Cold Comfort (7 page)

She set her tea on the counter and lifted the receiver. Riley leaned in close, his head touching hers. "Hello," she said, determined to keep her voice steady.

"Claire? It's me, Hal. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, shifting away from Riley. A corner of his mouth quirked and he sat back down.

"I saw your lights and thought I'd better check," Hal said.

"Thanks. I couldn't sleep and came down to make tea."

"Neither could I. Do you want me to come over? Everything's quiet here."

She wondered if Riley could hear him. "No, I appreciate the offer, but I'm going back to bed soon." She said goodnight and hung up. So he'd finally noticed her. Why now? Somehow, Hal's presence in her life didn't seem so attractive as it might have yesterday.

The coffeemaker stopped bubbling, and Riley stood to pour a cup. His voice interrupted her musings. "No nasty suggestions? Your friendly neighbor isn't your midnight caller?"

"Of course not." He was baiting her, and she refused to be sucked in. She dumped the tea from her saucer and made herself a fresh cup.

Riley returned to her problem. "The guy who attacked you has an impersonal feel
—
you're pretty sure you don't know him?"

She clutched the cup, absorbing its warmth, and sniffed the fragrant mint. "I don't think so. I didn't see him, but he wasn't wearing the aftershave I smelled in my bedroom—I'd recognize it."

"That's it. I knew something didn't fit. There are two of them. No one with asthma or breathing problems would wear perfumy stuff. I'll bet the second guy's smoke and aftershave are what's causing him to sound so bad, which also means the wheezer's not the boss. Number Two, the boss, messed up your bed the other night, and the other one waited here for you." He swirled the coffee in the cup, staring into the whirlpool as if it had answers. "If there are two of them, it's definitely not an ordinary stalker—they don't come in pairs. Maybe the one who searched your house found what he wanted, and now someone wants you dead."

Here she sat, in the middle of the night, drinking tea with a man she'd met a few hours ago and discussing who might want her dead. Not one, but
two
men? It just wasn't possible. "Maybe they think I'm someone else."

"No, not after all this. They'd have figured it out by now."

Surely someone made a mistake, but wishful thinking wouldn't save her life. What could she do? Let Riley do his job, she guessed, and hope he'd come up with something soon.

She put her dish in the sink and lifted the lid from the cake container. "Would you like another piece?" She blinked at the missing quarter.

He nodded and poured another coffee while she served the cake.

When they sat down again, he started. "Did you know someone's been in your files
—
the desk in the dining room?"

"My files?" She paused with the fork midway to her mouth. "No. I didn't notice anything." She pushed the cake away and reached for the teapot. The possibility gave her the creeps, but
knowing
someone had been in her house, touched her things, violated her privacy— Her skin crawled. "You found something? Some evidence?"

"Fresh scratch marks around the lock. I also found some at the back door where he got in. Slick, but careless. Since he didn't take anything obvious, he didn't expect you to raise an alarm. He messed up the bed on impulse, a sadistic gesture he couldn't resist."

She knew the sense of violation reflected on her face: her skin felt taut, her eyes too big. He watched her the way a cat watches a snake
—
fascinated but cautious, aware of the danger. "It's okay," she said. "I'm not going to start screaming or anything."

"Good." He still looked suspicious. "Will you go through your files, see if anything's missing or disturbed?"

"Yes, of course," she said, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. "I can't imagine what I could have that would be of any interest to anyone."

"Neither can I. Are you going to eat that cake?"

Neither can I?
How boring was she?
Maybe she should listen to Mary—she really needed to get a life. "Here." She pushed the cake across the table to him. The man had more storage capacity than her refrigerator.

When he met her eyes, she saw his were dark blue, not brown as she'd thought. She couldn't hide her smile, and his shoulders relaxed a little.

* * *

"Come on." Riley pushed his chair back and stood. Might as well get on with it.

"Now? It's the middle of the night."

"Why not? You're up, I'm here. By the way, what's your interest in wetlands? I saw the newspaper article on the coffee table," he said from the dining room.

Claire followed, stopping in front of the file cabinet. "I wanted something useful to do after..."

He saw her swallow and take a breath before she went on.

"After my mother died. We used to go to the shore on weekends, bird-watching, just walking. I took her back when she got sick, but houses, a hotel, and condominiums, even a shopping center, lined the shore. No marsh. One of Elton Burley's mega-developments." Her voice dripped scorn. "So now I write letters, address envelopes, whatever needs to be done to support Senator Jennings's bill. I hope he recovers from his surgery soon. Burley's lined up a lot of support."

She took a key from a book-laden sideboard and unlocked the file drawer, began flicking through the folders. "Everything seems all right." She paused, frowning.

"What is it?" He glanced over her shoulder.
Jesus
. Where her robe had fallen open, he could see a patch of deep purple on the pale skin, too old to be from the alley. No wonder she favored her right arm. He didn't realize she'd been hurt other than the cut on her head. The sight of the angry bruise sent a fresh wave of rage through him. Nadia's battered face flashed before him. He shut her out and concentrated on Claire. "What happened to your neck?"

She pulled the robe tight and turned those blue eyes on him. "A little souvenir from the man in the driveway."

"I didn't know. Did I hurt you?"
God
. He'd rolled her in the alley, then grabbed her shoulders in hall when he thought she was losing it. That's when she started to cry and ran out of the room. "Oh, Jesus. I'm sorry, Claire."

"I'm all right. Don't worry." She laid her hand on his arm, comforting
him
.

He wanted to take her in his arms, keep her safe. Instead, he backed away and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. Flexing his fingers, Riley forced away the sight of the vivid stain on Claire's shoulder and took a deep breath, but he wouldn't forget. He'd find the man who did this. He thought about the things Claire and Ray told him. Those actions suggested sadism. Claire wasn't the guy's first victim either—he'd bet on it. If Riley screwed this up, Claire could pay a heavy price.

He tried to shut out the memories. Nadia, the daughter of a Romanian scientist he'd been sent to protect, an innocent caught up in an ugly business—her face haunted him. He knew the family, shared meals with them when he visited the project before it went to hell. The man's satellite-tracking work put his family in a risky position—Riley should have pushed harder for them to have protection throughout the project. Or stayed with them himself.

The sadist who'd used the girl to break the father hadn't lived long—Riley made sure of that—but it had been too long for Nadia. With an effort, he turned his attention back to Claire's files. "Did you find something?"

She held a fat folder labeled "Medical" and tapped the papers with her fingernail. "Probably nothing. This one isn't as smooth as I remember. I just filed the last of Mother's insurance records, and I jogged it to get all the papers in the folder. Now some of them are sticking up over the edge again. Why would anyone be interested in this?"

"Is anything missing?" His pulse returned to normal, but he still struggled to lock the image of the broken girl in the deep recesses of his mind.

"It doesn't look right, but I don't know if I could tell. There's so much here." She flipped through the folders. "Nothing's out of place, just looks disturbed."

"Was there anything different about your mother's illness or death?" A part of his mind wondered about the man who'd hit her, where he'd strike next. Though more than twice Nadia's age, Claire shared her air of innocence and trust. He'd better figure out the reason behind all this—in a hurry. "No experimental drugs or treatment? You aren't suing anyone, are you?"

"No. She had cancer, nothing unusual. I read everything I could find and have no doubts about anything." She closed the drawer and drew her brows together. "I'm sure someone has been in these files, but I don't know if I could tell whether anything's missing."

"Okay, let's give it up for now." He pointed to the papers on the desktop. "Who's Brent Littlejohn?"

"He's an old friend and Mother's lawyer, so I guess he's mine now. I need to drop by his office and sign some things." She stacked the papers and faced him. "This should be the last of the legal work."

He could smell the mint tea on her breath. The color of the robe and her pale face made her eyes even bluer. She looked...warm, sleep-rumpled. Way too inviting. He could get into trouble here. Clients were strictly off-limits. Abruptly he turned toward the living room. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Let me get you a pillow and some blankets." She hesitated. "You can have the other bedroom if you like. It was my mother's, but I've cleaned out her things."

"I'm fine." He flopped down on the couch and turned away from her, pulling the afghan over his shoulders and adjusting a small throw pillow under his head. "You'd better get some sleep yourself. I'll take care of an alarm system in the morning. And I'll talk to the police."

Chapter 5

Claire dressed hurriedly. She heard Riley prowling around downstairs, and he'd called to her twice. She took a navy blue skirt from the closet and held it in front of herself. Boring. No wonder no one was interested in her.

Riley's voice came from downstairs. "How much longer?"

"Almost ready." On impulse, she dropped the dull woolen skirt on the bed and snatched a red jersey dress off its hanger. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn it. She wiggled into it—had it always been this snug?—and smoothed it down over her hips, grabbed a chunky gold necklace from her jewelry box, and her purse.

Riley raised an eyebrow when she clattered down the steps, still struggling to fasten the necklace. He turned away without comment and took her coat from the hall tree, holding it for her.

Mildly disappointed at his lack of reaction, she slid her arms into the coat and followed him to the car.

Riley issued instructions along the way. "Don't leave the shop by yourself. If anyone unusual or threatening comes in, call me right away. I'll be working on your alarm."

She nodded, half listening. A few more hours' sleep would have been good.

Mary had already opened up when Riley let her out in front of Mistletoe.

Claire barely made it in the door before Mary showed up, her face alight with curiosity. "Did you hear from Ben Riley again? Ray said he talked to him about you."

"Yes. We ran into each other last night—literally," she said, recalling the scene in the alley. Only yesterday? "He's not a typical knight in shining armor, but he did save my life." She told Mary about the car and Riley's timely appearance, what he'd found last night at her house.

"My goodness! Are you all right?" Mary put her arms around Claire and hugged her, avoiding the sore shoulder. "Honey, what are you going to do?"

"Follow orders, I guess. Riley sure knows how to give them." She made a wry face. "But he seems to know what he's doing. He's gone back to my house now, to install some kind of alarm system. He's making it himself
—
he said it won't cost much, and he guarantees it will work."

"I'm glad he's interested. Someone needs to help you. What did you think of him
—
other than his competence."

She considered the man who'd come out of nowhere and rolled her in the alley. He'd been great with Jason. She also thought he was honorable, and she
did
trust him. That he'd cared enough to stay through the night touched her. "He's a strange man, rude and aggressive. But I think he's okay underneath the gruff manners."

Claire eased her arm out of her coat, noticing Mary's skeptical expression. Maybe she'd overdone it with the dress and jewelry. She glanced at her feet. And high heels. Not her usual attire.

Mary lifted the coat from her shoulders and hung it on the rack. "This is so bizarre
—
I wonder why someone is after you."

"You're not the only one."

They wandered back into the shop, straightening and rearranging as they talked. Claire tweaked the branches of an artificial tree and added a cranberry glass ball to a high branch, replacing one that had been sold. The lower branches, those in reach of little fingers, held less fragile ornaments. "Tell Ray I owe him a good dinner. At first I wanted to chew him out for sending me to Riley, but it's hard to be angry when you're grateful to be alive."