of lightning followed by a crack of thunder that rocked the loft made Hayley flinch. She rose and walked over to the bank of windows facing the bay. With the power out and clouds obscuring the moon, there wasn’t much to see, just rain beating a tattoo against the wall of glass. The fresh scent of rain filtered into the loft.
Lindsey dead. Someone might have wanted to kill her. Hayley was having difficulty keeping her mind on track but she did realize her life would never be the same. Hot salty tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks like the rain against the glass.
Unexpectedly, the lights came on across the cove at the Blue Water Grill. She heard the snick of a lamp as Ryan turned on a light in the loft. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, then turned to face Ryan.
Her eyes swept across her loft. Everything had been shoved out of place and the surfaces were covered with a charcoal-colored dust. “Oh, my God! What happened?”
“The Task Force searched your place, dusted for prints.” He walked toward her. “Searched for evidence.”
If she’d had any lingering doubts about him making this up, they evaporated. The loft had been thoroughly tossed and dusted. Now she realized the acrid smell was the fingerprint powder. She watched Ryan as he strode over to her.
Ryan Hollister was nothing if not sexy. He had an effortless masculinity that must be irresistible to most women. Where had that thought come from—at a time like this? Considering what she was going through, it was unnerving to realize she was attracted to this man. But she couldn’t deny the ripple of heat that swept through her body as Ryan halted in front of her. Close. Way too close.
Now that the lights were on, she had a better look at him than just an initial impression. Evidently, the Hollisters had Nordic ancestors. That would account for their height and masculine jawlines. And Viking-blue eyes. His gaze met hers and Hayley suddenly felt light-headed. What was wrong with her?
“Do you understand how serious this is, how much danger you’re in?”
“Yes,” she whispered. It had been dawning on her by degrees, but seeing the physical state of her loft made it too real. The hollow ache in her chest would not go away. She was in terrible trouble and didn’t know what to do about it.
“Let me help you.” He looked into her eyes with an intimacy she found disturbing. “I’m a pro. I have contacts.”
The air was fraught with tension and an undercurrent of something she couldn’t define. Maybe this situation was too much for her and she was merely imagining things.
“Can’t the police—”
“Come on. I have an idea.” He took her arm and she was stunned at how reassuring it was to have him touch her. In a situation that seemed so unreal, this man was a lifeline.
They sat on the sofa again. Hayley looked down at her hands and saw they were smudged with the charcoal powder from where she’d touched things as she came into the dark loft. She self-consciously rubbed them on her raincoat. It helped a little.
He was studying her in that disturbing way of his. What was he thinking? His face was utterly expressionless. If he’d been a card shark, she wouldn’t have a clue if he held a winning or losing hand.
“Wait a few days before you tell anyone you’re alive. Otherwise you’re exposed and the killer might try again. There’s a really talented FBI agent who’s working on your case. See what he and I can find out. The task force might also be able to solve this without putting you in danger.”
“I’m not worried,” she fibbed. “I’m sure the police will provide protection of some sort.”
“For how long? Not indefinitely. If this isn’t solved, you’ll be looking over your shoulder until he kills you.”
He had a point, and she couldn’t deny it. Catching this maniac was essential for her safety. Even if she had protection, how could she live with someone dogging her every move? “All right. I’ll stay out of sight here for a few days.”
“Not here. Not only is the place a mess, the cleaning lady is coming tomorrow. It’ll take a couple of days to clean up this mess.”
“I’ll call my aunt—”
“No way. I’m the only one who will know you’re alive and where you are or you won’t be safe.” He said this with such conviction that she couldn’t argue.
“How will I pay for a hotel? Credit card activity can be traced, can’t it?”
“You’ll stay at my father’s place. No one will think to look for you there.”
“Good idea. If someone should be looking for me, I’m sure they’ll check friends and the hotel, not your father’s home.”
He stood up and reached out a strong hand to help her rise. She took it, wondering if she’d made the right decision. She shuddered, fear rising inside her like a rogue wave about to engulf her.
“Let’s get the things you absolutely need. Nothing more. We don’t want to tip off anyone by removing too much.”
CHAPTER SIX
MAYBE BLOWING up Hayley’s car so close to an airport hadn’t been the most brilliant idea. Who knew it would activate the Joint Antiterrorism Task Force, which included the FBI and every other police agency on the planet, including Homeland Security? They were asking endless questions, looking at all kinds of records and poking into things that were absolutely none of their business.
The good news was the arrogant pricks hadn’t discovered squat. They were convinced the car bombing was drug related and were currently pulling Surf’s Up’s records apart, examining every shipment, every business transaction.
The best news was Hayley Fordham no longer walked the earth. A car bombing might have been overkill but it did the trick. She was dust. There hadn’t been enough to bury.
The killer wasn’t worried that the forensic team would trace the bomb. The small device had been purchased in Mexico well before the killing. It had been tempting to use it immediately, but waiting and anticipating the murder had been more exciting.
If the authorities did ID the bomb, they would blame one of the Mexican cartels because one of their men had sold the bomb. Making contact with the sleazy Mexican had been a fluke. But fate was like that. It played into your hands, if you were intelligent enough to take advantage of the situation.
A smart person went with the flow. A smart person didn’t panic at such an intense investigation. A smart person concentrated on what was important.
Hayley Fordham was dead. That had been the goal. Mission accomplished.
THE FRAGRANT AROMA of coffee awoke Hayley on the morning following her return from Costa Rica. For a few seconds she didn’t recognize the room decorated in tan and black where she had slept. A partially open window brought in the rustling of palm trees and the whump-whump of waves battering the shore. She instantly remembered where she was.
Her limbs seemed leaden as she tried to get out of bed. It was like waking up in someone else’s body. Suddenly, she recalled the car bombing that had killed Lindsey. Her
