Whispers in the Night

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“Oh, did you?” She, too, crossed her arms over her chest. “And how exactly did you think we might do that?”

“I’ve hired a new firm of private detectives,” he said with an air of gotcha! “They’re researching your entire life, top to bottom, beginning with your birth, through the day you were hired to take care of my mother and on to when you supposedly walked in on my dead father. There are a lot of gaps in your story. This time, they’re going to find the truth.”

She’d heard these threats before. When Walter had told his sons, Steven and Joe, that he was marrying Kayla, Steven had had her investigated. What showed up was all there was to know—she’d led a life that had its share of pain, limited success, some tragedy, some joy. There were things that she’d thought were her right to keep private, but not according to Steven. Still, insofar as proving her a gold digger, the most innocent of the accusations, or a murderer, the least, they’d come up with exactly nothing. Because there was nothing to come up with.

The deaths of both Sonny and Walter Thorne had been completely natural. Sonny had had terminal cancer; Walter had an embolism that burst loose and caused instant death. Kayla had played no part at all in either.

But Steven couldn’t hear that. Wouldn’t.

“Are you through?” she asked him.

“These people mean business, Kayla. They’re going to find out every black moment in your life, everything you’re ashamed of and want kept hidden. Why did you run away from home at sixteen? How did you support yourself as a runaway?”

“Steven—” she said warningly.

“How many lovers did you have before you met my father? I know you killed him, and I won’t let you profit from it.”

She held up a warning hand. “Stop it. Just stop it. Go away.”

Instead, he began to walk toward her, the look in his eyes threatening. For the first time in her dealings with Walter’s son, she wondered if she was at physical risk.

She held up both hands now, palms outward, toward him. “Please don’t come any closer.”

“You heard the lady.”

The menacing voice from behind startled her. Turning her head, she saw Paul standing back a few feet and to her left. He was shirtless, the muscles of his upper torso gleaming with sweat. In his hand, he held a hammer.

Teeth clenched tightly, Paul had to fight the rage building inside him. He wanted to rip the guy’s heart out.

When, from the upstairs window he’d been working on, he’d heard a murmured conversation between Kayla and a man she called Steven, he’d figured it was none of his business, so he’d kept on working. When the man’s voice had grown louder, he’d decided to make it his business and, picking up a weapon, tore down the stairs.

Just in time to hear the last few threats and Kayla’s answers. He held the hammer down, by his side. For now.

The minute the guy in the suit saw Paul, he took a step back. His eyes raked him up and down, then took in the hammer. “Who are you, her bodyguard?”

“Does she need one?”

“Or maybe you’re her lover. How long has this been going on? And doesn’t that add a nice little wrinkle to my father’s death?”

“Listen, you little creep—”

Paul started toward him, but Kayla put up a restraining hand. “Paul, don’t,” she said, then turned back to the “suit”—Steven, she’d called him. “This man is doing work for me, Steven, for you and Joe and me, taking care of the things that need repairing in the house.”

He greeted her statement with marked skepticism. “Yeah, right. Well, when I’m through with you, your name will be off the deed—it’ll be Joe’s and mine alone.”

“Why? You’ve never liked this place or wanted it.”

“Now I do. And I’ll fight you tooth and nail for it.”

“Why don’t you take a hike?” Paul said, having kept his mouth shut long enough. The guy was really irritating him.

Kayla shot him another cautioning look. “Please, Paul, you’re not helping.” Again, she addressed Steven. “You’re free to do whatever you want. But I need you to leave. Now.”

“You can’t throw me off my own property.”

“We have a deal, remember? Whoever is staying up here is in charge. I’m here now. Please, just leave.”

Paul had to restrain himself from making an I’m-backing-her-up threat, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Still, he trained his gaze on the guy in the suit, letting him know if he didn’t get his ass off the property pronto, he’d have him to deal with.

Steven’s eyes narrowed while he considered his next move. Then he said, “I’ll leave. For now. But this isn’t over,” he added, and turned to go.

As he strode briskly away, Paul followed him around the house to the driveway and, slapping the side of the hammer into the palm of his free hand several times, watched as Steven slid into a sleek Jag, gunned the motor and backed down the driveway before turning and heading down the mountain.

Shaking his head, he stalked back to where he’d left Kayla. She was still there, her hands in fists at her side, a look he hadn’t seen on her face before. She was quietly furious. He couldn’t blame her.

He shook his head again. “What a creep.”

“How dare you?” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“What gave you the right to say what you said to him? Who gave you permission?”

Paul was so taken aback by her attack, he could barely speak. He’d expected, at the least, agreement on Steven’s lousy personality; at the most, maybe a thank you or two. He had not expected to see this slender woman shaking with a silent rage aimed squarely at him.

“Well, excuse me,” he said when he managed to find the words. “I thought I was helping you.”

“By doing your caveman routine? I don’t want that. I don’t need that.”

“Listen, lady, you might think you don’t need it, but the guy was—”

She made an impatient gesture with her hand, cutting him off. “Spare me. I know how to handle Steven.”

“Didn’t look like you were doing much of a job.”

Her chin jutted out in defiance. “All right, then, I wasn’t doing much of a job. Either way, it’s my business. If you’d had your way there would have been a fight. I don’t like fights. And I don’t like men who engage in them. When and if I need your help, I’ll ask. Do you understand?”

He glared at her, all kinds of hostile responses whipping through his head, but none he would say to a woman. He ground his back teeth together and clenched and unclenched his jaw muscles several times before he was able to say, “Yes, ma’am. I most certainly do.”

Chafing at her dressing-down and his impotence to respond, he stormed off, heading for the stairs and the resumption of his chores. Damned if he’d ever come to the widow Thorne’s aid again.

In fact, he decided, he didn’t need this stupid job at all. He could find Jay Vinovich without Kayla’s help. It would be difficult; but he could do it. He’d have to, because when he was done here for the day, he was done here for good.

Chapter 4

An hour later, Kayla found Paul at the top of the staircase, working on the banister, which had a tendency to jiggle when you touched it. She stood several steps below him. His back was to her, and she waited for him to acknowledge her presence. He took his sweet time doing it, which she probably deserved. And when he finally angled his head around, his face was a perfect mask of detachment. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

His gaze met hers without blinking, then he nodded once, growled “Fine,” and returned to his work.

She remained where she was. “Paul? I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. It was Steven who deserved my anger, not you.”

She waited again while he seemed to mull over her words. Then he turned around and stared down at her. At this angle, he seemed impossibly tall and imposing, and she was glad he was on her side. As though reading her mind, he set down his tools and lowered himself onto the top step, his elbows resting on his bent knees, his hands clasped between his legs.

Grateful that he was obviously willing to discuss things a bit longer, Kayla sat a couple of steps lower down, angled her body around and gazed up at him. “You had a hammer in your hand and a look in your eye. And, well, I get this kind of knee-jerk reaction to, well, the way men are so quick to use physical threats to settle scores between them. You know, pissing contests. They make me uncomfortable. I prefer to try to reason things out.”

“I have a knee-jerk reaction to men who threaten women.”

She allowed herself a small smile, acknowledging the ambiguity in the situation. “Good for me you do. This time, anyway. It made Steven go away. Thank you.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing at it, as though he were tired. Then he emitted a loud sigh. “He’ll be back, you know.”

“Steven never goes away.”

“Is he out of control? Has he ever been violent with you?”

“Not so far. Let’s hope he remains that way.”

His look said he was skeptical about that possibility. “Well, whatever you think about the way I handle myself, a physical threat is the only language some people understand. I’m good at that. So—” He paused, frowned as he silently considered something. Then he shook his head, as though thoroughly disgusted with himself before he went on. “Look, I’ll stay out of your business. But…hey, I’m here if you need me.”

At these words of support, even though they’d been delivered with obvious reluctance, a sweet warmth filled her insides. “That’s about the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in, well, in a long, long time.”

She reached up and laid her hand on his forearm. It was the first time she’d actually touched him, and the fact that his skin, under a light dusting of surprisingly soft hair, was warm and his arm was rock-hard with muscle reassured her even more. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Crea-e-eak.

At first she incorporated the noise into her dream, something sensual about a huge, unsmiling-but-studly man and a bed with old box springs.

Crea-ee-eak.

But then Kayla sat straight up in bed, her heart thudding, her throat clogged with fear. It was not a dream. It was the same noise she’d heard two nights ago. Again, it came from her downstairs porch.

Instinctively, her mind sought answers. If it was an animal, there was nothing out there to attract it. She’d thoroughly cleaned the compost pile. All garbage was in plastic bags in the mudroom. There wasn’t even anything growing in her garden to tempt the noncarnivores; all the weeds were gone. She intended to plant all kinds of nourishing vegetables after winter passed, in the early spring.

Crea-eee-eak.

A wild thought entered her head that she ought to get Paul to fix those loose slats. Sooner rather than later. But if he did, she wouldn’t have any warning sign when there was a trespasser, and then, whatever or whoever it was could creep up on her while she was sleeping.