Scent of Roses (28 page)

“Thanks, Sam.” Zach hung up the phone and turned to find Liz smiling at him. There was something in her eyes that made his chest feel tight.

“You're amazing, you know that? I bet you really are an incredible lawyer.”

Zach smiled, too. “I'm good. No doubt about it.”

“But we don't have time to do this by the book.”

“Not if we're worried that something might happen to Miguel.”

Liz shifted one of the pillows behind her back. “I'm worried about him, Zach. He's been acting strange for weeks, more so lately. I'm convinced that whatever's in that house has incredible power. And I sure as hell wouldn't want to be living there. When do we do this?”

“Wait a minute! You aren't going—you just had your head bashed in. You've got to take it easy.”

She pinned him with a glare. “I'm going. You might as well accept it. There is no way in hell you're keeping me away.”

Zach almost smiled. He looked at her and thought how beautiful she looked even with her bruised face and cut lip. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her lying there on that gurney, still recall the way he felt when he thought she might die. Now he knew the gut-wrenching pain he would feel if he lost her.

Better to leave now, before he fell for her any harder, before the pain of losing her became too much to bear.

Zach turned away from those beautiful blue eyes that seemed to look inside him. He felt like running, felt like getting in his car and driving away without looking back. He couldn't. Not yet.

“All right, fine, you can go.”

“When?”

“The sooner the better.”

 

Elizabeth passed the rest of the day sleeping lightly off and on. She was stiff and sore all over, her body battered and bruised. She was taking some sort of pain medication for the soreness but it made her drowsy. She wasn't taking it tomorrow. She had too much work to do.

She looked over at Zach, who got up to pace off and on, restless in a way she'd never seen him. Since he'd brought her home, he'd been even more distant than he had been before. She knew he was worried. She told herself it was nothing more, but deep down she was afraid it had something to do with her.

It was early that evening that Sam Marston phoned the apartment. Elizabeth answered and handed the phone to Zach.

“That's great,” he said, nodding though Sam couldn't see. “So we'll talk to him tomorrow evening.”

Sam said something else she couldn't hear.

“All right. Thanks, Sam.” Zach hung up the phone and Elizabeth waited anxiously to find out what had been said.

“Donahue's agreed to hear us out. He and Sam are coming over at seven o'clock Monday evening. If we can convince him we're not just a couple of kooks, he'll go in with us Tuesday night.”

Tuesday night?
Elizabeth bit her lip, then winced at the soreness. “You don't think we could go in during the day?”

“If Carson sees us, he'll sic his two-legged rottweilers on us.”

“Even with an ex-cop there?”

“I hate to chance it. I'm not sure how far he's willing to go.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I don't get this. Why is your brother so dead-set on keeping us away from the house?”

“I don't know. Maybe it's just a power trip. I know he wants that lawsuit dropped. He's got a lot to lose if the surgery works and my father gets well. I knew running the farm was important to him. I never thought he'd put Dad's health second to his own greedy ambition.”

“You always seem to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Zach glanced away. “Maybe I keep wishing he would turn out to be different than he is.”

“Maybe you keep wishing he was the brother you never really had.”

Zach turned toward her. “Whatever happens, we're going to dig Tuesday night.”

“With or without Donahue?”

He nodded.

“We've got to talk to Miguel, convince him not to interfere.”

“After what happened to his wife, convincing him shouldn't be a problem.”

 

Elizabeth spent all day Monday at her office. Except for a persistent dull headache and a few aches and pains, she felt passably good. She told Michael and Terry she'd been mugged in the alley behind her house but left out her certainty that Carson Harcourt was responsible for the attack, since she didn't really have any proof.

Both of her friends urged her to go to the police and she told them that she had given a report to a pair of uniformed officers at the hospital. Thinking of the plans she and Zach had for tomorrow night, she figured they both might be speaking to the cops in the near future—whether they wanted to or not.

Refilling her coffee mug, she returned to her office and sat down at her desk. Carol Hickman, the twelve-year-old who thought every date should end in the backseat of some boy's car, showed up right on time. They spent the hour talking, making at least some progress with the young girl's self-esteem, Elizabeth thought, the real heart of the problem.

Next she was scheduled to meet with Emilio Mendoza, head of the Mendoza clan, as part of the family's counseling program.

Over the weekend, Richard Long, she discovered, had been tossed into jail for spousal abuse. He'd been released on bail, but didn't show up for his scheduled Monday morning counseling session. She shouldn't have felt any satisfaction in finding out his wife had finally had the courage to press charges, but she did.

While Elizabeth worked at the office, Zach worked long-distance out of her apartment. He represented a number of clients in the firm's Themoziamine class action suit and he liked to stay in touch with them. He had a list of calls to make, including a couple of conference calls with his partner, Jon Noble, and members of the opposing law firm.

“Plenty to do to keep me busy till ex-deputy Donahue arrives for our meeting tonight,” he had told her as he walked her to her car. “Are you sure you're feeling well enough to work? Maybe you ought to stay home another day.”

“I'm fine, Zach. Just a little headache. Other than that I'm okay.”

He gently touched her cheek, his eyes on her face, then he turned away. “Call me if anything comes up,” he said over his shoulder. “I'll see you when you get home.”

She started the engine of her car, but didn't drive away until he'd walked back inside the apartment. Something was wrong.

Her stomach knotted at the thought of what it might be.

 

She was late getting home that night. The lunch hour had passed and she hadn't had time to eat. With Sam and Ben Donahue arriving at seven they wouldn't have time to cook dinner. Deciding to stop by the Chinese takeout, she pulled into her open parking garage at just before six that night.

Zach was waiting when she walked though the back door, pacing restlessly in front of the kitchen table, his face a mask of worry. His expression relaxed into one of relief, quickly followed by tight lines of anger.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Surprised at his tone, she held the paper bag she carried out to show him. “I stopped to get some Chinese food, something easy for supper since the men will be here at seven.”

He took the bag out of her hand and set it down on the kitchen table. “Why the hell didn't you answer your cell phone? I thought…I was afraid…I was worried something had happened to you.”

She would have been angry if she hadn't noticed the edge in his voice, the unmistakable trace of fear. He had been frightened, afraid she might have been hurt.

“I'm all right,” she said. “I would have called if I'd known you would worry. I don't know how I missed your call. I didn't hear the phone ring.”

She slid the strap of her white leather bag off her shoulder and set the purse down on the table. Digging out her cell phone, she flipped it open and checked the dial. “I guess the battery is low.”

Zach's gaze found hers, locked and held. She recognized the concern, and something more, something much deeper that made her heart pound with hope. Zach caught her shoulders, drew her against his chest, and very thoroughly kissed her.

“Don't scare me that way again.”

Elizabeth went up on her toes and kissed him back. “I won't. I promise.”

Zach looked away. He paced over to the window and stared out toward the parking garage. “I don't know, Liz. I don't think I can do this.”

“Do what?”

He slowly turned to face her. “Love someone this way. Care this much. It's just not the way I am.”

She walked up in front of him, cupped his cheek with her hand. “I think it's exactly the way you are. I think that's what scares you so much.”

When Zach made no reply, she kissed him again and he kissed her back. She could feel his hunger, his growing need, feel his heavy arousal pressing urgently against her.

Then the phone rang and the moment was lost.

Zach gave her a last long glance, then turned and walked over to pick up the phone. Apparently it was Sam, calling to confirm their meeting. Elizabeth busied herself setting out the Chinese food she had bought for the two of them, though she was no longer hungry.

Instead, she thought of Zach and the uncertainty in his voice, and fear of losing him made her stomach churn.

She was in love with him. She believed that he loved her. The question remained, did it matter? And how bad would it hurt if he chose to return to his solitary existence instead of choosing a life with her?

 

True to his word, Sam Marston arrived with Ben Donahue at seven o'clock. Zach shook hands with both men and Sam introduced Elizabeth to Ben.

“Why don't we go into the kitchen?” Elizabeth suggested. “There's a table we can use, and we can all have something cold to drink.”

“Sam's told me a little about your situation,” Donahue said as they made their way into the kitchen and Elizabeth poured frosty glasses of iced tea and set them down on the table in front of the men.

Ben opted for a beer, twisting the top off a Bud Lite Elizabeth gave him, then taking a long, refreshing swallow.

“I gotta say this all sounds completely insane,” he said, “but I have to admit, I'm intrigued.” He was tall, lean, blond and fair, a good-looking guy in his mid-thirties, single, according to Sam.

Ben had only been in San Pico for about three years, two before he'd been injured on the job and forced to retire, which, Zach had earlier proclaimed, was probably the reason he'd agreed to talk to them.

“He doesn't know much about me or my brother. So far, he's still got an open mind.”

Which Donahue proved by listening to the wildest tale any two people ever told. Together Elizabeth and Zach explained, step by step, how they had come to the conclusion that nine-year-old Carrie Ann Whitt might be buried under the little yellow house at Harcourt Farms.

“We worked backward,” Zach told him. “We figured, if there really was a ghost like Maria Santiago claimed—which, of course, neither of us actually believed—it must be someone who had died in the house. In this case a little girl, since that was the vision Maria described.”

“We didn't find any children who had died,” Elizabeth put in, “but we found out that thirty-some years ago, a married couple who had lived in the old house that existed on the very same spot had murdered a little girl up in Fresno a couple of years after they moved away.”

“It was a really brutal murder,” Zach added, “and both the husband and wife were convicted. In fact, the guy was executed for the crime.”

“Wow…”

Elizabeth took a drink of her iced tea. “Unfortunately, the little girl in Fresno—Holly Ives—didn't match the description of the ghost in the house on the farm and of course Holly was killed a hundred miles away.”

“But you still thought you were onto something,” Ben said.

“Exactly.” Zach took a drink from his tall, frosty glass. “After reading about the pair and talking to some of the people involved in the case, we got to thinking that maybe someone as evil as these two—maybe they had killed before. Maybe they killed another little girl while they were here in San Pico.”

Donahue leaned forward in his chair. “A serial couple?”

“The cops we talked to all agreed they were likely candidates, but they were never able to link them to any other murders in the valley.”

“Still, you figured it was worth checking out.”

Zach nodded. “I hired a private detective named Ian Murphy to canvas the L.A. basin. We figured if they kidnapped another child and she wasn't from the valley, the next closest place was L.A.”

Ben set his beer bottle down on the table. “Don't tell me Murphy actually found a victim who matched the description of the ghost?”

“Incredible, isn't it? And the girl disappeared during the years the Martinez couple lived in the house.”