His Wedding Date (The Second Chance Love Series, Book 2) (24 page)

He'd wanted her this morning. She was sure of that. She'd felt the yearning in his touch, felt that all-powerful combination of want and need that rationality couldn't explain away.

But why now?

Guilt? Familiarity? All sorts of senses and emotions heightened by danger?

She couldn't help but worry it was all tied up with him losing Rebecca for good. It had only been a week since the wedding. Of course, he would have known their relationship was in danger long before that.

But still... the wedding, the finality of it all. It had only been one week...

Shelly stood in the yard, savoring the solitude and the silence.

Even knowing it was a bad idea and she'd come to regret it, she wanted to be with him again. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and give him the kind of kiss he'd wanted to give her this morning. That was all it would take. They'd be in bed together in moments, if his conscience didn't get in the way.

That was part of what had stopped her this morning. His conscience and her own insecurities.

Brian felt bad enough about the first time.

She'd be damned if she'd make love with him again only to have him feeling guilty as hell the next morning—again.

She didn't want his guilt. She wanted so much more.

Chapter 15

Fifteen minutes later, they stood in the hallway outside her apartment. She dug inside her purse for her new keys, and came up with them at last.

"I still can't believe he's gone," she said, fitting the key into the lock. "And I need to go—"

She broke off as the door swung open and she saw what was inside. Shelly jerked away from the sight, backing right into Brian.

"Oh, God. Here, too?"

Brian caught her with a firm hand that slipped around her waist from behind. He pulled her back against the rock-solid wall of his chest, holding her up when she didn't feel quite steady on her feet.

Her apartment had been torn apart, just like the office, just like Charlie's house.

"I can't believe it. I could have been here when this happened."

Despite everything, Shelly had never truly felt she was in danger, except mistakenly through the plane crash. It hadn't been aimed at her. She and Brian had just gotten in the way.

But this?

This felt completely different, and so hard to believe.

Someone had broken in here, deliberately and calculatingly searched through all her things, leaving havoc behind. It looked as if a small child had thrown a temper tantrum.

"Don't touch anything," Brian warned her as she stepped inside. "The police may be able to find fingerprints."

"This is crazy. It's absolutely crazy. What could anyone possibly want from me? I didn't do anything. I don't know anything. I can't imagine what Charlie could have done to make someone so desperate."

"I know," Brian said, taking her hand in his. "But we're going to find out. Promise. And until then, we'll make sure you're safe. I'm not going to let anybody hurt you."

* * *

Once again, they found themselves tied up with the police, first at Shelly's apartment and then at Charlie's.

The officers were now much more interested in Grant Edwards's whereabouts. He was the only real lead they had. Brian wanted to know about the man, as well. He wanted to know if the man still meant anything to Shelly. He wondered why she still wore the man's shirt to bed.

He and Shelly salvaged what they could of Charlie's papers that she'd taken to her apartment. Whoever had been in her apartment hadn't taken anything else. He'd broken a few things, either because he'd been careless or because he'd been mad.

They spent hours at Charlie's, going through his things again. Whatever had been in those locked desk drawers was gone now, along with whatever Charlie had in the house pertaining to his own finances or the firm's. Then they headed back to Shelly's apartment so she could pack a bag to take to his house.

"When you were going through the things we took out of Charlie's house the first night, what did you find?"

"Mostly medical bills," she said. "Marion had an amazing number of medical bills."

"More than he could pay?"

"No. That surprised me, actually. He paid them all—seventy or eighty thousand a year for the last few years."

"How?" Brian asked. "How could he do that? That's before taxes, before he had anything for himself to live on. Was he making that kind of money with the business?"

"I don't know," Shelly said. "I never really got into that side of the business."

"It's a hell of a lot of money," Brian said.

"I know. He put her in a less expensive place originally, but he wasn't happy with the care she was getting. You have to understand—she was like a child in many ways. She had the mobility of an adult with the mind of a child, which is a dangerous thing. The only reason Charlie put her in the nursing home to begin with was because she almost burned their house down one morning while Charlie was asleep. She got hungry and tried to cook something. Telling her not to do things like that didn't work. Still, it nearly killed Charlie to put her in a nursing home."

"What happened at the first one she was in?"

"I guess they'd had a difficult time with Marion one day—she'd been really agitated, and they couldn't calm her down. They were busy. Other people needed attention, too. So they put Marion in her wheelchair in restraints."

"Restraints?"

"They tied her down to the chair so she couldn't get up. She was hysterical when Charlie got there."

"God," Brian said. "How could anyone do that?"

"It's supposed to be illegal, in most cases—"

"Most cases?"

"Some people are so unsteady on their feet that falling's a real risk, and falls can be serious, especially in older people. But places use restraints, too, when they just can't handle all the residents they have or maybe they're short-staffed... I helped Charlie research places for Marion when he took her out of the first nursing home. Charlie swore she was never going to be treated badly again, no matter what it cost."

"So, he was desperate," Brian said.

"That's not what I said. Charlie was a good man."

"I believe that, too," he said. "But he also loved his wife very much and needed a lot of money to take care of her. That kind of desperation leads people to do things they wouldn't normally do."

Shelly shook her head. "What exactly do you think he did?"

"Took a bribe, maybe."

"He wouldn't, Brian."

"You said yourself that he almost let the firm go under when he was spending so much time taking care of his wife, so the firm couldn't have been in great shape financially when he finally put Marion in a nursing home. And he insisted on the best for her. Where would he get that kind of money?"

"I don't know, but I don't believe he'd take a bribe."

"We've got to at least consider it. This firm is involved in some projects that run into hundreds of millions of dollars. Think about it. Someone's cutting corners, saving themselves some money. They get the engineer inspecting the work to look the other way and they're home free."

"Substandard work on buildings? Bridges? People could die from those things," Shelly argued. "I can't believe he'd do anything like that."

"I have trouble believing someone would want to kill him, but they did." Brian took her hand in his as they pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. "I'm sorry. I know he meant a lot to you."

He hadn't wanted to push her into thinking about all this, but he felt like they were running out of time. He had to find out who was behind all this before the son of a bitch came after Shelly.

As Brian parked the car, his cell phone rang. He glanced at it.

"That's the lawyer calling me back. I need to take this. I want him figuring out what it's going to take to get us access to the firm's bank and tax records," he said. He answered the phone and asked the attorney to hold for a minute. "Shel, do you know who does Charlie's taxes? Or the firm's?"

"No, but I bet Maureen would. She looked after as much of Charlie's personal life as his business."

"Thanks." He pulled out a pen and notepad, in case he needed to take notes on the call with the attorney.

"I'm going inside to start packing," Shelly said.

"Okay, I'll be right up."

* * *

Shelly's hands shook as she fumbled with the keys to her apartment. She was exhausted. She was mad. She was frightened. Her apartment had been trashed. A good friend of hers was dead, and she was going to have to spend another night at Brian's house.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her. She couldn't believe someone had done this to her apartment, that some stranger had pawed through everything she owned.

Shivering, she clicked on the light in the living room and, cowardly as the thought was, she wished she'd waited for Brian before coming inside. She didn't quite feel safe here now. Everything was still in chaos. It didn't feel like her place, the way it used to, the way it should.

It had a sinister feel about it, as if the man who'd searched so recklessly had left something of his presence behind to haunt her, and she kept thinking that he knew where she lived. He must think she had something of Charlie's that he needed desperately.

Okay, that was it. She didn't care if she did look like a fool. She grabbed her keys and turned around, to go wait for Brian–and nearly walked right into another man standing in the narrow entranceway. A man between her and the only way out of her apartment.

"Ahh!" She didn't scream. She couldn't. The sound she had made was nothing more than a pathetic whimper.

"Shh," the man in the shadows said, coming toward her, coming into the light.

"Grant? Oh, my God, you scared me," she said, even as she started to back away from him. "What are you doing here?"

If he was the one who'd broken in, he'd already been here. Unless he hadn't found what he wanted the first time. Unless, he wanted her.

Surely not, she told herself, trying to remain calm. He'd tried to warn her away. If he cared enough about her to do that, surely he wasn't going to hurt her now. She was scared anyway that he would.

"Did you hear about Charlie?" she asked, nervous and ready to ramble on.

Brian was right outside. He'd be here any minute, she told herself. She just had to keep Grant distracted for a little while, until Brian got here.

Not long, she promised herself. It wouldn't take long.

She looked at Grant again. He looked like a man who hadn't slept, showered or shaved in days. And he had a wild look in his eyes, a desperate, frightening look.

Where had he been? What had he done? What was he capable of doing?

He took a step toward her.

"Charlie's dead, Grant," she said, forcing thoughts through a brain that threatened to lock up on her.

She couldn't let that happen. Physically, she was no match for Grant Edwards. But mentally? She had to hope she was. And she knew a woman's best weapon against a man was her brain. She had to think. She had to do something. What?

And then Shelly got an idea.

"I can't believe Charlie's... " She let her voice catch on a big, audible sigh, let herself think of all that had happened to her in the past week. She turned on the tears. "I can't believe he's gone."

Her trembling tone wasn't faked. Neither was the trembling in her body. Walking toward him, all but inviting him to take her in his arms–that was hard, but she did it, thinking maybe she'd just cry until Brian got here.

Grant looked suspicious, but he took her into his arms. Shelly hid her face against his shoulder, trembling even harder.

"I just... can't... believe it." She sobbed a little louder.

"What happened to him?" Grant asked cautiously. "The paper said it looked like he'd just gotten careless."

"I know," she said, thinking if her tears didn't work, maybe his need for information would. "It's so unlike Charlie to do something like that. But then... "