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Not that her mother was the kind who’d fussed over emotional outbursts. You don’t need a night-light, Valerie. You’re a big girl, and big girls don’t cry.
Valerie blinked madly, survival instinct kicking back in. She banged on the door with the flat of her hand. “This isn’t funny!”
Nicolas Galloway. He’d done this. Did he really think locking her in the bathroom was going to send her crying home? It would take a lot more than that to make her go crawling back to the station empty-handed.
Her grip tightened on the doorknob, and she pushed, turned and tugged with all her might. When she got out of there, she was going to strangle him. “Open the door!”
Chapter Three (#ulink_6a462862-802d-5f9c-a499-3b4bcb6870d9)
Teeth bared, Valerie jammed her shoulder into the bathroom door and grunted. She’d barely connected with the wood when the door burst open, and she tumbled into Nick’s arms.
His hands held her forearms in a vise-tight grip to keep her from colliding with his chest. Even through the wool blend of her blazer sleeves, the vibrating heat of his anger burned her.
“What on earth are you doing?” he asked.
“The door was stuck.” She spied the wooden doorstop in his hand. This little thing was what had caused her full-blown panic attack? She snatched the offending piece of wood from his hand and held it up. “It’s going to take a lot more than locking me in the bathroom to discourage me.”
Even if his cheap bathroom trick had worked at scaring her—momentarily—it wasn’t going to make her disappear.
Guarded tension stretched his features taut. He pushed her away, breaking the heated hum of contact where his hard fingers had dug into her forearms. “Trust me, Val, if I choose to intimidate you, you’ll know.”
“Valerie.” She rubbed her arms against the sudden need to bury herself deeper into his embrace and breathe in the alluring scent of citrus and sandalwood of his aftershave. How crazy was that? One little scare, and like a two-year-old, she was ready to seek solace in the first pair of arms that turned up.
“So if you didn’t lock me in the bathroom, who did?” The woman with the braid? These people’s overprotective-ness of Rita Meadows made Valerie’s mother’s watchful smothering seem like neglect in comparison. “How many people work here?”
“That’s none of your concern. Val.”
“Valerie,” she insisted, narrowing her eyes at him. Had someone bribed the staff in the past? Was that where his wariness was coming from? “And it does concern me when someone locks me in the bathroom. What if you hadn’t come by?”
“You made enough racket. Someone would’ve heard you eventually.”
“That’s not the point—”
“I’ll handle the matter.”
She stuffed the doorstop in the kerchief pocket of his suit and gave it a pat. “Fine. See that it doesn’t happen again.” She didn’t really have a choice other than to let him “handle the matter.” She wasn’t here to investigate the staff’s juvenile intimidation tactics. She was here to conduct interviews. “How is Ms. Meadows?”
His eyes softened for a second. “Just a cold. She’ll be fine.”
But something in his expression told her he was more worried than a simple cold would warrant. “I’ll come back tomorrow, then. When she’s feeling better.”
“That would be best.”
Valerie buttoned her blazer, adding an extra buffer between them. “The photograph? From the agenda? Why does Ms. Meadows have it?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “It’s an age progression. She has one done every year on Valentina’s birthday.”
Valerie’s heart went out to Rita. Had she had the photo done as a way to watch her baby grow? No, Valerie decided. So she’d know what Valentina would look like if she saw her on the street somewhere. Maybe airing the segment would provide Rita with the resolution she needed.
“It, uh, looks like me.” The resemblance was uncanny and the memory of that likeness sent a shiver prickling over her scalp. Had Rita thought that Valerie was her daughter? Was that why she’d asked the personal questions? Although what height had to do with anything was a puzzle.
Nick’s gaze hardened and bored into her with a warning that seemed to aim straight at her heart. His voice rode a flat line that reverberated with threat. “But it isn’t you, Val. Something you’d best remember. Valentina is dead. I have proof. There won’t be a fat payday. Not if I can help it.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Is that why you’re being such a jerk? You think I think I’m Valentina? That’s ridiculous.”
“What’ll it take to make you disappear?”
“What?”
He whipped out a checkbook from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. “How much?”
One hand covered her heart. “You can’t be serious. You think I want money?”
He stepped closer until his breath was a warm flutter against her lips. “That’s all they want in the end.”
Her mind was blurring again. No, Nick, no. You know that’s not true. “They?”
“All the other girls over the years who’ve come knocking at the door pretending they’re the long-lost Valentina. ” He lifted a strand of her hair, rolled it between his fingers, then tucked it behind her ear. She leaned into his hand as if she’d done this very thing before. As if he had. Jeez, Louise, she really needed some food before she went totally over the edge.
His thumb skimmed the outline of her cheek in a way that let her know that he could kill her just as easily as kiss her. Wow, where had that come from? As if she’d ever want a kiss from someone who thought she was using her job to extort money.
“I’m not like all those girls. I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met.” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She searched the hard planes of Nick’s face, looking for…what? An explanation as to why she thought he would know her? Even stranger, that she should know him? That if she could just squeeze the right place on his waist, he would double over in helpless laughter?
He flattened a hand on the door frame beside her face, caging her against the wall. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve met a hundred girls like you. They’ve all convinced themselves they’re the one.”
A restless menace lurked right beneath the suit. But as much as he growled and barked and bared his teeth, he would never hurt her. The truth of that knowledge resonated soul deep. Which didn’t mean she wanted to test that theory quite yet.
She planted a palm against his chest and pushed him away. “I have a mother and a good life in Florida. I don’t need to borrow anybody else’s. So chill, okay? You said Valentina was dead. That you had proof? What kind?”
“That’s really none of your concern.”
“Well, see, that’s where I don’t agree. Everything that concerns Valentina concerns me.”
“And you think I’m just going to hand you ammunition?”
She tipped her head and squinted at him. “To fleece Ms. Meadows? No. To help me put on the best segment I can? Yes. If you have proof that Valentina is dead, then it means I need to take a different angle with the interviews.”
He refused to yield. “Knowing Valentina is dead doesn’t stop the crazies from showing up for a handout. The body was never found. Until it is, they prey on Ms. Meadows’s hopes.”
She sighed. “I can see your point, but what if she isn’t dead?” As if drawn by a black hole, all she could do was look deep into the impenetrable dark brown of his eyes. Let me in, Nick. Let me see. That he was shutting her out hurt in a way that was beyond crazy. So was the compelling childish urge to pat his cheek and tell him that everything was going to be okay. “What if she is alive?”
“She isn’t.” End of conversation, his tone said. But something flickered in his eyes, leaving her with the impression he was lying. Or at least not telling her the whole truth.
A door slammed somewhere down the hall, startling Valerie out of her strange connection with Nick. Never before had she been so aware of someone. The give-and-take of his breath. The galloping pulse of blood at his neck. The prickly hint of beard along his tense jawline. And that sadness, that heavy sadness that was eating at his soul and made her want to cry.
“It’s time for you to leave now.” Nick straightened, yawning a canyon of space between them, and Valerie ran her hands over her arms to keep warm.
Heavy boots tromped on the floor, heading their way. A stout man with a white lion’s mane poking out from a well-worn khaki fishing hat stepped into the hall. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Took me a while, but I’ve got the gentleman under control like you asked. He’s in the car with the doors locked.” He grinned, showing off square, white teeth. “Chomp is watching over him. He won’t go anywhere he ain’t supposed to go.”
“Thanks, Lionel.”
“My pleasure.” Lionel doffed his fishing hat and swept it in front of him, showing Valerie the way to the front door. “I’ll escort you out now, ma’am. Chomp, he don’t take too kindly to strangers.”
She pointed toward the library. “My things.”
Nick nodded his permission, and she held her breath until she reached the library. She shook her head as if the simple gesture could release her from the grip of Nick’s presence still clinging to her skin. The way he’d short-cir-cuited her usually ordered thinking wasn’t normal. Especially when it came to work.
You only have to deal with him for a couple of days, Valerie. And she’d be too busy with all the details; she’d forget he was even around.
She slipped Valentina’s photograph out of her portfolio, took one last look at the woman who could be her twin and tucked it back into Rita’s agenda. As sick as she was, Rita would need the comfort of her daughter’s picture. “Definitely spooky, though.”
But Valerie Grace Zea was born on May 13, not October 31. She was six months older than Valentina. She owned a baby album filled with pictures that featured Marissa and Ludlow Zea cradling her in the home where she’d spent all of her life, until four years ago when she’d bought her own little shoe box of a house just a mile from her parents’.
Her memory was crowded with snapshots of her life in Florida. No mansion. No fog-shrouded landscape. No Rita Meadows.
A creak made her look up and sweep the room with a glance.
Nothing there to warrant the itch between her shoulder blades, but she couldn’t help trying to roll away the feeling of being watched. Portfolio clutched to her chest, she hurried back into the hall where Nick’s long shadow loomed, waiting for her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She adjusted her purse over her shoulder and yearned for a cup of coffee. “To look through the archives.”
“Eleven.”
“Eleven it is.” She slanted her head and gave him her most serious look. “I’ll do a good job.”
His mouth flattened. “Valentina needs to be buried, not revived.”
“To bury her, you have to find her. Someone out there knows where she is, and airing those segments could bring you the information you need for closure.”
“Don’t you think that if anyone knew where she was, they’d have said something by now? Claiming the one-million-dollar reward is much easier than pretending to be a dead child all grown-up.”
“So we’re back to that, huh?” Actions spoke more clearly than words. In the end, he’d see she was true to her word.
His voice, low and rough, rumbled with warning. “Secrets are called that for a reason, Val. And sometimes people want to keep their secrets buried.”
Oh, yeah? What’s yours? “I’m not her. But I’m not one of your pretenders, either. I’m just a woman trying to do her job.” Why was it so important that he believe her?
A terrifying flicker of a smile sprang to his lips. “Make sure that’s all you do.”
NICK STOOD TO ONE SIDE of the window, surveying the scene below him. Valerie walked with both a dancer’s grace and a sprinter’s efficiency. Although she couldn’t see him standing in the shadows of the third-floor tower room, she paused before entering the car and looked up. Not at Lionel and the barely controlled Doberman the caretaker held by the studded collar on the doorstep. But at him. Their gazes met across the barrier of glass and shadows, and she seemed to shiver before she disappeared into the safety of the car.
Good. She should be afraid. Fear would keep her from following through on her plan to blind Rita with her likeness to Valentina.
He wouldn’t be as easy to fool.
He’d already paid a hefty price for his mistake. He picked up the floppy-eared dog that had been Valentina’s favorite and buried his nose in the fur that had long ago lost its little-girl smell. In its place came the remembered sweet-and-spicy ginger scent Valerie wore. He hurled the dog back to the storage chest and scraped a hand over his face. His weakness had cost him his best friend and the only person who’d understood him.
Protecting Rita, protecting Valentina’s memory were the most important things in his life. A man had to take care of his own.
He followed the track of the car down the driveway until the fog devoured it. This woman was good. Better than the rest, judging by the instant connection she’d made with Rita.
It’s her, Nicolas. I can feel it. Rita’s words echoed in his empty soul. She’d been ready to open her arms, her home and her heart to the charlatan. That’s why she didn’t come before. She doesn’t know.
He couldn’t bear the toll the inevitable pain would cost Rita. It’s not her, Rita. It can’t be.
His gaze zoomed in on the golden pine of the floor, and that horrible night sucked him back into its darkness. Rita had had the floor sanded and refinished, but Nick could still see the dark stain spreading.
The blood, he’d never stop seeing all that blood.
Or her eyes. Those half-closed, dead eyes.
His fault that she was gone.
Yet there was something about Valerie that seemed to reach back too far to be faked. His chin dropped to his chest and his eyes closed. How could she possibly have learned the quirks that were Valentina’s? Little things like the half dimple that creased her right cheek when she smiled. The way her fingers played unconsciously with the hem of her blazer when she was nervous. How many sweaters had Valentina unraveled with that nasty habit? The way she tilted her head and looked at him with implicit trust. He’d never been able to scare Valentina, except with ghost stories, and then she’d looped her arms around his neck, pressed her cheek against his. Are they gone, Nick? Are the ghosts gone?
And he really didn’t like the way looking at her kicked up his blood.
Could Rita be right? Could Valentina have finally come home? Or was Valerie pulling the ultimate con by pretending she wasn’t Valentina, but seeding all the right clues?
No, Valentina was dead. He had proof—the DNA, the blanket, the deathbed confession of Rita’s former chauffeur. For crying out loud, there was even a guy in prison, serving time for the kidnapping.
And the blood. All that blood.
He rubbed his eyes to blot out the sight.
Damn Valerie for showing up.
And damn him for doubting what his own eyes showed him.
Nick stalked away from the window and marched to Rita’s office. He ripped the phone from the cradle and dialed the P.I. he had on retainer.
Joe Aveni might as well have called himself Joe Average. Brown hair, brown eyes in an unmemorable face. Under the layer of fat he cultivated, he hid hard muscles he exercised five days a week. He dressed forgettably and appeared no threat to either males or females. All of which rendered him incredibly efficient at cajoling information from even the most unwilling of sources. No would-be Valentina had ever been able to stand up to his scrutiny.
“I need a background check,” Nick said when Joe answered.
“Hey, man, I’m backed up. It’ll take me a couple of days to get to it.”
“I’ll double your rate.”
“Ah, shoot, Nick, don’t tell me you got another Valentina.”
“The twenty-fifth anniversary is going to bring out all the crazies.”
“Give me what you’ve got.”
Nick gave the information he’d found on Valerie in the agenda he’d brought up from the library along with the empty take-out coffee cup.
“I’ll have a quick-and-dirty for you by the end of the day,” Joe said.
