by Cassie Miles
“Wayne Silverman,” she said. “I was going somewhere with Wayne.”
“The man who disappeared,” Clauson said.
The man who was likely dead. Nobody had yet said that Wayne Silverman was deceased, but Detective Clauson was from the homicide division.
Kate reached over and caught Liam’s hand. Ever since they got to her mother’s house, she’d been constantly touching him, as if to reassure herself that he was still here. Her repeated physical contact was beginning to have a totally different effect on him.
She looked into his eyes. “What should I say?”
“Tell the detectives about your relationship with Silverman.”
“We dated, but he wasn’t my boyfriend.” Her gaze turned inward. “Wayne regularly attended RMS board meetings. He worked for the outside legal firm that over-saw quarterly audits and tax problems.”
When Kate focused, she was an intelligent woman with coherent business opinions. It was important, Liam thought, for her to show this face to the police so they wouldn’t dismiss her as a crackpot who hid out in the mountains for no good reason.
Though he knew that the threat to her was as real as the bullet holes in the fuselage of his plane, his opinion didn’t matter. It was important for the cops to take her seriously.
She’d fallen back into silence, and Liam encouraged her. “You and Wayne were friends.”
“I liked him. He supported me and my stepbrother, Tom, on environmental-protection issues. That’s been a major topic in our recent boardroom discussions. Over the years, RMS has acquired a lot of mountain property. Jonathan wants to develop those lands.”
“Jonathan?” Detective Clauson questioned.
“My ex-husband. Jonathan Proctor. He’s the CEO.”
“A powerful man,” Clauson said. “You, your stepbrother and Wayne Silverman have been voting him down.”
“Wayne didn’t have a vote,” she said. “His reasons for not supporting development were based on finance and legal issues. Tom and I were acting on environmental concerns. Like my dad, we both feel that enriching RMS isn’t sufficient reason to tear down trees and put in roads. Not even when the EPA has given the go-ahead.”
“That must have made Jonathan angry.”
“Angry enough to kill me?” She scoffed. “Very doubtful. There were times, I’m sure, when Jonathan wouldn’t have minded seeing me dead, but not since the divorce. We’ve gotten along fairly well for the past year.”
“Maybe he was jealous of Wayne Silverman,” Detective Clauson said.
She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “What are you suggesting?”
“You’ve said that someone was after you. That’s why you hid out in the mountains.”
“Correct,” she said.
“There was an attack at Liam’s cabin,” Clauson continued. “And Adam Briggs confirmed that the phone at CCC was bugged.”
“Correct again.”
“Ma’am, I’m trying to find out who’s responsible.”
“I don’t know.”
“Your ex-husband—”
“Look here, Detective. Until I remember exactly what happened, I’m not going to accuse anybody. Jonathan—and the other members of the RMS board—are civilized men in three-piece suits. Our disagreements are friendly. Understand? Friendly. Before I left for the camping trip, Jonathan and I played on the same foursome in golf.”
“Who won?” Liam asked, hoping to lighten her mood and keep her talking.
“I did. By two strokes.” A grin spread across her face. “I kicked Jonathan’s butt.”
“Did he take it like a man?”
“Absolutely. He stomped around, threw his clubs and chugged a beer. Just like a man.”
Clauson chuckled. His manner was easygoing, but Liam knew there was a sharp mind behind that bland expression. Before this session with Kate, Liam had given Clauson a brief, preliminary statement on what had happened when he’d located Kate, and the subsequent vandalism at his cabin.
Skillfully, Clauson directed Kate back to the original topic. “For your camping trip with Wayne Silverman, what did you pack?”
“I don’t exactly remember.” She shrugged. “My backpack got lost somewhere along the way.”
Clauson glanced toward Liam. “I thought you had camping supplies with you.”
“From Wayne’s pack,” she said. “At least, I think it was Wayne’s pack.”
“Do you remember driving into the mountains?”
“No.”
Her grip tightened on Liam’s hand, and her spine stiffened. He could almost see the memories coming back to her.
“What do you remember, Kate?”
“It was Wayne’s car. Black. I think it was a Ford Explorer. I remember driving on a back road. My arm hurt really bad. I held the steering wheel tight.”
Her hands rose in front of her as if she were gripping the wheel. Her eyes squinted as she struggled to see into the recent past. “There was a fire. Orange flames. Pine trees turned black. They cracked. Snapped like match-sticks. So much smoke. I could smell the smoke. I coughed and…” Her voice trailed off.
Liam and Clauson and the other detective leaned forward, concentrating on her words and gestures, willing her to remember.
Kate shook herself and sank back on the sofa, exhaling a heavy sigh. Her tension faded. In its wake, she seemed exhausted. “I woke up in a meadow, and it was raining.”
“Are you sure,” Clauson asked, “about the car?”
Her head bobbed up and down. “I was driving Wayne’s Explorer.”
“Driving in the mountains? You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Liam asked, “What’s the problem, Detective?”
Clauson spread his hands apologetically. “Wayne Silverman’s car is parked in the garage at his town house.”
Liam asked, “Any evidence that the vehicle had been near a fire?”
“The car’s clean. I mean, spotless.”
Kate rubbed at her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
Unfortunately, Liam did understand. He’d been with the D.A.’s office long enough to understand the weight given to tangible, physical evidence. Wayne Silverman’s car was parked in a garage and clean. If Kate had been driving near a forest fire, the police would expect to find damage, ranging from scratches on the exterior to the lingering smell of smoke. Furthermore, she’d said her arm had hurt. If she’d been wounded, there ought to be blood on the upholstery. Therefore, her memories were unreliable. Her credibility with the police had been damaged.
Liam stood. “That’s enough for tonight, detectives. Kate needs her rest.”
Neither Clauson nor his silent partner objected. They both rose to their feet. “We’ll be in touch tomorrow. Kate, I’d be grateful if you talk to me before making any statement to the press. Once they get hold of this story, things are going to get messy.”
Liam agreed one hundred percent. He was surprised that media trucks and reporters hadn’t already descended on the house. He walked Clauson toward the door. “You’re treating this as a homicide.”
“Wayne Silverman has disappeared. Kate has undergone some kind of trauma. That wound on her arm appears to be from a bullet.”
“Tough case,” Liam said.
“You said it. I’m investigating a possible murder with no body, no weapon and no obvious motive. Oh, yeah, and the only witness has amnesia.”
“Do you believe her story?”
The detective shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I got nothing else to go on.”
As Clauson lumbered out of the den, Liam returned to the sofa, where Kate slouched against the plaid pillows. Her eyelids drooped.
When he sat beside her, she leaned against him. The light pressure of her slender body reminded him of how fragile and vulnerable she was. At the same time, he was aware of her femininity.
Her breast rubbed against him as she nestled against his shoulder. “I want to go home. To my house.”
Liam wasn’t sure i
t was a good idea to be isolated in a separate dwelling. “If we stay here, you ought to be safe.”
“No,” she said with firm decisiveness. “I didn’t spend twenty-eight days hiding in the wilderness to come back and hand myself over to the people who were hunting me.”
“We could arrange for a bodyguard to be posted outside your bedroom door.”
She sat up straight and peered into his eyes. “I won’t insult my mother like that. She’d be devastated if she thought someone in the family was threatening me. Please, Liam, take me home.”
She looked exhausted and desperate, like somebody who was at the end of their rope. A dull pallor sucked the color from her tanned complexion, but she was still fighting. He respected her needs, didn’t want to refuse her anything. But he also wanted her to rest. “I could talk to your mother and—”
“I’ve got to trust my instincts,” she said. “My instincts told me to hide in the wilderness. They warned me when men were coming to your cabin.”
“True.”
“My instincts are telling me to go home.”
“We’ll go to your house.”
After a predictable argument with her mother, brother and stepfather, Liam swept her out of the Carradine mansion and into his Rover. Kate’s house was less than three miles away.
She sat up straight in the passenger seat, seeming to have a second wind. “Did I make a mistake in talking about Wayne’s car?”
“You told the truth, didn’t you?”
“As I remembered it,” she said.
“Then it wasn’t a mistake. Stick to the truth.”
“Even when it seems improbable?”
“Always.” He glanced toward her. Her fresh burst of energy reminded him of Rain, the spunky, feral woman who’d confronted him with a pistol. “You’re looking wide awake.”
“It’s the lights,” she said. “When I was in the mountains, night was dark and soft. There were animals. Mountain lions. Bears. But I felt safer there. These streetlights? They’re like beacons of danger, reminding me that I can’t trust anybody.”
“A healthy fear is good for you, Rain. But—”
“You called me Rain.”
“I meant Kate.” But he didn’t. Not really. The woman he cared for was Rain.
“We’re here,” she said.
Her house was in a cul-de-sac that butted up against a hillside. The two-story structure was white stucco, and the only hint of wilderness came from a groomed stand of aspen in her front yard.
Kate pointed the garage-door opener that was attached to the extra set of keys her mother had given her.
As the door rolled up and the garage light flashed on, Liam caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of the garage. Somebody was here. This was an ambush.
Chapter Seven
Acting on instinct, Liam reached across the bucket seats and pushed Kate down behind the dashboard. If the intruder was armed, Liam didn’t want her to be a target. His first goal was to protect her.
His second goal? To catch this son of a bitch.
Liam flipped open the glove compartment, grabbed the Glock.
“What are you doing?” Kate asked.
“I saw somebody.” Liam had his car door open. He ducked behind it, using the door as a shield. “I’m going after him.”
No shots had been fired. And the intruder had made a run for it. “Kate, you should drive away, fast.”
“Without you?”
“Just do it.”
Gun in hand, Liam charged up the driveway. He rounded the edge of the garage. The glare from his headlights illuminated a narrow walkway between the garage and a chain-link fence. He spotted the figure of a man at the opposite end. Was he alone? Was he armed?
“Liam!” Kate called out to him.
He glanced back and saw her running toward him. She’d picked a hell of a time to react with action instead of fear. “Go back to the car, Kate.”
“Not unless you come with me.”
Damn it, he didn’t want to let this guy get away. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. His heart beat fast.
“Call nine-one-one,” he yelled over his shoulder as he dived into the narrow space between the garage and a five-foot tall chain-link fence.
The mutt next door went into a barking frenzy, and the fence rattled as the dog—a big, hairy beast—crashed against the links. There ought to be a law against mastiffs in the suburbs.
In the backyard, the motion-sensitive lights had flashed on. The hillside behind her house was terraced with railroad ties in an attempt to control the wild, untamed xeriscaping that cascaded toward the edge of a redwood deck.
Liam spotted the intruder. Not a particularly difficult task. He stood in a patch of weedy-looking wildflowers, with both hands raised high above his head.
“Don’t shoot,” he said.
Liam scanned the rampant foliage, searching for other threats, looking for a fight. He really wanted to kick some intruder butt. But nobody else was there. He aimed the barrel of his automatic at the guy with his hands up. “Give me a reason not to pull this trigger.”
“Press. I’m a reporter.”
“Give me a better reason.”
When Kate stepped into the backyard, the reporter’s eyes popped like flashbulbs. “It’s you! Kate Carradine! Oh, man, this is great. I got the scoop of the century.”
She glared at him and snapped shut the cell phone. “I don’t think we need the police.”
“Probably not,” Liam muttered. “What should I do with him?”
She stepped up beside him on the deck. “You know how I feel about trespassers.”
“Right,” Liam said. “Gun him down.”
But he obviously couldn’t shoot this idiot who was already stumbling down the hill toward them, ignoring the fact that Liam held a gun. Apparently, his journalistic instincts had overwhelmed his common sense. “My name is Mickey Wheaton, and I’m a stringer for the Mountain Independent News.”
“I’ve never heard of your paper,” Kate said.
“It’s a weekly. Great little rag.”
Liam wasn’t impressed. He didn’t trust the press in general, and he especially didn’t trust a half-wit reporter who had been lurking around Kate’s house. “What are you doing here?”
“I was listening on my police scanner and recognized the address for Kate’s mother’s house. I did a drive-by, saw the cop cars in front. Something was up. I took a chance that she might come here.” He crowed, “And I was right. Oh, yeah!”
Mickey wore a backward Colorado Rockies cap, baggy jeans and the Vans sneakers preferred by skate-boarders, but he wasn’t a teenager. As he came closer, Liam guessed he was in his midtwenties, at least.
He flashed a megawatt grin. “Give me an interview, Kate.”
“Not a chance,” Liam answered for her.
Mickey pulled off his cap and combed his fingers through his hair in a belated attempt to look respectable. “You don’t have to worry. I’m a pro. I covered Columbine and the whole JonBenet Ramsey investigation from beginning to end.”
So had every other reporter in Colorado.
Mickey continued. “Kate, please. You’ve got to give me an exclusive.”
“No, I don’t.”
“But it’s so cool that you came back. Finally, this is a story with a happy ending. I can see the headline now.” His palms raised, thumbs out at right angles to frame his invisible headline, he said, “Kate Carradine: Survivor.”
Though Kate chuckled, Liam was not amused. A conversation with Mickey Wheaton could only lead to trouble.
“Come on,” Mickey pleaded. “Your story could be a book deal. A bestseller. Seventeen weeks on the Times list.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”
“I’ve studied you, Kate Carradine. I know all about your life and every detail about your disappearance. I’ve talked to your friends. And your enemies. By the way,” he said with a grin, “if I were you, I’d keep my distance from Emily Hubbard. She still h
as a grudge about what happened in eighth grade.”
“I broke her nose,” Kate informed Liam. “It was an accident. She walked right into my tennis racket.”
“Hey, I’m on your side.” Mickey beamed. “You see? We’re already talking like old friends. I know there’s a good story behind your disappearance.”
“If you know me so very well,” she said, “you must be aware that the RMS publicity department will handle all press releases and stories. You should be negotiating with them. Not me.”
“This is your big opportunity,” Mickey said. “You can set the record straight. People think you’re a spoiled little rich girl, but I know better.”
“Enough,” Liam said. From his time with the D.A.’s office, he knew that if there was anything more annoying than a regular reporter, it was a freelancer on the trail of a scoop. “This is the last time I ask nicely for you to leave.”
Mickey sidestepped away from Liam, getting closer to Kate. “I know how much you loved your Dad. A great guy by all accounts. And I know that you felt belittled by your ex, Jonathan Proctor. And your relationship with your stepfather and mother? A little on the stormy side?” He leaned closer to her. “All in all, you have problems with men. You tend to hook up with guys who aren’t good for you.”
“You don’t have to listen to this,” Liam told her. He caught hold of the reporter’s scrawny arm. “Let’s go. Now.”
“I’m not impressed by your pop analysis of my life,” Kate said. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Your mother is missing a diamond necklace.”
When she visibly winced, Liam had to wonder why. What did a missing piece of jewelry have to do with anything? Though he was curious, this wasn’t an issue he intended to discuss with Mickey, who he shoved toward the garage, causing another outburst of barking from the neighbor’s dog.
“Wait,” she said. “Liam, could I talk to you in private for a moment?”
He dropped the reporter’s arm. “Wait here, and don’t move.”
“You got it.”
Joining Kate beside a sliding glass door at the back of her house, he asked, “What is it?”
