What Are You Afraid Of?

  He was average height and looked slender beneath his leather coat. His hair was a sandy blond and tousled from the breeze. She guessed his age to be late twenties.

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  There was a rustle of expensive silk as Vi shifted in her chair, but she didn’t bother to rise to her feet.

  “Excuse me?”

  Carmen’s gaze remained locked on the man who had moved to open the trunk of the car.

  “Someone just arrived.”

  “It could be one of the boys,” Vi said. “Or maybe Andrew.”

  Carmen frowned. The man was glancing toward the garage, not the main house, but he was too young to be Andrew.

  “Is Ronnie around?” she demanded.

  “Who?”

  Carmen rolled her eyes. Of course her aunt didn’t recognize the name. She was no doubt lucky to remember her own.

  “Andrew’s son.”

  “Oh. I suppose he comes to visit his dad, but I haven’t seen him.”

  Carmen turned back to study Vi’s blank face. “He doesn’t live in the area?” she asked. Blink, blink, blink. Carmen shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll be back.”

  Grabbing the coat that she’d draped over the back of her chair, Carmen allowed her distant memories to lead her out of the room and down the hallway to a side door. Stepping into the small garden, she crossed the paving stones at an angle, managing to intercept the young man as he neared the side of the garage that led to the private apartment.

  “Ronnie?” she called out.

  The man halted, seeming to pause before he slowly pivoted to watch her hurry toward him.

  “Can I help you?”

  Close up, Carmen could make out the thin features. The narrow nose and tight slash of a mouth. His cheekbones were high, and he had pale blue eyes that were surrounded by sandy lashes. His skin was pale and pocked with old acne scars.

  Her gaze lowered to take in the cheap coat, and the worn overnight suitcase he was carrying in one hand.

  “I’m Carmen Jacobs,” she said in bright tones. “I used to live here with my parents.”

  His brows drew together. “Carmen?”

  “Carrie,” she added.

  “Carrie.” The pale eyes widened. “Of course. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  “It’s been a while.” She glanced toward the bag in his hands. “Are you visiting your family?”

  “Just Andrew,” he said. “My mother passed last year.”

  Carmen didn’t have to fake her pang of sympathy. From what she could remember, Ronnie had been very close to his mother. She also remembered he’d always called his father Andrew. Maybe because he wasn’t his real father, or just because the two didn’t get along.

  “I heard. I’m so sorry.”

  He offered a pained grimace. “She was sick for a long time. It was a blessing, really.”

  Carmen nodded. “It’s still hard.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live in the area?”

  Ronnie shook his head. “No, but Andrew insisted I come back for Christmas. The past year has been difficult for him.” He glanced from her to the looming mansion. “Are you moving back to Louisville?”

  She couldn’t entirely squash her shudder. Even after fourteen years this place haunted her dreams.

  “No. Just passing through.”

  His gaze remained on the big house, as if wondering why anyone would walk away from such luxury. Understandable. Looking at the wealthy from a distance always made it seem as if they lived golden lives.

  You had to be beneath the roof to realize they were just as messed up as everyone else.

  “I suppose you’re having Christmas with the family?” he finally asked.

  “That’s the plan.” She shrugged. “Although, I have to admit that they really don’t feel like they’re my family after all these years.”

  His lips flattened as he returned his gaze to her face. “Blood is blood, no matter how many years pass.”

  What did that mean? Carmen didn’t have a clue. She pasted a meaningless smile on her lips.

  “What have you been doing with yourself? Did you get married and have a family?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Where do you live now?”

  “Here and there,” he said. “I like to travel around.”

  Carmen hesitated. Was he being deliberately vague? Or was he naturally awkward around women?

  “That’s nice. I’ve been traveling myself.” She made her tone casual. “In fact, I just drove here from Kansas City.”

  She carefully watched his expression, looking for any hint that she’d struck a nerve.

  There was nothing.

  “It must have been cold there,” he said, his expression unchanging. “I heard there was a snowstorm in the Midwest.”

  “There was. Did you have to drive through it?”

  “No.”

  Stalemate. Carmen reverted to her journalistic skills. It was possible Ronnie was trying to hide something. On the other hand, there were people who simply didn’t like to talk about themselves. At least not directly.

  She needed a new approach.

  “It’s been several years, but I still remember when you were young and you helped me sneak cookies from the jar your mother kept on top of the fridge,” she said.

  His wary expression eased. “It didn’t seem fair to keep them out of reach.”

  Carmen wrinkled her nose. “She probably knew I’d eat the whole batch if I could get my hands on them,” she said with a laugh. “I had a terrible sweet tooth.”

  His thin lips moved in a ghost of a smile. “Not the whole batch. I usually stole a few for myself,” he admitted.

  “Do you have a job you can do from home?”

  He gave a lift of his shoulder. “I do construction, and gardening when I can find a job.”

  “Like your dad.”

  An indefinable emotion darkened his eyes. “I guess you could say that.”

  Her lips parted. She wanted to probe deeper into his travels, but before she could ask, the door at the top of the stairs was pulled open and a short, heavyset man with silver hair stepped onto the landing. He was wearing a faded muscle shirt and a pair of jeans, with bare feet.

  Andrew.

  “Ronald,” the man called down, barely glancing at Carmen.

  “I should go,” Ronnie muttered.

  “It was good to see you,” Carmen said as Ronnie hurried toward the stairs.

  “You too,” he said without glancing back.

  Carmen released a frustrated sigh. Could Ronnie be the one tormenting her?

  He hadn’t seemed to recognize her, but that could be an act. And he’d admitted he was more or less a drifter, which meant he could have been traveling around the country killing women and terrifying Carmen.

  But why?

  Their paths had crossed when they were young; they lived on the same property, after all. But Ronnie had never been aggressive. And as far as she could remember she’d never done anything that would anger him.

  Lost in her thoughts, she was caught off guard when her uncle suddenly stepped into the garden, closely followed by Griff.

  “Ah, there you are, Carrie,” the older man said, his expression strained.

  Carmen briefly wondered if Griff had caused her uncle’s tension. Probably. For a man who seemed so cool and collected, Griff had a unique ability to get beneath a person’s skin.

  “Done with your tour?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Lawrence cleared his throat, his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. “I’m afraid we have plans for today, but you’ll come to lunch tomorrow? We’d love to spend some time with you.”

  Carmen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was perhaps the most insincere invitation she’d ever received.

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” she said.

  “No intrusion.” Lawrence managed to force the words past his stiff lips. “I insist.”

  “We’d be ha
ppy to join you,” Griff smoothly agreed. “Until then we’re staying at the Regal downtown.”

  * * *

  Griff didn’t try to draw Carmen into conversation as they drove toward the center of town. Her face was pale, her eyes dark with the wounds he’d forced her to reopen.

  Leaving the truck in the hands of the uniformed valet, he wrapped his arm around Carmen’s shoulders and led her through the double glass doors. They angled across the expansive lobby that was festively decorated for the holidays, and hit the bank of elevators.

  A few minutes later they were safely enclosed in the privacy of their room.

  Griff moved to the desk near the window that overlooked the city and opened his computer. Behind him he could sense Carmen wandering around the large suite that was designed in muted shades of tan and brown. It was an old-school hotel that had once catered to the wealthy travelers, and later to businessmen who demanded the finest accommodations.

  The elegance of a bygone era remained, along with a solid masculinity that was rare in newer hotels.

  At last her aimless circles led her to stand next to his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He pulled up one of the programs he’d helped to create for Interpol and typed in the name Lawrence Jacobs.

  “Running a trace on your uncle’s finances.”

  “Why?”

  “I think he’s hiding something,” Griff said. “And I want to know what it is.”

  “Even if he is, that has nothing to do with the pictures I received.”

  Griff typed in the names of the cousins. “Don’t be so sure,” he warned.

  Carmen made a sound of impatience. “You met him. Do you really think he’s a serial killer?”

  Griff straightened from the computer and turned to face his companion.

  She was staring at him with blatant frustration. Which was better than the bruised expression he’d seen earlier, but still not what he wanted to see.

  Months ago he’d encountered a pretty woman with a glorious smile standing on the beach. She’d been confident, flirtatious, and captivating. Granted, she’d been trying to trick him into an interview, but he wanted that woman back.

  “I think he’s a clever businessman who has the morals of a shark,” he said, reaching out to unbutton her coat.

  She allowed him to gently tug off the outer garment, but she was clearly distracted by his claim.

  “That still doesn’t make him a murderer,” she said.

  He tossed her coat on the nearby sofa, his gaze never leaving her upturned face.

  “We still don’t know that there’ve been any murders,” he said, prepared for her protest. Reaching out, he touched a finger to her parted lips before she could blast him with her outrage. “Please, Carmen, hear me out.”

  Her face flushed, but with an effort she gave a small nod. “Fine.”

  He took a step closer, his fingers brushing through her curls, which had been tangled by the winter breeze.

  “What if your uncle decided that he didn’t want to share his inheritance with his niece?”

  His question caught her off guard. “What inheritance?”

  His lips twisted. For all of Carmen’s acute intelligence and undoubted success, she could be remarkably naïve. No wonder her family had been so eager to take advantage of her.

  The knowledge stirred his deepest protective instincts. Something that should probably worry him.

  “The business. The estate. Probably stocks and bonds,” he told her. “It could be in the millions.”

  Her eyes widened. “If I had a million-dollar inheritance, I would know about it.”

  He brushed a curl behind her ear before allowing his fingers to trace the delicate line of her jaw.

  “How?” he asked. “Your grandparents cut off all contact with the Jacobses. It would be simple for Lawrence to take control of your share.”

  “But wouldn’t there be lawyers involved?”

  That had been Griff ’s first thought as well. If there was as much money involved as he suspected, there was no way there weren’t a clutch of lawyers eager to become Carmen’s advocate. It would mean a fat payroll for them. Then he remembered that she would have been a minor at the time.

  “Not if your uncle had been named as executor of your father’s will,” he said. “Lawrence would have had full rights to make decisions for you and your inheritance. And since your grandparents had forbidden any contact, it would have been difficult for anyone to warn you that you were being denied your share.”

  “Okay.” She gave a grudging nod. “That seems reasonable, but I still don’t get the connection to those horrible pictures.”

  He cupped her cheek in his palm, knowing his words were bound to hurt Carmen. It didn’t matter if she was close to her family or not; they were all she had left. Now he suspected they might be her worst enemies.

  It was bound to cause even more damage to a woman who’d suffered more than her share of tragedy.

  “For the past fourteen years you were either concentrating on your studies or consumed with your research on your book. You didn’t have the time for or interest in reconnecting with your family.”

  “True.”

  “There’s also the fact that you were relatively powerless,” he said.

  She jerked, instantly offended. “Powerless?”

  “Your grandparents were no doubt fine people, but they weren’t rich,” he said, his thumb tracing the full curve of her lower lip.

  “No,” she agreed. “They lived a simple life.”

  “Then they both were gone and you were a struggling journalist.”

  “Okay.” She glared at him. “But that doesn’t make me powerless.”

  He belatedly realized how important it was for Carmen to deny the idea she was helpless. He got it. Like him, she’d been incapable of saving her mother. And now she was at the mercy of some unknown lunatic.

  She was clinging to her fierce need to be in control of her life.

  “You’re right,” he murmured softly, his gaze sweeping over her face. “You, Carmen Jacobs, are a very dangerous woman.”

  A tiny tremor shook her body as she easily heard the sincerity in his voice.

  She was dangerous. He’d known that from the first day. And even after he’d discovered she was trying to use him, she’d lingered in his mind.

  He told himself it was because he was furious that she’d played him for a fool, but he’d always known that was a lie.

  She’d lingered because she was special.

  Dangerous.

  She drew in a slow, deep breath, as if trying to break free of the sensual spell that was weaving around them.

  “Finish your theory,” she commanded.

  He suppressed a smile. His body was tense with anticipation, but he made no effort to press his advantage. He wasn’t sure when it’d happened, but he’d already decided that Carmen was going to be a part of his life for the foreseeable future.

  They had all the time in the world to explore the heat that sizzled between them.

  “My theory is that you haven’t been in a position where you possessed the support or finances to battle against a tribe of expensive lawyers.”

  She slowly nodded. “Not until my book hit the best-seller list.”

  “Exactly. Now you have money, plus connections to the press that offer you leverage if Lawrence tried to intimidate you,” he continued. “It wouldn’t be nearly as easy to turn you away if you started snooping into the past.”

  She took a long time to process his words, the pain that he’d been expecting slowly spreading across her pale features. Griff’s fingers brushed over her cheek, his heart twisting with regret.

  Then, with the courage that had allowed her to endure the death of her parents to become a strong, successful woman, she squared her shoulders.

  “Even if he’s stolen millions from me, that wouldn’t turn him into a psychopath.”

  “He wouldn’t have to be
a psychopath. Not if the pictures were faked,” he reminded her.

  “What would be the point?”

  He hesitated, not wanting to hurt her further. “Being stalked by a lunatic would keep you distracted.”

  She stiffened, her eyes narrowing. Her instinctive ability to read people was clearly warning her that he wasn’t being fully honest.

  “That’s not why you think Lawrence did it.”

  “No.” He shrugged, silently conceding she wouldn’t stop digging until he revealed what was troubling him. No wonder she became a journalist. “I think it’s for his protection.”

  She studied him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think your uncle wanted to make sure that if you ever decided to show up and start asking uncomfortable questions he would be able to get rid of you.”

  She went perfectly still, as if she’d been frozen into place. A minute ticked past. Then another. Griff ’s hand traced the curve of her neck, feeling the moment that she swallowed her horror and forced herself to accept the danger she was facing.

  “You mean that he might try to kill me?”

  “Yes,” he said bluntly. “It would no doubt be a last resort, but your uncle strikes me as a man who plans ahead. In the event he had to dispose of you, he’d make sure it couldn’t be traced back to him.”

  He heard her breath catch, but she grimly refused to flinch. Instead, she considered his hypothesis.

  “With pictures of supposedly dead women?”

  “If something happened to you . . .” He was forced to halt and clear the lump from his throat. Silently he reminded himself that no one was going to be allowed to hurt Carmen. Not on his watch. “The first thing the cops would suspect would be a jealous lover.”

  “I don’t have a lover.”

  His fingers lightly touched her lips. “Not yet.”

  “Griff,” she breathed.

  With an effort, he forced himself to concentrate. This was too important for him to be distracted.

  “Once that was ruled out, the cops would look to see who would benefit from your death.”

  “Lawrence,” she said.

  “That would be my guess,” he agreed. “It wouldn’t take long for the cops to learn that you are related to the wealthy Jacobs family. The last thing your uncle would want is a bunch of detectives rummaging around his finances and asking inconvenient questions. He would need to make sure they were too occupied to consider the money angle.”