The Wharf (11 page)

“Same spot? Someone could’ve noticed it and replaced it.”

“It’s in the same spot. I counted the threads of carpet from the doorjamb.”

“Where do you learn this stuff?” He held out his hand and she dropped the toothpick into his palm.

“Where anyone learns anything these days—the internet.”

“Dinner later, or are you going to stick to your room again?” He tossed the toothpick from hand to hand, practicing his nonchalant look.

“I’m up for a working dinner—say, seven o’clock?”

A working dinner beat a pathetic table for one and a pay-per-view movie. “Lobby at seven o’clock.”

She shut the door on Ryan and the toothpick and did a quick survey of the room. Nothing was out of place, but she still felt on edge.

Maybe it was that whole interview with Cynthia Phelps. The fact that she’d already had an association with Joseph Brody and then happened to be on the bridge to witness his jump was weird enough, but add to that her jittery manner at the open house and one plus one was definitely adding up to something more than two.

She sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. She’d meant what she’d said to Ryan about a working dinner. If she kept her mind on work, it would leave less room for her emotional response to him and his hot body.

And that was all it was. He was a good-looking guy with juicy slabs of muscle. Any woman could appreciate that, but it didn’t require any action on her part. She sucked in her bottom lip and then bit it.

Stop thinking about him in that way.

She had a job to do—prove Joseph Brody’s guilt—and no sexy son or loyal friends would deter her. Both Marie Giardano and Cynthia Phelps had Joey Brody’s back, and neither one of them seemed all too pleased with her or the prospect of her book.

They knew him, or thought they knew him, and wanted to protect him. Even Daniel Walker had his defenders, and every serial killer in lockup had enjoyed marriage proposals from the outside.

Kacie stepped out of her clothes and tossed them on the closet floor. She showered and changed into a skirt to keep the dinner professional. Of course, the skirt was a flowery number that hit about midthigh.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she turned in front of the mirror to check the back view. She reached for the waistband when a knock on her door made her jump.

She peered through the peephole to see Ryan waving. He was taking this punctuality thing way too far.

Glancing down at her bare chest, she swept a T-shirt from the bed and pulled it over her head. She opened the door a crack. “You’re early.”

“I dropped by to pick up the file on my dad’s suicide. There was something I wanted to check before dinner.”

She widened the door and made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “Enter. It’s on the table where we left it. I’m still getting ready.”

He squeezed past her into the room, checking her out from head to bare toes. “I’m glad you’re not done getting dressed. I’m no fashion expert, but that shirt doesn’t go with the skirt.”

“Thank you for your advice, Mr. Givenchy.” She plucked at the hem of her skirt and curtsied.

Ryan cocked his head. He sauntered to the desk and scooped up the folder. “You’re getting a call.”

She held up her hands and he tossed the buzzing cell phone at her. Cupping the phone in her hand, she read Unknown Number on the display. The unknown was nothing unusual in her line of work.

She answered. “Hello?”

“Why, hello, Kacie. This is Daniel Walker.”

Chapter Eight

The low voice as smooth as a sharp blade sent a cascade of shivers down her back and she dropped to the edge of the bed. She’d never shown one ounce of weakness to Walker, and she wasn’t about to start now. “How are you calling me?”

Ryan jerked his head up from the file and mouthed the words
What’s wrong?

Had the fear seeped into her tone? She cleared her throat and put her cell on Speaker.

Walker chuckled. “It’s called a phone.”

Ryan’s brows collided over the bridge of his nose as he crossed the room in two steps and crouched beside the bed.

“You know what I mean, Walker.” She met Ryan’s eyes and dipped her chin as his mouth formed an O. “How is it you have access to a phone to call me?”

“All things are possible in prison, Kacie, my dear.”

“The cops will be onto you if you decide to send your thug after me again.”

He clicked his tongue and even that sound caused her to clench her jaw. “Kacie, Kacie, that’s why I’m calling. The warden had a little chat with me and I assured him, like I’m assuring you now, I never sent anyone after you. I’m an innocent man, biding my time and preparing for my appeal.”

“B.S.” She bounded up from the bed, nearly knocking Ryan over, and paced to the window. “Duke Bannister warned me that you were coming for me, and then you had him killed.”

“Who’s Duke Bannister? Sounds like a boxer.”

“He was a fellow inmate of yours at Walla Walla.” She licked her lips. “Just stop it. You know who Bannister is.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never had the...pleasure of meeting Mr. Bannister. Or does he prefer Duke?”

“He doesn’t prefer anything now. He’s dead.”

“So, an ex-con comes out of nowhere claiming to know me and proceeds to warn you that I’m after you? Sounds perfectly logical to me.” Walker coughed.

“Yeah, he warned me, and then I got locked in the hotel sauna, and I got that doll.”

As the silence on the other line dragged on, she shrugged at Ryan. Maybe Walker had been busted for the phone use.

“Hello?”

“What doll?”

“Someone sent me a doll just like the one your daughter had. I got the message.”

She heard Walker begin to sob and the sound had her bobbling the phone. She closed her eyes, fighting the sympathy that surged through her body. He didn’t deserve it.

She heard shouts over the phone and then a harsh whisper from Walker. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it.”

Then the line went dead.

Planting her hands on the table on either side of her laptop, Kacie hunched over, the phone still clutched in one fist.

She felt the warmth of Ryan’s presence behind her and then his strong fingers squeezing her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

She took a deep breath and turned to face him, close enough for her breasts beneath the baggy T-shirt to brush against his chest. Close enough to see his green eyes changing color at the contact. “I’m fine. He’s so good, so convincing, isn’t he?”

“What do you think he meant at the end? He didn’t kill his family, or he didn’t have someone stalk you?”

“I don’t know—probably both. To deny the one is to deny the other. If he never killed his family, he wouldn’t be the type to go after me for proving he did. Threatening me would almost be like admitting his guilt—and he’ll never do that, not as long as he has breath in his lungs.”

“He seemed really broken up about his daughter.”

“He’s a good actor.”

“Why would he go through the trouble of contacting you to tell you he wasn’t threatening you?”

She shuffled away from him and peered out the window at the darkening street below. “I don’t pretend to know what goes through the man’s mind.”

“Really? Because in the book you sort of did pretend to know what was going through his mind. Think about it. If he did discuss his plans with Bannister and then send someone to carry them out, why would he direct attention to himself by calling you, especially after the warden already talked to him about Bannister’s murder?”

She yanked on the rod of the drapes. “He enjoys the attention, Ryan. He saw it as another opportunity to maintain his innocence to me.”

“If you say so.” He shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t have any other enemies. Who else would be locking me in saunas and sending me dolls? Bannister was offed for warning me about Walker.”

“Was he?”

“Of course. What are you talking about?” She folded her arms over her stomach, grabbing handfuls of the T-shirt on both sides.

“You were going to meet him that night because he’d called you at lunch and said he had something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“He’d already warned you about Walker. What more did he have to say?”

“Maybe he was going to tell me something about the doll.” She bit her bottom lip, not enjoying the direction of the conversation.

“Why would he do that? If he even knew about the doll, he’d know that you’d figure out he was telling you the truth about his warning. What more would he have to say?”

“So what’s your theory?”

“He was going to tell you the truth—that someone besides Walker had sent him.”

She threw up her hands. “You’re basing all this on Walker’s insistence that he didn’t do it. They all say that, don’t they?”

“I’m just playing devil’s advocate here.” He tucked the file under his arm. “I still want to look this over. You can finish getting dressed, and I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

He jogged up the stairwell to work off some tension. Kacie hadn’t been wearing a bra beneath that T-shirt. She may have thought it was loose-fitting, but every time she moved, the soft material conformed to her breasts, making it hard to concentrate on the conversation...or just making it hard.

When he got to his room, he splashed some cold water on his face and brushed his teeth. Then he stretched out on the bed and skimmed through the file on his father’s suicide again, flipping to the back pages.

At the time of his father’s suicide, Cookie Phelps had been a streetwalker, plying her trade in the Tenderloin and turning over most of her earnings to a pimp. How had she broken out of that cycle? Where had she gotten the money to attend real-estate classes and take the test for her license?

That had all happened in quick succession, shortly after his father’s death. According to her website, Cynthia Phelps had been a Realtor for almost twenty years.

Had one event influenced the other? The thought that his father may have made some arrangement with Cynthia left a bad taste in his mouth.

He checked the time and stashed the file in the nightstand drawer. He’d bring all this up with Kacie at dinner. Maybe she could arrange to wear a potato sack, because that was the only way he was going to be able to focus on anything other than not peeling off her clothes.

No such luck.

The sway of her hips as she approached him in the lobby made the flounces of her skirt twitch back and forth. She’d replaced the baggy T-shirt with a V-neck sweater, and although she had her breasts properly ensconced in a bra, there was nothing proper about the way the soft material of the sweater hugged her assets.

He closed his mouth and hoped the drool hadn’t made it to his chin.

Standing up at her approach, he smiled. “That sweater is a much better match.”

“I’m glad you approve. I feel so much better about my selection now.”

He pointed to her feet in a pair of low-heeled sandals. “Can you walk in those? I’m thinking seafood at the Wharf.”

“No problem. I don’t feel like battling traffic and searching for a decent place to park. Let’s skip the big touristy places.”

“Agreed.”

They stepped into the cool night and Kacie threw a light jacket over her shoulders.

“Let’s beat the light.” Ryan grabbed her hand and pulled her into the crosswalk as the red hand blinked at them.

“You like living dangerously, don’t you?” She freed her hand from his on the pretext of clutching the collar of her jacket. “Drivers in this city are an impatient bunch.”

“You seem to know San Francisco well. Do you spend a lot of time here?”

“I...” She fussed with her jacket, finally shoving her arms through the sleeves. “I come here a few times a year—meetings, book signings. I like it.”

“Do you like it better than Seattle?”

“Both cities have their charms.” She stopped at the curb and smacked her palm against the light for the signal. “How about you? Do you miss it?”

“Crestview isn’t that far away, and two of my brothers are here, so I come in at least once a month.” He touched her elbow and pointed to the right. “This way.”

Hunching her shoulders, she said, “I’m glad you said that. Bannister was killed in the other direction. Do the police have any leads in the case?”

“If they do, they’re not telling me.” He guided her around a crowd of people watching a man dressed up like a robot, his face caked with silver makeup. “But I’m calling the lieutenant tomorrow to let him know about Walker’s call.”

“Oh.” She rubbed her nose. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

“He’s not supposed to be calling you, Kacie. He’d been warned. How does he have your number, anyway?”

“We were in very close contact at one time. I guess he kept my number.”

He shook his head. “You never changed your number after giving it to a psychopath like Walker? Come to think of it, how did Bannister get your number?”

“I gave it to him after he emailed me from my website. With the type of writing I do, I need to keep the lines of communication open. It’s a risk I’m willing to take to get and keep my contacts.”

“Talk about living dangerously.” He opened the door of the restaurant for her but felt like wrapping her in his arms instead. She might see herself as a tough cookie dealing with these criminals, but they saw her as an easy mark.

After the waiter brought their drinks and food, Ryan settled back in the booth and wrapped his hands around the chilly mug of beer. When Kacie pulled her mini-recorder from her purse, he groaned. “You’re kidding.”

She cocked her head. “I told you it was a working dinner.”

“I didn’t believe you.”

“Why wouldn’t you believe me? Did you think I’d need time to recover just because Walker called?”

“It’s okay if you do.” He flicked her wineglass with his finger, and the golden liquid inside shimmered in the candlelight. “I don’t mind a little business with my pleasure, but can we do this without the recorder?”

She swept it back into her purse. “Done. Did you discover anything else from that file after you left my room?” she asked as she picked up her fork and dug into her salad.