Taken (4 page)

Driven by rationalizations that didn’t sound true even in her own head, Kayla kept going until she reached the Marina Green, a large expanse of grass that edged San Francisco Bay and provided a spectacular view of ships sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge. She couldn’t imagine getting much work done if she lived down here. She’d be too tempted to take long, windy walks or simply stare out the window at the setting sun that even now was lighting up the clear, dusky sky with a wild splash of pur-ples, oranges, and pinks.

As she paused at a stoplight, she drew in a breath at the awesome color palette provided by Mother Nature and immediately envisioned a new stained-glass window with exactly those colors. She doubted she would ever be able to match the perfection that was before her now.

Even as she tried to commit the colors to memory, they began to fade into the night. Nothing ever stayed the same.

When the light changed to green, she turned left, her heart beating more rapidly as Nick’s home came into view. She’d driven down this street a hundred times since her wedding day, hoping against hope to see some sign of life. Every time she’d been disappointed.

Until now . . .

The light in the window shocked her so much she blinked twice to make sure it was real. With shaky hands, she steered into a nearby parking spot and shut off the engine, her heart beating double-time. Nick was back. He was home. She was going to see him tonight, get the answers to her questions. So why couldn’t she move? Why was she frozen with fear?

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She shouldn’t be scared. She should be angry, furious.

She should go up there and give him a piece of her mind.

That was exactly what she would do.

Throwing her shoulders back, she stepped out of the car and walked across the street and up the stairs to the front door. Her knock brought the sound of heavy footsteps. She was afraid to breathe.

The door opened abruptly and a man stood before her.

“Who are you?” she asked in shock. This wasn’t Nick.

It was a stranger — a man who towered over her five-foot-four-inch frame by at least ten inches. He had dark hair and the most piercing green eyes she’d ever seen.

She took a step back, feeling an instinctive need to defend herself — against what, she didn’t know. “Who are you?” she repeated.

“I’m Nick Granville.”

2

The name slammed into her like a punch to the gut.

Kayla’s jaw dropped. Her breath came short and fast. She must have heard him wrong. He couldn’t possibly have said Nick Granville. “No, that’s not true,” she said immediately, with a definitive shake of her head. “I know Nick Granville, and you’re not him.” She searched his face for some sign of familiarity, which was crazy, because this man was not Nick. Nick had blond hair, a wide smile, and a lean, wiry frame. This man was big, with broad shoulders, a deep tan, fierce eyes, and an angry scowl.

“Oh, it’s true, all right,” he said, his gaze fixed sharply on her face. “Now, you. A name, please.”

“Kayla. Kayla Sheridan,” she muttered. His sharp in-take of breath surprised her. “What did I say?”

“You’re Kayla? The woman who left a dozen messages on my answering machine?”

“On Nick’s machine,” she corrected, “and you are not him. I think I would know my own husband. What are you doing in his home?”

“This is my house.”

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“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m calling the police,” she said with as much bravado as she could muster.

“I’ve already called them,” he said, surprising her once again.

She stared at him in confusion. He wasn’t making sense. Why would he have called the police when he was the intruder? And why was she standing here talking to a complete stranger, who might even be dangerous? As she began to back away, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Not so fast,” he said, a hard glint in his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Let me go.” She tried to wiggle free, but he had an iron grip on her arm.

“After you’ve answered a few questions.”

“Me? You’re the one who needs to answer some questions. Like what you’re doing in my husband’s home.”

“I told you I live here, and I have for the past six years.”

“That’s not true.”

“Why would I lie?”

“Because . . . well, I don’t know yet, but I still don’t have any reason to believe you.” She pushed back the niggling doubt beginning to take shape in her head. She told herself that she knew Nick and she trusted him.

The only lies being spoken were by this man, this stranger. But weeks of uncertainty had blurred Nick’s image in her mind, and her confidence in her own beliefs was not as strong as it had once been.

“If you want proof, fine. I can give you that.” Without releasing her arm, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open to his driver’s license and held it in front of her face. She stared at the photo-26

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graph, which matched the face of the man standing in front of her. The name was Nick Granville. The address was this address. It was a perfect match.

“That can’t be right,” she said emphatically, but her mind was spinning. How could two men have the same name and address? “There must be some mistake.”

“There’s no mistake. I am Nick Granville. This is my home.”

God!
She had the terrible feeling he was telling the truth. But how could that be?

“Now it’s your turn,” he continued. “Tell me about this man you married and why you were living in my house.”

“I wasn’t living here. Nick was.” She licked her lips.

There was a knot of emotion in her throat that made it difficult to swallow or speak. She knew she needed to defend Nick, but she was having a hard time finding the right words.

“Since when?” the man asked. “When did he break in here?”

“He didn’t break in. He had a key. I saw him use it more than once.”

That bit of news seemed to take him by surprise. She pressed her advantage. “He told me he’d lived here for over a year. He even said hello to one of your neighbors.

And the cleaning woman was here one day. He talked to her, too. She acted like he was the owner.”

“Because she never met me in person,” he muttered. “I hired her over the phone.”

“So you say.”

“It’s the truth. I’ve been out of the country for the past three months on a job. I’m an engineer. I work for Coop-ers and James,” he added, naming a large and prestigious
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engineering firm in San Francisco. “I just got back from building a bridge in Africa.”

Which would explain all the beautiful black-and-white photographs of bridges that adorned the walls of the house. Nick had told her that he just liked bridges. But this man said he built them. He could probably prove that, too, or she could. A call to his company would confirm his employment, which meant he had to be telling the truth about his job, at the very least. Still, that didn’t make him innocent.

“You’re pretending to be Nick,” she said defiantly. It was the only explanation she could think of that made sense. The fact that he had a driver’s license in Nick’s name was probably part of his plan to be Nick. “What have you done with him? Where is he?”

“You’re fucking crazy, lady. You’re in on it with him, aren’t you?”

“In on what?”

“Whatever game the two of you are playing to rob me of everything I own. I know my credit cards were used, my bank accounts pilfered. I haven’t discovered the extent of the thefts, but I will, and you will both pay dearly for what you did to me.”

He was accusing her of robbing him? Her heart began to race. “I didn’t take anything from you.”

“But you have been here before,” he continued.

“There’s perfume in the bathroom and I found lipstick on my dresser.” His gaze fixed on her mouth as he said,

“Cherry red.”

She couldn’t help licking that same color off her lips.

It was her favorite.

“I assume those belong to you,” he said.

“They might. I can’t remember if I left anything be-28

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hind. I haven’t been here since before our wedding. Nick hasn’t been here either, not for at least the past two weeks. I’ve left messages and I’ve come by almost every day. There was never a sign of anyone home until tonight.

Now, let go of me.”

His grip tightened on her arm, his fingers strong, unyielding. “I don’t think so. Not until the police get here.”

Why was he so eager to have the police arrive if he was the guilty party? She wished she had a good answer to that question. The way he was talking, she had a feeling she would be the one arrested.

The phone rang. He didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to answer that?” she asked, wondering who was calling. In the weeks that Nick had been gone, she had racked her brain trying to remember the name of one of his friends or a coworker, but she’d finally come to realize that whatever friends Nick had, he hadn’t shared them with her.

“You’d better come in,” the man in front of her ground out, pulling her into the room. She tried to resist, but her strength was no match for his. He reached for the phone and said, “Hello? Mom. Look, I have to call you back.

I’ve got a big problem on my hands.”

Mom? What kind of a thief takes calls from his
mother?
Kayla felt suddenly overwhelmed by the whole situation. She didn’t know what was true and what was false.

“I know I called you,” he continued. He held the phone receiver away from his ear as an irritated female voice grew louder. “Yes, yes, I understand. I got it. I can’t write down the address right now.” He sighed. “Fine, hang on.”

As he tried to juggle the phone and reach for a pen, he let go of her arm. Kayla backed away as he repeated an
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address while writing something on a notepad. She was out the door when she heard him swear. The clatter of the phone dropping to the ground made her sprint down the stairs and across the street. She jumped into her car as he reached the sidewalk. Jamming her key into the ignition, she prayed for a quick start. The engine roared and she peeled away, almost running him down in the process.

Her heart pounded against her chest. She swerved around one corner, then the next. A quick glance in her rearview mirror showed nothing but an empty street behind her. Thank God, he wasn’t following her. She needed time to think, to make sense of it all, if that was even possible. His words spun around in her head:
“I’m
Nick Granville.”

If that was true, who on earth was the man she had married?

“Dammit,” Nick muttered as Kayla’s car disappeared from sight.

The only lead he had was gone. And he’d let her go.

Who the hell was she? A thief? An accomplice? Her big brown eyes had been shocked when he’d opened the door. When he’d told her who he was, she’d looked at him as if he were crazy or dangerous. But she was the nutcase, calling him a liar. What the hell was that about?

He didn’t know what to make of her.

Was she a victim? Duped by someone else? She certainly didn’t look like a sophisticated thief, with her wild brown hair, tight-ass jeans, and clingy bright orange T-shirt with the word JUICY spelled across a very nice pair of breasts. He frowned at that distracting thought and told himself to stay focused on the facts at hand. He’d just
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been robbed. And that woman had admitted to being in his house with another man.

He went over their conversation in his head, her contention that he was, in fact, the liar and that the other guy was the real Nick Granville. He’d never had anyone challenge his identity before. It was strange having to defend his name, to prove he was who he said he was.

Returning to his house, he jotted down the numbers from her license plate on a pad by the phone. He had a very good memory. With any luck this Kayla would be able to lead him to the man who had broken into his house.

Glancing down at his watch, Nick wondered where the police were. He’d called them over an hour ago. He hated to wait for anyone or anything. Patience had never been part of his makeup. He didn’t like being out of control, letting someone else call the shots. He remembered all the times he’d waited for his father to show up for a visit.

Nine times out of ten his father hadn’t come at all. Nick could still feel the frustration and anger of those days.

But that was behind him now. He was living the life he’d always wanted. He loved his career, especially the travel, and he was damned sure not going to let anyone steal that life right out from under him without a fight.

He was beginning to realize that his distraction with his work had made him vulnerable. He should have taken more precautions. He’d heard about identity theft. He knew credit cards and bank accounts, especially online accounts, could be hacked. But he hadn’t given his attention to his personal business, and now he was going to pay a big price. He still didn’t know how much the thief or thieves had stolen from him. There were thousands of dollars charged on his credit cards, and his bank balances
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were far lower than they should have been. He had no idea if he could get all or any of it back, but he would give it his best effort. He’d worked too hard to earn his money to let it vanish just like that.

Pacing back and forth across his living room, he went over his conversation with Kayla word for word. Had she left him any clues? Had she said anything that would help him figure out who had been in his home?

She’d given him her full name. What was it? Kayla Sheridan. Yes, that was it. Nick grabbed the phone book off the shelf in his kitchen and thumbed through the pages. There it was. His heart skipped a beat as he saw her name, address, and phone number. That was surprisingly easy.

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, he felt a surge of excitement.

Kayla was still shaking when her doorbell rang an hour later. Looking out the window, she saw the silver Porsche in front of her house and her stomach turned over. Was it Nick — her Nick? Or was it the other guy?