Читать книгу When a Stranger Calls - Kathleen Long - Страница 9

Matt had always had a bit of a temper. He could admit it. Hell, he came by it honestly, yet not from his dad. From his mother. The woman was a hothead the likes of which South Philly would probably never see again.

Be that as it may, right now every deep breathing trick he knew did nothing to calm the frustration ignited by his visit to Lindsey Tarlington.

How could she stare at him like an ice princess and pretend she didn’t care about the package she’d been left? She had to care. Had to.

How could she not?

By all accounts, Lindsey had dedicated her life to helping others solve mysteries. Her mother’s disappearance had been one of the biggest mysteries to ever hit the region.

Of course, Lindsey believed his father had been the murderer. Matt believed anything but. Now, he had only to convince her to listen to him.

The light at the intersection ahead changed from yellow to red. He slowed his SUV to a stop and glared at the notes tossed on the seat beside him.

He knew where the woman lived. That’s probably where she’d gone. The little blond guard at the office hadn’t offered any information when he’d called back other than that Lindsey had left shortly after their meeting.

He knew he’d gotten to her. The facts plain didn’t add up. He was no detective, but he wasn’t stupid. And, neither was Lindsey Tarlington.

He pulled a U-turn when the light turned green, headed back toward the other side of town.

Matt glanced down at the address scribbled on a scrap of paper. Fifty-two Elm. How very suburban.

His father’s conviction had shattered his mother’s dream of escaping the city to move across the river to New Jersey.

Bitter anger rekindled in Matt’s gut, like a slow-burning ember he could never quite put out. He blinked, willing the heat to go away. It wasn’t Lindsey Tarlington’s fault he and his family had lost everything trying to defend his father. It was the system’s fault. The system he now worked to keep fair.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of the house. A bright blue compact car sat in the drive.

He eased out of his truck, straightening to his full height. His father had not killed Camille Tarlington. The killer had gone free and, for some reason, had chosen to wait seventeen years to resurface. Matt intended to find out why—and who.

He climbed the center steps, rapping the brass knocker loudly against the weathered wooden door.

Something sounded inside, and he pressed his ear to the cool surface, trying to make out the noise.

Not a voice, but a moan. A whimper.

“Ms. Tarlington.”

The noise sounded again, this time even more faint.

Matt tried the doorknob and it turned, unlocked. He pushed open the door, stepping inside as he did so.

Lindsey lay facedown, her black hair splayed across the marble foyer.

He dropped to his knees, sliding to a stop next to her motionless body. He checked for a pulse. Solid.

“Ms. Tarlington.” He brushed several silken strands from her colorless face.

Matt’s gut caught, twisting hard. Had the killer done this? He glanced around the foyer, from archway to archway, all leading to other areas of the large house where the attacker might still lurk.

He should search. He should get Lindsey out of the house. He should do more than just hold her, but at the moment, his instincts told him that’s exactly what she needed. His instincts also told him whoever had done this was long gone.

Matt pulled his cell phone from his pocket, punching in 9-1-1 then quickly giving the address and details to the dispatcher. With his free hand, he reached for Lindsey’s, intertwining her slender, soft fingers with his own.

Protectiveness hummed to life deep within him—a determination to find whoever had done this and make sure he never had the chance again.

Lindsey’s lush black lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks and she moaned, the sound nothing more than a soft cry. Matt pressed his lips close to her ear, inhaling her soft floral scent. “Stay still. Help’s coming.”

“Shoved me.” The words slipped over her lips, like the murmurings of a sleepwalker.

“Don’t try to talk.” Matt squeezed her hand tighter, willing her to hang on.

Her eyes flashed open like huge saucers of sky, frightened, slowly focusing on his face.

“It’s Matt Alessandro. You’re safe now.”

“You shoved me.”

Lindsey’s accusation slammed him like an oncoming freight train. “No.” He shook his head as he uttered the one-word response, stunned she could think him capable.

A shadow of doubt glazed her stare, and reality settled in, chilling Matt to the core.

Lindsey Tarlington eyed him as if he were a killer’s son, but then, why wouldn’t she?

In her eyes, he was.

LINDSEY WOKE TO THE sensation of someone squeezing her hand. Rugged male features flashed through her mind. Hazel eyes. Sharp jaw. Piercing gaze.

Matt Alessandro.

Fear seized her, and she jerked her arm, trying to free herself from his grip.

“Hey, hey.” A soothing male voice slipped into her consciousness. Familiar. Gruff. “Who you fighting now, peanut?”

She forced open her eyes, relief coursing through her as she met the familiar, yet concerned, pale gray eyes. “Uncle Frank?”

He leaned to press a kiss to her temple.

“It must be bad if they dragged you away from city hall.”

His warm laughter rumbled through the small room. “At least that wit of yours is still intact.”

Pain pulsed through Lindsey’s skull. She could remember the moment of impact but nothing after. She scanned the room, taking in the small, sterile details. Chrome, tile, plastic. The walls and floor a bland mixture of teal and cream. “Where am I?”

“Cooper Hospital.” Her uncle’s voice had gone uncharacteristically gentle. “Doctor says you’ll be fine. They’re going to keep you overnight, but there’s nothing to worry about.”

“What happened?”

Her uncle shook his head, his features falling slack. “Matt Alessandro found you, Lindsey. He took care of you until help got there. You really took a fall.”

Alessandro? A fall? Lindsey’s pulse quickened. “He shoved me from behind.”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“I felt him.”

“Did you see him?”

Lindsey rankled at the disbelief palpable in her uncle’s voice. “I saw a shadow.”

“You were unconscious when Alessandro found you. Maybe you simply blacked out. Only thought you saw a shadow.”

Incredulity flooded through her. “You can’t believe that.”

He nodded, his pale gaze narrowing in an obvious attempt at sympathy.

“What about the ring?”

Her uncle frowned, tiny creases framing his surprised stare. “Ring?”

“Mommy’s ring? I found it right before I was attacked.”

The lines of his face deepened. “There was no ring. No evidence that anyone had been in your house. We had our best team out there just to be sure. You fell, peanut.”

She shook her head, wincing as a fresh band of pain wrapped its fingers around the side of her skull. “You missed it then. Her ring was there in an envelope.”

“No.” His tone dropped to the low, all-business timbre she’d dreaded ever since he’d married into the family. “No ring, honey.”

Lindsey swallowed, unable to believe her uncle would doubt her word. “Then someone took it.” She struggled to sit up, but had to settle for merely shifting against the pillows, too sore to do anything more. “Whoever shoved me took it.”

Anger flashed across his now stern features. “Tony Alessandro took your mother’s ring seventeen years ago.” He squeezed her hand. “I’d like to find the monster who left you that copy last night. It’s brought back your old nightmares.”

Frustration mixed with the fear churning in Lindsey’s stomach. The nightmares had started the night her mother disappeared. The blackouts had begun a few weeks later. What had happened today had been neither. “This wasn’t a nightmare.”

Her uncle’s forced smile crinkled the lines framing his eyes. “I’ll go get Aunt Pris. She’s been waiting outside.”

He stood to leave, but Lindsey tightened her fingers around his, determination filling her with strength. “I saw Mommy’s ring.”

Her uncle extracted his hand then pushed away from the hospital bed. “You’ve had a shock. You only thought you saw it.”

Lindsey stared at his back in disbelief. She had no doubt about what had happened. She’d been attacked. The only question was by whom? And what had happened to her mother’s ring?

If Uncle Frank wasn’t going to help her find the answers, she’d find them on her own.

MATT SHIFTED AGAINST THE stiff back of the waiting room chair, doing his best to ignore the nonstop glare Lindsey Tarlington’s aunt, Priscilla Bell, had been channeling in his direction.

The mayor’s wife had always kept a low profile, but she hadn’t been seen in public in months. Based on her appearance, the rumors about her health might be true. She looked like hell. Thin, frail, sickly. Perhaps being married to the mighty Frank Bell had taken a toll.

When Mayor Bell emerged from Lindsey’s room and huddled with his wife, Matt discreetly stared at the floor. He did his best to pick up scraps of their conversation, but they kept their voices too low for him to make out their words.

Frank Bell. Matt fought the urge to snarl at the man.

Bell had been a hotshot in the district attorney’s office at the time Lindsey’s mother, the D.A.’s younger daughter, had disappeared. Convicting Matt’s father had catapulted Bell’s career onto the fast track. Of course, the fact he’d been married to the D.A.’s older daughter, Priscilla, hadn’t hurt, either. And now political rumblings had Bell setting his sights on a quick trip from mayor of Haddontowne to governor of New Jersey.

As a public defender, Matt had butted heads with the man on more than one occasion. One thing was for certain—Frank Bell had the tenacity of a pit bull terrier. If he wanted the governor’s mansion, he’d let nothing get in his way—including any doubts about the conviction that had made his career.

“Thought you would have left by now.” Bell’s voice carried across the small waiting room from where he stood next to the chair his wife had vacated.

Matt stood, fully aware he’d adopted an antagonistic stance. He’d learned a long time ago that head-on was the smartest way to address the mighty Mayor Bell. “Wanted to make sure your niece was all right.”

“She’ll be a lot better off if she doesn’t see you here.” Bell turned away, but barked out over his shoulder. “Maybe you should be paying attention to your clients and leaving my niece alone.”

“She deserves to know her mother’s killer got away scot-free.”

Bell pivoted, unchecked hatred seething from his battleship-gray glare. Bitterness swirled in Matt’s gut. No wonder his father’s defense had never had a chance. If Frank Bell had managed half of the fury he was projecting now, the jury would have been terrified to do anything but return a guilty verdict.

“My niece sleeps just fine at night knowing the man who killed her mother met his just end in jail.”

“But you never found the body. How can you be so sure?”

“Evidence doesn’t lie.”

“No, but it can be conveniently interpreted for a quick conviction.” Matt fought to hold his anger in check. “You and I both know this topic isn’t closed, Mayor. Whoever sent that copy and attacked your niece is determined to reopen old wounds.”

He turned sharply on one heel, stepping toward the elevator, determined to have the last word. For once.

“My niece fell, Mr. Alessandro.” Bell’s words stopped Matt cold. “The shock of seeing her mother’s ID was too much for her. If I find out you’re behind any of this, you’ll pay.”

“How can you—” Matt spun to argue, but Bell had disappeared back into the treatment room.

Fell. Could the man honestly believe that? Lindsey Tarlington had been certain she’d been shoved when Matt found her, and he saw no reason to doubt her story.

So why did Frank Bell? Maybe believing his niece complicated Bell’s plans for the governor’s mansion.

Matt punched the elevator button, hot emotion rolling through his veins. He believed Lindsey’s story, and he planned to tell her so—in person.

Her attack might present just the opportunity he needed to begin earning the woman’s trust.

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, LINDSEY stood in the middle of the attic studio, deserted since the night her mother had vanished. She closed her eyes, trying to sense her mother’s presence, wishing fervently for a sign or a clue as to what had happened all those years ago.

Lindsey had been discharged from the hospital just a few hours earlier, sent on her way with a mild concussion, nothing more. The doctor had agreed with the police that her pounding head was consistent with an accidental fall.

A disbelieving laugh burst from her lips. Fall, her foot. There was no way she’d confuse being shoved with falling.

Even more discouraging had been Uncle Frank’s phone call. The photocopy of her mother’s license had been made on paper found in any office supply store. There had been nothing distinguishing to provide a clue. Nothing. Not a single fingerprint or fiber.

The house below her creaked, and she flinched, even though she’d checked and double-checked every door and window before she’d pulled down the old attic steps and made the climb up to what had been her mother’s sanctuary.

Lindsey hadn’t been up here in recent years. Any time the urge had sneaked into her mind, she’d ignored it, choosing instead to pretend the space didn’t exist. Sometimes avoidance was easier to face than the truth.

She opened her eyes to take in the sight. The attic remained as it had always been, a small art studio, lovingly filled with her mother’s work and favorite things.

Lindsey stepped gingerly toward the easel that stood off to one corner. She fingered the wooden shape, draped in an old sheet, then stood back, watching dust particles dance in the beam of sunlight forcing its way through the streaked attic window.

One thing had never made sense to her, even as a child. If, as the prosecution had claimed, her mother had been in love with Tony Alessandro and her murder the result of a lover’s quarrel gone horribly wrong, wouldn’t there have been some trace of the affair here in her mother’s retreat? Wouldn’t there have been a letter? A photo? Something. Anything.

Lindsey sank to the plank wood flooring. She’d searched this space relentlessly as a teen, until her father had begged her to stop. The pain of her mother’s death and supposed infidelity had been more than the once-vibrant man could endure.

He’d never been the same after that stormy night.

When he died four years later in a one-car crash, during a late spring thunderstorm, the residents of Haddontowne had murmured suicide.

Emotional pain engulfed her, threatening to squeeze the air from her lungs. How could her father have made that choice? How could he have left her alone?

The doorbell rang, and Lindsey swore softly under her breath. She stood quickly and her vision swam, an unwanted reminder of the blow she’d taken to her head. She glared at the attic steps.

Climbing up the unsteady staircase had been a challenge. Climbing down in time to catch the door would probably be the death of her. A chill tap-danced up her spine, and she shuddered.

She had to stop expecting the worst.

Carefully, she set one foot and then the other on the ancient rungs, the springs and hinges squeaking and groaning as she descended. When she hit the hallway floor, she hurried toward the downstairs, ignoring the pounding in her skull and leaving the attic stairs down behind her.

It would be easier to leave them unfolded than to wrestle them up and down each time she went searching. And she had every intention of searching her mother’s studio again.

Just as it had when she’d been younger, her gut told her something lay hidden in that space—something that would unlock the mystery of exactly how her mother had died.

“Who is it?” she called out as she hit the foyer.

“Matt Alessandro.”

Lindsey’s breath caught. She stopped in her tracks, unsure whether or not to open the door and unable to coax additional words from her mouth.

“I came to see how you were.” Matt’s deep voice rumbled through the heavy old wood. “I was worried about you.”

Disbelief fired in her belly as she reached for the knob. “You were worried about—” The sight of him froze her last word on her lips.

Genuine concern painted his features. His gaze bore through her, kicking an unwanted curiosity to life. Soft creases lined his forehead as he raked one strong hand through his too-long hair. He straightened from where he’d been leaning against the doorjamb.

“Took you a while to answer. You okay?”

The soft timbre of his question reached inside her, testing emotional walls that hadn’t been breached in years. The man seemed sincere. Was it possible?

“You could have called.” Lindsey stood in the doorway, unable to will her feet to step aside to let him in. Perhaps it was best to keep him outside on the step, where a stranger belonged.

“How’s your head?” He stepped toward her, and Lindsey instinctively backed up.

“They think I fell.”

His eyes narrowed, now appearing more brown than green. “I think you believe that as much as I do.”

Lindsey swallowed, forcing her focus away from the expression that made him appear human rather than a monster’s son.

“May I come in?” His tone dropped low, sending a ripple of trepidation across her shoulders.

She hesitated, zeroing in on the folder he hugged between his elbow and side. “What’s that?”

“Something you need to see.”

“Listen, if you still want to hire me—”

Alessandro shook his head. “I want to help you.”

Confusion swirled in the pit of Lindsey’s stomach. She raised her gaze to his, only to find herself pinned by the intensity of his stare. “Can I trust you, Mr. Alessandro?”

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation.

The protective lock deep inside her eased ever so slightly. She took a step backward, pulling the door wide and tipping her head toward the foyer. Alessandro followed the nonverbal invitation, stepping over the threshold.

“Thanks for your help yesterday.” The hesitant tone of Lindsey’s voice surprised her.

Yet, it wasn’t intimidation Matt’s presence had sparked to life, but rather alertness. The sounds and scents surrounding Lindsey had become more vibrant, more vital. Perhaps the sensation could be attributed to her defense mechanisms kicking into high gear. Surely that explained the way his nearness made her feel.

Matt held out the folder, the flap secured by a worn rubber band. “I’m just glad you’re all right.” He studied her then, as if memorizing each detail of her face. He lifted his hand toward the bruise that marred the side of her face. “You were lucky.”

Heat flushed Lindsey’s neck, and she pointed to the folder to deflect his focus. “What’s this?”

“Case file.” He dropped his hand. “Buddy of mine made copies for me a while back. Not exactly on the up-and-up, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to your uncle.”

Excitement swelled in her core. “My mother’s case file?”

Matt nodded, pressing the folder into her hands.

She let it sit on top of her palms momentarily, before curling her fingers around the edges. “I’ve asked for this, but my uncle told me it had disappeared.”

Matt’s tone softened. “He probably wanted to spare you, but I thought you deserved to see it.”

She lifted her focus to his, again jolted by the intensity of his scrutiny. “Why?”

“Because the clue to whatever really happened to your mother is somewhere in here. I’ve been over this too many times to count, but you…” He looked down at the folder then retrained his stare on Lindsey.

Her stomach somersaulted, dread and anticipation tangling. The documentation represented the thing she wanted—yet feared—the most. The full story behind that awful night.

“You may be able to spot something here that no one else has. And someone’s waited until now to pull you in.” Matt shrugged again. “Maybe together we can make some sense of this.”

Lindsey swallowed, battling her desire to trust him and the reality of his identity. She had no doubt Matt’s father had killed her mother, but she’d never understood why. She’d never believed her mother had been involved with Tony Alessandro as anything other than a coworker.

“A jury convicted your father, Mr. Alessandro. I can understand your interest in trying to find a way to prove him innocent, but I harbor no doubts. I know my mother’s killer went to prison and died there.”

Pain flashed across Matt’s features as he patted the folder. “Evaluate this. Then make your decision. That’s all I ask.” He turned toward the door, hesitating before he headed outside. “My family was destroyed unjustly, Ms. Tarlington. Someone out there knows something. You know it, and I know it. I intend to find out what that something is.”

Lindsey fought down the anguish clawing its way out from the recesses of her mind. “Your father murdered my mother.” She spoke the words softly, flatly, as if the slightest exertion might cause more pain than she could handle. She straightened, the strength of her certainty flooding through her. “I don’t lie awake at night worrying about how that might have affected your family.”

Matt pressed his lips tightly together before speaking. “I don’t expect you to believe me now, but I know your reputation. You like the whole story. You evaluate each of your cases from every possible angle. Am I right?”

Lindsey nodded, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Matt pointed toward the folder. “Your mother deserves that same attention. Her real killer’s still out there.”

Lindsey said nothing as he stepped from the brick steps to the center walk. His suit jacket fit trim across his broad shoulders, narrowing down to his slender hips. Confidence emanated from each solid footstep he took, shoulders squared, head held high. He looked nothing like she imagined the son of a murderer would.

She tightened her grip on the folder. Did she want to know what lay inside? A calm resignation whispered through her. She did, and Matt Alesssandro knew it.

She felt compelled to believe him when she wanted to do anything but. The reality was that his doubts and questions tapped into her own need to know the truth.

“Did you see the ring?” she called out suddenly, her voice contrasting sharply against the quiet of the neighborhood.

Matt stopped partway down the walk, turning to face her. The play of the late-day sun against the angles of his face momentarily stole her breath. His chestnut hair fluttered in the breeze. “What ring?”

“I found it before I was hit.” Hope coursed through her. “It was in a plain, white envelope. My mother’s ring.”

He narrowed his stare, frowning. “The only thing I found was you. No envelope.” He shook his head. “No ring. I’m sorry.” He nodded toward the folder in her arms. “Was it the ring she was wearing that night?”

Lindsey nodded. “She never took it off.”

“All the more reason for you to review that. I’ll stop by your office tomorrow. We’ll go forward from there.”

As she watched his SUV ease away from the curb, anxiety and doubt coiled deep inside her.

We’ll go forward from there.

No matter what her instincts told her, Matt Alessandro was the son of the monster who had murdered her mother.

She must be insane.