Discovering You (18 page)

“What?”

She bit her lip. “I know. It's crazy. But his goal is to make you pay, and assault with a deadly weapon could get you arrested. It might even result in prison time.”

“That's ridiculous. I had no weapon.”

“
I
believe you. I'm not sure Chief Bennett will. When I went to the police station to tell him what I'd heard, he wasn't very receptive.”

Rod gaped at her.
“You went to the police station?”

“I did. I wanted Chief Bennett to know they were going to lie, before they could do it. They can't get away with that. But I don't think I really helped the situation.”

Although the idea of Liam trying to get him into even worse trouble was as upsetting as India had guessed it would be, Rod was also a bit flattered that she'd immediately risen to his defense. She was trying to act aloof, to protect herself, but she had a kind and caring heart. There was no doubt about that. “Why? What'd Bennett say?”

“Basically that my word doesn't mean anything. I wasn't there when the fight occurred.”

“He
knows
I wouldn't use a weapon.”

“I didn't feel you could count on him to have any faith in that.”

Rod checked the clock; he was running out of time. “He has no proof.”

“It'll be your word against Liam's.”

“What a bastard.”

“Are you talking about Chief Bennett or Liam Crockett?” she asked.

“I'm not impressed with either one.”

“I'm sorry.”

He headed for the bathroom. “Don't worry about it. You've got enough going on.”

Before he could turn on the shower, however, he heard her phone rattle on the nightstand. He waited in the doorway to see if it would work, and who was calling. He was hoping she'd get to speak to her little girl. He knew how much she missed Cassia, thought that might help keep her spirits up. But when the color drained from her face, he knew the water hadn't ruined her cell phone. He also knew it wasn't anyone she
wanted
to talk to.

“What is it?” Rod asked, coming back into the bedroom.

She waved him off in a panic, as if she was afraid whoever it was might hear his voice. Then, without even speaking—other than her initial hello—she tried to hit the end button but was shaking so badly she dropped her phone instead.

Rod picked it up and pressed it to his ear. “Who is this?” he asked.

“Who the hell is
this
?” came the cutting reply.

“Don't talk to him!” India scrambled to her feet so she could grab the phone, and this time she managed to end the call.

Rod frowned at her. “I take it that wasn't your in-laws.”

Tossing her phone on the bed as if she couldn't get it out of her hands fast enough, India hugged herself.

“India?” Rod gripped her shoulders, turning her to get her attention.

Finally, she looked at him. “It was Sebastian.”

17

I
ndia stood at Rod's window, looking from the number in her recent call history to her house and back to her phone. Although Rod had told her to stay at his place and said he'd check in periodically, she couldn't hide out here, or anywhere else, indefinitely. She had to free herself of the past so she could get her daughter back. But how?

India? Guess who?

Sebastian's cheerful greeting ran through her mind like ticker tape. How dare he call her! How dare he pretend she'd be pleased to hear from him! He was mocking her, gloating over his escape.

And he would do more if he could...

Did he know where she lived?

That was possible, but not a given. He'd been able to call only because she hadn't changed her phone number. The world had looked a lot different—a lot safer—when she thought he'd be going to prison for the rest of his life. So she'd taken the risk of hanging on to it. She knew that if she changed her number, many of her casual friends and acquaintances wouldn't be able to contact her. Instead of drifting away, hoping to rekindle those relationships later, when the truth came out, there'd be nothing except her memories to connect her to the existence she'd known with Charlie. But many of those people weren't the kind of friends she'd call for new information. Not at this point.

Now, if she didn't want to hear from Sebastian again, she had to change her phone number. And maybe she wouldn't really be losing anything. If her old contacts thought, even for a second, that she could commit such a heinous act, she should want them out of her life for good. It was just hard to draw that line before she could make new friends and acquaintances. She'd already lost so much.

“Damn it,” she muttered and called Detective Flores. She expected to leave a message. Rarely did she get through to him on her first attempt. But today he answered.

“He called me,” she said, breathless and without preamble.

There was a long pause. “Who is this?”

Taking a deep breath, India strove for calm. “India Sommers. Sebastian Young just called me.”

“What'd he say?”

“I didn't give him the chance to say much of anything. I hung up.”

“That was the wisest thing you could do. You don't want to provoke him.”

“I don't want to befriend him, either. He killed my husband. Please tell me someone's keeping an eye on him.”

No response.

“Detective?”

“We don't have the manpower to run surveillance on every person we suspect is dangerous, India. I've scheduled nightly drive-bys of the house where he used to live with his wife. I'm fairly sure he's gone back there. I doubt he has anywhere else to go. So we're doing what we can, but I wouldn't rely on that.”

“You're telling me that's it? I'm...on my own?”

“I'd suggest getting a restraining order against him.”

She started to laugh. “That's your answer?” She'd been down that road with an earlier boyfriend, the one from the biker gang, and it'd had no effect. Only when his mother had died and he'd moved to Maryland to inherit her house had the danger diminished. India hadn't seen him since.

“Hard as this is, it's all you can do,” Flores said. “He's a free man, innocent until proven guilty.”

With a sound of frustration and hopelessness, she sank onto the bed and rubbed her forehead.

“You there?” he asked.

“I was just hanging up,” she replied and pressed the end button.

She was still sitting on the bed, wondering what she was going to do, when her phone rang. Caller ID indicated that it was her in-laws. A pang of longing went through her when she thought of Cassia. She had to put her life right, and she had to do it before July 4, the day she was to get Cassia back, or give up on her plans to rebuild in Whiskey Creek and go somewhere else.

More disappointment. Another uprooting. Another argument with her in-laws over taking Cassia too far away.

Closing her eyes, she answered. “Hello?”

“India?”

Claudia, of course. Steve never called. “Yes?”

“Have you heard any more from Detective Flores?”

She'd just spoken to him! The coincidence frightened her. Was this some sort of test? Did Flores phone Claudia as soon as he'd hung up with her and reveal that she'd heard from Sebastian?

He would've had just enough time, but on the off chance Flores
hadn't
called, she'd be a fool to share that information. She knew what would happen if Claudia learned that Charlie's killer wasn't just going to slink off. “Not a lot. Why?”

“Have they told you what they're doing to find more evidence? If we don't keep pushing, they'll move on to newer crimes.”

“Have
you
tried calling him?” India held her breath.

“Several times.”

Oh, God... “And?”

“I can't ever reach him. He left me a message yesterday. Said they're hoping the gun will turn up. Is that what he's telling you?”

“Pretty much.”

“Empty words,” she complained. “Flores isn't doing anything. He's giving up.”

“I'll stay on him,” India promised, but she was of the same opinion. She believed Flores would carry on pursuing and catching other criminals until Sebastian did something else, something for which they could prosecute him with more confidence.

She could only hope it wouldn't be
her
murder.

* * *

When Rod got home, India was gone. And this time, so was her car. He frowned as he drove slowly past her place. Then he hurried inside his own house to check his room. She might've left him a note, since he hadn't heard from her by phone...

He found nothing. What was going on? Why wouldn't she have communicated with him?

When he dialed her number, his call went to voice mail. “Will you let me know you're okay?” he said. Then he texted her.

Where are you?

He was standing out on his deck, staring over at her dark house, waiting for her to respond, when Mack came into the room.

“Hey!”

At the sound of his brother's voice, Rod gave up his vigil and walked back toward the bed. “What's up?”

“I'm going over to the bar. Wanna come?”

Mack had been acting so strange lately. Normally, he was the life of the party, happy all the time. But he'd become sullen and withdrawn, irritable. “On a work night?”

“We don't have to stay long.”

“I can't.” He held up his phone. “I'm waiting to hear from India.” And he was concerned about her. “Ask Grady if he's up for it.”

“I did. He's too tired.” Mack started back the way he'd come. “I'll just go by myself.”

“Mack!”

When he turned, Rod studied him. “What's wrong with you, man?”

“She's driving me crazy,” he said.

He didn't need to specify who
she
was. Rod could guess, and he wasn't sure he cared to hear the details. He was still hoping this would all go away when Natasha moved to Utah. “Maybe you
could
use a night out.”

“I could use a few drinks. That's what I could use,” he said.

“She even talking to you right now?”

“No.”

And it was killing him. Rod felt bad, but he couldn't say he identified. He'd never felt as strongly as that about a woman. Maybe India would be different, but he hadn't known her long enough to say. Surely, given enough time and distance, Mack would get over it. “She'll be gone in a week, so...the end is in sight.”

“I wish that made it easier,” he grumbled and left.

Rod listened to him go, then checked his phone again.
India?
he prompted.
Don't leave me fearing the worst.

Finally, his phone pinged, signaling a response.

I'm fine.

Where are you?

Taking care of something. Be back soon.

He didn't push. He didn't want her to think that just because she'd relented and they'd made love this morning, he was going to become possessive or controlling. And yet she was in a unique situation, one that gave him reason to fear for her safety.

What is it? Are you going to see Cassia?

There was a long pause, but her response, when it came, brought relief.

Yes. Be home late.

Okay
, he wrote. Then he hurried downstairs and out the front door. If his brother was going drinking, he'd need a driver.

“Wait a sec,” he called before Mack could back down the drive. “I'll go with you.”

* * *

Mack had brought home a woman! As soon as Natasha heard his voice and that female giggle, she got out of bed to have a look. But she couldn't see the front entry from her bedroom. She had to slip out and peer over the railing. Only then was she able to catch a glimpse of the two of them. Mack wasn't very steady on his feet, but he was getting all the help he needed from some curvy blonde.

Fortunately, Natasha didn't recognize the woman. But that didn't make the pain any less sharp. If she didn't know better, she would've thought he'd struck her—a hard blow to the chest.

After ten minutes or so, when she was sure Rod had gone to bed and there was no danger of bumping into anyone, she crept down the stairs to the basement and listened at Mack's door. She could hear talking, laughing, a few sighs. Then everything went silent, and the woman began to pant and groan. That was when Natasha's legs turned to rubber and she slid down the wall. She told herself she was stupid to be here, torturing herself. Mack didn't care how badly he hurt her or he wouldn't be doing this. So why would she allow it?

She had no answer for that. But she couldn't leave.

* * *

India had to find some way to best Sebastian. Ever since he'd shot Charlie and she'd managed to survive, she'd been waiting, as if due process of law would eventually solve her problems. She'd thought it was up to the police or the private investigator or the prosecutor or...someone
else
.

But she'd come to the realization that there
was
no one else. She was alone in this. Not even her in-laws were completely on her side. If she wanted her daughter back—and her life back—she had to figure out how to neutralize the threat Sebastian posed.

Finding out where he lived would be a good starting point, and the first place to look would be the house where he'd been living before he killed Charlie. Detective Flores had suggested he was probably back in the same place, with his wife.

So here she was, two hours from home, in Hayward. She wasn't going to stay in Whiskey Creek, quaking under her blankets at night, wondering if and when he might strike. He'd
called
her this morning! Although she hadn't given him the chance to say much, the fact that he'd made contact told her all she needed to know. He was as vengeful as she'd feared. She'd seen the hateful glare he'd so often turned on her in court, knew he was no longer suffering from the delusion that they were friends. He'd intended to frighten her with that call, to shove in her face the fact that he'd escaped punishment for the terror and harm he'd inflicted.

But that wasn't all he'd accomplished. He'd made her angry, and that anger had galvanized her into action. Maybe it was foolhardy. She could easily guess what Detective Flores would have to say about taking matters into her own hands. But what kind of life could she have if she was constantly afraid for herself and her child, always looking over her shoulder? Flores had suggested a security system and a restraining order.

Sebastian wouldn't respect either.

Holding her steering wheel in a death grip, she drove past the address Sebastian had given her when they'd communicated eleven months ago. This was where they'd initially arranged for her to bring the money he needed to get that bus ticket to LA. If only Cassia's dance lesson hadn't gone late that night, prompting her to give him
her
address instead, maybe everything would've been different...

Careful to avoid the halo of the closest streetlamp, she parked several houses down and used her mirrors to peer back at the house.

The place seemed occupied. Dim though it was, a porch light glowed in the dark night, and there was an old Camaro in the drive, propped up on cinder blocks. India guessed the car belonged to Sebastian's brother. He'd mentioned that Eddie was living with him. So was his wife, Sheila—the woman he claimed to hate but who'd lied for him under oath. Eddie was the one who'd been supplying Sebastian with drugs, which was why India had been trying to get him out of the Bay Area.

So much for helping him. Calling herself an idiot for being so easily duped, she looked up and down the street to make sure she hadn't drawn any unwanted attention. In an attempt to simplify her life and consolidate her assets, she'd sold Charlie's expensive Mercedes, but she'd kept her Prius, so there was always the possibility that Sebastian would recognize her car. It'd been parked in the drive when he'd come to her house that night...

But no one was out, thank God.

Besides the Camaro, two other cars sat in front. They were just as old and banged up as the Camaro, although they were probably drivable. There wasn't much else to see, except a couple of cheap lawn chairs on the front porch beside a crate that'd been turned on one side to make a table, and a few toys strewn about the weed-infested yard.

The toys made India sad, because they suggested the presence of small children.

Sheila had three kids. Were the kids who owned these toys hers?

India guessed they were; she had no way of knowing for sure. Just like she had no way of knowing if Sebastian was still living in this dump.

So how was she going to find out?

She eyed the neighboring houses. The other homes didn't look much better. She doubted this was the safest area in the world. But maybe someone would be able to tell her something. She had to ask, had to start somewhere.