Play Dead (9 page)

Somehow it didn’t bother him the way it should. Perhaps Jessica’s death had changed him more than he realized. People were what counted—not rules. He’d been stunned—blown away, actually—to discover Hayley was still alive. It had taken some convincing to make her understand that someone who would go to all the trouble to plant a car bomb wanted her dead. And would stop at nothing.

Last night, when he’d held Hayley in his arms and flashed the light on her face, he’d experienced something that he could only describe as a special connection. Before that moment, Hayley Fordham had been a picture in his mind. The reality was much more compelling.

Aw hell, why was he lying to himself? Tension tightened his nerves as he thought about her. He was attracted to her—wanted her—in a way that surprised him. Since cancer took Jessica, he hadn’t been attracted to another woman. But now he was involved—big-time. It was a mistake and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself.

The instant he’d seen Hayley’s green eyes wide with panic and her sexy lips set to scream, something inside
him clicked. She’d been terrified yet brave. Screaming like a hell cat—kicking and biting. His intense reaction hadn’t diminished as he listened to her story. He experienced the urge to help her, protect her. No matter what the cost to himself.

The phone on his belt buzzed and he yanked it off with a quick look around. It was against the law in California to drive and talk on your phone, but since he hadn’t bought a new car after totaling his in the accident, Ryan hadn’t set up a hands-free system on his father’s car. “Hollister.” It was Ed Phillips. “Hey, I was just thinking about you. Anything in those bank accounts?”

“Hard to say,” Phillips replied. “Trent and Farah both have made sizable cash withdrawals all year long. I’m talkin’ in the five-to eight-thousand-dollar range.”

Ryan couldn’t imagine anyone agreeing to plant a car bomb for that little. “You’re thinking drugs?”

“You got it, pard. What else would they continually need cash for?”

“Good question. Something off the books, that’s for sure.” Ryan hadn’t told Phillips about Hayley’s miraculous return. He shouldn’t have withheld the information. The guy had brought him into the investigation, but Ryan felt he didn’t have any choice. He seriously believed Hayley’s life was in jeopardy. He didn’t want anyone to know she was alive yet.

“Most of the guys think this is some Asian drug deal that has to do with the container of surfboards Trent imported. We’re the only ones really looking hard at the family. I got their tax returns and went through them. Sure ’nuf, both Trent and Farah are in debt.”

“What about Hayley?”

“Clean. No debt and no large cash withdrawals until
the day of her death. Looks like a thousand dollars in cash went up with her.”

Ryan turned right and pulled onto the short street that led to his father’s house. “I interviewed Trent Fordham today.”

“Oh?” Ed didn’t have to remind Ryan that he wasn’t authorized to investigate. He heard the reprimand in the single word.

“He’s hiding something.”

“How do you know?”

Ryan pulled to a stop in the alley just behind the garage and pressed the remote control for the garage door to open. “Just a feeling.”

“Jeez-a-ree! That’s it?”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Nah. I could, but he’s been interviewed every which way already.”

The door moved up and Ryan drove into the garage. “See what you get on the mother, Cynthia Fordham. I just ran into her at the Balboa Bay Club.” Ryan was shading the truth here, but he didn’t want Phillips to order him to stop asking questions. “She admitted she hated Hayley and was glad she was dead.”

R
YAN OPENED THE DOOR
that led from the garage into the laundry room behind the kitchen and yelled, “Hel-looo! I’m baaaack!”

He didn’t want to frighten Hayley by appearing unexpectedly. She was skittish enough as it was. At breakfast this morning, the spark of chemistry he thought he’d detected the night before had vanished. She treated him with professional detachment, which was probably the best thing she could have done, if they were going to be alone in the same house.

“I’m in here,” Hayley called from the kitchen. “I’ve made a salad.”

Carrying the sack of groceries, Ryan walked in. He’d thought about her all day and yet he wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw. Hayley was standing at the island in the center of the kitchen, chopping lettuce. She’d washed her hair and changed into navy shorts and a peach-colored tank top.

She was a knockout, no doubt about it. Those eyes, vivid green with flecks of gold, were captivating. Her lips were full and provocative. Her smile—off-kilter by just a hair—was sexy as hell. Her silky hair swished alluringly across her shoulders as she moved. Her body—
no, don’t go there.

“There won’t be a tomato. They were all too far gone, but we’ve got enough here for a decent salad.”

He took a quick—and, he hoped, unnoticed—breath. “That’s fine. I bought steaks and stuffed potatoes from the deli case. We can heat them up in the microwave while we’re grilling the steaks.” He set the bag on the counter. “I’m running upstairs to change. Then I’ll come back and light the barbeque.”

She nodded with something meant to be a smile. He left the room, heading upstairs, conscious of how much tension filled the air. What was that all about? Was she still afraid of him?

Or—he dared to hope—was she as attracted to him as he was to her?

Get over it!
He told himself.
Keep your mind on business
.

It took him a few minutes—moving like a robot with stiff joints—to spare his shoulder and change into cutoff jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt. He’d worn a long-sleeve dress shirt today to hide the scratches on his arms. Then he returned to the kitchen. Hayley was seasoning the steaks and already had the potatoes in the microwave ready to reheat.

He told her he was going out to the courtyard to light the barbeque. The house was built around a small courtyard with a high wall on the open side. Hayley could be out here all she wanted without anyone seeing her from the public walkway that led along the walk to the beach.

“Did you find out anything?” she asked when he returned after lighting the fire.

“Not really, but I have the distinct impression that Trent is hiding something. Any idea what it might be?”

She handed him a platter with the steaks. “No, but I’ve been thinking.”

He would bet his life on that. He hadn’t known her long, but from the moment he’d shined the light on her face, he’d realized Hayley Fordham had a power and depth to her that other women lacked. He motioned for her to follow him and went outside to put the steaks on the grill.

“I like mine medium rare. How do you like yours?”

“That’s fine.” Something in her expression told him she was apprehensive.

“What were you thinking about? Does it have to do with Trent?”

“Indirectly…I guess,” she replied as he put the steaks on the grill.

“Go on,” he prompted over the hiss of the grill.

“It’s about the death of my parents.” She led him to the small patio table that she’d already set for dinner and sat down. Ryan took the seat across from her. “I’ve always been suspicious of the plane crash. My father never radioed that he was having problems or called a Mayday. He’d flown to Maverick’s Beach numerous times. Dad was an avid surfer. He learned to fly just so he could get to Mexico or Northern California when the surf was up.”

Ryan had been to the beach near San Francisco called Maverick’s. Its waves were legendary, favorites of surfers from around the world. And he knew plenty of guys who lived to surf. He didn’t get it, but who was he to criticize?

“My father was always so careful about his plane and the way he flew. Their plane hit a hill and the gas tanks exploded. They were incinerated instantly.” She clenched her jaw in an attempt to steady the quaver in her voice. “Their plane exploded, my car exploded…”

“Do you think a bomb caused the crash?”

Uncertainty shadowed Hayley eyes. “I never thought of a bomb. I did consider some type of sabotage. I mean…my father was cautious in the extreme. The Cessna was a new plane when Dad bought it. He had it serviced professionally. It didn’t seem likely that a system would malfunction.”

Ryan wasn’t sure what to think. A plane’s gas tanks often exploded upon impact. Or had this plane exploded first? “What did the FAA say caused the crash?”

“The Federal Aviation Administration didn’t investigate. Local authorities at the Civil Aeronautics Board handled the inquiry. They said it was pilot error. I don’t believe that for a minute.”

Ryan didn’t remind her that one tiny mistake could bring down the most skilled pilot.

“The Civil Air Patrol found them, using the emergency locator transmitter that my father had installed.”

“The Civil Air Patrol is just local pilots who volunteer to search, right?”

“Yes. When my father didn’t arrive at the small airstrip not far from Maverick’s, the guy who was meeting him to drive them to the beach called to make sure he’d left. After he found out my parents were overdue, he contacted the authorities and the search began immediately. They found them less than three hours later, but the wreckage was inaccessible. They could tell by flying low over the smoldering plane that no one was alive.”

The hurt and anguish was evident in her voice. He tried to imagine what it must have been like to wait all those hours—hoping and praying—your parents were alive. He had the impression that it had changed her outlook on life.

“If you were suspicious, who did you think did it?”

Hayley shrugged and her hair swished provocatively across her shoulders. “I—I don’t know. I thought it might have something to do with his refusal to purchase part of a container of surfboards with another company. Laird McMasters and my brother tried to convince my father, but he insisted he wasn’t going to buy cheap boards from China.”

“Why did they need your father to share a container?”

“A container holds thousands of boards. Small companies like ours, like Laird’s, don’t sell that many. Bigger companies have lots of stores and can handle a full container.”

“Trent wanted to import?”

“Yes. That was the only time they fought—over imported boards.”

“What did you think?”

Hayley let out a little huff of disgust. “I could see both sides. Cheap imports have killed most American manufacturers. But my father’s boards were produced from his custom mold. They were the kind pro surfers ordered. We could keep that part of the business small and grow the rest. We’d still make a lot of money, but we certainly would have made even more with a line of imported boards.”

“Do you think Trent had something to do with the crash?”

“No. He worshiped my father. Trent was so miserable after the crash that we were all worried about him.”

It was difficult for Ryan to imagine Trent this upset. He didn’t seem like the type, but maybe with a sudden shock he’d been more emotional. “How did Farah react?”

“She was pretty stoic, but then she always has been. Farah is the take-charge type. She planned the funeral, arranged everything.”

“With your father gone, who runs the business?”

“Trent. He’d been in charge of the day-to-day operations for some time. I did the Internet stuff as well as the designing.”

“Internet, meaning you were in charge of the Web site?”

“No. We outsourced that. I started tracking fashion blogs when hardly anyone knew what a blog was. You’d be surprised at how the fashion-obsessed take pictures of their outfits and post them or write about new shoes or purses or whatever strikes them in daily blogs. The blogosphere is a cheap, effective way of advertising. It’s really worked for us.”

Ryan knew he was one of the most talented computer security experts in the Bureau, but he knew little about blogging. It just seemed like online chit-chat to him. “Do the bloggers make any money?”

“Sure. They get a cut of the profits from links to online stores like Surf’s Up. They write about our new beachwear and provide a link. Our system is set up so we can tell where our referrals are coming from.”

“Interesting,” Ryan responded, and he meant it; although he didn’t have a clue about how it related to the attempt on Hayley’s life. “Your parents didn’t have a will or trust?”

“We assumed there was a trust set up because Dad said they were going to do one. My parents went to Chad Bennett for a preliminary consultation but never completed the trust.”

Chad Bennett’s name triggered an uneasy feeling. Other than wondering if he’d been high when they met at the “memorial service,” Ryan didn’t have much of an opinion of the guy. But he did recall seeing the attorney having a heated conversation with Trent.

“Not having a trust means my parents’ estate has to go through probate. California is notorious for its high estate taxes.”

“Your father would have left the business to…”

“Trent, with me as a partner or something. They would have left money to Farah, probably from the sale of the house.” She sighed. “They didn’t know how much I wanted to be an artist, not a designer.”

A crackle from the grill reminded Ryan that the steaks needed to be turned. He jumped up, checking his watch and seeing he’d left them on too long. He flipped them, shaking his head, and found Hayley at his side.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, her tone low, husky.

A voice inside his head whispered that he’d been captivated by her picture, but he knew he couldn’t tell her this. “Your aunt has been great with my father. I could see how much she loves you and…I couldn’t say no.”

“But you had no idea what you were getting into,” she said, and he thought he detected the sheen of tears in the dim light.

“No, but it’s an interesting, challenging case.” He couldn’t resist slipping his arm around her. “As long as nothing happens to you.”

He hadn’t expected her to snuggle against his chest, but she did. “Thank you. I know I was a complete brat last night, but the whole thing came out of the blue. I’m still trying to come to terms with Lindsey’s death. It’s taken me all day and hours on your father’s computer to read everything and truly comprehend the danger I’m in.”

Her head tilted upward so her eyes were looking into his. He felt something sizzle besides the steaks. Was it
one-sided, he wondered, or was there mutual attraction? “Ryan, I’m really lucky you’re helping me.”

He understood Hayley felt scared and alone and cut off from a comfortable, predictable world. Just because she was leaning against his body didn’t mean she was physically attracted to him. Still, it was a start.

Her cheek rested against the soft fabric of his T-shirt and he could feel the fullness of her breasts against his rib cage. His arm encircled her shoulders, light, protective. He could smell the fresh scent of shampoo and some elusive vanilla-accented fragrance coming from her warm skin. It was the same scent he’d detected in her closet. He battled the urge to kiss the top of her head.

She looked up at him again, her smoky green eyes framed by dusky lashes. Several beats went by as they gazed at each other, saying nothing. His breathing quickened and his chest hummed like a million bees in a hive. He was beginning to feel
way
too much for this woman. The thing he had to keep in mind was this wasn’t a casual encounter. A lot was at stake. His job. Her life.

He slid his thumb gently along the curve of her cheek. Her skin was as smooth and soft as it looked. A hollow, aching need for her crept downward to his groin. They stood together, pressing against each other like two people who met after an absence too long to be bridged by mere words.

One hand on his chest, she pushed away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart.” She headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the salad and zap the potatoes.”

With an unusual flash of insight, Ryan decided he’d been alone too long with a deep-seated pain no one could share. Some part of him, some area he’d assumed had died with Jessica was still alive. Ryan forced himself to concen
trate on the steaks, which were already too well-done on one side. Behind him, Ryan heard her bringing things to the table. He shut off the grill and removed the steaks.

He sat at the table with a reassuring smile and helped himself to salad and a twice-baked potato. “What was your mother’s part in the business?” he asked to get the conversation back to solving the mystery. He munched on the salad as he listened.

“My mother was the brains behind the business,” Hayley said with a ghost of a smile. She cut into her steak and Ryan could see it wasn’t as overdone as he’d thought. “Daddy had a small shop where he made surfboards while he wasn’t surfing. He sold them at Doug’s Surf Heaven. Mom made bikinis and tops and board shorts to sell there. That’s how they met. Mom convinced him to go into business for himself.”

“Did they—” Ryan didn’t know how to put it “—fall in love—”

“My father claimed he loved my mother from the first moment he set eyes on her.”

Once Ryan wouldn’t have believed this happened, but his unusual reaction to Hayley’s photograph proved anything was possible. Love at first sight. Chemistry, pure and simple.

“My mother said she was really attracted to him but he was married. She wouldn’t have anything to do with him until he left his wife and filed for divorce. Even then she felt guilty because he had two children.”

“But she still married him.”

“Oh, yes. They were head-over-heels in love. They married the day after his divorce became final. They were like goofy teenagers in love right up to the day the plane crashed.” She took a deep breath, as if searching for the
right words. Two beats of silence, then she added, “You know, as a kid growing up, I used to feel like a third wheel. They loved each other so intensely that there wasn’t much room for me. I actually envied Trent and Farah because their mother loved them with such a passion. Cynthia hated it when they came to stay with us.”