Heat Wave
HE HIRED HER to find his long-lost daughter, not to fall in love.
California private investigator Kat Vargas lives a lonely life of danger, with a painful past. Desperate for rest and relaxation, she leaves the city lights of Long Beach to house sit in Twilight Cove, a tiny beach town.
Ty Chandler learns about the P.I. in his neighborhood and hires her to find the nineteen-year-old daughter he fathered in high school. Ty’s only recently found out about her.
Kat and Ty join forces to hunt for the girl, and begin to fall in love. But Kat knows better than to give her heart away. Her tragic past can’t be forgotten.
When she and Ty locate his daughter, Sunny, she’s a cynical outcast, living hand-to-mouth and caring for her baby. They coax her to Twilight Cove, where Kat becomes convinced Sunny is on the run from some kind of trouble.
Can these damaged loners form a family?
———
“An engrossing romance and a great beach read.”
—Marie Hashima Lofton, Bookreporter
“Jill Marie Landis creates characters you want to spend time with and a story that will keep you turning the pages.”
—Susan Elizabeth Phillips
“Sweet and sexy, warm and wise, Jill Marie Landis’s emotional stories will stay with you long after you’ve finished reading.”
—Kristin Hannah
“Jill Marie Landis can really touch the heart.”
—Jayne Ann Krentz
The Novels of Jill Marie Landis from Bell Bridge Books
The Tiki Goddess Mysteries
Mai Tai One On
Two to Mango
Three To Get Lei’d
Too Hot Four Hula
Hawaii Five Uh-Oh
Glass Beach
Lover’s Lane
Heat Wave
Heat Wave
by
Jill Marie Landis
Bell Bridge Books
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Bell Bridge Books
PO BOX 300921
Memphis, TN 38130
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-738-0
Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-717-5
Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.
Copyright © 2006 by Jill Marie Landis
Published in the United States of America.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
A mass market edition of this book was published by Ballantine Book, The Random House Publishing Group in 2004
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Cover design: Deborah Snith
Interior design: Hank Smith
Photo/Art credits:
Man © Wrangel | Dreamstime.com
Woman © Paul Simcock | Dreamstime.com
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:Ewhn:01:
Prologue
Long Beach, California
SOMETIMES IT PAID not to answer the phone.
When the call for help came, Kat Vargas had just kicked off her shoes and sat down to eat a take-out Chinese chicken salad.
She slid wooden chopsticks out of their paper wrapper as she glanced at the caller I.D. It was Sandi Kline, a new client who suspected her husband was having an affair.
Kat picked up the phone, remembering the hollow sound of the woman’s heart-wrenching sobs the day Sandi had first walked into the office.
Kat was no stranger to betrayal.
“Hi, Sandi.” She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder. Starving, she was tempted to take a bite of salad but spared Sandi having to hear her crunch a mouthful of cabbage.
“I found them!” The other woman’s breathing was rapid and shallow, rasping over the line. “I followed him to the Seal Beach Inn and Gardens. They’re in there right now. Together.”
Kat’s adrenaline spiked. She pictured the neat, old building built around a courtyard on a quiet residential street. The place was the quintessential bed-and-breakfast with lace curtains at every window. Trailing vines loaded with hanging Cup of Gold blossoms and morning glories clung to the exterior walls.
She’d already run the standard credit card checks and surveillance on Dan Kline the weekend before, but so far, turned up nothing out of the ordinary.
But Sandi Kline was adamant. She knew her husband was having an affair and she wanted proof. She wanted him to pay. She wanted more than half of everything they owned, and if what Sandi said was true, half was a considerable amount.
“Are you sure it’s him?” Kat picked a slivered almond off the top of the salad and popped it into her mouth. “You definitely saw your husband go into the motel with someone?”
“No, but I saw him walk into the office alone, then he came out and went into the room. She must have gone in ahead of him. He’s in there with her right now.”
“Where are you?”
“Parked across the street from the inn.”
“Look, Sandi. Go home. I’ll drive over there and handle this.” Kat glanced through the half-open mini-blinds, watched the rain streak the windowpane. “You don’t have a birthday or anniversary coming up, do you? Maybe he’s checking the place out, planning to surprise you with a getaway.”
“Fat chance. The asshole is cheating on me. I know he’s with another woman.”
In Kat’s experience there was always “another” someone. Another woman. Another man. She was convinced happy endings were only for romance novels and that ninety percent of the population shouldn’t even bother getting married.
No “other woman” would suddenly be appearing in her life again. Once was more than enough.
“Please, Kat. Meet me here.” Sandi Kline’s voice broke.
Kat set the Styrofoam take-out box on her coffee table. Mrs. Kline had done her own legwork, but it would take a level head to get good pictures. Juicy photos always helped when lawyers started tossing deals on the table.
Kat shoved her salad aside, her appetite curbed by the rush of catching a wayward husband in the act. It might be raining cats and dogs out, but Sandi was her client and this was her job.
Besides, she was an insomniac by design anyway. Staying up all hours on surveillance helped keep her from facing her own nightmares. Still, she had already been on the job nearly twenty-four hours and was looking forward to unwinding with a new martial arts movie tonight—but Sandi’s tears got to her.
She wasn’t fond of driving around in the rain, not with the streets as slick as snot on a doorknob. But the woman’s pitiful pleas had clamped on to Kat’s heartstrings, inspiring her more than the thrill of the hunt or the hefty retainer Sandi was paying.
“Where are you exactly?” she wanted to know.
“I’m on the corner of Electric and Fifth. In the gold Mercedes station wagon.”
“You go on home. I can be there in ten minutes and I’ll get photos.”
“I’ll wait. He might come out before you get h
ere.”
Rain always reminded Kat of the worst night of her life. Tonight was no different. The wet streets glistened in the beams of her headlights. She drove carefully, slower than usual as she headed to Seal Beach. She forced herself to focus on the case and not the head-on collision she’d been involved in on Kauai five years ago.
That was old news. She ought to have let it go by now, but the ache hung on despite the fact she’d left her old life behind and thrown herself into her work.
Once she reached Seal Beach, she edged her red Honda CRV to the curb behind Sandi Kline’s Mercedes station wagon and cut the engine. The woman stepped out of her car and rushed over to hover beside Kat’s door. Kat rolled down the window.
“They’re still in there,” Sandi whispered, clutching the lapels of a long trench coat together.
“Why don’t you go home and let me take it from here?” Kat glanced over at the B&B. “It could be hours before he comes out. Trust me to get photos. You don’t need to do this to yourself.” She shivered inside her hooded navy sweatshirt and pants.
“I want to confront him. Come with me.”
Kat shook her head. “I’m a P.I., not a marriage counselor.”
Sandi’s fingers trembled uncontrollably as she tried to wipe her wet bangs off her forehead. Her wedding band with its huge solitaire diamond glistened beneath the glow of the nearby street lamp. Mascara smeared her cheeks, mingled with the rain and her tears.
“I’ll pay you double,” Sandi tempted.
“I don’t need the money.” Not that badly anyway.
Sandi was a good fifty pounds overweight, her face puffy but still somewhat attractive. She wore her thin, dark-brown hair short, framing her heavy cheeks, but her clear-blue eyes, though bleak, were her best feature. She hugged her coat close, haunting the curb beside Kat’s car. Rain blew through the open window, dampened the sleeve of Kat’s sweatshirt.
“You don’t realize what this is doing to me. How much this hurts. You can’t imagine what I’m going through,” Sandi said.
Kat clamped her jaw tight, tempted to tell Mrs. Kline that she knew exactly how much betrayal hurt. She didn’t have to imagine what Sandi Kline was going through.
Which is why, against her better judgment, emotion won out and she gave in.
Camera in hand, she stepped out of her car and hit the alarm button. Her heartbeat accelerated as she anticipated seeing Creep Kline’s face when they caught him red-handed.
She and Sandi fell silent as they diagonally crossed the intersection to stand in front of the narrow door that faced the street. Low light filtered through the shade behind the lace curtains at the window.
Kat hoped to God that Dan Kline was inside, that in Sandi’s zeal to prove he was cheating, she hadn’t mistaken some other poor bastard for her husband.
Then, without warning, Sandi Kline started beating on the door.
When no one answered, she intensified her pounding.
“Dan? Dan, you bastard! I know you’re in there. Open this door!”
Another moment passed. A handful of frantic heartbeats.
Beside her, Sandi’s breathing became labored. They heard a man’s voice behind the door before it opened far enough to reveal a tall, good-looking guy with light-blond hair. He was wrapped in a stark-white terry-cloth robe. Six feet, bare-footed, medium build, an excellent specimen of manhood.
Sandi had given Kat a photograph of Dan Kline.
This was not Dan Kline.
Kat quickly reached for her client’s arm. “Let’s go, Sandi. Obviously you’ve made a mistake.”
With surprising strength, Sandi shook her off. “I know I saw him go in this room. I know it.”
“Then you’re mistaken.” Kat grabbed Sandi’s elbow. The woman was becoming more distraught by the moment.
“I don’t understand. I saw Dan go in there.” Sandi stared at the silent man holding the door partially open. He didn’t seem at all upset by the disturbance. In fact, a half smile, half smirk slowly hiked one corner of his lips. He glanced over his shoulder into the semi-dark room.
“This might be the perfect time to tell her, you think?” He stepped back, opening the door to reveal Dan Kline.
Dan was seated on the edge of a queen-sized bed, the sheet and nothing more draped around his hips, elbows propped on his knees, head supported by his hands.
The situation was immediately clear to Kat, but Sandi’s gaze shot back and forth between her husband and the other man as if riveted by the final round of a tennis match.
Suddenly, Sandi shoved her hand into the deep pocket of her oversized coat and pulled out a handgun.
“Shit!” The blond man immediately raised his hands and reeled back. Sandi took aim at her husband.
Kat acted instinctively. Years of Tae Kwon Do training and discipline kicked in. She raised her arm and swung it in a downward arc, attempting to knock the gun out of Sandi’s hand, but the woman lunged to the side and fired off a round.
The shot went wild. The sound of breaking glass fused with the echo of the gunshot reverberating in the small room.
Dan Kline bolted to his feet and ran toward them. Kat easily knocked Sandi off balance just as Dan reached his wife.
Sandi was still waving the gun around with a berserk look in her eyes. Kat raised her arm, and in that split second when she realized she was looking down the barrel of Sandi’s gun, one thought streaked through her mind.
Not now. Not like this. I want—
Suddenly, Kat’s left hand was on fire. The pain drove her to her knees. Nude, Dan Kline threw himself on Sandi and they hit the ground.
Kat’s hand hurt like hell, but even through the intense pain, she knew she’d recover. This wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Not by a long shot.
But it had been one hell of a wake-up call.
TWELVE HOURS LATER she was back in her apartment, sitting on the sofa with her bandaged hand cradled in her lap. Last night’s Chinese chicken salad lay limp and ugly in the Styrofoam carton in the middle of the coffee table.
Her former partner, Jake Montgomery, was pacing around the room, driving her stark-raving mad. He stopped long enough to close the lid on the salad carton and carry it to the overflowing rubbish can in the kitchen.
When he came back, he didn’t sit. He loomed over her, shaking his head.
“Get up and show me what to pack for you, Vargas. You’re coming home with me.”
She refused to look at him. “You’re making way too big a deal out of this, Jake.”
“You were almost killed. That is a big deal.”
“I was shot in the hand. It’s practically a flesh wound.”
“That’s not the point. You were very, very lucky.”
When his genuine concern got to her, she had to wipe her eyes. “I’m fine. And I’m not going to your place. Besides, you’re leaving on vacation in four days.”
“Exactly. That’s why it’s perfect timing. Carly’s been on me to find somebody to house-sit. You’ll have the whole place to yourself for six weeks.”
She glanced around her compact one-bedroom duplex apartment. The kitchen was just large enough to hold a stove and refrigerator. The bed barely fit in the back room. She wasn’t the greatest housekeeper in the world—there was stuff piled everywhere.
“What in the hell would I do with a whole house?” Besides mess it up.
“Relax, for one. You rarely take a day off. You’ve been living on adrenaline and caffeine for so long that you’re addicted to them.”
“I don’t need caffeine detox. I’ve got a business to run. By myself, thanks to you.”
Fine partner he turned out to be. A year ago he’d split up their business, married, and moved to Twilight Cove, a small town sandwiched between Oceano and Pismo Beach up
the coast.
He ignored her last comment altogether.
“While you were in surgery I called a friend who recently retired from Alexander and Perry. His name is Arnie Tate, and he’ll be happy to step in and run things until you get back.”
“Aren’t you just the busy bee?” It was exactly like Jake to want to look out for her, to even go as far as to call in reinforcements. He’d started out at Alexander and Perry years ago. It was still one of the best investigative firms in the business.
He walked over to the other end of the sofa and sat down. The fact that he looked worn-out only added to her guilt. She hadn’t called him last night, the hospital had—since he was listed as her emergency contact.
It was a sorry statement on her life that her only emergency contact lived three hours away.
“You’ve got to get a life, Kat. You’re a twenty-nine-year-old workaholic.”
“My life is just the way I want it.” She’d designed it to be hurt-free, which meant that she stayed out of serious relationships by keeping busy. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You wouldn’t be bugging me about this if you hadn’t changed your tune and fallen in love with Carly. Now you’re born-again married!”
She needed a pain pill. Her hand hurt, almost as much as it hurt that Jake had found someone to love. Before he left the firm, they hadn’t just been partners, they’d been kindred spirits who’d sworn off relationships.
He’d gone through a bitter divorce. She’d never married, but she’d been engaged once.
After years of waiting for the right guy to come along, convinced she was the oldest living virgin on Kauai, she’d finally given a man her trust, her love, and her virginity. His betrayal had hurt so deeply, the consequences so unbearable, that her life had been forever altered.
Unlike her, Jake had taken a chance again. He’d not only married, but adopted his wife’s eight-year-old son. He had made a commitment to his new family. He had a life outside of private investigation. He’d found love and contentment.
Her job was all she had. It was all she wanted, at least that’s what she’d thought until last night.
Heat Wave Page 1
