Questioning the Heiress. Delores Fossen
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from getting too close. Including her parents’ nearest neighbors, the Jenkins. She spotted them, a perky yellow umbrella perched over their heads. They were frantically waving at her, and Mrs. Jenkins had a cell phone pressed to her ear.
“They say they have your parents on the line. They want to know if you’re all right,” the officer relayed to her. Because of the sirens and the rain, he had to practically shout.
“Tell them I’m fine,” Caroline shouted back. “And that I love them. I’ll call them later.”
If Egan had any response to her message, he didn’t show it. He looked at the approaching trio of bomb squad vehicles before turning his attention back to her. “Other than you, who had access to your car today?”
It was something that hadn’t occurred to Caroline. Yet. But it would have once she’d caught her breath. “I was the only person in the car. My family’s business office is on San Pedro Avenue, and I parked there in my space in the building garage. I came back here to Cantara Hills for lunch around noon, and then I met with a client at his office just off Highway 281 before returning to work.”
He glanced around them again. “I noticed your car doors were unlocked in the garage. Were they locked when you were at any of these other places?”
Caroline really hated to admit this, but, hey, she hadn’t known that her every movement might have been watched by a killer. “I had the top down most of the day so it wouldn’t have been hard for anyone to get inside. And since it’s a vintage car and I don’t keep anything valuable inside, it doesn’t have a security alarm.”
The bomb squad vehicles braked to a stop by the gate.
Egan stared at her. “So anyone could have overheard your conversation at lunch, and those same anyones could have gained access to your car and planted a bomb.”
Because he made her sound like a careless idiot, Caroline frowned. “That about sums it up.”
But Egan was right. She hadn’t been cautious, driving with the car top down with a killer on the loose, and it could have cost others their lives. She already blamed herself for Kimberly McQuade’s death.
She didn’t want this on her conscience as well.
The bomb squad personnel barreled out of their vehicles, and Egan stepped away from her to speak to a burly blond man wearing dark blue-gray body armor. Caroline listened as Egan briefed the man, describing the location of the device and the size.
The man tipped his head toward her. “Go ahead and get her out of here. I want those guards and uniforms out, too. I don’t want anyone near the place until my guys have checked out this thing.”
Egan turned back to her. There was more displeasure in his body language and expression, probably because he had to babysit her.
“Let’s go,” he grumbled.
But the grumble had barely left Egan’s mouth when the sound of the blast rocketed behind them.
Well, at least no one was dead.
That was the only good thing Egan could say about the events of the night.
First, an intruder. The intruder’s escape. Then, an explosion. Egan was waiting for a call from the bomb squad so he’d know the extent of the damage, but he didn’t have to hear a situation report to confirm that the killer had a new target.
Caroline Stallings.
She was in the corner of his temporary office. Soaked to the bone. She’d gotten even wetter when they had run from his car and into the country club. Her clothes were clinging to her body, and there were drops of rain still sliding down her bare legs and into those pricey, uncomfortable-looking heels. She was shivering. And using his phone to call her parents in Cancun, Mexico. Her calm, practically lively tone didn’t go with her slumped shoulders and shellshocked expression. The rain, and possibly even a tear or two, had streaked through what was left of her makeup.
“No. I’m fine, really,” she assured her parents. “There’s nothing you can do, and I have everything under control.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, probably to stop it from trembling. “I’m with one of the Rangers,” she went on. “We’re at his office at the Cantara Hills Country Club.” She paused. “No. I’m with Sgt. Egan Caldwell.” Another pause. “No.” She glanced at him and turned away. “He’s the surly one,” she whispered.
Egan was just punchy enough that he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He didn’t let Caroline see it, of course.
While she continued her call, Egan went to the closet behind his desk and took out one of the four freshly laundered shirts hanging inside. His jeans were soaked, too, but changing them would require leaving Caroline alone. Because they had a killer on the loose, that wasn’t a good idea. So he settled for a fresh blue button-up. Either that or a white shirt and jeans were his standard “uniform” when he was on duty, which lately was 24/7. He changed and put back on his shoulder holster. Later, he’d have to give his gun a good cleaning to dry it out as well.
“Please don’t come home,” he heard Caroline say. She’d repeated a variation of that at least a half-dozen times since the call began. “Yes, I’ll have the locks changed on all the doors and windows at the house. I’ll make sure the security system is checked. And I won’t stay there alone. I promise.” She shivered again. “I love you, too.”
She’d said that at least a half-dozen times as well. I love you. The words were heartfelt. It was hard to fake that level of emotion. Even though he was thirty years old and had been in his share of relationships, it still amazed Egan that some people could say those words so easily.
Not him.
But then, he’d never tried, figuring he was more likely to choke on them than say them aloud.
He finished transferring his badge to the dry shirt, turned, and Caroline was there holding out his phone for him to take. “Thank you,” she said. No more fake cheerfulness. The shock was setting in, and she was shaking harder now.
Egan hung up the phone, extracted another of his shirts from the closet and handed it to her. “Put this on. As soon as the bomb squad clears the area, you can go to your friend’s house and get some dry clothes.” That might not happen soon, though, and her friends wouldn’t be able to get to her since no one could use the road to drive to the country club. The bomb squad had sectioned it off.
She made a small throaty sound of agreement and slipped on his shirt. “Thank you again.”
Caroline wearily sank down into the studded burgundy leather chair next to his desk and closed her fingers over the delicate gold heart necklace that had settled in her cleavage. Like the words to her parents, she’d done that a lot tonight as well.
Egan anticipated what she’d do next. She was wearing two dainty gemstone gold rings on her left hand. Opals on one. Aquamarines on the other. Another opal ring was on her right hand. She began to twist and adjust them. She was obviously trying to settle her nerves. But Egan was betting that settled nerves weren’t in her immediate future no matter how many rings she twisted.
“I suppose the bomb squad will call when they know anything,” she said. Not really a question. He’d already explained that.
Still, Egan nodded and started a fresh pot of coffee. Thank God for the little premeasured packets because that was the only chance he had of making it drinkable, and right now, he needed massive quantities of caffeine that he could consume in a hurry so he could stay alert and fight off the inevitable adrenaline crash.
“You didn’t get to finish your dinner.” Caroline pushed her damp hair from her face and tipped her head to the now-cold burger and fries on the center of his desk. He’d managed