They’d collaborated on a string of proxies. It meant a way to launder more money. Tax evasion. So, finally, the truth. Or was she overreacting? The name of another related company scrolled into view on the screen, associated with A.Z Mason and her father, and she knew that she wasn’t overreacting. Not at all.
Her troubles were certainly not far behind her, she thought as she stared at the screen. They were everywhere she looked. She quickly jumped up, almost knocking over the chair.
She raced to the toilet, feeling nauseous, but nothing happened. She finally sank back onto her heels and shook her head. This couldn’t be a coincidence, her hearing that particular name, the company Lenz had threatened her father with, finding it in the files, and attached to a man laced through the whole sting. She wished it were otherwise. But that was silly. Facts were facts and she knew what she’d heard her father say, that he’d take care of it with Mason. He’d agreed and done it.
She slowly got to her feet, walking back into the bedroom. She snuggled under the comforter, and stared at the shadowy ceiling.
She hadn’t been sure what she’d been looking for in the files, beyond anything the prosecutor might plan on using in the case against her father. She’d kind of hoped she’d know what was important when she saw it. She knew that anything to do with Kenner hadn’t been aboveboard. And she knew her father had finalized whatever the agreement had been. She’d heard him promise to do just that.
The files for Kenner all looked like routine work, investment trackers, plus and minus values and projected profits, long-term goals. It seemed normal, even that three subaccounts had been opened. But the argument in her father’s office hadn’t been about any normal dealings. If she’d been subpoenaed, it would have been all over for her father.
She left the bed and went to get her purse. She found her cell phone and sank back on the comforter with it. She wanted to call her dad. She wanted to hear his voice, and she wanted him to convince her that she was wrong. More delusions, she thought, but finally rang her father’s private number. On the third ring, he answered.
“Yes?” Raymond Sizemore asked hesitantly.
“Dad.” She barely got out the word before the tears came.
“Angel? Is that you?”
Faith swiped at her eyes, forced a breath into her tight lungs and said, “I just wanted you to know I’m okay. I’m okay.” And she hung up.
She had no idea if his phone line was tapped, although she thought it was a real possibility. Maybe she’d just done one more stupid, impulsive thing, but she’d had to. Hugging herself, she rocked back and forth until she got her emotions under control.
Eventually, she got undressed, climbed back into bed and switched off the light.
If you need to talk to anyone, I’m a good listener,
Adam had said, and how she wished she could talk to him, to tell him the truth, to ask for his advice.
She rolled onto her side, her foolishness weighing on her heavily. Her mind raced and her heart ached. Loneliness only made it worse.
Then logic overtook her emotions, and she realized that her decision to run to prevent being subpoenaed by the grand jury had just been validated by what she’d found. Hiding had been the best thing she could do to protect her father. And she hated it.
She glanced at the bedside clock, and it showed midnight. The door downstairs chimed, and muted voices could be heard, then the door chimed again followed moments later by an engine roaring to life out front. Willie G. was on his bike and leaving.
She shifted to her other side, tried to relax, then finally felt the first tendrils of sleep. She heard the strains of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and felt Adam’s arms around her.
She should have made herself wake up, but she let that go. She was suddenly too tired to fight anything, and she embraced a world that didn’t have troubles. It had warmth and strength, and Adam. Her hand in his. His smile, the dimple and his “Merry Christmas, Faith.” His voice was the last thing she remembered before she finally sank into a deep sleep.
* * *
T
HE
NEXT
THREE
DAYS
were made up of gray skies, thin snow on the ground, seeing old friends, and finally Adam gave in to a driving need to see if Faith was still in town. He didn’t want to think that she had left Wolf Lake by now, but the fact was, she could be his past and not part of his present. She’d said something about leaving two days ago, but he didn’t think that was a firm plan. He hoped it wasn’t. He’d work on that premise and go from there.
By the time he dressed in jeans and a cabled sweater, he was at his computer typing in a single name on the search line, just as he’d done for the past two days. Faith Arden. The hits were many, but still none matched what he was looking for. After fifteen minutes of clicking on links and putting in variations on the name, including
Illinois,
criminal record
and anything else he could think of without finding a thing, he gave up.
There had to be a Faith Arden out there from Illinois with something going on in her life that had made her leave the area. He grabbed his denim jacket and avoided both parents by not even going into the main house for breakfast. Soon, he was in his truck driving off, with a loose plan of action that he’d been mulling over since the dance. It was weak, and any chance of success would rest on whether her “friend” was a local or traveling with her. If the friend was not local, then she had to be at a motel or such in the area. If the friend was local, it would get more complicated, but doable if he got going on it.
Once he arrived in town, discovering how busy it was getting so close to Christmas, he bypassed the influx of sightseers and skiers who’d stopped for food or shopping before moving on to the higher ski areas beyond Wolf Lake.
He parked the truck on a side street away from the main section of town and called the three motels in the area. He described Faith and her car, but no one knew anything about her. He tried Mallory Sanchez at the inn, but the call went to voice mail. He hung up, then contacted the local rental company and asked about any recent short-term rentals. No Faith on any rental papers, no one from Illinois, and he realized any rental could be under the friend’s name. That was a problem.
He was about ready to start driving around, then maybe head over to Mallory’s Inn, when he spotted a petite woman with dark curls, bundled up in a flame-red coat and walking in the opposite direction. He was out of the truck in a second, hurrying after her. He gained on her and actually got within ten feet of her before stopping dead in his tracks.
A man in a wool cap and a brilliant orange down vest with denims and heavy boots came toward her. She practically jumped into his arms. Adam was stunned at the weight of disappointment that came down on him. Someone bumped him from the back, apologized, then hurried past, but he barely noticed. The man drew back, slipped his arm around the woman, and they kept walking, holding on to each other as they went.
He’d thought Faith was running from a man or a situation with a man, but she wasn’t running from this guy, whoever he was. Maybe she’d been speeding to get to Wolf Lake to be with this man, the supposed friend she was with. The guy leaned down to say something close to her ear. Whatever he’d said, it stopped her and she turned to him. A profile with a sharp nose and strong chin were silhouetted in the grayish light of day; the features weren’t even close to Faith’s.
Adam closed his eyes to absorb the relief he felt that the woman wasn’t Faith and his frustration that he hadn’t found her. The strength of those emotions made little sense, especially when they concerned a woman he had seen three times and danced with once.
He turned to head back to the truck, admitting that he was on some crazy compulsive streak. Even when he was on the job, logic controlled him. And this wasn’t logical at all. Faith was a stranger. Faith had a life somewhere with someone. But not here and not with him. It was that simple. And she certainly wasn’t someone who made the news. He would give up his futile attempts using the internet and coming up empty.
He climbed into the truck, started it, then swung out onto the street and decided to head to the police station to find John. If anyone could be logical about this, John could be. He needed to talk to his friend, if for no other reason than to have him remind him of how stupid he was being.
His progress was slow, hampered by the people crisscrossing the streets and cars inching along so that folks could scan the brightly decorated shop windows. He had sat on stakeouts for hours on end, with patience that he had mastered years ago, but not being able to figure out if Faith was still in town was getting to him.
He ran a hand over his face, exhaled, then looked from side to side on the street and that was when he saw “Faith” again.
The woman who looked like Faith was small and quick, with black curls, dressed in jeans, chunky boots and a heavy red sweater that seemed to engulf her. He didn’t look for a parking spot to stop and go after her. Instead, he watched her go, her head down, her chin nestled in the thick yarn of the sweater as she veered to her right, then took the steps up and into the general store. He wasn’t aware he’d stopped the truck in the middle of the street until a horn blared behind him. He wasn’t going on another wild-goose chase.
He quickly pulled ahead and found himself outside Mallory’s Inn. He almost drove on, but then changed his mind. He got out, jogged to the door and went inside. A chime sounded as he looked around the deserted reception area. “Mallory,” he called, going to the desk, but no one answered.
He tried again. “Mallory?”
“Excuse me?” Someone spoke from behind him, and he turned to see a couple sitting in the lounge area by the fireplace. The man was nursing a steaming mug, and the woman with him was mirroring his actions. They both looked expectant.
“Excuse me,” Adam said. “I’m looking for the owner.”
“She’s gone for a bit. Said she’d be back as soon as she could,” the man said.
Adam thought it was worth a try to ask, “Do you know how many guests are staying here?”
“We’re not sure,” he said, glancing around. “We only checked in a few hours ago, a room at the back down here on the first floor. To be honest, we haven’t seen or heard anyone.”
Adam spotted the ledger on the desk, crossed to it and was about to reach for it when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Jack. He thanked the couple and headed out as he hit the talk button on the phone. “Jack?”
“It’s me,” his older brother said over the line.
Adam hopped into the truck and waited, then finally spoke when Jack didn’t. “How are things up north?”
There was an intake of breath, then Jack said, “Just checking in.”
Adam glanced behind him, switched on the ignition and backed out into the street. “What is it?”
“I said, I’m—”
“You called to tell me something. What is it?”
“I’m staying here until after the New Year.”
“Things are going okay?”
“Yes, they are. Trey’s a great kid, and...” His voice trailed off and then he tried again. “He looks a lot like his dad.” It meant he looked a lot like Robyn, too. “He’s a good kid.”
Adam smiled. “I bet he is. Tell Robert to bring him out to see Mom and Dad as soon as he’s able to.”
“Will do,” Jack said, then added, “Merry Christmas.” He hung up.
Adam exhaled. Jack was okay. He was working things out. And he’d be back sooner or later. He just needed time. Meanwhile, here he was running around like a chicken with his head cut off looking for a woman who was probably hundreds of miles away from Wolf Lake.
He was a cop who had tracked down a number of people, and yet now he’d lost a woman who seemed to be able to flit in and out of his life at will. He couldn’t find one pretty, dark-haired woman in a town a fraction of the size of Dallas.
He drove away from the inn, spotted the police station and pulled into the parking lot. It couldn’t hurt to at least talk to John. If nothing else, he could complain to his friend about the way life worked sometimes. He got out and to the door of the flat-roofed, sprawling building with a handful of cruisers out front. He was way out of his jurisdiction, but at this point he was beyond caring.
Jack should be his focus, not a woman who didn’t seem to want him anywhere near her. As he stepped inside, he almost ran into John. They avoided a collision, made small talk, and by the time they were in John’s office, Adam had decided not to discuss Faith or admit to the obsession he had. That was gone. She was gone. They talked about John’s family, the holidays and Jack’s phone call.
When Adam left a half hour later, he felt settled and focused. Until he got back in the truck. It wasn’t obsessive to want some information about Faith. It was what he did. And he was like his mother and was not a quitter. He turned the motor on, got the heater blowing warm air, then sat back and took out his cell phone. He put in a call to his partner in Dallas, and when Connors picked up, he said, “Hey, it’s Adam and I need you to do me a favor.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
F
AITH
STOOD
,
EXAMINING
the sundries at the general store. She had a jumble of thoughts going through her mind, things that confused her and things that made her heart ache. It had been hours since she’d gotten up and started hunting through the files. But now her stomach grumbled.
It was midmorning and she’d finished the last of her supplies—the granola bars, crackers and candy that she kept in her room along with packets of instant coffee. The coffee she brewed on a hot plate on her dresser.
As soon as she’d ducked inside the general store, she spotted the old man who seemed to own the place. Oscar Ortega, a balding man in his early seventies, was intently polishing a display of snow globes on a glass case near the window. He looked up as soon as the door opened.
“Well, good morning, missy. It’s a great day,” he said, the same greeting he’d used every time she’d visited.
”Good morning,” Faith had replied and picked up an empty shopping basket, walking back to the grocery area.
“Got some of that fancy creamer in, if you want to try some,” he called after her.
“Thanks,” she said and ducked into the dry-goods aisle, where she reached for the packets of instant coffee. After debating with herself whether to buy both cookies and chips, she decided she had all that she needed and went to pay. As she passed the newspaper stand, she glanced at the news and stopped abruptly.
A copy of a national newspaper had slipped off the stack, and its sections had separated and splayed on the floor. The headline of the business section reflected her worst nightmare. She crouched, pulling that section free with a shaky hand, then stood and stared at six photographs lined up neatly, head and shoulder shots.
Raymond Sizemore was dead center, his partners on either side and the top financial officers from the company filling in the last squares. Above the pictures were the words
Grand Jury Indictments?
and below, a blurb about testimony starting today in the case against... Faith didn’t know if she should drop the paper and run, or stand there and cry.
Aware that Oscar was watching her from the cash register, she reached down for the rest of the newspaper sections and pushed the financial one out of sight between them. She put the paper on the counter and almost forgot the basket sitting on the floor by her feet. She didn’t even remember putting it down. Quickly, she grabbed it, pushed the newspaper on top of the food and drinks, then looked at Oscar.
“Hungry, huh?” he said conversationally as he scanned the contents of her basket.
“A bit,” she murmured. “What do I owe you?”
He gave her a total and she paid cash. Then she reached for the two bags he’d stacked her things in, thanked him and headed for the door.
“Oh, missy,” Oscar called after her.
She turned. “Yes?”
He was smiling at her and holding out something for her. “Here, take these. Try them, and when you come back in, you might want a few to make that instant coffee drinkable.”
Reluctantly, she hurried over to him and he dropped the small creamers in the nearest bag she was holding.
At the inn, she felt sick as she dumped her bags on the bed in her room and dug out the newspaper. Spreading the financial section on the still-unmade bed, she read quickly about the possible indictment, other grand-jury witnesses that she had never heard of and the fact that the prosecutor was saying the process could be lengthy.
She followed the story to an inside page and breathed a huge sigh of relief when she found no photos attached to that section. There was also no mention of her at all. Was that planned, or was that because she had been dropped from the possible-witnesses list?
She closed the paper, folded it several times and placed it in the trash can by the bed. She dropped down on the bed by the bags and reached to pick up her cell phone. She turned it on for the first time since she’d called her dad the night of the dance and put in Dent’s number. The phone rang several times before going to an answering machine. She hung up.
She decided to walk over to Dent’s and find out about her car. The piece in the paper had really affected her—all she could think of was getting on the move and not stopping for days. Her forced stay in Wolf Lake had not done her any favors. She grabbed her jacket and slipped it on.
She was getting tangled up with these people, good people, kind people, from Mallory to Oscar to Willie G. to Adam. But they were finding out too much about her, and if there had been a picture with that article... She picked up her wallet and stepped out into the hallway. She paused and listened, then looked over the banister. The people by the fire were gone, and no one was by the desk.
She hurried down, got almost to the front door when she heard, “Hey, Faith!” and turned to see Mallory coming through the swinging door.
Her friend was all smiles, just as she had been since the party. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” she said, almost singing the words as she came around the desk.
Not really,
Faith thought. But she wouldn’t say that. She looked at Mallory, at the flush in her cheeks and the softening of her features. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the doctor’s regular visits to the inn ever since the dance were probably responsible for the glow. “Yes, it’s nice out. Cold, but nice.”
Mallory grinned and straightened the registration book. “Where you off to?”
“Dent’s. To find out about my car.”
“Good luck,” she said, then cocked her head to one side. “I was talking to Willie G. last night, and you know what he told me?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but supplied it herself. “He told me that you were dancing at the party. So tell me about it.”
No, she wouldn’t. “It was just a dance,” Faith said, feeling tension in her neck. “One dance.” Then she turned to leave.
“Wait,” Mallory said, stopping Faith before she’d taken another step. “I need your advice.”
More advice? Another reason she shouldn’t have allowed herself to get familiar with the people here. “What about?”
“Moses. He asked me out to dinner, but I’m not sure. I mean, I’d love to go, but I’m not sure I should.”
Faith cocked her head to one side to study Mallory for a moment. “And why not? He’s been around here all the time since the dance.”
Mallory’s cheeks reddened. “It feels odd, like, really strange. I kind of thought that I could...” She finally met Faith’s gaze. “Would you go, if you were me?”
Faith was having trouble with her own life and her choices and wasn’t in any position to be handing out advice to others. And if Mallory knew about the mess, she wouldn’t be asking her for the time of day. “I’m not you and I’ve never been married or even engaged. But if you want to go, go. If you’re too uncomfortable about it, suggest that you go on a double date or something. That would make it less intense, I’d think.”
Mallory was silent, and then she nodded slowly. “Yes, go out with others or maybe go to some place that’s crowded and not so intimate. Yes, I think that might work. It makes sense.”
Faith cut in before Mallory could go on. “I need to get over to Dent’s.”
Mallory smiled. “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. Sure, go ahead, but don’t think I’ll forget that I owe you for this.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Faith reached for the door latch but didn’t make it outside.
Mallory asked, “Who did you dance with at the party?”
She thought of lying, but didn’t. “Someone named Adam.”
“Adam?” Mallory repeated. “Adam.” She glanced at Faith, and then she looked shocked. “Not Adam Carson?”
Faith shook her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“Did he have that Carson look?”
“What Carson look?”
“Tall, gorgeous, dark eyes, a sort of look that could be Native or cowboy? And sexy.”
That about described the Adam she knew. “I guess that’s him.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Mallory exclaimed. “Adam Carson. Wow!”
The knot in Faith’s stomach and the tension in her neck were growing by the second. “Glad that’s a good thing.”
“Glad? Well, I’m sure happy for you. Adam Carson is the middle Carson boy. Never married, totally eligible and back home for the holidays. How great is that? Are you going to go out or anything?”
Horror gripped Faith. “No, no, of course not. It was one dance, and that was that.” Then she lied like crazy. “No sparks, no flame, no nothing. Just a dance.”
Mallory actually looked disappointed, and at any other time, Faith would have laughed at the expression on her face. But she didn’t laugh as Mallory dropped a bomb on her. “Probably just as well. He’s a wanderer and a cop. What a combination, huh?”
Faith stared at the woman, shocked. “A cop?”
“Yes, in Dallas. He was one here for a short time, then he left, got on somewhere else, then after a few more changes, he ended up in Dallas. The man isn’t built to stay in one place too long or for making any sort of commitment, I guess.” She frowned. “Sorry, it’s just he’s never been married, not even close from what I heard.”
Faith hated the way her heart was assaulting her ribs, beating so hard she was certain Mallory could tell. “I really need to go,” she said in a surprisingly even voice. “See you later.” Faith pulled the door open and closed and this time didn’t even feel the cold.
The walk to the garage only took fifteen minutes, and those fifteen minutes gave her time to absorb the fact that Adam was a policeman. She had been so close to...to what? She didn’t even know. Adam Carson. Obviously part of the wealth she’d only glimpsed at the party. A founding family of some sort, she thought. Three sons. Adam was the second one. A sexy cop. She chuckled wryly at that. Of course he was sexy, but that didn’t matter to her. What was devastating was that he was a cop.
She spied Dent working on her car and learned that he finally thought he knew what the problem was. But he’d have to redo another part of the electrical to know if he’d figured it out for sure. Give him another day or two. She didn’t have a choice but to agree and head back toward the inn.
Even on her way there, amid her disappointment that she was stuck in Wolf Lake, Adam Carson surfaced in her thoughts. Avoid him. That was simple. Stay at the inn, in her room, except for food runs. That was all she could do. She got back to her room without seeing anyone. She locked the door and started to strip off her jacket and kick off her boots, and still she fought the image of Adam with his dark eyes. Cop’s eyes. If he ever knew who was in his little town...She shook her head sharply, a pain radiating down into her shoulders. She rubbed the back of her neck. He’d never know. She’d be long gone soon, and she was nothing to him, nothing he’d remember.
She took a seat in the chair in front of the computer, slowly rotating her head until the pain was fading. She went online, did a search for her father’s name and the company name, linking both with the words
federal investigations,
grand jury
and
indictments.
She was gratified to see that the first explosion of articles and reports were from a few weeks ago. They diminished to updates until two days ago when the indictments had become more than a possibility. Nothing new from that, either.
The only pictures of her were old and almost unrecognizable to her. They featured a slim woman, dark hair worn slicked back from a face with sleek makeup. Perfectly tailored suits and heels made her look sophisticated and businesslike. She got up and went to the mirror in the bathroom. She faced the new Faith Sizemore and knew that this woman was nothing like the original.
Her face was pale, her hair a wild riot of curls, no lipstick, definite shadows at her cheeks and eyes, and shapeless clothes. Nothing like she’d been and, she knew, she’d ever be again. She just had to keep as low a profile as possible. No more making friends. No more giving anyone advice. And no more dancing with a cop.
She crossed back to the computer and switched from the internet to another file. She was searching for any more mentions of A. Z. Mason with Kenner or the related companies. This had to be her focus. Not Adam. Not the dance. Not the feeling of him when he’d held her. Not him being a police officer. Her father’s problems had to have her full attention. Not someone who was nothing to her other than a man she found attractive and who, under other circumstances, she would have wanted to get to know better.
She shook her head, as if that could clear it of thoughts of Adam. She reviewed only one page before she found references to an R. Sizemore deal authorized by Z. Mason. The man was listed as the main contact for another company with two subsidiaries. More and more things piled up against her father, and more and more she couldn’t dismiss them.
She knew that none of the subsidiaries of Kenner Associates were legitimate. Running computer checks on them would be a waste of time.
The name A. Z. Mason stood out like a sore thumb, although whoever A. Z. Mason was, he or she had kept any images off the internet. It smelled fishy to her, and she had no doubt that it would smell fishy to anyone else who knew about the investment world. Obviously, her father had fallen for his line completely.
She sat back, feeling sick at the conclusions she was coming up with. However, she realized her queasiness was also due to something else. She felt terrible, lethargic and she just wanted to lie down.
When she finally did so, stretching out on the bed, she noticed her hands were trembling. Her vision began to blur, and suddenly she knew what was happening to her.
She’d had horrible migraines in college after cramming for exams, and she recognized the signs of one starting now. She had to do something to stop this before it gained any more force.
Faith got up, closed the drapes, turned off the lights and computer, and took some over-the-counter pain medicine. Breathing calmly, she hoped the migraine would just go away.
Instead, a few minutes later, the first fingers of pain started invading her head and neck, and she willed herself to relax.
She’d never expected this to happen, but it was happening, right down to the tingling in her hands and feet. She exhaled and thought of a beach, the sun and sand. Thankfully, sleep soon claimed her.