Sudden Setup Page 13

  “Just the two of us,” he said, then added, “and we’ll need access to a computer.”

  She smiled up at him, a mix of courtesy and flirting. Couldn’t she see Ella standing right there? Technically, she and Holden weren’t a couple, but this woman didn’t know it by the looks of them. They could be a couple and this woman was being rude.

  “Follow me,” she said with a silky voice.

  Ella rolled her eyes.

  Holden laced their fingers and she noticed he was scanning the room as they walked, a sobering reminder of the danger they were in being out in public. Suddenly, she felt silly for being jealous of the hostess. Was that what she was? Jealous?

  Ella sighed sharply.

  It had been a long week. She was fatigued and sad and had had a personal revelation that still had her mind spinning. Honestly, she was scared no matter how much she didn’t want to own up to it. The nightmare that had started with her father’s murder and extended to her present situation wouldn’t end and it felt like the stakes were growing with every passing day.

  “How’s this?” the hostess asked, beaming up at Holden.

  “Fine.” He barely seemed to notice that she was standing right next to him inside his personal space. Most would consider that rude but Ella decided that it was a cultural thing and not meant to rile her.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” Her gaze dropped to their linked hands and her smile faded just a touch.

  A satisfied smile crept across Ella’s lips.

  “Water for now,” he said. “We’ll order off the menu after she’s had a chance to look over the options.”

  “Fine,” the hostess said before giving Ella a quick acknowledgment and then disappearing.

  Ella took a seat at the bar stool facing the wall. Holden glanced around and mumbled something. Best as she could tell, he didn’t like the idea that their backs were to the door. He repositioned the chairs so that they could both easily see the screen. His was more to the side, positioned so that he could keep watch on the door.

  Holden handed Ella a menu.

  “An Americano sounds fantastic,” she said, referring to a shot of espresso topped off with hot water.

  “We should probably order something for that,” he motioned toward the hookah.

  Ella scanned the menu. “Sour apple sounds good.”

  The hostess returned with two glasses of water. Holden relayed their hookah and drink orders—his was strong black coffee—and then he waited for Ella to make a decision on food.

  Everything on the menu looked amazing, or maybe Ella was just starving.

  “Gyro sandwich,” she finally decided.

  Holden ordered the same.

  The hostess nodded, gave a curt smile and scribbled down their orders on a small pad of paper.

  “Do you remember having any arguments with anyone, specifically during any of your meetings?” he asked as soon as the hostess disappeared.

  “I honestly can’t say anything sticks out. I mean, people fight back all the time over personal gain. It feels like there’s something right there—” she motioned toward her forehead “—but every time I think too hard, I get a headache.”

  “Effects from the blow you took. If I’d been there five minutes sooner I could’ve saved you all this,” he said with a look of frustration. He might’ve been able to interrupt whoever did this to her but he would’ve exposed his presence and put himself in more danger, so she was glad that he hadn’t in some respects.

  “I’ve been thinking about the shotgun,” he said. “Most people have one beside the bed.”

  “Which means it could’ve been anyone,” she said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Why is that a good thing?” she asked.

  “Because it means we’re not dealing with a professional. The guys after me would use a Glock or a weapon that is more precise. I would never see them coming because they wouldn’t have to get close enough to hit the mark. They’re skilled shooters whereas the person who shot at you couldn’t hit you at close range,” he surmised.

  “Okay, but what about one of my father’s exes?” she asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” he admitted. “The person who killed your father wanted to make a statement. That could indicate someone angry, vengeful. So, the person kills him and wants everyone to know how mad he or she is. Hurting you doesn’t have the same impact because your father wouldn’t be around to see it.”

  “Meaning if this was a revenge killing against my father, they’d save him for last?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “The first attempt on your life was meant to look like an accident, like you fell and died.”

  “He goes back to find a body and doesn’t. So he sets up and waits,” she said. “But the second time around he doesn’t care because he figures I’m going to turn him in.”

  “At that point, he just wants to get rid of you,” he said. “He figures that he’s got nothing to lose because if you make it to the sheriff, you turn him in. Think you can remember anything about the man in the mask? Height? Weight?” Holden’s fingers went to work on the keyboard.

  “If my brain will cooperate, I’ll do my best.” Ella stilled when the hostess returned.

  “Do you have a sheet of paper and a pen?” Holden asked, pulling out his wad of money and peeling off a twenty.

  “I’ll find something in the manager’s office,” she said, taking the offering with a grateful smile. Ella was pretty certain the woman winked. Wasn’t there a waiter in the place? Why did the hostess have to keep coming back? And she did return not two minutes later with a pad of paper and a pen. When she handed the offering to Holden, she brushed her fingers against his arm.

  Ella was starting to see red.

  “Excuse me,” she said curtly. “Those are for me.”

  Holden gave her a bewildered look. Surely he hadn’t been off the grid so long that he didn’t recognize when a woman was practically throwing herself at him.

  The hostess walked away with a frown.

  “I can’t believe how rude that woman is being,” Ella said.

  A quick glance at Holden burned in her belly because he must’ve caught on and now he was smirking.

  “All I’m saying is that it’s bad manners to be so obvious,” she defended. “And we don’t need the distraction with everything else we have going on.”

  “Are you jealous?” he asked. “Because I’m fairly certain the woman was trying to be nice.”

  Ella’s gaze caught on the ten-digit number scribbled across the top of the page along with the woman’s name. She held up the notepad. “And what do you think this is doing on here?”

  A bemused Holden broke out into a smile. “Guess you were right.”

  “I’m not blind,” she said. “And she was being so obvious.”

  The door opened behind her and Holden’s smile disappeared. Ella followed his gaze and saw a lively group of college-aged kids walk inside. Holden’s relief was almost palpable and this was a good reminder of the tension.

  “I don’t like putting all these kids in danger with our presence,” he said, demonstrating once again that he put others first. Holden might see himself as selfish but she wished that he could see the real him, the man she saw.

  “I don’t either,” she agreed.

  “Let’s speed things along so we can get out of here.” Holden motioned toward the screen in front of them. His left thigh was positioned on the outside of her right, effectively providing a barrier between her and everyone else. The denim material of his jeans against her leg sent volts of electricity at the point of contact.

  He did it without thinking, with such ease, yet the dark circles cradling his eyes told another story. He must be exhausted even if he’d never admit it.

  Ella tried to ignore the sexual magnetism pulsing b
etween them with contact. When the hostess returned with food she seemed to pick up on it, too. She shot an embarrassed look Ella’s way.

  At this point, she was too hungry and worried to stress over a little flirting. Holden was a gorgeous man, tall, built like a brick wall, but his body didn’t feel like one. When her skin was pressed against his it was the feeling of silk over steel. He was sex appeal and masculinity and resourcefulness wrapped together in one seriously hot package.

  A dangerous package.

  * * *

  HOLDEN DRUMMED HIS fingers on the keyboard and then hit Enter.

  Maverick Mike’s murder still pervaded the headlines.

  “My brothers and sister seem to be safe.” Ella sighed. “Nothing is going on at the ranch.”

  Holden entered a new search, using only her last name.

  “What’s this?” she asked, scanning the stories. “Two men have shown up in town claiming to be heirs.”

  “Looks like your long-lost brethren are giving interviews,” Holden said, pulling up the site running the stories.

  “He looks nothing like us,” Ella said of the first person who popped onto the screen.

  “The amount of money your father owns will bring out a lot of crazy,” Holden said, watching as the man claimed Maverick Mike had had an affair with his mother that had produced a son, him. The journalist conceded that the accuser had declined a DNA test to confirm.

  The second accuser agreed to a test, but only on his terms. He said he’d bring in his own, whatever that meant.

  “I’m pretty sure these guys aren’t being taken seriously,” Holden said.

  “Could either one of them have tried to kill me?” she asked.

  “Anything’s possible. Your father has enough money that even if it was divided between either or both of these yahoos there’d be more than enough to go around,” he added. “I doubt they’d target each of you individually if they wanted to take it all. They’d most likely set a bomb and take all of you out at once. But then that would be too easy, as well.”

  Ella shuddered.

  “Sorry. It must be strange for a civilian to hear someone talk about life and death so casually,” he said. “We got used to it in the military. Doesn’t lessen the effect of your actions. But I learned to compartmentalize the missions by becoming numb to the words.”

  “It’s okay,” she said but her voice was a little shaky. “I’m just still trying to wrap my thoughts around the fact that any of this is happening. Before my father died, my biggest concern was making sure that I secured funding for the new animal shelter being proposed and now death just rolls off my tongue.”

  “Do either of them match the size of the man who tried to shoot you?” Holden asked.

  “This one is too big. I would’ve remembered someone who looked like he should be a defensive end on a football field.”

  Holden’s dark brows drew together.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “You didn’t mention the animal shelter before,” he said, turning toward the screen.

  “I must’ve forgotten. I don’t know if it’s from the hit I took or just stress in general,” she said.

  Holden pulled up a map of Cattle Barge. “Can you tell me where the proposed site is?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Her look said she had no idea what he was getting at. She took over, zooming the map into a location east of downtown. “There. Right there.”

  “What’s around it?” he asked. “Anything interesting?”

  “Pilsner Lake isn’t far.” She pointed it out on the map. “We have a cleanup project going on there. People love to use the lake and the adjacent park but don’t feel the need to clean up after themselves. We get a lot of debris on the beaches and animals are getting sick off the rusting cans tossed around.”

  “Whose property surrounds the proposed shelter site?” he asked.

  “Mr. Suffolk,” she said. “Why?”

  “Is he against the building being so close to his property?” he asked.

  “Not him so much but his son has been cranky about it. Says it’ll be too noisy and bother his father,” she supplied. “It won’t. He’s just being difficult. Old Man Suffolk’s house is all the way over here.”

  Ella pointed to a spot on the west end of the property.

  Holden leaned back in his chair and brought his index finger to his lips. “Wish we could talk to the old man.”

  “I guess that’s out of the question given our current situation,” she said. “Seems like he and my father butted heads from time to time. I might not be his favorite person but I doubt he’d want me dead.”

  He nodded.

  “Are you the only one pushing this project?” he asked.

  “Mainly, I guess. Without my support it wouldn’t make it far but none of these initiatives would,” she admitted. “There was talk of him selling his property a little while ago but I think that’s off the table.”

  Holden needed to figure out a way to talk to the Suffolk family.

  Ella tensed as someone approached from behind.

  “Hour’s almost up,” the male voice said.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Holden said to the waiter.

  Holden typed his name and a moment of hesitation struck as he wondered what would fill the screen when he hit Enter.

  His mind hadn’t strayed from the numbers Rose had given to him, 1-9-6-4. Talking about Pop had reminded Holden how much he loved fishing and camping. It was probably just a random thought but it was sticking in his mind for some reason. Maybe there’d be something to point him in the right direction out of the dozens of articles that had popped up in the search engine along with several pictures of him, most of which were in his battle fatigues. Where’d they come up with those pictures? He scanned the stories, noting the strong emphasis on him being ex-military and considered armed and dangerous. Stories like these would bring out all types of bounty hunters hungry for a reward. In his case, it was substantial. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars were being offered for his safe return to Hampshire Police. That kind of cash would bring people with guns out of the woodwork to hunt him down. No wonder it had always felt like eyes were on him, like he was constantly being watched.

  “That seems high,” Ella said almost under her breath.

  “It is,” Holden agreed. He read other headlines. Ex-Marine/Killer Suffers Signs of PTSD.

  If the news affected Ella, she hid it well.

  “This is untrue,” she said hotly. “I don’t know that much about PTSD except that you’ve been around gunfire and I’m pretty sure you would’ve had some kind of reaction. You have no nightmares, which I’ve read are part of it. Plus, all the stress we’ve been under would’ve triggered something. You’re the most calm and collected man I’ve ever known.”

  Her indignant tone brought a wave of relief. Holden didn’t want her to believe the lies that had been spread about him. For some odd reason that mattered a great deal.

  “I thought journalists had a responsibility to print the truth,” she huffed.

  He covered her hand with his and she looked at him. Those penetrating blue eyes, the ones capable of seeing past the facade to the real him, searched his face.

  “Thank you.” His throat dried and he had to resist the urge to lean toward her as her tongue darted across her lips. “Your confidence means a lot.”

  Her eyes darkened as she held his gaze.

  “I’ve been around you long enough to know this is fiction,” she said. “You’re kind and giving and nothing like the picture painted with these articles.”

  Well, hell, those words did it. Holden dipped his head and kissed her moist mouth anyway. She’d just taken a drink of her Americano and tasted like coffee.

  He caught someone walking toward them out of the corner of his eye. He put his arm around Ella and turned t
o acknowledge the figure moving their way. Relief washed over him when he saw that it was the hostess.

  “Everything taste okay here?” she asked with a glance toward the hookah pipe.

  Holden didn’t acknowledge the irony there.

  “Perfect.” And he meant that about Ella. She was the most giving person he’d met. She’d grown up with every privilege but it didn’t show. She was down-to-earth and put others’ needs first.

  The hostess smiled and told them to call for her if they needed anything else.

  Holden picked up the mouthpiece as he thanked her. They didn’t have to smoke but they did need to put on a better show. He touched it to his lips and then handed it to her. She did the same.

  “We should eat,” he said as soon as the hostess was out of earshot.

  Ella’s plate was cleaned and her mug was drained ten minutes later.

  “Maybe I can call the sheriff and see if he found any evidence at the scene,” she said.

  “There should be shell casings,” he agreed.

  “Is it risky to call from here?” she asked.

  “We’ll pick up a throwaway phone at a convenience store tonight on our way out of San Antonio. That way you can call in the morning when we’re on the road. We’ll set out north, make the call and then double back south once you find out what else the sheriff knows,” he said.

  “He might’ve solved the case by now and we wouldn’t know.” Ella motioned toward the screen.

  “Are you kidding? You and your family are news.” His fingers pounded the keyboard and she saw that he was typing her name.

  Socialite Believed to Be Dead read the headline. She stared at the screen. The article went on to say that a substantial amount of her blood had been found at the scene of a shooting and a blood trail ended in neighboring bushes. The suspect was still on the loose. The last line in the article read that her body had not been located and the sheriff’s office wouldn’t close the investigation until he found answers.

  “I spoke to Sheriff Sawmill. There’s no way a story like this should run. Why would he say something like this?”