by Rebecca York
When he stepped inside, his gaze went to her. She was wearing jeans and a Ravens T-shirt.
Her hair was mussed, and she wore no makeup, but she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
He started toward her, then realized she wasn’t alone. She was working with two well-built young men, directing the placement of a sofa between two windows.
Sara looked up at him, and the expression on her face wasn’t exactly welcoming.
Chapter Twelve
Sara’s heart started to pound.
Jack. She searched his face, seeing his wary expression. Which meant what, exactly?
The last time they’d been together, he’d accused her of bad-mouthing his family.
Her throat had turned so dry that it was difficult to speak without first clearing it. “Jack. What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“About what?” she asked, noting that her two helpers were following the exchange with interest.
Jack glanced at their audience, then back to her. “Can we speak in private?”
She nodded, then turned to Pete and Brad.
“I’ll be right back. When you get the sofa placed, bring in the Hepplewhite end tables and the Eastlake marble-topped chest.”
Then she turned toward the back of the house, leading Jack through the kitchen and out onto a back deck.
When she faced him, she saw the tension in his features.
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for her.
She could have stepped away. Instead she came into his arms, clinging to him.
“Jack,” she murmured, closing her eyes and hanging on to him. “Oh, Jack.”
She lifted her head, and he lowered his. Their lips met in a kiss that was full of emotion. Relief. Gratitude. Apology. They were all there. All mixed together.
She wasn’t sure what would have happened if they’d been at the warehouse. But they were in the backyard of a house she was staging. And her helpers could walk back here at any moment. For that matter, neighbors might be looking out the window.
When he lifted his head, she took a half step back.
He found her hands, holding tight.
“You were right,” he said. “I got an earful from my parents about you.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Angry at them. And mad at myself for not trusting you.”
“I could have been way off base.”
“You weren’t. How did you figure it out?”
She swallowed. “I’ve been on edge since I met you.”
“I noticed.”
“I mean, I’ve felt like meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. And at the same time I was worried.”
He nodded.
“This is going to sound weird.”
“Try me.”
She hadn’t been sure what was going to come out of her mouth, but she needed a plausible story, and the only thing that made any sense was something close to the truth. Well, a lie, but maybe a plausible lie.
“I went into D.C. last year for a museum show. To get some ideas for rooms. There was a street fair, and on a whim, I stopped at a fortune-teller’s booth.” She raised her face and looked at him.
“She started talking about my future, and at first I thought it was a bunch of, you know, bologna. I rolled my eyes when she said I was going to meet a man who would be very important to me. We were perfect for each other. I mean, isn’t that the kind of thing they usually say? Stuff they think you’ll want to hear.”
She gripped his arms. “But she didn’t keep on in that vein. She said you were in danger. That someone would be trying to kill you, and I had to help you find out who it was and stop them.”
He stared down at her, obviously shocked. “She said all that?”
“Yes. And of course I didn’t want to believe the bad part.”
“Who was she, exactly?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I mean, I saw a fortune-teller tent, and I went in. On a whim. Which isn’t like me. I don’t do things impulsively,” she added, feeling like she was digging herself into a deeper hole.
The truth trembled on the edge of her tongue, but if she told him the truth, then he’d really think she was crazy. And this was the best she could do.
“And she also talked about my family?”
“Some. She said they wouldn’t think I was suitable for you. Which set me up to worry about that.”
“Yeah.”
She waited a beat before going on.
“I’m not the kind of person who runs my life by what I heard from a fortune-teller. But what she said stuck with me. And when we met—it was like fate bringing us together. Or what she’d predicted was coming true. But then I started getting nervous. And when we left the restaurant, that guy came at you with a gun.”
“That was a robbery. We found him in the book of mug shots.”
“You think that we just happened into a felon who needed money?”
“What else?”
“Suppose someone sent him.”
“Why?”
“I wish I knew. But that wasn’t the only bad thing that happened. There was the well at your parents’ house.”
“An accident.”
“How did the cover end up being taken off?”
When he didn’t answer, she continued, “What if you were the one who was supposed to fall in?”
“That’s a lot of assumptions.”
“I know. Which is why I didn’t say anything.”
A sound from the doorway made her jump, and she looked up to see Brad staring at them.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We’re finished with the big pieces in the living room. What did you want us to do next?”
“Take the bed to the master bedroom, and set it up.”
Jack watched her helper leave. “This isn’t a good time for a discussion.”
“Unfortunately.”
“When will you be finished?”
She looked at her watch. “Probably around three.”
“I can come back here.”
“Come to the warehouse. I can fix you dinner.”
“In that little kitchen?”
“You’d be surprised what I can do. What about five?”
“Is there anything I can bring?”
“We could probably use a bottle of wine.”
“White or red?”
“Do you like chicken?”
“Yes.”
“Then white.”
“I’ll see you later.”
When he left, she breathed out a little sigh. He hadn’t rejected her story out of hand. But she’d have to be careful not to come across as too crazy when she tried to get Jack to take a proactive role in saving his own life.
She walked to the front of the house, watching him drive away, wishing she wasn’t reduced to telling lies. But she couldn’t come up with any alternative.
* * *
JACK DROVE SLOWLY AWAY FROM the house that Sara was staging. Of all the things he’d expected to hear, it wasn’t her story about the fortune-teller.
But, taken at face value, it did explain her somewhat strange behavior. And yeah, there were people who put a lot of stock in that kind of thing. She’d said she wasn’t one of them. She’d also said this instance was different.
He made a rough sound. The kind of people who believed in mumbo jumbo weren’t the ones he usually hung out with.
Then he thought about the time he and Sara had spent together. Like when they’d made love. It had been fantastic. But what if she wanted him to think so? What if she was making calculated moves?
Clenching his hands on the wheel, he ordered himself to cut off his paranoid thoughts.
He sensed that Sara liked him a lot. More than liked. And she seemed genuinely concerned about him. Unless she had some ulterior motive.
He guessed he’d have to listen to what she had to say and see how it came across.
Well, it was more than th
at. She wanted him to think about who might have it in for him. He wanted to answer “nobody,” but maybe he’d better try to wrap his head around the concept.
The nearest liquor store was a couple of miles away. Truth be told, he didn’t know much about wine. But he was sure the clerk could give him some decent advice.
He let his eyes flick to the rearview mirror. A car followed close behind, and it stuck with him as he headed down Old Montgomery Road.
Waiting until a light was about to turn red, he zipped through on the yellow, then made a right into a development, where he wound his way through several residential streets before coming out on the highway again.
Satisfied that no one was behind him, he made the run to the liquor store, then headed for home.
The same car picked him up on Route 144 again, which meant that whoever it was knew where he lived.
Not exactly reassuring.
The car didn’t follow him up his driveway, however.
Once inside the house, he locked the door and went to the locked drawer where he kept a SIG Sauer automatic pistol. He checked the gun. Then, feeling a little weird, he took it into the bathroom with him while he showered and got dressed.
Interesting how quickly his view of his own safety had changed.
* * *
SARA WAS SURE OF ONLY ONE THING. Jack was going to like her chicken cacciatore. It was the first meal she’d made for him last time, and he’d loved it.
The first time around, he’d asked her to go to a movie, and she’d asked him over to dinner first.
They’d never made it to the movie. Instead they’d ended up in her bed, where they’d spent a very memorable evening.
This time, she had vital business to discuss with him.
Her nerves were jumping as she shopped for the ingredients she didn’t have on hand—chicken, green pepper, onions and mushrooms. There was a lot riding on this meal, and not just whether Jack Morgan liked her cooking.
Back in her little kitchen, she began chopping vegetables. The simple work helped calm her. As she sautéed onions, green peppers and mushrooms, she thought about what she was going to tell Jack. And what she hoped to accomplish.
After getting the chicken, tomato sauce and vegetables simmering in the skillet, she took a quick shower, then made a salad, using a bag of prepared greens, plus tomatoes, cucumber and a fresh, simple dressing.
As she worked, she kept glancing at the clock. Jack was late, and she started to worry that he’d changed his mind. Or—
She stopped herself from going there. The killer hadn’t pounced. This was weeks before he’d been killed. They still had time.
Or did they?
She was fighting down panic when the door buzzer sounded around ten after five, and she rushed through the warehouse to let him in.
“I was starting to worry,” she blurted before she could stop herself.
“Sorry. There was an accident on Route 144. And people were slowing down to gawk.” Switching the subject, he said, “Something smells good.”
“My chicken cacciatore. It’s ready.”
He followed her into the apartment, where she’d set the small table at the edge of the kitchen area.
“The table’s small, so we can take our food from the stove and the counter,” she told Jack.
They each took helpings of the salad and the main dish, which she served over penne pasta. At the table, Jack opened the wine and poured it into antique stemware she’d gotten at an auction.
“This is good,” he said after taking a bite.
“I love cooking. If I had a bigger kitchen, I’d do it more.”
“How did you learn?”
“My mom taught me some things. I learned others by looking through cookbooks and following the recipes.”
He ate appreciatively before asking, “What else do you like to make?”
“Chili, spaghetti sauce. A lot of different soups. There are people who aren’t inspired to cook for one. But I hate eating prepared food. And cooking helps me unwind. I like fixing things that I can eat for several days.” She took a bite and swallowed. “We’re stalling.”
“Yeah.”
“Can you tell me who might want to kill you?”
“That’s pretty blunt.”
“I feel like I don’t have a choice.”
“Then make some suggestions.”
She caught the hostility in his tone. He didn’t like this exercise.
Neither did she, really. She knew all the players. She’d tried to analyze their relationships to Jack and what they stood to gain from his death. In fact, she could offer plenty of suggestions, but they wouldn’t really make sense for the amount of time she’d known him. And she remembered what had happened when she’d said anything negative about his parents. “You know the people. I don’t.”
“You met them at my parents’ house,” he shot back.
She wanted to scream at him that she wasn’t doing this to make him feel uncomfortable—or disloyal. And she wasn’t doing it to herself because it was some kind of game. This was deadly serious. And his life was on the line.
With a grimace, she scraped back her chair and stood up, paced to the apartment door and stood there for long moments before she felt composed enough to speak.
When she came back, she stood beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder, thinking how much she loved touching him, and wondering how long that would be possible. “I guess you don’t want to do this.”
His voice was strained as he said, “I don’t want to think that somebody wants to kill me.”
The words and his tone squeezed her heart. “Nobody would, and I hate making you do it. But I think you have to.” She pulled her chair around so that she was sitting close to him, then laid her hand over his. “Jack, please. Make yourself consider what could be going on.”
He gave her a dark look. “Okay. How about this. Nobody expected me to come home and join the company. It could be anyone who finds that inconvenient. And that’s a lot of people. So you have to think about who would be ruthless enough to want me out of the way.”
“Or desperate enough,” she added.
Names ran through her head. She couldn’t discount his brother, Ted. Or what about Janet, Ted’s fiancée? Before Jack had come home, she’d thought her husband was going to control Morgan Enterprises. And suddenly there was his brother back in the picture, taking half the money. Sara thought the woman had an enormous sense of entitlement, but was she ruthless enough to get the brother out of the way?
And what about Jack’s parents? She hated to put them on her personal suspect list, but did they resent his coming back? It was hard to believe they’d want to eliminate their own son. But they did favor Ted. Maybe one of them had been relieved when Jack had chosen another career. Now he was back and changing the dynamics of the family—and the company. Did one of them want Jack out of the way?
She shuddered.
“What?”
“I can’t speculate without something concrete. What if we went to Morgan Enterprises and poked around in the computer system? Do you think we’d find anything?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” He scraped back his chair. “If we’re going to do it, we should go over there before I change my mind.”
“Oh, Jack.” She stood, then reached for him and pulled him into her arms, holding tight to him. She ached to give up her wild plan and take him to her bed instead. But that would get her only temporary reassurance and pleasure.
And in truth, she had the feeling that if she led him toward the bed, he would resist. Since she’d suggested that someone might want to do him harm, she’d felt a subtle wall between them. Probably he still wasn’t sure of her motivation. It wasn’t like they had a long-standing relationship. He’d known her less than a week, and she’d started making accusations.
The best thing would be if she could back them up.
Still, she clung to him for heartbeats before she eased away. “Just let me put the food into the re
frigerator.”
“I’ll do the plates.”
They worked together well, with her covering the serving bowls and putting them away while Jack rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the sink.
“Do you have a gun at home that you could bring?” she asked.
“I do have a gun. In the bedside table. But I’m not taking it. If someone saw us there, I don’t want them to find out I’m armed.”
She wanted to argue, but she knew that when Jack was sure of something, he wasn’t likely to change his mind.
Instead she asked, “Isn’t there a surveillance system in the building? And what about guards?”
“There are no guards that work exclusively for Morgan Enterprises. My dad’s too cheap to hire them.”
“Isn’t he afraid of—” she flapped her arm “—I don’t know, corporate theft?”
“He does have a surveillance system. But we can turn it off.”
“Okay.”
She thought for a moment. “If you leave fingerprints in the building, it won’t matter, because you go there frequently. But it’s different with me.”
She crossed to her dresser and took out a pair of leather gloves. Also a small LED flashlight.
“Good idea,” he said, as they exited the warehouse.
The old Morgan Enterprises building was also in Ellicott City, in an office park that had once been fashionable but had now fallen into disfavor. Which was why the company was moving to the Columbia location.
As Jack drove, Sara kept an eye on the view behind them.
“You’re thinking we’re being followed?” Jack asked, as he turned off the highway into the office-complex area.
“I hope not.” She cleared her throat. “But maybe we shouldn’t pull up in the parking lot.”
“Where did you get your spy training?” Jack asked.
“Television.” She swallowed. “I wish I knew more about…covert operations.”
He laughed. “You’ve got the jargon, anyway.”
He kept driving, past the building and around to the next block, where he parked in the dimly lit far corner of another office building’s lot. As they pulled into a space, a car passed on the road, and she tensed, but it kept going.
Someone else out late in this office complex?
