Читать книгу Her Lone Star Protector - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 10

Rob snatched his cell phone from its holder on his sports car’s console. “Rob Cole.”

“I’ve done some checking and here’s what I’ve got.”

He whipped the car to the shoulder of the road, wanting to give his full attention to the call. Earlier that morning he’d phoned Chuck Endicott, a private investigator from Dallas with whom he shared information from time to time, and requested that Chuck track down what he could on Rebecca Todman. “Shoot,” he said, picking up a pen to jot down notes.

“In a nutshell, her in-laws hate her. Think she was responsible for their son’s death. They tried to make a case of it, but the police couldn’t find enough evidence to even fill out a warrant for her arrest.”

“Did you check it out?” Rob asked, frowning.

“Yeah. The guy bought it in a car wreck. He was driving. Lost control of the car and broadsided a bridge embankment. Driver’s side. The wife walked away with only minor scrapes and bruises.”

“Any signs of foul play?”

“The car was totaled, but the in-laws demanded an inspection, accusing the daughter-in-law of tampering with the brakes or steering. Results came back negative.”

Rob’s frown deepened. Two deaths in which Rebecca Todman was either directly or indirectly involved. Coincidence? “What’s your take on this?”

“Me? I’d say the in-laws are screwballs, with a grudge to grind. Kinda reminds me of my old lady’s folks.”

Rob snorted a laugh. “I’ll be sure and share the comparison with Leah.”

“Man! Don’t go telling my old lady anything. I stay in the doghouse enough, as it is.”

“Deserved, I’m sure,” Rob replied dryly. He glanced at his watch. “Listen, Chuck. I gotta go. Thanks for the help, buddy. I owe you one.”

Rob carefully timed his arrival at Rebecca’s shop. He wanted to catch her alone, and he figured the best way to do that was to show up as she was closing for the day. At three minutes until five, he stepped inside the shop and glanced around, but didn’t see any sign of her. “Ms. Todman?” he called, thinking she might be in the storage room behind the counter. When she didn’t reply, he rounded the counter and peeked through the partially open door. Though the overhead light was on, the room was empty.

Frowning, he turned and took a second look around. The only other door was a glass one that connected to an adjoining greenhouse. Rob headed that way. He found the temperature inside the greenhouse to be warmer than that in the shop and a hundred times more humid. Perspiration immediately beaded on his forehead and upper lip.

“Ms. Todman?” he called again. He didn’t hear a response, but that didn’t surprise him. Fans installed along the walls and on the ceiling made enough racket to drown out any other sounds. He started down an aisle framed by long wooden tables covered with pots of flowers and greenery of every size, shape and description. He finally caught sight of her at the far end of the greenhouse. She was standing with her back to him before a table scooping potting soil from a large bucket and depositing it into compartmented trays.

When he was close enough, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Todman?”

With a startled cry she dropped the shovel and ducked away, throwing an arm over her head, as if to ward off a blow.

A hole opened in Rob’s stomach, spilling in a sickening acid as he stared at her, unable to move. He was familiar with that reaction, that instinctive response for self-protection. But he hadn’t intended to frighten her when he’d approached her, nor did he have any intention of hurting her. Hell, he’d barely even touched her! He’d wanted only to get her attention, to warn her of his presence, so that he wouldn’t frighten her.

But obviously he’d failed, judging by her cowering response. Not wanting to frighten her more than he already had, he hunkered down to peer up at her. “Ms. Todman,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just dropped by to ask you a couple more questions.”

Slowly she lowered her arm until her gaze met his. She quickly turned away…but not before he caught a glimpse of the raw fear in her eyes.

She combed shaky fingers through her cropped hair. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, unable to look at him. “You caught me off guard. I thought… I thought I was alone.”

He rose as she picked up her shovel, and noted that her hand was shaking. “I yelled, but I guess you didn’t hear me over the sound of the fans.”

She nodded, but kept her head down, her gaze on her work.

He moved to stand beside her and scowled when her hand bobbled, spilling potting soil across the table. Obviously, being alone in the shop with him made her uncomfortable, a condition that would, he suspected, affect her willingness and accuracy in answering the questions he had for her. He glanced at his watch. “It’s closing time, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“How about if we go down the street to the Royal Diner and talk? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. It’s the least I can do,” he added, “after scaring a couple of years off your life.”

“I’ve already told you everything I know.”

He bit down on his frustration. “I thought you said you were Eric’s friend. Don’t you want to see his murderer put behind bars?”

“Of course I do,” she replied impatiently as she swept the spilled soil onto her palm and dumped it back into the bucket. “It’s just that I don’t know what else I can possibly tell you.”

“You might be surprised. Talking with me could trigger something in your mind. Something that seemed unimportant to you at the time, but might possibly be important to the case.”

She wavered uncertainly, her forehead pleating in indecision. Then her shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right,” she said as she slid the shovel into the rack attached to the side of the table. “Just give me a minute to lock up.” Turning away from him, she wiped her hands across the seat of her slacks, managing to avoid his gaze and keep a safe distance as she made her way back down the aisle to the front of her shop.

Rob stared after her, watching her hands move across that delectably shaped tush. A murderer? he asked himself as he started after her. If she was, she was one hell of an actress.

And he was definitely horny, he decided with a frown. Otherwise, why would he find it so difficult to tear his gaze from her rear end?

Rob sat opposite Rebecca in a booth, watching as she nervously shredded a napkin she’d plucked from the dispenser at the end of the table. Not once during the walk to the diner had she made eye contact with him. And though he’d tried making idle conversation, he’d finally given up, frustrated by her monosyllabic replies.

Determined to resolve the question of her innocence, he braced his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “I know you’re probably anxious to get home, so let’s get this over with. Was the morning you found Eric the first time you’d been to his house?”

Her fingers closed around the shredded napkin, balling it within her fist. “No. I’ve been caring for his plants for a couple of months.”

“The morning you found him, was the house locked when you arrived?”

“No.”

“Was that unusual?”

“Yes. Normally he would already have left for work by the time I arrived.”

“Did you know, prior to entering the house, that Eric was at home?”

“I thought he might be. His car was still in the driveway.”

“Yet you entered anyway.”

“I knocked first. When he didn’t answer, I tried the door and found it unlocked.”

“Since you’re in his house on a regular basis, I assume that you would notice if anything was out of place.”

“Yes, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.” Her eyes rounded as if she’d just remembered something. She laid her hand on the table and leaned forward, her expression hopeful. “It did seem unnaturally quiet, though.”

His investigative instincts sharpened. “How so?”

“The radio. Usually it’s playing. Eric always listens to the weather and traffic reports while he eats his breakfast, then leaves it on to keep Sadie company while he’s away. Is that important?”

“If the coroner hadn’t already established an approximate time of death, it might be.” He lifted his hands. “As it is, it’s just another detail to add to the file.”

She drew her hand from the table, looking downcast. “Oh.”

“The report stated that you found him in the bathroom.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, as if haunted by the scene. Was it an act? he wondered.

“Yes. He…he was on the toilet seat. A necktie was wrapped around his neck.” She lifted her hands as if to demonstrate, then, with a shudder, dropped them to her lap.

“Did you attempt to resuscitate or touch the body in any way?”

She shook her head. “No. I knew he was dead. His face was white and his—” She gulped, tried again. “His…his features were distorted. Swollen. His eyes open and staring.”

A choked sound had Rob glancing to his left, where their waitress stood, a coffeepot in hand. Laura Edwards, he remembered from other visits to the diner. Her stricken look surprised him, but he attributed her reaction to her having overheard Rebecca’s rather graphic description of Eric’s body.

She shoved the pot toward them. “C-coffee?”

Rob turned over the cups on the table. “Sure. Thanks.”

After filling their cups, she darted away.

Puzzled by her strange behavior, Rob mentally filed it away for later consideration, then turned back to Rebecca. “So you knew he was dead,” he said, picking up the thread of their conversation. “What did you do then?”

“I called 9-1-1.”

“From the bedroom?”

“No. The kitchen.”

“Then what?”

“I went outside and waited for the police.”

“Did you reenter the house at any point?”

She shook her head. “No. I…couldn’t.”

“What about your supplies? Surely you must have had something with you, some kind of equipment or tools, if you’d originally entered the house to tend his plants.”

“Yes. I had my tote bag that I carry my supplies in. One of the policemen brought it out to me. The one who questioned me.”

“What about the cat? Sadie, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Sadie. I don’t remember seeing her when I first entered the house. She must have been hiding somewhere. Under the sofa, perhaps. She does that sometimes. But when they brought Eric…the body out,” she amended, wincing, “she slipped out the door. I caught her and held her to keep her from jumping into the ambulance with him.”

He could see the tears building, the strain in her features, and wondered if this was all part of the act. In hopes of throwing her off balance, to trick her into slipping up, he changed the line of questioning. “You said you were fairly new in town.”

She wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, as if needing the warmth to chase the chill from her body. “Yes. I moved here about six months ago.”

“And immediately went into business for yourself.”

“Yes.”

He heard the pride in the single-worded response. “Had you ever owned a business before?”

She shook her head. “No. But I’d always dreamed of owning my own floral shop.”

“So why move to Royal to open a business? Seems it would’ve made more sense to go into business in a town where you were known.”

She fidgeted and he knew immediately that the question had made her uncomfortable.

“I was recently widowed,” she explained slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “I wanted a fresh start. Someplace new, without…without any memories.”

“I would think being surrounded by memories would be a comfort. Unless they were unpleasant ones,” he added, watching her.

She stared at him, her face paling, her blue eyes filling with an anguish that had his gut clenching.

Tearing her gaze from his, she groped blindly for her purse. “I’ve told you all I know about Eric,” she said as she slid from the booth. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Cole, I really need to go.”

Rob frowned as he listened to the officer’s response to his query about the autopsy on Eric Chambers. “No prints?” he asked, frowning.

“None,” the officer confirmed. “Whoever strangled him was careful. Probably wore surgical gloves of some type.”

“Anything show up in his stomach? Any indication that he might have been drugged?”

“Only his dinner. Otherwise, he was clean.”

Frustrated by the lack of any new leads on the case, Rob bit back a curse. “I appreciate the information. Let me know if y’all come up with anything new.”

“I will. You do the same.”

Rob hung up the phone and sank back in his chair, pushing his fingers through his hair.

No leads. No evidence. No suspects.

Other than Rebecca Todman.

Sighing, he sat up and reached for the mail he’d dropped on his desk. As he did, his gaze struck the fishbowl full of flowers that he’d bought at her shop. Frowning, he pushed aside the stack of mail and drew the bowl toward him. He stuck his nose in the flowers and inhaled deeply of the sweet floral scent, the lingering tartness of the citric fruits that filled the bowl’s base.

His frown deepening, he leaned back and studied the arrangement. Classy. Fragrant. Feminine, yet not fussy. Fragile, yet with a hint of toughness.

Much like the woman who had designed it, he thought, unable to stop the stab of guilt that came along with the assessment.

Two days later and he still felt bad about his last interview with Rebecca Todman. He had questioned a lot of witnesses and suspects in his life, some more ruthlessly than others, but none had left him feeling more like a heel than had his last interview with her.

And well it should have, he concluded miserably. He’d tried his damnedest to catch her in a lie, to pry into her private life and prove that she was somehow responsible for Eric Chambers’s murder. But nothing had panned out. Not motive. Not means. The only thing he could definitely nail her with was opportunity, which he could easily nail half the population of Royal with, as well.

Rebecca Todman hadn’t killed Eric Chambers, he told himself. His search into her financial records had dissolved any lingering doubts about that. She had nothing to gain financially by murdering him. Though not a wealthy woman, she’d inherited enough money from her husband to make the down payment on her house in Royal and to set up her business, which appeared to be at least beginning to pay its own way.

No, Rebecca Todman wasn’t the murderer, he thought ruefully, remembering the strained and haunted look on her face as he’d forced her to relive discovering Eric’s body.

But there was still something about her that ate at him. Some elusive something that kept him awake at night. But what? he asked himself, his frustration returning. Was it nothing more than physical attraction? A typical male response to the sight of a good-looking woman?

He leaned back in his chair and pulled at his chin as he gave that theory some thought. If so, he mused, then maybe it was time to get to know Rebecca Todman on another level. A level other than that of suspect.

A more intimate level.

With her knees and hands buried in the freshly turned soil of her cutting bed, Rebecca let the warmth of the late-afternoon sunshine and the heavenly scent of the flowers surrounding her work their special magic on her overwrought nerves. Calm. That’s what she needed and what she sought each time she stepped out into her backyard oasis.

Though she loved her floral shop and felt a keen sense of pride each time she thought of the business she was building, it was only in her garden where she found true peace from the ugliness and brutality of her past. No old memories were allowed beyond the arch of the wisteria-draped garden gate. None were permitted to dig their way under the honeysuckle-covered picket fence, or pop up from the fertile soil like unwanted weeds. Only beautiful thoughts were allowed to bloom here, hopes and dreams that Rebecca had kept secreted away throughout the years of her marriage, protecting them from the destructive and cruel hand of her husband, Earl. Dreams of loving a man and being loved in return. Dreams of having children of her own someday.

She had planted those dreams right along with the climbing roses that now bloomed on the trellises at the rear of her property, nurtured them as carefully as she had the thick clusters of Shasta daisies that grew at the base of the birdbath that speared from the center of the cutting bed. And someday, just as the plants she tended had bloomed to life, she prayed so would her hopes and dreams for a normal life. A gentle and caring man to love, respect and protect her. Children to fill her home and her heart with their laughter and love.

But before she could have those things, Rebecca reminded herself, she had to first heal. Not physically. The bruises and marks Earl had left on her flesh had long since faded. It was the emotional scars that remained, leaving her crippled and incapable of even considering a relationship with another man.

She shook her head sadly, remembering her earlier foolishness in thinking that, with the move to Royal, she’d left behind all the ugliness of her past, healed herself completely from the lingering effects of Earl’s abuse. She could remember in vivid detail the exact moment the revelation had occurred that had proved to her otherwise. At the time, she’d been at the New Hope Charity for battered women. Her purpose in making the visit had been an unselfish one. She’d wanted only to help other women who suffered similarly, offer them her support and encouragement.

Though she’d been a little nervous upon entering the shelter that first time, she’d approached the front desk, where she’d introduced herself to Andrea O’Rourke, a volunteer. They’d hit it off immediately and were chatting like old friends within minutes. Rebecca was filling out the forms Andrea had given her, required before becoming a volunteer, when the front door of the center had opened. Both had glanced up from the paperwork to find a female police officer ushering a sobbing woman inside.

One look at the woman’s busted lip, the swelling that all but closed her left eye, her torn and blood-splattered clothing, and the trembling had started. Violent shudders had dragged the pen from Rebecca’s fingers and drained the strength from her legs. She’d fainted dead away.

Oh, she’d been so smug, she thought now, upon reflection. So sure that she’d completely and successfully overcome all the effects of Earl’s abuse. But she’d had pointed out to her, in a most vivid and humiliating way, that the physical scars might have faded, but the emotional ones were still very much with her.

But she would overcome them, too, she promised herself.

In the meantime, she would dream.

Sinking back on her heels, she let her gaze drift over the swaying, fragrant blooms that filled her garden, a brilliant testament to all the dreams she’d planted in this space. A man to love and cherish her. The children they would have, created from and nurtured by the mutual love and respect they had for each other.

She sighed as the scene blurred, the image of the man with whom she’d fall in love slowly building in her mind. He’d have to be strong, she told herself, and tipped back her head, closing her eyes while the picture of him grew, took shape. But never cruel. And handsome, she added, a soft smile curving her lips as the image began to sharpen and fill with detail. Tall, with thick, wavy hair. Deep blue eyes. Well-honed features. Broad shoulders. She could see him so clearly. So distinctly. So—

Her heart stumbled a beat and she flipped open her eyes, realizing that the face she’d envisioned was none other than the face of Rob Cole. Shaken, she struggled to her feet. Rob Cole? she asked herself then pressed her hands to her suddenly hot cheeks and shook her head. No. Not him. The man terrified her. Infuriated her.

And had, from the moment he’d first appeared at her shop, haunted her sleep and filled her dreams.

Irritated that she had so little control over her own thoughts, she firmed her lips in a long-lost act of defiance she struggled to recover each day. And what woman wouldn’t be fascinated by him? she asked herself with a sniff. He had the rugged good looks of an outdoorsman and a muscular body that suggested that whatever activities lured him there required a certain level of strength and fitness.

But it wasn’t his good looks or hard body that she found herself thinking about, she admitted reluctantly. It was his stone-faced expression, his gruff nature that had her daydreaming of wrapping her arms around him and teasing a smile from him.

Though he’d never shown her anything but the all-business, investigative side of his personality, she was sure there was another side to him, as well. A tender and fun-loving side. It just needed nurturing, she told herself. Love would draw out those qualities he kept locked inside.

“And if you think you’re the woman for the job,” she muttered under her breath, “you’ve got another think coming. Rob Cole is about as interested in developing a relationship with you as Sadie is.”

Sadie, she remembered guiltily, and glanced around, looking for her charge.

“Sadie,” she called as she gathered her garden tools and prepared to go inside. “Come on. It’s time for our dinner.” She made her way through the cutting bed, careful to step on the stones she’d laid out and not on any of her plants. “Sadie,” she called again as she strode for the house.

When she reached the patio, she stooped to store her tools beneath the redwood potting table, then turned. Her shoulders drooped, when she saw that the cat hadn’t appeared. Suspecting that Sadie had climbed the picket fence and gone home to Eric’s house, just down the block, she crossed to the side gate and lifted the latch.

As she walked down the sidewalk, dread tightened her stomach with each step that brought her closer to Eric’s house. She hadn’t been to his home since the morning she’d found his body. She didn’t even dare so much as glance in its direction as she drove past each day on her way to and from her shop. Couldn’t. Not and keep the haunting images at bay.

Confronted with the strip of crime-scene tape still stretched across the drive, she curled her hands into determined fists, then made herself duck beneath it and hurried for the backyard.

“Sadie?” she called uneasily. She tiptoed around to the patio, where she knew Sadie liked to sun. Spotting the cat curled up on the back stoop, waiting, Rebecca was sure, for Eric to come home and let her inside, she crossed to her. “Oh, Sadie,” she murmured sadly, as she stooped to scoop the cat up into her arms. “Poor baby,” she said sympathetically as she retraced her steps. “You miss Eric, don’t you, precious?”

“What are you doing here?”

Her heart leapt to her throat and she looked up to find Robert Cole standing in the middle of the drive, blocking her way.

“I…I came to get Sadie. She slipped away while I was—” She clamped her lips together, furious with herself for offering an explanation when she could just as easily ask the same thing of him. “What are you doing here?” she returned.

He slid his hands into his jean pockets and lifted a shoulder. “Looking for you.” He tipped his head in the direction of her house, where his sports car was parked at the curb. “When I drove up, I saw you headed this way, so I parked my car and followed.”

Sure that he’d come to question her again, she drew the cat to her chest, as if the animal were a shield. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, there’s nothing more I can tell you about Eric’s murder.”

“I didn’t come to question you about the case.”

If possible, she found that revelation even more unnerving than if he’d stated that he was there to arrest her. “Then what do you want?”

He scrunched his mouth to one side and looked away, as if he found his explanation distasteful. “To apologize.”

“For what?”

He scuffed his boot across the loose rock on the drive, then glanced over at her. The effect on her system was the same as if she’d stuck her finger into an electrical socket. The blue in his eyes was softer now, more open, giving her a glimpse at that hidden quality she was so sure was there inside.

“For being so tough on you the other day. You were upset when you left the diner, and I wanted you to know that I was sorry about that.”

Reminded of his callous treatment, she lifted her chin. “Yes, I was upset. And understandably so. Finding Eric was upsetting enough, but to be forced by you to relive the incident was sheer torture.”

He turned and gestured for her to walk with him. “As I said, I’m sorry. But the questions were necessary, in order for me to establish your innocence.”

She jerked to a stop and looked up at him, eyes wide. “You thought I killed Eric?”

He lifted the crime-scene tape. When she didn’t make a move to slip under it, he placed a hand on the small of her back and urged her beneath it. “Yes, you were a suspect.” He ducked beneath the tape, then dropped it and slid his hands into his pockets again. Inclining his head, he indicated for her to walk with him.

She did so, hugging Sadie against her breasts. “A suspect,” she repeated, stunned that he’d think she had killed Eric. She looked over at him. “But why me?”

“Opportunity. You had a key to his house and the perfect alibi.” He arched a brow at her questioning look. “Home alone,” he said, reminding her of the alibi she’d given to the police. “Impossible to prove or disprove.”

They reached the edge of her drive. “But it’s the truth,” she insisted, turning to face him. “I was home alone.”

He reached out and took the cat from her, his expression closed again, not offering a clue as to whether he believed her or not. “Hard to prove, either way.” He cradled the animal along his arm and chest and stroked her head. “Sure wish you could talk,” he said to the cat. “I’ll bet you could tell us who murdered Eric.”

Rebecca hugged her arms around her middle to hide a shiver. “It’s difficult to believe a murder was committed in Royal.” She shivered again and glanced uneasily down the street. “And in this neighborhood, no less.”

He glanced her way, his stroking drawing a deep, satisfied purr from the cat. “You keep your doors locked, don’t you?”

“Yes. Windows, too.” The blood slowly drained from her face as she stared at him. “You don’t think that whoever killed Eric would return and kill again, do you?”

He lifted a shoulder and passed the cat back to her. “Who knows? We still don’t know who murdered Eric or why.”

She buried her cheek against the cat’s fur. “If you’re trying to frighten me,” she said shakily, “you’re certainly doing a good job.”

“I’m not trying to frighten you. Just making sure you’re taking the necessary precautions.” He slid his hands into his pockets again. “But that’s not why I stopped by. I was wondering if you’d go out to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

The invitation caught Rebecca totally off guard. “Dinner?” she repeated. “Tomorrow night?” At his nod, she could only stare. For a moment she allowed herself to believe that he found her attractive, interesting, that he wanted to get to know her better. Maybe even develop a relationship. She even let herself go so far as to believe she could go out with him without suffering a panic attack. That she could talk and laugh and tease, just like any other woman, without her stomach knotting up or her hands growing damp.

Then she remembered him initially saying he’d dropped by to apologize, and all the air whooshed from her inflated dreams, as she realized that his dinner invitation was offered for no other reason than to make amends, just as his invitation to take her for coffee had been.

“No,” she murmured, and turned away to hide her disappointment. “I’m sorry. I already have plans.”