by LENA DIAZ,
“It’s...complicated. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right. Then, we’re good? You don’t mind going to my place?”
“We’re good. Just as long as you don’t live in Rutherford Estates. It’s a ritzy development in the mountains outside of town where my real estate mogul adoptive father lives, along with my adoptive mom.” She shivered dramatically. “It’s like Mordor and the evil eye looking my way. That’s why I’m over here in The Shire, making do with my little hobbit house.” She grinned.
“Rutherford Estates?” He forced a laugh. “What would be the odds of your family and me living in the same area?”
“Exactly! Right? I shouldn’t have even brought it up. Let’s go.”
* * *
JODY STOMPED PAST Adam into the foyer of his mansion—the one in Rutherford Estates—and didn’t even spare him a glance. She was so angry she could spit. Seeing the expensive travertine floors spread out before her for miles made it even more tempting. She’d grown up in a place like this. And she had no desire to go back, or be within a few streets of where her family lived. He knew that and had brought her here anyway.
She clutched her bag and marched to the massive staircase just past the equally massive living area on the left side of the room, keeping her back turned to him. “I assume the bedrooms are upstairs. Which one is mine?”
Click. Click. The crutches sounded behind her as he approached. Part of her wanted to ignore him and run up the stairs, knowing he couldn’t follow easily. The other part—the part she really hated right now—wanted to turn around and help him, ease him into one of the surprisingly cozy-looking leather chairs that sprinkled the room and get him a beer. Assuming he even had beer. More likely he drank wine, something French with a hoity-toity label.
The clicks stopped.
“Jody?” As always with her, his deep voice was gentle and kind.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you where I lived when you asked me instead of tricking you into coming here. But there’s an electrified fence around this property, motion sensors, alarms. This is the safest place I could think of to take you.”
When she didn’t reply, he said, “If you really want to, we can go. I’ll call the limo driver back.”
She clutched the banister. “Why are you always so nice to me?”
“You want me to be mean?”
She sighed and turned around. “Of course not.”
“Okay.” He looked thoroughly confused. “I’ll book us a room in a nice hotel downtown. I can hire a security guy to watch the door—”
“Stop. Just stop. I’ll stay here. And like you said, it’s safe. I’ll just have to do my best to forget that we’re within walking distance of my evil adoptive dad.” She forced a laugh and dropped her gaze to his chest.
His fingers gently tilted her chin up. His deep blue eyes searched hers. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”
“I don’t.”
“If you change your mind—”
“I won’t. Where’s my room?”
His mouth tightened with disappointment. “There are four guest rooms upstairs, each with its own bathroom. Pick whichever one you like. My room is down here if you need me.”
“Adam, I...”
“Yes?”
She shook her head. “Thank you. I mean it. You’ve done so much for me. I really appreciate it.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
She started up the stairs, then stopped and looked over her shoulder.
He hadn’t moved. He was balancing on his crutches, watching her with an unreadable expression.
“You’re not a real estate entrepreneur, are you?” she asked.
His brows raised. “If you’re wondering where my money comes from, my great-great-grandfather was a business whiz and started a dozen companies. My parents gave ownership of some of those companies to my siblings and me as we each turned twenty-one.”
Her face flushed with embarrassment. “I wasn’t trying to find out how you got your money. I just... I’m glad you’re not in real estate. That’s all.”
“Because of your adoptive father being in real estate?”
She swallowed, then nodded.
“But you don’t want to talk about him?”
“I really don’t. But...if I did...you would be the one I’d want to talk to.” She gave him a watery smile, already struggling to hold back the tears that were threatening. “Good night, Adam.”
“Good night, Jody.”
She hurried up the rest of the stairs and went into the first bedroom she found. After shutting the door, she slid down to the thick, plush carpet and drew her knees up to her chin. She wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep knowing that the man she’d hated and feared all her life was just a short walk away. She couldn’t tell Adam what Peter Ingram had done to her. She couldn’t bear the revulsion that would cross his face. Or worse. She couldn’t bear it if he turned out to be just like the rest of her adoptive family. She couldn’t bear it if he didn’t believe her.
She dropped her chin onto her knees and did what she’d done all her life when times got hard. She wept.
Chapter Seventeen
Jody hesitated at the top of the landing. She hadn’t expected any lights to be on downstairs at two in the morning. She didn’t want to intrude if Adam was still up, maybe watching a late movie or something.
Everything was quiet. And there were only a few lights on. Maybe he’d left them on for her, since she was in an unfamiliar house. He was like that. Nice. Kind. Considerate. Exactly the kind of man she’d always dreamed of, and exactly the kind of man she could never have because she was so dang screwed up.
She sighed and headed downstairs with no particular destination in mind. But she was going stir-crazy in her room, unable to sleep with so much rattling around in her brain. And her heart. Grief was a constant ache in her chest.
Figuring Adam wouldn’t mind, she wandered through the sprawling house. It was refreshing to see that not everyone with money decorated their homes like a museum, the way her adoptive father decorated his.
The paintings here weren’t modern atrocities of splattered paint with no form or function, calling itself art. Adam’s paintings were comfortable, accessible, warm. His love of the outdoors was obvious in his choice of landscapes, most of them featuring mountains, lakes and ethereal forests that seemed so real she could swear she smelled the pine trees.
For such a big house, it didn’t feel intimidating. She wasn’t afraid that if she touched something it might break. She could easily see children running across the area rugs and bounding up the stairs, giggling and laughing and loving life—as all kids should.
She forced away the dark memories of her own childhood that tried to press in on her and continued her exploration. To the right of the foyer was a short hallway that she assumed led to Adam’s bedroom. She paused, longing to go to him. Not because she wanted him, although she couldn’t imagine ever not wanting him. Tonight she needed him, needed someone to care about her, to hug her and hold her and tell her that she mattered. That would be selfish, though, waking him up just to give her a hug, no matter how deeply she craved his arms around her. So she forced herself to move past the hallway to the kitchen.
Of all the rooms in the house that she’d seen so far, this one was the most typical of what she’d expect in a place like this. He hadn’t stamped his personality in here, his warmth. It was functional and beautiful, with cherry cabinets and black granite countertops. But there was nothing homey. It was too sterile, too impersonal, to be a reflection of him. Which made her doubt he used it much. Maybe he cooked out a lot in the outdoor kitchen that he’d mentioned earlier, or brought a lot of takeout food home.
Thinking of takeout had her tummy rumbling. She hadn’t been hungry at the hospital and had only picked at the
food on her plate. She had to search for the refrigerator and finally realized it was disguised with cabinet fronts to blend in with everything else.
Mission accomplished. It definitely blended.
Shaking her head, she opened the doors, then laughed. She pressed her hand to her mouth, belatedly hoping she hadn’t been too loud. Then she rummaged through the containers of Chinese takeout, barbecue and leftover pizza. Most of the food still looked edible, and she was about to grab a slice of pepperoni pizza when she saw a plastic-wrapped plate sitting on the next shelf down. There was a note taped to the top.
Jody, just in case you wake up hungry, I cooked you a steak and grilled a potato. Wasn’t sure how you like it, so I left the steak medium. —Adam
His thoughtfulness did funny things to her heart and of course had her eyes moist with tears. After all the tears she’d shed tonight, she hadn’t expected that. She furiously wiped her eyes and then took out the plate. After warming it in the microwave and preparing the potato, she grabbed a beer—relieved to see he wasn’t a wine drinker—and headed toward the dining room. Pausing at the entrance, she eyed the massive, lonely-looking table and changed directions, heading into the living room to the left of the stairs instead.
Now this room was exactly to her taste. Decorated in rich browns and golds, the furniture was plush leather with reclining seats. And a giant TV mounted over the fireplace. She set her beer in the cup holder on the big, cushy recliner that directly faced the TV, then settled down to eat her meal.
The first bite of steak melted in her mouth. She didn’t think she’d ever had anything so good. Then again, she hadn’t eaten a real meal in a few days, so that could have had something to do with it. She’d eaten half the potato and steak before she finally got full enough to slow down and leisurely enjoy the rest.
As she chewed, she glanced behind her to judge the distance between the living room and Adam’s bedroom. She didn’t think he’d hear her this far away, so she swiped the remote from the end table and clicked on the television. Just to make sure she didn’t disturb him, she kept the volume low. Then she settled back to catch up on what had been happening in the world since she’d received that fateful text from Tracy’s phone.
Since it was so late—or early, depending on how she wanted to look at it—local news wasn’t an option. So she clicked on one of the twenty-four-hour national news channels. As usual, it was a kaleidoscope of unrest in the world, terrorist plots and political pundits offering so-called expert opinions based on hearsay and no firsthand knowledge. She was about to turn off the TV when one of the news anchors mentioned Gatlinburg.
Curious, she turned up the volume a couple of notches and leaned forward. Their little town was a tourist mecca. But other than the wildfires last season, nothing much happened around here to catch the attention of the national news shows.
Until now.
A picture of one of the local city councilmen, Eddie Hicks, flashed up on the screen. The anchor reminded the audience that Hicks had been killed in a car crash earlier in the week, the same day that Sam had gone missing.
Sam. Tracy. She missed them both so much.
The anchor gave details about the memorial service being held later today. Jody wasn’t sure why that made the national news, until another picture flashed up on the screen—Tennessee state senator Ron Sinclair. He was well-known in Gatlinburg and heavily lauded for bringing several economy-boosting projects to town because of his work on an infrastructure subcommittee. Apparently, he was friends with the councilman and would be in town for the memorial. The mayor and other dignitaries would also be in attendance.
The anchor droned on about other events around the world as Jody finished her meal. Then she clicked off the TV and headed into the kitchen to clean up. After loading her plate and utensils in the dishwasher and making sure the kitchen was as pristine as she’d found it, she started toward the stairs again to go up to her room.
Then she noticed the pool through the back wall of French doors.
The water was a gorgeous cornflower blue, lit by lights from underneath. Since the homes around here were separated by several acres, none of them were close enough to have a view of the backyard. It was completely private and looked so peaceful and serene that it drew her forward like a magnet.
She started to open one of the doors, then stopped. There was an electronic keypad on the wall to the right. The security alarm. She hadn’t even thought to ask Adam for the code. She pressed her face to the glass in frustration, then froze.
There was a man outside.
She stepped back, ready to run to Adam’s room, then hesitated. The man’s back was to her and he wasn’t skulking around as if he was looking for a way into the house. He was sitting in one of the deck chairs facing the pool. As she watched, he turned his head to look down and picked up a bottle of beer she hadn’t noticed before.
Adam.
She let out a shaky breath, relieved that Damien or one of his men hadn’t found her. Then she frowned, noticing more details as her eyes adjusted to the dim light through the glass panes in the door. A holstered pistol sat on a small glass table beside his chair next to a legal pad. Dozens of balled-up pieces of paper lay discarded on the ground all around him. His phone was facedown on the concrete as if it had fallen from the table and he hadn’t noticed.
What was going on? Why was he out there? Was his leg hurting so much that he couldn’t sleep? That thought had her turning the knob and rushing outside.
“Adam, are you okay?” She hurried toward his chair. “Is your leg hurting too much to—” She stopped and blinked down at him. He didn’t have a shirt on. He didn’t have much of anything on. Actually, all he had on was his underwear—sexy boxer briefs that hugged all his...attributes...like a second skin.
Her mouth went dry as she stared at him, her gaze caressing every inch from his toes to his rippling abs to his lightly furred chest and, finally, up to eyes that reflected a deep blue in the light from the pool. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring out at the darkness beyond the pool, his jaw clenched with agitation.
“Adam?”
He tipped the bottle of beer up to his lips and took a deep swig, emptying the bottle. Then he tossed it over his head into the pool. It landed with a splash and bobbed up and down before filling with water and slowly sinking beneath the surface.
Jody didn’t have to look down into the pool to know the bottle he’d just emptied wasn’t his first. And apparently it wasn’t going to be his last, judging by the flush on his cheeks and the six-pack carton on the other side of his chair with one more bottle in it.
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re drunk.”
His eyes slowly rose to hers. “Not drunk enough.” He picked up the other bottle and stared at it a moment, then squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain before throwing it unopened into the pool.
Jody lowered herself to her knees beside his chair. “Is it your leg?” She reached for his phone on the ground. “I can call the doctor, get him to phone in a stronger pain prescr—”
“I know about your adoptive father, Peter Ingram.”
She went still, the phone clutched in her hand. “Excuse me?” she whispered.
His jaw clenched so tight the skin along his jawbone turned white. “The way you reacted when you mentioned him earlier, calling him your evil adoptive dad, how angry you were that I’d tricked you into coming here...” He scrubbed his face, covering his eyes with his hands before dropping them to his lap. “I know it was your story to tell. But I couldn’t let it go. I had to know why you were so afraid of him.” His tortured gaze finally rose to hers. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“You had no right.” Her voice came out a harsh croak. “You had no right.”
“I know. Believe me, I know. I’m so sorry—”
“Stop saying that!” She jumped to her feet, finally finding her voice
. “What are you sorry for anyway? Abusing your authority and opening a closed file you shouldn’t have been able to open? That’s what you had to have done. I was a juvenile. They sealed the record. No way could you have gotten that information without breaking a law or some kind of law enforcement code or something. Or are you sorry that you violated my privacy, violated me by prying into secrets that were mine to tell or not to tell?”
“Both. I shouldn’t have pried, you’re right. I abused your trust, my position as a federal officer. I never should have done it.”
“No. You shouldn’t have. I’m leaving, going back to my apartment. Don’t bother driving me. You’re too drunk to drive anyway. I’ll call a cab.” She turned and ran for the house.
“Jody, wait.”
His chair creaked. She heard the click of his crutches as she threw open the door.
“Jody!”
She rushed inside.
A loud crack followed by the sound of shattering glass had her whirling around.
Adam lay on his back on the patio, his face twisted in agony as he clutched his hurt leg. His crutches had skittered out from beneath him and lay several feet away, right next to the shattered glass table that had been sitting beside his chair.
She ran back outside.
“No!” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “The glass. You’ll get cut.”
She stepped around the larger shards as she knelt beside him. “What can I do? How can I help? Are you cut?”
“Stop, Jody. You’re barefoot.”
“So are you. Can’t you just accept help when you need it?” She grabbed his crutches, but when she tried to help him up, there was no way she could lift him. It took all her strength and a lot of cajoling and threatening to get him to even try to help her. Half-drunk Adam was ornery as all get-out and had an incredibly colorful vocabulary.
Finally she got him inside. Once they’d reached the living room, she was so exhausted she didn’t even try to steer him down the hallway. Instead she jerked his crutches away and let him fall onto one of the mammoth couches.
