She Can Run (2 page)

Her heels clicked on the wood floor as she crossed a wide, two-story foyer heavy with the scent of flowers. Jack lurched through a set of French doors. Beth turned the corner and stopped dead. In the room beyond an open casket sat amid a field of floral arrangements.

No.

In front of the coffin, two black-suited men maneuvered a wheeled dolly.

It can’t be.

Jack set his glass on a small table.

“Hold on a minute, guys. We have one last toast.” He turned to two disheveled blond men sprawled on an overstuffed sofa. One snored, his head tipped back at an awkward angle. “One of you bums get the lady a scotch.”

The conscious blond unfolded his long frame and staggered over to a wheeled cart in the corner. Dirty glasses and empty bottles cluttered the bar’s surface. He broke the seal on a new bottle of The Macallan and reached for a clean tumbler on the second shelf.

“Thank you, but I don’t drink.” Beth squared her shoulders and crossed to the casket. Her heart stuttered.

Resting on a bed of pillowed ivory satin was the elderly man who’d hired her.

The air left her lungs in a quick whoosh. Her knees wobbled, and she reached for one of the tables flanking the coffin.

A shadow fell across her as a hand grasped her elbow. Startled, Beth took a jerky step away, bumping the table with her hip. A brass vase of carnations wobbled. She reached for the flowers and steadied them with a shaky hand.

“OK.” Jack pulled his hand away and lifted it in front of his chest palm out. “Take it easy.” Blondie handed him a glass. Jack passed it to Beth without moving any closer.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were here to pay your respects, but you’re not, are you?”

While he surveyed her, from her cheap shoes to her home dye job, Beth held the glass to her lips. Whisky vapors burned her nose, and she lowered her hand. She shook her head, staring at the whisky. Her throat tightened. What was she going to do?

Her eyes filled, but she blinked back the tears. Dammit. She could not get a break, no matter how hard she tried.

Under the haze of scotch, Jack’s shrewd brown eyes narrowed. “Let’s start again.” He held out a hand. “Jack O’Malley.” He nodded toward the blond man pouring an inch of whisky into his glass. “My cousin, Sean Wilson. The guy passed out on the couch over there is his older brother, Quinn, who never could hold his liquor.”

“Freakin’ embarrassing.” Sean sighed.

“And your name is?” Jack’s hand beckoned.

“Beth Markham.” Uncomfortable with physical contact, she gritted her teeth and allowed their palms to touch for a nanosecond before tugging free from his grasp. “I don’t understand.”

Jack frowned down at her as she pulled her hand away. “Uncle Danny planned his own funeral. The family viewing was this morning. The burial’s tomorrow. This afternoon the three of us held our own private send-off. We were sort of like Huey, Dewey, and Louie to Uncle Danny’s Scrooge McDuck. He was eligible for a full military funeral, but he didn’t want the fanfare. Just this.”

“Get pissed with me one last time, boys,” Sean added in a thick, fake brogue as he collapsed on the sofa. He raised his glass. “To Uncle Danny. Wherever he is, may the scotch be old and the women young. Not the other way around.”

“To Danny.” Jack picked up his glass and tossed back a half inch of whisky. He gave his head a quick shake.

Beth barely wet her lips on her glass and her stomach cramped. She had no job. They had nowhere to live. “But he just hired me. What happened?”

Jack hiccupped. “He had a heart attack. Don’t get me wrong. We’ll miss the old bugger, but he was eighty-seven. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, especially when you consider how much he loved his scotch and cigars.”

“I guess not.” She couldn’t go back to her uncle James’s place in Virginia, where they’d been hiding all this time. He’d said it wasn’t safe, which was why she’d driven all the way to the northeastern corner of Pennsylvania today. She had thought this job would be perfect. Secluded, remote, secure. Dotty old Daniel O’Malley hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t even asked her many questions during her job interview. James had talked her into the arrangement, and he was the only man in the world Beth still had faith in.

But this man…She raised her eyes to meet Jack’s bloodshot gaze. He cocked his head to the side and studied her. Even with more scotch than blood coursing through his veins, he saw too much. And she had so much to hide.

“You said my uncle hired you?”

Beth nodded.

“For what position?” He and his cousin exchanged a glance.

Beth hesitated. Oh, what the hell? She didn’t have anything to lose at this point. She reached into her purse and pulled out the letter confirming her employment. Thank God she’d asked to get her offer in writing.

Jack opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, squinting as he scanned the text. His eyebrows shot up when he reached the second short paragraph. “You and your kids were supposed to live here?”

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

“In the car. With the hearse and all…I thought they should wait outside.” Beth paused as her new reality struck her again. “I’m glad I did. Now that Mr. O’Malley’s gone, I suppose I won’t be needed. Can you direct me to the nearest motel?”

“Christ, I can’t even think straight.” Jack scratched his head. “Look, Ms. Markham…”

She interrupted, “Beth.” She hated using her last name. There was always the risk she’d forget to answer to it. Which people tended to notice.

“Beth. This is a huge house. Why don’t you and your kids stay the night? The only motel nearby isn’t fit for human occupation. We can talk again tomorrow afternoon, after the funeral, and get everything straightened out. Right now I just want to go to bed.” He dragged a hand through his already rumpled hair. “Besides, it looks like a storm’s rollin’ in.”

Beth glanced out the window, where black clouds were gathering on the horizon. The wind whipped leaves across the side lawn. She had to get to Katie before the storm broke. Her gaze swung back to Jack. Good-looking men were not to be trusted.

“The funeral tomorrow morning is just family. Maybe a dozen people. You’re welcome to attend.” Jack lowered his voice. “Or you can stay out of sight if you like.”

Beth hesitated. The fact was they had nowhere to go. She was suddenly bone tired, so weary that even holding her eyelids open was a chore. Even if she managed to find a cheap motel, she wouldn’t be able to leave all their stuff in the car. And she didn’t want to drive through a thunderstorm with Katie in the car. Never a good idea. Neither was running without a plan. Even a simple act like renting a motel room or filling her gas tank could have fatal consequences. The more people who saw them, the greater the chances that Richard’s men would find them—again. Her stomach knotted. She bit her lip. “OK. But just for the night. Thank you.”

He swung around on his crutch and headed back into the hall. “Drive your car around back and park it in the garage. You can come in through the kitchen so the kids don’t have to watch them wheel Uncle Danny out. Do you need any help with your stuff?” At the front door, despite his handicap, he opened the door for her. Barking erupted from the back of the house as he stepped backward far enough so she could pass without touching him.

Oh, yeah. He saw way too much.

His gaze swept over the front lawn to her beat-up Taurus wagon then dropped to his braced leg. His mouth tightened. “I’m useless, but Sean would help you with your things.” He inclined his head in the direction of the living room.

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve got it.” They wouldn’t need very much for one night. If she chose, they could be gone long before Jack had any opportunity to talk to her.

Jack closed the door and headed toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Pain sang through his knee. God damn. Even a quart of scotch hadn’t dulled it one bit. Thumps and the sound of rolling wheels came from the front hall.

“Funeral home guys are gone,” Sean announced a few minutes later from the doorway.

Through the glass door off the kitchen, Jack watched the piece-of-shit station wagon pull up to the six-bay garage. He pressed a button on the wall to open the overhead door to an empty bay. The vehicle disappeared into the building.

“Should I go help her?” his cousin asked.

“No. Seems she’d rather go it alone.”

“She’s kind of jumpy.” Sean scratched his unshaven chin. “Do you think the letter’s legit?”

“Looks like.” Jack sighed. “I’ve seen enough of Danny’s scrawl over the past couple of days to recognize it. She did walk in on three guys getting drunk with a corpse. Some people might find that disturbing.”

“Good point. People who didn’t know Danny anyway,” Sean conceded. “But why would Danny go and hire a caretaker after refusing to do just that for the last ten years?”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why would he make us all believe he was broke when he was rolling in coin? And why is this place so rundown? It’s not like he couldn’t afford the repairs.”

“No fucking clue.” Sean shook his head. Then he pointed at Jack. “You didn’t tell her you’re in charge now.”

“I haven’t officially accepted.” Damn his uncle for adding a residency requirement to the inheritance. Westbury was a nice place to live—if you were into small towns in the middle of nowhere. He wasn’t. Except for summer vacations at his uncle’s estate, Jack had lived on the outskirts of Philadelphia his entire life. He’d been a city boy and then a city cop. Wasn’t it bad enough his career had been yanked out from under him? Did he have to abandon his entire life?

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. We both know you’re going to. A year’s not that much time. Face it, Jack.” Sean glanced down at Jack’s knee. “You’re not going back to the force any time soon.”

The surgeon had given Jack the bad news the day before Uncle Danny died. There was a good chance he was permanently disabled. A fucking cripple. Five years in the army and twenty on the force without a single injury, only to be taken out by an old man running a stop sign in his ‘87 Olds. “You going to put your disgrace of a brother to bed?”

Sean sighed. “Somebody has to. He’s such a Nancy.”

Jack snorted. “Stick him in the den. I’m sending my houseguests upstairs. I don’t want her sneaking out on me before I know what she’s up to.”

“Think she was conning Danny?”

“Could be. She looks broke. He was a sucker for a pretty woman.”

“Aren’t we all?” Sean turned and headed for the hall.

Jack turned back to the window. Across the downward sloping expanse of green, Beth and two children emerged from the garage. The adolescent boy, a full head taller than his mother, held a carry-on sized suitcase. The little girl clutched Beth’s hand.

Thick, dark clouds hovered overhead as Jack opened the door and stepped out onto the patio. A warm, wet wind blew across his face.

“Damn it, Henry!” Sean’s voice boomed from the house. “Look out, Jack!”

Behind Jack, nails scrambled on hardwood. He lunged for the door just as one hundred pounds of barking German Shepherd leaped over the threshold, knocking him backward. He grabbed a patio chair to recover his balance.

Shit!
He’d forgotten he’d locked Henry in the den after he’d tried to jump into the casket. Henry had liked Uncle Danny. A lot.

“Henry, heel! Sit!” The enormous blur of tan and black fur streaked across the patio onto the back lawn and made a beeline for the trio walking up the path. “Get back here!”

Jack hobbled after the dog. Fifty feet ahead, Beth’s eyes widened with alarm when she saw Henry barreling toward her like a freight train. She stepped in front of the children.

“He’s friendly,” Jack yelled. “Really friendly. Brace yourself.”

Beth held her right hand in front of her body in a crossing guard stance and commanded, “Sit!” in a firm voice. Stunned, Jack watched Henry slide to a stop, haunches tucked under his body like a champion barrel racer. The huge dog’s butt bounced on the grass in barely contained excitement as she reached down and scratched him behind his enormous ears.

Son-of-a-bitch. Damned dog did know a command.

Panting, Jack hobbled over and stopped just short of them. “I’m sorry about that. Henry has no manners. I hope he didn’t frighten you.”

She stood maybe an inch over five-foot, somewhat elfish, with a slim body and long black hair that seemed unnaturally dark for her complexion. Even in her current travel-worn state, there was no denying her beauty: large eyes, smooth skin, delicate features. Still scratching the dog behind his ear, she straightened her shoulders and looked up at Jack. Her face softened with the hint of a smile, and Jack felt an unsettling pull deep in his loins. “I’m not afraid of dogs.”

No shit. Henry’s lips parted in a goofy smile as he listed to one side, his back paw twitching in circles.

“Henry’s a police dog reject. Officially, his file’s stamped retired, but he’s only four.” Jack grinned, remembering an embarrassing incident involving a high school drug raid, a locker, and a hoagie. His buddy, Mitch, in narcotics, hadn’t thought it was so funny. “I’m pretty sure he has ADD.”

Jack glanced at the children. Both had light brown hair, green eyes, and a wary stance, two white-tailed deer poised for flight. The boy squared his shoulders and extended his hand to Jack.