Loving Again: Book 2 in the Second Chance series (Crimson Romance) (14 page)

When it happened again, she recognized what it was — the metal door near her worktables being carefully rattled, as if someone were trying to see if it was open.

“Who’s there?” she called.

There was no answer.

She tried again. “Who’s at the back door?”

Still nothing.

Her cell phone rang. She jumped, then rummaged to find it at the bottom of her purse. It was Sam.

“Where are you?” he said. “I’ve been trying to find you.”

“I’m just leaving the studio.”

“You didn’t answer when I knocked.”

“Is that you at the back door? Why didn’t you say so? You scared me when you didn’t answer.”

“It was a half hour ago, and I knocked at the front.”

She heard the sound again. “Somebody’s rattling the door. I better go.”

“Someone’s banging on your back door? Can you see who it is?”

“There aren’t any windows in the back.”

“And whoever it is didn’t respond when you asked?”

“No.”

“Where are you parked?”

“About four blocks away.”

“That’s too far. Don’t hang up. I’ll call for a patrol car. Wait for them, then go to your car and lock yourself in. Let the officers look around. Understand?”

“I can take care of calling the police.”

“For chrissake, Amanda, just do as I say … ”

She heard the sound of the phone receiver being dropped. Heard the low murmur of his voice as he spoke to the dispatcher on his cell phone. Heard the continued rattling of the back door. Standing in a deeply shadowed space between two kilns, she took a long, slow breath to calm her heart rate. Then she sidled toward the front door. She unlocked it, pulled her keys out of her purse, ready to run to her car when he got back on the phone. If he ever got back on the phone.

“Amanda?”

Finally. “What took you so long? You have me really scared,” she whispered.

“A couple patrol cars are on the way. They won’t run sirens but at least one of them will have lights flashing so you can identify them. I’ll stay on the phone until you see them.”

A crash, the sound of metal being smashed, came from the back of the studio. “I can’t wait for them. The back door was just broken open.”

“Get the hell out of there and run to your car.”

She flung open the door and sprinted into the dark as fast as she could. She punched the remote for her car but in her panic, accidently pushed the emergency button. The lights on her Highlander flashed and the horn blew, raising her anxiety.

However, the officer in the patrol car who pulled up alongside her SUV a few seconds later told her how smart she was to identify her vehicle that way. Amanda didn’t bother to correct the officer’s impression of her intelligence. When she was safely inside the patrol car she got back on the phone with Sam.

“The patrol car’s here, Sam. I’m with Officer … ”

“Jefferson,” the man said. “Officer Lopez is on his way. Is that Detective Richardson?” He put his hand out for the phone.

Amanda gave it to him. There wasn’t much to hear from his end of the conversation other than the occasional, “uh-huh.” When the conversation was finished, Jefferson handed the phone back to her. “How about we go see what’s going on and lock up your studio? Lopez should be there. After we get that taken care of, one of us will follow you home. Detective Richardson will meet us there.”

Back in the studio, they found a dented door and a broken lock. The office had been quickly searched, if the papers and boxes all over the floor and the open drawers and cabinets were any indication. Nothing in the studio itself was disturbed and nothing appeared to be missing.

With the officers’ help, she jury-rigged the door shut. They barricaded the back with the desk and a worktable before locking up the front door. As requested, Officer Jefferson followed Amanda home where Sam was waiting.

After he talked to the officer, Sam joined Amanda inside. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’ve had better days.” She motioned to him to take off his jacket.

He hesitated before removing it and handing it to her saying, “Yeah, me, too.” He looked weary, all of his thirty-six years evident in the lines in his face, which were deeper than usual. “Jefferson says nothing was missing. That true?”

“Sam, I … ”

“Is that true?” he repeated.

She didn’t answer for a bit, trying to read his expression. Finally she said, “Nothing seems to be missing, even the petty cashbox was intact. It may be time to move the studio — three break-ins in less than a month. That’s some kind of record.”

He didn’t comment. She looked down at the floor, unable to face him. “Sam, I have to tell you something.”

Turning away, he started for the door. “I know what you have to tell me, but I’m not sure I want to have this conversation tonight.”

“You don’t think I … ?” She couldn’t even say the words.

“Killed Robin Jordan and Eubie Kane? Of course I don’t. But you lied about being there. If you don’t believe it’s stupid to lie to the police, I’d have thought you trusted me enough not to lie to me.”

The word “lie” hit her like a fist each time he said it. “I can explain. Please. Sit down for a minute. Just listen.”

He followed her into the living room and sat facing her on the opposite couch, his face stony. “I’m listening.”

“Of course I should have told you — told the police — I was there. But I felt trapped. Eubie Kane was on a rant about me. Leo’s gun with my fingerprints on it killed him. I was only three blocks away. Motive, means, opportunity. It’s like location, location, location.” She looked up at him, but he didn’t seem amused at her attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“I couldn’t say I’d been there. I knew what it looked like and I knew what you — what the police — would think. I would be presenting them with a neat little package that wrapped up their case. Just like last year. It was all back again. I couldn’t be involved again, not when I hadn’t done anything. So, I didn’t tell anyone, figuring you’d find out who did it and I wouldn’t have to. I should have known better but I was scared.”

“Why were you there, Amanda?”

She moved a pillow from behind her and clutched it to her chest before she answered. “I’d agreed to meet him at my studio but I finished up earlier than I expected. I, uh, decided to go see him. He’d said he would be at Bullseye. I figured he was taking a class; that’s the only reason anyone’s there at night. And classes usually end by nine. I thought maybe I’d have a chance to snag him when it was over.” Her voice trailed off.

“Okay, you went to see him. Go on.”

“I got there and saw cars parked in the covered area near the front door so I thought my guess that he was in class was right. But when I got to the door, it was dark inside. No one answered when I knocked. I didn’t expect it to be open. It never is when there’s a class. But I banged hard enough that if someone was in there, they would have heard.”

“The man who saw you says you went south on Twenty-first.”

“Toward the factory, yeah. I knocked on the door to the office. No one answered. So I went around the block to see if I could find anyone. When I couldn’t, I got in my car and came home.”

“That took you ten minutes?”

“I have no idea how long it took me. I wasn’t exactly timing myself.”

“You didn’t see anyone who can verify what you’re saying?”

She broke eye contact with him and plucked at the corner of the pillow she was holding. “No one will verify it.”

“Why’d you call Kane later?”

“To tell him I wouldn’t be at the studio if he showed up.”

“Why? You knew he wasn’t at Bullseye like he said he’d be.”

“I thought maybe he was in-between and I’d just missed him. It was raining so hard I could have driven right past him and not noticed. Anyway, I got no answer.”

“And that’s all?” He got up and walked over to her, tipped her chin up with his forefinger so she was looking at him. “Are you sure?”

She pulled her face away.

He watched her for a moment before rubbing his hand across his face. “It feels like you haven’t told me the whole story. Like you don’t trust me.”

“I do trust Sam Richardson, the man I … the man I’m involved with. But I’m not sure I feel the same about Detective Richardson, the one who’d have to tell his partner what I said. But I swear to you, I didn’t do anything wrong at Bullseye that night.”

“Well, both Sam Richardson and Detective Richardson are happy to hear that, Amanda.” He shook his head. “But, for future reference, it’s a package deal. I can’t be split in two.” He went to the hall, grabbed his jacket, and went out the front door.

She sat on the couch, her head back, unable to move. When her phone indicated an incoming text message, it startled her. She pulled it from her pocket, looking to see if it was Sam apologizing for walking out.

It wasn’t. She stared at the message, rereading it again and again. Chihuly jumped up on the couch beside her, licked her face and whined a little, demanding attention. Absentmindedly she gave him a pat or two. “I can’t let anything happen to him, can I, boy? Not after what he’s done for me.” She stood up and walked her dog to the kitchen door. “I have what this guy wants. I’ll just give it to him.”

• • •

Sam pounded on the steering wheel of his truck as he waited for the light to change. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or frustrated, or both. Every cop instinct he had said she wasn’t telling him the truth. But he had no idea what she was lying about. Nor did he know where to start to find out.

When he got home, he tried calling her, to apologize for the way he left but he got voice mail. She wasn’t picking up, apparently didn’t want to talk to him. He left a message saying he was sorry and would apologize in person when they had dinner the following night.

But apologizing was only part of why he wanted to talk to her again. He wanted to get to the bottom of this. Fast. He had a bad feeling about this. A feeling she was in danger.

By the next morning Amanda had a plan. Although she didn’t know the name of the guy who’d contacted her, she now understood what he was after. He’d referred to it in the text he’d sent and it was obvious from what she found in her studio the morning after the murders. In the letter from Tom Webster, her late boyfriend had denied stealing money from his partners, saying Amanda had taken it from his apartment and he thought she’d hidden it in a “
safe
” place. That was what the intruders had been looking for in her house — a safe full of money.

She didn’t know where the mythical safe was or how much this guy thought she’d stolen. But she could get money from her trust funds to bribe him. If he had the money, he’d leave her alone.

The anonymous text from the night before, like the anonymous note in her studio, also threatened Sam. So the second part of the plan was to keep him away from what she was doing, to keep him safe. She didn’t know what would happen if Sam found out what she was doing. It could end any chance she had for a future with him but she didn’t care. He had to be out of harm’s way. And she was the only person who could make that happen.

She answered the text. Said she had what the sender demanded but it would take her a couple of days to get it. Then she’d deliver it someplace public. As long as he left them alone.

One more text and she’d head for her beach house where she’d be out of everyone’s reach, even Sam’s. Especially Sam’s. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep what she knew from him.

• • •

Sam picked up a message as he was walking up the steps into Central Precinct. It was from Amanda, canceling their dinner.

He went back down to the sidewalk, crossed the street to the park, and called her. He expected her to avoid answering but, surprisingly, she picked up.

“Amanda, I apologize for the way I left things last night. I’m sorry. I handled it badly.”

“Did you get my text?

“A text message? Ah … what did it say?”

“I need to cancel tonight.”

“I upset you. Let’s talk.”

“That’s not it. I’m not feeling — I mean, I think maybe Chihuly’s sick.”

“Can I help you take him to the emergency vet clinic?”

“No, I just need to stay with him.”

“I’ll bring over take-out. You have to eat.”

“He’s not good with anyone other than me when he’s feeling bad.”

“Maybe we can have dinner tomorrow, after you see how he does. Will you call and tell me how things go?”

“Sure. I’ll call.”

“Amanda, I … ” But he was talking to a dead phone.

He tried all weekend to get in touch with her. There was no response. When he drove by her house and her Highlander was gone, he went to the studio. She wasn’t there, either, and Giles said he hadn’t seen her.

Sam left notes, called, texted, emailed, patrolled her street looking for her. Nothing. Where the hell was she?

• • •

Monday morning, Amanda drove back from the coast and went directly to her bank. Her banker was concerned at the size of the withdrawal she wanted and politely asked what she was planning to do with it. A real estate deal, she said, with an eccentric old man who wanted cash. The banker knew she had a number of real estate investments so he reluctantly agreed. But it would take a couple days to get the cash.

• • •

Sam was waiting for the elevator when the door opened and Danny Hartmann got out, a paper cup in her hand. “Welcome to Monday,” she said. “Have a good weekend?” She held the door for him.

He got on the elevator, seeming not to want to share what his weekend had been like. Finally he said, “It’s over. That’s the best I can say about it. How ’bout you?”

“Better than yours, from the tone of your voice.” Sam let the elevator door close before she could say anything else.

She knocked on the door of Lt. Angel’s office.

“Danny. Good. Come on in. Tell me what you have on Kane/Jordan.”

“It gets curiouser and curiouser.”

“Wouldn’t have thought you were the Alice-in-Wonderland type, Danny. Although now that you mention it, you do resemble the Red Queen sometimes.”

“Thanks for the compliment. If that’s a compliment, which I don’t think it is. And how the hell do you know about Alice in Wonderland?”