Play Dead (11 page)

The balmy air was just starting to cool, a sure sign summer was almost here. The sand between her toes was still warm and the briny scent of the sea filtered through the darkness like an unseen mist.

Hayley tossed her head back and gazed up at the winking stars. “How can the world look just the same when everything has changed?”

She asked the question more of herself than him. Until she’d learned about the car bombing, her world hadn’t varied much except for her parents’ deaths. Life hadn’t been the same since that fateful day. The minute she’d heard her parents’ plane was overdue, Hayley had prayed for their safety, but had known—deep inside—that they were gone.

After their funeral, Hayley’s life had continued, but everything had changed. The disappointment she’d felt at Chad’s betrayal became devastation at the loss of her parents. She’d anticipated being sad, believing it would take months or even years to come to terms with the deaths of her parents.

This new—and totally unexpected—blow meant she was alone in the world without anyone to trust except a total stranger. She couldn’t contact Aunt Meg, who had always been like a second mother to her. She was isolated and had no idea who was determined to destroy her.

“I know how you feel,” Ryan said quietly. “After Jessica died, I never looked at the world the same way.”

“J-Jessica?” she asked, stunned by the emotion in his voice.

“My wife. Jess died of myeloma—bone marrow cancer—two years ago.”

The unmistakable anguish in his voice sent a depth charge of guilt through Hayley. She’d told Ryan a lot about herself, but she hadn’t asked him any personal questions. She’d decided he must be single because he was living alone in his father’s house. It had never occurred to her that he might be a widower who even now mourned the loss of his wife.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to murmur. “How tragic.”

Ryan gazed down at her for a moment, then said, “It is a shame. Jessica’s life held such promise, but it wasn’t to be. I’ve learned to accept what happened and treasure the time we shared. The memories.”

“Memories,” she whispered. For a moment, the rush of the surf against the sand brought with it her parents’ laughter. Happier times. Precious memories.

“I know what you’re going through,” Ryan added. “Just remember, some people will be with us always in the way we live, the way we love. Your parents, Jessica—they’re still with us. Life goes on, but memories are forever.”

Tears sprang into Hayley’s eyes. She never imagined Ryan could understand her feelings, would feel the same way, too.

Ryan walked beside her as they made their way toward the Wedge. The sound of waves breaking against the beach was louder than usual due to a tropical storm off the Mexican coast that kicked up huge waves. A fine vapor of saltwater spray misted the air as frothy spume from the white-capped waves hit the shore. A silvery wafer of a moon cast otherworldly light on the creamy white sand.

Hayley didn’t know what to say. His hand curved around her upper arm—a casual gesture, she was positive, so she pretended not to notice. She walked a few more steps and spotted a couple entwined on a blanket half-naked. Ryan guided her to the right, closer to the water line and around the oblivious couple. Now the sand beneath their feet was cool and hard-packed by the retreating tide.

A nervous need to break the tense silence made her ask, “What made you join the FBI?”

His grip on her arm tightened just slightly, sending a shiver of anticipation tingling through her. “An injury kept me from playing pro football. I’d always excelled in math and was fascinated by computers. A friend from Duke was in the FBI forensic computer program. He encouraged me to apply.”

His tone was flat and she had the feeling he’d only revealed the bare details, sharing nothing of his true feelings. He was an interesting man. There seemed to be more depth to him than most of the men she’d met. In other circumstances, Hayley assured herself, they might have become romantically involved.

Wait! Don’t kid yourself. This man is still in love with a woman who died two years ago. He’s helping you because Auntie Meg has a way of manipulating people.

Ryan stopped, bringing her to a halt too, and pulling her just a little closer. Or was it her imagination? “Why did you want to know about me?”

“Just curious,” she told him as lightly as she could.

This time he drew her to him. It wasn’t her imagination. “I’ve been curious.”

They were so close that she needed to tilt her head back to see the gleam in his eyes. What was he thinking? she puzzled, suddenly short of breath. The moonlight shone in his dark hair and limned the strong line of his jaw. He was so undeniably masculine, so attractive that she couldn’t look away. His lips parted in the suggestion of a smile and she found herself staring at his mouth…wondering what it would be like if he kissed her.

Don’t go there
, she admonished herself, but her body had other ideas. A surge of heat swept through her. Electricity seemed to arc through the air between them. Her heart pummeled her chest just as hard as the waves pounded the nearby sand.

She wrenched her eyes off his lips and met his bemused gaze. “Curious about what?”

“If you kiss as good as you look.”

Without thinking, she replied, “There’s only one way to find out.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed him. In a heartbeat, his arms were around her, pulling her flush against his powerful chest. Her lips plied his, finding his mouth firm yet slightly soft and oh so warm against hers. The tip of his tongue flicked hers and the slow burn inside her kicked up a few notches.

Oh, my, but was he good at this. He’d been wondering. What did that mean? She didn’t have time to explore the thought. Her nipples went taut and a throbbing sense of anticipation prickled her skin. His powerful body sur
rounded hers protectively. His warmth seeped through her clothes and made her snuggle even closer, her breasts pillowed against his torso.

As they kissed, intense heat replaced the warm sensation inside her. Wanting more, needing more, she leaned closer, her fingers now in the silky hair at the base of his neck. Need scorched through her with astonishing speed. Eyes squeezed tight, her head spun and rational thought became impossible.

She’d never known what it felt like to be kissed so thoroughly, so expertly. Of course, she’d been kissed many times, especially when she’d been with Chad, but those emotions had been nothing compared to this. What was happening? Sex had never meant much to her, but now—despite her dangerous situation—all she could think about was how she wanted, needed this man.

She lifted her head, her mouth a scant inch from his. “Ryan,” she whispered.

He kissed her cheek and trailed a series of moist kisses along her skin until he found the incredibly sensitive area at the curve of her neck. A cat’s paw of wind caught her hair and tossed a strand across her face. “Don’t stop.” She breathed the words.

“Oh, Hayley,” he whispered—low, rough.

She looked into his eyes and found him gazing at her with a fierce energy in his eyes. His mouth slanted over hers. The gentle kissing became…more. His tongue slipped deep into her mouth while his hips rocked back and forth with an unmistakable carnality that echoed her own desire.

His hand found its way between them and caressed her breast, running his thumb over her beaded nipple. Through her flimsy tank top the sensation of his thumb
on the sensitive nub sent another surge of heat spiraling through her. Toes curled into the sand, a thought hit her.
This man is an expert at seducing women.

The thought shouldn’t have bothered her but somehow it intruded on the moment. She’d been with other men; she knew he’d been married. But some part of her wanted to be the only woman in his life. That was impossible. He still loved the wife he’d lost.

Suddenly, he pulled back, eyes blazing, masculine jaw clenched. He was breathing like a race horse—and so was she. He dropped his arms to his side and gazed out at the ocean. White ribbons of waves cascaded toward the shore.

“Let’s keep this professional,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Professional? She wanted to scream that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but pride kept her mouth shut. Somewhere in her muzzy brain came a single thought.
You’re in real danger. Now is no time for romance.

Not that this was romance, she assured herself. This was libido-driven. Sex pure and simple, the kind of encounter that she’d hate herself for in the morning. With a curt nod, she turned and walked back toward the house.

“P
AYBACK’S A BITCH
,”
the killer whispered. The morning paper did not mention one single thing about Hayley Fordham. Not even a tiny article on the back page.

Nothing. Nada.

What could be better? Gone but not forgotten—so the old saying went. In this case: Gone and forgotten. Who was going to miss Hayley? Well, maybe that ancient aunt of hers would cry over Hayley. Too damn bad. Meg Amboy was almost dead herself. After she was gone no one would remember Hayley.

Nothing could be more perfect. Wiping Hayley off the face of the earth had been the plan.

Mission accomplished.

The killer paused, thinking how often “mission accomplished” had been used to describe Hayley’s death. Well, it had been a mission of sorts. It had taken planning and precise execution, like a military operation. The bombing required bravery; not just anyone could obtain a bomb and install it properly. The goal had been accomplished.

“Maybe I’m just jumpy,” the killer whispered. “That must be it.” Still, using the term
mission accomplished
seemed premature. A lot of details remained to be resolved.

Well, you couldn’t think of everything. Getting rid of the hordes of investigators who stupidly thought this was some terrorist act or a drug deal gone bad was a problem that hadn’t been anticipated. The mission was
almost
accomplished.
Almost
. Now was the time for patience.
Don’t do anything to tip your hand.

T
RENT DIALED
his sister’s office number. Farah answered on the third ring. “Where’s your secretary?”

“She’s part-time now,” Farah answered in her usual clipped tone. She always tried to give the impression that he was interrupting something important. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing really,” Trent hedged as he rose to his feet and closed the door to his small home office. He was sure Courtney was downstairs listening to Timmy pound away on the piano. Lately, Trent felt someone was watching him, listening to his conversations. He never said anything incriminating over the telephone, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have sophisticated surveillance tracking him.

No doubt it was the FBI or Homeland Security who was after him. They were convinced the car bombing that killed Hayley was linked to a drug deal. And they were trying their best to implicate him.

“I’m listening,” Farah prompted.

“I spoke with the company attorney, Chad Bennett.” Trent deliberately used Chad’s full name and title. He didn’t want anyone listening to suspect how close they really were. “He says Hayley’s death will delay probate for about six weeks.”

“Which to bureaucrats means eight weeks,” Farah said with a huff of disgust. “Exactly what I told you.”

Farah sounded irritated that he would waste her time. She was so self-absorbed sometimes that Trent wanted to slap her. “I’m wondering if you know of a way to get a bridge loan of some kind until the probate is finished.”

“You’re strapped for cash.”

Her caustic tone made him lash out. “Don’t tell me you’re not. Why else would you have your secretary work part-time?”

The hollow silence lasted so long that Trent thought she’d hung up on him.

“You’re right,” she replied in a conciliatory tone that surprised him. “This economic downturn was unexpected and so devastating. I should have been more prepared.”

Trent was stunned that Farah would admit she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t her style. “Don’t businesses still need accountants?”

“Many do, but others can use computer software to manage their finances.” There was only the slightest hesitation before she added, “I could really use money, too.”

Now Trent was blown away. Farah, who always handled finances so well, now needed cash. He considered telling her to put that no-good bum of a boyfriend to work, but decided to quit while he was ahead.

“What about Mother?” He hated to bring up their mother. Cynthia Fordham had expected both her children to reject their father after the divorce. The court had granted him visitation rights, but Cynthia insisted this was just a formality.

Russell Fordham was no longer their father; Cynthia insisted she would be both parents now. Farah had followed their mother’s instructions. She dutifully visited her father, but she kept herself aloof, never engaging in activities her father loved.

Trent had tried—for a while—then found he loved skateboarding and surfing. And being at the beach with his father. He even befriended the little brat, Hayley, just to please his father.

His actions put distance between them. But one thing they agreed on was that Surf’s Up was rightfully Trent’s after his father retired. The girls had other interests while Trent lived for Surf’s Up, not attending college so he could learn the business.

“Don’t you dare ask Mother for money,” hissed Farah. “She’s broke.”

How could that be possible? Their mother had sold the family house before the real estate bust. She’d gotten a bundle for a crappy little house his father had bought just after they’d been married. “What did she do with the money from the house?”

“Beats me,” Farah said, her voice troubled. “She won’t say, but she’s lost all or most of it.”

“You’re kidding.” He couldn’t imagine his normally conservative mother risking the money that was to see her through retirement.

“We could get a loan based on the upcoming estate settlement, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“You’re right.” He knew she meant they should wait until this mess with Hayley blew over. Looking for a loan right now might serve as a red flag to investigators. His sister had always been smart—smarter than anyone in the family. Now was not the time to think he knew more than she did.

“Can’t you borrow against the company’s receivables?” she asked.

His stomach clenched like a boxer’s fist. “I already have.”

The silence on the other end of the line seemed to echo in his ear until she asked, “Can’t you borrow from one of your rich friends?”

“Probably,” he said, although he knew he’d never approach any of them. It would be far too embarrassing.

M
EG
A
MBOY
stared out the window of her suite gazing at the picturesque coastline. A cloudless blue sky domed over a sea gilded by midmorning sunlight. “Perhaps if you played bridge it would take your mind off things,” suggested Conrad from behind her where he sat in his wheelchair.

Meg stifled the urge to snap at him. After all, Conrad had persuaded his son to help her find out who murdered Hayley, and he patiently listened to her. “I can’t concentrate,” she told him, turning around. “My mind keeps going over…everything.”

“When Ryan called you yesterday, he said he was making some progress, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Meg admitted, “but he wouldn’t say what he found out.”

“He’s being cautious. Some leads don’t prove to be helpful. He’ll tell you the details when he has something definite.”

Meg nodded and managed a tight smile. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful but she wasn’t accustomed to waiting while others took the lead. It came from years of being in business for herself.

“It’s over a week since Hayley died,” Meg said. “Cases that aren’t solved within forty-eight hours are rarely solved.”

“Where did you hear that?” Conrad asked skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Meg admitted. “The television maybe.”

“That isn’t always a reliable source of information,” he responded quietly. “The best authorities in the country are working on this case.”

“I know, but I still think they’re barking up the wrong tree,” she said, echoing what she’d said many times, but if her mantra bored Conrad, he didn’t show it. “I don’t think this was related to drugs.”

“But you can’t be sure, can you? Hayley could have unwittingly become involved—”

“I’m not buying it.” Meg sank down onto the sofa next to Conrad’s wheelchair. “I think she was killed for her parents’ money.”

Conrad wheeled his chair around to face her, their knees touching. “Why now? It’s almost a year since Russ and Alison died.”

“The economy’s worse,” Meg pointed out. “I still believe one of the Fordhams—or all of them—were responsible for Hayley’s death.”

Meg couldn’t explain, but this was something she instinctively felt. Or was it an overactive imagination? Since Hayley’s death, Farah had been disgustingly solicitous. She’d called almost every day, sent flowers in an obvious attempt to ingratiate herself. Meg knew Farah was after her money. Fat chance. With Hayley gone, Meg planned to rewrite her will so charity would receive her fortune.

“What about Cynthia Fordham?” Conrad asked, breaking into her thoughts. “Ryan was going to see her.”

“I only met the woman once when I was at the house and she came to pick up the children after a weekend with their father. Cynthia was beautiful. Bitchy. Not that I blamed her.”

“What do you mean?”

Meg shrugged; she felt guilty speaking ill of the dead, but this was Conrad. She could be honest with him, her only friend. “I never approved of my little sister getting involved with a married man, breaking up a happy family. Cynthia hated my sister. I can’t blame her.”

“Did she hate Hayley, too? Enough to kill her?”

Meg paused; she’d asked herself the same question. “I’m sure she did resent Hayley living in a home on an exclusive island and being with Russell all the time. But enough to have her killed?” Meg stared down at her hands, which were spidered with blue veins. “Again, why would she wait until now?”

Conrad gave her a weak smile. “History is filled with mothers who were ambitious for their children and did whatever it took to put them in power.”

“From what I know of Cynthia, I doubt she could have done it herself.”

“But she might have hired someone,” Conrad suggested. “Ryan will find out. We have to rely on him.”

Meg nodded, although she disliked putting her faith in anyone. But what choice did she have?

R
YAN STARED AT THE
computer screen. His special program had been running all night long, reassembling the files in the trash bin on Alison Fordham’s computer. Most of the stuff was fairly mundane, items Alison undoubtedly trashed herself, but this document was different.

The data code indicated it had been scanned into Alison’s computer about fifteen months ago. Why had it been deleted? It would take another few minutes to see when it had been deleted. He thought he knew the answer but didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, especially when he was a bit hazy from lack of sleep.

It was just noon when he went downstairs to find Hayley. She was in the courtyard going over her mother’s files. He paused to watch her for a moment before she noticed him. He hadn’t seen her since last night but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about that kiss once or twice. Okay, okay—more than that. Memories of their kiss often interfered with his work. Too often.

Hayley had gripped his imagination from the moment he’d seen her picture. After actually meeting her, being with her, Ryan’s attraction to Hayley intensified. So why had he pulled back when
she’d
kissed him?

Blame it on a ghost. From the depths of his mind, an image of Jessica had appeared. His once stunningly beautiful wife racked by chemotherapy in a hospital bed waiting to die. The memory had forced him to pull away. Recalling such suffering, how could he make love to another woman?

“I’m not finding much,” Hayley said as he forced himself to approach her. “What about you?”

Chill,
he reminded himself.
Play along.
Apparently she’s forgotten last night or she’s ignoring what happened. He sat in the chair opposite Hayley, the sheaf of computer-generated papers in his hand. “I discovered something.”

“Really,” she replied, her tone so pleased that he felt even more reluctant to deliver the bad news.

“Your mother scanned in a document two months before she died. It had been sent to the trash bin.”

“What was it? She must have had a good reason for deleting it.” A note of anxiety accompanied each word.

“She didn’t delete it.” Ryan heard the ominous undercurrent in his own voice. “Someone else did—the day after she died.”

“Someone tampered with her computer?” Her voice shot up an octave. “What did they destroy?”

Ryan paused and considered his next words carefully. “A signed copy of the trust she and your father had set up.”

Her mouth, usually so full and sexy, crimped into a taut, unyielding line. “There was a trust? They couldn’t have used Chad—”

“They did. It’s on his firm’s letterhead and his signature is there along with a witness, Sylvia Morrow, who was also the notary.”

“She’s a secretary in Chad’s office. Sylvia has been around for a long time. Chad’s father, who died several years ago, hired her.” She paused, then added, “Chad couldn’t have known. Destroying trust documents would violate his professional ethics and—” Hayley’s mouth snapped shut as if she realized how naive she sounded. “Ethical attorneys. An oxymoron, right?”

It was a rhetorical question so Ryan didn’t answer.

Her tone became as matter-of-fact as if she were discussing the weather. “What happened to the copy Mom scanned? It should have been in her files.”

“I suspect it was removed when they erased the copy from her computer.”

“They?”

“It could have been just one person,” Ryan told her, “but Bennett had to know about it. Another copy of the trust has to have been on file in his office. Either Farah or Trent persuaded him to keep his mouth shut. Otherwise he would have come forward to avert probate proceedings.”

Hayley’s face still revealed no emotion, no hint of her inner thoughts. “What was in it that they didn’t want known?”

Wondering how she would respond, he quickly drew a breath. “Your parents left you Surf’s Up. They split the proceeds of their other property between Farah and Trent.”

“Oh, my God,” cried Hayley, clearly devastated by the news. It took another minute before she added, “That would have given me two-thirds of the total estate.”

“Right. By destroying all traces of the trust, a probate court would have leveled the playing field by splitting the estate equally among the three of you.” He proceeded to state the obvious. “But someone, or both of them, wanted…more.”