Seeing Red (22 page)

Nate held her gaze and her body responded; heat pooled in some places while shivers ran over others, breathing became an effort. It was becoming an automatic reaction when he looked at her, like Pavlov’s dogs.

After a moment, he blinked and said, “We will. I promise you. We will.”

Ellis normally saved the lesson about techniques that could leave lasting injuries or be fatal to an attacker until near the end of the course. She bumped that lesson up. She covered blows to the throat and eyes, carefully explaining what areas of those targets were most vulnerable and how to inflict the most damage. She emphasized that when someone means you harm, it’s imperative to do the same to them—immediately, while they still think they’ve taken you by surprise.

The girls nodded and watched with serious eyes as she demonstrated the defense moves. Then she had them pair up and practice the motions.

Ellis had just stepped in to correct one girl’s technique when she heard someone pulling into the parking lot much too quickly. She looked up and saw her uncle’s Corvette. He braked hard enough that the tires slid in the loose sand and stone. He quickly got out, slammed the door, and stalked toward her.

“Where is he?” he asked from twenty-five feet away.

“Nate?” She told the girls to continue their practice, then hurried to meet her uncle. Whatever had him worked up, the girls didn’t need to hear it.

“Yeah, Nate.”

“We heard about the murder. He went to see what he could find out.”

“Murder?”

“A woman at Seaside Apartments.”

“God
dammit
!” Greg jammed his hands on his hips and turned his head, looking off toward the street. Then he turned back to her. “Alexander?”

“Who else? Let’s hope he left evidence.”

“I spent the night looking for him. Guess I was in the wrong goddamn place.”

Ellis nearly cautioned her uncle that running around alone at night looking for Alexander could be dangerous, but it wouldn’t make any difference. In the past week, she’d seen the uncle she’d known vanish, replaced by this hollow-eyed, revenge-seeking wraith.

“Has anyone checked on Aunt Jodi?” Ellis asked.

“I’ll have her stay at my place until we know what’s what here.”

“Uncle Greg, you can’t go over there and bully her—”

He raised a hand. “Save it. If she won’t stay with me, I’ll convince her to stay with Marsha.”

“If you didn’t know about the murder, why are you here?” She knew her mother had left several messages for him late yesterday, telling him about her father’s accident and surgery. She figured he’d be at the hospital this morning.

Greg glanced over his shoulder, toward the parking lot, as if to assure himself no one was within earshot. “I have something important to tell you.”

Her scalp prickled with dread. “Oh?”

“Nate Vance is using his job to cover the fact that he’s a smuggler.”

“What!” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Where in the hell did you get an idea like that?”

Her uncle’s eyes looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He probably hadn’t. “I
told
you not to trust him.”

She didn’t say what was on her mind—that her uncle hadn’t been exhibiting the kind of judgment she was particularly inclined to rely on of late. This was just another overreaction brought on by stress and fatigue.

“What makes you think he’s involved in something illegal?” she asked.

“We’re still digging for details. He works for an international shipping corporation. He’s got way too much money, and he’s trying to hide it.”

“What corporation?” This was a detail she wanted to hear.

His gaze shifted away. “I’m not sure.”

She closed her eyes and tried to be patient. “So how do you know about his financial status?” Greg had hated Nate from the beginning; all of this crap with Alexander was making her uncle completely crazy.

“I’ve hired someone to investigate him,” he said.

“Who?”

“A private investigator.”

There was something in Greg’s body language that said he wanted to sidestep this issue, so she pressed. “Where did you come up with this investigator?”

“He works at the dealership, a real whiz with computers. He locates deadbeat dads all the time.”

“Bradley Thompson!” she nearly shouted. “You’re using
Bradley Thompson,
the car-wash kid, as a private investigator?” As far as Ellis could tell, Bradley Thompson had a hard time telling reality from the computer games he immersed himself in. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Seriously, Uncle Greg! You have to stop this here and now. You can’t go around spreading rumors based on Bradley Thompson’s perceptions.”

“
You’re
trusting Nate on
his
word!” The desperation that colored her uncle’s voice had her truly concerned. He needed sleep; he was coming apart at the seams. “You can’t trust a man like that to protect you. He’s got his own agenda; you can bet on it. I’m going to find out what it is.”

She rubbed her temple. “Uncle Greg—”

“I don’t have documentation yet. I came straight here to warn you.”

Outrageous as his actions currently were, her uncle did have her well-being at heart. She took a second to calm herself. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to ask him about it when he gets back.”

Greg’s eyes widened. “Like he’s going to admit anything! You need to stay the hell away from him.”

“Why do you hate him so much?”

With his mouth pinched tight, he said, “Because he
changed
her. If not for him, Laura would never have crossed paths with a man like Alexander.”

“How can you blame Nate? He didn’t know Alexander!”

“I don’t believe it. It all changed when
he
started hanging around. The secrets. She
changed.
”

Ellis hadn’t seen any such change. But pity tore at her heart. She put a hand on her uncle’s weary-looking shoulder. “Nate told me he works in security. If it’s for an international firm, don’t you suppose there could be a lot of money in it?”

“He’s a criminal. All the signs are there. He was bad news as a kid; he’s worse now.” A new light dawned in his bloodshot eyes. “I’m going to call the FBI, DEA, and ATF. Maybe they’re looking for him.”

“Don’t let Bradley Thompson make a fool out of you,” she said. “Your livelihood depends on your reputation in this town.” He’d said as much for as long as she could remember:
I’m a salesman; my best tools are my name and my word.

She went on, “There’s no need to jump to the most incriminating conclusion, even if Bradley isn’t inventing all of this to make a buck. Think about it. If Nate’s
hiding
from law enforcement, why would he still be hanging around when so many people know he’s here?”

She could see a glimmer of rationality surface in her uncle’s eyes.

“I don’t want you hurt,” he said stubbornly.

“I know. And I appreciate it. I
will
talk to him,” she said. “If I don’t like what I hear, then I’ll take the appropriate action.”

“With your dad’s accident,” Greg said with a deeply creased brow, “I’m responsible for you.”

“I
am not
a child. I don’t need someone to look out for me or to make my decisions for me. I’ll take care of this.”

Jesus, had he not seen the way she lived her life? She was so damned careful that she barely
had
a life.

Ellis looked around. Mrs. Obermeir was staring at them. “Please go. There’s no need to make a huge scene.”

He followed her gaze. The Obermeirs were good customers of his.

He took a deep breath, then said quietly, “I promised your mom I’d meet her at the hospital. Come with me.”

“Uncle Greg, I’m twenty-nine. I’m currently teaching these girls how to take out a man’s eye. I think I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” he said reluctantly. “If Alexander . . . He threatened you . . . .”

There was no way she was going to tell him about the roses.

“Go on,” she said as if placating a child. “Tell Mom I’ll be there as soon as my class is finished.”

Not giving him an opportunity to argue further, she turned around and returned to her girls. She heard his car start and leave the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, Nate returned. She was picking up her bag, having just finished talking with Mrs. Obermeir.

He waited for her by the Hummer.

“So,” she said as she approached, “what did you find out?”

“The crime scene and the location of the body are still blocked off. The victim was a nineteen-year-old named Kimberly Potter. You know her?”

She shook her head. Had this girl died because Ellis was making herself an impossible target? God, what an awful thought.

Nate said, “The newsfolk milling around say someone heard a loud voice around twelve forty-five that may or may not have been associated with the attack. Her car door was left open, her keys and purse inside. The police aren’t releasing any more details at the moment.”

“Did you talk to the police yourself?”

“No. Just neighbors and the reporters. Her roommate said Kimberly had been out to some party last night. She didn’t know that Kimberly hadn’t come home until this morning. She saw Kimberly’s car and started looking. She found the body in the dunes.”

“Surely, with our reports about Alexander, the police will make the connection.”

“You should call again, just to make sure.”

She nodded. Maybe this nightmare would be over soon.
And then Nate will be gone
. It was inevitable. But that didn’t mean she didn’t dread the loss.

After a moment to fortify herself, she said, “My uncle came by a few minutes ago.”

He raised a brow.

“I have some questions.”

“All right.” He took off his sunglasses and looked her in the eyes.

“Uncle Greg’s had someone digging for information about you. He says parts of your life don’t add up, insists you’re involved in something criminal.”

“I’ve told you before; I’m not a criminal,” he said coolly.

“That’s all? That’s all you have to say?” She crossed her arms and glared at him.

“I’m a security consultant for an international company that transports valuable commodities—antiquities, highdollar collectibles, jewelry, museum pieces, that kind of thing. It’s a job that’s best done if no one knows who you are or too many details about what you’re moving and when you’re moving it.”

“From countries like South America?”
Where the drugs come from.

“For one.”

“So what is this company’s name?”

“Intelliguard. Does that mean anything to you?”

She gave a solemn shake of her head.

“I didn’t think so,” he said.

“So what you do is legit? No smuggling? No secret bank accounts?”

Something closed off behind his eyes. “I’ve told you that I’m not a criminal and that I can’t discuss the specifics of my work. What more do you want?”

“I just thought you trusted me.”

He stared into her eyes for so long, Ellis forgot to breathe. Then he reached out and took her hand in his.

“I trust you more than any other person in my life,” he said solemnly. “But that doesn’t change the rules of my work.” He rubbed the back of her hand lightly with his thumb. “I know your uncle doesn’t trust me. He never did. But I swear to you—my life out there has nothing to do with what’s going on here. I won’t let it touch you. I can keep you safe. Trust me.”

She felt herself being pulled into his steady gray gaze. She could see the truth in his soul, the promise in his heart.

For the first time in fifteen years, she took an incautious, uncalculated leap, heedless of where she might land. “I trust you.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

L
orne Buckley received the news of last night’s murder in Belle Island the same way most everyone else did—on the morning news. He’d known in his gut that Alexander would go after another victim, but he was stunned the man had done it this soon. It sickened Lorne to think they’d deliberately set him free.

Before he left his house, he called the Belle Island police. He told them of his suspicions and made certain they had a recent photo of Hollis Alexander to work with.

The local authorities were still in the early stages of the crimescene investigation; the medical examiner had been on scene for only a short time. Officers were conducting interviews and searching for witnesses. They weren’t able to give him much beyond what he’d seen on the news. And he supposed until he had a case to construct, the details didn’t matter. A young woman had been violated; someone’s daughter was dead.

Forty minutes later, he walked into his office. His secretary handed him a sealed envelope. “This came for you a few minutes ago.”

He took it. It was blank, no address or postmark, no return address. “Hand-delivered?”