Sometimes she was sure he was being straight with her. When they talked about their childhoods, their parents. The uncertain moments might be in her head, because she was paranoid and even more jittery than usual.
The something that happened must have been a humdinger.
He could have been interested only because he picked up on her emotions about it.
He’d been all-in when he kissed her. No faking there. And – would he have kissed her at all, if he’d been hired to come after her?
Naomi made a face at the dark ceiling. Why not? Face it, for most guys, sex was just sex, and moral qualms didn’t enter into it. If someone working for Greg, or Donovan Greer, or… Would an FBI agent hire a confederate? She couldn’t imagine. All she knew was, everyone sitting at the table that night lacked moral compass. She’d known that for sure when, two weeks after she had closed the restaurant and taken off, Greer’s opponent in the race for congressional office, a man named James Heath, had been found shot to death, parked in an alley in a really sketchy part of town, lipstick on his face, his pants unzipped and pulled down to his thighs. He’d supposedly given a talk to big supporters in Newport Beach where he raised bucko contributions, then told his aides he wanted to drive home on his own. The assumption was, of course, that he’d taken a detour for a quickie and maybe pissed off a pimp. Who knew? Only that he was dead, his wallet missing and his reputation trashed, too, just as Greg had promised.
She hadn’t even finished reading about the death on Yahoo when Naomi had had to run for the bathroom. She’d barely made it. Afterwards, rinsing her mouth, she thought about James Heath’s wife, who had to suffer humiliation and savage hurt along with grief.
Lying here, Naomi relived for the couple hundredth time that last conversation with Greg, secretly ashamed she’d made up her mind to let him kiss her, to pretend she liked it, even though she knew he was a monster. Would it have made any difference if she hadn’t shrunk from him? Was that when he knew for sure she’d heard too much? Or – would he have kissed her even if he’d already made up his mind to have her killed?
Her mind jumped sideways. The electrifying kiss with Adam might not have meant anything to him except the possibility of getting some. A vacation fling. Men were wired like that, even the ones who were basically good people.
She groaned and rolled over in bed, slapping the pillow over her face.
She shouldn’t have trusted him – but how did you go through life not trusting anyone? And…he had come to her rescue once. His number was in her phone, already called up before she crawled into bed so that all she had to do was touch ‘send’, grateful to know how quick he could get here.
A thought came coldly to her. Even if he was one of the good guys, she couldn’t forget he was here only for a short time. He wouldn’t be around that much longer, and then she’d erase his number from her phone and be totally on her own again.
Unless she decided to trust Daniel Colburn, another man she didn’t know that well, with her Pandora’s box of horrors, not to mention her safety.
At three in the morning she gave up on sleep, pulled a sweater over her pajamas, and turned on the kitchen light before opening cupboard doors and pulling out pots and mixing bowls. Some people went for comfort food; she went in for comfort cooking.
CHAPTER FIVE
Adam might have had breakfast or lunch at her café, but Naomi never stuck her head out of her kitchen to find out. This Tuesday wasn’t as busy as they’d be closer to the weekend, but that didn’t mean she was standing around, either.
She was able to leave at the same time as Bri, and out the front door, too. After a quick stop at the bank to make the deposit, she went home.
To combat her desperate need for a nap, she decided to go for a run. There really wasn’t any reason to think the mugging was anything but her being a lone woman in a deserted alley, she thought. She wouldn’t be carrying her laptop or wallet on a run. Plus, she’d go crazy if she didn’t do something. She hadn’t gotten any exercise in days, which had to be contributing to her sleeplessness and anxiety. Her back wasn’t as sore today, and exercise should be therapeutic, right?
Naomi twitched aside a curtain and peeked down the street. The black Tahoe sat outside the Ingersoll house, but she didn’t see Adam. She wanted to call and ask if he’d go with her…and she didn’t. Staying to herself was healthier for her. The contradictions she sensed in him had her twitchy. No matter what, she couldn’t start counting on him, not when he wouldn’t be around long.
She changed into stretchy running gear, including calf-length pants instead of shorts because the day was really chilly. Long-sleeve shirt, but breathable fabric. Before she went out the door, she removed the square door at the back of her closet and stowed her bag. She’d discovered the cache early on, after moving in. It was a space roomy enough for suitcases and the like. A really thorough search would find it, but the boards were old and didn’t look that different from the ones surrounding them. She tucked her key and phone in pockets, debated sneaking out the back door and decided not to. She did her stretches in the carport, then trotted out to the street, waving to Arthur who was looking out his window.
Her route took her past Adam’s rental. Somehow she wasn’t surprised when he burst out and called after her, “Hey! Wait up and I’ll go with you.”
Relieved and, damn it, dismayed by how powerful that kick of relief was, she turned and jogged in place. “Why don’t you just catch up with me? Keep going, and you’ll see a trailhead.”
He cursed when she kept on, but she guessed it wouldn’t take him long to change, and with his longer legs he wouldn’t be far behind her.
Her muscles had loosened by the time the trail began the climb to the promontory that formed the other arm encircling the crescent of Jasper Beach. A dense but low-lying fog was advancing in off the ocean, as it often did in the afternoon, but hadn’t yet reached the cove.
The trail switchbacked up the steep, rocky slope, between small, twisted Sitka spruce and shore pines that clung wherever they could embed roots in pockets of thin soil. If she looked back, she’d have a great view of the lighthouse on the point, and of the bones of the new resort rearing over Jasper Beach. Instead, she concentrated on her footing, on the burn of muscles, on the flash of movement lower down that told her Adam was gaining on her.
The sleepless night and ever-present anxiety along with taking – what? – a week or ten days off exacted a toll. She was breathing harder than she ought to be this early into her run. No rule said she couldn’t cut this shorter than usual. She shouldn’t let pride push her too far.
Adam still hadn’t caught her when she crested the top, where a semi was passing on the highway something like three quarters of a mile away. To her left, a cliff dropped to the ocean, where waves crashed against rocks instead of beach. The evergreens and madrone up here had a better foothold, but were still too battered by winter storms to achieve much size. The smell of the ocean filled her nostrils and she kicked up speed.
Droplets of moisture clung to branches that she had to dodge. She was smiling when something slapped her arm hard enough to spin her around – and the next second a crack overrode the sound of the surf.
*****
God damn idiot woman, Adam fumed, watching her lithe body in form-fitting, pumpkin orange disappear over the ridge above him. One minute, she was as nervous as a doe in season, the next she lost all sense and trotted out into the open with a target painted on her back.
Crap. He should be back at her place, figuring out where she’d stashed that bag. She’d be gone long enough for him to prowl her computer, unless her passwords were better chosen than most people’s. He’d have liked to get a look at the phone, too, but she might have that with her.
But here he was instead, chasing her down before someone pushed her off the edge of the cliff—
Crack.
Rifle, not handgun. He turned on the after-burners. Sprinting, sweat burning his eyes, he tried to calculate w
here the shot had been taken from.
Crack.
God damn. If she’d gone down—
She was down, all right. The bright color showed up against a basalt outcropping topped with stringy yellow grasses and long whippets of something that might be a wild berry. A fireball gathered force in his chest, but then her head turned when she heard him.
Relief transformed her face. He felt some wild relief of his own, until he saw the grip she had on her arm and the blood running between her fingers. She’d been hit. Wrenching his gaze from her, he yanked out his Glock and slowed, scanning for movement, color that didn’t fit among the monochrome of misty greens and grays and tans.
The shot could have been set up from a hundred yards away, two hundred, farther, depending on how skilled the sniper was. His own black running pants and tee didn’t stand out the way Naomi’s getup did, but they weren’t much better. He’d have rather been in khakis. The landscape was too open up here, too, the available cover made skimpy by the advent of winter, with branches bare.
He passed her with a terse, “Stay down,” not letting himself think about the shock in her eyes as she stared at his weapon. He kept going, moving from one tree contorted by winds to another, his skin crawling from his awareness that none of the trunks were broad enough to shield his body. Bending over, he ran for a pile of rocks, his gaze moving unceasingly.
Crack.
The rock inches from his head splintered. He ducked.
Crack.
Shit. He was pinned down. The shooter was probably trying to buy himself time to get back to a vehicle. He couldn’t still think he could get by Adam to her – unless he hadn’t seen that Adam was carrying.
He weighed the possibility of hunkering down with the idea of ambushing the asshole, but he didn’t like how blind he was here.
He belly-crawled a few yards and risked taking a look. Nothing, nothing…there. A shift that suggested movement. Tan, brown. Then nothing again. The guy had disappeared behind a low-growing evergreen. Still out of Adam’s range. He took a chance and bolted for the next excuse for cover, a couple of madrone trees contorted to grow sideways.
Another flash.
Crack.
This shot hadn’t come anywhere near him. He had to trust Naomi had obeyed him and stayed flat behind the low ridge of volcanic rock. He crouched low, peering around the red tree trunks with peeling bark.
The next flash was metallic. Vehicle door. An engine started up. Adam ran full out, but too late. The sound of the engine had receded long before he reached the highway. He thought it had headed north rather than back toward Cape Trouble, but wasn’t positive.
He kicked a broken branch in frustration, then holstered his weapon and raced back the way he’d come, jumping obstacles. All he could think about now was the blood.
Shouldn’t somebody have heard the shots by now and called 911? Or had the fog muffled sound down below? Hell, maybe this was hunting season around here and nobody had paid any attention; he had no idea, only knew he heard no sirens to suggest help was on its way.
She hadn’t moved. He felt cold for an instant, thinking she’d lost consciousness. What if she’d been hit twice— But then he realized she was looking right at him.
“The shooter took off,” he said.
She nodded and rolled to a sitting position. She was bleeding, but not enough to be life-threatening. Adam yanked his shirt over his head, squatted in front of her and said, “Let me see.”
Without a word, Naomi took her bloody hand away from her upper arm. He ripped the blood-soaked tear wider open, then held her by the elbow and gently wiped with one sleeve of his shirt until he could see that the wound was a furrow rather than an in-and-out. He didn’t think the bullet had splintered bone, but the wound would hurt like hell nonetheless. He used the other sleeve of his cotton tee to wrap it snugly. She cooperated by clutching the body of the shirt to her chest. Not until he was done did he let himself meet her stare.
“You’re a police officer.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say?”
“I usually don’t.” Which was honest; women in particular reacted in several predictable ways, and he didn’t like any of them. “Can you walk?” he asked. “I could call for an aide car, but it would be a wait. Or I can carry you.”
She looked at him like he was crazy. “Of course I can walk.”
“If we head for the highway, we could probably catch a ride, but it’s uphill getting there.”
“And who is going to stop for a half-naked guy and a bloody woman?” She shook her head. “The trail is fine.”
It wasn’t fine. She swayed when she first stood and her eyes did a whirlygig. He caught her as her knees buckled.
*****
The wave of dizziness subsided. Naomi found herself held tight against a hard male chest that happened to be naked. Adam’s heart slammed beneath her ear. As her eyes regained focus, the first thing she saw was the scattering of dark hair over very nice muscles – and the thin line of hair leading down his flat belly.
She closed her eyes. Gathered herself, and straightened. Not waiting for him, she turned and began to walk. She was not letting him sling her over his shoulder and carry her down, playing hero.
She cradled her arm with the other one. The fierce burning helped keep at bay the other pain – the feeling of betrayal cramping beneath her breastbone.
Without asking whether she wanted help or not, Adam wrapped an arm around her waist. She didn’t lean at all. In fact, she did her best to pretend he wasn’t there. At the same time, she wouldn’t be childish and slap him away. It would be stupid to fall when she didn’t need to.
They dropped over the edge of the promontory and started toward the first sharp turn of the switchback.
“You came looking for me, didn’t you?”
He cut a glance at her. “I did.”
Her feet skidded on pebbles but he caught her weight and held her until she was able to resume walking.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think you were honest with investigators. I think you know a lot more than you said.”
She didn’t fire back a denial. If he’d found her, he likely wasn’t the only one who had. So the mugger wasn’t a mugger. He was…somebody trying to find her insurance policy. Or, more accurately, where she’d emailed or stored that insurance policy. Which a semi-skilled IT person probably could, given unlimited access to her computer. She’d done her best, but— Oh, face it. The average twelve-year-old could find what she’d tried to hide.
Her mind wasn’t working right. It was hard to think beyond putting each foot in front of the other. The fog had engulfed Jasper Beach, giving the eerie illusion that she and Adam were on an island floating in the grey sea. But they were about to descend into it, which would make visibility poor. She was already chilled, and mist beaded on Adam’s sleek bare shoulders and dark hair. She hoped he hadn’t noticed she was shivering.
Pure determination kept her plodding on.
He’d lied to her. It was all lies.
Naomi didn’t know she’d said that aloud until he said, “Not all.”
She snorted. “You mean, you like my French toast.”
His arm around her tightened as they reached a couple of natural steps of basalt, made treacherous by loose pebbles and dirt.
Treachery everywhere.
“Careful here.” His arm was a solid bar, his voice gentle in her ear.
She would never run this trail again.
No, she realized; she would never see this trail again. Now she had no choice. Two choices: show him the video, or take off. Of course, she had to slip away from Adam Rostov before she could flee.
Her forehead crinkled. Funny, he wasn’t one of the detectives who’d talked to her back then. She’d have remembered that face. Maybe the death of Santa Lucia Detective Frank Donahue had become a cold case being stirred, like the politician’s murder was.
The pain kept expanding. From
both sources, arm and heart. Maybe at first she’d been numb.
Surprised to discover she was walking on pavement, Naomi lifted her head. Fog swirled around them. Houses formed indistinct shapes in the gray.
“Here we are.” Relief infused Adam’s voice. Had he thought she wouldn’t make it?
Here seemed to be his Tahoe. She tried to keep plodding, but he stopped her, unlocking with his free hand and opening the passenger door.
“Upsy daisy.”
“I’m going home.”
“Sorry. Hospital first.” His expression was utterly inflexible.
“But then I’ll have to…” She trailed off.
“Report this to the police?” His voice dripped irony and what might be anger. “Seems like the logical thing to do. Somebody shot you, Naomi. It is the law.”
She nodded dully and allowed herself to be boosted up into the seat. Had she really thought she could escape him this quickly?
He told her he had to grab his wallet, and she nodded, not moving. He’d be keeping an eye out the window. Besides, the way she felt, she wouldn’t get far. He was right; she did need to go to the hospital before anything else.
The short wait for him gave her time to think, as much as she could through the burning pain and the muffling effect of what might be shock.
He knew who she was, so continuing to lie, to say, I have no idea what this could be about, was pretty much a no go.
Given the name Naomi Varner, anyone doing a quick internet search would learn too much about her.
She closed her eyes. She should have gone with her instincts and taken off several days ago, instead of willfully blinding herself and going on a date with a man who had been too interested in her. How stupid had she been to believe this extraordinary looking guy, who just happened to be here on vacation, had been blitzed by his attraction to her? After years spent in the land of the beautiful, she knew what she wasn’t.
She kept her eyes closed when he got in, started the engine and backed out of the short driveway. Panic drummed in her. Run, or trust him and Daniel enough to tell them what happened and show them the video?
See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2) Page 8
