Читать книгу Extreme Measures - Brenda Harlen, Brenda Harlen - Страница 12

Nikki hung up the phone, wondering why she was surprised that Colin had bailed on their plans at the eleventh hour. And why she felt let down.

“I’m glad I didn’t tell Carly he was coming with us,” Nikki told Arden.

“He’s not?”

“No. ‘Something came up,’” she repeated his explanation scornfully.

Arden frowned. “Something that couldn’t wait?”

“Apparently not.” She wasn’t disappointed, she assured herself, she was annoyed. After all, he was the one who’d insisted on spending time with Carly. The only reason she’d agreed was that she felt backed into a corner, his casual threat about taking her to court still looming in her mind.

The biggest irony was that she’d glanced at her calendar this morning and realized it was Father’s Day. And she’d actually been pleased that Carly would, for the first time in her life, spend Father’s Day with her daddy.

“That doesn’t sound like the same man who badgered you into letting him spend the day with Carly,” Arden said.

“No,” Nikki agreed. “Although it’s not the first time he’s changed his mind about what he wants.” They both knew she was referring to the marriage Colin had ended before their first year anniversary.

“He didn’t offer any kind of explanation?”

She shook her head. “No.” Not now, and not five years ago, either. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Then again, not a lot about this situation did make sense. She’d once loved Colin with her heart and soul. She’d believed he loved her. Five years later, there was no hint of the tender affection they’d once shared. All that remained were bitterness, remorse and accusations—and a little girl who didn’t deserve to be at the center of their battle.

“How am I going to explain any of this to Carly?” she wondered aloud.

“She’s four years old,” Arden said gently. “She won’t require as much explanation as you think.”

“She’s going to have to be told something.”

“She’ll deal with it,” Arden said. “Kids are amazingly resilient.”

“She shouldn’t have to be resilient,” Nikki said. “She shouldn’t have her world turned upside down because of the mistakes I’ve made.”

The pitter-patter of footsteps forestalled any further conversation, and Nikki managed a smile as Carly skipped into the room.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

The familiar refrain transformed the forced smile into a more natural one. “You’re always hungry.”

“But it’s been a really, really long time since breakfast,” Carly said solemnly. “And my tummy is hungry for chocate chip cookies.”

“Chocate chip cookies?”

“Uh-huh,” Carly affirmed, nodding her head for emphasis.

“You know the rule—no choc-o-late—” Nikki enunciated the word “—chip cookies before lunch.”

Carly’s lower lip jutted out and her deep green eyes—eyes so much like her father’s—pleaded. “But I’m hungry.”

Nikki wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her onto her lap. She breathed in baby shampoo and bubble gum. The unique scent of her little girl.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

“I’m okay.” Nikki pressed a kiss to Carly’s soft cheek. “I was just missing holding you.”

Carly wriggled to get down. “Maybe you need a chocate chip cookie, too.”

Nikki laughed as she released her. “Maybe I do. And we can both have one after our picnic.”

Colin had vowed that nothing would interfere with his plan to spend Sunday afternoon with his daughter. A single phone call had proved otherwise.

Four days later, including a day and a half of arduous and circuitous journey, he was finally back at the Courtland Hotel in Fairweather again. He sank down on the bed, wanting nothing more than a few hours of mindless slumber.

He’d barely closed his eyes when his cell phone started to ring. He should have left it in the car. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he definitely didn’t need any more bad news.

But what if it was Nikki?

What if something had happened to Carly?

He grabbed the phone before the third ring.

It wasn’t Nikki. It was Detective Brock calling from Texas.

Colin had forgotten that the detective had promised regular updates on the investigation. He assumed that was what this call was about.

“Do you have any new information for me?” he asked.

Brock ignored the question to ask one of his own. “Are you in Maryland?”

A chill snaked through his body. “No.”

“Then why are you registered at the Baltimore Courtland Hotel?”

He knew now that this definitely was not going to be good news. “You warned me that I might be followed,” Colin reminded him. “I checked into the hotel there as a diversionary tactic.”

“Smart move,” the detective told him. “An IED was discovered in the bed of your hotel room.”

IED. It took Colin a minute to remember the acronym: improvised explosive device—a homemade bomb.

He swallowed. “How was it found?”

Brock was silent for a long moment.

“What happened?” Colin demanded.

“Apparently one of the night managers knew the room wasn’t really in use and decided it would be the perfect place for a rendezvous with his girlfriend.”

Brock hesitated before admitting, “They were both killed.”

He closed his eyes as a fresh wave of grief, of guilt, washed over him. He’d just come back from Maria’s funeral, and now two more innocent people were dead. A man and a woman with friends and family who would gather to mourn their senseless deaths.

He closed his eyes, picturing all too clearly the grief-stricken faces of Maria’s children. Despite their tragedy, they’d been nothing but gracious, thanking him for his generosity as an employer and his consideration in taking the time to attend their mother’s funeral.

They didn’t blame him for Maria’s death. Then again, they didn’t know about Parnell’s threats. They didn’t know that he could have prevented what happened. If only he’d taken the threats seriously, if only he’d gone to the police sooner.

Now it was too late.

Was there any hope of stopping these attacks? Or would it only end with his own funeral?

The police had believed Duncan Parnell was responsible for the explosion in his apartment. Colin was less certain. Despite the threats Parnell had made, Colin didn’t believe the kid had either the guts or the know-how to build a bomb.

“I guess this blows your theory about Parnell,” Colin said. After all, Parnell could hardly have planted a bomb in Baltimore when he was in prison in Texas.

“Not necessarily,” Brock said. “The evidence suggests that both of these jobs were done by a professional.”

“Are you suggesting he put out a hit on me?” Colin almost laughed.

“All it takes is money and connections. And a complete lack of regard for human life.”

He no longer felt like laughing. “What should I do now?”

“Exactly what you’ve been doing—keeping a low profile. And you might want to notify your local police about the situation.”

“Do you think I’m in danger here?” He couldn’t bear to think that someone had followed him to Fairweather, that he might unwittingly have brought the threat into Nikki and Carly’s backyard.

“I’d say it’s unlikely. The fact that our bomber struck in Baltimore suggests he doesn’t know where you really are.”

Colin wished he could be assured of keeping it that way.

Nikki was on her way home from the grocery store Thursday night when she found herself driving by the Courtland Hotel. It wasn’t the usual route she would have taken, and she wouldn’t admit—even to herself—that she’d wanted to see if Colin’s rental car was in the lot. It was.

Impulsively she pulled into one of the visitor’s parking spaces. She found her way to room 1028 and knocked, waiting for what seemed like an eternity before he appeared at the door.

His weary eyes widened. “Nicole.”

She was startled by his appearance. His hair was disheveled, his jaw shadowed with at least two days’ growth of beard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. “Can I come in?”

He stepped back to allow her entry.

She glanced around, found that his “room” was really a suite, complete with kitchen, dining area and living room. The sofa and chairs in the sitting area were covered in an ornately textured slate-blue fabric that she guessed was silk. The tables were gleaming chrome and smoked glass.

It was a huge step up from her worn upholstery and stained carpet, and yet another reminder of the different worlds in which they lived.

“Do you want something to drink?” Colin asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t come here for a drink. I came here for an explanation.”

“That’s what I figured.” But he didn’t say anything more for a long minute as he found a bottle of beer in the minibar and twisted off the cap.

Nikki watched his movements, fascinated by the strength and grace of those strong hands. As a player, his most notable skills had been speed and good hands. She remembered that those assets carried over to the bedroom. He’d moved fast enough to get her there, but he’d sure known how to take his time once he’d had her clothes off. And those hands weren’t just good, they were phenomenal.

She shook off the thought. She was here for a specific reason, and it wasn’t to reminisce about their sexual past. She dropped her purse on one of the end tables. “I want to know why you changed your mind about spending Sunday afternoon with Carly.”

“I didn’t change my mind.”

“That’s right,” she said scornfully. “Something came up.”

He tipped the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.

“Was that ‘something’ blond, brunette, or redhead?”

He set his bottle down carefully. “Is that what you think—that I blew off my daughter for an hour of personal pleasure?”

She refused to be swayed by his injured tone. “It’s the only explanation I could come up with for your abrupt phone call.”

“It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about on the phone.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Hell, it’s not something I want to talk about now.”

“What’s not?”

“I couldn’t make it to the picnic on Sunday because I had to go back to Texas.”

Texas. It wasn’t at all the response she’d expected, yet maybe it should have been. “You couldn’t even spend four consecutive days in this town without needing a trip to the big city?”

“I didn’t go back for kicks,” he told her. “I went to a funeral.”

She was duly chastised. “Oh.”

“Nothing else would have made me break those plans,” he told her.

His response had completely deflated her anger. “If you’d told me someone had died, I would have understood.”

“I wanted to tell you in person.”

She felt compelled to ask, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, “Who was it?”

“Maria Vasquez,” he told her.

A woman. She swallowed. “Were you…very close…to her?”

“She was my cleaning lady for the past four years.”

“Oh,” she said again, strangely relieved by his response.

He took a deep breath, staring off into the distance. “Remember the explosion in my apartment—the one that you heard about on the news?”

She nodded.

“Maria was there at the time. She died from injuries sustained in blast.”

Nikki’s whole body went cold.