Shattered (27 page)

"Hey, he and I go way back. And he knows I've got an interest in this."

"Did he happen to mention that I seem to be his chief suspect?" Scott smiled. It was a small, wry, barely there kind of smile that curled his lips and narrowed his eyes and was sexy as hell. Her response to it was immediate and visceral.

He
is
hot,
she thought. Then,
Damn Nola, anyway.

"He did mention something about that, yeah. Then I reminded him that you were the one person in that house who almost didn't make it out alive, and he seemed to see the point I was making: If you were going to burn your house down for money, you would have made damn sure you weren't in it at the time."

"Very true. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Remembering how much she really didn't like him at the moment, she gave him a disagreeable look. "Is there something else you wanted? Because if not, I really do need to get back to work. I'd like to get out of here by at least, say, midnight."

"Actually, there is." If he caught the sarcasm--and she knew he did--he gave no sign of it. "You have plans tonight?"

At that, her hands tightened around the arms of her chair. Her eyes locked on his. For a minute there, she almost thought he meant it. Then she knew he did not.

"I hope that's not a prelude to you trying to ask me out to dinner or something, because if it is, the answer's no." Her tone was deliberately flippant. To mask her disappointment? God, she hoped not.

"You must have forgotten my rule: I don't date people who work for me, remember?" As her eyes flared at him, he smiled. "I just wanted to remind you to be careful. Get inside before dark. Don't go into deserted areas by yourself, that kind of thing."

"Don't worry, I'll keep Joel with me at all times."

He didn't take the bait. "You do that." A tiny sound from the direction of his pocket had him digging his phone out and glancing down at what she was pretty sure was a text message before he looked at her again. "I've got to go. I'm driving my dad down to a rehab center in Nashville. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Oh." Some of her annoyance at him was replaced by concern. That would be a difficult trip, she knew. "I hope everything goes all right."

"Yeah." He gave her a look. "You keep that fire in mind, you hear? Don't do anything too stupid."

Then he turned and began to walk away.

As she started to get mad all over again at the implication in his words, Lisa realized that the real reason he'd sought her out was not to get Nola's phone number at all. That had been merely a tease, entered into because he knew her well enough to be sure it would get a rise out of her. He'd come to her here in the common room, where he'd never approached her before, because he wanted to let her know he was going to be gone and he was concerned for her safety. As she absorbed the truth of that, she felt the hard little knot of what she had steadfastly refused to admit was jealousy that had been there in her chest since lunch ease a little.

"Jackass," she said to his retreating back. It was a name she'd called him dozens of times over the years. At least this time her tone was mild.

He stopped, pivoted, and looked at her without saying anything for a moment. Then he gave her another wry little smile, lifted a hand in farewell, turned, and left.

"Lisa?" No sooner was Scott out of sight than Gemmel appeared in her doorway, refocusing Lisa's attention in a hurry.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Jantzen breathed, materializing behind Gemmel and looking wide-eyed at Lisa over Gemmel's shoulder.

Lisa frowned. "Yes, of course."

Glancing almost furtively in the direction in which Scott had disappeared as if to make sure he was really gone, Gemmel stepped into her cubicle. Jantzen was right behind her.

"Did you just call Buchanan a
jackass
?" Gemmel regarded her with something that looked very much like awe.

Oh, God,
Lisa thought. When she'd said it she'd forgotten that she might be overheard. She didn't reply, just looked at Gemmel in consternation. Admitting to having called the boss a jackass was probably not something she wanted to do. The story would fly around the office, and it would focus attention on the relationship between Scott and herself, which would benefit neither of them. Behind Gemmel, other curious coworkers appeared, one after the other, until it seemed as though half the office was crowded into her cubicle, staring at her.

"Balls of
steel,
" Gemmel crowed in approval, apparently taking her silence for assent.

"She called Buchanan a jackass."

"Did he fire her?"

"What did he say?"

"What did he do to make her call him that, is what I want to know."

"New girl
rocks.
"

"Not for long, I imagine."

Her coworkers were, for the most part, talking to one another rather than her while eyeing her with the kind of horrified fascination they might have shown for a two-headed calf.

"Tell us
everything.
" Jantzen was wide-eyed.

"There's nothing to tell." Lisa looked at her associates waiting eagerly for the dirt on the conversation, sighed, and did the only thing she could do under the circumstances: She lied. "It was a joke, okay? I called him that as a
joke.
He knew that and was fine with it."

Not that she thought
any of them really believed her denial, but at least she had done the best she could, she reflected, as she drove out of the parking lot shortly after eight o'clock. She was dead tired, hungry, and less than happy about the prospect of her upcoming Fourth of July double date. Friday-night traffic was heavy--there was a Heart concert at the downtown stadium--and she was dealing with the stop and go of Nicholasville Road on her way to the hospital when the memory of Barty's odd reaction to Katrina changed her mind. Something about the doll had shaken him badly, she was sure. Katrina was in her trunk, and Barty knew it. How hard would it be to break into her trunk and steal the doll while her car was parked overnight in the dark and shadowy hospital parking lot?

Not hard, was the answer.

Therefore, just to be on the safe side, she stopped by the hotel, emptied one of the boxes, put Katrina rather gingerly into it, and carried her up to her room for safekeeping. Barty--or more likely, someone working for Barty--might dare to break into a car trunk. Breaking into a hotel room in the teeth of security and the ubiquitous surveillance cameras was a whole different proposition. Anyway, he would have no idea where the doll was, so having tucked her, still in the box, into the darkest corner of the closet, Lisa was satisfied that Katrina would be safe. While she was in the room, she took a quick shower and changed into clothes suitable for sleeping over at the hospital, then carried in the things Nola had given her. Since the one box she'd piled everything into was brimming over, she quickly hung them all up. The clothes were beautiful, brighter and slinkier than she was used to but still relatively subdued, considering that they were Nola's. Three pairs of sky-high heels, one black, one nude, and one a deep scarlet that exactly matched a particularly gorgeous scarlet silk dress, and some funky costume jewelry--Nola loved piling on jewelry--completed the offering. She hurried, conscious of the clock ticking away the minutes until nightfall, but still everything took longer than she'd thought it would, and by the time she left the hotel, it was starting to get dark. A luminous orange line on the western horizon was all that remained of the sun. The sky was purpling. One or two stars had already popped into view.

Get inside before dark.
She could almost hear Scott's voice echoing in her head. The unsettling thing was, just the thought of being outside at night made her pulse speed up.

If the fire really was arson, and she and her mother, the only ones who stood to benefit from the insurance money, weren't guilty, then what could the motive have been other than the file?

There
were
other possible motives. Such as a neighbor who coveted their property trying to burn them out, as Watson had suggested. Or maybe a developer--several developers had contacted her mother about selling over the years--hoping to make his next offer easier to say yes to. Or maybe one of the painters had stolen something and had set the fire to cover up the theft. Or in a pinch, there was always your typical unfriendly-neighborhood-arsonist theory.

Now that she'd gotten started, she could go on in this vein for days, which, she discovered, was actually kind of reassuring.

If the file was the motive, then the whole scenario, from the list of possible suspects to what the guilty party was trying to cover up, became too awful to think about.

One thing stood out in her mind, though: the way Barty had reacted to Katrina.

She couldn't force her brain around what that might mean. She was too tired, too anxious, and too hungry.

That last, at least, was easy to remedy.

Because she was sick of hospital food, she pulled into a McDonald's drive-thru a couple of blocks from the hospital. She was already drinking her Diet Coke and eating her Filet-O-Fish as she waited at the exit to rejoin the flow of traffic. It was twilight now, and headlights slashed past in both directions, making it seem even darker than it was.

Probably that was why she noticed the white Ford Explorer: It didn't have its lights on yet. As she pulled out, she spotted it in her rearview mirror and frowned. Then her eyes widened. She couldn't be positive, but she was almost sure that the same vehicle had been parked in the hotel parking lot not far from where she had been busy emptying the Jaguar's trunk.

She wouldn't have noticed it then, except that she'd kept getting the creepy feeling that she was being watched. After glancing around and seeing no one except a few perfectly innocent-looking people coming into and out of the hotel, she'd let her eyes wander over the surrounding vehicles, of which the Explorer had been one.

The only one with tinted windows, which meant she hadn't been able to see inside.

Edgy as she was, that had been enough to make her take notice of the license plate: DFY 347.

Stopping for the last red light just before she was to turn into the hospital parking lot, Lisa craned her neck in an attempt to get a look at this Explorer's license plate. It was several cars behind her. She couldn't see. . . .

The light turned green, and she had to go into the hospital parking lot. Slowing immediately, she watched through her rearview mirror to see what the Explorer would do.

Staying with the flow of traffic, it drove on past. But she did get a glimpse of the license plate. Not enough to see it all. From her angle, only the last two numbers were visible.

Forty-seven. What were the chances that there were two white Ford Explorers in the vicinity with license plates bearing the same last two numbers? Slim and none, she thought. It had to be the same vehicle.

At the realization, her pulse kicked into overdrive and an icy shiver raced over her skin.

Then she saw the Explorer turn into the next hospital entrance just a little way up the street, and her heart practically leaped out of her chest.

20

Fighting a burst of panic,
Lisa swiftly parked in one of the spots reserved for emergency-room visitors--it was within fifty feet of an entrance and bathed in light--and ran inside. Once the sliding glass doors closed behind her and the noise and activity of the crowded waiting room swallowed her up, she felt safer and slowed to a walk. Glancing compulsively behind her as she headed for the elevator bank at the end of the hall, where, thank goodness, at least a dozen people were waiting, she saw no one suspicious. Gradually her heart ceased its frightened thudding. Her breathing normalized.

But for the first time, the idea that she might be in danger felt real.

I should call the police.
That was the thought at the forefront of her mind as she rode up to her mother's room on the fourth floor, but she already knew she wasn't ready to do that. Why? For the same reason she didn't tell Watson about the file.

If her resemblance to the Garcias meant something, she wanted to be the one to figure it out before deciding what to do.

Andy was in her mother's room. The two of them were watching a tennis match with the ease of the old friends they were. Martha, who was clutching the remote, turned the volume down at Lisa's entrance, while Andy got to his feet.

"Hello, Mother. Andy." With a quick smile for the pair of them, she immediately looked toward the window. The blinds were open. Given that the room was brightly lit, anyone looking up from the parking lot below should be able to see in. The thought made her shiver.

"Lisa," Andy greeted her with a nod. Under the guise of hugging him, which she did, a quick hug that was warmly returned, she moved around the bed to where he stood beside the window and looked out. The yellowish glow of the security lights lit up the parking lot in sections. It was nearly full, with a number of vehicles circling in search of a space. All she could really see of any of them were their headlights; the vehicles themselves were impossible to identify. It didn't matter. When Andy released her, she moved the step or two past him needed to reach the window and unobtrusively closed the blinds.

Neither he nor her mother seemed to find anything to question in that.

You're safe now,
she told herself in an attempt to quiet her jittery heart, and vowed not to leave the hospital again that night. She immediately squelched an urge to call Scott and tell him what had happened.
Nothing
had happened, she reminded herself, except that a white SUV had been in two of the same places she had been. Following her? Possibly. Just as possibly not.

Calm down.
The last thing she wanted to do was upset her mother.
I'll look up the license plate number later.

"I used to--love tennis," Martha said wistfully as Lisa, doing her best to put the incident out of her mind for the time being, dropped a quick kiss on her thin cheek.