Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry

by Amanda Stevens

  Emily shook her head, not fooled by his innocent tone. “They were a group of modern-day vigilantes who operated right here in Paradise fifteen years ago. They vandalized property, beat people up, and word has it they even ran one poor family out of town.”

  “And just whose word would that be, Emily?”

  “I happened across an old newspaper article about the family in a box of papers and letters Miss Rosabel left to me. You must have known them, Trey. The man worked for Huntington Industries, and H.I. acquired his property by paying off the mortgage and settling his back taxes after he left town. As I recall, Huntington expanded its facilities about fifteen years ago. That property, located out on the highway and all, must have come in real handy.” Emily was taking a stab in the dark, but from the silence that followed she knew she’d hit a nerve.

  “I think you and I need to have a little talk, Emily.” Though his tone remained even, Trey’s words were frost-coated and his eyes were like glaciers. All at once, Emily wondered whether she might have gone a little too far. No one knew better than she how dangerous Trey could be when pushed.

  She stood. “I’d love to chat with you, Trey, but I have to be going.” To Stuart, she said, “I trust you won’t call me down here again concerning this matter. This has been a real waste of my time.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Trey said.

  “No need—”

  “Oh, but there is.” His hand was on her elbow, and though Emily made a point of moving away from him, he remained steadfastly by her side as they left the building and walked across the parking lot.

  “Thanks for seeing me to my car,” Emily said, her tone brimming with sarcasm. “You’ve always been such a gentleman.”

  Trey laughed. “You’re not still holding that little incident in our past against me, are you, Emily?”

  “Little incident?” Emily stared at him in open disgust. “You hit me, Trey. You hurt me. I thought you were going to kill me, you were so angry. I told you then I would never forgive you, and I meant it. You stay away from me, or I might just have Mike Durbin write up a little exposé on you. And he’d do it, too. Mike’s very ambitious. He’s one of the few people in this town who isn’t afraid of you.”

  “The more fool he,” Trey said, smiling slightly.

  “What do you think the people in Paradise, not to mention Stuart’s supporters, would think if they knew about that ‘little incident’ in your past?”

  “Why, Emily.” Trey’s hand slid up her arm. “That almost sounds like a threat.”

  “That’s because it is one,” she said. “Take your hands off me, and don’t you ever touch me again.”

  Trey’s smile broadened into a malicious grin as his grip tightened on her arms. He held her still as his head moved toward her, and for a terrible moment, Emily thought he was going to try to kiss her. Everything inside her rebelled.

  “She said take your hands off her.”

  At the sound of Matthew’s voice, Trey froze. For one split second, he stared down at Emily, as if defying her to make a move. Then, slowly, deliberately, still holding her, he turned to face Matthew.

  MATTHEW TRIED to control the murderous rage descending over him. He wanted to smash in Huntington’s face for touching Emily. The strength of his emotion astounded him.

  Trey said slowly, “I don’t think you realize what you’ve just done. No one, I mean no one, in this town talks to me that way.”

  “I know exactly what I’ve done,” Matthew assured him, trying to control the violent impulses surging through him. “I’ll give you two seconds to get your hands off her. One.”

  “Your boyfriend’s got a lot to learn about how things operate around here, Emily.”

  “That’s two,” Matthew said, slowly walking toward Trey. Matthew thought that it would give him the utmost pleasure to connect one of his fists with Huntington’s nose. He almost hoped Trey wouldn’t back down.

  But that was asking too much. Trey let his hands drop from Emily’s arms as he stared at Matthew with undisguised hatred. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “I doubt that very seriously,” Matthew said. “Now why don’t you get the hell out of here, before I do something you might regret?”

  “This isn’t over, Emily,” Trey said over his shoulder as he stalked toward his car. “Not by a long shot.”

  Matthew turned to Emily. “What did he mean by that?” he demanded. “He acts as if he has some kind of claim on you.”

  Emily laughed nervously. “I assure you, he doesn’t,” she said, but Matthew thought there was the slightest hint of fear in her eyes as she watched Huntington’s Mercedes tear out of the parking lot.

  What the hell kind of past did the two of them have? Matthew wondered, surprised by the fierce possessiveness he felt toward Emily. The urge to protect her had never been stronger.

  Even though the afternoon was warm, he saw her shiver. Before he could stop himself, he reached up and tucked a strand of her dark, silky hair behind her ear. His voice softened. “Hey, you okay?”

  She smiled. “I’m fine. Thanks for coming to my rescue, Matthew. I don’t believe anyone’s ever done that for me before.”

  The look in her soft brown eyes as she gazed up at him took Matthew’s breath away. He’d never felt more heroic. Or more humble.

  He said gruffly, “You need to be more careful about the company you keep.”

  “I didn’t know Trey would be here,” she said. “I came to see Stuart.” She waved a hand toward the office building behind them.

  Matthew couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and he was having a hard time keeping his hands away. She looked so vulnerable today. So sweet and inviting.

  She was dressed in one of the flowing print dresses she seemed to favor. This one buttoned all the way up the front, but several of the buttons at the bottom had been left undone, giving Matthew tantalizing glimpses of her slender legs every time a breeze caught the hem. The denim jacket she wore for warmth did little to hide the tiny indentation of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts.

  Desire tightened inside Matthew. At that moment, he thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. No one else even came close.

  Not even Jenny.

  HE WAS STARING AT HER so strangely, Emily thought, as if she were a delectable morsel and he a starving man. The image made her blush. She put a nervous hand to her throat. “So what are you doing here, Matthew?”

  He shrugged, and the intensity in his eyes began to fade. “Looking for you. I just came from the coroner’s office. The cause of Miss Rosabel’s death is being listed officially as a heart attack. The funeral’s tomorrow.”

  “Did you tell him our suspicions?”

  “Her. The coroner was a her,” Matthew said. “There wasn’t any evidence of foul play, and at Miss Rosabel’s age, no reason to order an autopsy.”

  “So we may never know for sure what happened to her.”

  “I guess not.”

  Emily leaned back against her car, pulling her denim jacket around her as a brisk breeze blew through the trees. She saw Matthew’s gaze drop to her legs, and she shivered. “I can’t help feeling responsible,” she said.

  “There was nothing you could have done for her.”

  “I know. But if I hadn’t gone to see her, if I’d never asked her all those questions, then no one would have had any reason for wanting her dead.” Emily bit her lip, feeling tears sting behind her eyes. The day had been emotionally trying, to say the least. The conversation with Nella, the fight with Stuart, the scene with Trey and then Matthew’s unexpected rescue—all were conspiring against Emily’s composure. She wiped the corner of her eye as unobtrusively as she could.

  “For all we know, she did die of a heart attack,” Matthew said softly. “Just like the coroner said. You can’t start second-guessing yourself, Emily. Believe me, that road leads nowhere fast.”

  The bitterness in his voice drew her gaze, and as Emily stared up him, she somehow k
new that he was thinking about the woman he’d told her about. The woman who’d died because of him.

  Matthew’s eyes were bleak as he gazed at the distant mountains, and Emily wondered whether she would ever find out what had really happened to that woman. And whether she would ever get to know the real Matthew Steele.

  And as she studied his stark profile, searching for answers, something Nella told her earlier came back to her.

  A man with secrets can be a dangerous thing, Emily.

  THAT NIGHT, Emily was again startled awake by the sound of shattering glass, this time followed by a small explosion. Her first thought as she jumped up in bed was Oh, no, not again. Fearing the worst, she hurried down the hallway.

  Just as she entered the living area, the smoke alarms began to blare. Across the room, a small blaze ignited a rug on the floor, and as Emily watched, the fire spread rapidly, racing along the floor to snare the lace curtains hanging at the broken window.

  Heart pounding, Emily grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher and screamed at Mrs. DeVere, who was now standing petrified at the top of the stairs, “Get out! Hurry!”

  Emily’s command seemed to spur the older woman to action. She hurried down the stairs, her purple robe billowing out behind her. “I’ll call 911.”

  “We don’t have 911. Just get yourself out.”

  “Aren’t you coming—?”

  “Just go!”

  For what seemed like minutes, but must have been only a second or two, Emily struggled with the release on the fire extinguisher. She cursed, pleaded, sobbed—and then, suddenly, the extinguisher was ripped from her hands. Matthew shouted, “Get the hell out of here!”

  “Let me help you—”

  “Go, Emily!” he commanded, just as she had with Mrs. DeVere.

  Knowing that they were wasting precious seconds arguing, Emily turned and ran. There was another extinguisher in the kitchen. She got it and ran back, and together she and Matthew doused the flames.

  Everything was over in less than five minutes, but the adrenaline rush was still incredible. When they knew the blaze was out completely, Matthew took her arm and led her outside. The crisp night air felt wonderful on her face, and she breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing pulse. Then she collapsed to the ground, ignoring the cold.

  Matthew was wearing his leather jacket, as if he’d just come in, and he took it off and wrapped it around Emily’s shoulders. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the warmth that clung to the jacket. She could almost pretend it was Matthew himself holding her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “You seem to be asking me that a lot,” she said, her smile weak. She pushed back her hair from her face. “I’m fine, but I can’t even bear to go back inside and survey the damage.”

  “What happened?” Matthew asked. “I was driving up when I saw the blaze.”

  Emily shivered, huddling inside her cotton nightgown. Her feet were bare, and she knew her hair was a total mess. But right now, all she could think was how very glad she was that Matthew had come back when he did. She didn’t even stop to question where he had been at this late hour. “I’d already gone to bed,” she explained, “when I heard the window break. And then some kind of explosion. I came out and found the fire, and…” She trailed off, her teeth chattering, more from shock than cold.

  “I’m going back in to check around,” Matthew said. “You stay out here.”

  “But, Matthew—”

  “You have a guest to attend to,” he reminded her, nodding toward Mrs. DeVere, who stood wringing her hands in the middle of the street.

  Matthew was right. Emily had some reassuring to do. This was her job, and she rose, literally and figuratively, to the occasion. By the time she reached Mrs. DeVere, Matthew had already disappeared inside the inn. Emily laid a hand on Mrs. DeVere’s arm. “I’m so sorry this happened,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  Mrs. DeVere had been looking at the house, but now she turned toward Emily, her eyes bright with excitement. “This is thrilling,” she said. “Absolutely thrilling. Wait until I tell the others.”

  It wasn’t quite the response Emily had been expecting. She said hesitantly, “If you would like me to find you another place to stay for the night, I’ll certainly understand.”

  “Another place to stay?” Mrs. DeVere looked aghast. “Surely you realize this is the first contact we’ve made. I wouldn’t dream of leaving now.”

  “But you don’t think a…a spirit caused the fire. Mrs. DeVere—”

  “My dear.” Mrs. DeVere placed a calming hand on Emily’s arm. “A spirit can manifest its displeasure in many ways—cracked mirrors, shattered glass, even spontaneous combustion. You have a very angry ghost living in your house. The séance is more important than ever. We must proceed at once with our plans.”

  Emily started to protest, but just then Matthew came out on the porch and motioned them inside. Emily wanted to cry when she saw the damage wrought by the fire.

  Having been given the all clear by Matthew, Mrs. DeVere went straight up to her room, but Emily couldn’t move. She stood staring at the ruined rug and curtains, and all she could think about was her dwindling bank account.

  The grand opening was less than a week away. She had dozens of people coming for the open house. How in the world would she ever get this mess cleaned up in time? The thought of having to cancel the open house and the other plans she’d made was more than Emily could bear.

  “I’ll drag the rug and curtains outside,” Matthew said, still poking through the rubble. “That’ll help with the smell.”

  “Can you tell what happened?”

  Matthew glanced up. “Do you know what a Molotov cocktail is?”

  “No, but I think I could use one right now,” Emily said dryly.

  “You just had one,” he informed her. “A Molotov cocktail is a sort of homemade hand grenade.”

  Emily stared at him for a moment. “You mean like in the movies, where they put gasoline in a bottle and stuff a rag in the top for a fuse? That’s what happened here?” At this point, Emily didn’t think she could take another shock.

  Matthew kicked aside a shard of glass with his toe. “Either we just got another warning, or someone wants to run you out of business,” he said, his tone forbidding.

  “But who?” Emily asked desperately. “Who would do something like this?”

  “That’s what we have to find out. When I pulled up, I thought I saw someone skulking about in Cora Mae’s yard.”

  “Could you tell who it was?” The thought crossed Emily’s mind that it might have been Mike Durbin. The reporter seemed to have an uncanny ability to be at the right place at the right time.

  But, of course, if you created your own story, it would be easy to be on the scene, Emily thought with a shiver.

  Matthew shook his head. “I don’t know who it was. I didn’t get a good look, because I wanted to get inside and make sure you were all right.”

  He gazed about the room, seemingly unaware of what he’d just said. Or of the impact his simple statement had on Emily. Her heart thumped against her chest. He’d wanted to make sure she was all right. Emily tried not to read too much into it, but it was hard not to, especially when she wanted to so badly.

  “If it was Cora Mae out there, then I think she has some explaining to do,” Matthew was saying.

  “You don’t think she’s responsible for this, do you? I mean, I know she has it in for me and all, but this—” Emily gazed at the damage in despair. “Someone really sick has to be behind this.”

  “I’m not accusing Cora Mae,” Matthew said. “Though after having met her the other day, there’s very little I’d put past her. But if she was the one in her yard tonight, she might have seen something, and I’d like to know why she doesn’t appear to be coming forward on her own.”

  “Why don’t we just go over and ask her?” Emily said impatiently. “Right now. Tonight.”

  “Because it’s after midnight,” Matth
ew pointed out. “And if it wasn’t Cora Mae I saw, then she’s probably fast asleep by now. We’ll talk to her tomorrow. Meanwhile, we’d better make a call to the sheriff.”

  “For all the good that will do,” Emily muttered. She sighed. “Okay. We’ll go talk to Cora Mae first thing in the morning.”

  Matthew was kneeling again, examining something on the floor. “The afternoon would be better,” he said, without looking up. “I think we should go to Miss Rosabel’s funeral in the morning, and then after that, there’s someplace I have to go. I probably won’t make it back before four.”

  “Four! But I don’t want to wait that long. I thought we were partners, Matthew,” Emily blurted out, then blushed fiercely when she heard the way she sounded—like a nagging wife who didn’t trust her husband.

  Matthew stood up. His eyes softened. “We are partners, Emily. This has nothing to do with the investigation. Or you.”

  “Okay,” she said, but it wasn’t okay. Not even when he walked over and put his arm around her, drawing her close. Not even when he gazed down at her tenderly and murmured, “You’ve had a hard day, Emily. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

  It wasn’t okay, because all Emily could think about, wonder about, was this mysterious business of his. If it didn’t have anything to do with her or the investigation, what did it have to do with? Another woman? Was that where Matthew went when he disappeared from the inn?

  Well, what did you think? Emily asked herself furiously as she strode down the hallway to her room. That he was a monk?

  Matthew Steele was an attractive, sexy man, and there were bound to be women in his life. Lots of women. It was stupid to feel jealous. Stupid and childish and Emily had no right. No right whatsoever. What was wrong with her anyway? She was acting as if…as if…oh, Lord.

  She was acting as if she were in love with the man.

  Chapter Ten

  She couldn’t be in love with him, Emily decided as she and Matthew drove into Batesville the next day and located the funeral home where the memorial service for Miss Rosabel would be held.