Private Eye Protector

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Apology accepted. But, just so we’re clear, I was interviewing you. Plain and simple. Kane assigned your case to me. I take that seriously. If I had been trying to manipulate you, you never would have known it. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” He stepped out of the room and closed the door, leaving Rayne to think about what he’d said.

  What she’d said.

  How foolish and silly she’d been to even think that Chance would stoop so low.

  He wasn’t that kind of guy, and if she had any kind of courage in her at all, she’d march back down the stairs and tell him as much.

  But she didn’t.

  When it came to matters of the heart, she was as big a coward as they came.

  Heart?

  No way.

  Just friendship, and hurting a friend was never the right thing to do.

  She changed Emma, tucked her into the crib, prayed for her. When she finished, she wanted to take a shower, pull on her comfortable flannel pajamas and curl up on the futon.

  She couldn’t.

  Her parents had raised her to face her mistakes head-on, and if she were going to get any sleep, she was going to have to face this one.

  She took a deep breath, splashed cold water on her hot face, trying not to look too long at her bruised cheek and lumpy head, her shadow-rimmed eyes or her pale skin.

  None of those things mattered.

  What mattered was saying what needed to be said.

  She took a deep breath, opened the door and walked straight into Chance’s arms.

  Surprised, she stumbled back, nearly falling.

  “Careful.” His hands were on her waist, his palms warm, and she forgot everything she was supposed to say.

  “I thought you were downstairs,” she managed, and he raised a dark eyebrow.

  “I was heading to the shower. Where were you heading?”

  “To see you.”

  “Did you need something?”

  “Just to apologize.”

  “You already did.”

  “I said I was sorry, but what I should have said was that I know you would never manipulate me. I know you’re not that kind of person, and I don’t know why I said what I did.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “Yes. I do. You’ve been nothing but kind and helpful. I couldn’t ask for a better friend in adversity, and I really am sorry.”

  He studied her for a moment, and then he leaned so close they were almost nose to nose. “You’re making me sound like a saint, and I can guarantee you I’m not. I’m telling you right now that it’s not just friendship I have on my mind when I’m with you. So how about we talk about this tomorrow when we’re both in better frames of mind?” His hands dropped, and he walked into the room across the hall, closed the door, left her standing with her mouth hanging open.

  It’s not just friendship I have on my mind when I’m with you?

  Well, it wasn’t friendship she had on her mind, either.

  Which was unfortunate, seeing as how she was not going to break the last rule.

  Ever.

  No exceptions.

  Definitely.

  Probably.

  Hopefully?

  She stepped back in the room, closed the door and grabbed her flannel PJs, praying that when morning came, she’d wake up and realize that everything she’d lived through in the past twenty-four hours had been a dream.

  ELEVEN

  Mornings were supposed to bring fresh perspective, right?

  So why didn’t Chance have any?

  He scowled at the computer screen, rereading Sam Good-win’s email. Kane had dropped Rayne’s computer off with Sam the previous night, and he’d already examined it. His verdict: it had been cleaned.

  Which begged the question: Who had done the cleaning?

  Rayne?

  Someone else?

  If someone else, then why? When? How?

  He poured a cup of coffee from the pot he’d made an hour before, set it on the kitchen table next to the computer. He might not have fresh perspective, but at least a good night’s sleep had given him renewed energy.

  Footsteps sounded on stairs, and Chance braced himself for what he knew he’d feel when Rayne appeared. All the emotions that he’d promised himself he’d never give in to were back, stronger than they’d been with Jessica.

  He couldn’t explain it.

  Didn’t like it.

  Wasn’t sure what it said about the relationship he’d had with his wife. Maybe only that there’d been something missing, some vital connection that he wouldn’t know existed if he hadn’t met Rayne.

  She walked into the kitchen, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, her face scrubbed clean. No makeup covering the bruises, nothing to hide the circles beneath her eyes. Faded jeans and a well-worn T-shirt her only adornment, she walked with the graceful ease of a dancer.

  And she took his breath away.

  “You’re up early,” she said, her cheeks tinged with more pink than he’d seen since the accident.

  “So are you.”

  “Any sign of Sydney?”

  “She popped out of her room about twenty minutes ago, grabbed coffee and went back in.”

  “She’s very private.”

  “It seems that way. Where’s Emma?”

  “Still sound asleep. She woke a few times last night, so I’m not surprised. Poor baby. She really needs her routine back.”

  “She’ll get it.”

  “Eventually, but that could mean days or weeks or longer. I’m not sure how she’s going to handle that.”

  “How about you? How will you handle it if this stretches out for weeks?”

  “I’ll manage.” She offered a brittle smile. “What are you working on?”

  “Going over a few emails. The computer whiz I told you about checked your computer. He said it’s been cleaned.”

  “Like what you do if your computer has a virus?”

  “Exactly. It’s been cleaned and rebuilt. Looks like it happened the day of your accident. Is it something you might have done?”

  “I’ve done it a couple of times. My father taught me how when I was in college after my computer was infected with a virus.”

  “So it’s within the realm of possibility that you cleaned and rebuilt it yourself?”

  “Who else would? No one uses my computer except me.”

  “Maybe someone who was concerned with what might be on your computer and decided to make sure whatever was there disappeared for good.”

  “Who? I only communicate with friends and coworkers. And what good would it do to get rid of my emails? No one could have known I’d get amnesia. I should have been able to remember what the emails said whether I’d kept them or not.”

  “That leaves one possibility.” He eyed her over the rim of his coffee cup, watching as his meaning sank in.

  “You think my accident wasn’t an accident at all, and someone wanted to kill me? Someone I’d been in contact with, who could be traced through my emails? Impossible. None of my friends would want to harm me, and my coworkers are all people you know. Do you really believe any of them would bomb your mother’s house?”

  “It’s not what either of us believes that matters. It’s the facts.”

  “Well, the facts are that I have great friends. None of them would do this. Leon is our only suspect. If the police can find him, maybe we’ll get some answers.”

  “Leon was the first person I thought of, but how could he have found you? Your number is unlisted. I tried calling information to get your address. No dice. Leon couldn’t be the one who called you out to the airport. Even if he had your number, you’re not friends—you wouldn’t have gone to pick him up.”

  “What I told you still holds true. Aside from Leon, there isn’t anyone who would want to hurt me.”

  “How about Emma’s father?” It was a possibility he’d been thinking about most of the morning. One that might not make sense, but that he couldn’t shake. />
  “I don’t know who he is, and he doesn’t know me. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t even know Emma exists. Chandra told me that she never informed the father about her pregnancy.”

  “Was Chandra always honest with you?”

  “For the most part.”

  “Which means she could have lied.”

  “She could have, but what would her motive have been? Whether or not she informed the father was her business. As much as I wanted her do the right thing, I couldn’t make her and she knew it.”

  “I guess we’ll need to dig a little deeper to find out who she told.”

  “Right now, all I want to dig into is the refrigerator.” She opened the stainless-steel refrigerator and stared into the brightly lit interior. “Want some eggs?”

  “Are you cooking?”

  “Since you’re working, yes.”

  “That sounds very…” He almost said domestic, but if he used the word, she’d probably run. “Good.”

  “That’s not you were really going to say, is it?” she asked as she cracked eggs into a bowl and dug a pan out of a cupboard. “Not exactly.”

  “So maybe I’m not the only chicken around here.”

  “It’s not me who’d be scared of what I almost said.”

  “Then say it.”

  “I was going to say, your making eggs for both of us seems very domestic.”

  If he hadn’t been watching so intently, he would have missed the tiny hitch in her movements as she shoved bread into the toaster. “Everything a person does in a kitchen seems domestic.”

  “Not if it’s being done alone. Add another person, then things get interesting.”

  “I still think Leon is our guy,” she said, changing the subject without apology.

  “He’s an easy scapegoat, anyway.” But it seemed to Chance that if a guy like Leon wanted revenge, he could have gotten it more easily the day he’d held Rayne at gunpoint. Load the gun, pull the trigger, finish it right there and then.

  Why stretch things out? Why wait until Rayne moved away?

  “You said you’d helped Leon’s wife start fresh. What happened to her?”

  “As far as I know, she’s still in Baltimore enjoying the job I found for her.”

  “Do you have her contact information?”

  “Yes, but I can’t imagine that she has anything to do with any of this.”

  “How about you let me check it out anyway? It can’t hurt to know for sure.”

  “It’s on my…”

  “Computer?”

  “Yes. So, I guess I don’t have it after all.”

  “You know her name and her employer, right?”

  “Her name is Mary Harper. She works for All His Children preschool.”

  “That should be enough to find her.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t know if it will do any good. It seems as if we’re just grasping at straws, hoping we’ll find something.” She set a plate of eggs and toast in front of him, took the seat across the table.

  “They might be straws, but at least we have something to grasp. That’s a lot more than I have with some cases.”

  She shrugged, probably not convinced.

  He didn’t blame her.

  It seemed they had a lot more questions than they had answers, but he wouldn’t give up. He’d keep searching, keep grasping until he finally pulled up something that would lead them in the right direction.

  “I wonder how your mother is doing this morning,” Rayne said.

  “I spoke to her a half hour ago. She’s doing okay.”

  “I’m glad. Despite what you both say, I still feel bad about what happened.”

  “Don’t waste your energy feeling bad, okay? My mother specifically told me to tell you that.”

  “Your mother is kind to worry about me when her house just burned to the ground.”

  “The damage isn’t nearly as bad as it looked. The fire marshal already cleared it for cleaning and rebuilding. The structure is still sound. It’s just the front facade that will have to be replaced. The porch is gone, but the things that are important are still intact.”

  “That’s a relief. I’ve been worried that the entire house would have to be torn down.” She stabbed a bite of egg, and Chance reached for her hand.

  “Since we’re sitting here being domestic, we might as well go a step further.”

  Her eyes widened, her gaze dropping to his lips, and everything he’d been thinking slipped away until there was nothing but the two of them, hands touching, eyes meeting, the thing that had been pulling them together, drawing them even closer.

  “That’s probably not a good idea.” But she didn’t sound as convinced as he thought she would, and he didn’t feel nearly as convinced as he knew he should.

  No more relationships.

  That had been the plan for years.

  Suddenly, the plan was changing, all the things he’d thought were true called into question by a woman he’d spent weeks avoiding and two days protecting.

  “I meant, how about we pray together before we eat? Of course, after that, I’m not opposed to whatever else you had in mind.”

  Heat shot up Rayne’s neck, and she dropped her gaze. “Let’s pray.”

  He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he asked God’s blessing on the food. The silent prayer he added as Rayne prayed was between him and God, but he hoped he’d have an answer soon. Clarity in the face of confusion. Vision in the face of darkness. Patience in the face of what might turn out to be the toughest investigation he’d ever conducted. He needed all those things, and he needed them yesterday.

  “Amen,” Rayne mumbled, her neck and cheeks still stained pink.

  “There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why are you three shades of red?”

  “Because I’m overheated from standing beside a hot stove.”

  “You were cooking eggs. How hot did the stove need to be?”

  “Hot?”

  “You’re a bad liar, you know that?” He stood, pulling her up with one gentle tug of the hand.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “No?”

  “I’m just not telling the entire truth.” She offered a quick smile, her dimple there and gone in a flash, and he leaned close, inhaled soap and subtle perfume. “So what is the truth, Goldilocks?” He twirled a curl around his finger, straightened it, watched as it sprang back.

  “All the things I feel when I’m with you terrify me, but when I’m with you, I’m drawn to you like a moth to the flame. I can’t resist.”

  “Should I be upset about that?” Chance asked.

  “Of course not. When I’m incinerated, you’ll be just fine.”

  “The way I see it, we’re both moths drawn to the same flame. Only time will tell if we’ll survive.”

  “I don’t want a relationship, Chance.”

  “I know.”

  “And you don’t want one, either.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “So what are we doing?”

  “We’re realizing that sometimes the things we don’t want are the things that God gives us, and we’re trying to figure out what to do with that.”

  Emma’s cry drifted from upstairs and Rayne pulled away. Nearly ran away.

  Chance let her go.

  There was nothing he could say that could change what was.

  They’d both hurt and been hurt. They’d both failed in love. And now they were together, drawn by something neither of them could understand.

  His phone rang, and he answered it, glad for the distraction.

  “Hello?”

  “Chance? It’s Kai. I have some information I thought you’d want.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Looks like the bomb was fairly rudimentary. Anyone with a little ingenuity could have made it.”

  “Not helpful.”

  “No, but there is something that might be. That truck you saw? It’s a rental.”
>
  “How do you figure that?”

  “A little footwork. I went to the airport, checked with carrental companies. One of them rented a dark blue Mitsubishi truck to a guy named Daryl Green the day before yesterday. Funny thing is, I saw a copy of Green’s photo ID, and he looks a lot like Darren Leon. Lighter hair and clean-shaven, but they could be the same guy.”

  “Could be or are?”

  “I’m ninety percent sure it’s him, but we’re having an expert compare the ID photo with Leon’s mug shot. In the meantime, we’re checking local hotels to see if Green checked in.”

  “Seems like that would make things a little too easy.”

  “I’m all for things being easy. I have a report to type up. I’ll call you if we locate Green.” Kai hung up, and Chance shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  “Bad news?” Rayne carried Emma into the kitchen, and the baby reached for him, her chubby hands grasping at air, and he couldn’t seem to resist her anymore than he could resist her mother. He took her from Rayne, tickled her belly while he explained what he’d learned.

  “So he is after me,” she said, when he finished, her eyes wide with fear.

  “It looks that way.”

  “I know I said he was the only one I could think of, but…”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t make sense. You’re right that I’d never have gone to the airport to meet him.”

  “But you did go to the airport.”

  “I know.” She shoved hair behind her ear, the gesture impatient and quick.

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “You always say that,” she grumbled, setting Emma in a high chair that stood in a corner of the room.

  “I always mean it.”

  “Well, I’m glad one of us has confidence.”

  “Come here.” He tugged her into his chest, and she sighed, her arms sliding around his waist, her hands resting on his back. She fit perfectly there.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Sydney walked into the room, and Rayne jumped back, tripping over the high chair in her haste.

  “Slow down, Rayne. Hugging me isn’t a crime.” He grabbed her arm before she could face plant.

  “You’re not interrupting,” she responded to Sydney’s question, ignoring his comment as she pulled a small box of Cheerios from the diaper bag.