Murder? But Annie Seger committed suicide.
Sam's blood turned to ice. How did Ty know anything about it? Where did he get his information? She skimmed the first few pages, her fingers shaking as she scrolled down.
Her heart twisted when she realized how deeply he'd deceived her.
How was he involved in all of this? Oh, God, could he be behind the person calling in—was he John… no, she couldn't, wouldn't believe that. But there had to be a connection. "You miserable son of a bitch," she muttered, thinking about their lovemaking. The heat. The intensity. The passion.
The lies.
Why didn't he confide in you?
Why did he have to lie?
You slept with the man, Sam. Made love to him.
Her stomach clenched. Bile crawled up her throat.
What the hell was his game?
If he'd wanted to do her harm, he'd had dozens of opportunities.
God in heaven, was it possible? Had she nearly given her heart to a man who had been tormenting her from a distance?
She didn't have time to print out the chapters, she had to leave. Now. Before he realized that she was on to him. She had to grab her purse and… the disk! The one in the computer. Proof that Ty wasn't who he said he was. Information on Annie.
With fumbling fingers she pushed a button, extracted the disk and scrambled out of his chair. She tripped on the way back to the loft, dropped the damned disk, and slid her hands over the carpet until she located it again. In the half-light, she dashed up the remaining stairs. She had to hurry. She didn't know how long his meeting with the man in the street would take, but she assumed it would be over soon.
In the loft she didn't risk turning on a lamp, but searched the darkness for her clothes and purse. She didn't bother dressing, couldn't find her belt, didn't care. But her purse…with her keys…where was it? Where? Heart thundering, throat dry, she combed the loft using only the moonlight filtering through the window to aid her vision and running her fingers over the edge of the bed and the floor. She found her bra… Ty's wallet… but no handbag.
Think, Sam, think Where did you put it?
Her mind turned backward. She remembered Ty showing up at the radio station and how relieved she'd been to see him. Then there was the ride in his car here. She'd argued against not staying at her own house, but he'd been adamant and she'd been too damned tired to argue. He'd insisted she'd be safer with him and she'd reluctantly agreed.
What a joke!
Then there had been the lovemaking.
Her heart nearly stopped when she remembered how he'd touched her, kissed her, brought her to the edge over and over again. Dear Lord, she'd been such an idiot for the man.
How eagerly she'd tumbled into bed with him. How close she'd come to handing him her heart… but she couldn't think of that now. She nearly tripped over one of her shoes, then felt around on the carpet unable to locate its mate. Where the hell was her purse with her keys and ID? She'd carried it into the house and once inside, Ty had kissed her and helped her up the stairs… without the damned handbag.
Through the open window she heard the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel.
Damn. He's on his way back inside. She had to escape. Couldn't feign sleep and pretend nothing was wrong. Leaving the shoe, her heart pounding triple time, she crept down the stairs, nearly stumbling on the bottom step. She was sweating, moving through the unfamiliar house. In the dim light from the banker's lamp, she saw her purse on the kitchen table. She grabbed the bag but didn't dare take a chance on looking outside again.
Bare feet skimming across the carpet, she hurried to the back of the house and flipped the bolt on the French doors. Quickly she slipped outside where a verandah and small patch of lawn separated her from the lake. If worse came to worst, she could climb the fence to the neighbor's yard or swim around the point or…
She sprinted across the cool flagstones and scurried down three steps. Moonlight played upon the dark water and the sloop tied to the dock. If she knew anything about sailing and had his keys, she could take off in the boat. She ducked along the edge of the lawn, near the shrubs, toward the dock. There was a muffled "woof" from the edge of the house.
Please, God, no.
"Sam?"
His voice came out of nowhere.
Sam froze.
"What're you doing up?"
Biting her lip, she slipped the computer disk into her purse and turned to the house. Wearing only a pair of dark shorts, Ty was leaning over the railing and staring straight at her.
Busted.
"Sam?"
She let out a long breath. "To tell you the truth," she said, "I'm escaping."
"From—?"
"You tell me," she said, not closing the distance. "What are you doing up at this hour and don't give me some ridiculous excuse about walking the dog, because it won't wash with me. I know better."
"I was meeting with a friend."
"Who just happens to be walking down the street at 4 a.m.? Right." She couldn't hide her cynicism. "Come on, Wheeler. You can do better than that." Still clutching her clothes, she added, "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but I think I'd better leave. This is… this is getting too crazy."
He straightened and the moonlight hit him full in the face. God, he was handsome. "I suppose it is," he agreed, and plowed a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. "I have a confession."
She didn't move. His words seemed to echo across the yard and ricochet through her brain. "You know, those aren't exactly the words I want to hear right now. I've heard way too much about confession, sin and repenting in the last few weeks to last me a lifetime."
Ty's jaw slid to one side. "Then how about an explanation?"
"That would be a real good idea," she said. "Real good." She waited for a few seconds before he finally started to speak.
"The truth is that I knew about Annie Seger a long time before I met you."
"No kidding," she remarked. She would have appreciated his admission more if she didn't think he already knew she'd poked through his computer files. "You know, Ty, you could have told me."
"I was going to."
"When?" she said in absolute disbelief. How stupid did he think she was? "Were you going to confide in me before or after hell freezes over."
"Soon."
"Not soon enough," she said, her temper flaring. "Don't you know what's going on here? Haven't you been paying attention? The calls I've been getting from 'John' and the message from 'Annie' and the damned birthday cake and card—for God's sake, Ty, just when were you going to break the news to me? After it was too late and this nutcase made good his threats? Or maybe you're involved in a more personal level. Maybe you know John."
"No," he cut in angrily, but something else darted through his eyes, an emotion akin to guilt. Sam felt dead inside. Cold. How could she have trusted him? What was it about her that she always chose so poorly when it came to men.
For a bright woman, she was a disaster in the love department. She'd thought Ty Wheeler was different, but he, like her ex-husband and last boyfriend was little more than a user, another great manipulator.
"Or maybe you are John."
He was taking the stairs from the porch and starting across the lawn. "You don't believe that."
"I don't know what to believe," she said in absolute despair.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I should have told you sooner." He was close to her now, too close.
"Now there's an astute observation." She managed to stiffen her spine. "Look, this is all very… edifying, but I'm going home."
"Not yet." Reaching forward, he wrapped strong fingers over her arm.
"Excuse me?" She flung off his arm. "What do you think you have to say about it?" She tried to pass him, but he grabbed her again and this time her attempts to rip her arm from his grasp failed. "Let go, Ty."
"Just listen to me."
"Why? So I can hear more lies? Forget it!" She started toward the house, and
he, still holding her arm, walked with her.
"You need to know what's going on."
"Like you're going to tell me? Give me a break. The only reason you're confiding in me now is that you know I saw you with the midnight stalker or whoever he is out in the street and that I peeked into your computer records and found out you weren't leveling with me. Now, let go of me, or you and I are going to have this conversation at the police department. Got it?"
"Just wait." Rather than release her, his fingers gripped all the harder. "I think you owe me the chance to explain."
"I owe you nothing." She couldn't believe the man's gall. They were up the stairs and on the verandah. "The way I see it everything you said to me from the first time I saw you is a lie. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty damned sure that the disabled boat"—she cocked her head toward the Bright Angel creaking against its moorings—"was a setup."
"I like to think of it as an excuse."
"Semantics, Wheeler."
"There are things you should know."
"No kidding. Let's start with how you're involved with Annie Seger."
"I'm her third cousin," he said, without batting an eye. Or releasing his grasp. "And I was the first police officer on the scene the night she was found. I got thrown off the case because I was related to her. I've always thought the investigation was botched, and Annie's father wants me to prove it."
"Her biological father," Sam clarified, trying not to be intrigued. For all she knew he was peddling her a new cartful of lies.
"Yeah. Wally. He never bought the fact that she committed suicide."
"So he thinks she was murdered? Why?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
"So what about all this other stuff?" Sam demanded as she threw open the French doors and walked into his living room. "What about the calls to the station and the damned cake and the threats?"
"I can't explain them, nor can I explain who's behind all this, but I'm afraid that I somehow triggered all this, that I'm to blame. I'm afraid that somehow someone found out I was working on the book, maybe through my research, or a leak. Someone in the agent's office or the editorial staff… I don't know. At least not yet." His lips flattened over his teeth in silent rage. "But it seems more than coincidental that when I start working on this book about Annie's death, which happened nine years ago, you start being stalked."
"So that's why you're hanging out with me, the reason you've been around? Out of guilt? My God, Ty, you didn't have to sleep with me to keep me safe or to ease your guilt, for crying out loud!" She yanked her arm away from him. She had to get away. Now.
"I didn't hang out with you because of guilt."
"Like hell." Angry tears burning the back of her eyes, she stomped through the house. Don't break down, she told herself. Whatever you do, Sam do not break down.
He was right on her heels. "Just slow down and listen for a minute."
"I think I've heard enough." She was up the stairs and inside the house. His house. She started for the front door.
"I didn't mean for us to get involved."
Whirling, still holding her purse and her clothes, she nailed him in an uncompromising glare. "But we did, didn't we?"
"That's the problem."
"The problem? For crying out loud, Ty, the problem isn't that we got involved, the problem is that it was all based on a lie! I'm outta here—"
"You can't."
"Of course I can. What are you going to do about it? Keep me here. Hold me prisoner? Kidnap me, for God's sake?"
"You need my help."
"What? No way. You've got it all wrong. I think you meant to say that you need my help. The other way around."
"Sam, listen to me. There's a nutcase out there, a very serious nutcase. For some reason he's targeted you. It could be because I started poking around and somehow, inadvertently gave him ideas. It could be he was involved in Annie's death, or in her life, or he could just be some wacko off the street who read about the story and is trying to make some kind of name for himself. It could even be all a fraud."
"A fraud?" she repeated.
"To boost ratings. I wouldn't put it past George Hannah or Eleanor Cavalier."
"I don't see where you're in any position to call anyone else a fraud. Face it, one minute you're upstairs in bed with me and then the second I fall asleep, you're out in the street talking to some man in the middle of the night. Who was that guy?"
"A friend."
"I didn't think he was an enemy."
"A friend who's going to help us."
"Believe me, Ty, there is no 'us'." She walked out the door in a huff. It was only a quarter of a mile and the eastern sky was lightening and a few birds were chirping. If she had to walk barefoot and in slip, so be it. She had to get away.
Before she did something foolish like trust him again.
"The problem is, Sam, I'm afraid I'm falling in love with you," he said, and his words grabbed hold of her heart and wouldn't let go. She forced herself to turn and face him again.
"Well, you should be afraid, Ty. It would be a horrendous mistake," she said, anger pushing out the words as she stared hard at him. "Don't fall in love with me, because I damned well will never return the favor!"
Chapter Twenty-four
The problem is, Sam, I'm afraid I'm in love with you.
"Yeah, right." Another lie.
Sam's head thundered from lack of sleep, her bad ankle had begun to throb again and her feet were dirty and sore as she stormed toward her house. Fired by her fury at Ty's deception and thankful no one was up, that none of her neighbors witnessed her dishabille, she strode down the street. The stars were fading, the sky turning a soft lavender as dawn broke.
Ty's final words wouldn't stop reverberating through her aching head, but she wasn't going to allow herself to believe them. Not for a minute. Words of love had been her downfall in the past, and Ty's admission that he thought he was falling for her was another lie, a last-ditch effort to control her, nothing more. The way Sam figured it, Ty Wheeler was willing to stoop so low his nose would scrape the ground, all for the sake of his book on Annie, hence his career and fame. His interest in Sam was all predicated on his book. Nothing more.
"Bastard," she ground out.
All she wanted to do was push thoughts of him out of her head, strip out of her damned slip, and shower away all memories of the man and his lovemaking. That she would miss, blast it all to hell. Ty Wheeler was the best lover she'd ever had, hands down, so to speak. Not that she'd had that much experience, but in her limited scope, Ty was the best. The way he found that special spot on the nape of her neck and kissed her there while feathering his fingers over her nipples.
"Stop it," she muttered. So he knew how to take a woman to bed. Big deal. That certainly wasn't the most important quality in a man, though it was right up there. Ty Wheeler and his acumen in the lovemaking department certainly kept her longing for more. "So forget it. It's over."
There will be someone else.
She wasn't convinced that there would be, but she couldn't let her mind wander down that dangerous road. She had too much to do. She had to clear her head and start figuring out who was trying to terrorize her. Ty Wheeler and his sexy body be damned.
As she reached the edge of Mrs. Killingsworth's property she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to see if he was still standing at the edge of his drive watching her march self-righteously down the street. While wearing only her slip. Thankfully she hadn't run into anyone, not even the paper carrier.
Until she reached her property.
A white mid-sized car was parked in the middle of her circular drive, and David Ross sat on her porch swing, leaning forward on his elbows, his hands clasped between his knees as he watched her approach. His face was covered with a day's worth of beard, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep or alcohol or a combination thereof, his tie loosened around his throat, his once-pressed shirt wrinkled, his slacks looking as if he'd slept in the
m. Dark hair was unruly, as if it had endured hours of being pushed away from his face.
"Where the hell have you been?" He pushed himself to his feet. "What the devil happened? You look like…" He took in her state of undress and the wad of clothes she was carrying. "… like… like you've had a bad night."
That's putting it mildly. "I did."
"Where were you?"
Sam groaned inwardly at the prospect of dealing with him. She wasn't in the mood for this. Why now? she thought as her toe caught on the edge of a flagstone. Gritting her teeth, she climbed the steps to the front porch. "I was at a friend's. Let's just leave it at that, okay?"
"A friend's?" David repeated before his eyes narrowed in understanding. His lips tightened, turning white against his dark beard shadow. "Why don't my keys work?"
She slid him a glance that warned him not to mess with her. "I changed the locks because the police suggested it, because of the threats I've been getting."
"You've gotten more?" he asked, and some of his hostility turned to concern. Deep furrows lined his brow. "You didn't tell me."
"I can handle it."
"Are you sure?" He waited as she scrounged in her purse and found her keys. "This sounds serious, Sam."
About as serious as it gets, she thought but wasn't about to confide in him. She didn't need his overly dramatic concern, nor an inquisition. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you."
"I figured that much. The question is 'Why'?" She twisted the key in the lock, pushed the door open with her shoulder, then walked quickly inside to shut off the alarm before it started blasting and waking up the entire neighborhood.
"We need to talk, Sam. Face-to-face."
"You should have called." She dumped her clothes on a chair in the living room as Charon trotted from behind a potted palm to look up and cry at her as he rubbed her bare legs. "In a minute," she said to the cat, then skewered David with her gaze. "Look, I don't know what you expected showing up here, but this isn't a great time for me."
"I just wanted to see you." He'd followed her into the living room and was standing next to her, close enough that she smelled the lingering scents of last night's cigars and alcohol. "Is that such a sin?"