‘No.’ She feigned regret, fiddling with brown curls that escaped her ponytail. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve got the wrong person and I don’t think there’s a Meagan living in this complex.’
He emerged from the darkness. The door light cast deep shadows under his brows and cheekbones, lending him a menacing air that set her heart racing again. She struggled to keep her face impassively inquiring. Struggled not to show recognition.
It was the man from the café, two months ago. Kade something. How had he found her?
A car swooshed along the wet street, sending a light mist of water into the air to settle on both of them. Droplets glistened on his dark hair.
For a moment, he reviewed her, his grey eyes narrowed. Then he smiled.
‘Sorry if I scared you. You do look a bit like Meagan, but…’ His grin became rueful.
Heather was not in the least bit fooled. He knew who she was. He’d found her and now she had to move again. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She squeezed them away and managed a wan chuckle.
‘No problem. I have one of those faces, I guess. Good luck finding her.’
Deliberately, she turned away and steadied herself long enough to fit the key into the door. No sound of retreating footsteps behind her.
‘You shouldn’t do that, you know,’ he cautioned.
‘What?’ she asked, all innocence, the door half open.
‘Turn your back on a stranger in the middle of the night. Open your door while an unknown man is standing right beside you.’
Heather should have felt threatened, but she didn’t. For several reasons. Not the least of which was that she got no sense of violence from this man. At least, not toward her. There was a strength, a capability, the aura of leashed passion with a hint of anger. But true violence, no.
‘Am I in danger from you?’ She dared him to come clean. A loaded question and they both knew it, even if neither would admit it.
A glint of admiration shadowed the grey of his gaze. ‘Not from me.’
‘I didn’t think so.’ She turned away again, almost regretting they were on opposite sides. It would have been nice to borrow some of his strength. Lord knew she needed it.
She hesitated. That interchange wouldn’t be enough. She needed to throw him off the scent. Looking over her shoulder as she entered through the door, Heather played her best card.
‘I’m Fiona MacDonald.’ She tipped her head to one side, letting a flirtatious smile play. ‘I know it’s forward of me, but there’s something about you...do you want to have lunch tomorrow?’
There it was: a combination of startled admiration and naked desire. Swiftly masked and replaced with flattered interest.
‘Sure. Why not.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Name the time and place. I’m free tomorrow.’
‘There’s a great Indian restaurant on Main street. Two o’clock?’ A late lunch would give her time to pack and be ready to disappear.
He nodded. ‘Done.’
Just before she closed the door on his handsome face, she snapped her fingers. ‘Oh! I forgot to ask your name.’
‘Kade. Kade Miller.’ A slight, wry smile flickered over his sexy mouth.
‘Good night, Kade.’ Heather murmured, closing and locking the door. Though she suspected a lock wouldn’t keep him out if he decided to pay her a midnight visit.
KADE
Kade grinned in dumbfounded admiration. She was good. Either that woman truly wasn’t Meagan O’Hara, or she was the best actress he’d ever seen. But she had to be. Her MO fit exactly, even if her appearance had changed. Midwife again. Where the hell did she get the false paperwork every time she moved? It spoke of a lot of practice and an intimate knowledge of the criminal networks in each city. What was her real name?
This time she had long brown curly hair and dark blue eyes, instead of straight blonde hair and brown eyes. But he’d never forget that mouth. Perfectly shaped, soft, a little wistful in repose. Sexy. Even up close, it was only the shape of her lips, a tiny scar on her temple, and the hint of wariness that betrayed her. Otherwise, Meagan O’Hara and Fiona MacDonald were two different women.
Meagan had been described to him as a petite, quiet, efficient blonde. People here described Fiona as a tall, fun, outgoing brunette. Meagan dressed in shapeless, dark, unflattering clothes and walked with hunched shoulders and head bent; Fiona wore bright shades, striding with her chin high.
Kade retreated from the filthy glass door of her apartment block and inspected the front of the building. A cold, neon light flickered on behind a thin curtain on the third floor. A female shadow passed to and fro a couple times, then the window next door—small and frosted—lit up. The bathroom. He paced around to the alley running beside the building, examining the layout. The fire exit, a set of rusted, unsteady-looking ancient ladders clinging to the side of the building, was in plain sight, but too high to reach. The five-storey building was isolated from its neighbours and only an Olympic pole-vaulter would be able to cross the gaps.
He scratched his beard stubble, grinning in anticipation. If he went away now, he’d be abandoned for lunch tomorrow. Fiona/Meagan would disappear tonight. That meant playing the game a little more cleverly and letting her know he was here for the long haul.
Finding a door recess across the road, he settled into it, his collar raised against the cold drizzle that drifted from a lowering sky. She wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Or any time.
Not if he could help it.
HEATHER
Heather, alias Fiona MacDonald, alias Meagan O’Hara and several other names she’d almost forgotten now, walked slowly into her bathroom and examined her wan reflection in the cracked, spotted mirror. Dragging the long brown wig off, she ran stiff fingers through her own short, jet curls, feeling the oiliness of a stressful day. After washing her hands, she extracted and stored the blue contacts, undressed and stepped into the shower. Hot water soothed her aches but nothing so simple would restore her flagging energy, or her freedom.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in shades of ebony and grey, she peered out the unlit bedroom window at the street below. Two a.m. and he was still there. Hard to see, hidden in a dark doorway, but slight, occasional movements betrayed his presence—and his impatience.
He was getting smarter. She’d have to be even better.
Was he police? Federal? Something else, entirely? He held himself upright and moved smoothly, like someone with martial or military training. So perhaps ex-military and now in law of some sort? No way of knowing.
Might as well get some sleep.
Heather laid out her outfit for the morning next to the oversized floral handbag that contained her medical kit and a few other essentials—new identity papers being the most important. The rest of her scant belongings she could leave behind without remorse. She’d done it often enough.
Indeed, it had been so long since she’d lived in a real house and owned anything of worth the memory of such comforts were nothing more than dim, warm dreams. Someone else’s life. Someone loved and valued, secure and treasured.
Before the nightmare. Before the onset of…everything. Before the anger, her father’s raised voice, the fear in him that segued into resentment and thence into hatred. The midnight flight with her mother, leaving everything behind.
Inured to the old pain, she lay on the narrow, creaking bed and willed herself to sleep with meditation techniques. Her last coherent thought was that the time between discovery was getting shorter. Kade Miller was the cause of it. Perhaps the moment had come to quit, after all.
#
At six a.m., her body clock woke her into instant awareness. She gazed absently at the dirty, stuccoed-plaster ceiling. She’d wanted to make sure Juanita and the baby were alright, but couldn’t risk it now. Couldn’t lead Miller to the home of an illegal family. Undoubtedly Kade Miller would be still watching, unless he’d fallen asleep. Unlikely.
No, today she had to act as carefree as Fiona MacDonald would.
R
ising stiffly, she completed her morning routine, though her body ached and her thoughts drifted toward melancholy vagueness. At seven-thirty she showered, washing off the sweat of a tough workout. She planned her escape route while warm water stung her skin and mingled with unwanted tears of self-pity.
Shortly after, Fiona MacDonald emerged forth from her apartment block, apparently without a care in the world. Wearing a white longsleeved top under a long black jacket, with black jeans and frivolous, red low-heeled boots, she approached her car then pretended to reconsider. Overhead, a pale blue sky showed clear and the morning crispness spoke of a fine day. With a deep breath of sharp winter air, Heather strode along the sidewalk, imitating a woman determined to make the most of a beautiful day. She tucked her large, red and white flowered shoulder bag against her hip, swung her free arm, and ignored the car following half a block behind.
Good. If Kade was in a car, it meant she had a slight advantage. It would take him time to find somewhere to park if she ducked into a shopping centre. There was a chance she could lose herself long enough to switch identities and disappear again. Did he have accomplices? A shaft of anxiety speared her chest and she almost tripped over an unevenness in the pavement.
She couldn’t risk a glance at the car to see if he was alone. She’d have to chance it. Damn him for catching her off guard and unready. She’d only been in this town a couple of weeks. Not long enough to establish the contacts she needed to make a total disappearance easy. She had new papers but not the untraceable transport needed to get her out of town. She’d have to count on a total makeover and book plane or bus tickets in her new name. What was it this time? Oh yes. Katherine Douglas: blue-eyed brunette. The long, black wig was already tucked into her bag.
Heather grimaced. Her finances couldn’t stand many more of these identity changes. It was time to take a holiday. Get a normal job. Maybe something in an office. Somewhere people weren’t hurting—physically, anyway; just long enough to recuperate her strength and her cash.
Difficult decision made, Heather caught a bus into the middle of town and did her level best to lose Kade Miller in the busiest shopping centre she could find. She sensed, at the end, that it hadn’t worked. He was still close by; observing, waiting.
A bare half hour before their appointed lunch date, she feigned a surprised reaction to the time on her watch and bolted to the taxi rank. Climbing in the third cab, she directed the driver to the café and gave him certain other instructions at the same time, plus a handsome tip.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘So,’ Heather said, smiling winsomely across at Kade, ‘what do you do for a living?’
He’d been waiting for her at the café. How had he arrived there first when she knew he’d been following her only minutes before? He was good. Oh yes, he was good.
Now they sat opposite each other in a cosy booth in the Indian restaurant she’d recommended. It was a crowded, untidy sort of place with at least three exits. There were no chairs, only low couches with scattered, brilliantly-coloured cushions and various thick-timbered tables at shin-height. Incense and Indian music drifted through the air along with the sound of laughter, and rich spices from the kitchen. The restaurant was cluttered and full enough that it might make standing and rushing out difficult for a tall man like Miller. Difficult enough, perhaps, to give Heather a running start.
The waiter deposited a huge mug of black coffee in front of Kade, who grinned his thanks. He had a sexy, unfairly bewitching smile.
After stirring half a teaspoon of sugar into his drink, Kade said, ‘I’m a private investigator.’
Heather gasped at his sheer gall. He arched an eyebrow and she changed the gasp into a squeak of delight.
‘Wow, what an exciting job.’ She whispered the next question, ‘And are you trying to find that woman you were searching for last night? What was her name?’
Kade chuckled and revealed a brief, knowing gleam in his eye. That involuntarily made her smile. He was enjoying playing this game and, in a weird way, she was, too. Even though she was in serious trouble, there was something fascinating about Kade Miller that made it hard to feel like she was in danger.
‘Her name was Meagan O’Hara.’
‘Has she done something wrong?’ Heather couldn’t quite disguise the undertone of worry in her voice.
He cocked his head. ‘Why would you assume that?’
She paused, considering. She had to be careful here. Lifting her tiny gilded coffee cup, she relaxed into the soft cushions. ‘Too much Netflix, I guess. You never see shows about a PI tracking someone down for a huge inheritance. It’s only if they’ve done something bad.’
He guffawed, the sound rolling over the top of conversations and music. Several women sent him admiring looks. Heather glared at them.
‘You’re right,’ he said.
She gulped. Right about what?
He continued, ‘You do watch too much Netflix. It’s nothing so interesting, I’m afraid.’
A tiny knot of tension eased in her shoulders. Then she clenched her fists below the table. No. Just because she wanted to believe him, didn’t make it the smart thing to do. Nobody spent this much time and money on a PI to find someone and tell them something good.
‘So what is it, then?’ she managed to ask.
‘Oh, I’ve been hired by a father to find his lost daughter.’ Kade sent her more sharp shrewdness. ‘The father thinks Meagan was the last person to see her alive.’
Heather started. She hid confusion behind her cup, sipping the hot, sweet coffee. In her years doing this work, she had only lost three young mothers, both to complications she couldn’t heal and they wouldn’t go to hospital for. Had one of her clients’ parents gone to the police? Was she under suspicion of murder?
She struggled to show only a cool, inquiring expression; to pretend she was curious but unconnected to his story. But all she could think was that she had to get out; to escape; to go somewhere so far away he wouldn’t find her again. But how? He examined her like a hawk, waiting for her to either reveal her secrets or to make a run for it.
Time to execute Plan A.
The waiter delivered their lunches and Heather used the diversion to change the conversation.
‘How did you get into the PI business?’
He shrugged. ‘Not a lot of interesting jobs for ex-military. When my business partner and I got out of the Special Forces we pooled our cash and started the company. He runs it. I do legwork.’
Heather peeked at his left hand. No ring, but that didn’t mean much. ‘Does all the travelling affect your family?’
His knuckles showed tense and white beneath thin skin. He chewed and ate a bite of rogan josh, leaving enough silence that Heather shifted uncomfortably on her seat.
‘No,’ he finally said. ‘Not married.’
‘Oh.’ She tried to seem uninterested. Being attracted to him was sheer madness. She couldn’t afford to be interested in anyone, least of all this man.
‘What about you?’ Kade relaxed. ‘Married? Kids?’
‘No time. Maybe one day.’ She applied herself to the excellent butter chicken on her plate. Marriage and family was something she’d never let herself think about. Too painful. Too difficult. Impossible, in fact. She couldn’t ask anyone to take on this life.
Forcing a light smile, she offered him a piece of butter chicken. His fingers brushed the back of her hand as he steadied the fork. The same connection she’d felt last time fizzed along her arm. He made a show of tasting the cuisine. She withdrew and focussed on taking another bite. She’d need the strength, if that touch was any indication.
‘What’s your job?’ he asked, casually.
Heather sipped at her glass of water. Did she lie or tell the truth? Would he call her on it if she lied?
‘I’m a nurse. Working with an obstetrics clinic.’ Half a truth, anyway. If he queried her she could say she’d hedged because people tended to be uneasy with midwives, like they were some layover from medie
val times.
But he merely cocked his head. ‘Huh. Must be tiring. Working so late at night.’
She shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But rewarding, too. Who doesn’t like babies? And saving lives, bringing new life into the world. Nothing better.’
He pushed meat around on his plate. ‘Of course.’ His tone was neutral. ‘And where are you from, originally?’ He waved a fork in a circle.
‘New York,’ she said, ‘but I move around a lot.’ Her throat tightened. She hadn’t thought about home in a long time. It didn’t exist any more, anyway. There was no returning.
‘And next? Where to?’ He eyed her narrowly.
‘Who knows? Wherever the job takes me. That’s the fun part of being unattached. Maybe Florida? I hate the cold.’
He shot her a quick, speculative look. Would the delicate bit of misdirection work when she left town? Would he drive south when he lost her this time?
They talked as they ate, dancing around difficult topics and backstories; a delicate game of cat and mouse in which Heather wasn’t sure who was who. In the end she was obliged to acknowledge she had met her match as an actor. Kade was simply biding his time, willing to play along; giving her enough rope to hang herself. Part of her regretted that she had to give him the slip. He was the first man in a very long time to pique her interest in any way.
Finally, Heather patted her stomach. ‘I’m so full.’ What she would give to be able to go to her flat and sleep for hours.
Kade sipped from a glass of rich, red wine. ‘Good food.’
She sighed and collected her bag. ‘I do have some work to do this afternoon, though, so I can’t stay any longer. Here’s cash for my half. I’ll go to the bathroom and meet you at the front counter. OK?’
Kade nodded agreeably, waving aside her offer of payment. ‘My treat. You can pay next time if it’s an issue.’
‘Next time…yes.’ She tucked the money into her purse, not loath to keep it; strangely attracted to the idea of a ‘next time’, insane though that was.
Healing Heather Page 3
