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Her gaze darted away, and the tips of white teeth nibbled at her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I doubt Mr. Davidson poses a danger, but—”
“You know him?”
“You know me?”
Ryan’s words tangled with Johnson’s.
“From a photo.” A flush spread across her cheekbones.
Yes, definitely attractive, but where had she seen a picture of him? “I wasn’t in those photos you turned in. The detective laid out the whole roll for me to see.” What shadowed her eyes? Pity? Ryan’s jaw clenched.
She met his stare. “I assume it was the same detective who showed me a print of you down by the river.”
Ryan snorted. “Sure, updating their file with a sneak shot after they get me all riled up. Bet I looked like a lunatic.”
Static crackled from the nearby police cruiser, followed by a garbled voice. The officers released Ryan and backed away. “If you’re not going to press charges, Miss,” Johnson said, “we need to answer that call.”
“You should go, too, Mr. Davidson.” Samantha Reid narrowed the door opening so he could only see half of her body. “There’s nothing for you to find here. The police haven’t uncovered anything new, and I doubt they will.”
She moved to close the door, but before she could, a small creature darted from the doorway into the alley.
“Bastian, come back here!” the woman called. “Oh, no, I must not have shut the door tight above.”
“I’ll find him. Little animals have certain ways of moving in the dark. Hang tight. I’ll bring him to you.”
“But—”
“It’s the least I can do for getting you up in the middle of the night. Besides, you’re not dressed for a walk.”
Her brows scrunched together. “Bastian won’t come to you.”
“We’ll see.” He headed in the direction the cat had disappeared, a mental Here, kitty, kitty going in his head. Not that he’d ever talk out loud that way to such a dignified animal.
“Of all the arrogant guys!” Samantha fumed as she threw on jeans and a T-shirt. He’d better be gone by the time she got downstairs again, or she’d clobber him with her flashlight. Bastian was particular about who he allowed to touch him. She was the only one who could get close, and who knew how long that would take? Her night’s rest was officially over.
She stormed down the stairs and flung open the outside door.
“Hi.” Ryan Davidson grinned down at her, the purring Abyssinian cradled in his arms. “He was just investigating your alley and didn’t go far.”
She gaped up at him.
“Here.” He handed her the cat.
A mewl mixed with his purr. The cat’s head swiveled toward Davidson.
“Nice Aby. Good ticking in his coat.” He scratched behind Bastian’s ear, and the cat nosed the man’s hand. “Well, g’night, then. Hope you can still catch some z’s.” He gave her a lopsided grin and turned away.
“Th-thank you.” Sam watched his broad-shouldered figure stride into the night. She hugged her cat close. “Traitor,” she murmured into his perked ear. Her heart was a traitor, too. It had done a distinct pitty-pat when Ryan Davidson smiled.
THREE
Muted dock lighting played over Ryan’s bedroom ceiling in rhythm with the slight sway of the water beneath the boat. He lay on his back with his arms under his head. The murmur of the river teased his ears. The soothing sights and sounds usually had him out in seconds, but his carefully constructed world had blown apart again with the discovery of those pictures.
How had the roll of film ended up at Old Man Morris’s dry cleaners?
He’d hoped a walk through the area might jar his recollection of something suspicious he’d seen that night. But then, who was to say he’d encountered a single thing connected to his family’s deaths? Would he even have noticed if he had? Arriving in Apple Valley following the end of his sophomore year at the University of Wisconsin, he’d zigged and zagged aimlessly through the neighborhood, dreading going home, his father’s angry words from their phone call echoing in his head.
His gut soured. He heaved himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and rubbed his forehead.
Dad, would you ever have understood my decision not to follow in your footsteps as an investment banker? His family’s deaths had robbed him of the opportunity to find out. What if he’d headed straight home? Could he have saved them? Or would he have joined them stone-cold in the grave?
At least his dad hadn’t killed himself or mom and Cassie. A breath trembled in his lungs. How did he feel about that? Relieved. Yeah, beyond belief. But guilty, too. Why had he ever believed the cops’ conclusion about that night?
But if his dad didn’t do it, then someone else murdered them all. Ryan shot to his feet. He paced, fists clenched, bare feet smacking the hardwood floor.
Who would do such a thing? A psycho? Then why hadn’t the nutcase been caught committing similar atrocities? That kind seldom stopped killing voluntarily.
But if the murders were done in cold blood for a reason, then finding the cause would reveal the killer. Sure, the police were back on the case, but why should he trust them? They’d treated the tragedy like a slam-dunk murder/suicide and closed the book. Now, ten years after the fact, the authorities were sniffing up a cold trail with dozens of hotter cases piled on their docket.
No, he was the only one with a strong enough motive to dig and not give up until he found something.
Dad, I promise I’ll find out who killed our ladies and you.
Too bad he couldn’t have a chat with Abel Morris and ask where the guy found the film. Miss Reid sure got stuck with a mess not of her own making, but maybe she knew something from scouring through the building that she didn’t realize was important. It might be in his best interests to be friendly with her. He’d shot himself in the foot tonight with his prowler act, but maybe finding the cat had helped his cause.
Tomorrow, he’d do what he could to cement a better impression. Besides, even if nothing further panned out in the investigation, a guy would be certifiable to pass up the opportunity to get acquainted with a smart, fine-looking woman who showed rare character by turning in those photos. Not many people would step forward these days to get involved in someone else’s troubles. He knew lots of people who would have just shredded the nasty pictures and gone on with their lives without a second thought.
Ryan stretched out on the bed and willed his limbs to relax. What would it take to make Miss Reid smile?
At 9:00 a.m., someone knocked on the front door of the cleaners. Not the police. They were already here. She answered the summons to find a grinning teenage boy bearing a gift.
Flowers? Who would they be from?
Sam took the enormous glass vase from the delivery person’s hand, tipped him, and then carried the vase of white calla lilies to her office desk. She worked the small envelope from its holder and opened it.
Humble apologies. Your Midnight Marauder.
Sam laughed. Who would ever have thought she’d find anything funny about an apparent break-in attempt? Her eyes narrowed. Oooh, this Davidson guy was slick. He’d better not have some notion of getting on her good side so she’d let him hang around. She had a business to get started and enough distractions without adding one more to the list, even if Bastian had given his stamp of approval to the big, blond outdoorsman.
A crisp thank-you note accepting his apology ought to be the end of it. A quick search on the Internet yielded the address for Davidson Houseboats. Sam dashed off her thanks and took the note with her as she headed out the door to meet Hallie for lunch at Jenna’s restaurant. Then she had a truckload of errands to run. She might as well make herself scarce until the police finished combing the building later today. Hopefully.
A fifteen-minute drive through busy suburban streets brought her to the white stucco and half-timbered restaurant in Lakeville. Sam stepped into the welcome of savory and delicate aromas. Her gaze searched the wood-beamed dining room for Hallie. She spotted her, sleekly groomed in a tailored green pantsuit, waiting at a cloth-covered table. Sam waved and Hallie answered with a wide grin. Sam settled opposite her friend, and they ordered their favorites—seafood fetuccini alfredo for Hallie and a chicken salad pita with a garlic dill pickle for herself.
“You look frazzled.” Hallie spread her napkin on her lap. “You need to ease up and take time to smell the roses.”
Sam wrinkled her nose. “How about the calla lilies?”
Hallie’s eyebrows climbed. “Spill your guts, girl.”
By the time Sam finished telling about the police intrusion yesterday, the Davidson disturbance last night, and the flowers on her desk this morning, her friend was leaning halfway across the table, jaw slack.
“Oh, hon.” She settled back. “And I thought a reporter’s life was adventurous.”
Sam sniffed. “This feels more like a trial.”
“The Perils of Samantha Reid.” Jenna’s words and chuckle brought Sam’s head around.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to get the whole scoop, as Hal might say.” Jenna winked a hazel eye. “That Ryan fellow sounds like a dish. Better keep him.”
“I second the motion.” Hallie lifted a hand and waggled slim fingers.
Sam scowled from one to the other. “Romance has no place in my life right now, and certainly not in his. He’s got a murder investigation swirling around him.” She groaned at the conspiratorial look her friends exchanged. Thank goodness, the food came just then, and Jenna glided back to her kitchen while she and Hallie dug in.
A half hour later, Sam paid her bill and exited into the warm sunlight outside the restaurant.
“Just a minute!”
Hallie’s urgent tone stopped Sam halfway across the parking lot. She turned to find her friend striding toward her, unsmiling.
Sam’s brows drew together. “What’s up?”
Hallie stopped in front of her. “I didn’t want to mention it over lunch. Spoil anyone’s appetite, you know. But now that something’s happened with those pictures, I have to come clean with my station about what we found.” Her gaze darted away and then returned to meet Sam’s. “I have to do my job, or I’ll lose it. There will be media attention, most of it directed toward Ryan, but—”
“I get it. Someone besides the police will be asking me questions. Will they assign you to the story?”
“If the main crime reporter is too busy, I might get a taste of the action.” A smile crossed her lips then morphed into a frown. “I just wish you weren’t involved.”
“Don’t worry about it. Maybe some good can come of this mess, and you’ll get another step closer to that anchor spot.”
Hallie’s gaze warmed. “Spoken like a true friend, thinking about the other person first. You can always say, ‘No comment,’ and let us get our answers from the police and Davidson.”
Sam shrugged. “It might be kind of nice to speak my piece. At least people will know that all the police attention isn’t because I’m running drugs out of the dry cleaners or some other nefarious activity at my shop.” She smiled, but the edges of her mouth quivered. How would she handle a camera in her face? She barely managed standing up front in the church choir.
Hallie put a hand on her arm. “I know you hate the spotlight. Too bad you’ve got a reporter for a friend.”
“Finding that film wasn’t your fault, and we both turned it in.”
“Like we had a choice?”
“Right. But none of this involves us directly. It’ll blow over. You’ll see.” It better, or her family would start camping out on her doorstep. Aaagh!
“Speaking from experience,” Hallie said, “with the next homicide, this cold case will go in the deep freeze again, and you’ll open your business on time.”
“Sure, but Ryan will be stuck not knowing who killed his family.”
“Ryan, is it? I knew you liked him.” Hallie strolled away, laughing.
Scowl plastered on her face, Sam hustled to her car. She gripped her car key, tip pointing through her fingers, a defensive preparation that had become second nature. “Just because I feel for the guy’s situation doesn’t mean I’m the least interested in any other way,” she grumbled under her breath. “I’ve got too much on my plate to take on old mysteries.” She slid into the driver’s seat and picked up the thank-you note from the center console. After she mailed this, there would be no reason for further contact with Ryan Davidson.
At the end of the afternoon, Sam returned to the dry cleaners to find the police gone, but a mess left. Evidently, their job description only required tearing things apart but excluded returning anything to proper order. She spent over an hour in the back alley chucking things back into the Dumpster. The disarray inside the building could wait. It would have to, because her energy fuel gauge was running on empty.
She called the cleaning crew to resume in the morning then handled a few bookkeeping chores before shutting the office door and checking the locks on all of the outside doors and windows. Hallie was right. She was exhausted and needed to unwind. A movie and popcorn sounded like a great evening.
When she opened her apartment door, Bastian darted out. The feline streaked down the stairs and into the main building.
Sam shook her head. “Okay, so you’re annoyed at being cooped up all afternoon. Enjoy playing watchcat tonight.” Stifling a yawn, she stepped into her kitchen. He’d be all right. He had a litter box, a bed and food and water in a corner near the storage room.
A few hours later, Sam crawled between the sheets and slept so deeply a tornado could have blown her out of bed and she might not have noticed. The next day, feeling rested, she went out for her morning run in the nearby park. When she returned, sweaty and breathing hard, she headed for her office. A truck would be here in a few days to cart the old machines away, and with a little extra hustle the building should be ready on time to receive the new stuff. The plan was back on track.
She opened her office door, stepped over the threshold, and halted on a gasp. Her beautiful vase lay shattered on the floor, flowers strewn everywhere. “Bastian, what did you do?”
No, the cat couldn’t have been in here. The door was closed.
The desk phone shrilled and Sam jumped. It rang again, and she tiptoed between glass shards to answer it.
“Hello, I’m Vince Graham from Channel Six news.” A male voice rumbled. “We’d like to speak to you about—”
“Sorry. No comment.” Sam smacked the phone into the receiver. Who cared about news stories right now? Somebody had been in her building!
Heart pounding, she scurried from window to door, testing all the locks. At last she came to the window above Bastian’s empty bed. A breeze caressed her face like a subtle taunt. The sash gaped open wide, and the antiquated window had been missing its screen since the day she bought the place. She’d meant to have one installed, but it hadn’t happened yet, and now—Sam hugged herself, the scars on her back tingling. She’d had an intruder for real, and she slept through it. And where was the Abyssinian? In all her racing around, she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.
Her spine stiffened. Only one person had shown an unnatural interest in this building besides the police. And he’d mesmerized her cat. Maybe Bastian went with him when he snuck out after rummaging through her office. So much for apologies. The louse!
She should call the police immediately. She—Oh, no, not that again.
Her business didn’t need any more attention from the authorities. With the police search and a middle-of-the-night visit from a squad car, neighborhood confidence in her business was probably in the tank. She could confront Davidson herself. Sure, she could. What was he going to do to her? It was broad daylight, and if she went right now, she’d catch him at his business. Let him take some negative publicity this time, the sneak. Someone needed to tell him he’d gone over the line—and he’d better have her cat all safe and sound.
Sam whirled on her heel. If Davidson thought his life was insane right now with the police investigation and reporters sniffing a story, he was about to get a visit from one mad woman.
FOUR
Standing on the dock, Ryan shook his customer’s hand and gave him the keys to the four-passenger houseboat that swayed on the river’s current. “Take it nice and easy navigating the locks and dams, Mr. Timmons. When you stop, make sure to set your anchor like I showed you, and keep your outside lights on during the night so other craft won’t run into you. Printed instructions are in the wheelhouse, if you need to refresh yourself on anything. But most of all,” Ryan stretched his lips into a smile, “enjoy yourselves.”
“Sounds good.” The pudgy man beamed. Behind him, a pair of grade school–age girls chased each other, giggling, on the upper deck. The man’s stocky wife, clad in shorts and a tank top, lolled on a lounge chair in the bow of the boat.
Ryan waved as Timmons joined his family on board. “You folks have a great time on the Old Miss.” He untied the boat from the dock and watched them go on their way. Heat from the morning sun bathed his neck. Too bad the sun couldn’t warm anything beneath his skin or make his smile for real.
“Mr. Davidson.” The clack of feet on the dock accompanied the voice.
Ryan turned to see a tall woman with a caramel complexion picking her way toward him across the boards. Why did females torture themselves with high heels? If one of those silly spikes wedged in a board, she’d topple over, and he’d be fishing her out of the drink. The woman’s face looked vaguely familiar. Behind her clomped a shaggy-haired guy toting a video camera on his shoulder. Ryan looked beyond the mismatched pair, and his stomach clenched. A van with the Channel Six logo painted on the side sat on the asphalt in front of his log-cabin-style office building.
Uh-oh! How had the news media gotten wind so quickly?
The smiling woman reached him and held out a slender hand. “Hi, I’m Hallie Berglund, a friend of Samantha Reid’s.”
Ryan narrowed his eyes at his visitor. So that was how. Ms. Reid couldn’t wait to garner attention for her business by letting her reporter pal in on the action. He’d misjudged her as a woman of integrity when she was really out for number one like anybody else.
