Wise Moves (3 page)

Wednesday, May 16, 12:40 p.m.

“A
re you sure you’re going to be okay if I leave you here for a few days?” Sheridan asked Kristen.

Kristen’s smile was genuine. “I will be fine. Go to your sister.” She had been working at the studio for two weeks and had fallen into a routine. She’d never felt more relaxed and confident.

“I hate leaving you.” Sheridan frowned at the computer on the reception desk one last time. “The computer is no problem for you?”

“No.” She’d picked up the Mac’s system in a day.

“Computers are a necessary evil as far as I am concerned. But they are efficient and we’ve got new registrations to log in.”

It felt good to be able to help Sheridan, who had done so much for her these last couple of weeks. Watching the studio for a few days and handling the computer was a pleasure. “I will do the computer work.”

Silver bracelets jangled on Sheridan’s wrist as she dragged her hand through tousled blond hair. “You are a goddess.”

“Anything else?”

“If a girl named Crystal comes by looking for me, tell her I’ll be back in a few days. She’s one of the kids from the shelter. With a bit of work, I think I can save her.”

“I’ll keep a lookout for her.” Kristen glanced at her dollar-store wristwatch. “You better go now or you’ll be stuck in D.C. traffic.”

Sheridan turned to leave and then snapped her fingers, as if remembering something. “We’ve also got that contractor coming.” The plan was to convert the two small rooms off the reception area into a large tearoom.

“I remember. I can handle one contractor. Your sister is having a baby, Sheridan. Go to her.”

Mention of the baby made Sheridan smile as she grabbed her large denim satchel. “You know it’s a girl.”

“Yes.” She picked up Sheridan’s suitcase and guided her out the front door. The fall air had turned cold over the past few days.

Sheridan glanced back at the studio one last time. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kristen. My students love you. You’re a wiz with this computer and a master with bookkeeping.”

Kristen was the one who was grateful. These last two weeks had been the most peaceful she’d known in years. “Go.”

Sheridan nodded, took her suitcase from Kristen and headed down the steps to a green VW Bug parked by the curb. Kristen stood on the front porch and waited as Sheridan started her car. However, instead of driving off, Sheridan shut the engine off and got out of the car.

Kristen shook her head, laughing. Sheridan was a brilliant teacher and her students loved her, but she was chronically late and could be scattered at times.

“I forgot to tell you about Simone Brady,” Sheridan said.

Kristen laughed. “At the rate you are going that baby is going to be in college before you see her.”

Sheridan smiled. “I promise this is the last thing. Simone is going to be calling.”

Kristen came down the stairs and met her halfway. “For a class?”

“No, she’s a reporter with the local paper and a stringer for the
Washington Post.
She’s doing a piece on yoga studios in Virginia. She wants to do a story on us.”

Kristen folded her arms over her chest. Publicity was great for Sheridan but the worst thing that could happen to her. Her voice sounded flat when she said, “Great.”

Sheridan was so distracted about getting on the road that she didn’t pick up on the shift in Kristen’s voice. “She might call for background info before I return. Just tell her what she needs to know. When I get back, she’ll be sending a photographer out.”

Apprehension twisted the muscles in her back. “Why?”

Sheridan beamed. “She’s going to take our picture.”

Kristen drew in deep breaths, letting her rib cage expand as Sheridan had taught her. She’d taken great pains to disguise her appearance, but having her picture publicized was asking for trouble. Benito had contacts all over the country. She could never be in that picture. “You better get going.”

Sheridan laughed. “Right.” She got in her car and drove off.

Kristen retreated back into the house and closed the front door. She locked the deadbolt. The safety she’d felt behind these walls had vanished. Sheridan’s mention of the photographer was a stark reminder that she could never be too careful. For the rest of her life she would need to look over her shoulder. Benito would never give up his search for her.

If Benito found her, he wouldn’t kill her, but she’d already learned from him that there were worse things than death. Her heart began to race.

She raised a trembling hand to her forehead. Again, she drew in a calming breath. The more she breathed, the more her heart slowed.

There’d been no sign of Benito in nine months. She’d been very careful. She was okay. She was safe.

Kristen closed her eyes and turned away from the door. She tried to push the worries from her mind.

She would stay free of Benito.

She would be fine.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the front porch. She heard a knock. She opened her eyes and turned.

A very tall man with broad shoulders stood on the other side of the glass door. He wore faded jeans that draped muscular thighs, a worn gray Virginia Tech T-shirt and brown scuffed work boots. A Carolina Panthers ball cap shadowed his rawboned face.

She glanced at her watch. One-twenty. If this was her carpenter, he was early.

Her stomach tightened a notch. Reason tried to rein in emotion. Surprises always made her nervous. She was far, far away from Benito and Sheridan had said a carpenter was coming.

Being ten minutes early didn’t mean he was a trained killer. She studied the man. He pulled off his cap and smiled at her.

“I’m looking for Sheridan,” he said through the glass. “I’m the carpenter.”

She relaxed and moved to the door. She clicked back the latch. “Sorry,” she said through the glass door. “You surprised me.”

His expression changed to sheepish, almost boyish. “Sorry. I got a habit of showing up early when I go to a new job. I’d hate it if I got lost and was late for my first day on a job.” His southern accent charmed her.

She opened the door. His thick black hair looked in need of a haircut. This close, she could see the sun-etched lines at the corners of very blue eyes. His nose had a ridge in the center, as if it had been broken. There was a ketchup stain on his shirt.

His deep, raspy voice had her pulse scrambling. And that was a surprise. She’d not looked twice at another man since Carlos.

“You must be Kristen Rodale,” he said.

“How do you know my name?”

“Sheridan told me. She said she might have to go out of town for a few days. Said a pretty blonde worked for her.” He winked. “And I’m guessing that must be you.”

She ran her hands through her short blond hair. “Right.”

His suntanned hand was tucked casually in his pocket and his shoulders were relaxed. “Sorry again about startling you. I figured you must have heard my old truck pull up. The muffler is shot and makes a heck of a racket.”

He seemed like a nice guy. And she was being overly paranoid. “I was lost in thought. Please come into the studio.”

He chuckled, wiped his feet on the mat and came inside. “No worries. I zone out all the time.”

She held out her hand. “I’m sorry, can you tell me your name again?” She knew the name but wanted to hear him say it first. Security always came first.

His large callused hand enveloped hers. Even white teeth flashed. “The name is Cambia. Dane Cambia.”

Dane had used his real name. Something he hadn’t done with the other leads Lucian had given him. Sloppy. Especially now, as Dane held Kristen Rodale’s hand, he feared Lucian had gotten it wrong again. She looked nothing like Elena Benito.

This woman did not have Elena’s long dark hair, and the bleached-blond hair was a startling surprise. The short cut accentuated high cheekbones, pale skin and large brown, wary eyes.

Kristen wore loose-fitting black yoga pants that skimmed her calves. A snug electric-blue top hugged her full breasts. Like Elena, she wasn’t tall—no more than five-one or-two—but she lacked Elena’s curves. Kristen’s body was lean. Her face was scrubbed clean of the heavy makeup Elena was so fond of and her nails weren’t polished. She looked more like a teenager than a woman in her midtwenties.

Over the last two weeks, Dane had investigated three of the five identity hits Lucian’s computer program had generated. When he’d seen the other women, one glance had told him they had the wrong woman. But to be thorough, he’d hung around each woman for a day, playing out the alias he’d fashioned for himself until Lucian could run the prints.

Now as he stood in the yoga studio, he thought about the time he’d waste today pretending to be a carpenter as he waited for an opportunity to get something with her prints on it. He never took shortcuts and he’d go through the motions, but already his mind was looking ahead to the next woman, in Kansas City, who Lucian had identified as a possible match.

“Mr. Cambia, welcome to the studio.” Her voice was soft, hesitant, no hint of an accent.

“Thanks, ma’am.”

She took a step back. “Sheridan said she gave you a tour yesterday.”

“Yeah. I missed you.” He’d been disappointed because he’d missed Kristen by seconds. In fact, he’d seen her walking down the street away from the studio. She’d been going to lunch and running errands for Sheridan.

“I usually get the middle of the day off.” She didn’t elaborate.

He smiled, projecting a relaxed appearance that was as fake as the accent. “Oh, no worries.”

Kristen glanced toward the rooms Sheridan wanted renovated. “You know what needs to be done?”

“Oh, I sure do, ma’am. Sheridan told me.”

She smiled and to his surprise his gut tightened a notch. Elena or not, this woman was a stunner. Her soft brown eyes reminded him that he’d been alone for a long time.

“Then I’ll let you get to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

He moved into the first room off the reception area. Like the one it connected to, this room was very small and unusable for anything more than storage. Sheridan wanted to knock out a wall between the rooms and turn the spaces into one large room. He flipped on the light.

Dane had done carpentry work with his foster father when he’d been a kid. The old man had made his living building houses and often took Dane and Nancy along to help.

“So have you been at the studio long?” He kept his voice even.

Kristen went behind the counter and turned on the computer. Beside the computer was a stack of blue forms that needed to be logged in. “Not that long.”

He made a point of not looking directly at her when he spoke. A direct, assessing gaze signaled a predator for most women. “How do you like Lancaster Springs so far?”

“It’s great.”

Dane hated small talk, but it was necessary. “So Sheridan is about to be an aunt?”

The mention of the baby had her relaxing more. “Her sister went into labor early this morning. She’s two weeks early. Sheridan had hoped to be here to supervise the project.”

“Ah, my brother and his wife have five kids,” he lied. “They are a wild bunch, but good kids. Every one is a joy. Does Sheridan’s sister know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

The remaining tension in her face faded. “Girl.”

“They pick a name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Now that was odd. Women usually asked about that kind of stuff. Nancy always had. But it made sense. She didn’t want to connect with anyone in case she had to take off soon.

He moved toward the desk. His six-foot-two frame loomed over her. Immediately, he sensed his height made her nervous, so he stepped back to allow her more space. It wouldn’t do to spook her before he got a positive ID on her.

He glanced into the studio off the reception area. Soft recessed lights shone on thick carpet, a pile of rolled up mats and a stack of blankets. “So you into this yoga stuff?”

“I just started taking it from Sheridan.”

He scratched his head. “I don’t know a darn thing about yoga. But it seems a little odd to be stretching your body in every direction. For me a workout involves sweat.”

She laughed at that. “There’s more to it than you realize.”

“You look like you could be a teacher. What do you need, a license?”

“Centeredness.”

“What’s that?”

She shrugged. “The ability to push the outside world from your mind and focus on one thing.”

So she was distracted. Interesting. He shifted his gaze back to the room that would be reconstructed. “So what are Sheridan’s grand plans for this place after I’ve made it beautiful?” He knew he was supposed to be knocking down a wall, painting and building shelves.

“Sheridan wants to turn the room and the one connected to it into a tearoom slash boutique. She wants to be able to sell more yoga supplies—mats, clothes, chimes and eye pillows.”

He leaned against the doorjamb. “Sounds like a smart business lady.”

“She is.”

He pulled a notepad from his back hip pocket. “Sheridan said there are no more classes until Monday and I can get started on demolition today. She also said you’d be sticking around in case I needed anything.”

Again, the bright smile, which he sensed was genuine. “I’ll be here.”

He liked Kristen and he hoped she wasn’t Elena. Once Elena realized why he’d come, she’d despise him.

“I could use a hand with the debris removal. It’s not heavy work.” He wanted to keep her close until Lucian made the ID. “I can pay ten bucks an hour.”

Kristen’s eyes widened at the extra-high wage. For an instant she looked tempted, and then she shook her head. “Thanks, but I work for Sheridan.”

Loyal. That was very un-Elena. “So you stop and answer the phone when it rings. What else are you going to do this week?”

She glanced at the desk and the pile of unfolded flyers and empty envelopes. “I have brochures to get in the mail and registrations to enter.”

“How long is that gonna take?”

She hesitated. “Four or five hours.”

“You can do that in the evenings. Help me and earn some extra money.”