Authors: Meryl Sawyer
G
ARVER
B
ROWNE
led Hayley out the back entrance of the Newport Beach Police Station to avoid the media swarming around the front. Her aunt, Conrad and Ryan were waiting in a Twelve Oaks limo. It was nearly midnight but the area behind the station was brightly lit by security lights. The chauffeur opened the Mercedes’ door. Hayley and the criminal attorney climbed into the air-conditioned limousine.
“What happened?” asked Aunt Meg with a welcoming smile.
“Those jerks aren’t interested in Lindsey.” Hayley knew she sounded shrill but couldn’t help herself. The last several hours had been grueling, beyond anything she’d imagined. Anger combined with devastation over Lindsey’s death left her frustrated. The police didn’t care an innocent woman had died. “They’re positive this is drug-related.”
Aunt Meg’s smile dissolved. “That’s ridiculous! You never—”
“They’re suspicious of me. They wanted me to take a lie detector test.”
“Of course you agreed.” Conrad Hollister was seated near the rear door in his wheelchair in the specially modified limousine.
“No,” Garver Browne answered for Hayley. “They have no right to ask.”
Silence roared through the limousine. Hayley ventured a quick look at Ryan. He would understand why she refused to take the test. She’d explained everything except where she’d been since returning from Costa Rica. “With a friend” was all she would say. How could a little white lie hurt her when she’d told the unvarnished truth about everything else?
Not everything, she silently amended. She hadn’t mentioned the trust data on the disk someone had discarded in her mother’s computer trash bin, because it could cost Ryan his job. He was going to funnel the information to the authorities through his friend Ed.
She felt guilty about not telling her aunt, either. If it hadn’t been clear to Hayley before, Aunt Meg’s reaction to her “back from the dead” appearance assured Hayley that her aunt was the only person on earth who truly loved her. But Ryan had convinced Hayley that telling could jeopardize his career, her life.
“Listen, everyone,” Garver said. “Hayley is not going to discuss this until the police have completed their investigation.” He turned his head slowly and looked at each of them before saying, “No one talks to the press. No one. If the police want to interview you, insist that I be there before you say
one
word.”
Garver Browne was a criminal attorney who’d taken his private helicopter from L.A. to Orange County so he could accompany Hayley to the police station. She’d begged her aunt not to spend the money, but after the rigorous interrogation, Hayley was thankful she’d had the lawyer with her. The police had grilled her as if she’d been the one to plant the bomb.
Conrad said, “I don’t think anyone will ask me—”
“Bet on it,” Browne insisted. “Someone at the station alerted the press about Hayley’s return. That’s why there’s a flock of carrion eaters gathered out front. The media will do
anything
to get a sound bite on the news.”
Garver was in his late thirties—a few years older than Hayley and Ryan, but his prematurely gray hair made him seem much older. His hairline was creeping upward above a ladder of lines on his forehead, which gave him a scholarly appearance. The lawyer had a self-assured way of holding himself, of speaking, that complemented his reputation as the go-to attorney in SoCal if you were in trouble—and could afford him.
“Garver’s right,” Ryan said, speaking for the first time. “Our response to questions about Hayley should be
no comment.
”
“What about family?” Meg asked. “They’ll want information.”
Garver considered this for a moment. During their initial meeting at Aunt Meg’s place, they’d explained that the rest of the family wasn’t very close to Hayley. “Stick to the basic facts. Hayley was in Costa Rica doing a mural and had no idea what had happened. Other than that you don’t know anything.”
Hayley doubted her so-called family would really care. She told herself that she’d been prepared for what Ryan had found on her mother’s computer and to some extent she had been. In other ways, it was difficult to imagine two children you’d grown up with, played with—shared a father with—would destroy trust documents, then try to kill you. And what about Chad, who claimed to love her even though she’d broken up with him? She forced herself not to think about the depth of his betrayal.
“Be certain to say you don’t know where Hayley is staying,” Ryan added.
“That’s a fact,” Aunt Meg said with a trace of anxiety that made Hayley feel even more guilty for what she’d put her aunt through. Aunt Meg’s heart was weak and this stress certainly wasn’t helping.
“Have you rented a car and bought an untraceable cell phone for Hayley?” the attorney asked Ryan.
The two had conferred at Twelve Oaks before Hayley and the attorney went to the police station. They’d agreed that nothing should have Hayley’s name on it. For the time being, they were going to keep her whereabouts a secret.
Ryan handed her a small cell phone without looking her in the eye. Hayley could tell by the way he used his left hand that his shoulder was still bothering him. She couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. Was he sorry he’d gotten involved?
“I’m the only one who’ll have your number,” Garver told her.
“What about me?” Aunt Meg wanted to know.
“Sorry,” Garver replied unapologetically. “Hayley will have to phone you. That way no one can force you to reveal her number.”
A swift shadow of alarm swept across Aunt Meg’s face. “Is she in so much danger that I should be careful?”
“We
all
need to be careful.” Again, Garver took his time and looked at each one of them in that direct way of his. “What you don’t know, you can’t tell.” He turned to her. “Don’t drive for a few days. You have a place to live where no one will look for you. Stay indoors—don’t let anyone see you.”
Hayley nodded, careful not to glance in Ryan’s direc
tion. She gave her aunt credit for being a smart woman. Why tip her off that there was something between them? Not that there was.
“W
HAT DID YOU THINK
about Ryan and Hayley?” Meg asked Conrad.
They were still in the limousine on the way back to Twelve Acres, having driven around a lot to be sure they weren’t being followed, then dropped off Hayley, Ryan and the attorney in a parking structure near the airport so Garver’s pilot could helicopter him back to Los Angeles.
“I think we’re lucky to have such great kids.” Conrad’s smile wavered. “For a while there we assumed you’d lost Hayley.” His hand covered hers. “I’m thrilled she’s back even though there’s a lot to settle yet.”
Meg nodded; she could see how weary Conrad had become since she’d called him to her suite before sunset and introduced him to Hayley. He’d immediately phoned his son and Ryan had come over. Meg hadn’t waited to hear Ryan’s advice. She’d called her personal attorney to get the name of a criminal defense lawyer.
This whole situation was perplexing. She wasn’t buying the theory that Hayley was involved with drugs. The Fordhams were another matter. They could be up to anything. She’d never trusted Cynthia or either of her children. But she had no idea what was really going on. Her duty was to protect Hayley.
Seeing her niece again had been the greatest gift Meg Amboy had ever received. Just holding her, knowing she was alive was nothing short of an answer to her prayers.
So what if Garver Browne was a disciple of that great philosopher Jerry “Show me the money” Maguire? Browne’s retainer had been outrageous, but Meg had im
mediately authorized a wire transfer to the attorney’s account. What good was having a fortune if you couldn’t help someone you loved?
“Is that what you meant about Hayley and Ryan?” Conrad asked, breaking into her thoughts. “What good kids they are.”
Meg shook her head. “No. I was thinking about them as a couple.”
“A couple? They just met under horrible circumstances. How could they be attracted to each other? They barely had a conversation.”
“True.” Meg knew Ryan Hollister had the kind of masculine good looks that gave women cardiac arrest. Even in a crisis, a woman would notice him. Not Hayley, apparently. She’d paid little attention to Conrad’s son other than to listen to his recommendations about her safety.
Meg had watched them carefully. She’d tried to gauge Ryan’s reaction to Hayley. There was something odd about him, as if his mind was elsewhere.
Why? Most men found Hayley very attractive and always had. But not Ryan. Could he still be grieving over his wife? She’d been gone for some time now.
Maybe the situation—the car bombing, the drugs, being presumed dead—had them both off-kilter. It was an unusual situation, to say the least. Under the circumstances, why would two unattached people notice each other? They probably wouldn’t.
Still, something seemed strange to Meg. It was an unprecedented state of affairs, Meg acknowledged. She’d lived a long life, seen a lot, heard many unusual tales, but this beat all of them. Even so, the situation wasn’t bothering her as much as Ryan and Hayley themselves. Something wasn’t right.
T
RENT WAS DIVING
underwater, catching a wave at the Wedge. He surfaced on the backside of the breaker and turned to bodysurf the incoming wave. He could hear the smaller waves—which came in sets of three when surfing was at its best—crashing on the shore. The sound—usually background noise—distracted him and he missed his opportunity to ride the perfect wave onto the beach.
He bobbed beyond the break line and surveyed the water in the distance for “bluebirds”—the next set of waves. The noise of the crashing waves seemed unusually loud. He turned and looked toward the shore. No one was there. No one at all.
He sat up, sweating and breathing hard. He wasn’t in the ocean, he realized. He was home in bed and the phone on the nightstand next to him was ringing—not waves crashing. He glanced at the clock beside the phone. Almost two in the morning. He grabbed the phone before it woke Courtney, even though she showed no sign of stirring. Pills had her out cold—again.
“Trent,” Farah said the moment he pressed the receiver to his ear. He mumbled something and she added, “Go somewhere you can talk.”
Trent put the phone on Hold and stumbled down the hall to his office. Why was Farah calling in the middle of the night? He could tell by her voice that she was upset, which was out of character. Even as a child, Farah hid her true feelings and over time had become almost inscrutable to those around her.
“What’s happening?” he asked as he picked up the telephone on his desk. He quietly closed the door as she spoke.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Yes,” he replied even though he was standing next to his office chair.
“Hayley is alive. She didn’t die in that car bombing.”
He swallowed hard, striving to control his jellied knees. “You’re shitting me.” He swiveled the chair around and dropped into it like a sack of lead.
“Don’t I wish this was a joke.” The cold edge of irony cut through each syllable. “Kyle went to the police station to bail out a friend of his. There were television cameras everywhere. It seems that little Miss Hayley Fordham and her frigging attorney—Garver Browne, no less—waltzed into the station to tell them she was alive.”
Trent stared out the window at the ocean where a sailboat’s mast light bobbed in the water. “Unfuckingbelievable! Who died in her car?”
“Kyle couldn’t get the details. The police were questioning Hayley.”
“Why did she have a lawyer with her? What’s going on?”
“Good question.” Farah’s voice hardened. “I’ll bet that battle-ax aunt of hers is paying Garver Browne’s fee. The prick doesn’t come cheap.”
“For sure.” The thought of money triggered a gut reaction. “Now probate will have to be recalculated
again.
” What in hell was he going to do?
“At least we’ll be splitting it in thirds. Hayley won’t get control of Surf’s Up.”
Trent wondered if there would be enough left of the company to worry about. His creditors were circling like sharks with blood in the water. He had to feed them money—soon.
There was a long pause before Farah spoke again.
“Look on the bright side. They can’t pin the car bombing on us.” There was a thin chill in her voice that Ryan didn’t like.
“So? Nothing seems to be stopping them from trying to implicate me. Not us. You’re in the clear. Just me.”
“Let’s not discuss this on the telephone,” Farah cautioned. “Go over and meet with Chad in person. Maybe he’ll have a few helpful ideas.”
T
RENT RANG THE BELL
of the mansion on Harbor Island where Chad Bennett lived. The island was even more exclusive than nearby Linda Isle where Trent’s father had lived, but it didn’t have a guard at the gate. A card key was all that was needed to access the island. Of course, the metal bar didn’t rise to admit your car without one. This hadn’t bothered Trent. He’d merely parked on Harbor Island Drive and ducked under the steel arm.
It was nearly 3:00 a.m. now. Few lights were on in the yards of the thirty homes on the private island. They must use timers, Trent thought as he leaned on the bell again. Through the leaded glass door, he saw a light go on upstairs.
This home had belonged to Chad’s parents. His mother had passed away long ago and his father had never remarried. Chad inherited the mansion when his father died, along with his father’s law firm. It was a huge place for one person to kick around in, Trent thought, but then Chad was rarely alone.
He saw Chad taking the stairs two at a time while cinching a robe around his waist. Chad turned on the porch light and peered through the glass before unlocking it and saying, “What’s wrong? It’s the middle of the fucking night.”
“Hayley isn’t dead.” Trent kept his voice low. Land on
the small islands in the bay was so valuable that lots were not much bigger than a parking space. They were just a few feet away from the neighbors. Trent didn’t want any of them calling the police about a disturbance. “She’s back and she’s hired a lawyer—Garver Browne.”