Borrowing Trouble (24 page)

He nodded. “Does that rule out us seeing each other tonight, after the party?”

“Tonight is for my family. Now, I have to get down there before Rhys and Maddy send a search party looking for me.” She started for the door, but he stopped her.

“Happy birthday, Lina. I've loved you since I first saw you in the parking lot of the Sierra Heights clubhouse, and I love the woman you've become.”

She didn't say anything back. She didn't have to. Her love for him was written in her eyes. But the new, grown-up Lina had become more circumspect. He could live with that. At least for now.

S
andra was gone.

She hadn't been to work in five days. No one had been able to reach her. And someone from her job had gone to her home and found her mailbox overflowing. According to neighbors, she hadn't been seen around her apartment in at least a week. Sandra's family had reported her missing and Santa Monica police were investigating.

“I've put in calls to your police chief and Officer McBride,” Detective Rinek said. “I'm waiting to hear back from them.”

That wouldn't be tonight.

Brady tried to find a quiet spot to finish the call. He had a lot of questions and it was difficult to hear over the crescendo of partygoers.

“Give me a second, Detective. I'm right in the middle of a catering gig.” He stepped out onto the veranda, pulled one of Colin's rockers to the far corner, and sat down. “Why, you think she's coming for me?”

“There is no evidence to suggest that, but I think it's prudent to be prepared regardless.”

“Did you go inside her apartment?”

“We did. Her things . . . furniture, clothes, jewelry . . . are still there. Only thing missing is her car. Investigators found nothing to indicate she was up to something nefarious. However, her computer showed recent searches for you. It doesn't look like she got any hits, but it's impossible to tell for sure.”

“You don't think the mere fact that she's searching for me is
nefarious
?”

“It's not enough for us to jump to the conclusion that she's coming after you . . . or even knows where to find you.” Brady got the distinct impression that Rinek knew more and was holding out on him. “For all we know she's been in an accident and is in a hospital somewhere.”

“Are you checking that out?” Brady knew that he sounded confrontational, but he couldn't help it. Sandra had turned his life upside down and he just wanted the cops to be straight with him. Enough of the double-talk.

“Of course we are. We're checking everything, Mr. Benson. In the meantime, exercise an abundance of caution and we'll be in touch.”

The detective clicked off. Despite the work waiting for him in the kitchen, Brady continued to sit there, watching what was left of the sun disappear behind the Sierra. A cricket chirped in the not-too-far distance, and wood smoke from the chimney wafted over the porch, eliciting memories of camping, roasting marshmallows, and firelight. It all seemed so idyllic that it was hard to believe that a lunatic was out there, lying in wait, ready to ambush him at any moment.

“I've been looking all over for you.” Sloane stepped out of the shadows, and he jumped. “My God, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Guests started drifting out onto the porch, and suddenly it wasn't so quiet. Brady took Sloane by the wrist and pulled her close.

“Detective Rinek called. Sandra is missing.”

She tilted her head back so she could look up at him. “What do you mean, missing?”

“She didn't show up to her job all week, which according to her coworkers is completely uncharacteristic for her. The police searched her house, and her stuff is still there. But they found recent searches for me on her computer.”

Sloane blew out a breath. “We need to talk to Rhys and Jake.”

“Detective Rinek left messages for you and Rhys.”

“Let's go find him.” She grabbed his arm, but Brady pulled her back.

“Not tonight. I need to finish with the food.”

“We can't put this off.”

“I don't want you involved with this, Sloane.”

“Too bad.”

He didn't want to fight with her. Not now, not in the middle of an event. “All right. As soon as the party's over we'll talk and make a plan.”

Sloane reluctantly agreed and they both went back inside, where Brady spent the rest of the evening sending out food from the kitchen and mingling with the guests. He would've liked to have finished off the night with a stiff drink but needed to have his wits about him.

“I told Rhys that we want to meet with him first thing in the morning.” Sloane came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“It's Saturday, Sloane.” Just this afternoon, he'd been looking forward to the prospect of sleeping in the next morning, since there would be no guests to feed.

“We work weekends. You ready to go home?”

“Sloane, I don't think it's a good idea for you and me to go together.”

“I'm the one with the gun. So I think it's an excellent idea for us to go together.”

His mouth quirked. “A lesser man would take issue with that, you know?”

“Good thing you're not a lesser man.” Her gaze took him in. “We'll leave your van here and go in the batmobile.”

“Sloane, listen to me. This is reckless. If she's coming for me and gets even an inkling that you and I are together, she's gonna go bat-shit. I've done a lot of research on obsession stalkers, and they're extremely possessive—violently jealous.”

“That's why we're taking my vehicle. If she's out there, she'll see the Nugget PD logo and figure that you're under guard.”

He highly doubted it, especially if Sandra got a load of Sloane in that dress. But it was no use arguing with her. She was one of the most bullheaded women he'd ever met. And definitely the one he trusted most in a bad situation. So he got in the passenger seat and let her drive.

She let out a yawn. “It was a beautiful party tonight. The food, Brady, was off the charts. Those little chicken sandwiches, to die for.”

“You might not want to use that phraseology.” They both laughed. A moment of levity was good. Ah hell, they were probably overreacting to Sandra's disappearance. Maybe she'd finally checked herself into a funny farm.

All such fantasies died when Brady saw the unfamiliar car parked in their driveway.

“Wait in here,” Sloane said, and grabbed her Glock from the glove box before getting out of the rig.

The hell he would. He grabbed the Mossberg 500 pump-action shotgun off the rack in the back of the SUV, made sure it was loaded, and went after her.

“I told you to stay in the truck,” she whispered.

The motion lights went on, illuminating the front porch. Whoever the car belonged to was nowhere in sight. He put his finger to his lips and led the way around the side of the duplex. Brady planned to circle the perimeter of the building and check for signs of a break-in. Sloane caught up and stared daggers at him.

She pointed at the shotgun and whispered, “It's against department policy for you to have that.”

He rolled his eyes, shushed her again, and motioned for her to crouch down under the windows in case their visitor was inside one of the apartments.

“Don't tell me how to do my job,” she said.

He pulled her down until they were both squatting, and pointed to Sloane's living room window. “Look for broken glass.”

“Duh.” She duck walked ahead of him.

He couldn't help but grin at how funny she looked doing that in a dress and high heels. At least his shoes were practical. Whoever their guest was knew they were here. Only a deaf person would've missed the sound of Sloane's police truck crunching gravel. Then again, Sandra hadn't exactly gone for the element of surprise by parking her car in plain view. She was just delusional enough to greet him at the door in an apron.
Honey, you're home
.

He held the shotgun firmly at his side and motioned for Sloane to stop just as they reached the end of the duplex. Before they turned the corner to the back of the building, he wanted to come up with a plan. The only escape route behind them involved the ravine and railroad tracks. He didn't like those options.

Sloane of course didn't listen and continued around the rear, gun drawn, yelling, “Put your hands up or I'll shoot.”

“For God's sake, calm down,” came a man's voice.

“Aidan? Is that you?” She lowered the gun.

“Look at you, all dressed up.”

The man—Aidan—came down the deck stairs, circled her in his arms, and lifted her off the ground in a bear hug. A few seconds later he took notice of Brady with the butt of the shotgun planted against his shoulder, his finger on the safety button.

“What, are you people nuts here?” Aidan asked, in a thick Chicago accent.

Sloane let out a breath. “It's a long story. I can't believe you're here.”

“I know it seems spur of the moment. But after you invited me . . . maybe I should've called first.” He eyed Brady, who'd relaxed his hold on the Mossberg.

“Of course you didn't need to call first.” Sloane went in for another hug. “I'm just so glad you came, Aid. When did you get here?”

“I flew into Reno, rented a car, and crossed Nugget city limits about five p.m. Sloane, you weren't kidding, this place is awesome.”

“Why are you sitting back here? I don't even know where that ratty chair came from,” Sloane said. Brady was pretty sure it had been left by the last tenant.

Aidan shrugged. “I waited for you on the front porch at first. But when the train went by I wanted to watch it.” He nudged his head at Brady. “You work with my sister at the police department?”

“No. I live in the apartment next door. I'm a chef.”

Aidan eyed the shotgun speculatively. “Okay.”

“Let's go inside,” Sloane said. “You've been sitting out here for hours. You have to be starved.”

“I could eat,” he said. “But I could really use a bathroom.”

Sloane grabbed the shotgun from Brady's hand, led Aidan around front, and unlocked the door. “I'll be back in a second.”

Brady watched her return the Mossberg to the rack in her SUV and waited for her on the porch. Aidan had rushed inside.

“Hey,” he said, and slipped his arm around her. “Go spend time with your brother and I'll see you in the morning.”

She chewed on her bottom lip as if she was contemplating what to do.

“Sloane, we'll only be separated by a thin wall. It's no different than if we were in the same house together.”

“At least let me check your apartment first.” She didn't wait for his permission, just grabbed his keys out of his hand and let herself in. Going room to room, she opened closets and searched any space where a person could hide. “It's clear. Does anything look out of place?”

The apartment looked exactly the way he'd left it. “Nope.”

“Bang on your wall if you need me,” she said.

“I will. Go tend to your brother. You got anything to feed him? Had I known, I would've brought home party leftovers.”

“I've got stuff. You get a good night's sleep. Remember, we're meeting with Rhys in the morning.”

Brady watched her walk next door. Standing on the porch, he felt the night chill cut through his dress shirt like a knife. He'd forgotten his jacket at the inn. For a moment, he considered going back to get it and his car, then driving away to a new town with new people where he could once again hide in plain sight. Staying here was only borrowing trouble.

He heard laughter from Sloane's apartment. It was a little contagious, that laugh. So genuine that it spread through his chest like warm liquid. He thought about the prospect of leaving and never seeing her again. Never hearing that laugh or about her pilot kids or the orgasmic sounds she made while eating his food, and his heart constricted like it was being smashed in a garlic press. That's when he walked inside and went to bed.

 

When they arrived in the morning to meet with Rhys, he was already on the phone with Detective Rinek. Brady made coffee on Connie's fancy grind-and-brew while Sloane checked her messages. Technically she was off today. Now that Jake was back from his honeymoon, they were fully staffed again and she could go back to a forty-hour work week. Still, she was curious to see if she'd gotten any hits on her John Doe. So far, none of the missing persons on their possibility list had checked out. Several had already been found, some had never been missing, and on closer examination it was unlikely that the others had ever stepped foot in Nugget. Some of their trails had ended in other states entirely.

Sloane was beginning to believe that her person had never been reported missing, because he was either a transient with no family or friends, or a migrant worker whose people lived in another country and didn't know how to contact authorities here. Those possibilities would make the case nearly impossible to solve.

But the poor man at least deserved a headstone with his name. And she wanted her three junior investigators (i.e., the pilot program) to have the satisfaction of solving the case. They'd worked so hard. Sloane glanced over at Rhys's glass office and could tell his conversation was wrapping up.

Brady brought her a cup of coffee—her first one, since there hadn't been time this morning. When they'd left the duplex, Aidan had still been sound asleep on her sofa bed. She and her brother had stayed up talking much of the night about Sue and Brady. He'd told her that Sue seemed to be getting serious with another school teacher, and she'd filled Aidan in on Brady's stalker situation—the reason why they'd come home locked and loaded.

Rhys waved his hand for them to sit in his office, and Brady grabbed him a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” Rhys warmed his hands on the mug. “Jesus Christ, Brady, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

Sloane didn't like the implication of that sentence. It sounded a lot like blaming the victim. If the victim had been a woman, Rhys would have selected his words more wisely. At least she hoped he would've.