Protecting Peggy (13 page)

He shook hands with Joe. “I think I'll drive around awhile and see if I have any luck finding O'Connell. I can use the fresh air.”

 

After he left Ruby's diner, Rory drove through the dark, rolling California countryside that bordered Pros
perino. Five miles out of town, his cell phone rang. It was Blake, checking in to advise he had found no sign of O'Connell or of Peggy's station wagon anywhere on Hopechest Ranch. On impulse, Rory steered his car north on the coastal highway. By then, the rain had moved out across the ocean; he rolled down his window and listened to the angry, churning surf beat against the cliffs while cool, salty air flowed around him.

The search for O'Connell was a dead end. Not a surprise. Rory knew, without his having any idea of the EPA inspector's destination, that finding the man by chance would take a miracle.

At three o'clock in the morning, Rory pulled into the lot at the side of Honeywell House. O'Connell's rental was the only other car there. In the distance, the greenhouse squatted in the inky shadows.

The deep-seated instinct Rory had always trusted told him that something had happened to the man. Otherwise, he wouldn't have purposely disappeared. If O'Connell did have his own agenda concerning the water contamination, it made no sense for him to call attention to himself by keeping Peggy's car past the agreed time. The man wasn't stupid—he
had
to know that the cops would be looking for the station wagon by now. On the other hand, if O'Connell was on the up-and-up and got delayed by car trouble or something similar, he would have called and let Peggy know.

If he was able to call, that is.

Rory got out of his car and headed up the inn's cobblestone walk. While he walked, his mind worked,
step by meticulous step, to expand the theory he'd formulated over the past hours. Whatever trouble O'Connell had stumbled into, he'd gotten there in Peggy's station wagon. That connected whatever was going on to Peggy…and Samantha. Rory didn't feel like standing around, waiting to see if that trouble found its way to Honeywell House.

He unlocked the front door, stepped into the still, silent foyer. The same lamp that had been lit hours before glowed a weak, welcoming light. As always, the air held the inviting scents of lavender, cinnamon and vanilla. Peggy's scent.

His gaze shifted toward the study, lit in silver light and shadows. The fire was out. Peggy no longer curled on the couch. He closed his eyes. Hours had passed since he'd held her, touched her, yet his desire for her had not lessened. With the inn huddled around him like a warm, soft blanket, he realized he felt a kind of wanting he had never before experienced.

“Get over it,” he muttered.

Just because he wanted her naked beneath him, shuddering and helpless didn't mean that was ever going to happen. Especially now, after what he had told her about himself. He was a man with secrets, one who had allowed her to know him only on the surface, one who had no intention of staying after his job was done. He represented everything she didn't want.

As if to rid himself of the thought, he moved his shoulders with a quick, restless jerk. It was late. He had one round of business to take care of before he went to bed.

He took the stairs up to his third-floor room,
stripped off his leather jacket, tossed it on the bed, then opened his field kit. He retrieved his Polaroid camera and the small, FBI-issued Kel light.

Silently, he retraced his steps along the lighted hallway and down the staircase to the second floor. As he walked, he slung the Polaroid's strap over his shoulder, then pulled a credit card from his billfold. The inn was old; the locks were the kind set into the doorknobs instead of more secure dead bolts. When he reached the door that displayed the brass 2, Rory slid the thin plastic card between the door and the jamb. In a matter of seconds, he was inside O'Connell's dark room where the faint scent of lilacs hung in the air.

Kade Lummus and Peggy had already checked to make sure O'Connell's personal property was still there. Rory knew that the cop would have conducted only a cursory search. Since he wasn't privy to Blake's suspicions about O'Connell, Lummus had no reason to suspect the man's extended absence was due to anything other than his being a jerk.

Rory's sixth sense told him different.

He swept the Kel light around the room, its beam throwing his shadow in every direction. His mouth curved when he saw that the room had the same layout as his, which made it easier to get around with only the Kel light's narrow beam. He moved soundlessly to the window, unlocked it, then eased it up. The room looked out over the parking lot. If O'Connell—or anyone else—drove up, Rory would hear the car's engine.

Turning, he crossed to the chest of drawers. Gas-station charge slips, cash-register receipts, a couple of paper clips and a few pennies were scattered across
the top. Clamping the Kel light in his mouth like a cigar, he lined up the charge slips, aimed the Polaroid and snapped two pictures in quick succession. The camera's flash was a sudden, blinding strobe of light in the dark room. He repeated the process with the receipts. Rory knew the locations on the receipts and charge slips would at least give him a starting point at which to backtrack O'Connell's movements.

Rory returned the papers to their original disarray. That done, he quickly looked through the drawers, but found only clothing.

He moved to the closet, pulled open the door, patted down the shirts and jackets hanging inside, checked the pockets. Nothing. He crouched, scanned the bottom of the closet. He shook the pair of shoes sitting there, slid his fingers inside each shoe to make sure nothing was hidden inside.

He rose, closed the closet door with a soft snap, then crossed to the bed. A phone number with an area code Rory didn't recognize had been scribbled in red ink on the pad of paper beside the telephone. He shot a photo of the number.

Leaning, he lifted one edge of the bedspread and pushed his arm between the mattress and box springs. Nothing hidden there. He straightened the spread, then walked into the bathroom. There, he poked through the shaving kit sitting beside the sink. Nothing unexpected.

Returning to the bedroom, Rory eased out a breath. Unless the phone number, receipts or gas-station charge slips led somewhere, he had just wasted his time. He moved to the window, lowered it, then se
cured the lock. One last sweep of the Kel light's beam assured him he had left the room in the same condition as when he'd entered.

Back in the lighted hallway, Rory walked to the staircase, then hesitated. Instead of taking the stairs up to his room, he stashed the camera behind a potted palm and headed downstairs.

He walked through the foyer, checked the front door to make sure he had locked it behind him. From there, he strode into the study, then headed toward the rear of the inn.

The kitchen was dark. The refrigerator's soft hum filled the air that held a vague, spicy scent. He tried the knob on the back door, found it locked and secure. Silently, he walked to the entrance of the dark hallway that led to Peggy and Samantha's rooms, paused there.

Something inside his chest tightened and he felt a pull to both the woman and the child. To the inn. For the first time in his adult memory he didn't know what he wanted himself. For himself.

Immediately, he quelled the feeling. Jaw set, he turned, walked away. Those thoughts were too new, too confusing to try to make sense of. Maybe after he finished the job he had come here to do, he would consider those feelings. Try to sort them out. Deal with them.

Now wasn't the time.

“M
omma, you're sure you won't forget to take my sleeping bag to Gracie's while I'm at school? 'N' my backpack, too?”

“I'm not likely to forget,” Peggy said as Samantha squirmed beside her on the couch in the sitting area just off their bedrooms. “You've already reminded me twenty times this morning that I need to drop off your things at Gracie's house. Now hold still so I can finish braiding your hair.”

“Be sure 'n' get my art kit, too. It's in the car.”

“Yes, I know.”

If only Mr. O'Connell had brought back the car. Peggy frowned as she put the finishing touches on the neat French braid that subdued Samantha's dark gypsy curls. She had hoped that when she got up this morning, her station wagon would be parked in the lot near
the back door. It wasn't. She had taken her passkey and checked Charlie O'Connell's room, just to make sure he hadn't gotten a ride back to the inn sometime during the night. He hadn't. As much as she disliked the man, she couldn't help but fear that something bad had happened to him. And to her station wagon.

Samantha fidgeted around to face her. “Be sure Bugs and Bugsy are still in my backpack.”

“Enough, Samantha. I promise you your things will get to Gracie's house in time for tonight's slumber party. Now, change the subject.”

Samantha's lower lip poked out and she expelled a huff. “Soooorrry.” She gazed up through a fan of impossibly thick, dark lashes. “Are you mad at me, Momma?”

Peggy put a hand to her right temple where a drum was beginning to beat. Her missing station wagon wasn't the only reason for her strained temper. With her system churning from last night's encounter with Rory, she had gotten very little sleep. It was no wonder. First, she had thrown herself at him. He'd fended off her advances while outlining the reasons she shouldn't want him. Then he'd shifted gears, telling her
he
wanted
her,
and had left the decision up to her of whether they would ever make love.

Heaven knew she wanted to. Just thinking about the feel of his hands on her flesh, the way his mouth fit so perfectly against hers sent heat surging into her belly. She just didn't know if sleeping with him was the right thing to do. No matter what they shared, no matter what happened during their time together, he
would leave. Walk away. She knew she couldn't watch him go and feel nothing.

That cold realization had kept her awake most of the night. She hadn't tossed and turned so much as lain, staring up at the ceiling. Logic told her she should pass on stepping into intimacy with him, reminded her that he wasn't a man she could have for keeps. It was the stirring in her heart that pulled her to him.

“Momma?”

With the thin, slatted window blinds half-open, the first sunlight the region had seen in weeks flooded into the room, illuminating Samantha's pixie face.

“No, sweetheart, I'm not mad at you.” Peggy dropped a kiss on her daughter's pouty lips. “I just have a lot of things on my mind.” Smiling, she skimmed her knuckles against a baby-soft cheek. “One of those things is making sure you don't miss the van to preschool.”

“But I never miss the van.”

“True.” Peggy snagged the traffic-stopping red bow that matched Samantha's corduroy jumper off the coffee table in front of the couch. Without her station wagon, there was no way she could manage to get Samantha to preschool on time if she missed the van. “I don't want today to be a first.” With the ease of experience, Peggy deftly secured the bow at the base of the braid.

Just then, a light rap sounded on the door that led to the hallway.

“I'll get it!” Sliding off the couch, Samantha dashed to the door, pulled it open. She beamed a smile
as sweet as the sunshine glowing outside the windows. “Mr. Rory!”

“Good morning, angel-face.” Smiling, he tweaked her nose, then shifted his killer-blue gaze to Peggy. “Morning, Ireland.”

“Good morning.” Just the sight of him tightened her throat. He was wearing a houndstooth-check shirt, khaki slacks and loafers. The neck of the shirt was unbuttoned. At the V below his throat, she saw the beginnings of dark chest hairs. She remembered the look of that hard-planed chest, the muscled shoulders. Her fingers curled against an itch to touch; the drumming in her heart matched the rhythm in her temple.

“I'm sorry to interrupt.” His gaze flicked down to Samantha, then back up. “I checked the lot and wondered if you got a call during the night from anyone?”

“No, I haven't heard a word. Nothing.”

“Mr. Rory, guess where I get to go tonight?” Samantha slipped her small hand into his and tugged him a few steps into the room. “Guess!”

He bent down, an expression of deep concentration on his face. “Hmm, let me think. To the carrot patch with Bugs and Bugsy?”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “No, to Gracie's. It's her birthday.” Excitement had her bouncing on her heels. “We're gonna see a movie 'n' eat pizza 'n' stay up all night.”

“Wow, all night?”

“Yeah, Momma said I could. But I have to have Bugs and Bugsy in bed by eleven.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Momma's gonna bring my sleeping bag 'n' backpack to Gracie's. 'N' my art kit, too. It's in the car.”

Rory flicked Peggy a look over Samantha's shoulder. “Sounds like you'll have everything you need for a night away from home.”

“Yeah. 'N' when I have my birthday in May, I get to have a slumber party, too. Momma promised.”

“Then I guess you'll have one.”

From outside came two short, sharp blasts of a horn.

Peggy laid Samantha's hairbrush aside and rose off the couch. “That's the van for preschool.”

“Bye, Mr. Rory!”

When Samantha lunged into Rory's arms and hugged his neck, Peggy closed her eyes.
She
wasn't going to be the only person dealing with disappointment when he left Prosperino.

“Bye, angel-face.”

Samantha raced down the hallway into the kitchen, Peggy following. Although Rory moved with his usual ghostlike silence, she sensed him trailing behind her. She glanced across her shoulder, saw she was right.

“Help yourself to some coffee,” she told him as she bundled Samantha into her powder-blue thermal jacket. “The mugs are by the coffeemaker.”

“Thanks.”

She ushered Samantha out the back door. “Have a good time tonight. I love you,” Peggy added as her daughter sprang down the porch steps with the easy grace of youth.

“Love you, too!”

Peggy waited until the van disappeared down the road, then walked back inside, closing the kitchen door
behind her. Rory leaned one hip against the center island while he sipped from a mug of steaming coffee. He looked so at home, she thought. Like he belonged.

She shook her head. He didn't belong, she reminded herself. Didn't
want
to belong.

“Samantha is a ball of energy,” he observed. “Do you ever have trouble keeping up?”

“Sometimes it's a challenge.” She smiled. “But never a hardship. Samantha is the best thing in my life.”

“She's beautiful, Ireland,” he said, his voice quiet and soft. “Except for the eye color, she looks just like you.”

“Thanks.” Peggy slid her palms down the front of her black slacks. “I'm sorry I don't have breakfast ready. This is the first time in days that you haven't left the inn before dawn.”

“It's my fault for not telling you I'd be here. I don't need to go into the lab today. I have some things to check out around town this morning.” He sipped his coffee, his blue eyes tracking her over the mug's rim as she moved to the side of the island opposite him. “Have you called Lummus yet to let him know O'Connell hasn't made it back?”

“No, I wanted to get Samantha off first.”

“I'll call him if you want me to.”

“Yes, please.” Her forehead creased. “I've been thinking about how Mr. O'Connell acted when he asked to borrow the station wagon.”

“And?”

“I saw nothing in his demeanor that made me think
he wouldn't have it back on time. I'm afraid something has happened to him. Something bad.”

“I think so, too. It's just a feeling, but I can't shake it.”

“How late did you stay out last night looking for him?”

“Make that this morning. I got back here around three.”

With the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows she saw the lines of fatigue at the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry you lost sleep on account of one of my other guests.”

“O'Connell wasn't the only reason,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “I needed some fresh air, too.”

The muscles in her stomach tightened so quickly that she nearly winced. “I know.”

She didn't need a reminder of what had happened between them last night. Or, to be more exact, what
hadn't
happened. As it was, every nerve in her body was in a scrambling process that came from being in the same room with the man.

She turned to the refrigerator, its door awash with Samantha's crayon drawings. “How does caramel apple French toast sound?” she asked over her shoulder. “With a side of bacon?”

“Like heaven.” He walked to the coffeemaker, refilled his mug. “Do you know how many men in this town rave about the desserts you bake?”

“Actually, they're my grandmother's desserts,” Peggy said across her shoulder as she pulled items out of the refrigerator. “Nearly all the recipes I use are Gran's. I inherited them, along with the inn.” With
her arms cradling a carton of eggs, milk, a package of bacon and the container that held her homemade caramel apple topping, Peggy used a hip to shove the door closed. “You might rave, too, if you ever let me keep my end of our bargain and make you dessert.”

“Speaking of that, I tested the inn's water before I came down this morning. It's still fine.”

“Good. That's good to hear.”

“Do you have a straight-line number to the police station for Lummus?”

Peggy blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Yes.” She pulled a heavy mixing bowl from under the island. “It's on a card in the drawer nearest the phone.”

While Rory placed the call, she put the topping on to heat and laid slices of bacon in a skillet. That done, she pulled a loaf of fresh-baked bread from the storage bin and began slicing off thick pieces. In minutes, the kitchen warmed with the scents of baking.

After ending his call, Rory slid onto one of the long-legged stools at the island. “Lummus will have dispatch broadcast your station wagon as stolen. That way, it'll go into the nationwide computer. If a cop anywhere in the country stops the car and runs it, he'll get a hit. You should call your insurance company and let them know what's going on.”

“You're right. I'll do that as soon as I'm finished here.”

“Lummus is also upgrading O'Connell's status to wanted-in-questioning-for-auto-theft. That way, if he gets stopped, the cops can do more than question him.
They can hold him. The fact that he's a missing person isn't against the law.”

Peggy wrinkled her brow. “I hope he doesn't get upgraded to anything worse.”

“Me, either. When he checked into the inn, you had O'Connell fill out a registration card, right?”

Nodding, she used a long fork to nudge the bacon strips around the skillet. “Yes. The same type of card you filled out.”

“Lummus asked me to call him back and give him the home address O'Connell listed. And the phone number for his office.”

“I'll get the card for you.”

“You're busy. If you'll tell me where it is, I'll get it.”

“In the registration desk. Top left-hand drawer.”

Instead of heading that way, Rory rested his forearms on the island and leaned in.

“Something else?” she asked.

“Yes. I'm wondering about Samantha's things for the slumber party.”

“What about them?”

“How do you plan to get them to Gracie's house?”

Peggy blew out a breath. “I have that all worked out. The town mechanic keeps a loaner car at his garage for when someone has to leave their car for repair and they don't have access to another one. I'm going to call him as soon as he opens and see if I can rent the loaner.”

“You could hold off on doing that for a couple of days. Like I said, I have some places I need to go this morning, but I should be back early this afternoon. I
plan to shut myself in my room and catch up on paperwork the rest of the day. While I'm doing that, you can use my rental car.”

“I appreciate that.” She paused. “I have other errands I have to run, too. And the marketing to do.”

Rory glanced at the bowl of batter in which she was whisking eggs and milk into a froth. A smile crept around his mouth. “I'm the last person who wants you to run out of food. If you can manage to get away from here for a while early in the morning, you can drive me to the airport and drop me off. That way you'll have the car all day tomorrow, too. I can call and let you know when you need to be back at the airport to pick me up.”

“Thanks.” She moved the bacon from the skillet to a platter, then slid it into the warming drawer. “Your sharing your car with me is a lot of trouble for you.”

“O'Connell taking your station wagon has caused you trouble. I'm trying to even things out.” He slid off the stool. “I'll get his registration card and give Lummus a call back.”

“Okay.” A lump formed in Peggy's throat as she watched Rory walk out the door then disappear down the hallway. She could no longer deny that, in her entire life, she had never wanted a man so badly. Not even Jay.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. What, she wondered, was she going to do about Rory Sinclair?