The Exorcist Who Loved Me
Page 6
As though sensing her distress, Lawe moved closer, his shoulder a spot of warmth behind her.
“I’ll call you,” Jake said. He glanced at Lawe, then back to her. “And the two of us can figure out a plan.”
“Sounds good,” she forced herself to say.
Jake left and Holly exhaled, tension seeping out of her shoulders.
Lawe glanced around at the exposed brick walls and the high ceilings with thick timber beams. “The building looks old. Late eighteen hundreds?”
Anderson smiled. “Eighteen sixty-nine. Rock Trust was the first bank in Boulder. Founded to meet the needs of the gold miners.”
“That explains a lot.”
Holly shot him a suspicious look and he winked.
Anderson hooked his elbow with Holly’s and pulled her toward his glass-walled office. “You don’t need to wait in line. Tell me what you need and I’ll get you sorted.”
“That’s great of you. Thank you. Apparently, Paul had a safe-deposit box I didn’t know about. Found the key in his things and thought I’d check to see if he opened the box here.”
Anderson stopped walking. “A safe-deposit box?”
She fished the little envelope out of her back pocket. “Yes. Do you think this is a Rock Trust key?”
Anderson stared at her a moment before taking the envelope. He extracted the key, frowned, and held it up to the light. “Impossible to tell. There’s no bank routing number stamped on it. I’ll take you to Mindy at the safe-deposit desk. She’ll be able to help you.”
Mindy, a trim, efficient woman in her forties, took only a few minutes to tap away at her computer and confirm that Paul did not have a safe-deposit box at Rock Trust. “Check his account statements, hon. Wherever he opened that box, there’s going to be bills and that’ll tell you which bank he used.”
“Thanks.” Holly slipped the key back in her pocket. Whatever address Paul had given when he’d opened the box, it hadn’t been their home. He’d kept this particular secret well.
Anderson walked them out. “Do you have plans tonight? I’d love to have you over for dinner. Catch up on things. My wife misses you and Sadie and Theo.”
As if Anderson’s third bridezilla even remembered her name.
Lawe put a proprietary hand on her back, pressing a warning.
“Thanks, but we’ve got plans,” she said.
“Sure, sure. Another time.” Anderson held the door open for them. “This is none of my business, but any idea why Paul might have a safe-deposit box you didn’t know about?”
“No.” Holly squinted in the sharp Colorado sunlight, bright after the serenely dim interior of the bank.
“Might have something to do with the girl he was dating,” Lawe said genially. “You remember her, right? Left a party at your house right before she and Paul died.”
Holly tensed. The chatter of people, the calls of street performers, the rush of traffic filled the silent space left by Lawe’s jab.
Anderson had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Holly. Paul wanted her there and I…well, I let him. I’ve always felt terrible about that, knowing how you’d feel if you found out.”
Holly hitched the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. “Yeah. Well. As things ended, I’m glad Celia was there instead of me. Guess you indirectly saved my life.”
They left Anderson with his mouth hanging open.
One hour and three banks later, they got lucky.
She and Lawe sat in the small, private room the attendant had shown them to. The metal safe-deposit box sat on a table in front of them. Holly turned the key in the lock and lifted the lid. They both peered into the box, Lawe’s head so close his dark hair tangled with hers. She breathed in his comforting, clean scent.
“Papers,” she said. “Looks like bank statements.”
She pulled out the stack of documents held together by a binder clip and handed them to Lawe. There was something else in the bottom of the box. A small, navy leather book.
Holly opened it and scanned the first page. She swallowed hard against the fear expanding in her throat.
Lawe was thumbing through the documents. “These are mortgage applications. But not Paul’s. Different name on each one.” When she didn’t respond, he looked up. “What’s that?”
“Passbook for a bank account. In the Caymans.” Holly flipped the small book around to show him the numbers, her fingers trembling. “Paul opened this last year and deposited fifty thousand dollars.”
He took the bankbook from her, scanned it. “This could mean a lot of things.”
She cleared her throat, steadying the tremor. “If it wasn’t for the mortgage applications, I’d think he really was planning to run away with Celia. But there’s no good reason for Paul to have a stack of other people’s mortgage applications. That in itself is probably illegal. Privacy laws or something.”
Lawe slid the documents back to her side of the table. “The properties listed on the mortgages are all over Colorado. Boulder, Denver, Breckenridge, Vail, among others. Some pricey houses in there too. And all these applications went through an outfit called Better Brokers. Does that mean anything to you?”
She flipped through the stack. He was right. “They’re a mortgage broker. Paul used them for the loan on our house. They shop your application around to different banks, try to get you the best deal on interest rate and closing costs.” She shook her head. “Fifty thousand dollars…I always thought if I lucked into a fortune, I’d be happy. But this has bad news written all over it.”
Lawe turned his Falcon wagon off Broadway and started the winding tree-lined climb to Holly’s home. He had the windows rolled down, letting in the cool, crisp fall air. There were worse places to be stuck than Boulder. Small, laid-back, sunny, and just enough dead people to keep things interesting, but not so many he couldn’t breathe.
Beside him, Holly slumped in the passenger seat. She’d been brooding ever since they’d found Paul’s safe-deposit box. Not that he blamed her. It was possible to dismiss Celia’s murder theory as the fantasy of a spoiled brat who imagined everything revolved around her, but an offshore account stuffed with money, and a safe-deposit box stuffed with other people’s mortgage applications, suggested some kind of scam.
Late afternoon sun fell on her shiny hair and that pink T-shirt molded to her curves. When he breathed in, her lemon-and-sunshine scent made him restless. He stole a glance at the analog dashboard clock. They had about an hour until she had to pick up the kids.
He was an asshole for even letting that thought cross his mind. She was a grieving widow, a confused, vulnerable woman trying to piece together the puzzle of her douchebag husband’s death.
He clenched his fingers on the steering wheel to keep from reaching over and touching her. Man, that kiss last night. He’d meant it as a sweet little nothing. Instead he’d spent the past day wound tight and wanting what he shouldn’t have.
He shifted the station wagon into a lower gear and shifted his brain back to business, where it should be. “What are you going to do about the money?”
She blew out a deep breath, and he kept his eyes off the rhinestone flower on her chest sparkling in the sunshine. “I’ll try to access the account online. Find out if the money is still there or what he did with it. As for the documents, I don’t know what they could mean. I don’t even know who to ask or if I should.”
“There’s a computer whiz I know out in San Francisco. He was pretty happy when I cleansed his Nob Hill house. If I send him the mortgage applications, he might be able to do some digging, see if there’s a pattern, some clue to why Paul kept them. He’ll be discreet.”
“That would be great. Thank you.” She hesitated, then placed her hand over his on the gearshift. “Thank you for coming with me today. It was nice to have a friend.”
“All part of the service.”
The station wagon’s engine whined as the road grew steeper. They left the cookie-cutter ranch houses behind and headed up the hill to the oversized spreads that made up Holly’s neighborhood. Privacy fences sprang up, surrounding rambling stone houses and wide lawns.
“Were you serious when you told Jake you want to sell the house?” he asked.
Holly slumped back in her seat, gazed out the window. “Yes. I should have put the house on the market months ago, but I didn’t want to deal with it. Celia was right that Paul left a good-sized life insurance policy, but I can’t keep wasting it on the leftovers of Paul’s life. He liked expensive things.”
“It’s only been six months. People need time to grieve before making big changes.”
“Everyone keeps telling me that, but the time is right. The kids and I will be happy in a smaller place. Less for me to take care of. More time for me to open my own business.”
“Not real estate, I hope?”
She laughed, and something eased within him now that she didn’t sound so worried.
“I’m going to start my own bakery. Home-based if I can get the health department approvals. You know how so many kids have food allergies these days?” When he nodded, she continued. “I’m going to create allergy-friendly birthday cakes. Bakeries are a no-no for most food-allergic kids, so their parents bake cakes at home. Nothing wrong with that, but not all parents can do the kind of cake decorating I do.”
Excitement bubbled in her voice and he smiled. “Judging by the cakes and cookies lined up on your counter, you’ll hit the Fortune 500 of bakers. Good plan.”
“Thanks.” She sank bank into her seat, this time looking content instead of dejected. “Once this thing with Paul isn’t hanging over my head, I’m going to reboot my life.”
“I wish I could be around to see that.” The words were out before his brain caught up with his tongue. He winced. What the hell was wrong with him?
Holly angled her body his way and her hand stole onto his thigh. His muscles went rigid.
“I was wondering…” The huskiness in her voice held a new, tentative note. “I don’t have to pick the kids up until five. I mean, we’ve got some time. That is…I’m not very good at this. Bringing up the kids is the total opposite of sexy but it’s been such a long time and I know we don’t know each other, but I feel as if I’ve known you much longer than twenty-four hours and since we’re both unattached adults and—”
“Right.” Lawe stepped on the brakes and the car fishtailed as he swerved to a more-or-less straight stop at the curb. He slammed the parking brake home and reached over, pulling her surprised face into his hands and crushing his mouth to hers.
The taste of her shot through him and he deepened the kiss, needing at least one part of him inside her. His control disintegrated like a ghost trapped too long on the mortal plane. He had to slow down before he scared the hell out of her with this hot, desperate rush.
Or not.
Holly snapped open her seat belt, locked her arms around his neck, and dragged his head down to her even as she pushed her body against his, knocking her knee into the gearshift in her urgency. “Ouch,” she muttered against his lips. “Don’t stop.”
“Not a problem.”
He clenched her to him, her breasts flattening against his chest, and more than anything ever in his life, he wanted to feel her naked skin against his. He slid a hand under her shirt, up her spine, the feel of her skin imprinting itself on his hand.
Bam, bam, bam. Angry pounding reverberated on the windshield.
Holly sprang back, taking all that luscious warmth and softness with her. Her reddened lips parted, her face flushing.
Dragging his gaze from her, the most tempting woman he’d ever seen, Lawe turned in his seat to find a petite, white-haired woman glaring at him through the open window.
“This is a family neighborhood.” The Pomeranian she held in her arms barked its agreement. “There are children on this street.”
As cottony fuzz cleared from his head, he heard the thud of a basketball hitting the pavement and the sounds of kids shouting to each other. Holly was trying to shrink into a tiny ball in the passenger seat.
“Holly Archer, I’m surprised at you,” the woman snapped, looking like a neighborhood association president confronting a homeowner with pink flamingos on her lawn.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chen.” Holly’s voice was an embarrassed squeak.
“We were just leaving.” Lawe put the car in gear and the tiny woman stepped back with a harrumph.
Holly groaned. “I haven’t been caught making out in a car since high school.”
He squeezed her thigh, letting his hand linger as he slowed the car. They’d reached her house. “You know, this baby has a big backseat. We could park in your driveway, and I’ll try to get to third base.”
Holly giggled and scooted closer to nuzzle his neck. The wagon’s left tires drifted onto the grass.
“Put it on ice, guys.” Celia popped into the backseat like a ghostly cold shower. “I want an update, pronto, since you totally ditched me.”
Swearing, Lawe brought all four wheels back onto the concrete of the driveway. If he’d had his mind on the job, he’d have guessed Celia would appear as soon as they were in range of her tether.
“Ugh. I forgot about her,” Holly said.
Now probably wasn’t the time to explain he had ways to ensure their privacy from the spirit world. “You couldn’t wait until we were in the house?”
In the rearview, Celia rolled her eyes. “You leave me alone all afternoon while you’re off adventuring. This is my death we’re investigating, dammit. I want to know the scoop.”
Lawe parked the station wagon while Holly filled Celia in on what they’d found.
Ten minutes later, the three of them were in Paul’s basement office. Sitting in the big leather chair, Holly had a web browser open to a bank in the Caymans. Celia perched on the desk to the right of the computer, her face tense.
Lawe leaned over the back of Holly’s chair, her hair tickling his chin. “Think you can crack his password?”
Holly settled her fingers over the keyboard. The glow from the monitor glinted on her determined face. “Paul wasn’t very creative, and he didn’t have a great memory for details. He used the same password on all his accounts.” She typed quickly and hit submit.
The welcome page for the account opened.
Lawe whistled. “Convenient, if not the greatest information security in the world. What did he use? His birthday? Twins’ birthday? Your anniversary?”
Holly snorted and moved the mouse so the cursor hovered over the “Account Balance” button. “As if Paul would use anything to do with me or the kids. No, his password is big swinging dick. All one word.”
“Excuse me?”
Celia laughed. “Sales-guy speak for hotshot. The one bringing in the biggest clients, the most money, the grand poo-bah of parting people from their savings. Plus they all think they have huge dicks. In my experience, they overrate their sales skills as well as the size of their—”
“For God’s sake, Celia.” Holly shot her a glare and the ghost shut up.
Lawe shook his head. Holly and the ghost were forming some kind of bizarre frenemy relationship. Maybe Paul’s bank account would give them enough information that he could convince Holly to banish Celia. Having her late husband’s dead mistress hanging around was all kinds of wrong.
“Okay, Paul, let’s see what you had going on,” Holly muttered.
She clicked the button. For a moment, the screen went white with only the blue-and-yellow bank logo rotating in the center.
The account balance screen lo
aded.
“Holy shit,” Celia breathed.
Two million dollars. American.
“That’s a big dick,” Lawe said.
Chapter Six
Holly braced half a peeled apple on the cutting board and pressed down on her wicked-sharp chef’s knife. When that half was in long slices, she reversed angle and let the knife go rapid-fire, machine-gunning the apple into tiny bits.
Two million dollars.
Four hours later, that number still punched fear in her gut. Paul sure hadn’t gotten that kind of money from real estate commissions. What had her husband been up to?
And how much trouble was she in now that she’d found his secret stash?
She blew a lock of hair out of her face and grabbed the next apple. The cake recipe called for three. Not nearly enough. She should make something that required a lot more chopping. Maybe a big pot of some complicated vegetable soup.
Not that she was the least bit hungry. A muffin-sized lump of dread filled her stomach.
Lawe had scanned the mortgage documents and e-mailed them to his friend in San Francisco. All she could do now was wait and worry.
Lawe hoisted himself onto the counter and chucked a handful of apple pieces into his mouth. “What are you baking now?”
Thwack, thwack, thwack. Her knife slammed against the cutting board, decimating the other half of the fruit. “Apple cake.”
“Holly.” He put a hand on her arm, stilling the knife. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”
Two million dollars. More than enough to kill for. Was she in danger? Were her kids? And had she put Lawe at risk by involving him?
Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t want to ask those questions out loud. She might not like the answers. Instead, she snatched another green apple from the glass bowl. “Sure. Everything’ll be okay.”
Lawe sighed, and she attacked the apple. Leaning back, he snatched a jack-o’-lantern cookie from her Nightmare Before Christmas cookie jar. “How do you make all this good stuff and not weigh two hundred pounds?”