She Can Kill (She Can Series) (12 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sarah crossed the street and sat down on a bench in front of the coffee
shop. Pretending to look at her phone screen, she scanned the side
walk over her sunglasses. The man had stopped in front of the small
grocery store and was examining the specials listed on the blackboard out front. Enough foot traffic passed in and out of the café to give Sarah a sense of safety. Pulling out her phone, she yanked off a glove, dialed Mike, and described the man following her.

The police station was only a few blocks away. A few minutes later, Mike’s dark SUV pulled to the curb next to the man. Mike got out, his burly body in full uniform. He spoke to the man, who pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket for Mike’s scrutiny. Mike handed it back. Hand on his hips, he spoke to the man for a minute, then got back in his police vehicle and drove to the coffee shop. He parked at the curb and got out.

Sarah stood, her gaze drifting to the stranger heading in the opposite direction. “Who is he?”

“A private investigator. He wouldn’t say who hired him, but he didn’t deny it was Troy either.” Mike said. “What’s been going on with the divorce?”

“The divorce is final.” Sarah told him about the scene at the hospital the night before. “But Troy says he wants me back.”

“Em’s all right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“There’s no chance Troy hit her, right?”

Sarah shook her head. “No. The incident was recorded on the store surveillance camera. Troy submitted the tape this morning at the request of my attorney. She fell. In my opinion, he was negligent, but he claims she was never out of his sight. He just couldn’t get to her quickly enough.”

“Which could happen to anybody.” Mike scratched his jaw, his ruddy complexion reddening in the cold. “It sounds to me like Troy is looking for some leverage.”

“Leverage? For what?”

“Something to show you’re not a fit mother or something to prove you were cheating on him would be my top guesses.”

“But why? I don’t understand. We’re divorced. He has regular visitation.”

“I can think of two reasons,” Mike said. “The first is obvious. If he gets custody, he doesn’t have to pay child support.”

“I’m sure that’s part of it.”

“The second is because he wants you,” Mike said. “He is using your love for the children to manipulate you.” Mike’s voice was deep and his blue eyes glittered with anger. “He said he wants you back, right?”

“Yes, but we all know he doesn’t love me.”

“Love isn’t the issue.” Mike shook his head. “He wants you in the same way he wants a shiny new truck. You were his possession and now you’re not. You dumped him, and he isn’t a good loser.”

“No. He isn’t.” Sarah remembered Troy’s fits of temper whenever he’d lost a baseball game or struck out at bat. “I thought he was just being spiteful.”

“Think about it this way. When you were married, he had money. His family had a successful business and was respected in the community. After your clash last fall, you left him, and his life imploded.”

“None of that was my fault.”

“I know, but don’t underestimate him, Sarah. He’s not the sort of man who can lose with grace. He’ll do anything to win. That type of man is dangerous when he has something to prove, and if he thinks he’s in competition with Cristan Rojas, he’s going to take that badly.”

Sarah looked down the quiet street. Pretty shops. Not much traffic. Westbury was wholesome and quaint. She’d never wanted to live anywhere else, but now her hometown felt like a trap.

Mike sighed. “I can’t stop that guy from observing you on a public street. He left because following you when you know he’s there doesn’t do him much good. Most PIs won’t bother to follow you if you’re forewarned. But watch yourself, Sarah. Ordinary things can look bad when taken out of context.”

“But I don’t
do
anything.” Anger and frustration welled in Sarah’s chest. “I go to work. I take care of the girls. I visit Rachel. That’s about it.”

“I know.” But Mike looked worried. “Troy hired a private investigator. He’s serious, and I wish I knew exactly what he was up to. Is there anything going on between you and Cristan Rojas?”

Sarah felt the blush in her cheeks. “No.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but how did he happen to be at your house last night to drive you to the hospital?”

“Lucia was supposed to babysit for me. Cristan was dropping her off when Em got sick.” Sarah rubbed her head. “This is my fault. I should have driven myself, but I was worried about Emma.”

“Sarah, this is not your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Mike hesitated.

“But?” she prompted.

“But I wonder if that PI is also following Cristan. I don’t know much about his personal life.”

Neither did she. “I should call him and let him know.”

“I’ll do it,” Mike said. “I want to find out more about him.”

“I know you want to protect me, and that’s very sweet of you. But Troy is my responsibility. I got myself into this situation, and I have to get myself out. I should be the one to tell Cristan.”

“OK. I still might talk to Cristan.” Mike held up a hand. “Your divorce is your responsibility, but this town is mine. I need to know about anything that might cause trouble.”

“Thanks for coming, Mike.”

“Call me anytime. I mean it. Be careful, Sarah.” Mike got back into his SUV and drove away.

Sarah hurried back to the restaurant. A busboy carted dishes from the dining room to the sinks. Jacob was already in the kitchen, chopping carrots for soup—something Sarah was supposed to be doing. Typically, they spent fifteen minutes going over changes to the menu. She’d missed their daily meeting.

He pointed at her with his knife. His precision haircut and lean features sharpened his expression. “You’re late.”

Guilt flooded Sarah with heat. “I know. I’m sorry. I won’t leave before I finish.”

His blue eyes snapped to hers. “The kitchen doesn’t run itself.”

Offering an excuse sounded irresponsible. “It won’t happen again.”

She washed her hands and tied a clean apron around her waist. Grabbing a knife, she went to work on a pile of onions. Busy hands always helped calm her mind. But she couldn’t stop wondering how long that investigator had been following her. Humiliation ebbed in her throat at the thought of a file filled with notes and photographs detailing her movements, scrutinizing her behavior, and documenting her whereabouts. Her eyes watered. The invasion of her privacy made her feel even more vulnerable.

The sound of blades hitting wood filled the kitchen. Jacob issued orders to the evening staff members as they arrived. Tables were set, dishes and utensils inspected, the special board updated.

Jacob scanned her face, his expression shifting from irritation to concern. “Is everything all right?”

She nodded and sniffed. “It’s just the onions.”

His scowl said he didn’t believe her.

She finished chopping and consulted the clipboard. “Do you need me to do anything else before I go?”

“No.” He stirred a pot of vegetables and stock. Steam wafted from the simmering mixture, and the kitchen filled with the scent of the inn’s signature chicken chili. On the stainless counter behind him, one assistant diced tomatoes while another sliced strawberries for the goat cheese and balsamic salad on tonight’s list of specials. Jacob switched gears, moving to the shelves of spices and mixing the rosemary rub for the pork tenderloin medallions.

Sarah stripped off her apron and gathered her purse and coat. She’d sent Mrs. Holloway a text earlier. Along with jeopardizing her job, Troy had the power to impact Sarah’s coworkers and childcare providers.

Was that his goal? To simply make her life difficult? Was this payback, or was Mike right to suspect pure manipulation as Troy’s motivation?

Her mind reeled with questions as she crossed the parking lot at the rear of the inn. She started her minivan. Blowing on her hands, she gave the engine a minute to warm up. She adjusted the heat vents and backed out of her parking space. The lot emptied into a narrow street that ran alongside the inn. Sarah shifted out of park and drove to the exit.

A horn blared and a fast-moving pickup truck nearly clipped the front end of the minivan. Sarah stomped on the brakes. The van lurched to a stop as the truck sped away.

Her stomach pitched as she recognized the Mitchell’s Sporting Goods sticker on the pickup’s rear window.

Troy.

Cristan crouched on the rocky ledge, peering from behind a tree trunk. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it free, along with his hat and gloves. Sarah.

Alarm rushed through him. Was Emma all right?

Keeping his eye on the lot below, he answered her call. Distance and the rush of water would cover the sound of his voice. Still, he kept his voice low. “Hello, Sarah.”

The connection was weak and her voice broken with static, but he could make out her words.

“I’m sorry I have to tell you this,” she began. “I’m being followed by a private investigator.”

Shock jolted him. “Could you repeat that, Sarah?”

“Troy hired a private investigator to follow me.”

Bastard
.

“I don’t know what he’s trying to prove.” Sarah’s voice broke. “But I wanted to let you know. Considering what Troy said at the hospital last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were caught up in this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” All of the blame belonged on the poor excuse of a man she’d married, but Cristan was tempted to take his frustrations out on the PI in the sedan.

“I’m sorry anyway.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Cristan said.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll get someone else to babysit the girls for a while. Please tell Lucia she didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t need to be involved in my problems.”

“That won’t be necessary. Do not worry about this, Sarah.”

The man exited the sedan and walked a careful circle around the Mercedes.

“But thank you for the warning. I’ll call you later.” He ended the call and contemplated the man inspecting his car. Cristan didn’t have to kill him. He didn’t have to gather his daughter and leave town in the night. Aline Barba had not found him. Instead, he’d become embroiled in Sarah’s divorce. How had he gotten involved in a domestic dispute? The answer was clear. He’d allowed himself to make personal connections in Westbury. Loneliness had taken its toll on him. He’d been weak. But Troy Mitchell did not have the right to dictate Sarah’s actions, and Cristan would be damned if he let that bastard control him.

The man started up the trail. Dark haired and olive skinned, the man was in his midfifties and appeared reasonably fit. He wore a hat and gloves, but jeans grew heavy and cold when wet, and his street-type boots were not designed to navigate slippery rocks. He was dressed for urban surveillance, not a wilderness trek.

Cristan sprinted up the steep trail. His chilly muscles appreciated the movement. He would not kill the man, but he would teach him a lesson. He’d left clear footprints in the scattered patches of snow, and the man was following them. Cristan intentionally crac
ked a small twig. The noise reverberated through the trees. The man looked up, scanning the trail. He started up the slope. Cristan left a false trail heading up another, even steeper incline. Then he backtracked in his own footprints to a rocky patch and veered onto ano
ther path. He peered around a tree trunk. The man had progressed less than a hundred feet. He slid on a rock, his ascent hampered by his footwear.

Moving quietly, Cristan looped below his tail and doubled back to the parking lot. He used the hilt of the knife to smash the passenger window and access the glove compartment. The car was registered to A-Plus Private Investigations. Cristan took a picture of the vehicle registration with his cell phone. He’d run a check on the firm later. For now, stranding the investigator would have to suffice as payback. He slit all four tires on the sedan. Then he got into his own vehicle and drove away.

The PI had a phone. Cristan’s stunt wouldn’t kill him, but it would cost him.

Cristan sped down the highway. He still had some time before he needed to pick up Lucia from the talent-show practice. He headed into Westbury and cruised past Mitchell’s Sporting Goods. He turned the car around and stopped at the curb in front of the store. Troy drove a pickup truck, but the vehicle wasn’t parked in the lot alongside the store. Where was he?

As Cristan idled at the curb, anger simmered beneath his skin. He and Sarah had never gone anywhere together, except for that one trip to the hospital. Her ex-husband was trying to prove something that wasn’t true. But then Cristan knew better than anyone that the truth didn’t set anyone free.

What should he do? He wanted to goad Troy into attacking him. He didn’t imagine it would be difficult. Sarah’s ex had a quick temper and didn’t seem prone to exercising self-control or thinking through decisions. If Troy was the aggressor, Cristan could legally defend himself—and teach Troy a valuable lesson.

Except that Cristan had given Sarah his word that he wouldn’t provoke him, and breaking his promise to her felt wrong.