Against the Wind (11 page)

But there was no notebook or disk or USB flash drive, or anything that might have concealed something like that.

Sarah dug through several more boxes, while Jackson did the same. The dust in the storage room made her eyes water and she sneezed but kept on working.

“There's more office stuff in this one,” Jackson said, pulling over another dusty cardboard box. Sarah wiped her hands on her jeans, knelt and began digging again. As she lifted out a leather desk pad, she recognized the
coffee cup warmer that had sat on Andrew's desk. This year's Week At A Glance calendar was among the items. She set it aside to look at later, lifted out a tray that held pencils and pens. One of the pens caught her eye. It looked different than the others, shiny black-and-gold, and she remembered seeing it in Andrew's pocket.

“What is it?” Jackson asked as she picked it up to examine it more closely.

“Andrew's pen. He carried it a lot.”

“Let me see it.” Jackson took it out of her hand and pulled off the top. He smiled. “Well, look what we have in here.”

“Oh, my God!”

“It's a pen drive. Works like a flash drive. Information's easy to carry this way. Whether it's got the right information remains to be seen.”

But she couldn't help being excited, and she could tell he was, too.

“We're about finished in here,” he said. “Let's go back to the hotel and see what we've got.” He made a last survey of the storage unit. “See anything we might have missed?”

She took a good long look. She was anxious to get back to Wyoming, back to Holly. She didn't want to have to return for something they had overlooked.

“We've gone through all the boxes. This rest is mostly broken furniture the Realtor couldn't sell.”

“All right, then, let's go.”

Sarah took the hand Jackson held out to her. It felt warm and strong and not the least bit threatening. When they reached the car, Jackson handed her the pen drive. It held the blackmail list they were looking for—she was
sure of it! She would bargain with Marty Kozak and be free of the past at last.

Sarah stuffed the black-and-gold pen deep into the pocket of her dusty jeans. Sending up a silent plea, she prayed the drive held the information she needed and she could get on with her life.

S
itting behind one of the computers in the hotel business center, Sarah opened the list of files in the pen drive. “There's only three of them.”

“Good, let's take a look.”

Her heart was pounding. This had to be it. It had to be!

The first was labeled Calendar. Sarah opened the file to find Andrew's schedule for the month of January, the last month of his life.

“I don't see anything exciting, just his usual meetings, golf and lunches.”

Jackson was kind enough not to point out the weekends Andrew had marked off to Mitzy. Sarah ignored them, as well. She closed the file and opened the next.

Disappointment struck her. “The second file has notes from a meeting with the management of Southgate Demolition. Looks like the company had a contract
to demolish a building in Northridge. It was scheduled to be pulled down the end of the month.”

“January.”

“That's right.”

“What's in the third file?”

She was afraid to open it. If the list wasn't in there, they were right back where they'd started. Sarah watched the screen, her heart thumping almost painfully. She frowned. The file opened, but she had no idea what it meant. “What is it?”

“Looks like an address.”

“Yes, I see that. 1542 Rocky Mountain Road, #14A, Palm Springs. But what's that other number?”

“Twenty-eight, thirty-two, eleven. Sounds like the combination to a lock.”

“Like the storage room. That was thirty-six, eighteen, three.” She gazed up at him, her spirits gradually sinking. “This isn't the blackmail list we were looking for. That means it isn't the right drive.”

“No, but it's not a dead end, either.”

She sighed. “So we're going to Palm Springs?”

“Looks like it.”

Sarah just wanted to go home. She was missing Holly and the quiet of her charming little Wyoming cottage. And as much as she enjoyed being with Jackson, the desire that simmered between them, the constant yearning, left her on edge.

“Better to go now than make another trip.”

He was right. Thank God she had turned in enough articles to keep Smiley happy at the newspaper. She sighed again as she printed out the information—everything on the drive, just in case, and picked up the printed pages. “When do we leave?”

“We can make it before dark if we start now.”

And the traffic in the early afternoon would be better than in the morning. “I guess I'd better go up and pack.”

Returning the pen drive to her pocket, determined to hide her disappointment, Sarah started for the elevator leading up to their suite.

 

It was a long drive to Palm Springs from Santa Monica, but they were getting out of town just after noon so the traffic wasn't as bad as it would be later in the day. Sarah sat back in the seat, trying not to think of the pen drive and Andrew, trying not to think that somehow he was trying to destroy her even from the grave.

Determined to distract herself, she made the mistake of looking over at Jackson. His dark gaze cut sideways, touching hers for a moment, and heat tugged low in her belly. Lord, the man could make her think of sex without saying a word.

Flustered and unwilling to let him see, Sarah dug her cell phone out of her purse. She had yet to change to a company with better service in the mountains, but this one still worked fine down here.

The first call went to the Realtor who was handling the sale of the Santa Monica condo.

“Mrs. Hollister!” Jane Perkins said. “I'm so glad you called!”

“It's Allen, now,” she corrected. “Sarah Allen.”

“Oh. Well, as I said, I'm extremely glad you called. You see, the thing is, yesterday I tried to show your condo to a really good buyer, a Japanese businessman who wanted something in that exact location. I was sure
he would make an offer, since your place was so nice and the price is so low, but, you see, the thing is, when I opened the door—well, you just wouldn't believe it.”

Oh, yes, I would,
Sarah thought, relieved that now she would not be connected in any way with the break-in. The police wouldn't even have to know she was there.

“So I guess the showing didn't go all that well.”

“Well, that's just it. You see, the thing is—the entire place was a shambles!” Jane went on to describe the vandalism in the condo, how the whole unit had been trashed, and Sarah pretended to be shocked.

“I've phoned the insurance company,” Jane continued, “and of course, the police—but the thing is…”

Sarah mostly tuned out the rest. When the woman was finished, Sarah told her to contact Stan Greenberg, the probate attorney, in regard to whatever needed to be done. She hung up the phone and let her head fall back against the headrest.

“Seems like the lady had plenty to say.”

Sarah sighed. “Her name is Jane Perkins. She's a friend of Stan's. I'm beginning to think she is more than a friend, otherwise, why in the world would Stan have listed the property with someone like that?”

Jackson chuckled. “You're getting cynical in your old age, Ms. Allen.”

She blew out a breath. “I guess I am.” She didn't tell him that being married to Andrew had irreparably destroyed whatever naive notions she'd once had about life.

“Why don't you give Holly a call,” Jackson suggested. “See how she's getting along?”

She had called Wyoming that morning before they
left for the storage room, but she called again now. Livvy answered then put Holly on the line.

“Mom!”

“Hi, honey, how are you doing?”

“I'm okay, but I miss you. When are you coming home?”

“Soon, baby. Maybe tomorrow.” She looked over at Jackson for confirmation and saw him nodding. He was probably as eager to get back as she was. He had a ranch to run, after all, and if the address in Palm Springs turned out to be a dead end, there was nothing more they could do in L.A.

Holly chatted pleasantly, telling her about Sam and Gibby and about the pony riding lessons, about seeing her very first eagle in the sky above the pasture, making Sarah smile.

“And Livvy taught me how to make brownies.”

“Good, you can make some for me when I get back.”

“Do you really think you'll be coming home tomorrow?”

Sarah felt a tug at her heart. She and Holly were so very close. The little girl had never really had a father. Andrew was just a shadowy part of her life, someone who was almost never there. It was the reason Holly rarely mentioned him, the reason Andrew's death hadn't hit her as hard as it might have.

“I hope so, baby. I'll call you as soon as I know for sure.” Sarah hung up the phone feeling more homesick than she had before.

Jackson cast her a glance. “How's she doing?”

“She loves the boys and Livvy.”

“But she misses her mother.”

Sarah nodded.

“What about her dad, Sarah? How's she dealing with that? I've never heard her talk about him.”

Sarah sighed, the question mirroring her earlier thoughts. “Andrew was never around. He talked about Holly as if he really cared about her, but he rarely saw her. He came home late and left early. He never had time for a child.”

“We'll go home tomorrow no matter what we find. We can come back if we need to.”

Relief swept through her. They were going home. She could be with her daughter, and she could get back to work. She had told her boss that she needed a few days to take care of some loose ends in L.A. Now she could get back to her job as a reporter, back to her charming little cottage and the new life she had been trying to build.

She flicked a glance at Jackson, caught the lean, hard jaw, the slight indentation in his chin. His eyes were a rich dark chocolate brown, his lashes black and thicker than she had noticed before. The hands he wrapped around the steering wheel had long, sun-browned fingers, skillful fingers that had stroked her to climax more than once.

She felt that same, sensuous tug in her belly, closed her eyes and willed herself not to remember what it was like to make love with him.

What would happen once they returned to Wyoming? Could she live in such close proximity to such an attractive man and not succumb to her desire for him?

She wasn't sure what else she felt for him. She liked him. She was grateful for his willingness to help her, valued the kindness he had shown her. Perhaps they
could come to an arrangement, enjoy a friendship that included occasional sex, but went no further.

“You're awfully quiet,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

She shifted in the seat, hoped he didn't notice the flush that crept into her cheeks. “I was…I was just thinking about Marty Kozak,” she lied. At the moment, the man was the farthest thing from her mind.

“Delgado will deliver my message. There's a good chance Kozak will accept the fact you don't have the disk and leave you alone.”

Sarah said nothing. She hoped Jackson was right, but she knew Marty Kozak.

And her cynical nature just wouldn't let her believe it.

 

“There it is.” A small condo development in the rugged, arid mountains outside Palm Springs, a chic, expensive town in the California desert. Tile-roofed, tan and dark brown stucco, thirty-five units built around a big, kidney-shaped swimming pool. They parked the car and went in search of unit 14A, making their way along wandering pathways landscaped with rocks and cactus in a desert motif.

“There it is.” Unit 14A sat on the ground floor; 14B was a second-story unit above.

“So what do you think we should do?” Sarah asked in quiet tones, her nerves kicking up.

“Let's try knocking.” Jackson took her hand and started for the door. “Maybe someone's home.”

It seemed obvious, but there was no way to know what Andrew might have been doing with the condo or who might be inside. They walked the cement path,
climbing an occasional wide step, then up the stairs to the covered front porch. Jackson rang the doorbell, but neither of them actually expected anyone to come to the door.

No one did.

“Let's go round back,” Jackson suggested, “see if we can find a way in without being seen.”

There was a walkway between each four-unit complex. They passed the single-car garage marked 14A, went round to the back and saw a door that went into the garage from the rear. Jackson tried the door but it was locked. They continued to a glass sliding door that led out onto a small patio. Jackson walked over, lifted and jerked, and an instant later, the glass door was slightly off its track and moving backward, creating an opening big enough for them to slip through.

She flicked him a glance. “A man with hidden talents.”

His mouth edged up. “A trick I learned in my misguided youth.”

The condo looked surprisingly clean—too clean. No dust on the countertops or the small kitchen table, and there were freshly washed dishes in the sink.

“Anybody home?” Jackson called out.

A movement in the doorway alerted them. “Don't move or I'll shoot!” A flashy blonde pointed a gun straight at Jackson. Though the woman held it arms out in front of her, her hands were shaking and it was clear she had no idea how to properly use the weapon. Which made her even more dangerous.

“Take it easy,” Jackson soothed. “We didn't think anyone was home.”

She was wearing very short white shorts and a black-
and-white halter top—and she looked really good in them. She was perfectly tanned, had long blond hair, and she was extremely pretty.

A light went on in Sarah's head. “You must be Mitzy,” she said, certain she was right. All of Andrew's women looked pretty much the same. Sarah was amazed he had ever been attracted to
her.
But then, apparently her late husband was one of those men who wanted a lady in the living room and a whore in the bedroom—literally.

Sarah forced herself to smile. “I'm Andrew's wife, Sarah.”

The gun wavered. “You're…you're Sarah?”

“Put the gun down, Mitzy,” Jackson said with firm command. “We didn't come here to hurt you.”

She tipped her head toward Jackson, but didn't lower the weapon. “Who's he?”

“His name is Jackson Raines. He's a friend. We came here to find a disk Andrew had.” She caught the fear that flashed in Mitzy's blue eyes. “I think maybe Marty Kozak thought you had it. Is that the reason you're hiding out here?”

Mitzy cautiously lowered the pistol, and Jackson reached out and took it gently from her hand.

“I—I told him I didn't have the disk but he didn't believe me. I was afraid of what he might do. I had a key to the condo so I came here.” So this was Andrew's little love nest, a place he came with his mistress-of-the-moment. “Andrew said no one knew about the place. He said he paid cash for it a long time ago.”

Andrew actually owned something he hadn't mortgaged to the hilt?
Amazing.

“You won't say anything, will you? You won't tell Mr. Kozak I'm here?”

“We won't say anything,” Sarah promised.

Jackson held out a slip of paper with the numbers twenty-eighty, thirty-two, eight printed on it. “We just need to figure out what this means. It's probably the combination to a lock of some kind. Is there a safe or a storage room around here?”

“There's a safe in the back of Andrew's closet. I don't think he used it much. At least I never saw him. I found it when I was hanging up some of my clothes.”

Some
clothes turned out to be a boatload, two closets full—expensive designer dresses, slacks, shoes and purses that Andrew must have bought her.

Sarah couldn't help wondering what price, beyond the use of her incredible body, Mitzy had paid for them. One thing Sarah knew—if Andrew hadn't beat her for some imagined transgression, sooner or later he would have.