Against the Wind (7 page)

Jackson clapped Jimmy on the back. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Just call if you need anything.”

“I will.” But there was only one thing Jackson needed. His gaze strayed to the cottage and the dark-haired woman he could see through the living-room window.

Heat pooled low in Jackson's groin. Softly, he cursed.

T
he parade was flashy, with lots of red, white and blue. The Cougars high school marching band in their red-and-gold uniforms played rousing John Philip Sousa tunes. There were a string of floats: Chamber of Commerce; the district recreation baseball team, the Wolverines; a war veterans VFW float sponsored by Fred Wilkins at the mercantile.

“There's Allie's brother, Rex!” Holly waved at the group of boys atop the Boy Scout float, jumping up and down as if she knew the boy, though she had never met him. Next came the sheriff's posse, riding palomino horses wearing silver-mounted saddles. Clowns on bicycles tossed out candy near the end.

Sarah scribbled notes. She had thought about bringing her small portable tape recorder, but it was noisy along the parade route and a regular old notepad worked just as well. Unfortunately it reminded her of the notes
Andrew must have kept to blackmail the people with whom he did business.

She wondered what they had done that Andrew could hold over them, knew it must be illegal if someone wanted the information back so badly.

She had to find that disk.

Sarah closed her notepad and sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was go back to L.A. Too many bad memories, too much fear. Still, she needed to talk to Stan Greenberg, Andrew's attorney. Maybe he could tell her where to look for the disk.

Then again, Andrew had died owing Stan money. There wasn't enough in the estate to pay him for all the hours he had billed. She wasn't sure how much help he would be willing to provide. Or if he knew anything at all about the blackmail list.

Or if he did, if he would admit it.

She tried to think what else she might do. The house on Sunset had finally sold—way below market value because of the death that had occurred there. The escrow had closed and what was left of the furniture that hadn't been sold had been moved into storage. Eventually that would go, too—more money into the probate coffers to pay the attorneys and a little more of Andrew's staggering debts.

The Santa Monica condo was up for sale but hadn't sold yet. She wondered if the apartment had suffered the same fate as the cottage and thought that it must have been the first place the men had searched.

It just indicated how bad the market was that the Realtor hadn't shown the place, discovered the vandalism and called her with the news.

“Look, Mommy, a fire engine!” It followed the last float, signaling the end of the parade.

“We'll drive over to the park,” Jackson said, “and find a nice place to eat that chicken Livvy fried.” He made another sweeping glance of the area. She noticed he had been doing that ever since they arrived in town.

“Let's head back to the cars,” Jimmy said. “You boys look out for Holly.”

Rags yapped and danced on the end of the leash Holly held. Sam and Gibby's little dog, Feather, one of two they owned, was also there for the festivities.

All kinds of activities were scheduled at Wind Canyon Park: a pie-eating contest, a three-legged sack race, a kayak race in the small lake in the middle of the park. The Memorial Day weekend weather was perfect—crisp, clear and sunny—just a few puffy clouds floating across the sky.

Still, Sarah was nervous. She hadn't seen any sign of the man who had accosted her, but there were a lot of people milling about. She told herself to relax, that she was with Jackson and Jimmy. She was safe and she should enjoy herself.

They were busily climbing into the pickups when she heard someone calling her name.

“Sarah? Sarah Allen, is that you?”

Turning, she spotted a freckle-faced redhead with a big wide grin. Sarah let out a shout of excitement. “Nancy! Nan Marcus! I can't believe it's really you!”

The two women hugged. “It's Nan Hargrove now,” said her old friend. “You look fantastic!”

“So do you!” Nan was a few pounds heavier, but still curvy in all the right places.

“Actually, I'm divorced,” Nan said, casting a sideways glance at Jimmy.

Sarah took the hint. “Do you know everyone? You probably know Livvy. This is Jackson Raines and his foreman, Jimmy Threebears. These are Jimmy's sons, Gibby and Sam.”

“I know Livvy and Jackson. I've seen the boys and Jimmy around but we've never actually met.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jimmy said, and there was a tightness in his features Sarah didn't understand.

She smiled at Nan. “And this is my daughter, Holly.”

Nan lowered herself to the little girl's level. “It's very nice to meet you, Holly. You're just as pretty as your mother.”

Holly grinned. “Thank you.”

Nan returned her attention to Sarah. “I never had any kids. I wanted them but Ron said we should wait, and then things…well, things just didn't work out.”

“I'm sorry, Nan.”

She shrugged. “It's all right. We never were very well suited. I just felt like it was time to get married and so I did. Not a good idea.”

“Are you here by yourself?”

“I'm here with my mother. She's waiting for me in the car.”

Sarah glanced at Jackson, caught his faint nod. “Why don't the two of you join us for lunch? Livvy made fried chicken and she always makes more than enough.”

“I'm afraid my mother gets tired pretty easily. I was about to drive her home.”

“Then come back and join us. Please, Nan. I'd love
a chance to catch up. It's been so long and it's so good to see you.”

Nan's gaze strayed to Jimmy then back. “All right. I won't be long.”

“We'll watch for you.”

For the next few hours, Sarah was actually able to think of something besides the problems she was facing. Nan joined them and they ate fried chicken, potato salad and peach cobbler on a picnic table covered by a white cotton cloth in the shade of an old sycamore tree.

She and Nan shared old memories of their youth and lots of laughter. It was heaven.

Until a big-bosomed woman with long blond hair and even longer legs in tight jeans walked up to the table.

“Hi, y'all.” She flashed a smile that was clearly meant for Jackson.

“Hi, Maddie,” he replied and there was something in the look that passed between them that told Sarah he knew the woman well—very well. He introduced Maddie Gallagher to Sarah.

“It's nice to meet you,” Sarah said.

“Same here.”

Nan knew Maddie through her ex-husband's restaurant, The Cedar Inn, where Maddie worked as a part-time waitress.

“I guess you been busy,” the woman said to Jackson, glancing from him to Sarah as if she were sizing up her competition.

“A little.”

“Give me a call sometime. I'll fix you supper—just like I used to.”

“I'll do that,” Jackson said, but he didn't seem enthused.

As the woman walked away, Sarah couldn't help wondering if Jackson would make the call. It was clear Maddie Gallagher could give a man what he needed.

Sarah felt a stirring inside her, a combination of jealousy and heat as the thought occurred that if Jackson needed a woman, why not her?

The afternoon passed and all too soon it was time to head home. Sarah's nervousness returned as Jackson took her hand and led her away from the group.

“I wish I didn't have to bring this up, but we can't put it off much longer. Whoever these guys are, they aren't going to give up—not as long as they think you've got whatever it is they want…or know where to find it.”

“I know.” She looked up into that ruggedly handsome face, felt the same hot stirring she had felt before. She forced herself to concentrate. “I've got to go back to L.A. Since I don't have the disk, it must be there.”

“We need to know who these people are. If we can't find the disk, we're going to have to deal with them some other way.”

A chill slipped through her even though she stood in the sun. “Marty owns Kozak Construction,” she said. “It's a pretty big company. He rented heavy equipment from one of Andrew's companies. Maybe he was using the stuff for something illegal.”

“If so, we need to know what it was.”

She nodded. “I'll talk to Andrew's attorney, see what I can get him to tell me.”

Jackson dug the blue-and-gold matchbook out of his pocket. Sarah had forgotten all about it.

“This might be a lead. The Blue Parrot. We'll need to find out.”

She plucked the matchbook out of his hand. “I'll make a point to go there, see what I—”

“
We,
Sarah. You're not going to L.A. alone—I'm going with you.”

“But—”

“There's no point in arguing.”

“But—”

He cocked a dark eyebrow and she closed her mouth a second time.

“Livvy can take care of Holly while we're away. Monday's a holiday. Can you be ready to leave first thing Tuesday morning?”

“I—I guess so.”

He smiled. “Too bad my brother, Gabe, isn't up here. He flies a big twin Aerostar. But he's living in Texas these days. Be kind of out of the way for him.”

She remembered Gabriel Raines, who had been a year ahead of her in high school. Like Jackson, Gabe had been a bad boy, always in trouble. When Jackson had begun to change, so had his two younger brothers. He had that kind of influence on people. From what she could tell, he still did.

“I've already called Mountain Air. Their planes are comfortable and well maintained. I use them whenever I have to fly.”

“I can't afford—”

“I can.”

Sarah glanced away. It was funny. Jackson was the sort of man who took charge, took care of things. At first she'd believed Andrew was that way. But Andrew mostly took care of himself, and he got what he wanted by force, not the lift of an eyebrow.

She shouldn't have liked being looked after. She
should have craved the independence Andrew had stolen from her. But Jackson didn't make her feel cheated. He just did what he thought a man ought to do.

Sarah almost smiled.

Then she thought of the trip to L.A., of what they might find, of the demons she would have to confront, and any thought of smiling slipped away.

T
hey flew out at eight-thirty Tuesday morning in a twin-engine Cessna Jackson had chartered a number of times before. He hated the crowds and the security hassles at the airports and he could afford to fly private.

After a four-hour flight, plus a refueling stop, they arrived at the Santa Monica Airport, their destination, and a smaller, easier place to land than LAX. They grabbed their bags and made their way over to retrieve the rental car Jackson had reserved.

As Sarah watched him wheeling his carry-on bag across the asphalt, she found herself smiling. He looked almost as good in tan slacks and a short-sleeved shirt as he did in faded jeans and boots. He loaded their luggage into the trunk of a snappy red, four-door Infiniti and they climbed into the plush interior. Jackson checked the map he had printed off the internet and pulled the car out onto the road.

“Where are we going?” Sarah asked.

“I think we should check into the hotel first, get settled and get our bearings, then we can head out again.”

She was only a little surprised when he drove the rental car up in front of Loews Santa Monica Beach, an expensive hotel that fronted the ocean.

“Can't beat Expedia,” he said as he pushed through the doors leading into an impressive lobby lined with potted palms. “Living so far out of town, the internet is invaluable for travel.”

Sarah had been to the hotel bar for drinks with Andrew and his friends. She caught hold of Jackson's arm, felt his very solid bicep harden at her touch, forced herself to ignore the little flutter in her stomach.

“Are you sure, Jackson? This place is expensive.”

He smiled. “You know how much a gallon of gas costs in L.A.?”

“Depending on the economy, as much as four dollars.”

“Until a couple of years ago, I owned a pile of oil stocks. They made me more money than I can spend. If my conscience hadn't started nagging me, I'd still own them. As it is, I'm now investing in Green.”

“Green?”

“You know, wind machines and solar products developed to benefit the environment. So far, my stocks are doing great. I'm not Bill Gates, but I'm more than comfortable. I can do pretty much what I want.”

He had reserved a two-bedroom suite with ocean views, a lovely room, she saw as they walked in. The bedroom doors were open. The minute he noticed the king-size bed, his gaze turned dark and smoky.

“Take your pick,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face.

Sarah swallowed. She wanted to tell him that whatever room he chose was the one she wanted to sleep in. That she wanted him to make love to her and this was the perfect place.

She didn't. Just turned and walked into the nearest bedroom, leaving him the one with the ocean view. She picked up the phone and dialed the ranch house, spent a few minutes talking to Holly, telling her they had made it safely to L.A.

“Me and Livvy baked a cake, Mama. We're gonna invite Sam and Gibby and their dad over for supper.”

“That sounds great, honey. I'm glad you're having fun.”

“Sam says if it's okay with you, he could teach me to ride Midnight. She's a pony, Mom, and she's just my size. Can I?”

Uncertainty rolled through her. Sarah glanced over at Jackson, who had just walked into the doorway. “There's a pony named Midnight. Do you think it's safe for Holly—”

“Midnight's twenty years old. Both Jimmy's boys learned to ride on her. Holly couldn't be safer.”

Sarah turned back to the phone. “You can ride her—as long as Livvy or Sam's dad is out there with you.”

“Yippee!” The sound of clanging pots and pans came over the line. “I gotta go, Mom. Livvy's taking the cake out of the oven.”

“Have a good time, sweetheart.” The line went dead and Sarah hung up the phone, wishing she were there instead of in L.A.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything's fine. She's having a great time. I don't think she's missing me—especially not when she's got a pony to ride.”

He chuckled. “She's living on a ranch. She needs to learn to ride.”

“I suppose. I just…I worry about her.”

“That's what mothers are supposed to do. Don't worry, she'll be fine.” His expression changed and so did the subject. “Do you still have a key to your condo?”

She nodded. “I meant to leave it there when I left that last day, but I was so anxious to get on the road I forgot.”

“We'll go there first.”

“All right. I'd like to call Gran before we go, make sure she's doing okay.”

Gran was fine. She told Sarah to enjoy the trip with her handsome cowboy.

“We're just friends,” Sarah tried to convince her, but Gran just chuckled into the phone.

The rental car still sat in front of the hotel. Jackson waited until Sarah got in, closed her door, then went around to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel.

It didn't take long to reach the impressive Whispering Sands condominium development where Sarah had been living before her move to Wyoming. They parked in guest parking, then Sarah used her key to the private elevator, which they took to the seventh floor.

She steeled herself, expecting the worst, and handed Jackson the key to the door. When the door swung open, she saw that the apartment had been trashed as she had feared.

“Look familiar?” Jackson asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I was pretty sure they'd hit here first.”

“So was I.” She surveyed the overturned cream-colored sofa and chairs in the living room, the cushions sliced open and the stuffing torn out. They had done a thorough job, she saw, even pulling up the carpet in the bottom of the closets. Still, the impact wasn't nearly as painful as it had been in the little cottage she thought of as home.

“When we get back to Wyoming, I'll call the real estate office,” she said. “Tell them what's happened. They'll need to get the place cleaned up.”

“You'd better call the police.”

She stiffened, turned away from surveying the wreckage to face him. “I'm not calling the police, Jackson. I had more than my share of dealings with them after Andrew died. If I call, it'll start all over. I can't go through that again.”

He said nothing for several long moments, just stood there studying her face. “All right, we'll play it your way. For now.”

She knew he was worried about the danger she might be facing. But there was a danger in all of this that Jackson didn't understand. She turned away from him, walked into the master bedroom, surveyed the destruction in there.

Jackson walked up beside her. “Looks like they did a pretty thorough job.”

“Very thorough.”

“Any place they might have missed?”

“That's what I was trying to figure out.” She gazed past the cream-colored bedspread to the black lacquer nightstands and matching armoire. The furniture had
been thoroughly searched, the drawers and doors left standing open.

“There was a safe at the back of the closet,” she said, heading in that direction, “but once my clothes were gone, it would be easy to spot.” She walked inside, saw the door to the safe standing open.

“From the looks of things,” Jackson said, “Andrew didn't leave the disk in the condo or your friends would have found it and they wouldn't be bothering you.”

“As I said, Andrew didn't spend much time here.”

“Where
did
he spend his time?”

She glanced away, barely able to look at him. “He traveled a lot. He spent a lot of time in Vegas. And then there was his mistress.”

One of his dark eyebrows went up. “Sounds like Andrew was a very busy man.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Do you know her name?”

It was embarrassing to have a husband who openly flaunted his women, even if their marriage had been over for years. “The latest one you mean? I heard him call her Mitzy. I don't know her last name or where she lives. I didn't really care.”

“We need to talk to her, Sarah. Maybe she has the disk—or at least some kind of information about it.”

“If she had the disk and they threatened her, she probably would have given it to them.” Sarah looked up at him, read the tension in his face, ignored the pity. “We need to talk to Stanley Greenberg. Stan was Andrew's attorney—his right-hand man. He would know where to find Mitzy.”

Ditzy
—Sarah had secretly called her. Though she had never seen the woman, she could describe her: perfect
body, perfect face, pea-size brain. That was the kind of female Andrew always chose.

Too bad he'd made an exception in Sarah's case.

Too bad she hadn't figured it out before she'd married him.

“Let's go,” Jackson said, catching her hand and pulling her out of the bedroom toward the front door. “Like I said, if the disk was here, they would have found it.”

They left the apartment and Sarah gave Jackson directions to Stan Greenberg's office in Santa Monica. They drove into the underground parking lot, then took the elevator up to Stan's office.

Recognizing the attractive older woman seated behind the reception desk, Sarah summoned a smile. “Hello, Rosemary. Is Stan in? I need to talk to him.”

The woman wheeled back her chair and stood up, smoothed the skirt of her apricot linen suit. “Mrs. Hollister—I thought you'd moved out of town.”

“I have. I'm just here a few days on business. As I said, I need to speak to Stan.” She continued to smile. “It shouldn't take very long.”

“I'll see if he's in.” Which meant,
I'll see if he'll talk to you.

They waited only a moment before Rosemary returned. “He says you can go right in.”

“Thank you.”

Jackson followed her into Stan's office, elegantly decorated in dark wood and forest green.

“Sarah!” Stan rose and rounded his desk to greet her, kissing her on each cheek in the Hollywood style that always seemed so phony. “It's good to see you, Sarah.” He was a balding man in his forties with the hint of a
paunch beginning to show above the waistline of his navy-blue suit pants.

“You, too, Stan.”

He turned a smile on Jackson, extended his hand. “I'm Stan Greenberg.”

“Jackson Raines.” The men completed the handshake.

“So how can I help you two?”

“A couple of things, Stan.” Sarah went on to explain about the men who had pursued her to Wyoming, about the book or disk or whatever it was that they wanted.

“Andrew was blackmailing someone, Stan. We think it was Martin Kozak. Do you know anything about that?”

“Of course not. You know I would never do anything illegal.”

Sarah refrained from rolling her eyes. “I'll need a copy of the probate documents. I need to find out what was going on.”

“Are you sure you should be involving yourself in this, Sarah?”

“Involving myself is the last thing I want. I don't have any other choice.”

“I see.”

“I need a copy of the probate, Stan.”

“That shouldn't be a problem. I'll ask Rosemary to mail you one. Just give her your address before you leave.”

“I'll just wait here while she gets it.”

It was clear he wasn't pleased. Still, he leaned over and pressed the intercom button, instructed Rosemary to get the information Sarah had requested. Though she had signed a lengthy prenuptial agreement before she
and Andrew were married, giving him sole rights to the companies he owned, she was his widow and a party to the probate proceedings.

She just hoped the information would help.

“The copies will be ready for you when you leave,” Stan said. “Thank you.”

He walked behind his desk, sat down and opened the file in front of him.

“There's just one more thing,” Sarah said.

He looked up. “Which is…?”

“I need to talk to Mitzy. Maybe she knows something that will help us.”

His face colored slightly. “I didn't realize you knew.”

“I've know for years, Stan. Before Mitzy, it was Gloria, and let's not forget Susie. The list goes on and on.”

Stan flipped open the card file sitting on top of his desk and dug out the information. “Her name is Mitzy Bender. Unfortunately, she left town just after you did. I tried to call and check on her—as Andrew would have wanted—but I never reached her. She seems to have disappeared completely.”

“I think I know why,” Jackson said softly.

“Are you sure there's nothing you can tell us that might help us find the disk?”

Stan shook his head. “I wish I could. If anyone comes to me asking questions, I'll tell them you have no idea where to find whatever it is they're looking for.”

“Thanks, Stan.”

They left his private office. Sarah collected the probate paperwork from Rosemary and they carried it down
to the garage. Sitting in the front seat of the Infiniti, she began to skim the documents, paying particular attention to the page listing the companies requesting payment of debt from the estate.

“God, there are dozens,” she said, a sick feeling in her stomach.

Jackson leaned over to examine the list. “Looks like your late husband owed money to half the people in California.”

“And most of the people in Nevada—though his gambling debts don't appear on the list.”

She turned to the page showing his current assets. “Andrew's been selling off his father's businesses for years. Here's a list of the businesses he still owned when he died. Doesn't look like there's that many left.”

“Read off the names, tell me what you know about each one.”

“Not much, I'm afraid. Andrew wasn't very forthcoming when it came to his business dealings.” But she looked down and began to read. “Blacktop Tires. That's a chain of retail tire stores located throughout the West.”