Her Fifth Husband? (12 page)

He finished his coffee and was about to punch in the quick-dial number for the office when a familiar-looking guy in Bermuda shorts and yellow T-shirt emerged from the cottage, glanced around, and hurried across the gritty pavement toward the agent's car.

Jake's memory was good, but not perfect. He'd definitely seen the guy somewhere recently…but where? From one end of the Outer Banks to the other and occasionally into lower Virginia, he covered a lot of territory.

Where was this guy's car? And what had he been doing inside the cottage? Looking the place over with an eye to booking it later in the season?

The attractive brunette was still standing beside her car when yellow-shirt joined her there. They talked for
a few minutes while Jake slouched in his seat and watched through a pair of aviator sunglasses, wishing he could read lips. About half his mind was on what he was seeing, the other half on the woman he'd left sleeping a few hours ago.

He shifted uncomfortably as his body reacted to the memory. The crazy thing was that if anyone had asked him to describe his ideal woman, Sasha Lasiter wouldn't have come to mind. So why was it that after only a few days he couldn't stop thinking about her?

More to the point, why did his body react with outrageous desire toward her? Hell, he was a grandfather, not some horny kid. He had a granddaughter to think about now, not to mention a job that at the moment was stalled in its tracks. So how come he was wasting time on a stakeout that obviously wasn't going to lead anywhere, thinking about a woman who had nothing at all to do with the case he was working, other than peripherally?

But instead of clearing his mind, he kept picturing the way she tried to stare him down with her multicolored eyes. Talk about attitude, she was a regular Ms. Napoleon. And the way she bragged about all her artifices—and the way she dressed….

It didn't take any special training to know that when people went to such lengths to disguise themselves there was usually a reason for it. The trouble was, he didn't know her well enough to figure it out. He knew she was sexier than any woman he'd ever met, and that included his late wife. He knew she was flat-out gorgeous, with or without her disguise. He'd seen her with her makeup smeared and with her face scrubbed clean of all but her freckles, and it hadn't made a speck of difference. She
was who she was, and it was who she was that attracted him in a way that no other woman ever had.

Jake reminded himself again that she'd had four husbands and not a one of them had suited her well enough to keep. He'd had one wife, who had suited him very well during the few years they'd been together.

Bottom line—what could a glamorous, successful woman possibly see in a dull, middle-aged businessman, a mediocre detective who couldn't even manage a simple surveillance, who didn't know a damn thing about interior decoration, much less care about it—who didn't think one way or another about fashion as long as what he had on was comfortable?

Answer? Not a whole lot.

What did he see in her? A lot more than met the eye. That was the problem. Those colored contacts did a good job of disguising the shadows, but he'd heard that wistful note in her voice when she forgot to be Sasha the Outrageous. Somewhere under all that paint and polish there was a real woman who made him want to explore more than her body.

That is, if he ever got tired of exploring her body.

“What the hell?” he muttered suddenly. Sitting up, he removed his sunglasses in time to see yellow-shirt and the agent come together in a clinch that sent heat weaves shimmering off the tarmac.

“Well, now…” he mused, stroking his jaw. Maybe he wasn't such a lousy P.I., after all. His brain might not be up to speed, but evidently his instincts were still on the job. Jamison looked older than his campaign posters, but there was no mistaking that face.

Time to find out more about the attractive brunette
who, unless he was mistaken, worked for Southern Dunes Property Management. And who better to tell him than the decorator who'd been commissioned to update one of her rentals?

 

“Don't be so stingy, Faylene, let me hold her,” Marty reached for the baby only to have Faylene turn away with her.

“You got you a husband now. Go home and make one o' your own, this one belongs to me and Sasha, don't you, sugar dumplin'?” The housekeeper beamed at the infant in her arms. “Lawhepus, if I weren't too old, I'd have me one of these in a minute.”

“That'd be one for the records,” Sasha observed dryly. “Last I heard it took nine months.” Her feet were propped on a cushion on the coffee table that was littered with sample books and baby paraphernalia. She had managed to squeeze in a shower between feeding and bathing the baby before her friends had showed up, but she'd spent more time rocking Peaches and trying to remember the words to the song about the looking glass and the mockingbird.

With those dark blue eyes gazing up at her so solemnly, she had choked up more than once. Watching now as her friends exclaimed over her, Sasha told herself that what she was feeling was protectiveness, not possessiveness. A few more minutes and she would put an end to it. Too much stimulation wasn't good for an infant who wasn't yet two months old.

“Did I tell you I've got us another bachelor? Kell has this carpenter friend—actually, he's more of a contractor. He's recently divorced, no kids, no noticeably
bad habits.” Marty leaned over the housekeeper to cup a tiny foot in her hand.

“What does he look like? Anyone a tall, gorgeous blonde with a degree in accounting might be interested in?” Sasha continued to buff her short, newly exposed fingernails. She felt naked without the acrylic versions, but long nails and babies didn't go together.

Faylene glanced up. “I thought we'd already picked out this security fellow for Lily.”

“Jake has other priorities now,” Sasha reminded her friends.

“So?” Marty gave up trying to steal the infant away from the housekeeper and began leafing through a catalog of accessories.

“So he has enough on his mind without getting involved in a new relationship. Besides, his son's headed overseas and Jake's in the middle of repainting his house and, like I said, now he's got this baby to think about.”

“Well, pardon me, but it looks like Jake's baby has all the caregivers she needs. So why can't he take a few hours off and go to our darned fund-raiser?” Marty shot her a pointed look. “Unless you have other plans for him?”

“Don't be silly!” Sasha snapped. Feeling her face grow warm, she said, “I hardly even know the man.”

Faylene glanced up from the baby on her lap. “I told you about them letters Lily's been getting, didn't I? The ones with the numbers on the front like a secret code or something? I asked her about it the other day when I saw her looking all weepy-eyed over one. She's been getting 'em, one a week, for as long as I've been working for her.”

“Faye, for heaven's sake, you know better than to
gossip about things like that,” Marty scolded. “What'd she say?”

“Pretended like she didn't hear me.”

“It's probably a service person—someone in the military.”

“I 'spect so,” murmured the older woman, her attention on the infant gazing up at her so intently. “Did I tell you they're written in pencil on lined paper? First I thought it was a street number on front, but that was on the next line. A San Pedro Street—something like that.”

“There's nothing like that around here,” Sasha said thoughtfully. “Florida? Maybe St. Augustine?”

“Nope, California.”

“Well, whatever it is, it's none of our business,” Marty said self-righteously, and then spoiled the effect by suggesting it might be a tax number. “She is a CPA, after all. Maybe you misread the CA for CPA.” Faylene's reading skills were on a par with her cooking.

“Not that it matters, but if you're that curious, ask her about it,” Sasha said, closing the matter.

“Back to the fund-raiser, you don't mind missing it, do you, Sash? You can baby-sit for a few hours while we get your guy together with Lily, can't you?”

Sasha had an idea her friend was playing with her. She buffed harder. Before she could come up with a reason to take Jake out of the race, she heard a car pull up out in front.

Marty peered through the window. “Speak of the devil,” she said, a wide grin spreading over her face.

J
ake came to a full stop just inside the doorway. The expression on his face was priceless. Amused, Sasha watched his reaction to finding himself outnumbered by females.

Faylene looked up and broke into a broad smile, rearranging scores of wrinkles on her heavily made-up face. “Hey there. I gotcha baby here. She don't look much like you, I'll say that for her.”

Marty said, “Well, hi there.”

“Uh…ladies,” he murmured cautiously.

Sasha said, “Now I know what Daniel must have looked like standing in the door of the lion's den. Come on in, Jake, we were just talking about you. You've met my friends, haven't you?”

He nodded and then his gaze returned to the baby in Faylene's lap. Waving tiny pink fists, Tuesday Smith, aka
Peaches, was making noises that Sasha recognized as meaning, “Enough with this hands-on stuff, I need a nap.”

Evidently, Jake had forgotten how to interpret baby language. “Is she—?”

“Hurting? Don't think so. Starving? No way, she was fed less than half an hour ago. Wet? Probably. Mostly, she's just ready for a nap, aren't you, sugar? We're still working on a mutually convenient schedule.”

Sasha scooped the baby from Faylene's lap and moved closer so that Jake could see her tiny face. Inhaling the warm soap-and-outdoorsy scent of his skin, she told herself with a sense of mystic certainty that blindfolded, and with nothing more than that, she could have picked him out of any lineup. It had to be pheromones, she thought wistfully. She couldn't afford for it to be anything more complicated than chemistry. Even that was almost more than she could handle. “Thank you for sending my car home,” she murmured.

Jake nodded. “No problem.”

While he concentrated on the baby, Sasha happened to glance at Marty, who was looking him over with undisguised interest.

The bookseller caught her eye, winked and blushed. “We were just talking about the fund-raiser planned for tomorrow night, Jake. Did Sasha tell you about it?”

“What fund-raiser?”

“It's just a local project,” Sasha dismissed. “I doubt if you'd be interested.” Turning away, she sank down onto the sofa and lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting her on the back.

As the two most comfortable chairs were taken, Jake settled beside her, his weight tilting the cushion so that
she found herself leaning on his shoulder. “What kind of local project?” he asked.

Their voices overlapping, Marty and Faylene described the summer camp that featured fishing, kayaking, camping and even fly-tying. “It costs two hundred bucks for a two-week session,” said Marty.

“I got a good friend, Bob Ed Cutrell, down at the marina,” Faylene said. “You might know him—he outfits 'em so the gear don't cost nothing extra, but—”

Marty picked up. “But a lot of them still can't afford it. This is not exactly a high-income district, in case you hadn't noticed. Commercial fishing barely makes expenses these days, and the storm flooded so many fields, it'll take at least another year to recover.”

To Sasha, seated beside him on the sofa, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean against Jake Smith while holding his baby in her arms. Gazing down at the small bundle sleeping so peacefully on her shoulder, she murmured, “What about it, sweety pie, you want to go to summer camp?”

Marty looked from Sasha to Jake, as if trying to measure the degree of involvement. “So what about it, Jake—shall we count you in?”

If Jake felt pressured, he was tactful enough not to show it. “Can I get back to you?” When he reached for the infant, his hands brushed against Sasha's breast. “Here you go, baby, come to Granddad.”

As if his touch weren't enough to melt any residual resistance she might feel, his voice finished her off. Fighting against the urge to trade places with the baby in his arms, Sasha tugged the pink flannel square from her shoulder and spread it over his.

“I'd forgotten about that part,” Jake said, obviously not really bothered by the risk of a damp shoulder. They traded lingering smiles until the other two women stood and collected their purses.

“Guess we'd better be going,” said Marty, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. “I brought you a few more books. Since you're temporarily house-bound, you might even get caught up on your reading.” She indicated the stack of paperbacks on the floor beside the cluttered escritoire.

Faylene said, “I turned the fridge back on after I wiped it out, so don't open the door till it has a chance to catch up.”

“Don't bother to see us out,” Marty said dryly as the two women exchanged unmistakable smirks.

“Did I miss something?” Jake asked when the front door closed behind them.

“I hope so. They mean well, but—” Sasha shook her head. She wasn't about to tell him about the matchmaking she and her friends occasionally did—especially after the way Marty had looked at the two of them together, as if measuring them for a double harness.

“Here, I'll take her now—she's yawning.”

How could any man be so darned tempting with a baby in his arms, spit-up on his shirt and a goofy grin on his face? All she had to do was look at him to remember last night and what had probably been the biggest mistake of her life.

Which, considering her track record, was saying a lot.

“Give me another few minutes. Look, the reason I came by—we need to talk.”

Uh-oh. Crunch time. She'd known it was coming, she
just hadn't wanted to think about it. Once he took the baby home with him, he'd have no reason to return to Muddy Landing.

Feeling as if she were dragging an anchor, she stood and reached for the baby to take her upstairs. Jake sighed and reluctantly handed her over.

When she came downstairs a few minutes later, he said, “Without breaking any confidences, what can you tell me about the agent handling the Jamison rental?”

“Katie McIver?” Puzzled, Sasha wondered what the rental agent had to do with their baby. “I've known her several years, but only in a business capacity. I did their offices—Southern Dunes Property Management? Since then she's called me several times for makeovers and quick patch-up jobs. Mostly the owners take care of that sort of thing themselves, but now and then they leave it to the agency.” She settled down, this time in the armchair instead of the sofa. “I know she's well respected. I know she handles several of their top rentals. Other than that, I don't really know much about her.”

Jake nodded silently, as if he were processing the information. “Do you know if she's married?”

“We've never really discussed much besides budgets and timetables. Once we had coffee together at Southern Bean, but I don't remember anything we talked about except the damage Hurricane Isabel did to her cottages.” Increasingly puzzled, she asked, “Why do you need to know all this?”

Absently, Jake stroked his jaw. “Then you wouldn't happen to know if she's, um—involved in a relationship?”

“I told you, we've never discussed anything like that. Is there a reason why you need to know?” She forced
herself to stamp down a twinge of jealousy. Katie had to be on the sunny side of thirty. She'd probably end up managing the agency one of these days, because she was every bit as smart as she was attractive. “Why don't you just ask her? I don't like talking about people behind their back.”

The vertical lines between his dark eyebrows deepened. “Sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Something unexpected came up on my way here and I wanted to get a feel for it before I went any further.”

“I read enough suspense novels to know about questioning witnesses. I couldn't help you even if I wanted to. Why don't you ask Katie whatever it is you want to know? I've got her cell phone number if I can remember where I put it.”

“This case I was working on when you and I met?”

“When you invaded my privacy, you mean,” she corrected. Arms crossed over her bosom, she tried a chilly look, but she was in too deep. She gave up trying. “But then you came to my rescue after I hurt my ankle, so I suppose we're even,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Yeah, well…things got sort of crazy there for a while. I don't know how much I told you before, but the owners of the cottage where you were, ah—”

“Working, but taking a tiny, well-earned break,” she supplied before he could accuse her of goofing off on the job.

“Right. Anyway, they're getting a divorce and the wife hired me to check out her suspicions concerning her husband and another woman. She got the idea he was using their cottage as a—a—”

“Love nest?” Sasha thought about the scent of ciga
rette smoke and the rumpled cushions. And there was the cork she'd found in an otherwise empty trash can.

“I don't know how much love was involved, but yeah—I guess you could call it that.”

“Did she have any evidence? The wife, I mean?”

“A friend told her she'd heard rumors that Jamison might be using the place as his private playground.” Jake settled into the green leather-covered chair. “Evidence is what I'm supposed to get.”

Indignation built swiftly. “You took all those pictures of me thinking I was waiting to meet a lover? I don't know whether to be amused, flattered or insulted.” She settled on amusement as the least problematic.

“Hey, I never claimed to be one of those super sleuths you read about or watch on TV. Every now and then I like to try my hand at something besides security systems just to prove I'm not—”

“Over the hill,” she finished for him, and stopped just short of saying, take it from me, you're not.

Judging from his expression, the same thought occurred to Jake. Sasha settled on the sofa, putting the coffee table between them.

Over the hill?

Uh-uh, no way. She'd had lovers both older and younger. Jake was in a class by himself.

He smiled. “I was going to say rusty, but back to what we were talking about.” The smile faded. “My client called a few days ago to say they'd gotten back together and my services were no longer needed. She called again just as I was about to leave this morning.”

“To say what, sic him?”

Jake nodded. “Words to that effect.”

“And—?” Sasha prompted.

“And I just came across evidence possibly involving your rental agent.”

“What evidence? Circumstantial? Gossip?”

“Nothing circumstantial about a lip-lock that timed out at just under two minutes.”

“You're kidding,” she said slowly. “Katie and Mr. Jamison? How can you be sure? I've never even seen the man, much less met him. I've never met either of the owners.”

“His face is plastered on campaign posters every time we have another election. One of the reasons why he can't just book a room for a few hours.” Jake described the frustrating, off-again, on-again case he'd been working on for the past several days.

“Hmm…you know what it sounds like to me?” Rising, Sasha went to the bottom of the stairs and listened for sounds from the baby. A moment later, she settled back into the chair. “All's quiet. Bless her heart, she'll probably sleep for another hour, at least.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “You know what I think? I think he patched things up just long enough to throw his wife off guard and get her signature on a few documents.” The soft contours of her face hardened imperceptibly. “Any woman who signs anything at all under those circumstances—anything but a restraining order—is asking for trouble.”

When he continued to watch her, she averted her face. “Have you ever had to sign one of those?” He sounded grim.

“We're not talking about me. Besides, the kind of man who needs a restraining order usually ignores it.”

“Sasha?”

He waited.

Finally, she said, “One of my husbands was…physical. When he drank too much, or when I didn't do things just fast enough or high enough to suit him.”

Jake closed his eyes momentarily, as if ignoring it could change the past.

She shrugged. “At least by the time I was old enough to marry, I'd learned how to handle—that sort of thing. I only had to get a restraining order once.”

Jake leaned forward as if to rise, but she shook her head. “Honey, let me tell you something, if shedding husbands was an Olympic sport, I'd win gold every single time.” She laughed, but with her eyes glittering, the effect was hardly amusing. “You want me to advise your client on the proper way to get rid of unwanted rodents?”

He couldn't think of a single thing to say—nothing that made sense under the circumstances. He'd known her for less than a week, yet he'd instinctively trusted her with his granddaughter. He'd seen her all dressed up in her fancy outfits, her makeup and her gaudy jewelry—he'd seen her barefoot, wearing a shapeless, colorless tent with her makeup smeared over half her face.

Either way, the effect she had on him was the same. The thought of any man mistreating her made his blood boil. She might pretend to be tough, but it didn't take a security expert to see through her defenses.

With a Sashalike toss of the head, she said, “Peaches is probably going to sleep for a while, so why don't I make us something for lunch? Or have you already eaten?”

 

Over Marty's leftover casserole Sasha asked about the progress on his house. She had tiptoed upstairs to check on the sleeping baby.

Jake said, “Another few days and the work will be finished. I can use a window fan to pump the place out.” He asked about any commitments she had that might take her out of town over the next several days, and she told him that wouldn't be a problem.

“This close to the season, I've already done most of the hands-on work.” She wouldn't allow it to be a problem. She happened to be in the middle of doing a new suite of offices and was angling to get a bid on another one, but Marty or Faye could baby-sit if she had to run over to the beach. At least she had her car back now, even if her ankle wasn't quite a hundred percent.