by Anita Meyer
“What did he do?”
“Whatever was available. I know he did some sheepshearing in Australia, worked on a vineyard in France, hauled beer kegs in Germany.” Caroline shrugged. “Nothing high-tech. It was all manual labor.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Jeff said.
“I guess,” she said slowly. “But he could have done so much more with his life.”
“Was he happy?” Jeff asked.
Caroline nodded. “He seemed to be.”
“Then maybe that’s all that matters.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “That doesn’t sound like Mr. Hotshot Gung-ho Go-get-’em Lawyer. You sure you’re feeling all right?”
Jeff grinned. “Maybe I’m changing. Maybe I’m beginning to realize there’s more to life than chasing the almighty dollar.”
“Because it could all be over at any time.”
“Yeah,” Jeff said quietly. A silence enveloped them, but it wasn’t awkward or disquieting. To the contrary, Jeff found it surprisingly comforting. There was a pervasive feeling of “rightness,” a sense that this was meant to be, that they were supposed to be together, that things would somehow work out.
He turned to her and their gazes met and held. She felt it, too; he was sure of it. He could see it in her eyes. Gone was the curtain that she used so effectively to hide her emotions.
Spellbound, he watched her reach out, then felt her stroke the rough stubble on his cheek. His blood raced and he closed his eyes, giving in to the gentle caress of her fingers. He clenched his teeth to keep from turning his head and kissing the soft flesh of her palm. He was her protector and her friend.
He could not be her lover.
Her hand dropped away and when he opened his eyes, a sad smile graced her features. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?” He resisted the urge to clear his throat.
“For caring enough to see me through this.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You may decide I was part of the. Spanish Inquisition before we’re through. Tell me more about Brian.”
“There’s nothing more to tell.”
“All right, then tell me everything you remember about the argument you overheard in the library.”
Caroline started to protest, then changed her mind. Like it or not, Jeff was right about several things. First, they still didn’t know why Davis wanted her brothers dead. Second, maybe talking would help them figure it out. And third, Jeff really wanted to help her. That was the reason that got to her. The one that meant the most.
She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. Staring at the printed bedspread she studied the peach-colored flowers and mint-green leaves. “I only heard two voices,” she said slowly. “One was Brian’s. He was very angry and very loud. I heard him say ‘Alden’ and ‘my old man’ and ‘ledgers.’“
“What about the other voice?”
“I didn’t know it at the time, but it was Davis. He spoke very softly and calmly. The exact opposite of Brian.”
“Could you hear what he said?”
Caroline shook her head. “All I heard was a murmur, more like a purr.” Her forehead wrinkled as she struggled to remember. “I can’t recall a single word. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Jeff said soothingly. “What can you tell me about these ledgers?”
She sighed, more in frustration with herself than with Jeff’s question. “I haven’t a clue what he was talking about.”
Jeff raked a hand through his hair. “Well, did you find any ledgers in your father’s estate?”
“I didn’t,” Caroline said, “but then I didn’t go through his office stuff. Alden did that. I went through the clothes and jewelry and personal effects. But remember, my father was a bookkeeper. It would be strange if he didn’t keep records.”
“Brian didn’t say ‘records,’“ Jeff argued. “He said ‘ledgers.’ Nobody uses ledgers anymore. At least not since the advent of computers. Recording information by hand is too time-consuming and there’s too much margin for error.”
“You didn’t know my father. He may have been a whiz when it came to juggling numbers, but he was something of a computer phobic. He was always afraid the computer would swallow his records instead of spitting them out. And he liked his numbers in black and white, right where he could see them. It doesn’t surprise me that he kept hard copies, but what I don’t understand is why he’d keep the information in the house instead of at his office. You don’t keep client records in your home, do you?”
“No,” Jeff admitted. “But then I don’t have any clients like Augie Davis.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What I can’t figure out is why Davis would work with someone who didn’t like computers. I mean, have you ever seen old business ledgers?”
Caroline shook her head.
“Gran still has some of my grandfather’s. They’re big old brown things, about yea big.” He spread his hands about two and a half feet apart. “Real bulky and a nuisance to carry around. My grandfather’s smell like old leather—”
She bolted off the bed. “I saw them, Jeff. Two of them.”
“What?”
“In the library. There were two old books, real wide, just like you described, on the desk.”
“When?”
“That night. The night Brian was shot. I’m sure they weren’t there the week before. I’d been in that library a hundred times cleaning out stuff. I would have noticed them.”
Jeff grabbed her upper arms and held her still. “What happened to those books?”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I—I’m not sure.”
“Come on, Caroline. Think. You saw Brian get shot, you ran to the police. What happened next?”
She took a deep breath. “They called for a squad car and an ambulance. Then a detective took my statement. Before we’d finished, he got a call saying there was no…” She swallowed hard. “The officers didn’t find Brian’s body, but there was a lot of blood on the library rug. The detective sent a forensics team to the house to investigate or take samples or whatever it is they do, and then he set me up with a police artist. From my descriptions, they were able to identify the two men as Davis and his bodyguard.”
She paused to catch her breath and Jeff had to fight to keep from hurrying her along.
“After I finished with the sketch artist, the detective took me back to the house. I couldn’t believe it. The place was a mess. The library had been turned upside down. Drawers were torn from the cabinet’s, files were strewn from one end of the room to the other.”
“And the ledgers?” Jeff asked.
Caroline closed her eyes, visualizing the room. When she opened them again, she shook her head. “They were gone.”
Chapter 10
“Are you sure?”
Caroline slumped into the rattan chair. “I’m sure. Since the house had been ransacked, I had to go through and make a list of everything that was missing. When I got to the library, I started picking up some of the papers and putting them on the desk—until the police stopped me and told me not to touch anything at the crime scene—and I know the ledgers weren’t on the desk then. Davis must have taken them.”
“Probably,” Jeff said, “although it’s possible that…”
“That what?”
Jeff watched her face, trying to decide exactly how much to tell her. It took less time than a heartbeat to make up his mind. She had been honest enough to tell him all she knew about the situation; she deserved the same. “Arthur told me your protective custody was…” He paused in search of the right word. “Compromised. Since we know Davis owns someone on the force, it’s also possible the ledgers were taken by one of the officers who first arrived on the scene.”
Her face went white, and for a moment, Jeff regretted his decision to tell her.
“But frankly, Caroline, that’s a real long shot.” He took the pot of coffee and refilled her empty cup. “I think it’s safe to assume the ledgers belonged
to your father and contained information about Davis. It doesn’t make sense that Davis would leave them there.”
“I guess so.” She sipped the coffee, feeling the caffeine stimulate her brain cells. For weeks she had been operating on automatic pilot, fueled only by her own emotional energy. In the aftermath of last night’s apocalypse, the overwhelming pain and torment had subsided. In the bright morning sun, she was beginning to think again, beginning to see all the gaps and holes in this damnable puzzle. And she didn’t like what she was beginning to see. “What was Brian doing with the ledgers?” she asked Jeff. “And why was he meeting with Davis?”
Jeff busied himself with the tray of pastries. He had hoped she wouldn’t be asking those questions until he had some satisfactory answers. “The truth?” he asked. “I don’t know.”
“But you have a few ideas, right?”
“I’m considering the possibilities.” He pushed himself away from the table and moved to the large bank of plateglass windows. The sun was well into the sky now, and the blue-green ocean shimmered and glistened with reflected light.
He felt, more than heard, her cross the room. She laid her hand on his arm, branding his skin with her touch. “Jeff.”
Reluctantly, he turned to face her..
“Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Caroline, half the time I think like a P.I. and the other half, I think like an attorney, Either way, my approach tends to be criminal and cynical. I didn’t know your brothers, but because of my background, I’m likely to suspect the worse. For your sake, I think it would be best if I keep my opinions to myself.” He tried to step around her, but she moved in front of him, neatly trapping him between the window and her own immovable form.
“You told me last night and again this morning that if I’m ever going to find peace, I have to face the truth. I can’t do that if you keep it from me.”
“Caroline, I—”
She held up her hand. “You also said that every time we talk, you learn something new. Well, every time we talk I learn something new, too. I’m not going to hit you, or fall apart in your arms, so please, let’s finish it. Right now.”
Jeff looked at the long expanse of beach outside the window. She was a lot like that ocean. On the surface, she was buoyant and sparkling. But hidden deep within her was a powerful emotional undertow.
Today, there was a cloudless blue sky and the water was calm. He took that as a sign.
“What do you think was in those two ledgers?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the window.
She thought about it for a moment. “They were probably Davis’s business records, maybe a list of everything he was involved in.”
“Illegal?”
She nodded at Jeff’s broad back. “I would think so, yes.”
“What would you do if you were going through your father’s things and found a book of criminal activities?”
“I’d take it to the police.”
“And if you thought the police might be on Davis’s side?”
“Then…I’d…take it to the D.A. or a lawyer. Someone I trusted. I’d bring it to you,” Caroline announced, interjecting a little levity into Jeff’s grave-sounding questions.
He spun around and looked at her without flinching. “Brian didn’t do that, did he?”
“Well, no-”
“And neither did Alden.”
“I’m sure there was a reason—”
“Like maybe they didn’t want you to find out about your father, who he was and what he really did for a living.”
“Sure, they would do tha—”
“Tell me, Caroline, if you found evidence that could hurt someone—someone you dearly wanted to protect—what would you do with it?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Would you contact the criminal and set up a meeting to discuss it?”
“No, of course not—”
Jeff took her by the arms. His voice was barely a whisper. “But that’s what Brian did.”
She swallowed hard. She had wanted to know what Jeff thought. Now she knew. “Why?” she asked. Her calm demeanor betrayed not one drop of the nervous fear roiling through her stomach. “Why do you think he did that and what did he hope to accomplish?”
Jeff eyed her curiously. This was not the reaction he expected.
“Well?” she prompted.
“The obvious answer would be blackmail,” he said.
She considered this, then shook her head. “Brian didn’t need money from Davis. My father was a wealthy man. His will had already gone into probate, and we all knew the estate would be split into three equal shares. Brian may have craved excitement, but he was too smart to blackmail an underworld mobster. Not when he already had more money than he knew what to do with.”
“Money is only one object of blackmail,” Jeff cautioned. “There are plenty of others.”
Caroline returned to one of the rattan chairs. “Such as?”
Jeff exhaled a long breath. “Power. Maybe Brian wanted to cut himself in on Davis’s organization.”
“Never,” she said. “Not in a million years.”
“I know you don’t want to believe it—”
“Tell me, Jeff. If you were trying to blackmail a criminal would you be angry with him?”
Jeff stared at her blankly. “What?”
“Would you raise your voice and shout at him?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Would you yell things about your brother and your father?”
Jeff sat back in stunned silence..
“Would you wave your trump card—that is, the ledgers—under his nose? After all,” she said, with a dramatic pause, “that’s what Brian did.”
Jeff folded his arms across his chest and looked at her with grudging admiration. “Lady, you would make a hell of a lawyer.”
Caroline smiled. “I believe it’s called reasonable doubt. And I think it’s therefore reasonable to assume that Brian was not trying to blackmail his way into Davis’s good graces.” The smile slipped. “But that still doesn’t tell us what he was doing. What are some of the other reasons for blackmailing?”
“Well, there’s revenge, information—”
Her eyes widened. “Information about—”
“Alden,” Jeff finished.
“If Brian thought Davis knew something about Alden’s death, he might use the ledgers to get Davis to talk.”
Jeff nodded. “Maybe.”
She propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. “But it still doesn’t tell us anything about Alden.”
Jeff pushed himself away from the table and stretched. “I say we give it a rest. We’ll have more luck if we come back to it when we’re fresh.” He scrubbed a hand across his cheek. “I need to get cleaned up and you need to eat something. You can’t think on just coffee. I’ll leave the door ajar. If you need anything—”
“Just holler,” Caroline finished. “I know, I know.”
Jeff looked affronted. “Am I that predictable?”
“You? Predictable?” She made a face. “Just because you’ve said the same exact thing every day for the past three weeks…”
He grinned. “Hey, I don’t have to take this. I’m outta here.” He grabbed some clothes from the dresser drawer and disappeared into the bathroom.
Caroline turned her chair so it faced the window and her back was to the bathroom. After three weeks, he knew full well she wasn’t going to run away, so why didn’t he just close the damn door and be done with it? She heard the rush of water and steadfastly stared at a palm tree outside the window.
But instead of a scaly light-brown trunk, she saw a smooth, broad back, bronzed by the sun. Instead of swirling green fronds, she saw clouds of billowing steam wrapped around a firm, lean torso. She gripped the armrests and stared straight ahead.
They had started out polar opposites. Then he’d become a friend, someone she could tease and laugh with, someone whose company she truly
enjoyed. And last night she had offered him something she hadn’t given anyone in a long, long time—her trust. He’d taken it and held it. Held it as tenderly as he had held her when she’d finally given in to her grief. Not all men were like her father. There was one who was the best of Alden and Brian combined.
Caroline closed her eyes. Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe in a desperate need to cling to her brothers, she had recreated them in the form of Jefferson McKensie.
Maybe.
But she really didn’t think so. The deepest grief, the heaviest sorrow, the longest mourning, wouldn’t explain the desire that raged through her bloodstream every time their eyes met, their hands touched, their bodies…
She breathed a sigh of relief when the water was finally turned off and she heard the soft click of the shower door open and close. Soon it would be safe to turn around again.
“Everything okay out there?” he asked a few minutes later.
“Just dandy,” Caroline muttered. “Fine,” she said aloud. She pushed herself out of the chair and crossed the room to stand in the doorway.
He was dressed in a pair of tan chinos, his feet and chest bare. He rubbed his head vigorously with a towel, then tossed it over one shoulder. She watched, fascinated, as he took a can of shaving, cream from one of the drawers and squirted a liberal amount into the palm of his hand.
Their eyes met in the wall-to-wall mirror behind the sink. “What are you staring at?” he asked.
“You.” Her throat was so dry, the word nearly stuck there.
Jeff spread the white foam over his face and neck, then rinsed his hands. “Haven’t you ever seen a man shave before?”
She hoisted herself onto the top of the marble vanity next to the sink and dangled her legs over the side. “Sure, lots of times. But nowadays men use electric razors.” She looked at the long handle with a blade folded inside. “Most men don’t have the time or the patience to use a safety razor, let alone a straight edge.”
Jeff’s hands stilled inside the towel and his eyebrows rose. “Really? And is that observation based on your vast experience with men or are you just a self-professed authority on shaving?”
