by Sara Rosett
Jack rolled the chain between his finger and thumb and focused on it as he said, “Did you want to see me again? If you went to Covent Garden and found Nico, I’d know. If you didn’t,” he shrugged and let go of the chain. The ring fell heavily into the hollow between her breasts.
“So when I didn’t show up...you assumed I was done, that I’d gone back to my life and didn’t care what happened to you?”
“That’s all I could assume. I didn’t know the package had been delayed.”
“So when you got the message from Nico that I was here, you thought...what?”
“I didn’t know what to think. I hoped you’d reconsidered and would be willing to pitch in to help me out of this rather awkward spot.”
“Awkward spot? I think being the target of several police investigations is a bit more than awkward.”
“Precarious? Risky? Are those better descriptions?”
“Closer to the truth, anyway.” Zoe couldn’t help returning his smile. She wasn’t normally one to press people to define their thoughts and feelings, but Jack was always so hard to read. “But now that you know I came as soon as I got your package, what do you think?” As soon as she asked the question, she wanted to take it back. It was too revealing.
“It’s perfect timing.”
He could only mean one thing. Zoe’s heart seemed to shrivel. “Right.” She threw open her suitcase and dug through the clothes. “For the flash drive. Of course. I’ll just change and we can get that taken care of—”
“That is just like you.” Jack caught her hand and pulled her to his chest. “You show a glimmer of feeling and then throw the defenses up as fast as you can. I meant, it’s perfect timing in several different ways.”
Now her breathing was totally out of control. She noticed that Jack’s wasn’t too steady either.
He’d just dipped his head toward hers when there was a knock at the door.
They both froze. “Room service?” Jack whispered.
“No. They don’t have room service here,” Zoe whispered.
“Were you expecting someone?”
Zoe shook her head and called out, “Yes? Who is it?”
A masculine voice sounded through the door. “Zoe? It’s Sam.”
“Sam?” Jack asked.
“What’s he doing here?” Zoe murmured.
“You know him?”
“He’s a friend from Dallas.”
“You brought a friend to London with you?” Suddenly there was quite a bit more space between them.
“Of course not. He happened to be on the same flight.”
“Zoe?” Sam called again. “Should I come back later?”
“No, it’s okay,” Zoe yelled then whispered to Jack, “I’ll get rid of him. Hide in the bathroom.”
Jack looked mulish at that, so she said, “You don’t want anyone to know you’re here, right?”
Jack looked in the bathroom. “No exit.” He headed for the balcony doors.
“I don’t even know if those open,” Zoe said. “Oh, they do.”
She closed the doors behind Jack and did a quick visual sweep of the room. The maid had been in earlier so the bed was made, but her clothes and shoes were scattered across the chair and spilled out of the suitcase. She was by no means a neat person, but the disarray looked tame compared to her bedroom at home. There was no evidence that Jack had been here except the lingering smell of smoke and the bag of new clothes on the bed, which she could have bought herself, so she left them and opened the door.
Chapter Fourteen
MORT rang the doorbell and studied the straw wreath with orange chrysanthemums. A small woman in her mid-sixties with a cap of brown hair and dark brown eyes opened the door. “Mrs. Baumkirchner?”
“Yes,” she said. The aroma of pumpkin wafted through the open door.
“I’m Mort Vazarri with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions.” Unlike some people who shut down when they heard the words “FBI,” her dark eyes lit up briefly in what Mort thought was a flare of excitement. He’d seen this reaction, too, but it wasn’t as common. She was probably a fan of TV detective shows. She patted the collar of her honey-colored sweater and seemed to tamp down her enthusiasm. “Do you have any identification?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mort produced his badge and identification, which she studied carefully before handing it back.
“You can’t be too careful these days.”
“I understand. May I come inside?”
“Of course.” A timer rang and she said, “Those are my pies. I have to get them. Come on back.” She led him through a formal dining room, the table for twelve already set with china and crystal, and into a kitchen that was messy with baking ingredients, bowls, and a Kitchen Aid mixer on the counter.
“Smells delicious,” Mort said as she pulled three pies out of the oven and put them on cooling racks. The spice jars arrayed across the counter made Mort feel a little guilty. Kathy was waiting for him to bring the sage home so she could get started with their pies. Did you put sage in pumpkin pies? He didn’t know.
“So, what is this about?”
Mort pulled his attention back to Mrs. Baumkirchner. “The silver Camry in the driveway is yours?”
“Yes.”
“Did you drive it over to Vinewood yesterday?”
“Where?”
“That’s a subdivision near Frisco,” Mort explained.
“No. I was here, cleaning. I’m expecting a full house and have to get ready.”
“Did your husband drive it yesterday?” Mort had done a little checking on her before he left the office.
“No. My husband is a trucker. Drives for Wal-Mart. He’s been on the road for three days. Due back tonight. But I did let my grandson borrow it,” she said with a frown. “He told me he was going straight to work, then he’d bring it here. His car is in the shop.”
“What’s your grandson’s name?”
“Al Baumkirchner.” Seeing that Mort had taken out his notebook and was writing it down, she amended, “His full name is Oswaldo, but everyone calls him Al. Is there some sort of problem? Is he in trouble?” For the first time, the curiosity was gone, replaced by concern.
“I just need to ask him a few questions as well,” Mort said. Technically, the kid hadn’t done anything wrong except deceive his grandmother. Following someone for one day didn’t exactly qualify as stalking. “Could I get his phone number from you?” Mort didn’t want her to call the kid and spook him.
“Yes,” she said and consulted a list of numbers taped to the inside of a cabinet door. She read one phone number off to him then said, “But he’s out of the country. My son and his wife are taking a Thanksgiving cruise this year. They left last night.”
Mort sighed and asked for the location of the closest grocery store.
––––––––
“TRUCE?” Sam asked after Zoe opened the door.
“Sam, I don’t think—”
“Please. Just hear me out, okay?” Sam asked, working his puppy dog eyes.
“No, It’s not—”
His nose wrinkled as he leaned toward her, sniffed, then interrupted her. “Did they give you a smoking room?” he asked, looking perplexed.
“Ah, no. I—had an outside table at a pub during dinner,” Zoe said, improvising. “Guy next to me smoked like a chimney.”
Sam’s face fell. “So you’ve had dinner already? I was hoping to convince you to let me take you to dinner.”
Zoe’s phone buzzed. It was in the back pocket of her jeans and made her jump. She saw it was Mort calling and said, “I have to take this.” Sam waved his hand in a go ahead motion.
Zoe answered as Sam stepped into the room and closed the door. Not what she’d wanted. She should have asked him to wait downstairs in the tiny entrance way. Too late now, though.
“This is Mort Vazarri. Got an update on the silver car.”
“Great.” Zoe backed up against the dresser. Sam wandered over to the balcony doo
rs and pushed the fabric aside.
“Did you get that?” Mort asked. “Is the connection breaking up?”
“Sorry,” Zoe said into the phone. “What was that?”
“The silver car. I spoke with the owner. She says she lent the car to her grandson, an Oswaldo Baumkirchner. Goes by Al.”
“Nice view,” Sam whispered as he turned back to the room. A thought, a memory, stirred, whispering through Zoe’s mind, but it was gone before she could work out what it was.
“The grandson is out of town for Thanksgiving, so you shouldn’t have any problems. Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.”
“Thanks,” Zoe said and watched as Sam strolled around the end of the bed, mimed drinking a glass of water and stepped into the bathroom.
The sound of running water came from the bath, then the clink of glass on porcelain. “I’ll follow up with him after the holiday,” Mort continued, “and let you know what he says.”
“Great. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Mort said.
“Okay. I mean, Happy Thanksgiving to you, too,” Zoe said and hung up.
Sam emerged from the bath, and Zoe said, “Dinner’s not going to happen, Sam. Sorry.” She opened the door.
“Right. Okay.” Sam passed her then turned back. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem...a little edgy.”
You would be too if you’d just found a dead man and almost got burned up, Zoe thought, but managed to keep the words inside. Instead, she said, “No, just jetlagged.” She practically pushed him out, closed the door, and leaned her forehead against it for a moment before going to open the balcony doors.
It was empty.
“Jack?” she whispered.
“Over here.” Zoe jerked her head to the side and saw Jack hugging the wall, his toes perched on a two-inch decorative molding that surrounded a window on the floor below them.
“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing down into the little garden below them, which was empty—thank goodness.
“I believe the technical term is hiding.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “You can stop hiding. He’s gone.”
Jack didn’t move.
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“I’m not fond of them, no,” Jack said, his gaze slipping to his toes.
“Look at me,” Zoe said, firmly. “Don’t look at your feet. It only messes with your mind. That’s the first thing I learned in rock climbing.”
“Since when do you rock climb?”
“You’re not the only one with secrets,” she said. Figuring chitchat was a good thing, she continued. “I took an indoor climbing class and liked it. What you need to do is move your feet first. Slide them along the ledge. Get them into position. Then move your hands.”
After a second, he inched one foot along. “Good. Now the other.”
He moved closer, but ignored Zoe’s outstretched hand and grabbed the iron railing instead. He vaulted over, blew out a breath, and moved into the room.
“If you feel that way about heights, why didn’t you stay on the balcony instead of crawling over to the other window?”
“He was moving toward the window, his shadow getting bigger and bigger. I didn’t know that he wouldn’t come outside.” He dusted his hands. “So, this Sam guy...who is he?”
Zoe noticed his fingers were trembling, but decided not to mention it. “So you don’t want to explore your fear of heights?”
“I have a healthy respect for gravity. Let’s leave it at that and focus on Sam. Why did he barge in here?”
She’d been about to tell Jack about Sam following her and his mother’s lost investment, but Jack’s almost proprietary tone rankled. “There’s really nothing to tell,” Zoe said instead. “He’s a businessman. He rents one of my office suites.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “And he has business in London at the same time you happen to take a trip there as well. Does he travel internationally a lot?”
“I don’t know. Some, I guess.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “You’re upset with him for some reason. Don’t deny it. I’ve seen that look aimed at me often enough to recognize it.”
“Why would I be upset with him? He’s just a tenant.”
“Is he?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Zoe asked a flare of irritation surging through her.
“It’s just that he seemed quite at home, coming here uninvited, exploring your room, asking you to dinner.”
“So what if he asked me to dinner? Why would that matter to you? We’re not married anymore.”
Jack looked at her for a long moment then said quietly, “You’re right. I don’t have any hold on you.” He turned away. In a formal voice he said, “We need to change out of these smoky clothes and get moving, just in case the police manage to link you to Bent.” He picked up the bag of new clothes. “Would you like to shower first?”
“No, you go ahead,” she said, “You’re faster.” He could be in and out, probably before she found her clothes from the tangle of shirts and jeans spilling out of her suitcase.
“Fine.” He closed the bathroom door. Zoe ignored the slightly sick feeling in her stomach and rummaged through her suitcase.
The door opened a few inches, and Jack leaned out. His chest was bare and he had a towel around his waist. “Answer this for me if it rings, will you?” He tossed a phone through the air. She didn’t manage to answer because her brain was stuck on processing the visual of his nice expanse of muscle and tanned skin. He closed the door and the water came on.
She shook her head briefly. “Focus,” she said to herself. “Clothes. Pack.” She grabbed a fitted, long-sleeved white shirt, a thick gray sweater vest, and a pair of jeans then shoved the rest of her scattered clothes into her suitcase. As she worked, her thoughts were on the image of the phone arcing through the air.
That movement stirred a memory...something important. There was something about it—something besides the distractingly nice background of a half-naked Jack. She picked up the phone, tossed it in the air, and caught it a few times as she paced around the room. She stopped, her eyes opening wide. “Al,” she whispered as the memory connected.
Sam had thrown a set of keys across the office to Al, the moody teen who worked for Sam. Zoe tapped the phone against her chin as she paced to the balcony windows. Al had put the keys on the counter, and Zoe had noticed the key fob with the initials O and B engraved in the leather.
Those letters didn’t mean anything to her then, but they did now. They were initials that stood for Al’s full name, Oswaldo, Mort had said, and some long last name that Zoe couldn’t remember because she’d been distracted with Sam’s movements around the room. But it had started with the letter B.
Zoe paced quickly around the end of the bed then retraced her steps to the balcony windows, her thoughts racing. Sam had thanked Al as he tossed the keys as if he’d borrowed Al’s car. She remembered that clearly. Did that mean Sam had followed her in the silver car?
Chapter Fifteen
––––––––
JACK opened the bathroom door and emerged dressed in his new clothes. He’d bundled his other clothes into the plastic bag. “Your turn."
Zoe, lost in her own thoughts, didn’t reply, but murmured, “He lied to me.” A fresh surge of anger raced through her. She marched across the tiny space of the room. “He said once he got to know me, he knew I couldn’t be involved, but just a few days ago he was following me.” Did that mean that Sam had followed her to London, too, despite denying it? And if he’d lied about following her, had he lied about his mother’s lost investment in GRS? Could she trust anything he’d said?
“Who lied to you?”
Zoe started. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “Never mind.”
“Something is wrong. You look pale.”
“I always look pale. I’m a fair-skinned redhead.” She handed his phone to him and moved to get he
r clothes.
“You’re chewing your bottom lip. You do that when you’re worried. You’re not a worrier, so I know that if you’re worried, I should be worried, too.” He blocked her path to the bathroom and stood with his arms crossed. He should have looked comical in his Union Jack T-shirt, but he didn’t because his face was so serious. “So, what is it?”
Zoe considered pushing past him into the bathroom without answering, but she couldn’t. Questions were tumbling through her mind, and, if there was one thing Jack was, it was cool, collected, and logical.
“Okay,” Zoe said with a sigh. “You have no idea how much this annoys me to have to say this, but maybe...I’m wrong about Sam.”
Jack’s eyebrows flew up. “That’s quite an about-face.”
“I know,” Zoe said, miserably, “but I remembered something that’s changed everything.” She told him it seemed Sam had borrowed a car from an employee to trail her around Dallas. “And I saw him when I came out of the pub after meeting with Nico. I thought I’d seen Sam earlier, too, so I confronted him. It was too many coincidences—him being on the flight to London and then spotting him twice during the day. He admitted that he opened a branch of his company in Dallas and rented office space from me so he could get to know me. He said his mom lost all her retirement savings in GRS and was too proud to take any help from him. They weren’t getting anything from the FBI, and he thought that if he got to know me, he could get some answers. ”
“And he said that once he got to know you, he realized you couldn’t be involved?”
“Obviously, a lie. He said he really did have business here and a meeting near the pub, but if he was following me in another car a few days ago then he’s been lying the whole time.” The shy smiles, the desire to be close friends, the invitation to dinner...had that all been an act to stay close to her, to get to know her even better than he did? How embarrassing. Her cheeks heated.
“Let’s go back to the first time you noticed anyone following you,” Jack said.
“The silver car,” Zoe confirmed, glad to focus on another topic.
