Читать книгу Her Tycoon Lover - Lee Wilkinson - Страница 13

FIVE days after he’d left the resort, Luke parked his sleek silver sportscar in the garage of his ultramodern house in Pacific Heights, and went inside. As always when he’d been away, he was struck by how impersonal and stark the rooms were, with their angled white walls, designer furniture, and the cold gleam of highly polished parquet. Not for the first time, he thought he should sell the house.

What had possessed him to buy it in the first place?

To show that he’d arrived, he thought dryly. That Luke MacRae from Teal Lake had a prestigious address in San Francisco, a city many considered America’s most beautiful. And, of course, to cut any last ties with Teal Lake. No one from there would have lived in a cement and glass box painted white and trimmed with metal.

He’d outgrown the house; which had nothing to do with its vast floorspace. What he should do is purchase some land outside the city and build a house out of cedar and stone, with a view of the beach and the rolling surf of the Pacific. Yeah, he thought. He might just do that. He’d check out the acreages that were available, and find an architect who dealt in anything other than postmodern.

Luke opened the mail, turned on his computer to scan his emails, and listened to the four messages on his telephone; three were from women he’d dated. Then he wandered over to the huge expanse of plate glass in the living room and gazed out. Another reason he’d bought the house was for the spectacular view of the city. Sailboats dotted the turquoise waters of the bay; the distant hills were a misty, cloud-shadowed blue. It was midafternoon. He should go to his office headquarters, housed in the elegant spire of the Transamerica Pyramid. Show his face and make sure everything was ticking over the way he liked.

There’d been no messages from Katrin.

How could there be? For one thing, she didn’t have his address; for another, she had no reason to get in touch with him and every reason not to.

So far, he hadn’t succeeded in forgetting her.

He’d gone out with two different women in New York, both ambitious and successful women, each of whom had let him know she’d be happy to warm his bed.

He hadn’t asked. Because neither had made him laugh like Katrin? Because each took the expensive dinner, and the waitress who served it, for granted? Because he couldn’t care less if he ever saw either of them again?

He could get a date for this evening, if he wanted one. Go dancing in one of the clubs south of Market, find a jazz bar, or see what was playing at the Geary Theater. If he tried, he could probably even find someone to play Frisbee with him on Ocean Beach.

And it was then that Luke remembered the three photos he’d taken of Katrin playing Frisbee by the lake with Lara and Tomas. He’d get them developed. That’s what he’d do.

As he was unlocking his suitcase, the telephone rang. He grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“Luke, Ramon here. I wasn’t sure if you were back today or tomorrow.”

Again Luke was aware of a crushing and utterly illogical disappointment that the person on the other end wasn’t Katrin. Get a life, Luke MacRae. “Hi, Ramon,” he said, “I just got in half an hour ago. It was a good conference, I made some useful contacts. How’ve you been?”

Ramon Torres was a high-ranking police officer whom Luke had met several years ago at the indoor tennis club he belonged to. On the court, they were more or less evenly matched, Ramon with a tendency to an erratic brilliance, Luke somewhat stronger and more consistent. From a series of hard-fought games, they’d moved gradually and naturally to an undemanding friendship. At least every two weeks they had lunch together, sparring over politics, learning from each other’s areas of expertise; occasionally Luke had dinner with Ramon, his wife Rosita and their three children. Somehow, over the years, it had become clear that both men had pulled themselves upward from backgrounds of poverty and deprivation: Luke from Teal Lake, Ramon from the slums of Mexico City. They never spoke directly about this. But it was there, an unspoken bond between two laconic men.

“I’ve got a court booked at noon tomorrow,” Ramon said. “Want a game? We could have lunch afterward, if you’ve got time.”

“Sure. Sounds like a good idea. As always at these shindigs, I ate too much…I’ll meet you there.”

They rang off. Luke changed into casual clothes and drove downtown to the nearest camera shop. The prints would be ready the next morning; he could pick them up on his way to the tennis club.

So at eleven-forty the next morning, Luke walked out of the shop with an unopened envelope in his hand. He got in his car, drove to the club, and parked a little distance away from all the other cars. It was one of those summer days of thick fog, a heavy white blanket spread over the city, cooling the air.

Appropriate, thought Luke, realizing he was reluctant to open the envelope. He’d been in a fog ever since he’d left Manitoba. Oh, at his meetings in New York he’d functioned at top efficiency, and he was doing the same at the office here; there was nothing new about that. But the rest of the time he felt as though his feet weren’t quite on the ground. As though part of him was still back in Askja.

His normal life had taken over; but he hadn’t forgotten Katrin. Far from it.

She was even more real to him here, hundreds of miles away, than she’d been at the resort, Luke thought, tugging at the tape on the flap of the envelope. He had the eerie sense that if he turned around quickly enough, she’d be standing there, her brilliant blue eyes gazing straight at him.

Ridiculous. Get a grip. He didn’t need a woman turning his life upside down, he reminded himself. Not now or ever.

With sudden decision Luke pulled the flap open, took out the prints and leafed through them. His heart jumped in his chest. There she was, on the beach, her hair swirling around her head, her slim legs bare to the sun as she reached for the Frisbee. In the other two photos she was laughing, Tomas grinning back at her, their shadows striping the sand.

She looked young and carefree, and very beautiful.

He shoved the photos in his gym bag and hurried into the club. He was late. He was never late.

Ramon was tossing balls into the air and practising his serves when Luke joined him on the court. “Buenos días, amigo,” Ramon said. His gaze sharpened. “You okay?”

Luke should have remembered Ramon had a law officer’s ability to assess people with just a glance. “Sure,” he said, jogging on the spot to warm up. “Want to rally for a few minutes?”

What would Ramon have thought of Katrin in her shapeless uniform and ugly glasses? Would he have discerned the woman of passion—and secrets—behind her disguise? Or would he have been as obtuse as Luke had been?

Grimly Luke forced himself to concentrate. They rallied for five minutes, then settled into the game. But Luke’s focus was off. He lost the first set 6-4, won the second by sheer brute force, and lost the final set 6-2. He and Ramon headed for the locker room, showered, then walked to a little Greek restaurant they both liked. Once they’d ordered, Ramon said, “What’s up, Luke? Was business off-kilter for you up there in the wilds of Canada?”

“It went fine.”

“You’ve never played so badly before.”

“Thanks,” Luke said dryly. “How’s Rosita? And the family?”

Rosita, Ramon’s gorgeous and flamboyant wife, had had three children since their marriage, and to everyone’s surprise, including her own, settled into motherhood as though made for it. “She’s in decorating mode,” Ramon said, wiping the froth from his beer off his moustache. “Tearing the rooms apart, painting up a storm. The kids are fine. Usually covered in paint by the time I get home. So you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I met this woman,” Luke blurted.

“About time.”

“Marriage isn’t for everyone, Ramon,” Luke said forcefully. “One of these years I’ll settle down. But until then, I like playing the field.”

“This woman…she wanted marriage?”

“No.”

Ramon smiled at the waitress as she put his spanakopita in front of him. “So,” he said amiably, once they were alone again, “she was immune to your charm and your undoubted good looks?”

“Yeah. Well, no. Sort of. I guess.”

Ramon gave him a quizzical look. “One thing I’ve always admired about you is your decisiveness. Yes. No. Always you know which one to choose. Except now.”

“It’s not that simple,” Luke said edgily. “She wasn’t one of the delegates. She was working as a waitress at the resort.”

Ramon raised his brows. “So she was after your money? I thought you were used to that by now.”

“She wasn’t! I swear she wasn’t.”

“You went to bed with her?”

Luke ate a black olive. “I feel like I’m in the dock,” he said, scowling. “No, I did not.”

“But you wanted to. Some women say no just to keep a man interested. On the hook.”

“She wasn’t like that.”

“You’ve got it bad, amigo,” Ramon chuckled. “She was beautiful, yes?”

“Oh, yeah, she was beautiful.” Luke frowned. “She reminded me of someone, but I can’t think who. And she had a thing about San Francisco, reacted like a startled deer every time it was mentioned.”

“What was her name?”

“Katrin.” Impulsively Luke fumbled in his gym bag, took out the envelope of prints and passed the three of Katrin across the table. Ramon took them carefully by the corners, his total attention focussed on the laughing woman on the beach. When he looked up, he was no longer smiling.

“What’s her last name?” he asked in a clipped voice.

“Sigurdson. What’s the matter?”

“Sigurdson…that’s right. Although I knew her as Katrin Staines. Widow of Donald Staines. That mean anything to you?”

Luke’s nerves tightened like overstretched wire. Katrin a widow? He said brusquely, “Not a damn thing—and I have a pretty good memory for names. What do you mean, you knew her? When? And where? And who was this Donald Staines?”

“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” Ramon said. “She used to live in San Francisco. About two and a half years ago, her husband was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Luke repeated dazedly. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same woman?”

Ramon flicked the photos with his finger. “I recognized her immediately…she’s not exactly forgettable. It came out at the trial that she was of Icelandic descent, from northern Canada. I don’t forget these details, it’s part of my job.”

“Trial?” Luke said sharply. “What trial?”

“She had a motive. Money. A great deal of money. The prosecution made the most of that, of course. But she also had an ironclad alibi. In the end, although they did their best to suggest she hired someone to kill Donald Staines, they couldn’t make it stick. There was absolutely no record of her paying out any large sums of money in the preceding few months.”

Luke stared at his companion, his brain whirling. “Am I dreaming?” he demanded. “Are we actually sitting here having this conversation?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Out of the blue, Luke was transported back to Askja on his last evening there. Under the birch trees, Guy had said something to Katrin that had made her sag with despair. What exactly had he said? It had had to do with a stain on her reputation.

Her married name had been Staines.

So that was why she’d looked so upset. And no wonder she’d reacted so strongly to any mention of San Francisco, the city where she’d lived; where her trial had taken place.

He said at random, “I was out of the country for several months two years ago. But I must have seen a photo in the newspaper, and that’s why I had that strange feeling that I recognized her.”

“Are you in love with her?” Ramon asked very quietly.

“No. Of course not! But it’s a shock, nevertheless.” Trying to gather his scattered wits, Luke ploughed on. “You know, I’m listening to every word that you’re saying. Words like murder and trial and alibi. But I can’t connect them with the woman I know. I just can’t. I keep thinking there must be a mistake. Or this is some kind of sick joke.”

“Not on my part,” Ramon said pithily.

Luke gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry, you know I didn’t mean you. You’ve knocked me sideways, that’s all.”

“I can see that…Why are you so sure that the Katrin you know couldn’t have murdered her husband? Who by all accounts was a very nasty piece of work.”

Scarcely aware of what he was doing, Luke buttered a piece of crusty white bread. “She couldn’t have. The woman I met at that resort wasn’t capable of murder.” He gave a baffled laugh. “I know that’s not a rational response. But that’s the way I see it. Dammit, I know I’m right.”

“Ah,” said Ramon. “How very interesting.”

“Don’t play games with me, Ramon.”

“I’m not. But I’m glad you said what you did. Rather than asking me if I thought she was guilty.”

“Guilty of murder? Katrin? I don’t care what the prosecution said, Katrin Sigurdson couldn’t possibly have killed her husband. And to say she hired someone else to do it is laughable. There’s not an underhanded bone in that woman’s body—her honesty was one of the things that first attracted me to her. Even if I didn’t always like being at the receiving end.”

Ramon took a healthy bite of spanakopita. His mouth full, he mumbled, “Her alibi was real. She was with friends overnight, and the murder happened in the small hours of the morning. But she most certainly had a motive, and that was what caused the most difficulty.”

“Okay,” Luke said, tension hardening his jaw. “So now I’ll ask you the question. Do you think she did it?”

“Nope. Never did. I have very good radar for liars, and she wasn’t anywhere near my screen. But her motive…she and Donald Staines had had a huge fight that evening. The servants heard it, and she freely admitted to it. He was a wealthy man, and—this is off the record, my friend—the scum of the earth. As well as being an unfaithful husband he was an embezzler, not to mention a highflyer in some very dubious circles.”

Ramon paused to take a long pull at his beer. “Eat up, Luke,” he added, a smile crinkling the lines around his eyes. “I want you in better shape for our next game.”

Luke’s heartbeat had finally settled down to normal; but his hands were cold, and he still hadn’t quite taken in that this was Katrin they were talking about. Manfully he took a mouthful of salad.

“During the course of their disagreement, Katrin told her husband she was leaving him. That very evening. He said he’d cut her out of his will first thing the next morning if she did so. She said go right ahead, she couldn’t care less…then she left the house by taxi with the clothes she was standing up in, and went to her friends’ house. They were a highly respected couple, he was a chief attorney, she was a hospital administrator. The three of them stayed up most of the night, talking.”

“A cast-iron alibi,” Luke said thoughtfully.

“Indeed. In my opinion, the case was mishandled from the start. It should never have gone to trial. But it had too many of the right ingredients: money, corruption, scandal, and a beautiful woman as the defendant. When you put all that together with murder and a possible hit man, you can imagine what happened. The press had a field day.”

Belatedly Luke’s brain was now working at top speed. “So that would explain why Katrin buried herself in Askja. There are no major newspapers there. And who would connect a waitress with Katrin Staines?”

“Not you. Obviously.”

Guy had. But Katrin hadn’t really cared. She’d been ready to leave Askja anyway. “What a terrible ordeal for anyone to go through,” Luke said.

“I felt very sorry for her. She had enormous dignity and courage…both before and during the trial. But you could see it wearing her down, day by day, month by month. By the time it was over, she was on the verge of collapse. She got her lawyers to sell the house, packed her bags and left town. I lost track of her after that. But every now and then I’d wonder what had happened to her.”

Briefly Luke described Katrin’s situation. “She’s ready to leave Askja,” he finished. “But I can’t imagine she’d ever come back here.”

“Not unless she had a reason to,” Ramon said, his eyes twinkling.

“Don’t go there,” Luke said harshly.

“Warning me off?”

“You said it.” Then Luke grimaced. “I haven’t asked the obvious question. Did they ever find out who did murder Donald Staines?”

“Case unsolved.” It was Ramon’s turn to frown. “And you know how I love those.”

Luke dug into his salad. Ramon was his closest friend, but right now he needed to be by himself. Alone. So he could think. Take in all the implications of what he’d learned.

Half an hour later, after settling on a time for their next game, the two men parted in the parking lot of the sports club.

Luke walked toward his car, his gym bag in his hand. For the space of ten minutes he sat in the car, staring straight ahead at the brick wall.

His lunch with Ramon had cleared up so many unanswered questions, things he hadn’t understood about Katrin. He now knew why she lived in a remote village, worked at a job that in no way fulfilled her potential, and was wary of wealthy men. She had very good reasons; furthermore, after an ordeal that must have tested her to the limits, she’d had the sense to retreat and lick her wounds.

He couldn’t bear to think of her going through a protracted trial conducted in full gaze of the press and the public. Living day after day with flashbulbs bursting in her face, the prosecution ascribing to her things she would never have contemplated, the ceaseless and remorseless prying into her private life; add to that the terror she must have felt that justice might miscarry and she be held responsible for something she hadn’t done…

He banged his palm on the steering wheel. No wonder she’d looked so utterly despairing when Guy had confronted her that night.

Wishing he could take on Ramon in the tennis court right now and get rid of some of his pent-up energy, Luke looked around him. The fog had lifted; the car was starting to warm up. So what was he going to do? Go back to work?

He had no reason not to. Perhaps now that he knew Katrin’s secret, he could forget about her. For hadn’t that tantalizing air of mystery been one of the things that had drawn him to her? That, along with all the contradictions that had now been so neatly explained.

Where would she go when she left Askja? Return to the States? Stay in Canada? And how would she earn her living?

Hadn’t she inherited her husband’s money? But if so, why was she working as a waitress?

His jaw set, Luke put the key in the ignition. None of these questions was any of his concern. The resort in Askja and his brief sojourn there were history. Over and done with. Along with the woman who had caused him, briefly, to forget all his hard-won control.

Luke turned left out of the parking lot, toward the distant spire of the Transamerica Pyramid, the city’s tallest building and a notable landmark. Once he got there, he must phone Andreas in Greece.

That was the final piece of unfinished business from the mining conference at the Askja resort.