Huh. She suspected the creep was after more than her purse.
With the coverage, Marcus had a new angle to take back to the studios. He had almost certainly pointed at the story, reminding them that she was a figure in the press. That she attracted danger. That a serial killer might be after her—that was one news station’s take on it.
Whatever details they hadn’t gotten from her, they’d simply made up.
God was she ever glad she’d left journalism after a very short-lived career.
“Did you tell your friend where you were when you texted that picture to her Monday night?”
“No, but she said they had a rough idea of where I was because of the background,” she slowly admitted.
“Uh-huh. And then you texted her later to tell her you were okay, right?”
“Yes, I told her what neighborhood I was in.” A throbbing started in her temple.
“And the press got there maybe an hour later? How coincidental. Just like today—when he actually admitted he set it up.”
Yes, he had. The night she was attacked, he would have had just enough time to make a call providing the tip, and likely would have lied about it to Candace. “That bastard.”
“Doesn’t sound like your friend has very good taste in men.”
No, she did not. Candace was twice divorced, and often said the third time was the charm. Frankly, Evie had thought three strikes and you’re out to be more appropriate, but she hadn’t wanted to butt into something that was none of her business. Candace had never asked Evie’s opinion of her new husband, and, to be honest, Marcus did talk a good talk. He had convinced Evie he could get her career going in Hollywood, and so far, he appeared to be making good on his word.
That didn’t mean she didn’t thoroughly dislike the man.
If he was the one who’d put the press on her tail the other night, could he also have given out her home address? She’d moved into the furnished rental less than a week ago. How else could they have gotten to her place before her if her movie agent hadn’t told?
If that were the case, she would soon be shopping for a new movie rep.
“Know any good Hollywood agents?” she muttered.
He snorted. Yeah, with his brother’s connections, he probably did. She hadn’t even considered that.
“I believe he did it, but I can’t believe it, you know? It’s so sleazy.”
“Welcome to Hollywood.”
“I know, I know.”
“Want me to plant heroin in his car and throw him in the slammer for you?”
Her mouth fell open. Rowan’s widened into a big smile.
“Smartass,” she said, chuckling, wondering how the man managed to catch her off guard and bring her out of a bad mood right into a pretty good one.
He was funny. Not all the time, certainly, but she saw flashes of wit and mischievousness. She never would have associated those things with a tough, powerful, hard-ass cop, but now she knew better.
Rowan defied expectation and stereotype. There was much more to him than the muscles, the badge, and the courage. Frankly, he wasn’t like anyone else she had ever known.
“Okay, while we’re on kind of unpleasant topics about shitty men, there’s something you should know.”
She stiffened. “Am I going to want to hear this?”
“Probably not.”
Her heart started to beat faster. “Is it about Angstrom?”
He grabbed her hand, squeezing lightly. “No, God no. I’m sorry, I should have said that up front.”
Her pulse might have slowed down by .01 percent, but it might not have.
“Then what?”
“It’s Franklin Lee.”
It took her a second, but then she remembered the name on the paperwork she’d signed at headquarters. Franklin Lee was the man who had attacked her Monday night. How funny—in a this-is-so-not-funny way—that she hadn’t even thought about the creep who’d assaulted her earlier this week. Her mind had gone only in one direction. Which probably showed just how much she’d been worrying about Joe Henry Angstrom and his appeal.
“What about him?”
Rowan hadn’t removed his hand. She curled her fingers into his, not only because she sensed she was going to need to grip something, but also because she just liked the feel of his rough palm against hers. They were strong hands, man’s hands, rugged and powerful. Hands a woman could rely on, connected to a man a woman could fall hard for. If he didn’t distrust her and wasn’t determined to keep an emotional wall between them.
“Lee didn’t make a deal with the prosecutor on the case. He was offered a pretty fair one, but he turned it down and is rolling the dice with a jury.”
Shit. So she was going to have to testify at another felony trial.
“Wonderful,” she mumbled. Something else occurred to her. “Was he granted bail?”
Rowan shifted uncomfortably, which gave her the answer before he opened his mouth.
He nodded. “Yes, but even if he did get out—a huge if—he’d never come after you. It was a crime of opportunity. I bet you he’ll end up agreeing to a plea when he gets closer to the trial and the likelihood of doing fifteen to twenty.”
Maybe. But nothing was ever certain. Certainly life wasn’t.
Just look at Blair.
“All that aside, even if for some crazy reason he did try to track you down, he wouldn’t be able to find you.”
“Unless good old Marcus takes out a billboard and plasters my address on it to make sure the press can find me to get some good, juicy shots.”
He gripped her hand tighter, and she shook her head slowly, knowing she was being overly dramatic. That wasn’t like her. She was usually pretty cut and dried, down to earth and realistic. But realizing someone had betrayed her the way Marcus had, all to earn a bigger buck, had rocked her deeply. It was a trust broken, one she didn’t think she was going to be able to move past. It might mean finding another literary agent as well. That would be really hard, considering the close, personal friendship she and Candace shared, but whatever the case, she was finished with Marcus Oakley.
“It’s a moot point, I swear. He’s not going to be on the streets to even try to track you down. His bail was set really high, Evie. I don’t see how a street thug like that is going to come up with even ten percent of it. He has no property. No family, no gang affiliation—i.e., no deep-pocketed trafficking buddies to put up the cash or security. He’ll be sitting in there until trial, I almost guarantee it.”
Almost. Not her favorite word, that one. But she supposed it was the best she could expect or hope for right now.
“Okay,” she said, not unlooping her fingers from his. He seemed to have forgotten they were linked, and she wasn’t going to make the first move to un-entwine them. “Thank you for telling me.”
He nodded, still staring at the road. After about thirty seconds of silence, though, he added something low under his breath. “And if he tries, I’ll make sure he regrets it for the rest of his days.”
She shivered lightly, hearing the darkness and intensity in Rowan’s voice. It wasn’t there often. She’d heard it when he tore Lee off her the other night, but not since. Sure, he’d been serious most of the time.
This, though. This sounded dangerous. A promise, not a threat, and she pitied anybody who didn’t recognize the determination in that voice and get the hell out of the man’s way.
Not wanting to talk anymore about her troubles, she changed the subject. “So, you have the trail maps to find the areas I’m interested in at Spahn Ranch?”
He got the message and, to her disappointment, pulled his hand away and put it back on the steering wheel. “Got ’em.”
“I appreciate you going with me,” she said, “though it wasn’t absolutely necessary. I’m sure I could have figured it out on my own now that it’s part of a state park.”
“Not a problem, since I’m officially assigned to you for now,” he said.
She licked her lips. “Be
en meaning to ask, is that a problem for you? Was your own boss mad when Avery asked for the reassignment?”
“Nah. Until the trafficking ring I put on the task force’s radar forgets my name, it’s not a bad idea for me to stay in another part of town.”
“I suspect there are other things you could be doing.”
“There are, but this assignment has proved to be…different.”
She searched for resentment but didn’t see or hear any. He was just stating a fact; he no longer seemed annoyed about it. In fact, since they’d sat together in the office the LAPD had set up for her, going through old files and reports, she suspected his interest had been piqued, probably against his own will.
She didn’t blame him. Some of what they were looking into was truly fascinating. Originally, most of the old LAPD documents had been stored on microfilm, but the agency had transferred almost everything to digital storage. That was fortunate, considering it was still hard to read the scratchy handwriting of a 1940s detective as he described a murder scene after it had been digitized and enhanced. The originals would be a nightmare.
“I probably know I shouldn’t ask, since I’ll get the same answer, but are you sure you really need to go out to the ranch?”
“What answer are you expecting?” she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.
“I need to see the angles, feel the vibe,” he said, pitching his voice up in a bad imitation of hers.
She had to laugh, noting that the nice, playful, sexy guy was back. Who’d have believed ninety seconds ago she’d been thinking how dangerous he was.
“Shut up.”
“Your words, honey, not mine.”
“Ha-ha. Actually, I want to take some geographical measurements from famous spots immortalized in old photos,” she said. “The cave being number one.”
He glanced over at her, taking in her lightweight blouse, jeans, and ankle boots. “Um, you know it’s a hike, right?”
“I know.”
“Those boots are not gonna do it.”
She stared at her feet. “Why not? They’re not spike heeled or anything. It’s just a wedge.”
“I don’t care what they’re called, they look like shoes-to-trip-in to me. Even sneakers would be better than those things. There’s some climbing, rough sections of rock…I just don’t trust what you have on.”
She could have argued, but Evie had always been the sensible type, and she took no offense. “I do have one other pair of boots. They’re knee-high, and a little more East-Coast-winter style, which is why I didn’t wear them. But they do have rugged soles and they’re flat.”
“That would be better.”
“Guess we have a stop to make,” she said, wishing she’d thought more carefully about the shoes. She hated putting him out even more.
“Wanna remind me of your address?”
He’d been near her place only once, the night they’d met, so of course he wouldn’t remember the exact location. The idea of having him come inside her home to wait while she changed shoes gave her the tiniest shiver of expectation. Since the other night when she had so bumblingly questioned him about the tragedy that had touched his family, he’d been nothing but respectful. Sometimes coldly so, but lately, more friendly. But there was always a distance.
Today, though, she’d felt a shift. He was more relaxed, teasing, as if the tension over the Baker case had finally eased. She only hoped it stayed that way.
And she wondered what it would take to go one step further than just an easing of tension, like right back into his arms for another of those glorious kisses like the single one they’d shared at the mountain house.
Not to mention all the things that could come after it.
Before she could come up with some other bit of light conversation to take advantage of his good mood, or, she considered, even asked him if he was ready to schedule that coffee date, his cell phone rang. He eyed it, saw the name, and frowned. The phone was on a dash holder, facing him and not her, so she couldn’t see who it was.
But when he answered, snapping, “Raine? What’s up?” she knew.
“Got a lead, bro. Need to talk to you.”
She could see his muscles bunch up under the T-shirt he wore. His arms thickened and flexed, his hands clenching on the steering wheel. The thighs stretched against the loose cotton jeans, and she had to close her eyes to stop herself from gawking at all that masculine power.
“I have someone in the car with me right now,” Rowan said, his tone stiff.
“Oh. Call me when you’re free, okay?”
“Is it, uh…important?”
Hearing the hesitation in his voice, Evie knew he was being very careful because she was unable to help listening. He didn’t even feel comfortable talking to his brother while she was around. Such a change from that first night when he’d so freely called Reece in front of a perfect stranger.
Despite today’s progress, he really hadn’t regained his faith in her. Which made something in her heart twist and clench. They hadn’t talked more about his family or Harry Baker, but she knew that was behind his sudden cold front that had blown into the car.
He didn’t trust her. He might have let down his guard again a little while ago, being the chill guy he was. Chill for a cop, anyway. But just the sound of his younger sibling’s voice had him freezing up so fast she almost shivered.
Looking out the window, she focused on the road, not on the driver. Even before he finished the brief call, she knew what was going to happen. The veil would fall again, the formal layer of aloofness he wore around her whenever he remembered he wasn’t supposed to like or trust her.
Funny, she’d thought at first that his antipathy toward her was completely instinctual after she’d revealed her interest in his family’s connection to Baker. Now, though, having seen him transition back and forth from the teasing guy she’d seen a few times back into the rigid, cold cop who was settling into the seat beside her, she had to wonder if it wasn’t entirely deliberate. It was as if the phone call had reminded him he wasn’t supposed to let his guard down around her. Wasn’t allowed to relax.
Every time the barriers began to slip, and he started to forget about the reasons for shutting her out, she saw the real Rowan again. Then something would happen to remind him, and he’d force an almost tangible wall between them.
That bothered her as a woman.
As a writer and a researcher, though, she had to admit it also interested her.
What wound, she wondered, had she opened up when she’d pricked that Achilles’ heel of his Monday night? Was there more to the story about the Winchester’s relationship with their late agent than she’d suspected? What secret was Rowan hiding about Harry Baker that made him pretend he felt nothing for her when she knew damn well he did?
Most of all…was it more important for her to pry his secret out of the depths of his family’s history? Or do whatever it took to make Rowan Winchester trust her enough to really let her into his life?
There was really no way to ask him those questions outright, of course. She just had to hope that the more time they spent together, the more of those I-trust-you times there would be.
On this particular day, she definitely had to trust him. Because after a quick stop at her home to get a change of boots, they reached the Santa Susana Pass state park, whose land included what had once been the Spahn movie set, and she realized it would have been far more difficult to find her way around on her own. He knew exactly where to park and which guardrail to step over. The ranch certainly wasn’t on any trail map. But once they were near it, there was a trail. Lots of Manson lookie-loos still came out here. The dead cult leader’s mystique had lingered for decades and would probably continue to linger on for many more.
“Everything’s pretty well gone, isn’t it?” she said as they explored scrubby, empty land where old-fashioned stores and saloons had once stood, serving as backdrops for some famous Hollywood Western films and TV shows.
“Y
eah. All the set buildings burned down in the early ’70s.”
“Yes, at the same time the trials were taking place.”
The fire was not long after Charlie and his “family” had gone on their reign of terror. Although the cause was a spreading wildfire, she couldn’t help thinking locals probably would have happily set it themselves, torching the blighted land from which so much evil had sprouted.
It didn’t take long for Evie to learn the layout of the “town.” There were no scraps of metal or wood, nothing that hadn’t been scavenged by Manson fans long ago. It was just dusty, empty space. Nearly fifty years after its last human inhabitants, the area had been reclaimed by Mother Nature, which was for the best, as far as she was concerned.
“I looked up how to get down to the cave,” Rowan said once she indicated she was finished up here. “It’s going to be a little iffy. You’ll probably be glad you changed your boots.”
She was already glad. The last thing she wanted to do was fall around here. Not just because of the jagged rocks, some hidden beneath tall scrub, but also because of the poison oak. Not to mention the rumored snakes.
Less than five minutes later, she discovered that the rumors were true.
When she spotted the curled-up rattlesnake lying almost directly at the entrance to the overgrown trail that led down to the infamous cave, she let out a surprised little shriek.
“It’s okay,” he snapped. “Be quiet.”
After that one squeal, her vocal cords had stopped functioning, so being quiet wasn’t a big problem. Of course, her feet had stopped working too. And she might have come close to peeing her pants.
The snake—a big one, as far as she was concerned, but what snake wasn’t?—had spotted them. Its head rose from its coiled body, and it stared and hissed. The tail sticking out the bottom of the wound-up pile of teeth, venom, and slitheriness began to quiver, making that unmistakable sound that had also somehow been deemed appropriate for little baby toys.
“Back up slowly,” he murmured, taking her arm and pulling her with him.
“I hate snakes, Rowan,” she whispered.
“You’re okay. He’s more scared of you than you are of him.”
Wanting You Page 11
