Killing Bliss (11 page)

Toby was halfway up the hill to the office when he yelled back. "I meant to tell you, there was another call—someone named Beauty. She said she'd call later. Told me to tell you to stop worrying, that she has everything under control. She said you'd know what she meant."

"Toby."

At the office door, he turned back.

"I told you to come and get me if she called—no matter what."

"She said not to, that her battery was running down—or something like that. She said just give you the message, and she'd call back later." He went into the office, no doubt to boot up his new computer. He hadn't been off the thing since she'd brought it in yesterday.

Damn!

What was Beauty doing? Addy's skin prickled thinking about her. She hoped she wouldn't do anything foolish. God knew Beauty was capable of some huge leaps of logic. That, coupled with her impulsive nature, could mean trouble. Surely she wouldn't try to play games with Frank Bliss.

She picked up her paint gear, straightened, and let her gaze drift over the lake. Ruffled by the wind, it was a blanket of rippling diamonds in the afternoon sun. She swiveled, her gaze feasting on the tiny property: the cabins, ten of them sporting new paint jobs and looking proud and pretty, the fresh gravel she'd laid in the driveway, and the new sign in amusing fifties-style lettering she'd had done for over the office door. All of it her work, her dream, her safety net.

She'd hated it when she'd arrived, and detested the cold, cranky Lund Baylor—a man who never seemed to care if she came or went. But over time, Star Lake became her home, and Lund became a friend. She shook her head, smiled faintly. For all the words exchanged between them over the years, she might as well have befriended that old oak down by the lake. But like that oak, Lund was always there—like Star Lake was here now.

The idea of running again, of leaving her home made her soul ache, but if that's what it took to protect Beauty and Gus, that's what she'd do.

She sucked in a breath, told herself to stop worrying. There was nothing she could do—at least not today. For now, she'd accept that Beauty told the truth, that things were under control, which she took to mean she'd lost Bliss somewhere on route. If she was wrong, she'd find out soon enough.

She headed for the maintenance shed, but hadn't taken more than three steps before she heard a car turn off the highway and scrunch its way along her new gravel.

She looked over her shoulder to see a Cherokee—maybe three or four years old—pull up to the office steps. A man and a dog—probably the same age as the truck—got out. Knowing Toby would handle them, Addy continued on to the shed and stowed her supplies neatly on the shelves.

The man was coming out of the office as she approached. The big yellow dog, who'd been sitting outside the door, got up, wagging its tail and wiggling its rear end as if he'd been abandoned for a month rather than the few minutes it had taken for his owner to check in.

There were three steps up to the office door. From the bottom one, she said, "Friendly?" And nodded at the dog.

The man smiled and patted the dog's head. "A teddy bear, especially if there's food around."

"Does he have a name?" She ran a hand along the silky fur on his back. She really should get a dog... if she stayed.

"Redge." He shifted his gaze from the dog and met hers. "What about you?"

Her nerves jangled, and she tucked her hands in the pockets of her overalls. "Me?" she said, sounding confused and stupid and knowing she was neither.

"Name. Do you have one?"

She pulled her hands from her pockets, stuck one out straight as a lance, and said, "Addy Michaels. I'm the owner of Star Lake."

She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw him blink a couple of times, his eyes sharpen. He definitely hesitated before taking her hand, then smiled as if he was obliged to, kind of cool and polite. "Addy. I'm Cade Harding. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. I take it you'll be staying with us?" She dropped to one knee to pet the dog, and get out from under his eyes, which suddenly seemed a bit too intense.

"A couple of days at least." He hesitated. "Maybe more."

She got to her feet, risked looking up at him. He resembled Gus a little, or how she imagined Gus would look with a few years on him. Dark hair, dark eyes, a bit of stubble around the chin, body on the lean side. Gus's face would be harder though, colder, not so... bookish or calm. And his eyes were a strange amber brown, nothing at all like Cade Harding's, which were a green color that reminded Addy of cedar boughs. "You sound like a man without a destination."

He didn't smile this time, but he did tilt his head a bit. Her nerves skittered again. She didn't like it.

"I've got a destination, all right," he said. "The end of a book. It's in my car. I'm a writer looking for a quiet place to get some work done." He glanced around. "From the road, Star Lake looked perfect."

Addy started up the stairs to the office. "What cabin did Toby put you in?"

He dangled his key. "Number Two."

She shook her head. "Wait here." She went into the office and grabbed the key for the newly renovated Cabin Six.

Outside she handed it to him. "Six faces the lake. If quiet is what you want, it's the best one." Their hands brushed when they exchanged keys.

"Thanks," he said, and continued to look at her in that funny, concentrated way he had.

She studied him, a tickle of nerves playing along her nape. "Do I remind you of someone?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You stare. Quite a lot, actually."

He averted his eyes a second, then swung them back to meet hers directly. "I didn't expect—I'm surprised, I guess. Resort owners aren't usually so young... so pretty."

Addy's jaw slackened. She had paint on her pants, probably her face, and she was certain her hair was a fright wig with blue highlights. The man was mad. If her nerves had jangled before, something was plucking them wild now. She had no idea how to respond. Getting a compliment was a whole new experience.

It turned out she didn't have to. The man tossed his key, let it fall back into his palm, and closed his hand around it "Cabin Six. Thanks, Addy Michaels." Then he walked away, Redge hard on his heel.

She stood there like a dope and watched him and his dog get in his car and drive down to his cabin. He waved from the door before going inside.

Addy stepped into the office and peered out the window. Her nerves weren't rattling anymore. They were sensitized and on full alert.

She remembered the feeling from being on the streets—a weird tickle across her shoulders, like a dozen spiders playing hopscotch on her nape. Experience had taught her to heed that tickle, because more times than she could count it meant trouble ahead.

"Seems like a nice enough fellow."

She started. She'd forgotten entirely that Toby was in the office, lurking behind his new computer screen. "Yeah," she said, turning away from the window. "Where's he from?"

Toby peered around the screen. "Seattle, he says. And he isn't married."

"Huh?"

Toby wiggled his eyebrows. "I thought you might be interested, the way you were staring out that window."

"Toby, if you start the matchmaking thing, that computer goes back in the box—and you along with it."

Undaunted, he waved his index finger. "You were watching him... I saw you." The last three words were singsong.

"Oh... go multiply something. Preferably our profits." She rounded the counter and made a straight line for her apartment behind the office and firmly closed the door.

Toby was right, she was watching him, but not for the usual you-Tarzan-me Jane reasons.

And I'll continue to watch you, Cade Harding. Those hopscotching spiders haven't been wrong yet.

* * *

Cade couldn't believe it. If that wasn't Addilene Wartenski, he'd get down on all fours and eat Redge's dinner.

Same age, same coloring... and that name. Addy. Too close to be a coincidence. It had to be her, had to.

Which meant she'd been here all along. The whole fifteen years since the murder and kidnapping. How the hell had the cops missed finding her? Then... considering Roxanne's relationship with the law, how could they? No way would she tell them Dianna and her friend had a safe haven with an old client.

If Cade had a million questions before, now he had another million. His slim hope in coming to Star Lake centered on finding a fresh lead, and he'd thought that chance remote. He sure as hell hadn't expected to come face-to-face with Addilene Wartenski, wearing torn overalls, covered in blue paint, with a hairdo that looked as if she'd done it herself with dull shears during a sleepwalk—and the brightest, shrewdest eyes he'd ever seen in a woman.

Standing in the sightline of those eyes was goddamn life-threatening.

He was so shocked upon finding her here, he was paralyzed, had no idea what his next move should be—which meant the smart move was to do nothing at all.

He walked to the cabin window and looked across the small, pristine lake to the stands of trees that hid the farmland he knew was on the other side, and the mountains behind that. Near the dock, which had a half dozen or so canoes and rowboats tethered to it, a weeping willow rested its branches on the water.

Cade focused on the gently swaying branches, ran a hand through his hair, and told himself to ease down, think.

Information. He needed information. Which meant taking it slow and easy. He didn't want to scare her off, set her running. He reminded himself he was dealing with a woman who had an outstanding arrest warrant. She might have been a kid at the time, but when murder and kidnapping were the charges, the case was never deep-sixed.

He tried to think of the woman he'd just met as an accomplice to murder, as a kidnapper. But while he couldn't make the image stick, he told himself not to forget the police reports, or Frank Bliss's damning statement.

He looked at the phone, thought about calling Susan and Stan, but decided to wait. To be on the safe side, he'd drive into Lynden, the nearest town, do some more checking, and call from there. It occurred to him that he should probably reactivate his cell phone when he got back to Seattle. After Dana's death, he'd let the battery run out and stuffed it in a drawer. His cell used to be like another appendage, always with him. Now he didn't think about it.

Tomorrow. He'd call tomorrow from Lynden. Not that he knew what in hell he was going to say.

All he knew was he had to be careful. He didn't want Susan Moore driving up here in a state of panicked excitement, demanding answers, maybe bringing in the police.

Redge whined from the door, anxious to explore his new territory.

"You're going to get your chance, boy, because we're definitely going to be here a while." At least he'd been quick enough to set up a reason to hang around.

He tossed his bag on the bed, unzipped it, and pulled out some running shorts and a black T-shirt.

The old guy at the desk said there was a good path circling the lake. He decided to try it. He needed to calm his mind, and running would let him zone out for a time. Exactly what he needed. After that, he'd do what he wasn't doing now. Think clearly.

He stripped, donned the shorts and top, and headed for the door. With the cloud cover and a slight breeze, the weather was perfect.

He set off, Redge at his heel.

* * *

Bliss was pissed off.

Either Beauty had no idea where she was going—possible, considering how many fuckin' gas stations she went into and pulled out that map of hers—or she was yanking his chain. Trying to make an ass of him.

And the whore never slept Last night, she'd driven until almost two, pulled into a fleabag motel for maybe four hours, then hit the road again.

He watched her now, through the diner window, munching on a burger as if she didn't have a care in the world.

Him? He'd slept in the car, dreamt about her naked and alone in that swaybacked bed. Thought about how he could fix the "alone" part of the equation real fast—made his dick hard enough to shatter.

Now he was parked beside a gas station, across the street, while she gorged on a burger. His back was killing him, his stomach felt like it was filled with ditch water, and his head was a drum. All of it, her fault.

Plus the fact he was broke, which was beginning to worry him. He hadn't budgeted for this damn road tour he was on. He had one ace up his sleeve—Wayne Grover—if he could get hold of him. He was beginning to think that stupid bitch of a wife of his was lying when he called. Trouble with Grover was, he was small change. Handy, but not worth much.

He flicked on the radio, found some serious rock, and cranked it up. If Beauty was playing him, she'd answer for it. He'd make sure of it. For now, he'd wait it out, play the hand he'd planned.

Messing with her now might seriously cut into his profits, ruin any chance of meeting up with Vanelleto and Wartenski. Bliss couldn't decide what he wanted more—a wad of cash, to fuck Beauty stupid, or make Vanelleto pay for what he'd done. The good thing was, right now it was looking like he'd get all three.