Читать книгу Seattle after Midnight - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 9

GEORGIA LAMONT felt like a fool for screaming. It was only a rose tucked into the handle of her car, but when her fingers had closed over it, she’d felt one of the thorns dig deep into her thumb. She supposed she’d already been a little emotionally sensitive thanks to that last caller.

Over the years she’d been in this business, both here and in South Dakota, she’d developed a sixth sense about the people who phoned in to talk to her. She could tell when someone was a bit off, or had been drinking, or was just the obnoxious sort. But Jack tugged at her heartstrings. She intuited deep sorrow in him. Too much sorrow for someone so young.

Georgia brought her injured thumb to her mouth and tasted blood, then froze at the sound of footsteps slapping on pavement, moving fast, moving closer.

A quick glance toward the street revealed a tall man in dark clothes running toward her. He didn’t seem to care about the rain, which drizzled down his hair and face, unchecked.

She thought of screaming again. But the building’s security guard would never hear her out here. No time to unlock the door and scramble inside her car—she’d have to face him….

The man, as if sensing her fear, stopped a good ten feet away from her. “Are you okay? I heard you scream.”

He was coming to save her. Not attack her. Fear turned to relief, then to intrigue. Who was he? What was he doing here?

“I’m fine, thanks. Just cut my finger.” She nodded toward her door, where the rose was still jammed under the handle.

He stared at her a moment, then smiled. “Sorry. That voice. It’s just strange to hear you in person.”

He had an attractive smile, but there was a bleakness in his eyes that suggested he didn’t use it often. “Do you listen to my show?”

She wondered what he was doing out on the streets of Seattle at this time of night…actually, morning. Something about the way he carried his body made her think he might be a cop, but she’d seen the car he’d sprinted from and it wasn’t a patrol car.

“I listen most nights,” he said.

Lots of people told her this, and she always felt complimented. But this man’s confession gave her a different, much more unsettling reaction.

Ignoring her throbbing thumb, she held out her hand. “I’m Georgia Lamont.”

“Pierce Harding.” He stepped closer, took her hand tenderly and let it go almost immediately. “I see you’re juggling a few things. Can I help you into your car?”

When she hesitated, he dug a business card out of his wallet. “I’m a private investigator,” he said. “I was just on my way home from an assignment, when I happened to hear your scream.”

How had he heard her scream from his car? Surely his window hadn’t been open in the rain? She tucked his card into the pocket of her trench coat and looked at him thoughtfully.

He was still maintaining a respectable distance, his manner completely nonthreatening. He was also slowly, but surely, becoming drenched. As was she.

She turned back to the car door and that silly flower jammed in the handle.

“Should I remove that for you?” Pierce Harding offered again.

She nodded. “Thanks, that would be great.”

It took him only a moment. The thorns seemed to have no effect on him.

He looked up at her with surprise on his face. “There’s a note.”

“Really?” She hadn’t seen anything earlier.

He unraveled something from the stem, then handed her a piece of paper, punctured in one place by a thorn. Then he removed the keys from her hand and unlocked the door and held it open. With the added light from the interior of her car, she could read the message easily.

Georgia—A dozen roses…then you’ll be mine.

“Oh, my.” She thought of the guy who’d called her tonight. Jack. He’d asked to see her after her show. Was this from him?

“From your boyfriend?” Pierce asked the question casually, but his dark eyes narrowed as he waited for her response.

She didn’t have a boyfriend, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Not yet, anyway. There was something very attractive, almost compelling, about this man. But he was, after all, a virtual stranger.

“This is probably from one of my listeners. Kind of sweet of him to come out in all this rain,” she said, trying to convince herself that it was, that there was nothing sinister in the phrase then you’ll be mine.

Pierce Harding brushed a sheen of water from his face. “Seems a little suspect to me. How do you think he knew which car was yours?”

“A lucky guess?” It occurred to her that for all she knew, the rose had been left by this very man in front of her. In fact, he could be the guy who’d called himself Jack.

But no. Jack had sounded young and insecure, nothing like this self-assured stranger.

“Maybe,” Pierce allowed. He stepped aside and gestured for her to get into the car. After a brief hesitation, that’s what she did, dropping her case to the passenger seat, along with the rose and the note.

Pierce leaned inside to pass her the keys. His hand was wet and cold, just like hers. She smiled up at him briefly, uncertainly.

“You’re soaked,” he said. “You’d better get going. Drive carefully, Ms. Lamont.”

He stood back for her to close the door, but she didn’t. Instead she peered up at him. He looked even taller from this vantage point. She noted his long, lean legs, and broad, powerful shoulders. If he’d intended to hurt her, he could have done so long ago.

Besides, she was new in town and working nights made it difficult to meet people. How was she going to broaden her horizons if she wasn’t willing to take the odd chance or two?

One thing she knew for sure. If she drove off now, she would never see Pierce Harding again. Somehow she couldn’t stand the thought of that.

This man was strong, capable, attractive…in a craggy sort of way. But it was the hint of sadness in the tired lines that bracketed his mouth that tugged at her heart.

In him she saw a different sadness than the one she’d sensed in Jack. A wiser, deeper, more pervasive sort of sadness.

“Is something wrong, Georgia?”

He hadn’t called her Ms. Lamont this time, she noticed. “I was just wondering…I don’t mean to be forward, this is strictly a friendly offer. But could I buy you a cup of coffee? For coming to my aid and everything? The coffee shop next door is open twenty-four hours.”

Pierce Harding looked surprised at first, which of course he would be. Women weren’t supposed to do things like invite strange men for coffee. Especially men who stepped out of dark shadows at the suspiciously right moment.

But no way could this man be the same guy who’d called her station and left her the rose. Every instinct Georgia possessed told her that was impossible.

“I’d be glad to join you for a coffee.” He glanced across the parking lot to the café she’d indicated. “Want to make a run for it?”

“Why not? We’re already soaked as it is.”

He held out his hand and she didn’t hesitate to take it. If all went well, soon she’d know much more about this man than just his name. And if things clicked between them, she might even end up with a date.

GEORGIA TOOK her bottle of orange juice and carrot muffin to a booth in the far corner. Pierce followed with his mug of coffee.

At the till, he’d tried to pay but she’d insisted she owed him.

For what, he wasn’t sure. Saving her from a thorny rose?

He slid onto the bench seat across from her, watching covertly as she unscrewed the lid on the bottle of juice, then inserted two skinny straws. He couldn’t believe he was really sitting here, with Georgia from KXPG, watching her sipping juice and breaking away pieces of her super-size muffin to pop into her mouth. Her hair hung in damp curls around a heart-shaped face.

Sweet, he thought. She looks like a really sweet person. Not exactly the image he’d attributed to her from listening to her show. But captivating none the less.

“I’m always starving after a show. I think it’s the crash after my adrenaline rush, you know?”

He nodded, fascinated suddenly by her eyes, which were open and honest, a vibrant blue. Not what he’d imagined, at all.

“Where are you from?”

“Seattle?” She offered hesitantly.

“With that accent? No way.” Funny how her slight twang didn’t come across on her radio program.

“You’re right.” She gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders. “I grew up on a farm in South Dakota. I went to college in Minnesota, then got my first job at an oldies station in Brookings. From there I moved to classic rock in Sioux Falls.”

“How did you end up in Seattle?”

“Pure luck. The program director for KXPG happened to stop at a motel in Sioux Falls while on vacation with his kids last August. I guess his wife had just left him and he and the kids had taken off on an impromptu road trip. Anyway, the night they were in Sioux Falls, his youngest turned sick with the flu. Mark said listening to my program helped both of them get through that night. The very next day I had a job offer.”

“I’m not surprised it only took one show to impress him.”

“Well, thanks. But what about you? Pierce. That’s an unusual name. Where did it come from?”

“God only knows. Maybe the doctor who delivered me?” He definitely could not imagine his mother pouring over baby name books, the way Cass had done. And Cass hadn’t even been pregnant. Just dreaming…

The memory pricked at his old stockpile of regrets and Pierce put his hand to his temple.

From across the table, Georgia clearly waited for more details about his life. She was probably curious about all the usual things. Where he’d grown up, gone to school, all that crap. In the end, though, she asked just one question.

“Were you a cop before you became an investigator?”

Now that was a perceptive question. Not that he should be surprised to find Georgia Lamont perceptive. Wasn’t that the very quality that drew him to her show every evening?

Georgia gave the impression that she understood all the worst pain and sorrow that could befall a human being. And yet, now that he’d met her, he’d guess that she’d experienced very little, or none, of the seamier side of life herself.

Likable, honest, wholesome…those were the adjectives that summed up the real Georgia Lamont. So how did she reach out to the lonely and disenfranchised the way she did? Who was that worldly, sultry enchantress she projected on air?

“I was.” His days as a cop seemed like a lifetime ago. “But I started my own business a couple of years ago. Mostly, it’s not a bad way to earn a living.”

“Tell me about some of your cases.”

“I don’t solve a murder every week,” he warned her, having come across this misconception more than a few times. “In fact, I don’t even own a gun. A lot of my work involves tracking witnesses, locating debtors, uncovering insurance fraud, background checks.”

“I always imagine private investigators following cheating spouses around. Do you handle those sorts of cases, too?”

“That’s not my favorite line of work. But occasionally I take on something like that.”

“Is that what you were doing tonight?”

He paused, then admitted as much with a nod. “My client had to go out of town on business. He was worried his wife was planning to meet with another man while he was gone.”

“And was he right?”

“I’m not sure. His wife took off for a hotel as soon as he left. She’s still there now. But as far as I can tell, she’s alone in that room. I figure her lover must have stood her up.”

“But then why not return home?”

“Exactly.”

“Hmm. That’s an interesting puzzle.” Georgia put one elbow on the table, then rested her chin in her hand. “Maybe she’s a spy. Maybe she’s planning to sell corporate secrets to someone else at the hotel.”

He tried to picture well-dressed, sophisticated Jodi Calder as a spy. Couldn’t do it.

“Tell me the truth,” Georgia asked suddenly. “Did you really just happen to be driving by when you heard me scream?”

Oh, hell. He wished he could say he had. He let himself study her for a few moments, as he admitted to himself that his preoccupation with her definitely had a sexual edge. She hadn’t said anything when he’d suggested the rose had come from a boyfriend, but he guessed that she was currently available. She didn’t wear a ring on her fourth finger of her left hand, at least.

“Sorta. Not really.”

She waited and he felt even more of a fool. He was going to sound like a groupie, as bad as that fellow who’d left the rose on her car.

“I had just finished my surveillance shift on that case I was telling you about. I’d been listening to your show and so I knew it was over and that you’d be leaving the building soon. The KXPG office building is right on my way home. When I reached it—I stopped. I can’t explain why I did that. I don’t make a habit of things like this….”

“It’s okay.” She seemed amused, not annoyed or put out by his explanation.

“I must sound like an idiot.”

“Not at all. It’s a compliment, isn’t it? That you liked my show enough to wonder about me.”

“You must get guys bugging you all the time.”

“It is an occupational hazard,” she admitted. “Usually they stick to phone calls though.”

He wished this latest creep had done the same. Only then, he would never have met Georgia. “Would you mind if I took another look at the note that was attached to the rose?”

She opened her bag and fished out the piece of paper. He flattened it on the table and read out loud, “A dozen roses…then you’ll be mine.’”

“Kind of weird, huh?”

“Why does he mention a dozen roses, when he only gave you one?”

“No idea.”

Pierce turned the paper over, checking to see if he’d missed anything. There were no clues that he could spot. The note had been typed on a laser quality printer, using standard issue paper.

“I had a guy phone the show a couple of times tonight. He was sweet and sounded lonely. I’ll bet he left the rose for me.”

“Jack?”

She nodded.

“I heard his calls. He sounded young and insecure. The guy who wrote this note is all too sure of himself. Notice, he isn’t asking if you’ll be his. He’s telling you.”

A little furrow formed between the pale lines of her eyebrows. “Do you think I should be worried? I’ve had listeners leave me presents before. One woman in Sioux Falls used to bake me a Christmas cake every December.”

“Lucky you.”

She laughed. “I didn’t actually eat it, I confess.”

Pierce wrapped his hands around the warm mug of coffee that he was making a point not to drink. He was going to have a difficult enough time falling asleep as it was. Georgia put out this energy… He could feel himself feeding off it. And not just in a sexual way, although there was that, too.

“Any idea how he would know which car was yours?” he asked, as he’d asked her earlier out in the parking lot. He, himself, had been surprised to discover the yellow VW belonged to Georgia. Though now that he’d talked to her face-to-face, he could see that it fit.

From his quick glance over the vehicle, though, he’d spotted nothing to give away the fact that the car was hers, other than a smear of lipstick on the KXPG commuter mug in her cup holder. Which matched exactly the shade of lipstick she was wearing right now. “Maybe he’s seen you drive to work.”

“Which would mean he’s been watching me.” Georgia shivered, then neatly folded the paper liner which had held her muffin. “I don’t like the idea of that.”

“From now on you should get the security guard at KXPG to walk you right to your car. No more watching from an open door.”

“Jack left me a rose. Not a bomb threat.”

“A little caution wouldn’t hurt. At home, too. Has this guy ever tried to contact you there?”

She shook her head. “No. And my phone is unlisted. I’ve always done that because as a jock, you do run across these crazies now and then. Usually they make annoying calls for a few weeks, then give up.”

But this guy had made personal contact through the rose. Pierce wished Georgia were a little more concerned than she appeared to be. He dug into the pocket of his jeans for another business card. The one he’d given her earlier had probably turned to mush from the rain.

“Here. If he sends you anything else, let me know, okay? You should probably call the police, too, Georgia. Just to be on the safe side.”

“The police?”

From her incredulous tone, he could tell she was unlikely to take his advice. She gazed at his card for several seconds, then tucked it into her cavernous black leather bag.

“Thank you again for everything. It’s nice to know that, even in a big city like Seattle, people are willing to help strangers.”

Her comment reminded him that though he felt like he knew her very well, the first she’d ever heard of him was tonight. “You’re welcome, Georgia.”

There was a moment of silence, while he considered the possibility of asking her out. She seemed as if she were waiting for him to do just that. She was new to Seattle, and she’d asked him for the coffee. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she liked what she saw.

Which only proved how fallible she was. If she could see him on the inside, she’d know better than to get too close. If she knew what had happened to Cass…

His wife had been a sweetheart and he could tell Georgia was from the same mold. Those kinds of women needed to be protected from men like him. No matter how much her radio persona attracted him, the real Georgia was much too vulnerable and innocent. A small-town girl. A good girl.

Let her stay that way, he cautioned himself. Let her find a nice guy who wants to settle down and raise a family. That’s what women like Georgia—and Cass—wanted and deserved.

“Are you okay to drive home alone?” he asked.

He could tell that wasn’t what she’d been hoping he would say. After a slight pause, she drew back. “I’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t surprised when she cleaned up after herself, putting the bottle in a container for recyclables, then trashing the muffin liner and napkin. He rose from his seat, leaving his coffee cup on the table and walked her to her car.

It was still drizzling. And dark. The interior clock on her dash told him it was almost 6:30 a.m.

“Nice meeting you, Georgia.”

She slipped behind the steering wheel. “You, too.” She gave him one last look and he could see her uncertainty. She’d undoubtedly sensed his attraction to her, just as he’d picked up on hers to him. She had to be wondering why he wasn’t asking to see her again.

If only she could know how lucky she was that this was ending right here.

GEORGIA HAD NEVER met a man like Pierce Harding. Definitely not in South Dakota, and not in Seattle, either. There was something hard about him, as well as sad. A man of mystery and secrets. His face was arresting—lean and sculpted, with dark eyes that flashed with intuitive intelligence. The way he held his powerful body, so contained and yet with such presence, made her suspect that he was a man who never fully relaxed.

She was so curious about him. Usually she found it easy to get people to open up to her. That was one of her gifts. But she’d never encountered anyone as reserved as Pierce. Despite having spent almost an hour with him over coffee, she still knew next to nothing about him.

Like, did he have a girlfriend? She hadn’t had the nerve to ask. Bad enough that she’d invited him for coffee—she’d never made the first move on a guy before. Even though she’d disguised her offer as a gesture of thanks, she suspected he’d seen right through her.

He was just the kind of guy who would.

Had he guessed how badly she’d wanted him to ask her out? She’d lingered at the booth hoping he would say something. But he hadn’t, and she didn’t think it was because he was shy.

Georgia parked her car in the lane next to her side of her rented two-story duplex. The windows on both halves of the building were dark. Obviously her neighbor, Fred Sorenson, a retired postal worker, was still sleeping. She checked his door to make sure it was locked and found it open. Sighing, she used her spare copy of his key to secure the deadbolt.

Though he was only in his early seventies, Fred could be forgetful at times. He also had trouble with his knees and sometimes spent the entire night on the sofa rather than deal with the stairs to the upper level bedrooms.

Once she’d suggested he might be more comfortable in a bungalow, or perhaps a condominium. He’d simply shaken his head. Belmont Avenue had been home to him for decades. He and his wife had raised their daughter in this very duplex. Though his wife had died two years ago, and his daughter was married and living in Australia, he still wouldn’t move.

Georgia stepped over the two-foot hedge that separated their properties. A puddle of water had pooled on the wooden step up to her porch. She splashed through it, then searched for her own house key on her ring.

Inside, the dark hall did not feel welcoming. She dropped her bag onto the wooden bench, then shrugged out of her wet jacket and hung it on a peg near the door.

She flicked on the hallway light and climbed the stairs. She hesitated, then reached into the bag to pull out Pierce Harding’s business card. In her bedroom, she switched on a lamp, then sat on her bed. She liked that it was a no-frills card, sensible and somehow manly, too. She wished she could believe that he’d handed it to her because he wanted to hear from her again. But when she remembered his vaguely aloof farewell, she knew that explanation wasn’t likely. He’d offered his card as a courtesy, in case that flower turned out not to be an innocent gift after all. In fact, he may have intended for her to consider hiring his services.

She felt her face grow hot with belated embarrassment. Of course, that was what he’d intended. She dropped the card into the wastepaper basket, disgusted with herself for feeling so disappointed.

She’d only just met him. Why should she care if he’d been courting her business, rather than her?

WHAT A NIGHT.

At two in the afternoon, Georgia pulled herself out of the warm covers and sat on the side of the bed, her feet flat on the cold hardwood floor. She hadn’t slept well at all, unable to stop thinking about the man she’d met last night.

Had Pierce Harding really been as incredible as she remembered? In the cold light of day, it didn’t seem possible. Her mother had always said her unrealistic romantic streak would cause trouble for her one day. Falling for a dark, intriguing stranger who had rushed to her rescue fit in with that theory all right.

Georgia glanced at the rose. She’d left it on her dresser and it was drooping sadly, the petals blackened along the edges. Poor Jack. He’d gone to all that effort and she hadn’t even bothered to put the blossom in water.

Well, it was too late now. She dropped the rose into the wastepaper basket, then froze, as Pierce’s business card caught her eye.

Oh, heck, maybe she should keep it. Just in case.

She placed the card on her dresser, and began to plan her day. She’d buy groceries first, then put together several home-cooked meals for Fred’s freezer. Since she loved spending time in the kitchen, Georgia didn’t consider this a chore but something to look forward to.

An hour later, after marking three recipes and compiling a substantial grocery list, Georgia was at the front door, making sure she had money, the list and her keys. She glanced in the mirror above the painted wooden bench to check her lipstick, then opened the door.

Something on the porch floor caught her eye.

It was a rose. Another red rose.

She glanced around the neighborhood looking for something or someone who didn’t belong. But all was quiet and still. She stepped out onto the porch to check the blind spot behind the rattan chair and footstool she kept out here. Again, nothing was amiss.

Whoever had left her this rose was long gone. Georgia stooped and grasped the end of the stem, careful not to prick herself on the thorns this time.

Like before, a note had been wrapped around the stem. She went inside, closing the door and locking it, before she scanned the short missive.

Georgia, the typed message read. I heard the song you played for me last night. Did you know I was listening? Have you seen me watching you, too?

She frowned, trying to temper her rising anxiety. She had to stay calm. Think clearly. This had to be from Jack. She’d played a song for him last night. Of course, she’d known he’d been listening. But watching?

He must have followed her home. She shivered at the idea, then shoved the note into her bag. What should she do?

The image of Pierce’s business card came immediately to mind. He’d said to call if she had any problems. Was this second rose a problem?

Judging by the pounding of her heart and the sweating of her palms, it was.