Читать книгу Questioning the Heiress - Delores Fossen, Delores Fossen - Страница 9

“It’s gibberish,” Caroline concluded as she glanced over the notes that she’d spent most of the previous night and that morning making. Or, rather, the notes that Egan had insisted she make so she could try to re-create her stolen dream journal.

She’d told him the night before that it was futile, that the dreams hadn’t revealed anything important. Caroline still believed that. But Egan had persisted anyway, right before the bomb squad had given her the all-clear to leave his office and go to the house of her best friend, Taylor Landis.

Taylor had welcomed Caroline with open arms. Literally. And her friend had hardly let her out of her sight since. They’d chatted, drunk some wine, and then Taylor had called her security expert to go over to Caroline’s house to change all the locks on the windows and doors and to repair the security system. It wouldn’t give Caroline peace of mind exactly, but it was a start.

“Okay, let me have a look at those notes,” Taylor insisted. She had her long blond hair gathered into a ponytail, she gave it an adjustment and then waggled her fingers. “Maybe they won’t be gibberish to me.”

Caroline handed her the notes and proceeded with her so-called walk-through of her own house. Yet something else Egan had insisted that she do. With an armed security guard shadowing hers and Taylor’s every move, Caroline checked her office to make sure everything was in place.

It was.

A PC, laptop and several thousand dollars worth of computer accessories. All still there.

She checked off another room from her list and went to the guest suite off the main corridor. She’d decorated this one all in blue. Pale, barely there blue, for the most part, with the exception of the glossy navy paint on the floor and a fiery abstract oil painting that hung over the natural white stone mantel. She no longer liked that particular bold shade of blue in the painting because it instantly reminded her of Egan’s eyes.

Caroline made a mental note to replace it.

“You dreamed about clocks chasing you?” Taylor commented, reading from the reconstructed journal.

“Yes.” Caroline frowned. “And don’t you dare say anything about ticking biological clocks. I get enough of that from my parents.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” However, Taylor’s pun indicated she’d thought it. Caroline’s frown deepened at her friend’s grin.

Caroline checked the white marble guest bathroom. Nothing missing there. And she went into a storage room crammed with carefully stacked, unopened cardboard boxes. Things she’d bought to redecorate when she’d moved from her condo to the house five months earlier. The house had been a thirtieth birthday gift from her parents, and even though she had plenty of space—fourteen rooms—Caroline just hadn’t gotten around to making the place hers.

She glanced inside the storage room, saw nothing undisturbed and then headed to the one area that she did indeed want to check out.

Her garage.

With her attention nailed to the notes, Taylor followed her. So did the guard, but he kept some distance from them.

“In the dream you had, a man saved you from the attacking clocks,” Taylor concluded. “Looks like your rescuer was Egan Caldwell.”

Caroline stopped so abruptly that Taylor nearly plowed right into her. “How did you come up with that?”

“Easily. In your notes, you said you were running through the woods with the clocks in pursuit. A man stepped out. He had blond hair, a blue shirt and a silver star embedded in his hand. He shot arrows at the clocks to stop them. Sounds like Egan to me. He has a star badge. He often wears a blue shirt, and he has blondish hair. And if you ask me, those arrows are phallic symbols.”

Stunned, Caroline snatched the notes and read over them again. Oh, God. She was certain she hadn’t dreamed about Egan and his phallic symbol, but if Taylor believed she had, then Egan might think that as well. She’d have to change the notes before he arrived. Except that she couldn’t.

Could she?

No. If he found out, he’d view that as the equivalent of tampering with evidence.

A better solution was just to keep the journal from him and not let him read a single word. She’d wait and show the notes to the psychiatrist, especially since she was meeting with the doctor the following day. Maybe she could convince the psychiatrist to keep them private. After all, it was obvious to her that the dream wasn’t connected to the murders or the hit-and-run.

Caroline tucked her journal beneath her arm and stepped into the garage. The doors were open, allowing in the humid breeze and plenty of light so she could see the damage. It was indeed minimal. A few small holes in the wall and some smoke stains—that was it.

Unfortunately, the minimal damage didn’t extend to her.

Someone had violated her space, and Caroline wondered how long it would be before she could walk into her house and not think about being killed.

Maybe she never would.

The white Mercedes was gone, of course, towed away in the early hours of the morning by the CSI agents, who were probably now looking for clues about the person who had left that explosive for her. She prayed they’d have answers soon.

Caroline continued to look around the garage, and her gaze landed on the workshop door. It was wide open. And it shouldn’t have been. Good grief. She hurried to close it. Except it wouldn’t shut. The CSI had apparently busted the lock, probably to check for evidence, and she glanced inside the workshop at what they’d no doubt seen.

Her old secret.

Something she didn’t exactly want to announce to the world, including Taylor, who likely knew about it but was too much of a friend to say anything. Caroline would have to do something about getting that door fixed.

Taylor ran her fingers over the remaining vehicle, the 1967 candy-apple-red Mustang. “You used to drive this car all the time,” she reminded Caroline.

“Yes. But I gave up on hot, fast things.” And for reasons she didn’t want to explore, she immediately thought of Egan again.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to think of him for long because she heard the voices in her backyard. Obviously, the guard heard them as well because he reached for his gun. Caroline waved him off, however, when she saw her visitors approach the garage.

Kenneth and Tammy Sutton.

She didn’t want a gun drawn on her neighbors. Of course, Kenneth was also Egan’s prime suspect, but Caroline didn’t believe that. Except she hated the uncomfortable feeling that crept through her now. Egan was responsible for those doubts.

But the question was—were his doubts founded?

Twelve hours ago, Caroline would have replied with an emphatic no, but that was before someone had tried to blow her to smithereens.

“Are you all right?” Tammy asked, hurrying to her. She latched on to Caroline, hugging her, and engulfing her in a cloud of Chanel number-something. The woman’s layers of thick gold chains dug into Caroline’s breasts and her bloodred acrylic nails were like little daggers.

Caroline untangled herself from the hug and stepped back. “I’m fine,” she said, realizing she’d been repeating that lie all night and all morning. To her parents. To Taylor. Even to the security guard lurking in the mudroom doorway. And now to Tammy Sutton.

Kenneth strolled closer. No hug. He had his hands in the pockets of his expertly tailored gray suit. With his dark hair combed to perfection, he looked ready for work. And probably was. Being chairman of the City Board often required a sixty-hour-plus week, and it was already past the normal start of his workday.

“You look tired,” Kenneth observed.

“Caroline and I sat up chatting all night,” Taylor volunteered. Covering for her. So that she wouldn’t have to discuss the stress of the explosion and lack of sleep. “She’s doing great, just like Caroline always does. Of course, she’s anxious to catch the monster who did this.”

Kenneth and Tammy nodded sympathetically. “So did the intruder take anything?” Kenneth asked.

Caroline inadvertently glanced down at the new dream journal squished between her arm and side. “Not really.”

Tammy must have noticed that glance and the uncertainty in Caroline’s voice. “Are you taking inventory?”

“Something like that.”

Tammy opened her mouth, probably to ask more, but Caroline heard the movement just a split-second before Egan rounded the corner. Wearing a blue shirt again. And those butt-hugging jeans. No Stetson today. It was probably still drying out from the rain. But he did have his badge and that shoulder holster with the gun tucked inside.

He took one look at Kenneth, and Egan put on his best surly scowl. “Is there a problem?” Egan wanted to know.

“No,” Kenneth answered just as quickly. “My wife and I were checking on Caroline. Last I heard, there was no law against that.”

Egan’s expression didn’t change. He went closer to Kenneth and met the man’s gaze head-on. “But there are laws against attempted murder, breaking and entering and interfering with an investigation. This is still a crime scene, and you shouldn’t be here.”

Tammy indignantly pressed her hand to her chest. “And you don’t think we know that this is a crime scene? We’re not idiots, Ranger…whatever-your-name-is.”

“Caldwell. Remember it, Mrs. Sutton, because you’ll see me a lot in the next few days while I interrogate your husband and you.” Egan looked down at Kenneth’s feet. “What size shoes do you wear?”

“Why?” But it was Tammy who asked, not Kenneth.

“Because I want to know.” His attention landed on her shoes as well. “And while you’re at it, you can tell me your size, too.”

“A perfect six,” Tammy said, overly enunciating the words. “And my husband wears a size ten. Satisfied?”

“Not really. I’ll have one of the CSI guys drop by to check your closet, just to make sure everything is as perfect as you say.”

Taylor cleared her throat, obviously sensing that something even more impolite was about to be said, and she went to Kenneth and Tammy. She hooked her arms around both their waists. “Why don’t you come on over to my house for some coffee? Egan and Caroline have to finish up this investigation, and we’d just be in the way.”

Tammy looked back at Caroline. “Are you sure you don’t need us here? Your mother will never forgive me if I don’t try to help you at a time like this.”

“I’m okay.” Caroline hoped. “Please tell Mom that if you talk to her.”

Egan looked at the security guard once Kenneth, Tammy and Taylor were out of sight. “Make sure Kenneth Sutton and his wife leave the premises. I don’t want them back here, either.”

The guard nodded and went after them.

“Tammy’s a suspect now?” Caroline asked.

Egan shrugged. “Just about everyone around here is. Guilt by association.”

Caroline had the eerie feeling that he wasn’t exaggerating. “And her motive?”

“Well, if her husband did order Vincent Montoya to kill those people, then maybe Tammy wants to keep that their own little family secret. Of course, Kenneth has the same motive, so I’d prefer neither of them comes around here.”

She huffed. “They’re my neighbors. And Kenneth is my boss at the City Board. Any suggestions how to stop them from visiting?”

His gaze eased to hers. “I think my presence will deter them.” She stared at him, but he didn’t say more. Instead, he shifted his focus to the Mustang. “Nice car.”

Yes. It was. “It’s from my wild-child days. I guess I’ll have to use it for transportation until I can replace the Mercedes.” Of course, she was using the Mercedes because her other vehicle had been totaled in the hit-and-run.

His eyebrow lifted. “You were a wild child?” he said in the same tone as if he’d asked if she were a convicted felon.

“Afraid so. Six speeding tickets my senior year in college.”

That earned her a hmmph. “Speeding tickets don’t make you a wild child.”

She didn’t like that he dismissed it with that hmmph and raised eyebrow. Those tickets had really upset her parents and had caused her insurance to skyrocket. “Remember, I do have an ex-fiancé thief.”

Egan shook his head. “That doesn’t make you a wild child, either.”

“My parents would disagree with you,” she mumbled. And Caroline instantly regretted it. She didn’t want to get into a discussion about how she felt she owed it to her parents to be a dutiful daughter.

“Your father had a pretty serious heart attack about the time your fiancé stole that money from him.” Egan said it so nonchalantly that it took her a moment to realize the comment meant he’d had her investigated.

“Yes,” Caroline admitted. “He nearly died. And please, spare me any psychoanalytical remarks about a guilty conscience.”

“No comments.” Egan tipped his head to the notebook still tucked beneath her arm. “That’s your reconstructed dream journal?”

Oh, mercy. Another can of worms that she didn’t want opened. “Yes. I’ll give it to the psychiatrist tomorrow when I meet with her.”

“We’ll give it to her,” Egan corrected, walking closer. He stopped just inches away.

“You’re going to the appointment with me?” she asked.

“Actually, the appointment will be here at your house.” He paused, studying her expression. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that someone tried to kill you last night. I don’t want you going out anywhere alone.” He held out his hand. “Now, let me take a look at the journal.”

Caroline had made up her mind to refuse, but she rethought that. Because Egan would want to know why. She’d stall him, of course. Then he’d demand to know why she was stalling and refusing.

He’d see right through her.

Because he could.

And in the end, Egan would be suspicious, very suspicious, which would only make him examine every word of gibberish she’d written.

Since she had already lost the hypothetical argument she’d had with him, Caroline handed him the journal as calmly as she could and then went to take a closer look at one of the holes in her garage wall. She waited. While he read the single page.

“Killer clocks, huh?” he commented.

“It was a dream,” she snapped. “It doesn’t have to make sense.”

She heard his footsteps, turned around, and he was there. Practically looming over her. He smelled…manly, with his woodsy, musky aftershave. Looked manly, too, with just the hint of bad-boy stubble on his strong chin.

“You think time’s running out?” he asked, handing her back the journal.

“For what?” She sounded cautious. And was.

“For catching a killer,” he answered as if that were the only possible answer.

“Yes. That’s it.” Good. No mention of phallic symbols or blond, blue-shirt-wearing Rangers, which meant Taylor had obviously been wrong.

“Holy moly,” Egan mumbled.

Caroline was startled and then realized he wasn’t looking at her or the journal, but rather he was looking past her. She followed his gaze to the open door of the workshop. From his angle he could no doubt see her old secret.

And he made a beeline for it.

Mercy! She tried to step in front of him. For all the good it did. He merely stepped around her. Caroline maneuvered again. Not very well. She finally gave up the maneuvering and latched onto Egan with both hands.

It wasn’t a good idea.

The journal dropped to the floor, and her hands were suddenly filled with his left arm and right shoulder. But her attempts were useless, anyway. He saw her old secret.

“That’s a mint condition vintage 1952 Harley-Davidson Panhead Chopper,” he announced, studying the motorcycle. His mouth opened slightly, and she thought she saw the pulse in his neck rev up a little.

“So?” she challenged. “I bought it, as an investment. And it’s a 1951, not a ‘52.”

He didn’t react to the correction. “Not a dent, not one rust spot, not even a paint chip. So, you’ve obviously taken good care of it. You actually ride it?”

Caroline clutched her heart necklace. “Sometimes.” But only at night. When her parents were out of town. They considered anything with two wheels to be dangerous.

“When’s the last time you took it out?” he asked, still mesmerized by the motorcycle.

She cleared her throat. “A week ago.”

Egan shifted those scorching blue eyes in her direction, and the corner of his mouth hitched into a smile. “Now, owning that beauty makes you a wild child.”

For some reason, a stupid one, that sounded, well, hot coming from him. That smile helped. Heck, who was she kidding? That smile alone had no doubt seduced countless women because that smile created a too-familiar tug in her belly.

Something stirred between them.

It was followed by a long smoldering look. Oh, the things those eyes were conveying. The Chopper had obviously revved up more than just his pulse and his admiration for her wild-child label.

Thankfully, he must have remembered their too-close situation because the smile faded until all that was left was the surliness.

He stepped back.

She let go of him and stepped back, too.

“This is not going to be a problem between us,” Egan said like a general issuing an order to one of his lieutenants.

Caroline bypassed a clarification of this mainly because she didn’t want it spelled out. “It won’t be a problem. Because I’ll stay with my friend, Taylor, until you have this killer behind bars. We won’t have to be around each other, if at all.”