A Time to Surrender (28 page)

He shook his head in disbelief.

They stood on the front walk of a vacant house for rent. It was only minutes from his place, a plus for him since he seemed to be her go-to guy in recent months. The house’s upscale Southwestern style, lush vegetation, and quiet neighborhood suited his sister, but it wasn’t right.

“It’s just not right,” he said, “You can’t move while Kevin’s overseas.”

“Why not? He and I have talked about it since we got married and crammed all his stuff into my dinky apartment. It’s not like I’m buying a place. It’s a one-year lease.”

“You can afford this?”

“Yes, now we can.”

Danny felt himself recoil at her words. Kevin was getting paid extra for combat duty. Combined with Jenna’s salary, they were doing all right.

“So why not?” she said.

“Because Kevin needs to be able to imagine where you’re living. He’ll need familiarity when he comes home. It’d be like you shaving your head, piercing body parts, and gaining a hundred pounds. ‘Hey, welcome home to your wife, big guy.’”

“Or like getting tattooed without telling him?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or quitting my job and joining the Marines without telling him?”

Whoops. Wrong tactic. From her point of view, she was not doing anything Kevin hadn’t already done without consulting her.

She said, “That is not going to fly with me, Daniel. I’m feeling like a cooped-up hen in that apartment. Not to mention every inch of it reminds me of him. And no, I do not want to be reminded of him because that only makes me think all the more about how he’s not there!”

He patted the air and whispered, “Bring it down, Jen. The neighbors will be signing a petition against you moving in here.”

She clamped her mouth shut.

“You have the key?”

She turned on her heel and walked up toward the door.

Danny followed, vowing to limit his comments to toilets and garages. Jenna needed him more or less to okay what she’d already decided. An agent had shown it to her earlier. She had called Danny soon after. It was perfect, she said, and it was going to go fast. She couldn’t wait for their dad to get back from his trip to help her, and Erik was all thumbs when it came to the practical side of life.

Women.

Like Skylar. What was he going to do about her?

Since last Thursday when their mom had been so upset about the strange guy, Danny and Erik had tag teamed spending weeknights up there. Their mom grew less anxious. Skylar grew more subdued.

As his attraction deepened toward her, he feared she would wig out on him. Like Faith Simmons had years ago. Was that why he was moving so quickly?

Jenna held her arms wide. “Perfect, huh?”

He looked around. The layout was bright and airy, combining kitchen, living, and family rooms. A hallway presumably led to bedrooms. French doors led out to a back patio and fenced yard.

An impression flashed through him, flooding him with a knowledge. He knew what he wanted to do about Skylar: he wanted to bring her home.

He blinked. He had no clue what that meant.

“Danny, can I get some response? Anything?”

“It’s great.”

“You really think so?”

“You really think I’d pretend?”

She grinned.

“Jen, you were right about Faith Simmons.”

“How’d we get from a great house to Faith Simmons?”

“Pretending.” He might as well admit the Faith connection. “I did pretend about her. I never had the hutzpah to admit I loved her, either to myself or her. She became Farah Sunshine and was gone.”

“Oh, no kidding.”

“No kidding.” He would not pretend with Skylar. He would have to find out more about her with or without her help, just to prove to her that no matter what, he cared—no. He loved her.

D
anny swung his laptop around so that Rosie could see the photo on its monitor. “Meet Fin Harrod.”

Her face registered surprise, but she quickly hid it behind her professional mask. “What are you doing?”

“Have a seat.” He pointed to a chair beside his in front of his desk. They were in the spare room he used as an office.

Rosie sat.

It was Sunday evening. She was off duty and had come at his request. Erik was busy with Nathan working on a documentary, the topic of which they kept to themselves.

He said, “Skylar’s name is Skylar.”

Rosie blinked, a slow movement that left no doubt who was in charge.

He couldn’t help but smile at the attractive Latina. “You totally level Erik with that look, don’t you?”

She laughed, but didn’t say anything.

“You are so perfect for him.”

“Thank you. Now, you were saying?”

He expelled a breath. “I-I’m in love with Skylar.”

“I noticed.”

“No way.”

Her brows went up.

“Anyway, she keeps saying I don’t know her. That if I did, I’d hightail it the other direction. I think she cares for me too.”

Rosie’s brows rose further.

“Okay. So you noticed that too. The thing is, she won’t open up with me, but I’ve been taking notes.” He tapped his head. “She’s basically been on edge since we saw Jenna in the hospital after the bombing. I don’t think that’s because she’s all that close to my sister.”

“Which leaves?”

“Something about the bombing incident itself. A week ago, the night we were all up at the hacienda and you told us about it, she looked like she was going to be sick. Then she disappeared into the kitchen where I found her a total wreck. Back up two and a half months ago to the weird way she first appeared, like a fugitive might. No car, cell phone, address. Her family is all dead. She has no local friends. Convenient, hmm? What is she running from? Simple. Her past.”

“Interesting.” She pointed at his computer. “Who’s this guy?”

“Your bomber. Harrison Feinstein, a.k.a. Fin Harrod. I started cross-referencing the bomb you described with attacks in California, Oregon, and Washington. This guy is a suspect in several unsolved bombings. A few cardboard and two pipe, the latter at logging companies, because he was seen in the areas. Years ago he was an ace chem student at Berkeley, arrested for dealing drugs, served time, dropped out of sight.”

She stared at him. “How did you do that?”

He smiled. “The Internet is my life.”

“Mm-hmm. Okay, anything else?”

“This is the guy my mom talked to.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek.

He said, “Mom’s description matches, even if he does have long, blond hair in this picture and you can’t see the mole. Which means this guy knows Skylar, and Skylar knows him.”

“I talk too much.”

“What?”

“I told your mom. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Can you just forget—”

“You told my mom what?”

“What you said—she didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“She’s a good woman.” Rosie paused. “Danny, we zeroed in on Fin Harrod. A witness at the church described someone much like him. I had your mom’s description. No-brainer.”

Danny blew out a breath. “He called her Annie Wells. There’s no record of Skylar Pierson or Annie Wells or any combination of those names being born in Ohio about thirty years ago. No record of those names around that age having ever lived in Ohio.”

“I know.” She smiled. “We cops do have some Internet expertise.”

“Sorry. So now what?”

“Now we play around with the names. Like Fin Harrod here, people most often take a part of their real name for a pseudonym. My guess is ‘Ann’ is Skylar’s real middle name. ‘Wells’ is part of her last name.”

“We should just ask her. Warn her about this guy.”

“Is the sheriff still keeping a close eye on things?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there a chance she could have seen Harrod at the protest?”

They exchanged a stare.

He shrugged.

She said, “That could explain his tracking her down. I don’t want to scare her off, Danny. She’s obviously on the run from something involving him. These guys always have groupies hanging around. We need more information before we can move in.”

Move in? Danny felt his leg muscles turn to gel. This cop needed more information about Skylar. But was he ready for more?

Despite his gallant words to her, vowing that he cared deeply for her no matter her past, he wasn’t so sure.

Fifty

T
he phone rang late Sunday night. Skylar, alone in the kitchen, answered it. “Hacienda Hideaway.”

“Hello there, Annie Wells.”

In the two seconds it took Fin Harrod to rumble the sentence, Skylar’s safe harbor became a thing of the past.

She slid along the pantry door to the tile floor. “Sorry. Nobody here by that name.”

“Right.” The chuckle embodied the word
malicious
. “I heard the whomp in your chest all the way from Santa Reina to—well, we won’t get into where I am at the moment. That witch in the Mercedes didn’t know Annie Wells either.”

Witch in the Mercedes?
Claire had driven Max’s car several times since he left, leaving her own car available for Skylar. But when did he—

“The funny thing is,” he went on, “license plates don’t lie. They’re registered to Claire Beaumont with an address. The tricky part was linking the address to the Hacienda Hideaway and tracking down a new phone number. But you know me when it comes to a tricky part. And you do know me, don’t you?” Again the chuckle. “You did good, kid. I’m proud of you getting yourself all situated at a retreat center, probably as cook, probably making new
friends
. But I’m sure you know I have a concern.”

She had spotted him near a crime scene.

“Well, Annie Wells, it’s been nice chatting with you. Take care now.”

The line went dead. After a moment, the dial tone returned.

Skylar listened to its droning, the phone pressed to her ear, her forehead pressed to her bent knees. And she listened to his unspoken threat.

He was long gone from San Diego, but he knew where she was and that she had friends. If she went to the police about him, her friends would be endangered.

The sad truth was that he’d already hurt one of those friends.

“Skylar?”

She looked up to see Claire.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” She held out the phone. “Somebody wanting a reservation, but we’re booked every weekend he asked for. It got me to thinking about this Friday’s guests. Mind if I use the car tomorrow? I have some new menu ideas and Costco has the ingredients.”

Claire smiled. “Of course I don’t mind. I’ll take Max’s car to the airport.” The travelers were returning the next afternoon. “We’ll have a houseful for dinner—Rosie, Nathan, and even Hawk.”

“Let’s serve those chicken casseroles in the freezer.”

“Perfect. I don’t know if Jenna will feel like coming after that funeral. I really should be with her there.”

“Claire, you can’t do everything at once.”

She sighed. “Thanks for the reminder. My goodness. You take care of reservations, menus, grocery shopping, and my emotional well-being. I don’t know how I’d get along without you, honey.”

Skylar managed a smile in response. Claire would figure out soon enough how she’d get along without her because Skylar’s stint in Kansas was, without a doubt, over.

S
kylar packed her bag in the dead of night. Given the fact that she’d not completely unpacked it, the chore did not take long. She carried it by starlight out to Claire’s car and stowed it in the trunk.

The shadows spooked her unlike before. Fin Harrod had managed from miles away to suck the safety right out of the estate. Tonight she would have welcomed Danny or Erik’s presence in a guest room. After a week of watching over the women, though, neither one was there now. Both had early morning appointments—

Watching over the women?

Because Claire was nervous with Max gone, left alone with the fire memories?

Or because she’d encountered a weirdo asking for Annie Wells?

Would the sheriff make frequent trips up the lane just because Claire was nervous?

And what was that business about Lexi staying with Indio? Even the dog Samson seemed to have relocated down there.

Skylar was losing her touch. How had she missed the clues?

By getting lost in Danny’s attention. The evenings he’d spent at the house were the happiest times she’d had since—maybe since ever.

Was he for real?

She’d never know now.

M
onday morning Skylar hugged Claire good-bye and ignored the surprise in her friend’s eyes at the unusual display of emotion.

And then she cried most of the way to Oceanside.

The city drew her for two reasons: train station and funeral.

The police and military presence around the church was thick. Skylar assumed that although no antiwar protest was involved, the officials were taking extra precautions. She was glad she’d worn a Lexi hand-me-down. The black skirt and loose black sweater over a brown shirt was comfortable without giving her the hippie appearance certain people in uniform might notice.

She entered the church and slipped into a back pew just as things were getting under way. It was a packed house. She craned her neck searching for Jenna. At last she spotted her, near the front.

Skylar released her breath. It made no sense why she was there. Guilt, maybe. Or a need to make some lame attempt at restitution. She only knew that she could not leave town until Jenna had made it safely through a military funeral.

Nor could she make much sense of why Jenna once more attended the funeral of a stranger. She had become downright militant with her newfound semper fi attitude. She had never met the guy in the casket nor his family. She only knew that he had been a Marine and that she was not about to let the previous funeral’s experience keep her away from any subsequent ones.

And so Skylar went, too, and sat through music and eulogies that would squeeze tears from a Raggedy Ann doll. She tried not to ponder the fact that the boy was almost ten years younger than herself.

The funeral had not yet ended when Skylar left, but she had a schedule to keep.

She drove to the train station, retrieved her bag, put the key under the driver’s-side mat, and locked the doors. At the automated machine she bought a one-way Amtrak ticket to Chicago, dismissed the thought that she could not avoid a possible random ID check, and got on the train.