Her Alibi. Carol Ericson
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give this to the lawyer filing the lawsuit.”
With a wave of his hand, Connor cranked on his engine and pulled away from the gravelly shoulder, spitting dust and sand in his wake. After a few miles, he made a turn to the east, away from the coast and the town of San Juan Beach.
The narrow, two-lane road wound into the low-lying hills and the early-fall temperature rose several degrees as he escaped the sea breeze. The hotter the better. His grapevines needed the warmth.
On the way to the house, Connor pulled over and jumped out of the truck. He cupped a bunch of grapes in his palm and sniffed—the sweet had started to overpower the tart—right on time, even though this crop wouldn’t be the harvest for the wine. He had to wait another year for that.
Good thing he was a patient man.
As he made the last turn, he hunched over the steering wheel and squinted at the white car in his driveway. Someone had ignored the no-solicitors sign posted at the entrance to his property—probably another one of those Realtors. That shiny cream-white Lexus looked exactly like a Realtor’s car.
His jaw hardened, and he threw the truck into Park. He pushed out of his vehicle at the same time a woman emerged from the Lexus.
As she floated toward him, her hands held out, Connor blinked. Her perfume wafted toward him and enveloped him in her spell. When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder, her chestnut hair lifting in the breeze, his capture complete.
Her warm breath caressed the side of his neck as she whispered in a husky tone, “I’m in trouble, Connor. And I need an alibi.”
Connor’s body, still hard and strong, stiffened. She knew he wouldn’t be putty in her hands, but she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to bring out the big guns.
He stepped back, and she unwound her arms from around his waist. She didn’t want to be clingy.
Narrowing his blue eyes, he folded his arms across his unyielding chest. “What now?”
She gazed over his shoulder at the empty road bordered by grapevines and pasted a smile on her face. “The vineyard looks good. I can’t wait for the first bottle.”
He snorted, “Are you really trying to butter me up? You should know better.”
“I need to ease into this.” She squeezed his rock-solid biceps. “Can we talk inside?”
“Hang on.”
He turned back toward his truck, opened the door and ducked inside, giving her a spectacular view of his backside in his board shorts. From the look and feel of Connor’s muscles, she wouldn’t be surprised if he worked this vineyard single-handedly, but he must still be spending time at the beach, given his sandy bare feet and the burnished-gold sheen on his brown hair.
He walked toward her, a black bag slung over his shoulder. As he passed her, he nodded toward the house. “Follow me.”
“Hardly the red carpet I was expecting after all this time.”
“Maybe it’s more than you deserve after all this time.”
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She definitely needed the big guns this time around.
As she walked into the house she expelled a soft sigh. “You redecorated.”
“This is my house now, not my parents’. What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”
She ran a hand along the back of the cream-colored leather sofa, which had replaced an overstuffed floral one that had been littered with his mother’s handmade pillows. “It’s an improvement.”
He placed the bag on a granite island that separated the kitchen from the living room, where a wall once stood that had supported a shelf showing off Connor’s surfing trophies.
“Do you want something to drink? No wine...yet.”
“As much as I could use some alcohol right now, it’s still morning and I need my wits about me...all my wits.” Or at least the ones she still possessed after last night’s blackout.
“I have water, orange juice and iced tea from a bottle.”
“Tea, please.” She perched on the edge of the sofa, the soft leather almost sighing beneath her weight, and wedged her purse next to her feet.
When Connor exited the kitchen holding two glasses, the ice clinking with each of his steps, she patted the cushion next to her.
He handed her the glass, tossed a coaster onto the coffee table hand carved from a log and took the chair across from her.
Looked like he wanted to keep his wits about him, too. The two of them had always shared a magnetic attraction to each other, but maybe he’d been able to shut down that magnet after their last contact a few years ago.
“Tell me what’s going on.” He took a long gulp of tea. “Is it that husband of yours?”
“Ex-husband.”
“Right. You’re still fighting with him about that multimillion-dollar company?”
“It’s much worse than that, Connor.”
“Just spill it, Savannah.”
“Niles is dead...murdered.”
Connor’s eyebrows shot up to that lock of brown hair that curled over one eye. “Murdered? Wouldn’t that be all over the news? I know I’m kind of a recluse these days, but I do have a TV—cable and everything.” He jabbed a finger at the huge flat screen that claimed the space above his fireplace.
“It’s... He’s... I don’t think he’s been discovered yet.”
Connor jumped from the chair, and the tea splashed over the side of the glass clutched in his hand. “What are you telling me?”
“I found him. At his house. Dead.”
“And you didn’t call 911?”
“Of course not.”
“Of course not?” He threw his arm out to the side. “No, why would anyone call the police upon discovering a dead body, especially the dead body of your ex?”
“Exactly.” She took a small sip of tea and avoided his wild-eyed stare.
He stopped pacing and landed in front of the couch, looming over her with iced tea dripping from his hand onto the polished hardwood floor. “What the hell happened to him, Savannah? Why didn’t you call the police?”
She shook her glass to rattle the ice. “He was stabbed to death, and I didn’t call because the police would’ve arrested me.”
“Why?”
“Because I woke up in his house, in his bed, and I don’t remember how I got there.” She closed her eyes and held her breath.
The shocked stillness reverberating off Connor in waves made her more nervous than the agitated pacing. She peeled open one eye and swallowed.
A muscle throbbed at the corner of his mouth, and the fingers curling around the sweating glass sported white knuckles. His blue eyes had darkened to the color of a stormy sea.
Then he blinked, drained the tea in one gulp, wiped his palm on the leg of his board shorts and set the glass on the coffee table. “You’d better start from the beginning.”
Warm relief flooded her body and she almost collapsed against the sofa cushions. This was the Connor she’d hoped to see—in control and even-keeled. He hadn’t agreed to anything yet, but he hadn’t thrown her out on her derriere, either.
Sitting up, she squared