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The reporter-woman’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. I know this must be a difficult time for you, dredging up bad memories. Looking at those pictures was bad enough for me, but—”
“You saw the photos?” Ryan’s spine stiffened. “Did the police show you? Not hardly! Or was it the lady dry cleaner angling for a little free publicity?”
Color bloomed in Hallie’s cheeks. “I developed those photos.” She squared her shoulders. “And Samantha’s other friend, Jenna, found the film at Sam’s place. We’re all in this happy little conspiracy together. Sam and I turned them in to the police, so maybe now you and your family will have an opportunity for a killer to be caught. All I want is to chat with you so we can air a segment that maybe, just maybe, will flush a rat out of hiding…or, at the least, entice someone to come forward with helpful information.”
Ryan’s mouth opened, but he was fresh out of things to say. How could a guy speak with a mouth full of crow anyway? A wry chuckle gusted from his chest. “Come on in.” He waved toward his office. “I guess I could share some more of my foul mood, if it’ll help your ratings and my family’s chance for justice.”
“Now you’re talking.” The smile returned to the reporter’s face.
They stepped up the dock toward the sidewalk that would take them up to the building, the cameraman backpedaling ahead of them. Ryan shook his head. The guy’d been filming the whole time. How much of himself shooting blanks from the hip would come out on the TV news? Ouch! He hadn’t been firing harmless blanks; he’d been filling his own foot with lead—again—where the attractive Samantha Reid was concerned.
“Don’t worry.” The woman next to him spoke under her breath. “Your quantum leap to Planet Wrong Conclusion will end up on the editing floor. You have a lot to learn about Sam, and I’d like you to still have that chance.”
Ryan stared down at her. Was the woman a mind reader? And what was that knowing smirk all about? Her gaze turned toward the parking lot, and his followed. A midsized car jerked to a halt on the tarmac, and a woman dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and a practical pair of running shoes lunged out of the vehicle. She charged toward them, small purse slung over her shoulder, glossy ponytail swinging.
Sam? Er, Miss Reid? She looked steamed enough to blow a gasket. No way could she have heard his conversation with her friend.
“Where’s Bastian?” She halted in front of them, hands on hips. Little gold flecks in her green eyes glinted up at him.
“Ba—Oh, your cat. Last time I saw him, he was purring in your arms.”
“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t sneak into the dry cleaners last night to finish your snooping expedition. My vase is broken, my flowers are wilted, a window is open and my cat is gone!”
“Someone broke into your building?” The reporter gripped her friend’s arm. “Oh, how awful! Are you all right?”
Ryan looked from one woman to the other. Hallie’s mouth had drawn up into a tight line, and Sam deflated and that full lower lip quivered.
“I’m f-fine.” She sure didn’t look it. “I slept through the whole thing.”
The women’s stares at each other conveyed volumes of information Ryan couldn’t read.
“Honest, Miss Reid—”
“Sam.” She met his gaze.
Good. Now he had official permission. “Sam, I was nowhere near your neighborhood last night. You have my word on it.”
Her gaze searched his face. “Then who…” The words trailed away.
“Maybe the same person we’re all looking for.”
“Please don’t tell me that. As furious as I was with you, I wanted you—no, needed you to be the one. Then I wouldn’t have to imagine other possibilities.”
If only he was guilty. Maybe that would take the haunted look from her eyes. He knew the feeling all too well. What was her story, anyway?
“It seems like none of us is going to have any peace of mind until we get to the bottom of this.” Hallie’s voice drew their attention. “Maybe finishing the interview will be a step in the right direction.”
Ryan nodded in unison with Sam.
The reporter grinned. “You two make quite a pair of intergalactic travelers. You arrived at the same planet on the same morning!”
Clearing his throat, Ryan led the way toward his office building. The cameraman brought up the rear, not filming for the moment.
“What did Hallie mean by that?” Sam asked as she fell in step beside him. The girl had long legs and a runner’s stride. Another thing to like about her.
Ryan shrugged. “Oh, some remark she made earlier about a quantum leap to a conclusion.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
As they climbed onto the porch, Old Jake heaved himself to his feet and ambled over.
Sam scratched the animal’s head. “Labrador, right?”
Jake groaned his ecstasy and leaned into Sam’s leg.
Ryan laughed. “We figure he’s mostly Chocolate Lab with a little Springer Spaniel thrown in.”
“Is that why he’s got a few splotches of white in his coat and around his muzzle?”
“The gray face is his age showing.”
“You must’ve had him for a long time then.”
“This summer. He’s mostly deaf, as well as old and a little arthritic. Whoever owned him decided he was no good for hunting and dumped him off in the country to fend for himself.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s awful!”
“No argument from me. He wandered up here this spring, skin and bones.”
“He’s well fed now.” She ran her hands down his sides.
A throat cleared behind him. “Oops, sorry!” Ryan turned and motioned to the reporter and the cameraman.
Then he led the way into the cool office lobby. A faint scent of cedar greeted them from the genuine wood that lined the walls and floor.
Larry, one of the staff, looked up from behind the long reception counter and froze with his hand poised over calculator keys. “Did I space out some business interview we were supposed to do today?”
Ryan waved at him. “Personal. About…you know.”
Larry jerked a nod then went back to pecking at the machine. Ryan led his guests into his office, which looked out the side of the building nearest the guest parking lot.
“Not much for frills, are you?” Sam stood gazing around the room. “And I thought my office was bare.”
Ryan took fresh stock of his surroundings. An old metal desk, a bit scuffed and dented but serviceable, took up much of the floor space. A lone filing cabinet stood nearby, and a state-of-the-art computer center filled one corner. No artwork hung on the pale walls, just a plaque indicating membership in the local chamber of commerce. No photos or other personal memorabilia sat on the desk.
The nicest piece in the room was a rather crude oak gun case that he’d cobbled together in high school. It worked fine to hold his several shotguns and rifles, though. The only other item of interest was the view from the French doors behind his desk, and that showed only a small deck, the paved guest parking lot and a wall of trees beyond that.
Yeah, his world had gotten pretty stark. The fault of one devious killer, and Ryan meant to find out who that was.
“Let’s do the interview out there.” Hallie pointed toward the deck. “That will give us the outdoorsy feel without standing under the hot sun.”
“I’m game.” The deck offered a clear view of his boats and docks, as well as the access road to his property. He did as much of his paperwork as possible out there, listening to the wind ruffle through the pines that crowded his place.
Ryan opened the French doors, and soon he and the reporter stood on the end of the deck closest to the river. The camera would be able to take in the water and boats behind them. Sam perched on a bench built into the deck rail, out of range of the electronic eye. Ryan wiped his palms on his jeans and glanced at the reporter. “What would you like to know?”
She looked toward the camera. “You rolling, Stan?”
“Still getting the angle and focus,” he answered, fiddling with his lens.
“Could we have a quick practice run?” Ryan cleared his throat. “I’d kind of like to know what you’re going to ask.” And maybe take the edge off his gut reactions before the real deal.
“That’s fair.” Hallie nodded. “I’ll probably start out with something like this—It’s been ten years since you found your family shot dead in your home. In all this time, did you never suspect that they had all been murdered?”
“No, I didn’t.” He shook his head. “My dad was under unusual stress at work and not acting like himself. Besides, I was too busy blaming myself to take a closer look.”
“How could their deaths have been your fault?” Sam’s cry broke in. “You weren’t there.”
Her gaze riveted with Ryan’s. His face went hot and tense. “We had a major fight on the telephone that evening, my dad and I. I figured I broke his heart, and that was why I lost my family.” What was it about this woman? That was more than he’d ever told anybody.
Her lips molded into a soft O. “What a terrible way for things to end between you.” If he didn’t know better, he would have said she was seeing straight into his soul, just like the other night.
“It doesn’t matter now.” Ryan’s voice came out rough. “Whoever killed my mom, and my sister and my dad had better hide under the biggest rock he can find, because I won’t rest until I find out what happened. And why?”
Hallie’s shoulder moved between him and Sam. “What do you hope the discovery of the photos will accomplish?”
He returned his attention to the reporter. “New evidence means a fresh investigation that is bound to uncover facts that were never looked at before.”
“Anything specific you can share with us?”
“Let’s just say I’ve given the police access to—”
Brakes squealed and tires screeched. Ryan turned. The next client wasn’t due for twenty minutes…but this was no client. Yikes! None of those vehicles held clients. A Minneapolis Star Tribune newspaper van roared up the drive, followed by a Channel 11 TV truck, flanked by a St. Paul Pioneer Press car, jockeying for position. The whole world chased a scoop.
Hallie whirled toward Sam, who sat with mouth agape. “So do you want to wait around and be mobbed or get out of here?”
“But what about your interview?”
“If I know Stan the Man, he got it the first time.”
“Too right.” Grinning, the camera guy lowered his equipment from his shoulder.
Ryan glared from reporter to cameraman. All that personal stuff that popped out of his mouth had been caught on film? Wasn’t the cameraman supposed to wait for some kind of cue from the reporter?
Sam rose. “My car sits between the ones for the Press and the Trib. We’ll never make a getaway.”
“There’s a pickup in the back.” Hallie nodded toward Ryan. “Yours, right?”
“Wait a minute—”
“If you wait ten seconds, you’ll have a feeding frenzy, not an interview.” She pinned him beneath a pointed stare. “Go. Leave us. We’ll stay and thumb our noses at the competition.”
People were piling out of the vehicles in his public parking lot. It was hard enough to talk to one reporter about his family’s murder. If a mob of them got in his face, he’d probably slug somebody.
He met Sam’s beseeching gaze. “We’re outta here!”
Her teeth flashed as she grinned and headed for the French doors. “I’m with you.”
Ryan grabbed her hand, and they dashed inside through his office and out into the hallway behind the reception desk. “Circle the wagons!” he called to Larry, who gazed at them wide-eyed. “Don’t let them take you alive.”
A throaty laugh came from the woman next to him. Her warm hand in his, Ryan tugged her up the hall and out the back door, leaving his employee gaping after them. They piled into his gray Silverado, and he peeled out of the staff lot toward the gravel road that provided a second egress to the property.
“Where are we headed?” Sam turned toward him, flushed face alight.
He smiled. “Your place. I feel like huntin’ me a cat. And while we’re at it, we may as well catch a burglar.”
By the wary glint that entered her eyes, he knew he’d better not add killer. He hated to tell her, but whoever sneaked into her place and snooped through her office might be connected to the murders. She was up to her dainty nose in this investigation whether she wanted to be or not.
FIVE
Sam studied the profile of the man behind the wheel of the pickup. Nice strong chin, a little on the square side, but not jutting, and definitely not weak. Just right. And his hand holding hers had been just right, too, wrapping her palm and fingers in a big grip, but not squeezing.
All well and good, but why was she alone in a pickup with a guy she’d just met? She’d wanted to escape the deluge of reporters as much as Ryan, but why did she feel perfectly at home sitting here? And safe? The police maintained he wasn’t a suspect in the murder case. However, those words hadn’t meant a lot to her inner security barometer. Less than an hour ago she’d believed him capable of breaking and entering. What had changed?
The dog. Despite his tough exterior, the man had a core of kindness. Even her moody cat knew it and trusted him. And Sam trusted animals. They had a sense about people that human beings often didn’t.
Ryan shot her a glance with his intense blue eyes, and the corners of his mouth tilted up.
What was the matter with her? She’d better quit staring, or the guy would get the wrong idea.
She looked out the window where the tree-lined bluffs of this picturesque area flashed past. Ryan’s place of business was roughly a half hour from her dry cleaners. Funny that they both lived where they worked and owned their own businesses. Did that mean they were the same sort of people?
Not really, because that was where the similarities ended. He lived in a secluded woodland area, she in a business district. His house traveled with him whenever he wanted to pick up and leave, while hers stayed planted where she intended to put down roots. No, when a person looked at it logically, they weren’t much alike at all. If they could get this awful investigation behind them, they would have no basis to develop an ongoing relationship. She’d just have to disappoint Jenna and Hallie in the matchmaking department. So why did that thought make her heart sink?
Shake it off, girl. Stick with the program. “Why do the police say you couldn’t have been the one who—er, you know? They generally look at family first. Excuse me for asking. My gut says you’re okay, but my head’s not quite there yet.”
Ryan let out a short laugh. “I’m familiar with that internal tug-of-war, and I don’t blame you for asking. They did suspect me at first. Who wouldn’t? But they ran into a brick wall when they considered timing and gunshot residue.”
“I don’t follow what you’re saying.”
“A stray pellet stopped the clock on the wall behind my dad’s desk, pinpointing when the shootings took place. When the crime scene techs tested me from top to bottom for gunshot residue, they didn’t find a speck. No way could I have taken a shower, changed clothes, dried my hair, and dispose of my tainted outfit between the time the murders were committed and the time the first squad car arrived on the scene. They were pretty much forced to acknowledge that my part in events was exactly as I said. That’s when they decided the whole thing was murder/suicide, and my dad was the bad guy.” He snorted.
“Precisely what whoever did it wanted people to believe.”
Ryan met her gaze, grim-faced, then turned his attention back to the road. “And I was no better than the cops in my thinking.”
“Why should you have been?”
