"Do you want to fill her in on Mitch and the note?"
She thought about that. "I'm not sure. I wouldn't want to put her in the middle of things, but I was thinking that maybe I should talk to her more about Dad's family."
"Because you're still looking for the connection between Hawkins's face and your dad's?"
"Yes. And because the common denominator between Mitch and Jim is my dad. Maybe he had a sibling or a cousin who looked like him. I know my mom has photo albums from my dad's childhood up in the attic. She couldn't bring herself to get rid of his personal things. I would assume they're still there."
"That's a good idea. Maybe putting your dad's image on Neil Hawkins isn't about you missing your father. Maybe there is a resemblance, because there's a blood connection. It's a long shot, but worth taking."
She liked that he was on the same wavelength. "I thought you would say I was crazy."
"I don't like all your ideas, but some of them are interesting. I'd like to hear what your mom has to say. Mind inviting me in?"
"I might as well. She knows you texted me with information, and that you came to pick me up. But what am I going to do about Mitch? That's the information we got, and she's going to ask me what I learned."
"I think you were right when you said you didn't want to put her into the middle of things. She's tight with Joanie and Mitch and also with Jim. You don't want her rushing over to confront Joanie, maybe stirring things up in a bad way."
"I really don't," she agreed. "So what am I going to tell her?"
"You'll figure it out."
"That's not helpful," she said grumpily.
"I have confidence in you." He parked the car in front of her mom's house. "But you have about thirty seconds to figure it out."
Twelve
"You're back. What happened with Emma?" her mother asked, as she let them in the house.
"It was nothing," she lied. "They just wanted to ask me more about the guy I saw in the yacht club parking lot. Max is going to interview the employees, show them a photo of the guy I followed a few days ago, and see if anyone saw him around the club that night."
"Well, I'm glad someone is looking into it." She turned her gaze on Dylan. "And I'm glad you're helping her."
"Of course," Dylan said. "I'm happy to do whatever I can."
"So why are you back here now?" her mom asked.
"I can't seem to stop thinking about Dad," she said. "Dylan was asking me about him, his family and his background, and I realized I can barely remember his history."
Her mother frowned. "Oh, honey, that happens. It's been a long time. But I can tell you whatever you want to know." She glanced at her watch. "I just don't know that I can do that now. Ray wants to take me over to Sausalito for some shopping and an early dinner. We've been so busy with wedding plans the past several months we haven't spent much time together."
"That sounds like fun. We can talk another time. I was wondering if you still have Dad's photo albums from his childhood."
"Yes. They're in the attic. You know I can't throw anything away."
"Would you mind if Dylan and I look through them?"
"No, but is there something else going on?" her mom asked.
"I just need to see Dad's face again."
"You have photos of your father, Tori. I don't think you're telling me the whole story."
"Okay, fine," she said, seeing the sharp gleam in her mother's eyes. "I'm wondering if Dad had any relatives that looked like him—a cousin or an uncle or…"
"Or what?" her mom asked.
"Is it possible Dad had a sibling?"
"No. He was an only child."
"And there's no way his parents would have given a child up for adoption?"
"Well, I certainly never asked them that." She frowned. "This is about the man you saw. I can't imagine that he's related to your father."
"It could just be that he has similar features; that's why I want to look at more photos, but I also want to see if there's anyone in my grandparents' photos who bears a resemblance to Dad. There could have been a second cousin or someone."
"I suppose. Maybe I should stay and help you look."
"That's not necessary. Dylan is helping me."
"Someone has to keep her out of trouble," Dylan put in.
Her mom smiled. "That's what I used to say to Scott when I'd send the two of you out to look for her when she was a teenager."
"Why did anyone think I was in trouble? I was a good girl," she said.
"But you were already an intrepid and determined reporter," her mother reminded her. "You followed the economics teacher to his house because you thought he was having an affair with a student. And you were wrong."
"I was wrong about that, but I did find out that he was selling pot on the side."
"I remember that," Dylan said. "Scott and I picked you up right before the police arrived, because one of the neighbors reported someone looking in the teacher's windows."
"We don't need to talk about the past," she said quickly, pausing as her stepfather came down the stairs.
"Tori—Dylan," Ray said in surprise. "I didn't realize you were coming over. Do you want to join us for an early dinner in Sausalito?"
"No, thanks," she said, hesitant to mention her father's photo albums in front of Ray.
Her mother apparently didn't feel the same. "Tori wants to look through her father's things in the attic."
He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Missing your dad, huh?"
"A little," she said, feeling self-conscious. Ray had always tried to be a dad to her, and she liked him very much, but she'd never had the closeness with him that she'd had with her father.
"Just lock up when you leave," her mother said, grabbing her purse off the table. "Ready, Ray?"
"I am," he said.
"Have a good time," she told them.
After her mom and Ray left, she led Dylan up the stairs to the second floor and then pulled down a ladder at the end of the hall that took them into the attic.
"I haven't been up here in years," she said, turning on a light.
"It's musty," he said, walking over to crack a window.
"I don't think anyone ever comes up here." She looked around, noting the stack of boxes in one corner, plastic cartons filled with old toys, schoolwork, art projects, all neatly labeled, including one that held Scott's model airplane kits.
"I remember these," Dylan said, moving over to that box and pulling out one of the already constructed airplanes. "Scott spent hours on these airplanes."
"My dad would, too. They loved building the planes."
"I used to think Scott would become a pilot, but instead he went into the law."
"My brother is practical. He thought a law degree would get him further than a pilot's license."
"I don't know about that. As a pilot, the whole world was there for him to see."
"It's funny that you both liked to put mechanical things together—Scott with the airplanes, you with the cars."
"True, but I built actual cars, not mini-planes. So I win."
"I didn't realize it was a competition."
He grinned back at her. "It was then." Dylan set the plane back in the box. "So where do you want to start, Tori?"
She let out a heavy sigh. "I don't really know."
His gaze sharpened on her. "Are you up for this, Tori? I know you're still reeling from seeing Mitch's face on the security camera."
"I have to be up for it. I have to keep going. I need to find answers."
"You might not like them."
"Anything is better than not knowing."
"I hope that's true," he murmured.
"I doubt there's anything earth-shattering up here. I really don't think my dad or his family had any big secrets." She paused as she realized how naïve that sounded. "On the other hand, I never thought Mitch would leave me a threatening note. So, what do I know?" She walked over to the bookshelves and pulled out an album. She handed it to Dylan, th
en grabbed the other one on the shelf and sat down on a rolled up carpet.
Dylan took a seat next to her, and they each opened their albums.
The first photo in her book was of her father as a baby. She recognized her grandparents from the picture that had sat on her living room mantel for most of her life.
There were a lot of photos of her father with his parents. They really looked like a family of three. There were some larger family shots, and there were other kids in those photos, but most of them were girls.
She paused on one photo of her dad at a birthday party. Her father appeared to be about ten, and there was a teenager of about fourteen standing next to him. "What do you think of this guy?"
Dylan leaned in closer to take a look. "He has similar features. Do you know who he is?"
"No clue. There are no names on any of these pictures. I probably should have had my mother go through them with us, although she might not know anyone, either. Have you found anything?"
"Not much. I've got your dad in his high school years. I didn't realize he was a baseball player. There are newspaper clippings of his home runs. He was quite good."
"When he was young, he wanted to be a professional ballplayer, but he said he wasn't good enough. I think he lived that dream again through Scott. They spent a lot of time on ballfields together."
Dylan nodded, his gaze reflective. "Scott was shattered after your father died. Those first few games that he had to play after the funeral were really hard on him. He'd get angry and frustrated when he didn't get a hit, which was not the way he usually reacted, but that year every strikeout made him feel like he was letting your dad down."
His words resonated within her, touching off old memories, some happy—many painful.
"Scott didn't want to play those games, but my mom told him it was something he could do to honor my dad's memory. So he played. Maybe in the end it helped him get through it."
"And you followed your dad into the news. He left legacies with both of you."
She appreciated the reminder. "He did encourage me to work on the school paper in the seventh grade. It was right before he died. I told him I was going to be a reporter like him. I'm glad he knew that, even if he didn't believe it." She quickly flipped through the rest of the pages in the album. "I don't think I'm going to be able to figure anything out from these photos. I can show my mom the one of the older kid and see if she knows who he is, but that's probably doubtful. She wasn't close to her in-laws. And if there was some big family secret, they wouldn't have told her."
"Unless your father told her."
"Unless that," she agreed. "But you would think she might have mentioned that to me at some point, especially since he's been dead for a long time. There's no reason to keep that kind of secret."
"There's always a reason to keep a secret. I found out something a year ago about my grandmother that shocked the hell out of me. She did some incredible things in her younger years that none of us knew anything about."
"Like what?"
"She ran an underground network for abused women, helping them escape and get to safety."
"That's amazing," she said, truly impressed. "How did she do that?"
"It was under the cover of a theater group she ran. She faced danger herself, too. She had to physically protect one of her friends. She was much more courageous than I ever imagined."
She saw wonder in Dylan's eyes and also a little regret. "What are you sad about?"
"That I didn't pay enough attention to her when she was completely healthy. She has Alzheimer's now. She's undergone some experimental treatments, which have given her more lucid days, but one day she will be gone, mentally and physically."
"Until she is, you use the time as best you can."
"I am trying to see her more often."
"I'm sure you're a good grandson." If there was one thing she knew about Dylan, it was that he was loyal.
"What's next?" he asked as he closed his album.
She looked at the filing cabinet against the opposite wall. "Let's look at my dad's files. I'm sure he just has notes from his news articles, maybe some personal bills, but there could be something in there about Mitch or Jim. Maybe we'll find out they were running some sort of scheme together that no one else knew about."
Dylan got up and went over to the cabinet. He took out the top drawer and brought it over to her. "You can start with this one. I'll get into the next one."
She pulled the drawer closer and looked through the folders. Most were neatly labeled and all appeared to be related to her father's work. The folders held a variety of papers, photos, handwritten notes, clippings, police and medical examiner reports. All the cases dated back at least twenty years, and nothing seemed particularly relevant. But as she looked through the articles, some of which had made his name as an investigative journalist, she felt both exhilaration and intense sadness. Her father had been brilliant, insightful, and very thorough. He was a man who saw the truth in the details. He was painstaking in his research. He didn't overlook even the most innocuous clue.
She needed to think more like her dad. Instead of trying to jump ahead and leap to a conclusion, she needed to assemble her clues and go through them with the same eye to detail.
Dylan liked to make fun of her for always asking questions, but that's what her father had done, too. She smiled as she read through a list of questions he'd compiled for an insurance fraud case. Apparently, she had more of her father in her than she'd thought.
"You're smiling," Dylan said, as he brought over another pile of files.
"Reading my dad's handwriting, following his thoughts in his notes, makes him feel alive again."
"I'm glad that's making you happy. A while ago, you had a different expression on your face."
"I think I've been trying to jump too far ahead when I should be building a ladder to get me there."
He gave her a quizzical look as he sat down next to her. "What does that mean?"
"My dad took things one step at a time. I've been jumping from one slippery rock to the next. I need to slow down and really think about what I know so far and what I need to figure out. Does that make sense?"
"Yes, but you're not the most patient person, Tori."
She made a little face at him, but he was right. "I could be better," she agreed. "I've just always felt like I have to know the answer as soon as I have the question. I'm impatient."
"It's not a bad thing. Your curiosity drives you. In your line of work, it's important to have that thirst for the truth."
"So you're complimenting me?" she asked with a raise of her brow.
"It seems that way," he said with a grin. "But here's an idea. If you're going to slow down— and I think that's a great idea, by the way—why don't we pack up these files and take them to your apartment? It's hot up here, and there's no way you're going to get through all of this before your mom comes back. And if we're still here when she returns from dinner, there are going to be more questions."
"Good point." She got up and grabbed an old suitcase. "This is empty. We can use this to transport the files."
"Perfect."
They loaded up the files in the suitcase. The few that didn’t fit she carried down to her car and put them on the backseat.
"I'll follow you home," Dylan said.
"You really want to keep doing this with me?"
"I don’t have to go to work until tomorrow. I'm yours until then. But you may need to spring for some pizza, because breakfast was a long time ago."
"I can do that."
She was good at working independently, but none of her previous research had been so personal, and she didn't want her emotions to get in the way. Dylan brought a cool head, and she liked having someone she could trust by her side, because right now she felt like every step was taking her into quicksand.
Dylan did, however, bring other complications and taking him back to her apartment where they usually ended up getting closer than Dylan wanted mi
ght not be the best idea, but she didn't want to say good-bye to him yet.
He wasn't hers forever, but she'd take a few more hours.
Thirteen
As Dylan followed Tori across town, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He should be trying to get her away from investigating on her own and possibly getting into more trouble, but instead he was working right alongside her, spurring her on with his own ideas.
Since discovering that Mitch had left the note, his mind had been racing with possibilities, and now he was as invested as Tori in finding out the truth. He wanted to know what Mitch and Jim were involved in. He thought it had to be both of them. And they'd taken off because Tori was asking too many questions.
But how did they connect to Neil Hawkins and/or to the hotel fire and the murder of Robert Walker? Was it all one complicated scheme? Or were there two separate things going on? And how much danger was Tori in?
She wanted to believe she was in less danger now because Mitch had left the warning note, but was that true? He'd feel better if he knew who Hawkins was and whether or not he'd shot Robert Walker.
After watching Tori pull into her parking garage, he had to drive down the block to find a space. As he walked back to her building, he kept a sharp eye out for anyone sitting in a car or watching the building, but the street was empty.
Glancing at his watch, he realized it was almost six. It felt like a million years ago that they had driven down the coast, feeling happy and carefree. That feeling had certainly changed after seeing Mitch on the security camera footage. And now digging into Ben Hayden's photos and files had added another layer of weight to the day. He hoped that a few more hours of research would bring forth a new clue, because tomorrow he had to go to work, and he'd be at the firehouse for forty-eight hours. He really hated the idea of leaving Tori on her own.
Not that she'd let him follow her to work. She was a very independent person. He liked her strength, her opinions, her fierce drive to get to the truth.
He also liked the way she bit down on her bottom lip while she was pondering a problem, and how her eyes lit up when she smiled or came to some surprising conclusion, and how soft and sexy her mouth was when she kissed him.
Once You're Mine Page 15
