed the steps she’d taken this past week, trying to turn up witnesses to Albert’s mental health. She’d searched the web for organizations and places where he might have met people, and phoned every senior citizen center for miles around. No one had heard of Albert French.
She'd contacted historical societies and the Sierra Club. She had driven nearby roads in search of residents who might remember him, and had checked his aging magazines in case he'd written letters to the editor.
There was no sign of a computer, so he hadn't been interfacing with the world that way. For all she'd turned up, Albert French might as well have lived out his later years on Mars.
Samantha stepped into the shady interior, noticing how the temperature dropped by ten degrees. In this dry climate, the air cooled quickly away from the sun.
Not like the Caribbean. She tried to picture herself strolling into a café in steamy Kingston, Jamaica, ordering a refreshing piña colada. She searched the imaginary bar for a good-looking man, one with, say, shaggy blond hair and eyes the color of robin's eggs.
Kieran.
Okay, so instead of bar hopping, she'd spend her shore leave diving near coral reefs, swimming among the incredible colors that nature saves for those who live life to the fullest: those who dare, those who risk, those who give up friends and loved ones and air-conditioned trailers where men built like Adonis perch on the corner of a desk....
This was getting her nowhere.
As she had a half-dozen times before, Samantha inspected the cabin for any hiding place that had so far escaped her. The place was smaller and simpler than Kieran's house: a single living-and-sleeping room, with a kitchenette along the rear wall and a bathroom that doubled as laundry facility. She studied the rooms from a variety of angles, for cracks in the wall or a trapdoor. Surely the man wouldn't have wrapped up his papers and hidden them outside; even with waterproofing, they wouldn't last long.
The first question she'd put to herself was, why had he hidden the papers in the first place? The answer was obvious: in case Beatrice showed up and tried to destroy them.
Following a logical course of reasoning, she'd deduced he might have stashed the material in a different cabin, but that hadn't panned out. The only other buildings still standing from the old days were the bathhouse, which had been gutted and remodeled, and the church-turned-rec hall, which Kieran and Lew had gone over last weekend with a fine-tooth comb.
What was she missing?
The approaching rumble of a motor drew Samantha to the door. Not many cars found their way to Hidden Hot Springs.
An aging minivan zipped toward her, primer-gray showing in patches through the green paint. Lady Gaga sang lustily from the radio.
The van screeched to a halt and a window hummed down. "Need a lift?" called Beth.
Samantha hurried over, smiling. "Thanks but what are you doing here in the middle of the week?"
"Moving in," said her friend.
"Then you'd better park right over there. This is as close as you can get to Lew's cabin."
"Okay." The dark head disappeared into the van's interior, and the vehicle rattled a few feet down the road before parking.
Beth emerged, already talking. "I'm glad I ran into you. I’d rather not disturb Lew while he's on the job.”
"Doesn't he know you're coming?" Samantha brushed dirt off her hands.
"Sure. But not what time." After sliding open a side door, Beth retrieved a couple of suitcases. "I just figured, this is crazy, we're always on the phone, and I'm not teaching this summer, so why am I in Chula Vista while he's here?"
Samantha picked up a suitcase and led the way up the path. "Will you stay long?"
"I'll have to decide whether I’m going back to work," Beth said as they lugged the heavy cases up the slope. "That’s partly up to Lew.”
Pausing for breath, Samantha set down the bag and glanced back over the highway. A tan shape flicked across
the periphery of her vision, near Uncle Albert's cabin, but when she looked harder, it was gone. It might have been a deer, or the lion cub, or a sheet of brown paper blown from the construction site.
Beth hummed restlessly. Samantha picked up the case and resumed her climb.
Like most buildings in the area, Lew's cabin was never locked. Samantha helped her friend unload, grateful to see an array of appliances that she might be able to borrow. More importantly, she was glad to have someone to talk to during the day, someone she could trust for an objective opinion. There was one subject on which she particularly needed advice.
"I'm trying to figure out what to do about Mary Anne," she confided.
Beth listened thoughtfully to her account. "What about that other friend of yours?"
"Alice?"
"Isn't there some way to contact her? She might be able to light a fire under Mary Anne." Beth arranged an armful of stuffed animals around the living room. "Samantha, meet Bowling Alley, Mop, Toast, and Wind Boy."
"Those are their names?" Samantha regarded the well-worn bears dubiously.
"I use them in my teaching. The kids alternate taking them home and writing diaries for them. I let them vote on the names."
Too bad she couldn’t contact Uncle Albert's second-grade teacher, Samantha reflected wryly. Maybe she had his diary.
Another trip to the van yielded a vacuum cleaner and a sewing machine. "If I end up staying, my mother will visit, and she's a neatness fanatic," Beth explained.
Samantha tried to picture Beth's mother, or anyone's mother, trotting around the town's paths. The poor woman would spend most of her evenings soaking away the aches at the hot springs. Still, that might prove enjoyable.
The image of a mother tickled the back of her memory. "What day is this?" she asked, sliding the sewing machine onto the cabin's only table.
"Wednesday, last time I checked."
"Oh, Beth, that's perfect!" Samantha hugged her friend and ran out the door.
"What's perfect?" called her puzzled friend.
"I'll tell you later. I promise!"
At Kieran's house, Samantha dug through her dresser drawer until she found her address book. First she looked under J for James and then M for Mother. She finally found the number she sought under A for Alice's Mother.
Wednesday was Alice's day off, since she worked the Saturday shift, and she usually visited her mother in Oceanside, in northern San Diego County. Samantha had gone with her once, enjoying the clean beach and small, picturesque house.
No matter how many phones Hank and his accomplice had tapped—if any—he wouldn’t know about this one.
To Samantha’s delight, Alice answered the phone. It took a few minutes to calm her excited friend and explain why she was calling, but Alice readily agreed to drag Mary Anne to Hidden Hot Springs after work on Saturday.
"Mary Anne’s self-esteem could use a boost," Alice said. "Besides, I'm dying to see you. And a town full of single men with big muscles? This I've got to experience."
"Speaking of marriage," Samantha said, "I sort of got married again."
"You what?"
That story took a while, and by the end, Samantha's ear ached. She was out of minutes on her cell, too. But she'd made progress on an important goal.
Now to get the goods on Beatrice.
She hadn't actually promised Kieran not to hire a detective. As for payment, she’d figure that out later. But where was she going to find one? A search-engine would turn up plenty of names, no doubt, but Samantha preferred a personal recommendation.
She wondered if she dared call the D.A.'s office. As yet, she hadn't contacted them directly from Hidden Hot Springs, and she’d have to use Kieran’s land line. At least he’d blocked the number—there’d been some annoying prank calls, apparently.
Still, to be on the safe side when Mrs. Gray answered, Samantha said, "I'm calling from a borrowed phone the middle of nowhere. Just passing through. I have to keep moving until you get Hank locked up. Have you?"
No, the secretary admitted, Hank's bail hadn't been revoked yet. Mr. Enright would be submitting the request later in the week.
"I'm looking for a detective," Samantha said. "It's a personal matter, nothing to do with Hank. Can you recommend someone?"
"We're not in the habit of referring detectives," the secretary replied.
"I don’t mean officially.” Samantha hated to request a favor, but she didn't know who else to ask. "Surely there's someone you've worked with, or heard about, who's reputable."
Mrs. Gray clicked her tongue. "I'll tell you what. I feel bad about the snafus in this case, so I'll make inquiries. I'm not promising anything, but give me your number and I'll call as soon as I can."
"I told you, I'm calling from a borrowed phone," Samantha said. "And I’m on the road. I'll call you, okay?”
“It might take a day or two.”
“No problem.” A noise outside made Samantha jump. With a start, she realized it was after five o'clock. If Kieran overheard this conversation, there'd be hell to pay. "Thanks," she said, and hung up.
When the sound repeated, Samantha identified it as the rhythmic creak-creak of the water pump. She hadn't tried it, preferring to put up with the thin trickle of water from the faucet, but Kieran swore by the thing.
Stepping onto the porch, she paused to enjoy the view. Kieran had tossed his shirt, shoes and socks onto the glider and stood splattering himself with water.
Sunlight sparkled off the rivulets that ran along his shoulders. His muscles rippled as he threw back his head and splashed his chest and neck. Registering his elemental masculine presence, Samantha had to catch her breath.
She'd spent the past week teasing Kieran, just to keep life interesting, and trying to divert her thoughts from their night together. A lot of good that had done. Observing him half-naked and dripping tempted her to tear off her clothes and run into the water with him.
She pinched her arm. “Ow!”
He swung toward her. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms protectively.
“Have I mentioned how much I like it when you do that?” he asked, inspecting her figure. “Your breasts swell on either side. It’s spectacular.”
“It is not!” Samantha glared.
Grinning, Kieran bounded up beside her, showering her with droplets. He towered over her on the porch. "Are you ready?"
"For what?" Samantha wished she didn’t sound so breathless.
"For me."
Chapter Twelve
"Ready for you?" Samantha repeated. "To do what?"
"To help you bake cheesecakes, of course," Kieran said. "What did you think I meant?"
Samantha assumed a blasé air. "I thought you meant ready to go to dinner. But you aren't dressed."
"Let's skip dinner," Kieran suggested. "We can pig out on cheesecake."
“Isn’t the point to let everyone have a taste?”
“Let’s bake two. Unless you’d rather do something else.” He waggled an eyebrow. The guy was cute when he teased her, darn him.
Change the subject, fast. "Beth moved in with Lew.”
That distracted him. "She did? When?"
"A couple of hours ago." As she spoke, Samantha retreated into the house. Kieran followed. “How come guys never tell each other things like that?"
"Because we have more important matters to discuss," he said loftily.
"Like what?”
“Like who might win the World Series." With that, Kieran disappeared into the bedroom. He joined her in the kitchen, wearing the torn cutoffs she'd seen during their first encounter on the highway, the same sandals and a tank top that left little to the imagination. From where she bent by the refrigerator, removing bars of cream cheese, Samantha had a view of his muscular thighs worth posting on Facebook. If she dared post anything, which she didn’t.
A smile played around the corners of Kieran's mouth. He was well aware of his impact on her.
Two cou
ld play at that game. Closing the refrigerator door with her hip, Samantha unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it over a chair, revealing her bikini bra. To Kieran's startled look, she said, "Something wrong?"
"I’m game. Are we playing a chef's version of strip poker?"
"It's hot in here." She took out the bowls and the hand mixer. "The recipe book is right there. Why don't you try the chocolate version and I'll do the lemon?"
"You'll have to show me what to do," he said. "I'm more of an eater than a baker. Although I’ll admit, this process is working up an appetite."
Samantha ignored him and assembled the ingredients on the chipped counter. "We won't need to soften the cream cheese. Thirty seconds at this room temperature and it will liquefy."
"It's your call," said Kieran.
She wished he would stop regarding her as if she were the tastiest item on the menu. Seriously, she shouldn't have pulled that stunt with her shirt. But if he could go around in scanty clothing, so could she.
*
Kieran wondered if the little minx had any idea of her effect on his libido. She had only to slant that mischievous gaze at him to set his blood coursing. Her throaty chuckle and the rise and fall of her chest aroused him nearly beyond bearing.
Rather than relieving his tensions, their night together had reawakened instincts long held in check. Once freed, they demonstrated a maddening unwillingness to return to the dormant state.
Kieran supposed he'd pushed her a bit, taking off his clothes outside and then donning a tank top and shorts. But women didn't get aroused by the mere sight of a man, did they? And, as she’d noted, it was hot in here.
Once she pulled off her shirt, he'd begun to skid along the delicious, tantalizing, scary edge of losing control. Damn if her skin didn't look like silk, every bare inch of it. He loved the way her waistline creased when she turned, he admired the vulnerable curve of her throat, and what kind of man could tear his eyes away from those orbs rising above the horizon of her bra?
Kieran didn't have a clue how to make cheesecake, but he followed Samantha's example as she measured sugar, eggs and almond extract into her bowl. Catching her prompting nod, he studied his recipe and tossed in a handful of chocolate chips.
Run, Run, Runaway Bride Page 13
