When his phone vibrated, he saw with satisfaction that the number was unfamiliar. “Rostov,” he said.
“This better be good,” Sam grumbled. “I cut a meeting short.”
“You’re not in the office?”
“No, I went out to my car.”
“Good. This is going to interest you.”
Sam listened in grim silence. “Damn,” he said finally. “Congressman Greer?”
“The shit will hit the fan.”
“You believe her?”
“Yes. If the video shows what she says it does, Greer doesn’t have a defense.”
“Unless he comes right out and says kill James Heath for me, he’ll think of a story to explain anything he said.”
“That’ll be made tougher by the fact that he’s sitting at the table with Greg Cobb at all.”
“He can claim he thought Cobb was a businessman interested in supporting him.”
“I don’t think that’ll wash if he says what I think he will.”
“Damn,” Sam said again.
Then, of course, he challenged Naomi’s belief that the third guy at the table was FBI. Easy to say, but wasn’t it likelier that Greer had wanted reassurance and Cobb had provided it?
“I can’t deny that’s possible. Naomi did see the guy show identification, though. She also had the impression Greer had heard of the guy at the very least, maybe had dealings with him before but this was the first face to face. Also, her current problems are suggestive.”
Sam wasn’t much for swearing, but he let an obscenity slip. “She can’t describe him at all?”
“He was sitting, remember, but she thinks medium height. Brown hair. Nothing memorable. She barely saw his face in profile.” Adam coughed. “I told her I could guarantee it wasn’t you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam growled. “Me, I’m distinctive. That’s what Gail says.”
“Distinctive. Right.”
“Damn.” Sam seemed stuck on the word, which sounded more heartfelt each time he said it. The brief hint of amusement was gone. “There’s not much to go on.”
“Either he’s on the in enough to have heard the conversation about the chef, or else someone told him. I’m assuming there isn’t a lot of gossip around your office.”
Sam grunted. “Cobb could have told him.”
“But why would he?” He gave Sam a moment to process that before saying, in a harder voice, “Something else to go on. He’s here. He’s been here since mid-day yesterday at a minimum, and probably at least a day longer than that.”
“Why longer?”
“He’d already found out where she worked, at a minimum. It’s conceivable he followed us from there, kept an eye on her house and saw her set off for the run, then drove up the highway to set up for the shot. There are quite a few restaurants in town, though, and I doubt he wanted to ask for her by name, because somebody might remember. I think it would have taken him another day to chat up locals until someone mentioned her name without him asking for it.”
“You went straight to her café.”
“Yeah, but I did ask. Said somebody had recommended this place to eat, that I couldn’t remember what it was called, but I thought the cook was a Naomi something. I didn’t want her to know who I was right off the bat, but later…” He shrugged. “No big deal. I wasn’t planning a crime.”
That earned him another grunt of concession.
“One other thing,” Adam said. “The guy shot her from close to two hundred yards out. I don’t know about your snipers, but ours train at shorter distances than that.”
“We have agents who do, but it’s rare. Usually they’re ex-military.”
“You can eliminate anyone who is female or black, six foot four and blond, redheaded or balding—”
“Or has a big nose,” Sam said blandly.
“Or has a big nose. Then look at who can shoot like that, would have been in a position to hear about Naomi, and just happens to be out of town right now.”
“And if I don’t come up with anyone? Or a too long list of possibles?”
“We worry about it then. In the meantime, I’m trying to keep her alive. Ellen won’t forgive you if anything happens to me.”
“Sure, lay that one on me.” Sam sighed. “Okay. This number should be safe for now. Stay safe.”
“Will do.”
He went back to his restless pacing, interrupted when a tan SUV he didn’t recognize pulled into the driveway. He did recognize the man who got out and came to the side of the house, arms full.
Adam opened the door. “Sheriff. I didn’t expect you.”
Alex Mackay’s smile momentarily lessened the somber look in his eyes. “It happens that I live in Cape Trouble. It’s a lot prettier than North Fork, and worth the commute. I figured I could handle this errand myself.”
Adam stood back. “Come on in.”
Mackay did, his gaze sweeping the interior the way Adam’s did every time he entered a room. “I had a thought,” he said after a minute. “The intruder didn’t find anything when he searched, but what if he left something?”
An electronic bug.
“Seems unlikely. He didn’t know about me, then, and it’s pretty damn unlikely Naomi was going to talk to herself about where she’d hidden her insurance packet.”
Mackay shrugged his acknowledgement as he set two vests on the table.
“I don’t have the electronic equipment to be positive, but I’ve searched as well as I can. It’s not a very big house. I didn’t find anything.” And hadn’t mentioned that search to Naomi.
“Just wanted to be sure you’d thought about it.” He nodded at the Kevlar he’d brought. “My negotiator is a woman, and of course she was fitted for a vest. She’s a lot taller than Ms. Kendrick, but lean. She doesn’t wear it day to day, and is happy to lend it.”
“You get much use out of her training?” Adam asked, curious.
Mackay smiled again. “You’d be surprised. Most of the time we call for her in domestic situations, but every so often something else comes up. Did Daniel tell you about the bank robbery this summer?”
“In Cape Trouble?” Adam said incredulously.
The sheriff chuckled. “You wouldn’t think, would you? A drugged out idiot thought the teller would hand over a little money, no problem, only it just happened that a Cape Trouble officer took a break to deposit his check. The idiot flipped out when he saw the uniform, took a potshot and then some hostages. As it happens, my negotiator, Rebecca, didn’t get there until it was all over. Daniel talked the fool out on his own.”
Laughing, Adam said, “And aren’t we lucky so many of them are idiots.”
“You can say that again.” Between one blink and the next, Mackay’s face became more guarded. “Ms. Kendrick.”
Adam half-turned, bothered that he hadn’t heard her coming.
The sheriff introduced himself and expressed his regret for her “troubles.” It sounded downright courtly.
She thanked him and said she was about to put dinner on and would he like to stay? “I can have it on the table in less than half an hour,” she coaxed.
Not happy with the way she was avoiding his gaze, Adam said nothing.
Mackay surrendered without a fight. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, and apparently had no one waiting at home, because he didn’t reach for his phone.
As she worked, Naomi was subdued but pleasant, even friendly. Call him a jackass, but Adam didn’t like seeing her cordiality to another man when she apparently wasn’t speaking to him.
After a few minutes Mackay excused himself to use the john, however, and Naomi turned from her cutting board to look at Adam. “I was really bitchy earlier. What happened was…two-sided, but it scared me and I wanted to blame you. I’m sorry,” she said simply.
“I’m the one who started it,” he admitted.
She offered him a small, twisted smile. “It’s my fault you were mad. The rest of what I said, though, is still true. This…isn’t a good time.�
��
No, it wasn’t, but he had a bad feeling this was the only time they’d have. What he felt for her was a first for him, and it was powerful. If they could learn to trust each other, he could see them having a stab at a future together. Adam found he really wanted the chance to find out if that was possible, but he heard Mackay coming and could only nod.
Appearing relieved, she went back to dicing tomatoes. She already had hot water on to boil and a frying pan heating. His stomach growled as he wondered what she was making. It was bound to be good.
He wondered if she’d have come out of her bedroom and offered to cook if she hadn’t heard that someone else was here.
Even given what she’d said, he was surprised she could get a meal on the table so quickly. Sautéed vegetables that seemed to include squash as well as bell peppers in a couple of colors and those diced stewed tomatoes were stirred into whole wheat rotini, with a sauce that included cheese she’d grated and evaporated milk and who knew what else. Fortunately, she’d made a mountain, because he and Mackay both had seconds followed by thirds.
“Ah-h,” the sheriff finally breathed, leaning back in his chair. “That was fantastic.”
She smiled at him, her face momentarily more relaxed and happier than Adam had seen it since the night he took her out. “Probably better than whatever microwave dinner you planned,” she teased.
Mackay grinned. “Frozen burritos.”
“I baked cookies the other night. So many I had to freeze most of them.” She made an apologetic face. “If anybody’s interested, I’m defrosting some.”
Adam, for one, had been acutely aware of the plastic container of cookies on the counter.
“I cook when I get stressed,” she explained. “These are white chocolate and pecan. Not creative but good.”
She used the microwave to warm a plateful and brought them to the table. Somehow he found room for several, as did Mackay. Naomi nibbled at one, more to keep them from noticing how little she’d eaten than because she wanted one, at a guess.
When the sheriff finally rose, a take-home container of more cookies in his hand, Adam said, “I’ll walk you out,” and under Naomi’s alarmed gaze strapped on the tactical vest and grabbed his flashlight. He hoped she hadn’t noticed that he was always armed these days. “Thought I’d take a look around,” he said.
Outside, Mackay leaned against the still closed driver side door. “I’ll wait.”
Nights here were uncommonly dark to Adam’s eyes, because he was used to city lights that stretched for so many miles, stars were dimly seen at best. Or, hell, maybe smog had something to do with the lack of clarity of the night sky in southern California.
He hadn’t seen a lot of stars since he’d reached the Oregon coast, though, and he wouldn’t be seeing any tonight. He’d been stunned when he read that the annual rainfall on this stretch of coast was seventy-two inches a year – and that somewhere between eleven and twelve of those inches fell in November. That figure for one month alone was damn near the rainfall for an entire year in L.A. He’d heard the patter start on the roof not long after he and Naomi had gotten home, and it was coming down hard now. Made him think he’d been lucky with the weather since he got here. It had drizzled a lot, but not poured until now.
Nonetheless, he circled her house, half wishing any part of her yard had been fenced to make the sightline more difficult for a shooter, but few yards in Jasper Beach were fenced, and those were mostly low ones that confined yappy little dogs as elderly as their owners. He’d have been a lot happier if Naomi had had an attached garage, too, but would have settled for a solid back to the carport. Instead, a sort of shed that probably held the lawn mower formed one corner, leaving a ten foot or wider opening into her back yard, which was open to the yards on the street backing hers.
A few porch lights tried to penetrate the sheets of rain. Adam was already soaked in the five minutes it took him to make the full circle and return to where the sheriff waited, gaze roving.
“Maybe you and she both should decamp,” he said. “Could she find someone to fill in at the restaurant?”
He only had the same thoughts ten times a day. In the end, it always came down to the same conclusion. “What good is a temporary fix?”
Mackay made a rumbly sound Adam took for agreement and swung himself behind the wheel in his SUV. Watching him, Adam winced in sympathy. He wondered if the guy was still healing from whatever had happened, or if this was as good as it was going to be. If so, that must be hard to accept.
Once the visitor had backed out, he let himself back in the house, to find Naomi washing dishes at a furious rate, her body language tense. At the sound of the door, she turned and took in his soggy state.
“I’ll get you a towel. No, forget that. I’ll grab some dry clothes from your duffel, too, if you don’t mind me poking in it. No point in you dripping your way through the house. The washer and dryer are right there. I’ll put a load in as soon as you change.”
He looked down at himself ruefully. “Good idea.” He hadn’t anticipated getting sopping wet so fast.
She dried her hands, then left the kitchen long enough to produce a towel, dry chinos, knit boxer shorts and a sweatshirt from his duffel. “Here,” she said, thrusting the pile at him. Then she turned her back on him and plunged her hands into the dishwater again.
The utility area was barely an alcove. Adam hesitated and stepped behind the washer. The vest, flashlight and handgun he laid atop the dryer. The vest had kept his shirt from being as soaked as his pants, which landed with a wet splat when he dropped them onto the floor. Goosebumps rose from the chill. He’d already had a suspicion the cottage wasn’t well insulated. A cold draft from around the door motivated him to towel himself dry briskly.
Instead of getting dressed, he wrapped the towel around his hips. “You mind if I take a shower?”
“Feel free,” she said, without so much as glancing over her shoulder.
Maybe just as well. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d like what she saw if she did, though. Leaving the flashlight and vest where they were, he took his weapon and the clothes and started through the kitchen, passing not three feet behind her. He’d reached the doorway when the back of his neck tingled and he quit feeling cold. His body stirring, he came to a sudden stop and turned to find her stealing a look at him. Half-turned from the sink, she stood absolutely still, her gaze traveling slowly upwards over his body until it locked with his. Soapy water dripped unheeded from her hand to the floor. Her eyes were dilated, dark with panic…and need.
Just like that, he couldn’t find enough oxygen to take his next breath. She didn’t seem to be breathing, either.
They stared at each other for a long, hungry moment, before a stricken expression came over her face and she whirled to face the sink again.
“Please go,” she said in a choked voice.
He had to do what she asked.
*****
After having driven around a couple of blocks, his searching gaze sweeping yards and rooftops and shrubbery, Adam finally pulled into Naomi’s driveway. It had only taken three days of having an around-the-clock bodyguard for the routine to become familiar. She knew better than to leap out before he came around to protect her with his body for the short distance into the house.
As he reached for his door handle, Naomi burst out, “Why hasn’t anything happened?” She sounded like a fretful child and didn’t care.
Two more days had come and gone since she agreed not to run. Two more evenings spent shut in the small cottage with him. Now she was facing a third, and she didn’t know if she could stand it.
Adam’s swift look was inscrutable. “He’ll make a mistake.”
She nodded, because that’s what he wanted. All she could think was, Mistake? Which he will make one? And what kind of mistake?
Gee, what if Adam was the one to make the mistake?
What if he made that mistake, and he was killed because of her? How would she live with that?
Apparently satisfied he’d settled her and obviously unaware of the path her too vivid imagination had taken, he got out and walked around the back of the Tahoe. Once she slid to the ground, he slammed the door, wrapped an arm securely around her and hustled her the fifteen feet to the house, his free hand on the butt of his gun. He let her unlock and open the door while he stood behind her, head turning unceasingly.
She knew the routine inside, too. They stepped in together, after which he pushed her gently to one side by the washer and dryer, locked the door behind them and then walked through the house. She waited frozen in place, irrationally infuriated when he returned smiling. “All clear.”
Only then did he let her go to her bedroom to remove the Kevlar vest, which was miserable to wear. She was afraid it was going to stink when she returned it to the sheriff’s department negotiator, Rebecca Walker. Adam didn’t want her taking it off even when she was back in the kitchen at the café.
“Someone could trick you into opening the back door, or rush the front. The vest could save you.”
Fine, but she sweated like a pig in it, and it was heavy, and…she was being petulant. She knew that, but she had now spent forty-eight plus hours wanting to scream, and only half the reason was the bone deep terror because somebody wanted to kill her.
The other half was Adam Rostov.
The night she saw him walk through her kitchen wearing nothing but a towel slung around his waist, his dark hair standing on end after being roughly dried, water still beaded on his shoulders and back and tanned, muscular calves, she had waited only until he was in the shower to race for her bedroom and shut herself in. And stay there.
But she couldn’t huddle behind a closed door every day for hours on end. So the next day she’d resolved to play it casually, as if they were friendly acquaintances who happened to be stuck with each other for a while.
It was good that he cooperated, of course, but the result was that they hung out talking, her actually forgetting for long stretches why he was really here and believing he was just a guy on vacation who liked her. She wanted to know him, and there was at least the illusion that he felt that same hunger.
See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2) Page 15
