Hot Blooded (30 page)

Tearing his eyes away, he reminded himself that he had things to do, things she was better off not knowing about. His conscience nagged him a bit as he stepped into a pair of shorts and didn’t bother with a shirt.

The digital readout on the clock showed it was four-thirty in glowing red letters. With the ready excuse of taking Sasquatch outside should she waken, he hurried stealthily down the stairs, the dog at his heels.

Without making a sound he opened the door to the street and saw no one in the bluish illumination from the street-lamp. The night was still, that time of day before dawn when the entire world was asleep. The morning newspaper hadn’t been tossed onto his driveway, nor were there any patches of light glowing from the houses lining the street. No A-types were out jogging for their morning exercise, no cars cruising along the narrow road. In this section of Cambrai, it was still late night.

Sasquatch nosed around the front yard and Ty walked to the end of the drive, stopping near the magnolia tree that guarded his mailbox. Heavy leaves blocked the shimmering light from the streetlamp, creating an even darker shadow around the bole of the tree. Ty waited, his eyes straining in the darkness, his ears tuned for even the softest of sounds.

He heard nothing, but a few seconds later a figure emerged from the dense shrubbery. Dressed in black, shoulders hunched, expression hidden in the night, Andre Navarrone seemed to blend into the shadows. “Helluva time to be out,” he whispered.

“Couldn’t be avoided.” Ty glanced back at the house, then to the man he’d known over half his life, another cop turned private investigator. Navarrone’s tenure with the
Houston PD had been short and infamous. He’d never quite learned that the tactics he’d learned in the Gulf War as a special agent couldn’t be implemented in the city. So he’d gone independent. Which was perfect.

Ty stared straight into his friend’s eyes. “I need your help.”

“I figured that much. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called.” Navarrone’s smile was a wicked slash of white. He didn’t ask what Ty wanted, but then he never did.

And he’d never failed.

Yet.

Sam rolled over and sensed that something was different. Wrong. She wasn’t in her own bed…no, now she remembered. A contented sigh escaped her lips, and she smiled. She was with Ty, though she’d argued against it. Images of their lovemaking flashed behind her eyes. The feel of his warm skin, the taste of him, the way he knew just how to touch her…. She reached behind her and felt cool sheets against her fingertips, just sheets. No skin or muscle or bone.

Rolling over she blinked and pushed up on an elbow. Sure enough she was alone. There was an impression where his body had so recently been, but it was cool to the touch. Maybe he’d gotten up to use the bathroom, or get a drink or…the dog. That was it. He’d taken the dog outside.

In the darkness, she found her slip and wiggled into it. She heard his muffled voice through the open window, a hushed whisper and she imagined Ty was encouraging Sasquatch to hurry and do his business. But as she peered out the window, she saw no sign of dog or man on the stretch of lawn between the house and lake. Curious, she walked downstairs where a banker’s lamp, left on as a night-light, gave off a soft green glow over a wide desk and allowed
her to move through the rooms without switching on any other lights.

In the kitchen she splashed water from the tap over her face and finger-combed her hair, then looked out the window toward the street. Nothing. But he had to be near. She didn’t believe that he would leave her alone now, not after he’d driven into town like the cavalry and made a big point of her not staying in her house alone. On top of all that she’d heard his voice—was certain she had. She scoured the darkness and, from the corner of her eye saw movement. Sasquatch rounded the corner of the house and was trotting to the end of the driveway only to sit at the base of the tree and look up expectantly. Another movement and the shadows came to life. She caught a glimpse of a man beneath the tree…no, there were two of them. Two. One of the men had to be Ty—otherwise the dog would react differently.

Samantha bit her lip. Ty and who? A man he’d slipped out of bed to meet. A man he hadn’t told her about. Squinting hard, she leaned over the sink and stared into the night where moonlight dappled the ground and two men huddled.

She gripped the edge of the counter. One of the men was Ty. So who was he talking to so quietly at this hour of the morning? What was so important as to prod him from bed and out into the night? Dark suspicions nagged at her brain. Hadn’t the police insinuated that no one was to be trusted, especially men she hardly knew.

But Ty had only seemed to have her best interests in mind. He’d shown up at the station, not once but twice, when he suspected she might need him. He’d insisted upon driving her home, on checking out her house, on seeing that she was safe. That was why she was here tonight. Right?

Or had it all been an act?

She considered walking out the door and demanding answers, then told herself to hold tight and have faith. That whatever he was doing, it was on the up-and-up. She
shouldn’t second-guess him, should wait for him here in the house, and when he deigned to return she could ask him what was going on.

No way.
She was too wound up, too on edge. Her mind was racing with all kinds of reasons for him to have left her alone in his bed—none of them good. Suddenly keyed up, she couldn’t imagine trying to fall back to sleep; nor was it her nature to docilely wait and let some man determine her fate.

She walked into the living area, intent on flying up the stairs to the loft, throwing on her clothes and storming back to her house where she belonged, but on the way to the stairs she passed his desk and laptop computer with its screen saver of brightly colored pipes. She paused, tempted to sneak a peek at his files. Edging toward the desk, she told herself she was breaking a trust, but decided she had to know the truth. There was a reason he’d slipped out of the bedroom, and she’d bet she wouldn’t like it.

She leaned over the keyboard. In a matter of seconds, she’d opened his word processing program. There flickering on the screen were file numbers that corresponded to chapters and research information.

What had he said about it? What was his joke to Melanie? That it was kind of like
The Horse Whisperer
meets
Silence of the Lambs?

She clicked onto the first chapter.

Her heart dropped.

The title of the book loomed at her:

Death of a Cheerleader: The Murder of Annie Seger.

“Oh, God,” Sam whispered, her gaze raking down the page.

Murder?
But Annie Seger committed suicide.

Sam’s blood turned to ice. How did Ty know anything about it? Where did he get his information? She skimmed the first few pages, her fingers shaking as she scrolled down.

Her heart twisted when she realized how deeply he’d deceived her.

How was he involved in all of this? Oh, God, could he be behind the person calling in—was he John…no, she couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that. But there had to be a connection. “You miserable son of a bitch,” she muttered, thinking about their lovemaking. The heat. The intensity. The passion.

The lies.

Why didn’t he confide in you?

Why did he have to lie?

You slept with the man, Sam. Made love to him.

Her stomach clenched. Bile crawled up her throat.

What the hell was his game?

If he’d wanted to do her harm, he’d had dozens of opportunities.

God in heaven, was it possible? Had she nearly given her heart to a man who had been tormenting her from a distance?

She didn’t have time to print out the chapters, she had to leave. Now. Before he realized that she was on to him. She had to grab her purse and…the disk! The one in the computer. Proof that Ty wasn’t who he said he was. Information on Annie.

With fumbling fingers she pushed a button, extracted the disk and scrambled out of his chair. She tripped on the way back to the loft, dropped the damned disk, and slid her hands over the carpet until she located it again. In the half-light, she dashed up the remaining stairs. She had to hurry. She didn’t know how long his meeting with the man in the street would take, but she assumed it would be over soon.

In the loft she didn’t risk turning on a lamp, but searched the darkness for her clothes and purse. She didn’t bother dressing, couldn’t find her belt, didn’t care. But her purse... with her keys…where was it?
Where?
Heart thundering, throat dry, she combed the loft using only the moonlight filtering through the window to aid her vision and running
her fingers over the edge of the bed and the floor. She found her bra…Ty’s wallet…but no handbag.

Think, Sam, think. Where did you put it?

Her mind turned backward. She remembered Ty showing up at the radio station and how relieved she’d been to see him. Then there was the ride in his car here. She’d argued against not staying at her own house, but he’d been adamant and she’d been too damned tired to argue. He’d insisted she’d be safer with him and she’d reluctantly agreed.

What a joke!

Then there had been the lovemaking.

Her heart nearly stopped when she remembered how he’d touched her, kissed her, brought her to the edge over and over again. Dear Lord, she’d been such an idiot for the man.

How eagerly she’d tumbled into bed with him. How close she’d come to handing him her heart…but she couldn’t think of that now. She nearly tripped over one of her shoes, then felt around on the carpet unable to locate its mate. Where the hell was her purse with her keys and ID? She’d carried it into the house and once inside, Ty had kissed her and helped her up the stairs…without the damned handbag.

Through the open window she heard the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel.

Damn. He’s on his way back inside.
She had to escape. Couldn’t feign sleep and pretend nothing was wrong. Leaving the shoe, her heart pounding triple time, she crept down the stairs, nearly stumbling on the bottom step. She was sweating, moving through the unfamiliar house. In the dim light from the banker’s lamp, she saw her purse on the kitchen table. She grabbed the bag but didn’t dare take a chance on looking outside again.

Bare feet skimming across the carpet, she hurried to the back of the house and flipped the bolt on the French doors. Quickly she slipped outside where a verandah and small patch of lawn separated her from the lake. If worse came
to worst, she could climb the fence to the neighbor’s yard or swim around the point or…

She sprinted across the cool flagstones and scurried down three steps. Moonlight played upon the dark water and the sloop tied to the dock. If she knew anything about sailing and had his keys, she could take off in the boat. She ducked along the edge of the lawn, near the shrubs, toward the dock. There was a muffled “woof” from the edge of the house.

Please, God, no.

“Sam?”

His voice came out of nowhere.

Sam froze.

“What’re you doing up?”

Biting her lip, she slipped the computer disk into her purse and turned to the house. Wearing only a pair of dark shorts, Ty was leaning over the railing and staring straight at her.

Busted.

“Sam?”

She let out a long breath. “To tell you the truth,” she said, “I’m escaping.”

“From—?”

“You tell me,” she said, not closing the distance. “What are you doing up at this hour and don’t give me some ridiculous excuse about walking the dog, because it won’t wash with me. I know better.”

“I was meeting with a friend.”

“Who just happens to be walking down the street at 4
a.m.
? Right.” She couldn’t hide her cynicism. “Come on, Wheeler. You can do better than that.” Still clutching her clothes, she added, “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I think I’d better leave. This is…this is getting too crazy.”

He straightened and the moonlight hit him full in the face. God, he was handsome. “I suppose it is,” he agreed, and
plowed a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “I have a confession.”

She didn’t move. His words seemed to echo across the yard and ricochet through her brain. “You know, those aren’t exactly the words I want to hear right now. I’ve heard way too much about confession, sin and repenting in the last few weeks to last me a lifetime.”

Ty’s jaw slid to one side. “Then how about an explanation?”

“That would be a real good idea,” she said. “Real good.” She waited for a few seconds before he finally started to speak.

“The truth is that I knew about Annie Seger a long time before I met you.”

“No kidding,” she remarked. She would have appreciated his admission more if she didn’t think he already knew she’d poked through his computer files. “You know, Ty, you could have told me.”

“I was going to.”

“When?” she said in absolute disbelief. How stupid did he think she was? “Were you going to confide in me before or after hell freezes over.”

“Soon.”

“Not soon enough,” she said, her temper flaring. “Don’t you know what’s going on here? Haven’t you been paying attention? The calls I’ve been getting from ‘John’ and the message from “Annie’ and the damned birthday cake and card—for God’s sake, Ty, just when were you going to break the news to me? After it was too late and this nutcase made good his threats? Or maybe you’re involved in a more personal level. Maybe you know John.”

“No,” he cut in angrily, but something else darted through his eyes, an emotion akin to guilt. Sam felt dead inside. Cold. How could she have trusted him? What was it about her that she always chose so poorly when it came to men.
For a bright woman, she was a disaster in the love department. She’d thought Ty Wheeler was different, but he, like her ex-husband and last boyfriend was little more than a user, another great manipulator. “Or maybe you are John.”

He was taking the stairs from the porch and starting across the lawn. “You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” she said in absolute despair.