For Love of Money (26 page)

Chapter Forty-two

Saturday night

Holly watched the flickering flames in Bookwalter’s fire pit. Propane heaters hissed discreetly from the terrace edges. Vines climbed the latticed windbreak. The remaining leaves shifted in the faint breeze, a soft rustling counterpart to the patter of conversations and light jazz piped through the outside speakers.

The size of their group ebbed and flowed as friends stopped to chat and then moved on. Someone on the other side of the fire pit called, “Holly, I heard you had a wreck today. What happened?”

She remembered not to shake her head. “Ugh, let’s talk about something else.”

Laurie elbowed her in the ribs.

“What?” Holly would’ve poked her back if Laurie’s foot weren’t propped on a bench, making her look especially vulnerable. Her friend’s crutches leaned against the windbreak and a heavy cast encased her elevated ankle. “There’s a difference between bottling everything up and not talking about something because it was terrifying and you’d rather not re-experience it.”

“Ooh. An unsolicited admission of feelings. I feel like Yoda, or was it the old guy in
The
Karate Kid
? ‘My work here is done.’” Laurie leaned closer and whispered, “One more thing. Quit feeling guilty. It’s working for me.” Looking like a blue-haired elfin sprite, she smiled at a cute blond guy who handed her a glass of white wine and pulled a chair close beside her.

Conversation moved to the upcoming Wine Harvest celebration, the artists’ open gallery tour, and whether the area could support the proposed water park and how to pay for it. Holly let the voices move past her, punctuated by pops from the fire and bursts of music when the wine bar door opened.

“Since you’re giving all this up, you must really miss it,” Laurie remarked quietly.

Holly turned to her best friend. “Miss what?”

Laurie gave her a
Well, duh?
expression. “You’ve been saying since you got here you couldn’t wait to get back to Seattle.”

“I do miss the restaurants and shopping.”

“I meant to your job. It always sounded so impressive. Megadollar wheeling and dealing. Hanging out with the movers and shakers.”

Holly shrugged. “I don’t miss the pressure or the hours.”

“What about the challenge? I mean, a local practice has to be a step down by comparison.”

“Maybe what I do here isn’t glamorous, but I enjoy getting to know the clients, helping them with their business. And I like having time for stuff like the book club. I’m having fun working on my house.”

There were good things here. World-class vineyards. Live jazz. Friends who weren’t ready to cut her throat on the next deal.

“Is that why I caught you staring into the fire like Little Orphan Annie? Could it possibly be you’ll miss what you found here when you leave?”

Holly shifted in her chair. JC’s words echoed.
We didn’t finish our conversation.
“I thought working all the time was the reason I hadn’t found anybody special. I figured there’d be plenty of time, that eventually…”

“You’d meet Mr. Right?”

“I know it’s stupid. But…” She sighed. “I’m almost thirty and I’m going home alone to my mother’s cat. How pathetic is that?”

“Totally. Especially since your mother took the cat home when she brought over chicken soup. You don’t even have the fur ball.”

Holly rolled her eyes and picked up her wine glass. “Smartass.”

“Seriously, don’t settle for just anyone. We both know it’s always been JC.”

She nearly choked on her sip of wine. “You’re imagining things again.”

“JC was doing some major hovering action Thursday night.”

“If he was hovering, it’s because he wants to catch me doing something wrong.”

Laurie leaned close. Her eyes gleamed with conspiratorial fun. “It looked to me like he wanted to catch you doing something naughty, all right, but it’s only illegal in certain states.”

Holly laughed. “That part I might not mind.”

“Let’s not forget what I interrupted last night.”

She quit laughing. It would be all or nothing with JC. There’d be no half-assed dating, marking time as she’d done with Alex. If she planned to go back to Seattle, JC was out of the picture. Permanently.

Probably.

Maybe.

And if she stayed? She’d seen things this week to admire in the man. Could they figure out a way to make a relationship work?

Laurie was looking at her expectantly. “Well?”

Unilateral decisions were what had landed her in this position to begin with. She still had no idea what to tell JC when they resumed their conversation. Communication and trust. Identifying the core issues was one thing. Doing something about it was the real challenge.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room. Don’t do anything you’ll regret with Blond Guy while I’m gone.”

“Who’s going to regret anything?”

…

Holly stepped out of the restroom stall, crossed to the sink, and checked her image in the mirror. Color brightened her cheeks and a spark lit her eyes. Refusing to cower at home felt as though she was making a statement. She wouldn’t be intimidated or made a prisoner by fear. Tonight was all about enjoying life. No obsessing over Tim and Marcy, or the fraud. Not even any worries about Frank.

She had to admit Laurie was right about one thing. Having JC and the Richland cops watching out for Frank—and her—meant she didn’t have to constantly watch her own back. In spite of the ongoing murder investigation, which she would happily leave to the cops for the next few days, she felt more relaxed than she’d been in months.

The outer door opened behind her. The chill blast had nothing to do with the air temperature. Nicole appeared in the mirror behind her, her eyes narrowed. “Leave my husband alone.”

Holly reached for a paper towel. Nicole was not going to ruin her evening. This misunderstanding had to end. Remembering how angry she’d been at Meredith—okay, that bitch really
had
snaked her man—she could understand Nicole’s fury. But the woman had reached the wrong conclusion about what she thought she’d seen.

Since she planned to dump Tim as a client, she could approach Nicole woman-to-woman. “I don’t have any designs on Tim. He doesn’t interest me in the least.”

“I’m not stupid. You’re ruining everything.” The petite blonde spun on her pretty little heel, stalked into a stall, and slammed the door.

Well, that worked just wonderfully.

“Don’t worry,” Holly called, feeling ridiculous and more than a little eager to leave the room. “I’ll stay as far away from Tim as possible.”

She jerked open the outside door and stepped into the discretely lit breezeway. Music, firelight, and laughter drifted around the corner of the building.

A man’s form detached itself from the deep shadows of the terrace. Her heart leapt at the possibility it might be JC. But the reptile-fearing remnant of her brain screamed,
Run away!

“I need to talk to you.”

A different set of warning bells rang. She glanced over her shoulder toward the restroom. She had no interest in feeding Nicole’s delusion. “Call Tracey and make an appointment.”

She stepped toward the back patio. Tim’s hand shot out, capturing her elbow. “No, now. You have to stop.”

“Let go of me.”

She tugged her arm, but he pulled her closer. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I’ll fix it, but you have to stop digging into everything.”

Holly froze. Why had she thought she could do the cloak and dagger thing? How many times had she complained she couldn’t make a move without half the town commenting? Of course he’d noticed she was asking too many questions about him.

Did he know about her visit to Yakima?

Had
Tim
been driving the SUV?

“I did not kill Marcy, but all the noise you’re making could bring the cops down on my head.”

She pried his fingers off her arm. “Then do the right thing.”

“I will. I promise. Just give me some time.”

“Everything okay?” A man, one of the group from the fire pit, stepped onto the terrace.

She could’ve kissed him, except the way her luck was running, his girlfriend would pick that moment to visit the restroom.

“It’s fine. He’s leaving.” She pulled her arm free as the door to the women’s restroom banged closed.
Crap
. How much of
this
conversation had Nicole heard?

Before she could say more, Nicole stepped beside her husband and threaded her arm through Tim’s. “I’m tired, honey. I want to go home.”

She shot a glance at Holly before nestling her head on her husband’s shoulder.

Both men turned their attention to the petite woman, who looked fragile and beautiful in the dim light. Holly took another step away from the couple.

The pair headed toward the parking lot.

“What was that about?” Her rescuer gave her a curious glance.

For a second, she wanted to tell him everything, Tim and the fraud, whether Marcy was involved, and how much Nicole knew or suspected, but she bit her tongue. The guy was a complete stranger. “Damned if I know.”

They watched Tim bundle Nicole into the front seat of his Mercedes. “That is one weird woman.” He shrugged and grinned. “I never went for the helpless waif routine.”

Finally
, someone else saw through Nicole’s act. Not that it helped Holly deal with the deluded woman. She gave him a grateful smile as she headed back to the fire pit. “Thanks for the rescue.”

Chapter Forty-three

The jazz trio playing inside the wine bar finished their last set.

“Are you ready to go?” Laurie asked Holly.

Gwen hovered on the other side of the chair, purse slung over her shoulder.

Holly glanced around the back patio. Several other people drained their glasses and rose, preparing to leave as well. “Well…I’m supposed to meet somebody here.”

“Who?” Laurie’s eyebrows rose as understanding dawned. “JC. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I didn’t want to have this conversation? It isn’t like that. It’s business.”

Laurie’s mouth twitched into a three-pointed smile. “Sure, Sweetie. Anything you say.”

“Really.”

“We can wait a little longer,” Gwen said.

“That isn’t necessary.”

You’re necessary
, rang in her memory. What did he mean by that? “You two go home. He’ll be here soon. He probably got tied up with cop stuff.”

Twenty minutes later, the crowd had thinned to a few clusters that bubbled with boisterous laughter and a couple who appeared oblivious to everyone else. Holly glanced at her watch again and sighed. Now what? Keep waiting for JC, call a cab, or walk? She pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled through her contacts to JC’s name. She added his cell number to her voice contacts, quietly said his name and waited for him to answer.

His voicemail immediately greeted her.

Great.

Talking? Or was his phone turned off?

“Hi, JC. It’s Holly. It’s getting late and it looks like you were held up somewhere, so I’m going to walk home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

…

“You sure you don’t want me to call a cab?” The waiter’s eyebrow rose.

“It’s only a mile. I’ll be home before the cab gets here.”

Holly strode away from the winery. Several cars left the parking lot as she approached Queensgate. Their headlights lit her way. She picked up the bike path at Keene. Traffic was light, an occasional car whisking past, headlights bright. She angled her head, shielding her eyes, and appreciated the wide berm which separated the paved trail from the road.

The myriad stars and full moon made a flashlight unnecessary. Hands thrust in her jacket pockets, she threw back her head and pulled the crisp air deep into her lungs. The sharp scent of sage drifted across the field and an owl called from a tree near the creek. The bird sounded poignant rather than spooky, the darkness enveloping rather than scary.

Content to relax in the moment, she strode along the path. Her cramped muscles loosened and she wondered why she didn’t find time to walk more often. Badger Park and all the neighborhood walking trails lay just ahead.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

She jumped, turned in alarm, and registered a man on the trail. Jeans, leather jacket, bare head. Her hand pressed her thumping heart as she sighed with relief and anticipation. She knew this man’s build and silhouette.

JC broke into an easy jog. “Wait up.”

She braced for the safety lecture about not waiting at Bookwalter. But if he planned to finish their earlier conversation, she was willing to take a stab at the trust and control issues.

A hundred yards away, a car pulled from the lot and accelerated toward them.

JC was close enough for her to appreciate the moonlight that danced through his hair and highlighted his strong facial planes.

The car slowed. Curious—and cautious—she squinted at the harsh glare of the headlights. At least she didn’t have to worry about it jumping the curb and hitting them.

The night erupted—a confusion of explosions and streaking flashes of light.

“Get down!” JC tackled her.

She slammed onto the pavement. His weight crushed the breath from her lungs. Thursday’s bruises shrieked with outrage.

“Stay down.”

No argument there.

The car engine roared and faded as the driver sped away. For a moment, it was completely silent, as if even the insects were astonished.

JC lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “Good Lord, woman. Who’d you piss off?”

Chapter Forty-four

JC had his cell phone out. Without waiting for an answer, he mashed a speed dial and said, “Shots fired. Shooter northbound on Keene in a dark-colored SUV. It looked like a Suburban. I didn’t get the full tag, just Washington 527 S something.”

Holly gaped at him. How in the hell did he get all that? All she’d noticed was a big car and really loud noises before JC body-slammed her to the ground. Speaking of which, he was still sprawled all over her on the
really
hard pavement. And—

Oh. My. God. Did he say a dark Suburban?

“I’m on the bike path, just past the new construction before you get to Badger Park.”

She squirmed, trying to wiggle out from under him. He frowned at her while he listened. He shifted and settled more firmly on top. She nearly groaned aloud. Under the circumstances, she probably wasn’t supposed to notice, but his body heat and intoxicating man-smell set off a different kind of lights and explosions inside her.

“Sounded like he jumped on the Interstate. See if Patrol has anybody up there.” He listened a moment longer. “The intended victim was our favorite accountant.”

Whatever the person on the other end said made him smile grimly. “I already asked her that.”

She narrowed her eyes. He was making this
her
fault? Suddenly, she could feel every rock digging into her back and the enormous bruise that was undoubtedly forming on her butt.

He closed the cell phone, but made no effort to move.

“Get off me.” She swatted his shoulder.

He blocked her arm, then pinned both of her hands to the ground. “Not until backup gets here.”

She struggled, but he weighed at least sixty pounds more than she did—most of it solid muscle—and he knew all that cop stuff about subduing bad guys. “You said the shooter left. That he was on the Interstate.”

“He could come back.”

“You’re squashing me.” Except for the restraining her arms part, which she admitted was actually a bit of a turn-on, she wasn’t uncomfortable. She just didn’t like his casual dominance.

“Is that a technical term?” He shifted and propped himself on his forearms, taking some of his weight off her. Unfortunately, it exactly mimicked the missionary position and if she got any more turned on, she was going to be in a world of trouble.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” She could feel entirely too much of him. And parts of her were starting to really like parts of him.

“What are you complaining about? I’m putting my life on the line here, protecting you with my body.”

“Protecting me? You don’t even have your gun out.” She glared at him. “That better be your gun that’s poking me.”

“What else would it be?” He gave her the innocent-as-a-choirboy smile, with a dimple thrown in for good measure.

His face was inches from hers. She studied his expression. He wanted to kiss her. It was all over his face. But after yesterday’s revelations, he might be holding back, afraid to commit. Or waiting, forcing her to make a decision.

No way was he going to make the first move.

So, she did the sensible thing.

She kissed him.

It was a simple kiss, a soft pressing of lips, but he reacted as if she’d shot him. His body jerked, then froze, and she could’ve sworn he quit breathing. He stared at her long enough that she worried she’d completely misread him. Then he lowered his head and kissed the fool out of her.

He let go of her arms and wrapped her up in a full-body hug that sent her hormones into overdrive and left no doubt about his interest. His fingers wove into her hair and his tongue did the tango with hers.

Holly stopped caring about the hard ground when his warm fingers worked their way under her shirt. Her hands slid under his jacket and explored the wonderful muscles in his shoulders. Just about the time she wondered if the texture of his skin was as fantastic as it had been in college, she heard the unmistakable scream of an approaching siren.

JC heard it, too. He turned his head, listened for a heartbeat which, given the way both of their hearts were pounding, lasted a nanosecond. “Shit.”

He scrambled to his feet, then reached down and hauled her upright. They were still straightening clothes and brushing off road grit when the first patrol car swooped to the curb.

Blue lights dancing from the rooftop flashers nearly blinded her night-sensitized eyes, but she did a quick personal inventory. All their clothes were intact. Well, mostly intact. JC had managed to unfasten half her buttons. She tugged her jacket’s zipper higher, and glanced at him. He had an impressive bulge in his personal region, but maybe whoever was in the police car wouldn’t notice. An uncomfortable expression crossed his face, like he’d love to adjust something, and she wondered if he was still a boxer guy.

Before she could consider the possibilities, his face transformed—it took maybe two seconds—and he turned into Detective Dimitrak.

Okay, fine. Let’s all pretend nothing happened.

She crossed her arms, then brushed more road grit off her elbow.

Wait a minute. What
did
just happen?

She gave JC an appalled look. She’d actually kissed him. On purpose. And wow. He was an even better kisser than she remembered.

After all her don’t-want-to-get-involved-with-him insistence, what had she been thinking? She
hadn’t
been thinking. That always got her in trouble. Kissing him was complete insanity, no doubt sparked by the fact that, oh, dear God, somebody just shot at her.

That obvious fact, which she’d effectively ignored until that moment, slammed into her with the same stop-your-breath impact as JC knocking her onto the bike path.

Another patrol car slewed to a stop, closely followed by a big black Ford 4x4. After Thursday night, she knew what its arrival meant. She grabbed onto the irrelevant distraction, refusing to think about the other…things.

The 4x4 was the squad leader’s vehicle. The sergeant had arrived to take charge. If this was going to turn into the same kind of circus as the incidents at the library parking lot and the highway—with a sinking heart, she saw it headed straight down that path—the captain and the press were about five minutes behind the sergeant. Shootings were still rare enough in Richland that
everybody
showed up at the scene of one.

JC was talking cop stuff with the first arrival. Two patrol officers bracketed her, their attention focused outward, alert for another attack.

She stood at the edge of the circle of activity, trying to simultaneously not think about the bullets and figure out what had happened on the bike path. The unbelievable kiss simply had to wait its turn. She didn’t want to think about it, analyze it, blush over it, regret it, do it again really soon, or any of the other hundred possibilities clamoring for her attention. For at least a few minutes, she had to focus on the other part. The part where some psycho in an SUV had shot at her.

Shot, as in bullets. As in bang, bang, you’re dead.

Dead.
Like Marcy
.

The fine trembling began. She really had to learn to deal with the adrenaline rush and the corresponding whole-body-shut-down-in-shock-because-it-didn’t-want-to-deal-with-reality thing. By now, she should be getting a handle on that.

She had good reflexes. Thursday night in the parking lot she’d jumped out of the truck’s way and leapt sideways between two vehicles, in a move her Zumba instructor would’ve applauded. But nobody dodged bullets. Whoever was in that SUV tonight was simply a lousy shot.

“Holly?” JC’s voice intruded.

She blinked and discovered the cops were all staring at her. An eerie calm settled over her, even as her body continued to shake with reaction.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

She sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep her voice steady. She was not going to let them treat her like an hysterical female. “I was waiting for you to catch up with me. The car pulled over to the side of the road. It didn’t stop, just slowed down. The lights were bright—my eyes were adjusted to the dark—so I put up my hand to shield them. I noticed the passenger window was down, because who drives around this time of year with the window open?”

“Are you sure?” another patrol officer asked. He looked at JC for confirmation.

JC nodded and lifted his arm, miming the shooter’s probable actions. “That’s why there were only three shots. The driver shot through the open window.”

He pointed his arm. “Bang.”

He moved halfway through the shallow arc. “Bang.”

He swept through the rest of the turn. “Bang. If it had been someone sitting in the passenger seat, they’d have had their arm out the window. They’d have kept shooting even after they passed us. The driver couldn’t risk putting a bullet hole in his own car. It’s hell to explain those later.”

She ran the movie in her head. Two converging figures on the bike path. The moving vehicle approaching. It was a math problem. She stifled the urge to giggle. If a car leaves the park and travels north at forty miles per hour and the walkers go south at three miles per hour, how many bullets can the driver shoot as he passes?

Three
.

Her hands shook as the reality of the situation met up with her imagination.

“We’re never going to find the slugs,” one of the patrol officers said. He swung a flashlight over the tumbled heaps of cracked basalt and granite, sage clumps and tumbleweeds that littered the acreage beyond the bike path. “Not without a metal detector.”

“Could be worse.” A sudden smile quirked JC’s lips. His dimples flashed and Holly’s heart did an irreverent pitty-pat.

“Another five minutes and we’d have been by the irrigation canal. When you’re crawling all over that field, just remind yourself you could be up to your ass in duck crap and rotting cattails.”

The cop looked as though he would’ve said something if the sergeant weren’t standing right there. One of the other guys coughed, as if covering a laugh. The captain—when had he finally shown up? —said, “Let’s remember we’re dealing with an attempted homicide here.”

Holly’s breath stopped. Attempted homicide.

Attempted murder
.

Her stomach felt sick and her knees seemed wobbly all of a sudden. The reality she was trying to avoid hit her upside of the head with the subtlety of a baseball bat.
She could be dead right now.

She was alive only because someone hadn’t wanted to shoot holes in their car.

“Holly?” JC had hold of her arm. “Let’s go to the car and sit down.”

She meant to shake her head—she wasn’t sure she could walk—but he practically lifted her off her feet. The next thing she knew, she was in the backseat of the 4x4. The sergeant had left it running with the heat going full blast. At least that’s what she told herself when she felt sweat bead along her hairline. It was too warm in the car. She couldn’t catch her breath.

“Put your head between your knees.” JC sat beside her, gripping her neck. He nudged her forward. “The windows are tinted. No one can see.”

Her body folded over and she sucked in air until the spinning stopped. His hand stroked her back. She’d just started to relax when she heard the front-door latch click. JC’s hand retracted and the door opened. Bright light flooded the interior.

Holly squinched her eyes closed.

“She okay?” The captain peered over the front seat.

If there was one thing she hated—almost as much as being shot at—it was people talking about her as if she weren’t present. She sat up. “I’m fine.”

The captain studied her a moment, then nodded. “This is what we’re going to do. Officer Mittemayer is going to take Detective Dimitrak’s statement, then he’ll drop the detective at Bookwalter so he can get his car.”

Holly could already foresee the guy’s first question: Why were you walking instead of in JC’s car?

“You’ll go to the station, where we’ll take your statement. Detective Dimitrak said he’d make sure you get home safely. We’ll increase the patrol through Hills West tonight, move the floater to that sector to double the coverage, but if you’d prefer to stay with a friend, I’m sure the detective will take you there.”

The lengthy session Thursday night at the Pasco police station scrolled through Holly’s memory. If she went to the station, it would be hours before they let her go. “Can’t I give you my statement here?”

The captain twisted his mouth, as if he were actually thinking about it, then he shook his head. “There’ll be things we need to check.”

“I can’t tell you much.” A brilliant idea occurred to her. “JC was probably the target. Some bad guy he arrested looking for revenge.”

JC shifted on the seat beside her, but she ignored him.

The captain looked grim, the way only a policeman can. “We’ve already considered that possibility.”

“And dismissed it,” Holly finished the sentence for him. With the week she was having,
of course
she was the automatic suspect.

Victim suspect.

At least it wasn’t
suspect
, suspect.

Damn
. She sank against the seatback. A wildly irrational impression of skanky criminals occupying the seat rocketed her away from the vinyl. A shudder shimmied across her shoulders.

“This vehicle isn’t used for transporting people in custody,” JC said, reading her mind.

One of the patrol officers approached the 4x4. “That’s my ride,” JC told her.

She nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she said, reading his. Maybe if she kept saying it, she could make it be true.

“It’ll be okay,” he said softly. With his back to the other officers, his eyes caressed her the way he obviously felt he couldn’t physically. “I’ll be right behind you. I know you’re exhausted. I won’t let them keep you all night.”

She wanted to touch him, to stroke his cheek and thank him for his thoughtfulness, for protecting her. Captain Blake clearly wasn’t going to give them that kind of personal time.

“A word of advice.”

She gave JC a startled glance. “What?”

“Don’t hit anybody if they ask a question you don’t like.” He winked, breaking the spell. He popped open his door as the sergeant took his position behind the wheel. “Cops hate it when you hit them.”