See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I perched on a stool a little more often than usual today. The answer is, sore. I’d love to go for a run, but I have a feeling I’d better hold off for a few more days.”

  “You’re a runner, huh?” He appraised her with a sidelong glance that left tingles of warmth in its wake.

  “Yes, I even did one half-marathon.” Thank heavens, she’d managed to sound like usual. “I don’t aim for anything that ambitious anymore.”

  “I run, too. Let me know if you want company next time you go out.”

  “Your legs are longer than mine. I’d slow you down.”

  He shook his head. “Even if that’s true, taking it a little easy isn’t the worse thing I could do. Speed has never been my goal.”

  She almost opened her mouth to ask what was, but stopped herself. That would be flirting, too. And...what if he told the truth and she didn’t like it? What if he lied?

  Takes one to know one.

  She jerked her attention from the very sexy man to the house. She’d never been inside although she’d often stopped by the peeling picket fence to chat with old Mr. Ingersoll when she was returning from a run or just out walking. Whatever the interior had looked like then, now it was a blank slate, any personality wiped away. The furnishings were beyond bare bones. A cheap kitchen table and two chairs were tucked into a corner in the kitchen, and she saw another, matching straight-backed chair in the otherwise empty living room, by the window.

  Following her glance, Adam said, “Taking advantage of the light to read.”

  “It’s too bad you don’t have a view of the ocean.”

  “There’s one from the bedroom. Between houses, but I can see the surf.”

  From bed? Oh, she so didn’t want to picture him in bed, shoulders bare and sleek, hair rumpled, eyes heavy-lidded.

  “Where do you usually run?” she blurted. Gee, why not just say, So, where are you from? “I mean, do you have to pound city sidewalks, or do you at least have a park you can take advantage of?”

  “Sometimes one, sometimes the other.” He took the ice cream out of the freezer and a spoon from a drawer. “I’m from southern California. Lotta city streets, but some decent parks, too. When I can, I run on the beach.”

  Oh God, oh God. But...he’d said it so casually, not even looking at her. And people from California must come to the Oregon coast for vacations, too.

  “Why here?”

  A dark arch of his brow made his face even more devilish. “Here?”

  “Cape Trouble.”

  “Oh. I liked the idea of someplace that actually has an autumn. For some reason, November is when I’m hit every year by this intense dislike of unrelentingly sunny, unchanging days.”

  “I know what you mean,” she said softly. “I...used to live down there, too.” Fear stampeded through her. Was she nuts?

  “Yeah?” He peeled the aluminum foil off the cobbler. “Where’d you live?”

  “It was a long time ago. Um... I’ve lived in L.A. and West Hollywood.”

  “You ever run on the beach?”

  “Of course I did. Great way to get over any delusion that I was in good shape.”

  He laughed. “Anywhere you can here?”

  “Yes, but you need to drive around to the other side of Mist River. It’s technically trespassing, but everyone does it. The beach over there is sandy and goes on and on. I jog along Jasper Beach sometimes, but the cove is so small and you can’t really get around the points except at low tide, and even then you’re clambering over rocks instead of running. Mostly I take a trail that heads up and over thataway.” She gestured. “Great views, mostly doesn’t get too muddy.”

  “You’ll have to show it to me.” He handed her one of the plates, a giant scoop of ice cream atop an even bigger square of cobbler. “No microwave,” he said apologetically. “So I can’t warm it up.”

  “It’s good either way. Although I’ll never be able to finish a serving this size.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll finish mine and yours.” Again, his gaze swept her. “I’ve been wondering how you stay so little when you cook so magnificently.”

  Magnificent, she liked. Little made her feel like a nondescript dab of nothingness. Which is good, she reminded herself. She wanted to be nondescript, for the eye to pass right over her.

  “It’s hard work,” she told him. “I forget to eat. Plus, it always seems to be hot in the kitchen, which keeps me from being hungry.” Chronic, low-level fear tended to depress her appetite, too.

  He took his first bite and closed his eyes until he’d swallowed. Then he made a sound in his throat, a little gritty like his voice. “Damn. And I thought that truffle was good.”

  Would he make that sound when he—?

  Don’t go there! Naomi thought in alarm.

  Knowing he was watching, she popped a bite into her mouth, savoring it, breaking down the flavors, searching for nuances, and generally satisfied she’d gotten it right. “Mmm,” she finally murmured.

  “Nirvana,” he agreed.

  “Daniel Colburn called it heaven.” Her mouth curled up at the memory.

  “You’ve already been to see him?” The question was unexpectedly sharp, surprising her into lifting her head.

  “I dropped his off at the station.”

  “You’re friends?”

  There was still an edge there, one she didn’t understand. “More with his fiancée. I worked with her on the auction we held this summer to help raise the money to buy the old Misty Beach Resort.”

  The set of his shoulders eased. “I heard about that. Is it a done deal?”

  “Not yet. We’re close to having enough money, though. The real holdup is the legal complications. You know the plans for the land?”

  “Only that it’s to be saved from the evil developers.”

  She laughed. “Right. Well, the old man who owned the resort died last spring and left it to his nephew since he didn’t have any kids of his own. Instead of selling it right away to developers, the nephew very generously gave us all the time we needed to raise the money to buy it instead. Our contribution is being matched by a conservancy group that will also manage the land as a preserve,” she added.

  Adam nodded.

  “Unfortunately, it turned out Benjamin Billington wasn’t brimming with generosity because he wanted to honor his uncle’s wishes. The truth was that he had killed a bunch of women around here, years before when he was working at the resort summers, and he’d buried them on Uncle Harlow’s land. He was afraid that, with bulldozers tearing up the ground over there, the bodies would be unearthed.”

  “Hey, I remember reading about that. It happened here, huh?” His eyes darkened. “It wasn’t you he went after at the end...?”

  “No, that was Sophie, Daniel’s fiancée.”

  “Jesus.” It sounded prayerful. “That must have made him crazy.”

  “I...didn’t see him that night, but people talked about it later. ‘Crazy’ is probably an understatement.”

  Looking disturbed, he said, “Yeah.” Then, “So the legal complication is whether a serial killer actually can sell the land?”

  “Something like that.” Wanting to get away from the grim subject, she told him, “You know, people really talk in Cape Trouble. It’s sort of creepy when you’re used to the big city where you don’t even know the names of your neighbors on each side of your apartment.”

  He grinned. “I can see that. Hey, what’s with the protesters out by the highway?”

  “There’s a small group of people who apparently still delude themselves they can stop construction of the resort. Everybody ignores them. I mean, any ecological damage has already been done, right?”

  “Except for increased traffic, sewage, water usage.”

  She made a face at him. “Okay, you’re right.”

  He asked what most locals thought about the new resort, and she told him more than he probably wanted to know. Everybody in town had an opinion, frequently expressed in her café. What sh
e didn’t hear, Anita reported to her.

  Adam said reflectively, “I see your point about gossip. Tough to get by with anything around here, isn’t it?”

  The way he said it, the way he looked at her, sent a chill through her. She actually shivered.

  “Yes.” She forced a smile. “I hope you’re as hungry as you said you were, because I think I’m full.” She pushed the plate toward him and then rose to her feet. “I’d better get home.”

  Lines deepened between his eyebrows. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Just...things to do. Tomorrow is my only day off, you know.”

  “I did notice I’m on my own for meals tomorrow.”

  Somehow she kept the smile in place. “Sorry.” Only belatedly did she wonder if he was angling for an invitation. She’d think about that later, when she could forget the cool speculation she might or might not have really seen in eyes that changed from crystalline gray to stormy in a heartbeat.

  He stood, too, and walked her all the way out to the street. “Thank you for the cobbler.”

  “You’re very welcome.” She made sure her open car door formed a barricade between them before she faced him. “It’s not exactly an even trade, you know. Not after what you did.”

  A strange expression crossed his face, one that held frustration and uncertainty. “Naomi...” But whatever he’d thought of saying, he cut off. Instead, he only stood there looking at her, those same lines carving his forehead.

  “Bye,” she said hastily, got in and closed the door. She gave a vague smile in his general direction before driving away.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Adam didn’t enjoy feeling like scum.

  Call him low, but he made every effort to alter his shame into resentment squarely aimed at Naomi for playing the innocent so well, she damn near had him fooled.

  This was the lady who’d dated Gregory Cobb, a killer-for-hire. Who’d reputedly stayed late several times so he could host “business” gatherings in a private room in her restaurant.

  This was also the woman who’d pulled a vanishing act the minute the shit came down. Pretty damn skillfully, too, except for the glaring mistake of opening another restaurant. She’d disappeared so fast and so effectively, he had to believe she’d already been prepared to decamp if things went wrong. Innocents didn’t have alternate I.D.s in their dresser drawer, ready to pull out at need.

  Yeah, but...damn it. Even their brief acquaintance had doubt stirring. What if she’d bolted because she was scared, not because she was guilty? What if she really had entered her restaurant one morning to stumble over a cop knifed to death in the kitchen? For a person who’d never even seen a body, the sight would have been hideous. He could imagine the revulsion she would have felt at the idea of someone using one of her knives to kill with. Was it really so unlikely she’d refuse to cook another meal in that kitchen? That she’d close the restaurant and walk away?

  No. But that didn’t explain the name change. The fear he saw in her eyes.

  What if she’d seen something and been threatened because the killer suspected?

  Why not tell the cops?

  Because the one threatening her was Cobb, and she guessed local law enforcement couldn’t protect her from him?

  Damn it, he thought again, fear didn’t excuse her for not cooperating with the investigation, for letting Frank’s killer go free.

  If Gregory Cobb hadn’t murdered Frank, he’d had someone else do it. Cobb had been there that night. He’d admitted as much. Frank had to have been on his tail. He’d learned something, suspected something. Could he even have hoped to corner Naomi, late, only to find someone else waiting for him in the kitchen?

  What if she hadn’t left yet, though, making her a witness? Or at least knew who had still been lurking in her restaurant when she left? Even if she was normally a law-abiding citizen, could she have felt mushy enough about Cobb to buy some crap explanation from him? Say, that Frank was the dirty one? Or, worse, not buy the explanation but still be willing to let whatever she’d seen slide?

  Maybe, but she wasn’t willing to continue a relationship with the guy, Adam reminded himself. In fact, she’d obviously laid her hopes on the concept that out of sight was out of mind.

  Clearly, from the wiretap, she was shit out of luck if she’d been that foolish.

  He’d spent most of the night and the following morning after she’d presented him with the huckleberry cobbler brooding. It was like trying to ride the surf in. Thinking he’d caught the wave just before he was dumped from his board and sucked back out.

  Was he thinking with his dick even to imagine she could be an innocent? Hey, he wanted her, and it wasn’t okay to have her if she’d played any part at all in Frank’s murder? He didn’t like to call what he felt hope; truth was, the only loose thread he could pull in his determination to prove Frank had been killed on the job, doing his duty, was Naomi Varner aka Kendrick. He wanted her to be that thread. He owed Frank his loyalty.

  But fitting the shy, reserved, frightened woman he was getting to know into the frame designed for a liar and accessory to murder had turned way too quickly into a struggle.

  He already knew, after a stint while he had been assigned to the gang unit, that he didn’t like undercover work. He wasn’t enjoying it this time, either. He didn’t mind being a hard-ass. Deceit, though, rubbed Adam the wrong way. And tonight he was suffering a boatload of guilt, because he’d talked Naomi into going out to dinner with him.

  “Unless you hate eating in other people’s restaurants, let’s get out of town,” he’d suggested when he knocked on her door midday. “I think you need a break.”

  “I...don’t go out very often,” she had said hesitantly. “But that sounds nice.”

  He was pretty sure she had surprised herself by agreeing. After browsing online, he suggested a bistro in Pacific City that seemed to have good reviews. Naomi agreed she’d heard about it and would like to try it.

  He couldn’t do dressy, not out of the one duffel bag, but he changed to black trousers, low black boots and a sports shirt before returning to pick her up in the early evening. Leaving his weapon in the glove compartment tonight ought to be safe.

  When he pulled into Naomi’s driveway, she popped right out, not waiting for him to come to the door. His mouth went dry at the sight of her. He wasn’t sure if what she had on qualified as a dress or a tunic top, but it was rust-red with what looked like a black vine climbing her side. Long-sleeved, high-necked, stretchy and snug fitting, it just covered the subtle curve of her hips and ass. Below were black leggings and what looked like black ballet slippers. Black lace wrought in metal danced from her earlobes. Even though it wasn’t actually raining right this minute, she carried a coat draped over her arm along with her hefty messenger bag.

  The first thing she did was apologize for bringing it. “I just thought I’d be happier keeping it with me. You know. After…”

  Smart girl, was what he thought.

  “I don’t blame you. You look sensational,” he said, with complete honesty.

  Her eyes were warm, free of the shadow of pain and fear. Maybe it was the idea that nobody could find them, that for a few hours she would be safe. If so, it hadn’t occurred to her that they could be followed.

  Or that he was a danger to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling. When he opened the passenger side door, she hopped in.

  The drive down Highway 101 wound dizzyingly. Sometimes they were surrounded by forest, then would unexpectedly emerge on a cliff’s edge high above the turbulent, gray Pacific Ocean. Views would have been even better on a clear day, but the low gray clouds and occasional drizzle added atmosphere.

  Conversation stayed light. They talked about books, movies - although she hadn’t seen many these past two years, as Cape Trouble had no theater and she said she only rented DVDs occasionally - and music. Their tastes intersected enough that they at least spoke the same language. She didn’t ask what he did for a living, thank God
.

  She would, sooner or later.

  He kept stealing glances at her, disconcerted by how different this woman was from the wary one of their previous encounters. Adam remembered thinking he might have been attracted to her, under other circumstances. He’d already accepted that, like it or not, his body reacted to her; no might have been about it. But now...damn. Lit with humor, animated, her face was extraordinarily pretty. More mischievous elf than shy, fey creature barely glimpsed before it fled. And, while she was definitely slight in build, her curves were more pronounced than he’d guessed. His hands wanted to explore every dip and hollow on her body.

  Not happening, he told himself grimly. At least, not yet. Not until he could be sure of her, one way or another.

  Turned out eating with her was an adventure in itself. They shared crab cakes with an aioli that he’d have pronounced fine until she decreed it too strong on the paprika.

  He frowned on the next bite. “You’re right.”

  The merry smile made her eyes sparkle. “Of course I’m right.”

  “Modest, too.”

  “Excellence requires a level of confidence, don’t you think?” she said matter-of-factly.

  He smiled. “I concede your point.”

  Over a really fabulous steak for him and halibut for her, he asked if she’d lived in other parts of the country.

  “Florida, when I was really little. My dad died when I was six. I hardly remember him.” She must have seen the question in his eyes, because she said, “Nothing dramatic. I mean, he didn’t plummet to his death in a sky-diving accident and he wasn’t killed serving overseas. He just...dropped dead. According to Mom, he was grilling on the back patio and wham. He was gone. Turned out he had a flaw in his heart that nobody had ever had reason to notice. I suppose it’s a good way to go, except he was only thirty-seven.” A hint of that shyness returned to her eyes. “That’s probably more than you wanted to know.”

  “No. I’m curious.” Insatiably.

  More to disconcert him.

  “Oh. Well, then, um, Mom remarried a couple of years later.” Her expression was no longer as open or good-humored. Was it because his curiosity was too strong, reminding her to be wary of him? Or did this reserve have to do with her stepfather? “After that we moved a lot,” she said, in a tighter voice. “He’d get bored with a job, or just restless, and we were off again. I hardly ever stayed in the same school for more than a year, if that. So really I’ve lived all over, but mostly in the Southeast. I quit bothering to make friends.”