EYES POPPED OPEN at the sound of the phone ringing and realized she’d dozed off standing in the shower! Panic came in hot pursuit of the realization. What if she’d fallen into one of her deep sleeps and sleepwalked again—this time totally naked?
Whatever it took, she had to stay awake. She cranked the shower handle and let out a shriek as the cold water made her skin ache. But just as she was being revived, the phone began to ring. She quickly turned off the water and reached for a towel.
Dripping, she hurried to the phone and picked up the receiver. “Hello.” She could hear breathing at the other end of the line. “Hello?” There was no answer. Just what sounded like soft, labored breathing. “What do you want?” she demanded. No answer. Clancy slammed down the phone. A prank call. Someone who’d read about her in the paper. She’d get her number changed. Maybe even get an unlisted number.
She sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly too tired to move. The soft warmth beneath her beckoned her to crawl in, to cover her head and escape for a few hours in sleep. She stood and headed back to the shower, not about to make the same mistake she’d made earlier. After spending two nights in jail, she’d been running scared and not thinking clearly. She’d been so desperate she’d called her aunt Kiki who’d pulled strings and got her out right after the late afternoon bail hearing Monday. Clancy’s plan had been to go to Bozeman and Dex’s apartment as soon as she got out on bail. She’d come straight to the lodge to pick up a change of clothing. Unfortunately, after she’d hurriedly packed and started to leave, she’d spotted the flicker of a flashlight at the Hawkins’ lodge and spotted the blue outboard tied at the dock. She’d assumed the county attorney had put a deputy on her.
She knew she was only out on bail because of Aunt Kiki and her money. She figured maybe the county attorney had gone along with the bail to please Kiki but had put a deputy on her to cover his political posterior.
So Clancy had foolishly sat by the window to wait him out—not knowing it was just Jake Hawkins, not some deputy, watching her. And she’d fallen asleep and sleepwalked.
She stepped back into the shower and let the icy cold water beat her body wide awake. She didn’t dare let that happen again. Nor could she afford to wait until morning to leave. Although she didn’t relish the idea of crossing the lake in the dead of night, Jake had left her no option. She’d wait until she could be relatively sure he was asleep, then she’d take her boat to the mainland marina where she kept her car. From there she’d drive to Bozeman, go to Dex’s apartment and—She wasn’t sure what she’d find there, but hopefully something that would prove she was innocent.
Sometimes she could almost forget about the upcoming trial. Almost pretend none of this was really happening. Then she’d get a flash of Dex Westfall sprawled on the couch in the garret. Murdered. And her standing over him with the murder weapon in her hand. One of her own sculptures.
Her heart told her she hadn’t killed him. But reason argued: how do you know you didn’t? You were asleep. And look at all the evidence against you.
Exhaustion tugged at her, beckoning her to the one place where she didn’t have to think. Sweet slumber. But with sweet slumber came somnambulism, and she feared her nocturnal wanderings. Look what had happened tonight. What had happened tonight? She wasn’t even sure. Her hands shook as she pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
She clung to only one hope. That somehow she could prove her innocence. And the only place she knew to start was with Dex. She had to find out everything there was to know about him, including why he’d ended up dead in her garret.
She told herself going to Bozeman, to another county, wasn’t really violating her bail. And anyway, she’d be back before anyone even knew she was missing. If she was lucky. But she’d take extra clothing, just in case. In case she found out something that would prove she had killed him and she decided to make a run for it?
Clancy was coming down the stairs, her hair wrapped in the towel turban-style, when she heard the pounding at her back door.
“Clancy, I know you’re still up,” Jake called. “You might as well open the door.”
She pulled the towel off her head, shook out her hair and used the tip of the damp towel to clean her glasses. Maybe he was coming to tell her he was leaving, going back to wherever her aunt had found him. Hadn’t she wished for the opportunity to really see him before he left?
If only her other wishes were granted that easily, she thought as she opened the door to find him standing on her step. He’d changed out of his wet jeans; he wore chinos and a white T-shirt that accented his broad shoulders and his tanned, muscular arms. A Houston Astros cap was snugged down on his sandy blond head; his hair curled at the nape of his neck still wet from a shower. His clean, spicy smell engulfed her.
“It’s late,” she said, but he didn’t seem to be paying any attention. He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. The same way she was staring at him.
Her earlier impression of Jake hadn’t done him justice. He’d been cute at nineteen; now he was strikingly goodlooking. Strong features. A full, sensual mouth. Expressive gray eyes. A man with character. He had the kind of face she’d love to sculpt. A mixture of toughness and tenderness.
“You wear glasses,” he said simply, sounding pleased.
She didn’t tell him she’d worn glasses since she was fifteen—just not around him when she was a girl. “I can’t see much without them.”
He smiled then. “That’s nice.” He leaned one broad shoulder against the jamb.
She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. Goodbye? Or maybe that he was sorry he’d hurt her. Or even that he understood she’d only done what she had to at the trial. “It’s late,” she repeated.
“Yeah,” he said, the smile dissolving as if he’d suddenly remembered why he’d come over. “It’s about your case.”
She stared at him, telling herself she shouldn’t be surprised. “I thought I fired you.”
His frown deepened. “Your aunt hired me, and she’s the only one who can fire me. And trust me, as much trouble as she’s gone to to get me here, there isn’t much chance of that happening.”
Clancy could only assume her Aunt Kiki had lost her mind.
“So now that we have that settled.” He glanced past her into the lodge.
“Yes, I guess that settles everything.” She yawned openly, not that the Jake Hawkins she used to know could take a hint.
“Except for one thing,” Jake said, his voice deadly soft. “I had a fishing trip planned that your aunt interrupted to get me up here.” He held up his hand to silence her before she could tell him what he could do with his fishing trip.
“Let me give it to you straight. I’m here for only one reason—to get the goods on you,” he said, his gaze hard as his body looked.
She swallowed, the cold hatred in his voice making her heart ache, her eyes burn with tears. Only stubborn determination kept her from crying. She wasn’t about to let him see how much he’d hurt her ten years ago, how much he could still hurt her.
“I’m going to find evidence I can use against you,” he said. “And then you’re going to tell me the truth about what you really saw the night of the resort fire, the night Lola Strickland was murdered.”
