On the Scent (7 page)

Judging by the way he was leaning against the wall, his face much whiter than it had been, she figured it was best not to ask.

Maybe he
was
going crazy. Full-on, stick-me-in-a-straight-jacket insane.

Zach carried his duffle bag over to the sofa and sat it on the cushion. That'd explain the voices, and feeling strange emotions. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Hannah examining some figurines she'd removed from another box. She caught him staring, and her entire body language changed. Her shoulders tensed. Her back straightened. Her fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear.

The cat came sauntering into the room, sat down and gave Zach a staredown he was pretty sure that creepy kid from
The Omen
couldn't match.

Oh, it's only you. I smelled you from a mile away. Shower much?

Wait. Had the cat just insulted him, or was his imagination running away with him again? Zach lifted his arm a fraction and discreetly took a sniff. Deodorant. He'd showered this morning. What the—?

“Mreow.”

The cat jumped onto the other end of the sofa, curled into a ball, and lowered its head.

Nothing. No more weird thoughts.

Wiping a hand over his face, Zach took a deep breath and tried to refocus.

His game plan before coming here had been to convince Hannah to move to a safe house, but she'd still been adamantly opposed to the idea. He needed to find out why. Convince her she was wrong. There was a rental house in an upscale, gated community they'd used before that was ideal. It had a guard at the entrance and private security patrolling the neighborhood twenty-four-seven. Since they were short-staffed, it sure as hell would help to have that extra peace of mind. To know he wasn't the only thing standing between Hannah and whoever the hell was after her animals.

He rubbed at a tense muscle in his shoulder. “Is it okay if I set my stuff over here?” He gestured to the sofa.

Her gaze strayed down the hallway, where the dog was preoccupied with some kind of toy. “I'm still not exactly sure how this is supposed to work, but I have four bedrooms in this house if you're more comfortable in a bed.”

“Living room is better. I can keep an eye on the main entrances and exits from here. It's also close to your room, so I can hear if you need me.”

He glanced around and liked the changes she'd made since he'd last been here. The walls still looked sort of bare. That reminded him.

He snapped his fingers. “Be right back.”

She was watching him curiously when he returned, a small-framed poster in his hands. He walked over to the wall beside the television and held it up. “I was thinking you might like to have this. Maybe put it here on the wall?”

She gasped and rushed over to inspect it more closely. “A
City Lights
poster? Where did you get that?” Her face was happy as she examined it.

“I've had it for years.” He tapped Charlie Chaplin's face on the print. “I crashed on a couch for a while with a guy who dressed up like Charlie. He made his living earning tips on Hollywood Boulevard, posing with tourists. I watched a lot of Chaplin movies with him. I bought this movie poster at a flea market a few years back. I figured you might appreciate it, so if you want it, it's yours.”

“I love it.” She looked at him hopefully. “You sure I can have it?”

“You want to hang it here, or is that too ugly?” He held it over the spot he'd envisioned. Maybe she'd rather hang it in an office, or not at all.

“It's perfect. Thank you.”

He grabbed some of her tools and set about hanging it for her. “You don't meet too many people our age who are fans of Chaplin.”

“Ellie loved movies—classic film. She introduced me to Charlie, and I fell in love with the way he made me laugh.” She stood back and watched, her hands on her hips. “He was a genius.”

Yeah, he had been. The actor-writer-producer-director had always been a favorite of Zach's, too. He'd never met a woman to share that opinion before. It was a novelty.

Hannah went back to the table and box she'd been sorting through. Her beautiful face looked relaxed with a smile now. Good.

“Hannah, I have some questions.”

The paper stopped crinkling as her hands stilled. She glanced up and sat the trinkets aside. “Alright.”

“You don't have to stop. We can both unpack while we talk.” He tilted his head toward a box marked DECORATIONS sitting beside her. “Want me to go through that one?”

After a slight hesitation, she nodded. “If you don't mind, I'd appreciate the help.”

Placing the box on the table opposite from her, he opened it and found picture frames and photo albums. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me about your family or your friends.”

She shoved something into the box she was messing with so hard it clinked against something else. “My parents are dead. I don't have any siblings. No other family. I don't have a lot of friends either. Never had much time for socializing.”

He focused on the container in front of him again. “What about boyfriends?”

“That's kind of personal, don't you think?”

Probably. “I'm trying to get an idea who might have a grudge against you, Hannah. Usually, exes are a great place to start.”

He flipped through the photo album, saw nothing but images of a man, woman and young girl who looked suspiciously like Hannah. Setting it aside, he picked up one of the photo frames. Two teenage girls goofed for the camera. One white. One black. Hannah and another girl.

She had at least one close friend. She'd spent a lot of time with the other woman—tall, black, pretty—when he'd been surveilling her years ago. Hard to believe they weren't still friends. He moved to set the frame on a sparsely decorated bookshelf while Hannah said, “I can't think of anyone I know who would be responsible for any of this. Not even any of my exes.”

“Everyone always says that. More often than not, however, the perpetrator is someone they know.”

Zach fingered another framed photo in the box. A handsome, blond guy stood with his arms wrapped around Hannah. It was a more recent photo, maybe a few years old. Her expression was so bright and optimistic, it warmed something inside of him.

Zach felt a hot rush of hostility seeing the man he remembered all too well.

Holding up the framed picture, he asked, “What about this guy?”

All of the color drained from Hannah's face. She ate up the distance between them and snatched it from his grip. “No, not even him.” Her fingers trembled around the wood-edged frame. “I didn't know anyone had packed this.” She walked into the kitchen, opened the trashcan and tossed the frame inside.

He guessed that meant she hadn't gotten back together with the guy. Good.

“Okay. Different questions.” He took a deep breath. “Who helped you move?”

“Friends.”

His lips twitched. “I thought you said you didn't have friends.”

“My best friend, Sarah. She has four brothers. They helped me move.”

“You didn't hire anyone?”

Hannah shrugged. “I rented a truck.”

Anger radiated from her. Why? Because he was questioning her, or because she didn't like to be reminded of her ex, Eric Meester?

Zach couldn't remember the last time he'd met a woman so reluctant to talk about herself. Didn't she know that only intrigued him more?

She grabbed the box he'd been sorting through and carried it to where she'd been working. He got the message loud and clear.
Stay out of my stuff.
“Would you mind helping me move those boxes into the garage?” She nodded toward at least a dozen piled up in the corner. “I want to have them donated somewhere.”

He shrugged and bent to lift one of them. The lid burst open and the damn cat poked its head out with a loud “Mreoow.” Zach's heart nearly pounded out of his chest.

“Dammit, cat.” He sighed, staggering back.

The cat jumped onto another box and stared at him. Its tail swished back and forth.

I don't like you. Get out.

Zach froze, meeting the feline's almond-shaped gaze.

Get out.

Zach knew the thoughts were not his own. Was the cat actually—?

Hey idiot, I said, get out of my house. Go. Now. Scat.

“Uh,” Zach whispered. He glanced over his shoulder, saw that Hannah had her back turned and was reaching into a cabinet. He leaned closer to the cat and lowered his voice. “Did you say something to me?”

The cat lifted its paw and began licking.

Nothing else.

A cold sweat broke out on Zach's forehead.

Of course the cat hadn't been talking. Cats couldn't talk!

“Do you need some help?” Hannah asked.

Yeah. I think I do. Professional help.

“Nah, I got it.” Zach moved warily around the cat as he lifted a couple of the boxes and carried them to the garage.

He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he knew one thing.

He was keeping an eye on that cat and dog.

Hannah perched on the arm of the sofa beside Zachary and stared at the laptop in front of him. Was that her name in the internet search bar? Why?

Well, duh. Because he probably thinks you're a total psycho after the way you reacted earlier.
He was probably checking to see what looney bin she'd escaped from.

She took a deep breath when he looked up at her. “I'm sorry. I was rude earlier, wasn't I?” She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I'm not usually this awful. I swear. What do you want to know? Ask me and I'll tell you.”

His mouth lifted into that grin she was becoming fond of—whoa, mama, he was hot—and she grew instantly aware of the intimate way she'd touched him. She drew her hand away, stood, then moved across the room to the chair and waited for him to repeat the questions he'd asked earlier.

She'd spent the better part of the afternoon kicking herself for her reaction to his questions. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her background. Far from it. She knew enough about psychology to know she'd been a little depressed and overly sensitive since Ellie had died. That was her only excuse.

That, and Eric, the jerkface, still held too much power over her emotions.

Zach closed the lid of the computer and leaned back.

“I understand. This can't be easy on you.” He gestured to the computer. “I've been doing online searches to verify none of the media have identified you. So far, so good. You're only referred to as ‘the nurse.'” He made quote gestures with his fingers.

She relaxed a little more. “Sounds like a bad title for a TV movie of the week.”

“I bet you a hundred bucks you get an offer from a producer before this is over. Trust me. I know these people. They're probably doing everything they can to track you down for the story. They're like vultures.” His mouth twisted with disdain.

Is that why he'd given up television? Because he didn't like the people he worked for? She was curious now. “How did you get your own TV show?”

Judging by the way his impressive arm muscles bunched when he clenched his right fist, she didn't think he was going to answer. Seconds passed. “I was working at a private investigations firm in Los Angeles. A TV producer suspected his assistant was selling spoilers to a magazine, and my boss gave me a shot at the case since it was low key.”

“And you impressed that producer so much, he offered you your own show? How did you convince him you were psychic?”

His cobalt blue gaze turned dark. Cold. “It didn't take much.” He leaned forward again and tapped the laptop, bringing her attention back to his earlier words. “The other good news is that the most recent article is from last week, which means the media interest is waning.” He scratched the stubble at his chin. She got the message. Subject closed. “Who's been handling PR for you?”

Abbott jumped onto the chair and curled up on her lap, so she buried her fingers in the cat's soft fur and stroked. “Ellie's attorney is handling everything. He's been great through this entire process.”

Zach stared at Abbott, whose purr got louder each time she rubbed him. Brows furrowed, her bodyguard moved some papers aside and pulled out a folder. He pushed it toward her across the table.

His tone was curt. “Hannah, I had to consult my own attorney before talking to you about this, which is why I didn't say anything when you first came into my office. We adhere to strict client confidentiality, but this is a unique situation.”

Pushing Abbott aside, she reached for the folder. It had Ellie's name typed on it. “What is this?”

“Ellie Parham hired me three years ago to do a background check on you.”

What the hell? She sat up straighter, causing the cat beside her to grumble. Three years ago? “I started working for her four years ago. Part-time at first, but then she had her stroke.” She shook her head as she skimmed the file. Nothing but a few reports. Reference checks. Credit report. Criminal history. Thank God that one was blank. “I don't understand why she would have hired you to do this. The agency I worked for already did background checks on us. She knew that.”

“She never said why, but do you want my opinion?”

“Yes, of course.” Her mind was gobsmacked.

“I think a woman of her wealth wanted to make sure anyone she hired could be trusted. I also think she was looking at you as a potential heir. Making sure you were everything you claimed to be. Making sure you were worthy of ten million dollars.” He leaned back. “By law, she couldn't leave the money directly to her pets, Hannah. She could only leave it to someone with instructions the money be used to take care of them. Even then, there is no way to guarantee the person does, so I'm guessing she saw something in you that put her mind at ease on that front.”

She supposed that made sense. If only Ellie had told her. If only the older woman had asked.
But Zach told you. He didn't have to, you know.

She examined his profile. So handsome. So serious. “I think I'm starting to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Let me show you something.” When she returned with the envelope that contained Ellie's notes, he seemed hesitant to look inside. He gave nothing away as he glanced over the words the older woman had written. This man was good at hiding things. What else was he hiding? Hannah crossed her arms as she watched him carefully. “I suppose Ellie wanted me to hire you because she liked the work you did for her. That's why she left these notes.”

Zach frowned when he looked up. “Yes, but why would she think you'd have a need?” He handed the envelope back to her. “Hannah, I don't want you to overreact to what else I have to tell you.”

Tension seeped back into her muscles. “I won't.” Abbott groused when she sat down and pulled him back into her lap, but then purred as she gently stroked her fingers through his silky fur. Having the cat close comforted her. “Tell me.”

“I ran a background check on Ellie.”

Her forehead tightened as she frowned. “Why?” Abbott pushed his furry body against her fingers, demanding more petting. She scratched him in that spot he loved behind his ear.
Purr. Purr. Purr.

“I'm trying to narrow our list of suspects.” Zach sank back against the sofa cushions and gave a loud, contented sigh. He let his head fall back on the cushion and his voice was languid when he spoke. “I wanted to make certain there were no long-lost relatives looking to cause trouble for you.”

Okay. That made sense. “Did you find anything?” And why was he acting so weird all of a sudden?

He lifted his head and shifted his weight on the sofa. “That's what has me puzzled. Ellie Parham didn't exist until 30 years ago.”

“But that's impossible.” She stopped stroking Abbot's fur and met Zach's gaze. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck and explained what E.J. had found. Hannah shook her head. “No. There has to be some explanation.”

“There always is.” He was quiet for a while. “Do you know how Ellie got her fortune?”

That had been one of Hannah's first questions upon hearing the terms of Ellie's will. She nodded. “Mr. Russell, the attorney I mentioned earlier, said she came from a wealthy family, and she had an incredible financial advisor who secured her trust fund when the stock market collapsed a few years back. She barely lost a dime of what she'd made over the years.”

She remembered how conservative Ellie had been with money, insisting Hannah use coupons from the Sunday paper and buy things only on sale. It wasn't hard to believe she'd never touched her trust fund.

Zach looked thoughtful. “I'd like to speak with your attorney. My gut tells me he's the person who could clear a lot of questions up for me.”

Abbott made himself more comfortable in her lap. His four legs stretched until he was sprawled across her thighs. His purr vibrated against her leg as she slid her fingers through his silky hair. “We can go see him tomorrow.” She looked forward to the opportunity to get out of the house.

Zach slid lower in his seat, spreading his legs wide and appearing so relaxed he looked almost…drugged? He'd been acting fidgety during most of this conversation. Should she be concerned?

“Are you okay?”

He reached up and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Yeah.” He moved to his feet and paced to the window. Wrenching the curtain aside, he peeked out. “Good. Yeah, we'll go in the morning.”

What the hell was happening to him? Zach was getting excited, in more ways than one.

He tried to focus on the task at hand—finding out more about Hannah—but it was hard.

Kind of like he was getting hard.

Damn.

It had started when the cat had jumped in her lap. She'd started petting the animal, and a happy, relaxed feeling had washed over Zach. It had felt as if someone was running her hands through
his
hair. Pure ecstasy.

The more he'd watched her stroke the cat, the more his thoughts had shifted in a different direction. The woman was gorgeous. Even dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that featured a popular cartoon character, her hair pulled back and hardly any makeup on.

Not good.

He ran a hand through his hair to try and distract himself from the odd feeling of someone else's fingers there. No matter how attracted to Hannah he was, he couldn't let it happen. She was his client. Right now, the agency's most valuable client.

“I know it's a touchy subject, but I really do need to know if there's anyone in your life who might be responsible for this.” He turned to face her. “Who knows where you live?”

A half smile tugged at her mouth. “That's easy. My best friend, Sarah, and her family. No one else.”

“No one?”

“I wasn't joking when I said I don't have many friends, Zach.” She shrugged. “Truth is, I hate people. I try to avoid them as much as possible.”

Wait. She hated people? “You're a nurse.”

“
Was
a nurse. I haven't decided if I'm going back to work or not.” She motioned toward the TV in the corner. “I can't even watch the news anymore. People are horrible. I prefer my animals. Animals are much more innocent. Isn't that right, sweetie?” She cooed to the cat, who lifted its face to accept her kiss on its nose.

Lucky cat.

Something clicked. “You hired us to protect the cat and dog.”

A weary smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Pretty sure I mentioned that.”

He hadn't taken her seriously. No one was that selfless. “So if someone had a gun to your head and another person had a gun to that cat's head, who would you want me to save first?”

“The cat. Of course.” She had a
duh
expression on her beautiful face.

He moved closer. “So if someone had a gun to my head, and another gunman had your dog, you would save…?”

Her eyelids drooped as she stared at him.

He arched a brow. “Not gonna answer?”

“I was thinking.” She pursed her lips. “No offense, but I barely know you. You're a tough guy. You can protect yourself. I'm gonna have to go with the dog. We have history. You and I don't. Sorry.”

If only she knew.

He glanced toward the framed photo of her and her friend, now placed on a shelf prominently in the room. The house was beginning to show clues of Hannah's personality, but he would have never guessed at the bitterness hidden deep inside her. She'd choose a cat or dog's life over a human's? That was nuts.

“Tell me about Sarah and her family.”

Her expression relaxed. “I've known Sarah since middle school. We grew up together.” She watched the cat as her fingers continued to caress its fur, and Zach couldn't prevent the slight moan from slipping past his lips. “My mother died when I was twelve. It was sudden. Brain aneurism.” There was no emotion in her words. He tried to focus on that, and it worked. His libido cooled. “She and my stepfather had only been married a few months. When she died…” Her voice trailed off. She glanced up. “I had no other family. He turned me over to DSS, and I ended up in foster care. Sarah was in foster care too. That's how we met.”

“What about your birth father?”

His voice became more taut. “He's not in the picture.”

“What's his name?”

“Why?”

“I'd like to do a background check. Make sure he's not trying to cash in on a suddenly rich daughter.”

Her lips thinned. “My mother left Ireland to get away from him. When she told him she was pregnant, he wanted her to have an abortion. I don't think he even knows I exist.”

Damn. “Your mother
told
you that?”

Amusement lifted the edges of her mouth. “My mother told me he died in a car accident before I was born.” She shook her head. “I overhead my stepfather telling the social worker. Otherwise, I'd have never known the truth.”

Zach couldn't help but wonder if he'd found his first credible suspect. “Do you know his name?”

She rolled her eyes. “Liam Kelly. I'd appreciate it if you didn't contact him. Even if he's still alive, I'm not keen to meet him.” Abbott finally grew tired of the petting and leapt to the floor. Thank God. Hannah's gaze followed the cat. “Besides, I've been lucky. I was never abused. Teenagers rarely get adopted, but I did. An older couple—a preacher and his wife. Donald Patrick was more of a father to me in five years than any man I've known.”

“Are you still close to him?”

She shook her head. “Mr. Patrick died from a heart attack six years ago. Mrs. Patrick had a stroke and died a year later.”

He stood behind the smaller sofa opposite her, his hands braced against the back of it. “That's tough. Sorry.”

She blew out a breath and gestured awkwardly toward the kitchen—or more precisely, he realized when she spoke, toward the trashcan. “Since we're discussing my soap opera of a life, there was also Eric Meester, my ex-fiancé. It didn't end well, but I haven't seen or spoken to him in about three years. Last I heard, he'd moved out of state anyway.”