Shattered Rules (23 page)

“
At least call the authorities, let them know what happened.”

“
No way. I've seen more than enough of the police.”

He stared at her unyielding expression and then shrugged.
“Not my problem. Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“
There's a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. Would you mind?”

He returned from the bathroom with a glass of water and the bottle and set them down on her nightstand.

“Thanks.”

“
No problem.”

“
Goodnight then.” She closed her eyes.

He walked out of the bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him. Jim’s niece had spunk. He’d give her that.

Did a drunk run her down, or could it be somehow linked to Conner Harrison’s poisoning?

Without the truck's license plate number there was little point in calling the authorities. If he wanted to investigate what happened to Conner Harrison, it’d be better not to be associated in any way to the woman accused of trying to kill the man.

He pictured Kathryn sitting in bed, hurt and defenseless. She could take care of herself, didn't need anyone’s help. Waiting to be charged with murder and being hit by a truck all on the same night, she wasn’t doing a terrific job.

It didn’t matter to him. Even so, against his will he felt a pang of compassion for her and couldn't bring himself to leave her alone.

He called her uncle’s phone number, no answer not even voice mail. He sent a text message to Jim and waited. Nothing.

Since he didn't know how to reach anyone else in her family, he decided to stay the night. In the morning he’d call her uncle again. Then Jim could alert the police to the hit and run accident.

Moonlight illuminated the living room’s beige walls, but shadows filled the corners. A touch of aqua gave the place a sense of tranquility, just the opposite of Kathryn’s life at the moment.

Out the picture window the dark Pacific waters pounded the shore. He took off his runners, stretched out on the ivory leather sectional. His body ached to sleep. Instead, adrenaline surged in his veins keeping him awake.

Upstairs in the bed room, she was probably dreaming. He pictured her. Even during tonight’s traumatic events, she maintained her cool, her sex appeal.

He grunted. No matter how attractive, he wasn't going to let himself care about her.

For all he knew, the owner of one of the best Monterey Bay Area catering companies had for no understandable reason poisoned Conner Harrison, one of the richest men in the world.

Maybe she was crazy or hated the rich. Guilty, innocent, the only thing she meant to him was the chance to be in on one of the most intriguing news stories to come along in years. Yet he couldn’t refute a craving in him when he gazed at her.

After months recovering from wounds he received in Afghanistan, younger reporters were lining up to take his job. He needed the exclusive on the Harrison’s poisoning to put his career back on track.

Her uncle told him the local police and Harrison’s family was keeping the attempted murder under wraps. With luck he’d have the story before the other reporters knew Harrison had been poisoned.

How much time did he have to investigate? Harrison was on his death bed. The second the man died there’d be a media circus. Carmel would swarm with journalists from all over the world.

In an election year, guilty or innocent, Kathryn could be railroaded into the electric chair. It was an expedient way to close the case and thus save the careers of the officials running for re-election.

He grimaced and sat up and rubbed a crick out of his neck. After his injuries in Afghanistan, the doctors had told him to go easy. So what was he doing carrying a woman, even a petite one, through a neighborhood and up stairs?

He dug into his pants pocket and found a pain killer then forced it down his dry throat and waited for relief.

With a pillow for support, he leaned back on the couch and listened to the sound of the waves lapping the beach below. The sea usually relaxed him. Not tonight. Even the Tylenol and Codeine didn’t loosen his muscles. He took another tablet.

In a little more than a week he’d be in New York City, a world away from Kathryn. So, why did her problems keep him awake?

***

“Hell.” The words squeezed through the man’s teeth. Kathryn Carlyle was still alive. His blood pressure spiked. The sound of his heart thundered in his ears. The exhilaration he had experienced when he thought she was dead evaporated.

Life always shit on him. Nothing ever went the way he wanted. His hands shook, his fingers tingled and his breathing quickened. Soon he wouldn’t be able to function. To release the building tension, he opened the truck’s window, took a breath of sea air and stared down the quiet street toward her condo.

The paramedics he’d seen earlier were leaving. Their vehicle drove down the block.

Cool and strong in his hand, he raised a rifle into position, the barrel sticking out the open window. He noticed an orange tabby cat on the sidewalk in front of Kathryn’s building. The scavenger carried something in its mouth. With the feline in view, hand steadied, his breath held, he slowly squeezed the trigger. “Ping.” The bullet flew from the chamber. The cat dropped to the ground and lay twitching.

“You shouldn’t take what doesn’t belong to you.”

Pressure released, he lowered his gun, closed the truck’s window and smiled. “Kathryn, you’re next.”