L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (8 page)

His patience stretched to the limit, Adam cursed himself for being so careless. But now it really didn’t matter if she read the letter or not since she was on her way to Mirador, anyway. Not showing her the letter had been simply a precaution. The less she knew the better. He didn’t want the information leaked to Sullivan, inadvertently or otherwise.

But it wouldn’t do him any good to make an enemy of her, either. “Okay. Look…I’m just doing my job, following procedure, which doesn’t always make me Mr. Nice Guy. For that I apologize, but in the end, I have a job to do.”

“I thought you were on vacation.”

“Would you like something to drink?” It was the flight attendant again, making another run with the drink cart.

He ordered a beer and she ordered wine, and they sat in silence until she said, “I apologize for reading your mail. When the contents of your briefcase spilled out and I saw the photos, all I really wanted was to take another look at them, but then the letter dropped out of the envelope, too…and—” She drew a breath and shrugged. “And I know that’s no excuse. It was wrong and I’m sorry.”

He caught her gaze. “Apology accepted, but not necessary. I understand. And to answer your question, I thought as long as I’m on vacation, I might as well follow up on the lead. Unofficially.”

She held up her glass. “Truce.”

He clicked his beer can against her small wine glass. “Truce.” For however long it would last. He still didn’t understand her reasons for not wanting her husband’s body to be exhumed, and he wasn’t one-hundred-percent certain she wasn’t involved in some way. Why hadn’t she told him she was going to Mirador when she’d phoned him?

The most obvious answer was that she wanted to warn Sullivan. Yet that didn’t really make sense, because if she was involved, she could have made contact from Chicago; she wouldn’t have needed to make the journey. Besides, his gut told him she hated leaving Chicago, was loath to be so far from her daughter.

If he could still trust his gut. His sixth sense had failed him far too many times lately, specifically when it came to his ex. He would’ve given the world to Kate if he could have, and then he found she’d been cheating on him. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d taken him to the cleaners in court, as if she was the wronged party.

No, he didn’t have a whole lot of faith in his gut anymore. At least not where women were concerned.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let his gut have any say in his mission this time.

“So, when we arrive, what’s your plan, Detec… Adam?”

“Since it’ll be too late tonight after we arrive to do much of anything, dinner and a good night’s sleep are in order. Then in the morning I’m off for Mirador.” He angled his head toward her. “The invitation still stands. You’re welcome to come along if you’d like.”

She smiled. She had a great smile, one that reached her eyes. Nice eyes, too. Bluer than a perfect sky—and whenever he met her gaze, he couldn’t seem to look away.

“What?” She raised a hand to her face.

“Are you wearing contacts?”

She pulled back. “No. I don’t have a vision problem. Why?”

“I’ve never seen eyes quite that color before. Blue, yes, but never such a…blue blue.”

“Chloe’s are the same color.”

He nodded. “Yeah, now that I think about it, I remember that. She seems like a great kid.”

Her expression warmed at the mention of her daughter. “She is. Most of the time. Right now, though, it’s a little hard to tell. Adolescence seems to turn sweet little girls into drama queens.” A wistful look flickered in her eyes. “With her father gone, it’s even harder for her. I think having a father around at her age is so important.”

“What about relatives, or friends?”

“Well, my neighbor, my best friend’s husband, Logan, is kind of a surrogate father for Chloe. In fact, Chloe’s with Dana and Logan and their two kids at their cabin right now. They’ll be there until a couple of days before school starts.” She paused, appearing thoughtful. “Logan is wonderful, but that’s still not the same as having her own father around to guide her.”

Yeah, he could understand that. He couldn’t imagine what his own childhood would have been like without his father.

“It’s been four years,” Jillian went on, “and Chloe was young enough that, if it weren’t for the pictures and stories I’ve told her, I don’t think she’d even remember him. It’s like there’s this huge hole in our lives.”

Four years later and she still loved the guy. He heard it in her voice, as well as her words. If she knew what her husband was capable of, she wouldn’t be thinking that way. But she didn’t know. Or maybe she did and didn’t care, because he’d filled her needs. Something he’d obviously not done for Kate, because if he had, she wouldn’t have looked elsewhere.

But why was he dwelling on Jillian Sullivan and whatever she felt about her husband? So what if she still loved him?

Her being here now offered him the opportunity to do a little fishing, and he’d be a fool not to take advantage of it. If he got her to talk, she might tell him something important. Any tidbit of information might be the one piece to crack the case wide open.

“I know the feeling,” he said. “Even though there were six of us, my dad had this amazing way of focusing on each kid. I remember feeling like I was the only person in the world who mattered when he was talking to me. He was always incredibly interested in everything I had to say. He was just the greatest dad. I wish I’d had the opportunity to tell him that before he died.” Adam paused and smiled ironically. “He used to say, ‘Wishes have no substance. It’s what you do that counts.’”

“I’m sorry. When did he die?”

“Last year. But my mom’s going strong. She loves being a grandmother—I think it’s her calling.”

“Your parents…your family sounds terrific. If Rob hadn’t died, well…” She breathed a sigh. “He was on the road a lot, but he was home enough to still be a wonderful father to Chloe.”

Adam drummed his fingers on the armrest. Every time he heard her say how fantastic this guy was, his blood did a slow simmer.

“Does the rest of your family live in L.A.?” she asked.

“Nope. Most still live in Kentucky where I grew up. In or around Henderson.”

“Kentucky? I’m surprised. You don’t have a Southern accent.”

“I’ve been gone awhile.” He smiled. “Henderson is in the northern area, not too far from the border between Indiana and Kentucky. Some think more Midwest than Southern, anyway. What about your family?”

She hesitated, thoughtful, then said, “My mom died when I was eleven. I went to live with my dad, but I didn’t know him before that—he abandoned my mother when I was still a baby. He was a small-town cop and we…didn’t get along very well, to say the least, and…” She paused. Took a breath. “I left when I was fifteen.”

“Where’d you go? To live with another relative?”

“No. I went to L.A. by myself.”

“You ran away?” He drew back, officially stunned. He saw runaways all the time, saw the wasted lives, the horrors of living on the street. Looking at Jillian, he couldn’t imagine her in that environment. He couldn’t imagine his own sisters at that age trying to manage on their own in a strange city…with all the slimebag pervert hustlers just waiting for the most vulnerable. The younger the better.

She frowned. “I never really thought of it as running away, but yes, I guess that’s what I did.”

“And your dad, being a cop, called out the troops?”

She shook her head and gave a wry laugh. “No, like I said, we didn’t get along. I’m sure he was relieved I’d gone. From then on, I was on my own and learned quickly how to take care of myself. I never saw him again until his funeral.” She looked away. “That was seven years ago.”

A knot grew in Adam’s chest. No kid should have to be on her own at fifteen. Especially not in L.A., where street kids were easy prey. He looked at Jillian with new eyes. That history would explain her involvement with a scumbag like Sullivan.

“If your business success now is any indication, you managed to take care of yourself very well.”

She let out a long sigh. “I guess. But if I didn’t have Chloe, it wouldn’t mean anything. And I’d trade it all in an instant for the chance to be a family again.”

Right. She’d said that before. While he might understand her desire for family because her own had been so lacking, some things just didn’t make sense.

He looked squarely into those bluer-than-blue eyes. “I’m not sure I get it. You wanted a family and yet you ran away. And your dad just let you go off and shift for yourself when you were still a minor. What kind of parent would do that?”

She shook her head. “Happens all the time.”

He knew that. Saw it every day. What he really wanted to know was how it happened to her. But it was clear from her brief responses she didn’t want to talk about it. He changed the subject, and their conversation after that, much of it about education, was mostly in generalities.

Finally she tipped her head back against the seat and said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a nap for the duration. I haven’t slept very well lately.”

“Good idea. Think I’ll do that, too.” But he doubted he’d get much sleep. He was too wound up, and far too focused on the woman beside him.

Their conversation had given him a little more insight about Jillian Sullivan. Except for the time when she was married, she’d been making her own way since she was fifteen. No wonder she wasn’t afraid to jump on a plane to go looking for some guy she believed might be impersonating her dead husband.

She was a walking contradiction. Naive to the world at large, yet experienced in other ways. One thing was certain. She was her own person, no question about that.

And she was annoyingly stubborn. None of which changed his purpose. He was on a quest, with or without her.

If she decided to tag along, it might be the best way for him to keep track of her. On the other hand, she could be more trouble than he needed.

Either way, he was going to get his man.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A LOUD THUMP JOSTLED Jillian awake with a start. “What? What’s happening?” Another thump jostled the plane and she bounced in her seat. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“We’re here,” a deep male voice beside her said. “Touchdown in San José.”

She glanced at Detective Ramsey, still sitting next to her. She’d spent a long time trying to fall asleep and hadn’t actually succeeded until twenty minutes ago, and then she’d crashed hard. And now she was tired and cranky—and more nervous than she thought she’d be.

Ramsey folded his newspaper and stuffed it into the seat pocket in front of him. “Finish the crossword puzzle?” she asked. Anyone who even attempted the New York Times crossword deserved a commendation. She’d tried once or twice and had given up, deciding her inability was due to some right-brain deficiency—or was it left brain? Someone told her once that she fell into the artistic category, whichever side of the brain that was.

“Yep. Piece of cake.”

“Not for me. Too detailed for this non-college-educated person.” After learning about Adam’s educationally rich background—an undergraduate degree in history, a graduate degree in criminal justice, then police training—she felt even more deficient. She’d always wanted to go on to college, but instead, got her education on the streets. Once she moved in with Rob, he’d insisted she finish high school, which she had.

Hair-design school had been Rob’s idea, as well..after she completed high school. Though it wasn’t the college education she’d longed for, she’d latched on to it like a lifeline. Education in any area was better than none at all.

After Rob died, making her business a success had become a way to repay him for his direction and advice and to make him proud of her—even if he wasn’t around to see it.

“Education has nothing to do with crossword puzzles,” Adam said. “What’s needed is patience. Something you don’t seem to have much of.” He chuckled.

Really? Did she lack patience? Maybe. It was true she wanted instant results from the things she did, but she worked hard to make things happen—even though they rarely happened the way she hoped.

Interesting that he’d even noticed that about her, especially when she wasn’t aware of it herself. He did a lot of observing. Observing and analyzing, apparently.

The plane taxied to a stop, and the flight attendant reminded passengers to fill out the Customs Declaration Form if they needed to do so. Adam was kind enough to help Jillian pull her carry-on luggage from the overhead bin and she was glad she had only one small bag.

The instant she exited the plane, Jillian felt as if she’d walked into a sauna. They disembarked on the tarmac and headed for the terminal. Her clothes immediately felt moist and limp, sweat beaded on her skin and she could almost hear her hair frizzing into kinky unmanageable curls. A hot and humid Chicago summer felt the like a desert compared to this

The building was minuscule compared to O’Hare in Chicago or John Wayne in L.A., the only two airports she’d ever been in. “Is this it?” She walked in tandem with Adam, pulling her small suitcase on wheels. All Adam carried was an army green combination duffle bag backpack, and the tan canvas briefcase, one slung over each shoulder.

“You got it, kiddo.”

“But where are all the people, airline personnel?”

“Hey, it’s not O’Hare, that’s for sure. And it’s evening midweek. So, where’s this guide supposed to meet you?”

“Here, I thought. He’s probably waiting inside. If he doesn’t mind, maybe we can drop you at your hotel. Where are you staying?”

“Same place as you, as long as you’re offering me a ride.”

“You don’t have reservations?” She pulled back to look at him. “Who travels out of the country without reservations?”

He grinned. “When I left, I wasn’t sure if I’d be staying in San José or heading out as soon as I got here. I figured I’d find something somewhere. August isn’t exactly high season.”

She shoved damp hair off her sweaty forehead. “I think I understand why.”

Before they entered the building, a man dressed in a brown uniform appeared and asked questions about their baggage. As soon as they were inside, Jillian scanned for a person who looked as if he could be a tour guide. The name she’d been given was Ernesto. A few people milled about, but most were either military types or uniformed airline personnel. She didn’t see an information desk anywhere.

They were directed to Customs. “Maybe he’s waiting by the baggage claim. He might be thinking I’d have additional luggage.”

“You don’t?”

“This is it,” she said as they followed the arrows, flashed their passports at the gate and then went on to the baggage claim area.

“A woman with one piece of luggage. I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t figure I’d be staying more than a few days.”

He laughed. “Length of time never made an iota of difference to any woman I’ve ever known.”

And she’d bet he’d known more than his share. The thought sent a peculiar stab of annoyance through her. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t give a rat how many women he’d known.

She’d never had any desire to be one of many. Hell, for four years now, she’d had no desire at all.

Not until she’d noticed Adam at the market. Which still annoyed her. How ironic was it that the first guy she was attracted to turned out to be the worst possible person for her to get involved with. If she was interested. Which she wasn’t. And he wasn’t. He’d only flirted with her because he wanted something from her.

When they arrived at the baggage claim area, she saw no one who remotely resembled a tour guide.

“Look,” Adam said, “maybe you’d better find out exactly where this hotel of yours is, since your guy doesn’t seem to be around.”

They found a spot to sit, and she fished out the envelope containing the information from her brown leather messenger bag that doubled as her purse. “Here it is. La Paloma. I guess we’ll have to take a cab.”

“Or rent a car. I planned to do that for tomorrow, anyway.” He pointed to a desk with the names of all the major car-rental companies emblazoned across the front.

Just then, a small shuttle bus with “La Paloma” on the side pulled up. “Or—look!” She tapped him on the arm excitedly. “A shuttle. We can take that. It’ll be faster since it’s right here and I need to get to the hotel to make some calls before it’s too late.”

He frowned as if considering what to do. “Okay. I can rent a car at the hotel. That’s probably better, anyway.” He got up and held out his hand to help her up, too. “Let’s ask when the shuttle is leaving. Maybe we’ll have time to change some money first.”

“Can’t we do that at the hotel?” She wouldn’t be changing much, since she wasn’t planning to stay long.

“Sure. Whatever the lady wants.”

Ten minutes later she was standing at the reception desk at the La Paloma Hotel arguing with the clerk, whose English was as poor as her Spanish, about her reservation. He had no record of it, apparently. Furthermore, the hotel was booked solid because of a chartered planeload of tourists who’d arrived earlier in the day.

While Jillian fumed, Adam simply stood on the sidelines with a smirk on his face. She stomped off to a pay phone to call the idiot travel agent who’d set it all up, but she soon realized she didn’t have the right currency and she wouldn’t know how to make a long-distance call in Spanish, anyway.

Adam had followed her, and she turned to him in exasperation. “You can jump in anytime, Ramsey. Any ideas?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He grinned and walked back to the reception desk.

She grabbed her things and hurried alongside him. “He already said he didn’t have any rooms.”

“Señor,” Adam said as they reached the desk. Then he rattled off something in Spanish and the two men engaged in a lengthy discourse, none of which she understood.

Her blood pressure rose. Adam, the jerk, could’ve told her he spoke the language, and he could’ve helped her earlier. She wanted to know what they were talking about, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking what he’d said to the desk clerk.

Adam turned to her. “He knows of another hotel that might have rooms for us, and he’s going to call there to make sure, so we don’t make the trip in vain. He said it’s not fancy, but it’s his brother’s place and he’s fairly sure he can get us rooms.”

“I thought this wasn’t high season.”

“Right. But apparently this is the time of year when some travel companies charter planes and book packages for people who can’t afford high-season rates. And apparently some organizations book their conventions during this time since the rates are cheaper.”

“Great.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter as long as we can get rooms somewhere.”

Then Adam, in his impeccable Spanish, rattled off another sentence to thank the man, who then smiled and immediately got on the phone.

Between the heat, humidity, and her irritation, she was sure her blood was boiling in her veins. “Why didn’t you tell me you spoke Spanish fluently? You could’ve helped me out earlier, you know.”

“You never gave me a chance.” He grinned. “You were too busy taking charge.” After a brief pause, he said, “And I kinda liked watching you do it.”

Even though his teasing was at her expense, she liked that he wasn’t serious all the time. She grinned back. “Well, next time, don’t wait so long. Okay?”

Fifteen minutes later they were standing in the lobby of the shabbiest hotel she’d seen since living on the streets of L.A. As she glanced around at the faded wallpaper, the peeling paint and cracked-tile floors, her stomach plummeted. Not a very auspicious start to her venture.

“Guess Raphael’s brother doesn’t get much business,” Adam said, glancing about. “Might’ve been an elegant hotel in the past.”

“The ancient past.”

He looked at her and chuckled. “You okay with this?”

It was only for a night, maybe two, at the most. Then she’d be on her way back home. “No problemo! As long as there’s no red light in my window.”

Adam laughed outright. “Okay, señora, let’s check in.”

Adam walked her to her room minutes later, and they made plans for dinner. His room was three doors down from hers, which she found odd. She doubted the other rooms were even occupied and wondered if Adam had asked that his room not be next to hers.

Hmm. Maybe he wanted to make sure she didn’t overhear anything he was doing. Well, it didn’t matter to her what he did. Inside her room, the first thing she did was call Dana to let her know where she was and how to reach her. Chloe was outside at the moment, so Jillian said she’d call later or in the morning to talk to her.

Next she called the travel agent. Not only did she have no guide, no hotel room and no arrangements to get to Mirador, she got no answer at the agency, apart from a recorded greeting. She left a scathing message, including the hotel’s number for the agent to call her back. Her clothes were sticking to her clammy skin by the time she hung up. She needed a shower.

She thought about calling the number in Mirador she’d called from home, but decided against it. Too many hang-ups might tip off the impersonator that someone was on to him.

The water pressure in the shower wasn’t exactly needle sharp but even so, she relished the cool water against her skin, the slippery feel of soap as she lathered up. Suddenly the water pressure reduced to barely a trickle. She cranked both knobs one way and then the other. No response.

“Damn!” She banged on the wall near the showerhead. Nothing. Hoping to rattle something to make it work, she kicked the wall, nearly slipped, but caught herself by grabbing the faucet. Then she heard a resounding clunk, and a gush of water, red with iron or rust from the pipes, blasted out like a burst dam—in her face and in her mouth and drenching her hair. She furiously twisted the knobs, then finally shut it down.

Oh, man. From the second she’d seen Ramsey on the plane, she’d had a bad feeling about this trip. A really bad feeling. And it was getting worse by the second. She sighed.

Well, at least she’d gotten the soap washed off.

A knock on the door startled her. Quickly she grabbed a gauze-thin scrap of fabric that supposedly passed for a towel and wrapped it around herself. “Yes. Who’s there?”

“Message for you, Señora Sullivan.”

“Can you stick it under the door, please?” She hoped it was a phone message from the travel agent with some good news. She plucked the paper from the floor. It was a brief note from Adam in bold printed letters saying he’d be back in a few minutes and would meet her in the lobby at seven for dinner.

The snack she’d been given on the plane wasn’t enough for a gnat and she was starving. She had no idea where Ramsey planned to eat dinner, but she hoped it wasn’t far.

She blotted her hair and tossed on a red sleeveless top, loose tan cotton pants and sandals. When she went to plug in her hairdryer, she discovered the plug didn’t fit with her grounding prong. Why was she not surprised?

Nearing seven, she went to the elevator, punched the down button and waited. There were no lights to show the floor numbers and no light on the button, either. She waited. Nothing. Finally a woman walked by, shook her head and said in broken English, “Not work very much.”