Читать книгу Deadly Intent - Camy Tang - Страница 11

Devon had already checked into his hotel in downtown Sonoma when he noticed that his cell phone was missing.

That alarmed him more than usual, simply because it had been such a bad day.

Where had he last used it? He didn’t remember using it any time today. He hadn’t called his sister or his admin, who had the day off since he wasn’t taking appointments today.

He didn’t remember dialing anyone for any reason. He’d avoided calling his sister to tell her what happened. Rayna disliked Jessica with a passion, but the news would still shock her. Plus, Jessica’s death meant it would be next to impossible to recover their mother’s Tiffany necklace now. It was probably lost somewhere in Jessica’s apartment, and he’d certainly never be able to show up and look for it.

He reined in his mercenary thoughts. Jessica was dead, and he could only think about his mother’s necklace? Maybe the years since their divorce had made him harder than he thought.

But today, seeing Naomi Grant again, something inside him had shifted…

For the past three years at the annual Zoe International dinner, he’d enjoyed talking with Naomi. He’d actually spent too much time talking with her. But the first time he’d met her, he was going through the divorce, and the other two times, he’d been trying to rebuild his business and finances. He hadn’t acted on his attraction because he’d been too distracted by other things. Plus, Naomi’s personality reminded him too much of Jessica’s—both bouncy and cheerful, although he sensed that Naomi had a more serious, responsible core.

Or maybe he just didn’t want Naomi to be too much like Jessica.

Logically, he knew that Naomi Grant was not Jessica Ortiz. Jessica’s family did have something in common with Naomi’s—they were both local but successful business owners. The Ortizes owned an exclusive clothing boutique with only one physical store in San Francisco, adding to the clothing’s appeal, allure and prices. Jessica had worked for her family, just as Naomi did—she’d been public relations manager for the store until she married him.

And then it had all changed.

She had spent all his money. Started running up huge bills and charging on credit.

And it was usually jewelry. Always jewelry.

And then came the divorce, when she’d taken him for everything that wasn’t nailed down.

Two years later, and he was finally starting to rebuild his finances. Luckily, his reputation hadn’t suffered; he’d continued to have a steady stream of patients in addition to his work with the Oakland Raiders.

He’d vowed he wouldn’t be betrayed by a woman again.

It wasn’t just the money—he’d truly loved Jessica for several years. But her personality had changed, and she’d hurt him in ways he hadn’t even admitted to his therapist.

The ugly divorce had made him more bitter toward her than he realized. Yesterday, when he’d found out from her personal secretary that she had an appointment at the Joy Luck Life Spa in Sonoma, he’d felt a sour anger that she could blithely go on with her life after ruining his.

No. He had to stop thinking about the divorce and focus on his cell phone. Naturally Jessica would be in his thoughts after what happened to her today, and he’d done all he could to help her….

Wait a minute. He had used his phone. Or specifically, Naomi Grant had used it to call the police. The dispatcher had put him through to the paramedics on their way so he could brief them before they arrived. And all the while, he’d been trying to stop the bleeding…but they’d been too late. She’d lost too much blood.

Jessica was gone before the paramedics arrived only minutes later.

Witness to it all, Naomi was dangerously pale, and he’d forced her out of the room.

He’d never retrieved his phone. There hadn’t been time. He’d spoken more to the paramedics as they tried to save Jessica. When they finally called the time of death, he’d left the room, but Naomi was gone.

He grabbed the hotel phone and called his cell. No answer. He called the spa, but again, no answer. Well, it was nine o’clock—the spa was probably empty except for the security guards left on the premises to monitor Dr. Rachel Grant’s research labs built into the backside of the spa building. He remembered Becca Itoh telling him about them a few years ago when he first met the Grants.

Wait, Becca would be able to help him. She liked him—or at least, she did before it seemed as if he were mixed up in his ex-wife’s murder.

He had her business card somewhere…No, he had her private number in his cell phone. But Martha would have that number, too. He called his admin.

“Have you forgotten you gave me the day off?” No hello. Typical Martha.

“Hello to you, too. Would you please get me the private number for Becca Itoh. I-t-o-h.”

“You’re assuming I have my computer with me.”

“You always have your computer with you. Don’t think I don’t know about the eBay stuff you do.”

She hmphed, but he also heard the clicking of computer keys. She rattled off the number and he copied it onto a piece of paper.

“Are you going to tell me why you needed me to look it up instead of dialing it yourself on your cell phone?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You lost it, didn’t you?”

“There were extenuating circumstances. Speaking of which, something has come up and I have to stay in Sonoma for a few days longer.” Hopefully not in a jail cell. Just the thought made his stomach coil tighter.

“A few days? How many days?”

“You’ll need to clear my schedule for the next week.”

“The next week?” Her screech made the telephone vibrate.

“Martha, it has to do with Jessica.”

She immediately quieted. “I’m sorry. That woman has caused you more hurt and headache—”

“She’s dead. Murdered.”

“What?”

“And I’m the prime suspect.”

Silence.

“Martha?”

“This is awful. Just awful. Oh, God…”

“Your God isn’t going to help me now.” Why should He? He hadn’t done anything about the torrential divorce, what Jessica had done to his finances, what she’d nearly done to his reputation.

Martha didn’t tsk, but he heard it in her voice. “You’re not in a position to thumb your nose at Him.”

She was right. “Well, right now I need to recover my cell phone. I’ll keep you posted about how long I need to stay in Sonoma.”

“I’ll be praying for you, Devon.”

Her soft voice made the worry in his gut boil harder. “Pray I get my phone soon. Bye.”

He called his cell phone again, and the spa again, both with no answer, again. Then he dialed Becca Itoh.

“Dr. Knightley. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Becca, but I think Naomi has my cell phone.”

“Your cell phone?”

“She used it to call 911 earlier today.”

A brief pause. “Oh.”

“I called my cell and the spa, but there’s no answer. Is she with you?”

“No, she’s not home yet.”

“Not home?” It was full dark. And Jessica had been murdered in Naomi’s massage room. The killer was still out there…

“She was determined to take a late client at the spa tonight.”

“I thought the spa was closed.”

“We canceled all our other appointments, but Penelope Olson asked for a special session and Naomi agreed.”

“I realize she’s the senator’s wife, but isn’t it dangerous for Naomi to be there so late?”

“Don’t worry, we hired an extra night guard at the spa, and they’re looking out for her. I know she’s still there, and you’re in the Cronby Hotel, right?”

“Yes.”

“You can get there in only a few minutes. She should be finishing her session in about forty minutes, so why not meet her out at the spa to get your phone? I’ll call the security desk to let them know you’re on your way.”

“Thanks, Becca.”

“In exchange, you can follow her home to make sure she’s okay.”

She trusted him? When he’d shown up asking for his ex-wife?

She must have read his mind. “I trust you, Devon. I know you and your family. And I think God brought you here for a reason.”

God again. How odd for Him to be mentioned by both Martha and Becca, the only two women he knew who were such strong religious types.

But Becca’s trust made his heart feel lighter as he hung up.

“Thanks so much for taking me, dahling,” Penelope Olson cooed over her shoulder as she followed the security guard out the front door.

Naomi leaned against the receptionists’ desk, but jumped when the main phone line rang. Caller ID told her it wasn’t a client. “Hi, Dad.”

“I just heard you’re still at the spa. Why did you agree to Penelope’s special appointment after everything that’s happened today?”

“Well, we had to cancel all our other appointments today and Penelope didn’t know—”

“Is she still there?”

“Martin’s walking her out to her car, then he’ll come back to walk me to mine.”

“Good. You’re being safe anyway. I tried calling your cell phone but you didn’t pick up.”

She patted down her cotton uniform. “It must still be in my office.” She always emptied her pockets before taking a client.

“Did the police come back?”

“Yes, they came back this afternoon with a warrant to search everything. But I’m not sure what they found. They didn’t tell us.”

“I wish Jessica Ortiz hadn’t always asked for you whenever she came in,” her father said.

“There’s nothing suspicious in that, Dad. Lots of people are loyal to their favorite massage therapists.”

“Still…the police took the videotapes from the outside cameras, right?”

“They took those this morning.” In fact, Detective Carter had seemed a little annoyed that Joy Luck Life had such extensive outside video coverage and absolutely no inside coverage of the treatment and lounge areas. But he seemed to grudgingly calm down when Becca reminded him of the bankrolls of the spa’s clientele, and how those bankrolls paid for the privacy of the spa.

The door swung open.

“Martin’s here, Dad, I’ll be home soon.” She hung up.

Except it wasn’t Martin, her security guard. It was a stranger.

Devon drove from downtown Sonoma out to the spa, which stood in the middle of a vineyard deeper in the valley. It was too isolated. What was Naomi thinking to stay late at the spa alone?

There were two cars in the parking lot, one of them a very nice convertible. Was one of them Naomi’s car? Wouldn’t she park in the employee parking lot next to the valet parking?

As he eased into a stall, one of the cars—not the convertible—came to life and backed out. The security guard—visible in the summer dusk—waved at the driver as the car pulled away, then came to Devon’s vehicle.

“Good evening, sir.” Respectful but firm. “The spa is closed.”

“Naomi Grant has my cell phone and I need to get it back from her.”

The guard frowned. “Miss Grant didn’t mention you’d be coming by.”

“Becca Itoh told me she’d be here.”

“Ms. Itoh didn’t mention it to me, either.”

“If I could just speak to Naomi—”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you into the spa, sir. Especially in light of what happened today.”

“But I need my phone.”

“Did you try calling your cell phone, sir?”

He knew the guard had to do his job, but Devon’s temper started to sizzle. “Naomi isn’t picking up. That’s why I called Becca, who told me she was here.” She’d also neglected to tell the security guards he’d be coming. What could he do? “Here’s an option. Why don’t you escort me to the front door and let me speak to Naomi? Besides, I’m sure you don’t want to leave her alone in the spa while you’re out here talking with me.”

The guard stiffened and leaned back on his heels. “Miss Grant is perfectly safe, sir.”

“I’m sure she is—”

“In fact, there are extra security guards at the spa tonight.” The way he said it was almost like a dog growling, hackles raised.

“Well, that’s good, but I—”

“And none of us received a call from Ms. Itoh about you stopping by.”

“Um…you could call Ms. Itoh to verify that I’m supposed to be here.”

The guard seemed torn between leaving Devon out here alone and escorting a potentially dangerous man into the spa.

“I realize that you’re very protective of Naomi Grant, but I promise, all I want is my phone back. Becca Itoh will verify my story.”

The guard reluctantly stepped aside to let Devon out of his car, but he kept a wary distance.

The walk from the parking lot to the front door seemed very long. Then again, the last time he’d been here, he’d pulled up at the valet station, not in the parking lot.

“Hey!” Naomi’s raised voice drifted toward them from the spa entrance.

“We’re closed, sir.” Naomi’s shoulder blades snapped back and a river of steel ran down her spine. She tried to appear calm and professional, but she found it hard to breathe with her heart galloping so fast.

The stranger wasn’t even looking at her, instead darting his light eyes around the entry foyer. “I’m…uh…looking for someone.”

Was he on drugs or something? He was more nervous than a cat. “There’s no one else—er, I mean…” You just told him you’re by yourself!

Where was Martin? Would he be back soon? Her eyes drifted to the seats behind the receptionists’ desk and the emergency call button that would bring the other security guard to the entry foyer. She started slowly easing behind the counter.

The soft light from the lamps gleamed in his straight blond hair as he whipped his head around to look at her. “No one else? What about Jessica Ortiz?”

“Jessica Ortiz?” Her heart rammed up her throat and pulsed just below her jaw.

His light eyes turned wary. “Yes. Where is she?”

At the morgue. Except she couldn’t tell him that. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jessica’s friend.” He had gone back to casting his gaze uneasily around the room.

Only a few more feet before she could hit the call button. “What’s your name?” Detective Carter was going to love her for discovering this lead. If he didn’t continue to hold her as the prime suspect.

The man suddenly moved around the receptionists’ desk—the other side, blocking the call button—to close in on her. “Look, Jessica’s not here, so where is she?”

The man had several inches on her, but it seemed like several feet. Pull yourself together. He had a light build. She could put up a good fight and she might even win, since she had so much upper body strength from giving massages.

Where was Martin? she wondered.

“Where is she?” The stranger grabbed her upper arm with slender but strong fingers.

She tried to yank away, but his fingers bit into her muscle. “Let go of me.”

“I need to find her. Where is she?”

“I, uh…I don’t know.” Which was true, she didn’t know where the morgue was.

“You’re lying to me.” The strange intensity of his eyes gripped her harder than his hand.

“I’m not.” She jerked hard to try to break his hold.

He only stepped closer toward her.

“My security guard is coming back any moment.” She hoped. “Let go of me.”

He suddenly did, and she stumbled backward.

He had an inscrutable look on his face. “Something has happened to her.” It wasn’t a question.

Her heart had begun to slow now that he’d released her. “Do you…do you want to leave a message for her?” It was a last-ditch effort—she had to find out who he was.

He looked straight into her eyes, then he bolted.

“Hey!”

It was only then that Devon noticed the dark figure passing through the double doors of the spa, running straight toward them.

The guard stepped forward and reached for his flashlight. “You there—!”

But the unknown man barreled into the guard, knocking the flashlight away. He pinballed toward Devon.

Devon grabbed the man by his torso. The stranger had a light build but solid muscle under his cotton shirt. Devon grunted as he tried to stop him from running away. The security guard attempted to capture a flailing arm.

The man knocked the back of his elbow into Devon’s throat, then smashed something into Devon’s hand. It cracked and sliced into him, and his hold loosened enough for the man to burst free. The guard tripped and fell to the ground as the man sprinted away.

Devon raced after him, but the blow to his throat made it hard to breathe. The man leaped into the convertible and it roared to life as Devon reached out to touch the hood. With a squeal of tires and the heavy scent of burning rubber, the man was gone.

Then he realized. Naomi had been in the spa alone.

“Hey!”

Naomi rounded the other corner of the receptionists’ desk the same time the stranger did. She ran at him, but he sidestepped and swung his arm wide, knocking her to the floor. Her elbow and chin hit the cold marble painfully.

Martin’s voice filtered through the slowly closing double doors. “You there—!” Thank goodness, maybe Martin would stop the guy. She hadn’t even gotten his name!

Naomi hauled open the spa’s double doors in time to hear an engine roar, then fade as the car drove away. Scanning past the rose trees, she lifted on tiptoe but couldn’t see the parking lot from the doorway, so she stepped outside. Then she saw Martin with Devon Knightley.

“What are you doing here? And what happened?” She opened the doors and walked back into the entrance foyer, although part of her wondered if it were safe, even with Martin there. After all, Devon was Jessica’s ex-husband and he’d shown up very conveniently this morning.

Then she realized that he was injured. He wasn’t dripping blood, but scarlet lanced across the back of his hand.

“Are you all right? Did that man get away?”

Martin nodded. “Sorry, Ms. Grant.”

“You didn’t see him when you walked Ms. Olson to her car?”

He shook his head. “He might have taken another pathway from the parking lot to the front door.”

Jared, the other security guard, then rushed into the entrance foyer. “Miss Grant, are you all right?”

“Where were you?” Martin demanded.

“I’m sorry, Miss Grant, I was doing the walk-through rounds of the labs, so I wasn’t in the security room to see that guy on the outside camera when he came in. When I got back to the room, I saw him when he ran out. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, but Devon…” She motioned him to follow her back into the therapy area. Each room had a first aid kit. “Let me get you something for that. Why are you here?”

“You have my cell phone.”

“I do?” Then she remembered dialing 911. She’d held the phone for him as he’d tried to…save Jessica. She must have slipped it into her pocket and then blindly thrown it on her desk before Penelope’s appointment. “It’s in my office. I have a first aid kit in there, too.”

She hesitated. Was that wise, taking this man into her office? A part of her said, You’re being silly, this is Devon Knightley. But the other part of her, the part that had recoiled at the sight of Jessica Ortiz bleeding on her massage room floor, told her, He’s her ex-husband, and he came in asking for her.

Martin’s eyes flickered over hers. “Ah…I’ll do the routine walk-through of the therapy rooms right now, just in case.”

Bless him. There was no “routine walk-through” of the therapy rooms—only the labs in the secure area in back—so Martin would be within shouting distance. “Jared, could you please call the police for me?”

“No problem, Miss Grant.”

She headed to her office, where she passed him a pink napkin, from a Victorian tea shop in San José that she had visited last weekend, to use to stop his bleeding.

He seemed almost embarrassed to look up at her, but he was smiling as he dabbed his hand with the napkin. “You treat me like a normal person rather than as the official orthopedic surgeon of the Oakland Raiders. You’ve always done that.”

“Oh.” His vulnerability warmed her. She busied herself getting the first aid kit out of a cabinet. “I guess you do get your share of fawning, same as we do.”

“Because of the spa?”

“Because of Dad’s money and the spa.” Naomi pulled out some alcohol wipes, antibacterial ointment and some elastic bandages. “How badly are you cut?”

“Those bandages will be fine.” He took the alcohol wipes from her. “Men target you and your sisters?”

“Monica seems to attract handsome-but-out-of-work actors. In fact, when she started working at that hospital in San José, I think she kept secret her ties to Joy Luck Life.”

“I don’t blame her. But people seem to find out somehow.” He winced as he cleaned his cuts with an alcohol wipe.

“I don’t know how that happens. Rachel hardly gets out at all, but some biochemist found out about her and pursued her. Rachel rarely gets mad, but she lit into him like a harpy when she discovered he was trying to see her research.”

“And yourself?” He glanced up at her, pausing as he tore open an elastic bandage.

“The men I meet always seem so nice at first, but then that ‘I want something from you’ message always seems to seep out.” If only it still didn’t pierce so deep. “Dad gets the same with women.”

Devon grunted in agreement as he applied ointment to the bandage and placed it over a deep cut.

Now why had she mentioned all that? She had slipped back into their easy conversation as if the events of this morning hadn’t happened.

Except she had taken Devon’s attention more seriously than she knew she ought to. She’d sat next to him at three Zoe charity dinners, and after each dinner, she’d spent a few weeks hoping he would contact her again. And he never had. A sigh escaped her.

He looked up at her, his dark eyes turning to onyx in the light, as if he could read her thoughts. “Not all of them want something from you.”

“What?”

“Those men. They could be wanting to talk to you because you’re witty and interesting.”

She suddenly couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t look away, as if there were something in her that he liked looking at. Almost…admiration. Captivation.

Then he blinked rapidly and looked away.

Air rushed back into her lungs, and she took a deep breath. What had happened? Had that really happened?

He was busying himself with his bandages. She felt silly, sitting there watching him. Hoping he’d look up at her again. Hoping he’d look at her that way again.

Now that was silly. He’d probably been thinking about something else entirely.

She cleared her throat. “You never told me exactly why you needed to speak to Jessica this morning.”

He paused for a moment—short enough that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

He smiled at her, but it was inappropriate, considering her question. And the smile never reached his eyes. “She was my ex-wife. There were some things we needed to discuss. Things to do with the divorce.”

Naomi was tempted to pry further, but that would be too rude, especially if those things had to do with financial matters. But a niggling in her head told her he wasn’t being entirely forthright with her. Why would he be evasive? What could he be hiding? This uncomfortable feeling in her gut, combined with Devon’s timing this morning, was not a good sign.

But this was Devon Knightley. She’d spoken to him—for hours, at each Zoe dinner. He couldn’t be involved in this nasty business, could he?

She didn’t want him to be involved in this. That was the bare, honest truth.

He finished bandaging his hand. “Did I tell you that my sister’s getting married in a few weeks?”

She reluctantly followed his change of topic. They chatted about his sister’s upcoming wedding and other inconsequential things—but the conversation never returned to that same comfortable footing.

It only took twenty minutes for Detective Carter to arrive. He’d happened to be nearby when the call came through.

He seemed a bit tired to be back at the spa for the third time that day, but he did say, “Miss Grant, pretty soon you’ll qualify for police frequent visitor points.”

He seemed very interested in the man who’d come into the spa looking for Jessica when Naomi gave her statement. As she left so Detective Carter could interview Devon privately in her office, she noticed the detective eyeing the garish pink napkin, still on Devon’s hand.

Devon hastily threw it away in Naomi’s wastebasket.

She walked down the hallway, but hesitated just within hearing range.

“Dr. Knightley, what did the man hit you with?”

“I think a pair of sunglasses. They broke against my hand, but there were no embedded glass or plastic shards, as far as I can tell.”

“Where did this happen?”

“Outside. I think the pieces are still on the sidewalk.”

“I’ll bag it. Did you want me to call an ambulance?”

“For this? No, thanks.”

Devon told the detective about his lost cell phone—which Naomi had also explained—but also about how Aunt Becca had told him to come to the spa to find her. She understood the need for him to get his phone back, but her aunt seemed to have been trusting Devon Knightley a bit too much.

Naomi called Martin in the security office to bring the outside video footage with him. He appeared and handed the video over, and then gave his statement to the detective in Naomi’s office.

After he was done, he paused a moment in the doorway, glancing first at the detective, then at Devon, and lastly at Naomi.

“Did you need to tell me anything else?” Detective Carter asked him.

“No, no.” He left to return to his station in the security office.

Had he wanted to say something to her, but couldn’t because Devon and the detective were here? Naomi ought to talk to him tomorrow to make sure it wasn’t anything important.

As the detective left, her cell phone rang. “Oh no! I didn’t call Dad back to tell him why I’m not home yet. Hello?”

“What’s going on?” His raised voice shot out of the phone. “I’m worried sick, here—”

“Sorry, Dad, something came up.”

“Are you okay?” Dad asked.

“I’m fine. Martin and Jared were here, and Devon’s here with me, too.”

“Devon Knightley? Why is he there?”

“I had his cell phone—”

“So you let him into the spa at this hour? The man who showed up just when you found the dying woman?”

Devon’s smile shifted to a pained expression, and a faint dimple appeared in one cheek. She’d never noticed it before…wait a minute, could he hear her father? “If you want to complain, talk to Aunt Becca. She’s the one who told him to drive out to the spa to find me.”

“Oh.” Dad’s voice dropped to normal decibels again. “Well, come home right now.”

“Yes, sir.” She ended the call.

“Naomi.” Devon’s voice, strong and low, planted her to the ground as effectively as the serious glint in his eyes. “I know it looks suspicious. But I didn’t kill Jessica.” He looked as if he needed her to believe him somehow.

“I…” What could she say? “It’s hard.”

His mouth tightened as he turned away for a second. “I know. But why would I deliberately ask for a woman I’d just killed?”

He had a point. She’d have found Jessica within a few minutes anyway, since the dying woman was in her massage room.

“Besides, the detective will see from the video surveillance that I never entered the building before walking in to ask for her.”

Well, that made her feel stupid. She looked down at her twined hands.

“How do I know you didn’t kill her?” Devon asked.

“What? Why would I kill her? Doing it in my own massage room?”

“It would make it look like you’re being framed.”

“Bringing down bad publicity on my own spa?”

Devon smiled. “Look, we’re both suspects even though I didn’t have the means and you didn’t have a motive. Why don’t we just call a truce?” He held out his hand.

He was right. “Sure.”