by Kristi Lea
Because he blacked out, they had kept him for an extra night. Concussion. He'd gotten one playing high school football, too, so he had a “history” of concussions. And now he couldn't sleep. He'd spent too long lying in the damned hospital bed.
Something was wrong with the Kingsbury case, something that nagged at him. It didn't make sense that Jessica would go to so much trouble to disappear from the media, only to check into such a prominent hotel on the strip where she was bound to be noticed.
On the other hand, this was the second time that her home had been broken into while she was gone. What was the connection? Estate security thought nothing in the house had been stolen, so what the hell was the man in the alley after?
And worse, did she hire the thief herself to steal her necklace? Her attorney was tight-lipped about the lawsuit over the estate, but it didn't take a genius to assume that such a valuable piece of jewelry could be a sticking point. Maybe she was trying to protect it from falling into Brandon's hands.
There had to be something more to it.
Damnit. She had been trying to tell him something the other day on the rooftop. Trying to offer some kind of information. And he hadn't listened.
He couldn't listen. The moment he told her that she was his primary suspect, she would have summoned her lawyer and put herself just as far away. Noah's gut twisted at the memory of her, half-dressed and vulnerable, and sexier than any woman had a right to be.
Damn but she was good. He had always prided himself on being able to tell the true criminals apart from the innocent. He had a pretty good track record, too, if you looked at convictions. The trouble with Jessica Kingsbury was that his instincts told him that she wasn't really a criminal, but the evidence they had been gathering in the money laundering case made her look guilty as hell, assuming they could pin it on her. If Cutlass had a witness with something solid...
He threw back the covers, giving up on the thought of sleep and padded to his desk. He had copies on his laptop of many of the same news articles that were in her file at the office. He started skimming them again, starting with the flurry of blog posts and leaked photos of her and the Tennessee senator that had hit the tabloids about a year before Charles died.
Someone had stuck a camera lens through a window and captured scenes of her sitting in the senator's lap, of his hand on her mini-skirt-clad bottom, and of her appearing to kiss the man. The photos made Noah's stomach turn.
Senator Grant Wilson was not a young man, nor was he what most people considered an attractive older man. Some of the women around the office had said that he had a certain charisma to him. But the whole affair made no sense. She was already married to a rich, older man. Why risk her marriage—and the eventual inheritance of his estate—by dallying with a less-rich older man?
An anonymous tip, traced back to someone in the Senator's Tennessee home, had accused her of blackmailing him with those photos. But then Wilson himself went on national television, owned up to the affair, and apologized to his wife.
The original investigation into the blackmail fizzled at that point, but forensic accountants had already begun digging into the Kingsbury financials, and the money laundering case was born.
An anonymous tip.
Noah stared at those photos again. Why the hell would she do it? What did she have to gain from an affair with a married man? Why blackmail someone when she had, by all accounts, plenty of cash of her own? He just couldn't see it.
But he did see something else. Noah clicked back and zoomed in to the photo of Jessica sitting on Wilson's lap, and saw something he hadn't noticed before. She was wearing the Hearst Diamond necklace.
Noah pushed back in the chair and lowered his sore arm. The wound throbbed and the muscles of his back were tight from lying on a plastic-wrapped hospital bed for a day. It wasn't the shot that kept him home, but there was no way the bureau would let him work field duty or tote a gun for a couple of weeks with a concussion.
Helpless and pissed was a bad combination.
He dialed Cole's cell.
“Do you even care what time it is?” In the background, Noah could hear bells and voices.
“I hear Vegas never sleeps.”
Cheers went up somewhere near Cole. “What do you need?”
“Any leads yet?”
Cole muttered something and the phone went fuzzy for half a minute, then quieted. “Damnit, Noah. You better not be calling about the case.”
Noah smiled into the phone. “Of course not. I just wanted to know if you'd won anything yet.”
There was a pause. “Nope. Worst run of luck ever. What do you think I should try next? Craps? Sports?”
“Why don't you give up on gambling and hit the spa?”
The noise level on Cole's end increased again. He must be walking through the casino floors. “Good call. I could use a facial. Whatever the hell that is. Look, Noah, my signal is weak in here. Go to sleep. I'll call back when my luck turns around.”
Noah clicked off the phone. Cole's luck wouldn't turn around. Jessica Kingsbury wasn't in Las Vegas. He took another look at the photo of her and the senator, then googled the man. He found his political website and clicked over to the man's bio. Noah skimmed the words on the page listing endless charities and law firms, awards and committees until he got to the Senator's background and home life.
One city name jumped out at him.
If the odds were long that Cole could find Jessica in Vegas, then Noah's of finding her anywhere else in the country should be nonexistent.
Noah had a competitive advantage: he had studied every fact and figure of Jessica's life. He knew her bank account balances, what salons she frequented, what kind of detergent and brand of soap her staff purchased for the house. And though he didn't yet know Jess's real name, he had a few substantial clues as to where she came from.
He needed to pack.
Chapter 9
Almost time.
Jessica hiked up the edge of the Carolina Mountain trail, wishing she had packed better shoes. She still had some cash left, but without the Visa cards that had gone missing on the bus, she was going to run out of that soon enough. Best to make do with the same sneakers she had been wearing most of the journey so far.
The late August air clung to her skin and cloyed in her lungs, even though the sun had only been up an hour. The only part of her that wasn't hot and sweaty was her palms, which were cold and clammy.
She glanced at the tri-fold tourist brochure that contained the trail map. The scenic outlook she was headed for was not far away now.
Early morning sunshine jetted horizontally through the branches of the trees, alternately blinding her with its rays or playing hide-and-seek behind the tall rock outcroppings. Despite the heat, the air smelled sweet. Pure. Nothing like in LA where smog and cheap perfume infiltrated everything.
She turned a corner and found herself in a small clearing with a rustic pine railing along one side. Gingerly, she stepped to the edge and glanced down.
A deep ravine cut through the mountain, falling over a hundred yards before the tree branches obscured it. She stepped back and looked around, running her fingers lightly across the guidepost sign that stood by the railing. Underneath the Plexiglas cover was a laminate version of the paper map that she held.
The spot was deserted, but it was early on a Sunday morning when tourists were still in bed and locals were at church.
She was alone.
Jess sat down on the one bench and crossed her arms over her chest, spent from the long hike from her motel to the park, and then up the trail.
Ridiculous to have thought Tallie Wilson would come in the flesh. Hell, these days, the woman probably had as many bodyguards as Jessica.
It would do neither of them any good to be seen talking, and it was too much to make it look like a chance meeting. The Mrs. Grant Wilson that stood by her man at every political rally was never seen without makeup, heels, or pantyhose. She would never come hiking in the woods al
one.
Maybe she never saw Jessica’s message.
There were only so many ways you could contact a Senator's wife without half of the western world digging it up and reporting it to the six o’clock news. Especially when you were the tart who tempted her high-ranking husband to stray. After that story had run its course, there had been nothing else for them to say to each other. But Jess had never stopped checking for messages, and had chanced sending one of her own before she left LA.
She picked at the hem of her shirt as she tried to decide what to do next. She hadn’t really expected Tallie to uphold her end of their pact. It was time to get herself together and get out of the country. Getting to the safe deposit box where a passport with her picture on it was hidden would take most of her remaining cash, but she could make it. She had started from nowhere once before. She could do it again.
She bent down to flick some mud off of her ruined shoes.
It was then that she saw the envelope taped to the bottom of the trail guidepost sign.
***
The small church cemetery was quaint and well-tended. The street side was lined with pine trees that blocked most of the traffic noise, the grass was a brilliant green and immaculately tended, and individual plots teemed with fresh flowers. Pretty nice given the modest gravestones and the working class neighborhood in which it sat.
Noah leaned back against the back of the bench, absently rubbing his sore shoulder. The whole case was like trying to fit together a puzzle without knowing what it was supposed to look like.
Jessica and her late husband used a thinly veiled charity organization to give away a lot of their money without attaching their names to the checks. Nothing wrong with that, and wise given that some of the charities on their lists might not have accepted their money. This little church cemetery had received regular contributions for several years, though Noah would be damned if he knew why.
Who died here? He wished he had access to some of the FBI databases to cross-check names and dates. Old-fashioned internet searches hadn't turned up any clues linking the adult model to this part of Asheville, North Carolina.
He downed the remainder of his bottle of water and stood to leave. Face it, man. You drove all this way for nothing.
He stood and carefully stretched, then began a leisurely walk back toward the small bed-and-breakfast he had checked into that morning. He told Cole that he was taking advantage of his medical leave to get out of the city and recuperate.
A light-blue older Honda Civic ambled down the street passed him and turned a block farther down. Noah frowned. That was the third time this morning that he had noticed that particular car.
Some local running errands.
He didn’t know why the small figure across the street first caught his attention. She was dressed like a college kid—jet black hair that stuck to her head in sweaty curls above face pink with heat, cutoff jean shorts, baggy t-shirt that didn’t quite disguise the trim figure underneath. A backpack that hid the curve of her hips but molded the front of her t-shirt to her breasts.
It was the figure.
It was her figure.
Excitement and relief poured through him, leaving his gut in a tangle of nerves. Jessica was safe. She was here. Not out of the country. Not in rehab. Not rendezvousing with a secret lover.
Not dead.
She didn’t look around, just walked with a determination to her stride that he had never really noticed before. Had he ever seen her out of stilettos?
Noah crossed the street at the end of the block and turned to follow her from a safe distance. She turned onto a street lined with small craft and antique shops, cafes and florists, built into old wooden homes. There were a few more people here, window shopping or soaking in the morning sunshine while they sipped their coffee. He was able to get a little closer.
What if it wasn’t Jessica? He hadn’t actually seen her face yet. The nervous excitement he had been feeling turned to dread. What if the lady he was following called the cops to report a strange man stalking her?
She was headed towards the newer commercial strip near the highway. If she had a car waiting there, he would lose her again. He picked up the pace. He had to know.
The woman disappeared down an alley between a couple of buildings, and he hesitated to follow. The alley seemed to dump into another alley that ran between shops on this street and larger, warehouse-style buildings with few windows on the other.
The rattle of an air conditioning unit drowned out the sound of her footsteps. Noah peered around the corner. She was still there, about a quarter of the way to the street at the far end.
A car pulled into the alley and Noah pulled back against the wall in the shadow of a dumpster. The woman’s footsteps slowed and she put her head down and headed towards the wall to make way.
The car was blue. Light blue. And it slowed to a stop as it neared the woman.
***
Jessica froze as the door of the car opened and a large man in khakis, a golf shirt, and sunglasses slid out of the driver’s seat.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he drawled.
Jess took a step backwards, cursing herself. Just a few more blocks to the bus station. Her feet were killing her from this morning’s hike, and she just wanted to take a shortcut. It was ten o’clock in the morning, for heavens’ sake. Since when did tourists get mugged at ten o’clock in the morning?
“I don’t have any money.” She took another step backwards.
“It’s not your money the boss is after. He just wants to have a chat with you. Jessica.”
The oxygen left her lungs in a whoosh. She took another step backwards and nearly tripped on a bump in the blacktop road. “Who are you? Who is your boss?”
The man smiled. “A friend of yours. Come on and get in. I’ll take you to him. He says he wants to talk about a necklace.”
She turned and ran.
The thug behind her shouted something. Heavy footsteps pounded after hers as she dashed as fast as she could back towards the side street. If she could get back to the main drag, she could get away. Or at least scream her head off until the goon went away.
Her lungs burned and her legs screamed in pain.
Still the footsteps neared.
She was nearly to the corner. Just a few more steps. She pushed her legs as fast as she could. She had never been much of a runner.
She jerked forward and fell to her knees as the man grabbed her backpack and yanked her down. She caught herself heavily with her hands, barley missing the ground with her cheeks. She tried to pull away and shrug off the bag, but he gave another savage yank that nearly lifted her off the ground.
Then a shadow passed over her and she heard a growl like some kind of animal and the goon released the hold on her pack. She scrambled to her knees and then to her feet and began running. After a few steps, she chanced a glance behind her. Another man.
She got the impression of a light-colored linen sport jacket, jeans, and golden brown hair. The newcomer seemed to be getting the best of the man from the car. But she had no intention of thanking her savior. She left the two men to their fight and ran as fast as she could back down the alley until she re-emerged onto the street, in between a Starbucks and a bakery that advertised fresh baked dog treats.
A couple of women in church hats gave her a strange look as she tried to catch her breath. She ducked inside the Starbucks and found her way to the bathroom as fast as she could.
It wasn’t until she had the door safely locked behind her that she sank down to the polished concrete floor and gave into heavy, heaving sobs, the charred scent of brewing coffee making her empty stomach turn over.
Someone pounded on the door and Jessica’s stomach clenched in fear.
“Is someone in there?” The voice was female.
Jessica stood up and flushed the empty toilet. She ran the water in the sink and splashed cold water on her face to wash off a smudge of dirt—from the alley or mountain, she di
dn’t know.
One strap of her backpack was torn, but there was no help for it. She had left the rest of the duffel bag in her hotel room, not really expecting to make it back before checkout time.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to put on a calm face, an indifferent one. One that hadn’t just run in terror from two attackers in an alley. A face that wasn’t about to leave what was left of her identity behind and start a new life in a new country.
She scanned the street quickly for signs of any blue cars before she ducked out of the doorway. There was a large church on the opposite corner. If she was lucky, she could get lost in the crowd of parishioners.
Her foot tapping impatiently, she waited for a green light at the crosswalk. A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped at the familiar-sounding timbre of the man’s voice.
“Jessica.”
The FBI had found her.
He had found her.
Chapter 10
The brown of Noah's eyes was deeper than she remembered his pupils large and dilated. His temples and cheekbones were flushed red with exertion, though the rest of his complexion had a pale undertone. His linen blazer was wrinkled and dirty. She wasn’t sure whether to run towards or away from him. It was him in the alley just now.
“We need to get off the streets.” He took her by the elbow.
The stoplight went green, and he led her calmly across the traffic lanes. With a glance over his shoulder, he pushed open the glass door to a drugstore and ushered her inside with his palm on the small of her back.
“Did you know that man?” His whisper from over her shoulder low and his breath tickled her ear. It sent a shiver down her back
“Shouldn’t you read me my rights first?”
An older woman pushed past them with a miniature shopping cart.
