Love at First Sight

CHAPTER THREE

Karen scrambled out the front door of the hotel toward the parking lot at a run. If she could just get the license number on the man’s car—

Across the parking lot, she saw him get into a large, dark sedan. From this distance, she couldn’t even see the plates, let alone the make or model of the vehicle to give the police. Newer, expensive, American-made, would be her best guess and that, she knew, was worth nothing.

She sprinted to her car, leaped in and started it. All she could do was follow him and hope to get close enough without him getting suspicious.

But as she drove past the hotel, she had the oddest feeling she was being watched. First omens, then bad-luck dresses, clairvoyance, now paranoia? What next?

She sped off after the mystery man, the road dropping down the mountainside in tight switchback curves. In the distance she could see Missoula glittering brightly in the sunshine but ahead on the narrow two-lane road, no sign of the car. Had he seen her? Is that why he’d taken off so fast?

She gripped the wheel, heart pounding, expecting to come flying up on his car around the next curve as she careened off the mountain. He probably wasn’t even the killer. Just some poor harmless man who resembled the man she’d seen with Liz last night.

Harmless. Karen liked the sound of that, she thought as she swerved around another blind curve. Beat the heck out of the alternative: that she was chasing a killer and he’d be waiting in ambush for her around the next bend.

Unfortunately, she didn’t think of the man she’d seen last night in the hotel hallway with Liz as harmless.

She tried to still her hammering heart and quiet the voice of logic yelling Are you nuts? in her ears. Come on, she wasn’t even sure the man was Liz’s secret lover, let alone the murderer. He could be the jealous ex or a man Karen hadn’t even heard of. After all, before yesterday, it had been sixteen years since she’d even seen Liz.

So why was he driving so fast? And what had he been doing in the hotel ballroom? Had he already talked to the police? Wouldn’t that be something if he’d told them everything and here she was chasing down his license number for nothing.

She turned on the radio, needing a little calming country-and-western music right now. A few cheating hearts, a lot of boot scooting and some down-home, baby-done-took-my-truck-and-my-dog heartache. An old Hank Williams tune filled the car. That was more like it.

Unfortunately, even cranked-up country wasn’t going to help. Liz had been murdered and Karen was chasing a man she thought was a killer. At the heart of it, Karen knew she felt as though she’d failed Liz. She should have done something, especially last night after she got that message from Liz on her answering m-chine.

Sure, Karen Sutton, Ms. Lovelorn, the last person who should be dispensing advice on love and relationships. What did she know about either?

But she had good sense, she argued, feeling the need to defend herself as she wheeled around another corner. There could be something said for a woman with good sense. At least her mother had always said so.

Right. If her mother could see her now! No amount of good sense could explain why she was chasing a possible killer. Nor could any of her rational arguments convince her she wasn’t in danger. She’d never been this close to murder before. She didn’t like the feeling.

But that’s why she had to try to get the man’s license number.

So where was he? Maybe she’d lost him. Maybe he’d turned off. Or maybe he’d seen her following him and doubled back to get behind her—

She glanced in her rearview mirror. A car. She caught only a flash of color as it disappeared around a corner but it didn’t look large nor new nor dark-colored. But someone was definitely behind her! Was there any way he could have changed vehicles?

Just on the brink of paralyzed fear, she rounded another switchback in the road and spotted the large, dark car still moving ahead of her. She exhaled, an undaunted Karen back at the wheel. Hallelujah.

Ahead the road turned onto the main four-lane highway into Missoula. All she had to do was get close enough to see his license plate. If she waited, he’d be in the increased traffic and she’d lose him.

She floored the gas pedal and felt the car pick up speed. Just a little farther. Just a little faster. She could see the back of the car now, the man’s head silhouetted inside, but still she couldn’t make out the plates as he sped ahead of her. But she did notice a large dent in the car’s left rear fender. Other cars wove in and out of the lanes. If she could just stay with him—

Something behind her caught her eye. Her gaze shot to the rearview mirror, then down at her speedometer—Oh, no—then back again at the flashing red-and-blue lights behind her. Her foot automatically came up off the accelerator.

No, not now! Not when I’m this close!

She stubbornly jammed her foot back down as she ignored the flashing lights in her mirror. She saw the dark-colored sedan accelerate and pass a truck several cars ahead of her.

She pulled into the passing lane, eyes focused on the sedan. The sound of a siren screamed over the roar of her car’s engine and flashing blue and red ricocheted off her rear window as she searched the traffic ahead for the sedan.

She glanced back to find the cop right behind her. But ahead, the sedan had disappeared in the traffic. She’d lost him. Unlike the cop.

Reluctantly, she let her foot up off the accelerator and began to slow.

JACK WASN’T SURE what he’d expected. Hell, after the way the first morning of his supposed vacation had gone, why did he expect anything to go as planned?

He certainly hadn’t expected his Girl Next Door to speed. But he had definitely expected her to slow down and pull over when he flashed his lights and siren at her.

And she had. Eventually. Taking her own sweet time. By the time she had, he was ready to call backup to stop her. Backup on the Girl Next Door. What was wrong with this picture?

Then when she’d finally stopped by a strip mall, he could have sworn he caught her glaring at him in her rearview mirror. He wasn’t great at lip-reading but he knew whatever she’d mouthed wasn’t very ladylike.

All things total, this didn’t exactly fit his first impression of her. This woman was starting to cause him concern.

As he pulled in behind her Honda, his lights still flashing, he cut the siren and sat watching her cautiously. Just when he thought nothing she could do would surprise him, she began to beat her fist on the steering wheel.

Then her eyes met his in her rearview mirror again. No mistaking it. The woman was glaring angrily at him. He shook his head. This was not the way to react to being pulled over by a cop. He ought to know.

His radio crackled. “I got that name on the phone number you gave me, Jack. Listed to Liz Jones.”

He wondered what his Girl Next Door was doing with the murdered woman’s phone number. It kept getting more and more curious by the moment.

“Run me a plate, would you?” He read the numbers off the license on the Honda in front of him and waited.

“Karen Anne Sutton.”

He wrote down her address and phone number, then he opened his door and cautiously walked toward her car.

She rolled down her window with the same kind of anger he’d seen in her rearview mirror.

“Goin’ a little fast, weren’t you?” he asked.

“Do you realize what you’ve just done?” she demanded.

“Pulled you over for speeding?” Jack stared at her. Her eyes weren’t brown. But a combination of blues and greens flecked with gold. Hazel, he supposed, but at the moment, they were more blue. An electric blue that hurled flaming arrows. At least he’d gotten the freckles right. A sprinkling of them ran across the high cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, standing out against her pale skin. The freckles picked up the golden brown of her hair, which had now pretty much escaped from the ponytail. Even disheveled she looked good. Wholesome. Just not quite so innocent as he’d first thought.

“Speeding?” she cried.

“Speeding and failing to slow down and pull over after an officer of the law both flashed his lights and siren for you to do so,” he added.

“I wasn’t speeding,” she snapped. “I was chasing a killer. Well, a possible killer.”

“I guess I didn’t see the distinction,” he said carefully. “I thought cops chased possible killers. May I see your driver’s license and car registration, please?”

She made no move for her purse. “I was trying to get his license-plate number. He was driving a larger, newer model, dark-colored sedan with a dented left rear fender. Well? Aren’t you going to do something?”

He shifted his gaze to the highway. Cars breezed past. Some large, dark-colored, newer model American cars. Some dented. If she had been chasing someone, he was gone. And if she hadn’t—

Jack looked down at her, afraid to take his eyes off her for long for fear of what she’d do next. “Your driver’s license and car registration, please?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Those expressive eyes blinked, still hot with anger. She started to reach for her purse but stopped in midmotion and blinked again, as if seeing him for the first time, really seeing him.

It was one of the few times he wished he looked a little more like a cop. Instead he was dressed a lot like her. Faded hockey jersey, worn jeans, Top-Siders. No socks. Definitely should have taken off the baseball cap, though.

Indecision and alarm flashed over her features. She glanced back at his Jeep, the light on top still flashing. She wasn’t buying that he was a cop. Why wasn’t he surprised? Par for the morning.

As he dug his badge from his jeans pocket, he noted that all four doors of her car were locked and she’d left her engine running. Worse, she looked ready to run again herself. He just wondered what she was running from. Or chasing.

He held the badge up and watched her study it intently.

“And you are—?” she asked, pointing out his lack of a name tag.

“Detective Jack Adams. Now may I see your license and registration?”

She flashed him a smile about as genuine as Naugahyde. “Of course, officer.”

He watched her rummage in her purse. She was all nerves and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d pulled a pistol out of her bag. He wondered if the nerves were her way of showing anger. Or fear? Either could make her dangerous.

With a start, he caught a glimpse of a spray can in her purse. Then her fingers were grasping it and as if in slow motion, he watched her pull it out. He stepped back, now fully expecting the worst. Pepper spray.

That’s when he spotted a blue dress in the passenger seat. A dress with what appeared to be a huge bloodstain.

“Drop that and step out of the car,” he ordered, automatically reaching for his weapon.

THE ORDER came out of the blue. Karen turned, her gaze rocketing up to his. Only he wasn’t looking at her but past her to— Karen groaned. That damned dress! That dress was going to be the death of her.

“Drop the spray and get out of the car,” he ordered again. “Now!”

She dropped the can of spot remover Howie had given her. It tumbled to the floor. “All right, all right,” she said quickly, trying to calm him before he did something crazy like shoot her. You never knew with these cop types. “It isn’t what you think.”

“It never is,” he said coldly. “Step out of the car slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”

This wasn’t happening. Earlier she’d thought he hadn’t looked much like a cop. Not with his head of thick, unruly sandy-blond hair under his baseball cap and those big brown eyes and that slight crook in his nose in that otherwise boyish face. Not to even mention the way he was dressed.

But he looked like a cop now. And he definitely sounded like one.

Carefully, she opened her door and stepped out very deliberately. Judging from his body language, she’d be wise not to make a wrong move.

“It isn’t blood,” she said, adding a feeble, terrified chuckle. “It’s wine. Red wine. My date spilled it on my dress last night at the restaurant and I should have put cold water on it right away but—” She was babbling, sounding all the more guilty when she wasn’t guilty of anything but stupidity. Unfortunately, she suspected a lot of people went to prison for that very crime.

“And I suppose that wasn’t a can of pepper spray you were pulling out of your purse, either,” he said.

Pepper spray? “No,” she groaned, realizing what he’d thought. “It’s spot remover.”

“Put your hands on top of the car, legs out,” he ordered.

Oh, not “Assume the Position!” This would be funny if it wasn’t so not funny. She did as she was told. She could feel the chilly Montana air under her T-shirt. Why hadn’t she taken the time to put a bra on? She tried to concentrate on Talley’s fried pies waiting for her at home. Even the thought of Howie waiting for her seemed like good news right now.

The detective moved in behind her. She felt her face flush with embarrassment as she waited expectantly for the feel of his hands. He skimmed his palms down her legs, over her butt, between her legs, then around in front. Of course her nipples were hard as pebbles by then.

All she could think about was her mother. Pamela Sutton, a staunch Republican, City Garden Club member and bridge player, would be horrified—not that her daughter had been arrested for suspicion of who knew what—but the fact that her normally sensible only off-spring hadn’t been wearing a bra at the time of arrest. And at Karen’s age!

Karen closed her eyes as Detective Jack Adams’s hands brushed over her. She hated to think that this was the most intimate she’d been with a man in—how long?

“Don’t move.”

She opened her eyes as the cop sidled around beside her and, keeping his gaze glued to her, reached into the Honda to pull out the dress. That rotten-luck sale dress.

He stared at the stain.

If only she’d let Howie take the dress to the cleaners.

He held it up to his nose and sniffed.

She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to even think how the dress might smell after she’d worn it last night and then thrown it behind her couch.

He looked at her over the wad of dress. “Beaujolais?”

She nodded, feeling close to tears. “Blind date.”

He reached into the car and came back out with the spot remover. He motioned for her to unassume the position. She straightened and crossed her arms, trying to hide just how ill at ease and chilled she was.

She thought he might apologize. For frisking her. For thinking she had a dress in her car covered with blood—someone else’s. For even suspecting she’d pepper spray a man of the law.

He tossed the dress and the spot remover back into the car, seemingly as upset as if the wine had been blood and the spot remover pepper spray. His gaze met hers. His look said he was still a cop. And she was still a speeder.

She waited for him to give her a ticket.

Instead he gave her a smile.

Without her consent, her heart did a little pitter-patter and her knees went soft. She really needed to get out more.

“I’ve heard that brand of spot remover’s pretty good stuff,” he said after a moment. “So, want to tell me again why you were speeding?”

She opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. He was offering her a chance to bare her soul. She’d already bared nearly everything else for him. And she did need to talk to a police officer about Liz. Why not a cop she’d been almost intimate with?

She let out a long sigh and glanced toward the strip mall. “Is there any chance we could talk about this over coffee? Maybe a doughnut?”

CHAPTER FOUR

Jack watched her bite into a lemon-filled jelly doughnut, enthralled. He’d never seen a woman who enjoyed food this much. He couldn’t help smiling as she licked lemon from her lips in almost orgasmic delight.

He got her another doughnut.

Between bites, Karen Sutton began to tell him about Liz Jones, washing her statement and the doughnuts down with large amounts of black coffee.

If what she was saying was true, she really had been chasing the man she thought to be Liz Jones’s killer. Being a cop had left Jack as skeptical as he was cynical and suspicious. But even he had to admit, he’d over-reacted earlier. The woman had knocked him off-kilter, like a load of laundry thrown to one side of the washing-machine tub.

He knew he should be more concerned about that, but as he watched her stare deeply into her coffee cup, her hair framing her face, the sunlight streaming in the window, making her freckles glow like gold dust, he realized this woman was definitely a new experience, one he was rather enjoying.

True, her story was unbelievable. Maybe that’s why he tended to believe it. Or maybe he just wanted to believe it because of the woman telling it.

“Didn’t it seem odd that a classmate you hadn’t even seen in sixteen years would be so anxious to tell you her most intimate secrets?” he asked.

Karen shook her head. “I think she just needed someone to confide in, someone she thought she’d never see again.”

“But you said you exchanged phone numbers,” he pointed out. He still had the once balled-up napkin in the Jeep.

“It was just the polite thing to do at the time,” she said between bites of doughnut. “I really never expected to hear from her again.”

Jack studied his Girl Next Door. No longer appearing nervous or angry or frightened or suspicious, she seemed only too happy to tell him everything she knew about Liz Jones. She even seemed to forget for the moment that she wasn’t wearing a bra. When they’d first sat down, she’d kept pulling the body-hugging fabric away from her skin, never letting either of them forget her recent frisking.

There was something so appealing about her candor, so appealing about her, he found it hard to concentrate. “Did she say how she met this guy?” He handed Karen a napkin and pointed to a spot on her cheek. “Powdered sugar.”

She eyed him a little oddly for a moment before taking the napkin and dabbing at her cheek. “That’s the weird part. They met through a newspaper ad. She’d put something in the ‘I Saw You’ column after seeing a man on a street corner.”

Jack had seen the personals column in the local newspaper and had always thought only college students placed those kinds of ads.

“Our eyes met on the bus Friday. I wore a blue coat. You wore a smile. Want to get the rest of us together?”

“I spilled my coffee on you Saturday at Hooked on Java. Call me embarrassed. Or just call me.”

Liz Jones must have been a woman who liked taking risks. He wondered about the woman sitting across the table from him, then reminded himself that thirty minutes ago she’d been chasing down a man she thought was a killer.

“Let me get this straight,” he said carefully. “The man who answered her ad was a total stranger. But Liz started a relationship with him, not even knowing his name or who he was. Don’t you find that a little…bizarre?”

Karen looked thoughtful for a moment. “Even when we know each others’ names, how well do we really know each other?” she said philosophically.

He stared at her, dumbstruck. Could he have been that wrong about this woman?

She laughed at his shocked expression. “All right, I found the entire thing really bizarre. But Liz seemed fine with it. At first. I think something had happened that worried her and that was one reason she needed someone to talk to.”

“So, how did you end up at the Hotel Carlton?”

She grimaced. “Blind date.”

“I’ve had a few of those myself,” he said with a chuckle. “Only I’m usually the one who spills the wine rather than wears it.”

She looked up, her eyes met his. Angry, her eyes had been electric blue. Now though, they reminded him of the waters of a high mountain lake filled with summer reflections. She smiled. Killer smile when she wasn’t trying to look innocent. Something hot arced across the table between them. Or maybe it was just the spring sunshine and her smile. She had a kind of sex appeal beyond the cute lightly freckled face, the perky full breasts, the shapely butt, the muscled legs. This was not your typical Girl Next Door. He had a feeling she wasn’t your typical anything.

She continued her story right up to the scene in the hotel hallway between the mystery man and Liz Jones.

“What did he look like?” Jack asked, excited that he’d have something to give to Denny. Not that Detective Kirkpatrick deserved anything after the trick he’d played on Jack that morning, getting him out of bed at daybreak.

“Average height, brown hair, medium build,” Karen said. “His face was shaded by a baseball cap.”

“You just described half the guys in the United States.”

“I know,” she groaned. “I just saw him for a second. Then later in silhouette.”

Jack took another shot at it. “What about the way he was dressed?”

“Blue jeans, jean jacket, baseball cap.”

Dressed like that, he’d be Joe Blow Invisible in Montana.

Jack tried not to let his disappointment show. She seemed so anxious to help. “Anything about him strike you as odd or unusual?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “There must have been something or I wouldn’t have recognized him again this morning.”

Jack wished he could be sure about that. But he couldn’t even be sure she’d been chasing the right guy. There were always mug-shot books. Or a police artist. But he doubted either would be productive. She couldn’t provide enough for a good composite, let alone pick him out strictly from a more than likely outdated mug shot.

“You believe he was her secret lover?” Jack asked. “The one from the personals?”

Karen nodded. “I’d put money on it.”

A betting woman. Wouldn’t Denny love her? He clamped his jaw down on the thought.

“Why?” he asked, curious, since he suspected she didn’t take her bets lightly.