A Simple Twist of Fate (4 page)

Chapter Four

Hours later Beck hung up from another call with only dead air on the other end. That happened at least once a day, which was down from about ten times a day when they first moved in. But this one sounded more perv than angry thanks to a heavy-breathing issue.

Beck tried to imagine some fat dude scratching his belly as he called to make his silent threat. The thought made Beck smile. The piles of paper outlining the long table he’d set up as a makeshift desk in the middle of the large second-floor library didn’t. Leah called the thing, all five feet of it, a sofa table. Beck had no idea what the right name was or how women knew stuff like that. He just knew the piles on top of it grew taller every week.

Charlie Hanover pissed off a lot of people before he died a year ago at fifty-six and on the run. He’d left a string of women from Seattle to Boston. Four wives, including their mother, and numerous fiancées. Women who once believed the stories he told. Beck didn’t share that burden since Charlie cut out when he was four and didn’t even bother with birthday sightings starting a few years after that.

Beck scanned the separate stacks—lawsuits, angry letters and the criminal file from the prosecution that was upended by Charlie’s untimely death. The old man apparently told a good story. He’d conned women out of their jewelry and savings accounts, businessmen and businesses out of their investments and more than one town out of their building funds.

Between the smile and easy charm, women proclaimed Charlie irresistible. He’d focus all his attention on one then take everything on his way out. Days, sometimes weeks, passed before the reality of all a woman lost hit her.

So, there should be money somewhere. Other people’s money that Beck could find, turn over to authorities and ensure its refund. But no. Despite all the searching Beck hadn’t found a stack of cash anywhere. The FBI didn’t believe that was possible and neither did Beck. The money trail was there. He just had to find it.

On the surface, Charlie died with less than ten thousand dollars to his name or tied in any way to his social security numbers, the real ones and the ones he “borrowed” when he borrowed everything else. The limited assets included a small bank account, a car in someone else’s name and a fancy watch Charlie likely stole in his travels but wore until his last day. Little else.

Beck shuffled through the papers that proved how none of Charlie’s money traced to the purchase or running of Shadow Hill. People wanted to believe the house was the answer, but Grandmother’s accounts showed Grandfather’s insurance money going into her bank accounts shortly after his death and that chunk then being used to purchase Shadow Hill. Nothing from Charlie.

But it all fell apart. A later refinance yanked most of the equity out of the place and Beck couldn’t find a trace of where all that cash went either. Even now the property was on the brink of foreclosure. But that was about to end.

He opened his desk drawer and took out the check that would save it all, or at least save the house long enough for them to figure out how to earn the money for an ongoing mortgage payment. Twenty-eight thousand nine hundred and three dollars, complete with Callen’s bold signature across the bottom.

Beck had no idea where his older brother, the one who kicked around from coast to coast, taking odd construction jobs and rarely settling in one place for more than nine months at a time, came up with the funds. Beck dreaded asking. After going years without seeing him, Beck didn’t want to push his oldest brother away. Either brother, actually.

Beck leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. The thin legs of the chair creaked and groaned beneath him. Despite the armrests and high back, it was the least comfortable piece of furniture ever. Something Leah called an accent chair. Beck was pretty sure she made the name up because he couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to accent.

The velvet material covering the seat grabbed his jeans, making it impossible to shift without standing up first. Good thing the rest of the open room, with its high ceilings and worn carpet, proved decent enough. The shelves lined with books and sitting area to the side satisfied him. So did the large window with the view out to the yard.

He could see the back, including the odd swing set Declan insisted be renovated first, before two of the malfunctioning bathrooms inside the house. The choice had something to do with making Leah happy, which appeared to be Declan’s motivation for everything these days. Beyond that was a large grassy area perfect for a pasture, and the trees beyond.

His gaze swept across the series of falling-down outbuildings. A work shed with tools. A caretaker’s cottage he had his eye on and would claim once it had a sturdy roof.

And Sophie.

He exhaled, enjoying the subtle swish of her walk. The jeans and black tank top slid over her and had him wanting to do the same. He watched as she dumped water out of her bucket a few feet from the back porch and headed toward the . . . oh, no. The caretaker’s cottage. Last time she went in there a rat scared her into a near-comatose state, which was better than the squeal she let out two days ago when she saw the wolf spider on the house’s back porch.

Apparently no one bothered to tell her about their newest visitors.

“Damn it.” He stood up fast enough to knock the antique chair over with a crash.

He raced down the stairs, taking two at a time, as his feet flew and his hand slid against the polished banister. Sneakers skidded across the floor as he took the corner at the bottom of the stairs too wide and slammed shoulder-first into the wall.

Swearing and running, he headed down the hallway to the back of the house, next to the kitchen, and out the mudroom door to the back porch. The morning’s mist had given way to bright sunshine but his soles slid on the grass.

Her scream echoed through the trees a second later.

He got as far as that damn swing set in the backyard just as she bolted back outside the cottage and banged the door shut behind her. The crack of wood had the rotted posts next to the door rattling but she didn’t stop moving. She sprinted right to him, blindly running till she got snagged on a swing.

“Settle down.” He reached for her, lifting the chain from around her neck.

She grabbed on to his upper arms with a death grip usually reserved for seeing a dude in a ski mask carrying a chainsaw. “Why . . . is this swing set here?”

Legitimate question, even though the timing was odd since the thing wasn’t exactly new. It had been there back when his grandmother had the place. “If you can come up with a reason for a seventy-seven year-old woman having a swing set, let me know.”

“There’s a . . . in the cottage . . . there’s . . .” Her breath rushed out of her in huge gulps as she glanced around. Clearly she expected an attack from behind.

“I know.”

She shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Skunk.” He brought her in closer with his hands on her hips. For her, of course. The goal was to calm her down.

The cloudy haze hanging over her sexy brown eyes didn’t clear. “What?”

“The big black ball of fur? A momma skunk. She’s using the cottage as a nest for her kits.”

“Her what?”

From that he decided Sophie was not big on nature. Like everything else, that raised more questions about her. “Baby skunks.”

Beck guided her a few steps farther away from the cottage door. There was no need to torment the momma skunk further. The air smelled like a mix of fresh pine and salt and he wanted to keep it that way.

Sophie’s fingernails dug deeper into his skin. “How does a lawyer know about skunks?”

He wondered if he should be insulted by that. “You don’t really need an advanced degree to identify them. I think most everyone knows what they look like.”

“Her babies are in there?” Sophie shuffled her feet and rotated them until her back was no longer in a direct line with the cottage door.

He noticed she didn’t let go. No, she clung to him, stayed close, stared up at him. All things he’d fantasized about, just not in this context. His dreams were more about getting her naked and rumpling those sheets she pretended to straighten out on those days she worked. But thinking about that, about her hair spread out over his pillow . . . yeah, not going there.

He swallowed as he tried to fill his mind with lines of gibberish. It was either that or fight off a pounding erection. Having one of those this close to an animal struck him as really sick and wrong.

Time to think about smelly creatures. That should kill the sexual haze wrapping around him. He funneled all of his concentration into staring at her without seeing her or inhaling the light scent of vanilla in her hair. “Four baby skunks. One died though, so now we have three.”

He knew because he found the tiny runt in the middle of yard one morning and had to get rid of it. Something had spooked it, probably a lawn mower. Maybe a this-is-how-it-has-to-be-done argument between Callen and Declan, since those seemed to happen almost hourly these days. For two guys who had never owned homes before they sure did have set ways they wanted everything done. Shame that their individual ways rarely matched.

She eased the stranglehold on Beck’s arms. After he gave her fingers a quick glance, she dropped her hands but stayed tucked in close. “How do you know about the babies?”

His mind kept zapping in wrong directions, so he focused on the neutral, non-sexual conversation even though he could not seem to let go of her hips.

“I’ve seen her bring them out.” Saw and gave the skunk wide berth. He might not be a full-bred country boy but he wasn’t an idiot either.

“And you didn’t warn me?”

Once again Sophie acted like she paid the mortgage on the place. Gone were those early days where she skulked around from room to room, not making a sound. With each week, she’d grown stronger, bolder, more vocal. Less falsely happy. With Callen and Declan she stayed quiet and quickly left the room. With him, she spoke up, mouthed off and walked into bathrooms without knocking.

Beck found this new side of her so fucking hot his brain almost exploded. The shrinking-violet type wasn’t his thing at all.

Still, this fear over a small animal seemed a bit excessive. “I didn’t realize you viewed skunks as deadly predators.”

“They’re skunks.”

Her voice seemed stuck on repeat. “I think we’ve established that, yes.”

“How did they get in there?”

“Probably has something to do with the big holes in the back wall.”

“But they smell.” A breeze kicked up, picking up her long hair and twisting it in the wind.

He beat back the urge to run his fingers through the strands. To help maintain his control, he finally dropped his hands and stepped away from her. That actual foot of air between them didn’t slow down the blood pounding through him. “Not if you don’t scare them or kick them or something.”

“Why are you so calm?” She lifted her hand and squinted against the bright sunshine.

“Because it’s not a shark.”

Her shoulders fell. “You think I’m an idiot.”

“Never that.” Sneaky, a bit deceptive, not what she seemed, but always smart. “But I am wondering if you’re a city girl.”

She glanced at the tree line in the distance. “I live in town.”

An interesting non-answer. Combine it with the lack of eye contact and Beck wondered if she’d waded into lying territory again. “You do now, but before?”

“Seattle.”

Ah, a tiny piece of the puzzle
. He sensed she’d finally told the truth. He wanted to believe the rest of her story—about cleaning houses for a living and working for their grandmother before she died—but it didn’t match up with any other fact he collected about her.

Then there was the internet search he’d conducted. It would be easier to track her down if Sophie’s name was as unique as the woman.

He tried to remember what they were talking about before his mind went wandering, then the distinctive smell of pissed-off skunk hit his senses. With a hand on Sophie’s arm, he guided them out of the target range as he lowered his voice. “Aren’t there skunks and spiders in Seattle?”

“Not in the high-rise I lived in.”

“So that leads to my next question.” The one that had been clawing at the back of his throat for weeks. The same one she ignored whenever anyone ventured near it. “What brought you to Sweetwater?”

Her mouth flattened and those big brown eyes grew wary. “You are using my terror over an animal scare to dig for information. You know that, right?”

He’d resort to any tactic at this point. “Well,
you
know it was still just a skunk, right?”

“And a surprise. I wasn’t expecting a critter.”

“I get that.” What he really wanted was her hands on him again. He never considered himself a chauvinist, but the idea of having a scared woman seek him out, then jump into his arms . . . well, it didn’t suck. “I actually tried to get out here and warn you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a raging asshole.”

“I never said you were, but what does that have to do with my question?”

He gave a careless shrug and hitched a thumb in the general direction of the second floor. “I was upstairs watching—”

“Me?”

“—and saw you go in.”

“Go back a second.”

The strangest things caught her attention. This time he wasn’t sure what it was. “To where exactly?”

“You sit up there watching me?”

Well, shit
. Last thing he needed was her knowing how much he thought about her, dreamed about her, envisioned sliding into her.

“Let’s not make it sound like my full-time job. My comment was I
happened
to be looking out the window and you
happened
to be going into the skunk’s temporary neo-natal unit.”

“That’s okay then.”

Funny how she could say a few words and tick him right the hell off. “You’re giving me permission to look into my yard?”

“I’m saying we have an issue.”

More of a distraction, to his way of thinking. “I’m listening.”

She grabbed his forearm, digging her fingernails into his bare skin. “Don’t be dense.”