Finding Her Son (11 page)

“I don’t want you out in the open. Go inside. She can come to you.”

“You don’t understand—”

Mitch’s eyes twinkled a bit, and Emily recognized that hint of mischief behind the layers of steel. “Oh, I comprehend the situation quite well. Get in the house, Emily.”

She turned to the front door before she realized she didn’t have her keys. Quickly, she fished the spare from beneath a pot on the front porch. She chanced a glance back at Mitch, and he shook his head, clearly frustrated that she had stashed the item in such an obvious place. Well, at least she didn’t have to break into the house.

She opened the door and slipped inside. Home. Finally. She so desperately needed to be here. Safe. Secure.

With more than a little curiosity at how Mitch would handle the formidable Mrs. Wentworth, Emily peered out the window at the driveway. Mitch’s conversation with her mother-in-law would’ve been worth a front-row seat, especially since Victoria had actually let him escort her up the sidewalk.

How long had it been since the Wentworths had set foot in this house? Maybe only once in her and Eric’s three-year marriage?

“I appreciate your understanding, Mrs. Wentworth. In reopening the investigation into Eric’s death, we want nothing more than to find out what happened.”

Mitch’s smooth voice filtered through the open doorway. As he escorted Victoria into Emily’s house, she bristled. What was he up to? Victoria had made it perfectly clear what she wanted: Emily to pay for Eric’s death.

“Well, I’m not one to speak out of school, but I’m quite dismayed to see you accompanying Emily. She should be your prime suspect. Look at what she did today. Trying to sell Eric’s home. It’s disgraceful, and I’m going to put a stop to it.”

“Now, ma’am. You know that I have to keep my options open.” She’d never seen Mitch smile like that. It didn’t reach his eyes. Each movement, each gesture was calculated and focused. Mitch led Victoria into the house’s formal living room to the sofa that faced a photograph of Emily and Eric. He pulled up a chair as her mother-in-law settled into her seat but made sure she could see the happy picture. Emily recognized the ploy. He
wanted
a reaction from Eric’s mother.

“I’d like to hear your thoughts,” he said. “About your son.”

Mitch’s voice held just the right note of sympathy. He turned his face away from Victoria to Emily and gave her a small wink. “Could you fix your mother-in-law some hot tea, please? It’s cold outside.”

Amazing. He manipulated like a pro. Emily didn’t know what he expected to gain, but she’d let him have his way. For now. “Certainly.”

She pulled out a small, antique teapot she and Eric had found in a little shop on their honeymoon and set the water to boiling before edging back into the room where Mitch played Victoria like a Stradivarius. He charmed the woman. Emily placed her fingers to the lips he’d almost kissed. He’d done the same with her.

“I told Eric not to marry a girl like that, but he wouldn’t listen. He was young, idealistic.”

“Sounds like he was a good son.”

“Perfect. The best son any mother could ever want. Until he met
her.
He stopped coming by to visit. We never saw him anymore.”

Mitch laid his hand on Victoria’s. “You miss him.”

For the first time in a year, Emily really studied Victoria’s features. Grief had etched lines in her formerly smooth face. Why couldn’t they have clung to each other? That’s all Emily had ever wanted. Acceptance. Support. To be part of a family again.

“She was so intent on getting the insurance money.” Victoria’s face turned harsh. “That’s when I was certain what I’d always suspected was true. She never loved Eric. She loved the Wentworth money. And now she’s selling
his
house. She’s throwing away his memory.”

“That’s not true.”

Emily stalked into the room. She couldn’t take the attacks anymore. “I
never
cared about the money for myself. I just want to find Joshua.”

“Then why was
William
paying for plane tickets and bills for that private investigator?”

“To search for
your
grandson.” Emily looked down at Victoria. “I want him back.”

For a moment, she thought Victoria’s expression softened a bit. Then that haughty look reappeared. “No. I’m not wrong. I know your kind. You care about nothing if you’ll sell everything Eric ever gave to you.” She faced Mitch. “You look into the $250,000 account I found. It’s in
her
name. Not Eric’s.” Then she turned to Emily, her gaze as icy as her heart. “When you can explain that away, I
might
believe you weren’t responsible for killing my son.”

She rose and walked out the door, regal as ever.

Mitch whistled under his breath. “Wow. She doesn’t mince words.”

“I told you.” The kettle shrieked from the kitchen. Emily hurried to remove the pot from the stove. He followed her. The room suddenly seemed much smaller, claustrophobic even. Maybe it was the low ceilings, but his muscular frame and larger-than-life presence sucked the air from her lungs.

“Want some?” she asked, her voice strangely breathless.

“The tea is for you. I figured you’d need it after your mother-in-law left, and I was pretty sure she’d leave before it was ready. I just wanted you out of the room. So, about the $250,000—”

Emily faced Mitch. “If I’d had access to that kind of money, do you think I’d be selling my house to pay for the investigation? The house Eric and I built together? I didn’t even know about the money until today.” She struggled to swallow back the sob that stuck in her throat. No. She couldn’t let herself regret what had to happen. Without William’s support, or Perry, she could at least count on the money from the house to help her find Joshua.

Mitch lifted his hand to her cheek. “I’m on your side,” he said softly. “Remember that.”

She nodded.

“Did anyone ask for your signature on anything unusual?”

The question harkened back to Dane Tanner’s interrogation. Her entire body tensed, her neck muscles bunched in resistance.

“Remember,” Mitch whispered.

His hands moved to her shoulders, kneaded the knots. She sighed at the comforting touch. She didn’t know what good her answer would be.

“I’ve signed a million forms since Eric died. I signed papers to try to refinance the physical-therapy business. I don’t remember opening a bank account.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I saw the signature. It can’t be mine. It looks like mine, but I didn’t sign it.”

“The account existed before the accident. This isn’t something recent, Emily. I’ll get the exact date from Tanner. Maybe that will jog your memory.”

She couldn’t stand so close to him any longer. She turned away and hugged her arms around herself. “Why is this happening?”

Mitch moved in closer, but she stiffened, trying to ignore the longing that had bubbled up inside of her, that still threatened to escape. She pulled a teabag out of the cupboard and poured hot water in a flowered cup.

Emily inhaled the floral scent of the herb drink, but it didn’t comfort, soothe or distract her. She felt his warm presence again at her back. Her body tingled. He wouldn’t give up. His persistence was one of his most irritating—and appealing—qualities. His heat warmed her from shoulders to hips. She wanted nothing more than to give in to her instincts, to sag against him, let him wrap her in a cocoon and make the world go away for just a few minutes, a few hours.

Gently, almost tentatively, he rested his hands on her shoulders again. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered, his warm breath at her ear.

His hands eased down her arms. She could’ve escaped at any moment. He would’ve let her go, but she wanted his touch. She needed his strength. She’d been alone for so long, battling the world for too long. For this moment, in this small room, she truly believed she’d found a champion. She and Mitch against a world gone crazy.

Effortlessly, he folded her against him, his hard body cradling the softness of her own. Her hands shook. His warm hands surrounded hers, and he took the cup in his hands and set it aside before turning her in his arms.

His chocolate-brown eyes had gone black with desire. His body fairly pulsed with need. He lifted her chin, and his finger toyed with a strand of hair near her face.

She understood passion. The electric longing had crackled between them before. But this was different. He could have swept her into his arms, tugged her to him and taken her lips. She would’ve given him what they both wanted, but he didn’t. His hands worked slowly up and down her arms, then around her back to her shoulders, touching her with such a gentle persuasion that she melted deep in her belly.

Her heart pounded and she leaned into him, wanting his heat to warm her from the inside out, needing to feel safe. He was the only one who could give her that. “Please,” she said.

A small smile tilted his lips. “Please what?”

“Hold me.”

With a groan, he secured her hard against him. She could feel every plane of his body, the muscles in his arms and chest. She hugged him close. He shivered, and a surge of female pride raced through her. She’d made
him
tremble.

What if she raised her head? Would he kiss her? Would he want her?

His hips arched against her. Yes, he wanted her, and he wasn’t afraid of letting her know it. The loneliness of the past year crashed over her. Dare she risk letting herself care, or even feel something more than grief and emptiness?

The chimes of the grandfather clock shattered the moment.

He rested his forehead against hers. “It’s too fast, isn’t it, Emily?”

She bit her lip and nodded. He glanced at his phone. “I need to make a call. Drink your tea. And someday soon…maybe it won’t be too fast.”

He caressed her cheek and left the room, the phone at his ear. “This had better be good.”

Emily sucked in a deep breath. Her nerve endings tingled. She paced the floor and noticed the message indicator on the phone she’d put in the charger. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed. She dialed her voice mail.

“Mrs. Wentworth.”

Perry’s voice sounded through the speakerphone.

She staggered at the sound of the dead man’s words.

“You didn’t show up, and your cell went straight to voice mail. Call me as soon as you get the message. This thing is bigger than I thought, ma’am. Lots of money. Lots of influence. I confirmed the Denver PD is involved, but I don’t know the cop’s name yet.”

A harsh curse sounded from across the room. Mitch had come back. A frown creased his face, and the muscle in his jaw throbbed.

Perry’s voice continued. “Ghost shouldn’t have escaped. Someone set it up.” A bit of rustling shifted through the phone. “If something happens to me…you’ll know what I know. I don’t want to say more on the phone.” Perry paused. “Be careful, Mrs. Wentworth. Don’t trust anyone. Call me.”

Emily sagged against the counter.

Mitch strode across the room to her. “Timing hasn’t been on our side, has it?” He kissed her cheek, letting his lips linger there. “Remember where we were.”

He lifted the cup and pushed it into her hands. “Now, take a sip and let’s go through your notes so we can find Perry’s evidence.”

Emily clasped the tea and walked down the short hallway toward the dining room, Mitch at her heels. She slid open the door and the teacup fell from her fingertips, shattering on the hardwood floor. “No!”

The walls were barren. The boxes gone. Every piece of evidence, every notebook, every pushpin, everything she’d gathered over the past nine months, vanished.

Stolen.

Mitch dragged her toward the door. “We’re getting out of here. Now!”

Chapter Six

Emily dug her heels into the floor and yanked out of Mitch’s hold. “Wait a minute. We can’t just leave—”

“Someone tried to blow your car up today,” he snapped. “We’re leaving until the bomb squad clears this place.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait.” She scooped up the teddy bear and two picture frames and threw them in a bag. “I’m not going without these,” she said, her eyes fierce.

Mitch clutched Emily’s hand and yanked her across the kitchen. No way was he retracing steps through the house. They’d have to make do without their coats.

She snagged her cell phone and charger. “But what about—”

“No time, Emily. We’re not taking any more chances.”

He dragged her to the back exit. After a quick inspection of the hinges and frame for a trip wire, he flung open the oak door. He couldn’t believe he’d been so careless. They’d meandered around the house for a half hour. Making tea, for God’s sake. A device set to the gas stove and it would have been all over. They’d both be dead, and no one would know someone had cleaned out all the evidence from her dining room.

She stumbled outside after him, their feet crunching on the leftover snow. He scanned the perimeter of the yard, searching for footprints or anything out of place.