Deadly Intent Page 9

  “Did they take anything?”

  Her purse. She dove toward her lower desk drawer, where she kept her purse when she was with clients. Oh, no. She’d forgotten to lock the drawer. Dad always harped on her about it, and she always forgot. She’d been so busy this morning, she’d dropped her purse in the drawer without thinking.

  Her purse still lay in the drawer, although she couldn’t be sure if it had been touched or not. She thumbed through her wallet. No cards missing, all her cash still intact.

  Her heart slowed a bit. Maybe it had just been Aunt Becca going through her desk, looking for something.

  “When was the last time you were in your office?”

  “Only an hour ago. And I know things were okay then, because I opened the file cabinet to get a file, and the plant was the way it normally was, not like this.”

  “Then you were with a client?”

  Naomi nodded.

  “Call security,” Rachel said.

  “Huh?”

  “See if anyone has left the building in the past hour. If anyone rifled through your stuff and left, they’d be on the exterior camera.”

  “Good idea,” Naomi said, dialing.

  “Miss Grant?” Martin answered. “What can I do for you?”

  “Martin, who has left the spa in the past hour?” she asked, putting the call on speakerphone

  “Let me double-check the tape…. An hour ago, Ms. Itoh left. And then no one else until a few minutes ago—your last client, I think her name is Ms. Mariczek.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I escorted her to the outer door since all the other staff had left.”

  “About ninety minutes ago, Miss Grant’s—er, Miss Rachel’s lab assistant left.”

  Rachel nodded. “Stephanie.”

  “No one else in the past hour? Any other staff or clients?”

  “I’m checking…no, Miss Grant.”

  “Thanks, Martin.” She hung up. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid. It doesn’t look like anything was taken.”

  “If nothing’s missing, what can you do?” Rachel replied. “Maybe one of the receptionists was in here looking for something earlier.”

  But her plant hadn’t been moved earlier when the receptionists were in the building. What could she prove? She swallowed. “It’s probably nothing.”

  Rachel’s timer went off and she stood. “Give me a minute to finish up, and then we can go. Aunt Becca said she had a surprise for dinner tonight.”

  A light tap on the door, then a message slipped under it. Devon looked up from his computer in time to see the folded notepaper slide to a halt on the carpet.

  He went over to pick it up. It read:

  Dear Devon,

  I apologize for the late notice, but wondered if you’d like to join us for supper tonight at eight o’clock. I would have called you, but my cell phone battery is dead and I’m on my way home, so I’m going to give this note to the porter to slip under your door. I hope you get this note in time and can join us. No need to call ahead, just show up. Directions to the house are below.

  Naomi Grant

  This note seemed odd in light of everything that had happened lately. Perhaps the true person behind this was Becca Itoh or Naomi’s father, Augustus Grant. It could be that Augustus wanted to speak to Devon, and a family dinner would provide the opportunity to do so privately.

  Regardless, he’d see Naomi again—although he knew that the more time he spent with her, the harder it would be to break off whatever was starting to grow between them.

  He couldn’t get into another relationship. Jessica’s betrayal still nagged at him. Sometimes he would think he was doing fine, but then the bitterness would rise up in him, and he’d feel like he’d been gutted all over again. He wasn’t going to risk going through that again.

  He was afraid.

  He knew Naomi wasn’t Jessica, but he’d still be risking his heart and still be vulnerable. He could never enter a relationship with someone like Naomi Grant with only a part of his emotions. With Naomi, it would be all or nothing—she’d expect that. She’d bring it out of him, that wholehearted feeling and commitment. She was that kind of woman.

  He was not the right man for her.

  So he fingered the invitation, wanting to go but knowing he shouldn’t.

  Stay away from her.

  He saw her bright smile.

  You need to do the right thing, make the right decisions.

  He saw her exotic hazel eyes, tipped at the edges from her Japanese mother, amber-gold in color from her Caucasian father.

  Face it, she frightens you.

  But not as much as she intrigued him.

  He checked his watch. Seven-fifteen. He had just enough time to make it to dinner if he hurried.

  In backing out of his parking spot, he noticed that the brakes were a bit soft. Strange. He’d gotten the car serviced just a couple months ago.

  The Grants lived north of Sonoma, close to Geyserville. Here were more remote vineyards, as opposed to wineries—the vineyard owners often sold their crops to the wineries rather than making wine themselves.

  The roads became more curvy as he traveled farther from the highway. Naomi’s instructions were good, listing landmarks as well as road signs, but he still drove slowly so he wouldn’t miss the roads. It wouldn’t be good to be lost out here, especially as the sun started setting.

  The road started to become hilly as he entered the rolling foothills. And then, as he was descending a particularly winding path, he hit the brakes to slow down…except he didn’t.

  He pumped the brakes, but nothing happened.

  His heart thumped hard in his chest, almost painfully.

  He took a turn too quickly. The steep embankment that fell away from the narrow road came too close to his tires.

  He gripped the steering wheel more tightly. He had to stay calm. He had to try to control the car.

  Another turn. Dirt shot away from the tires as he skidded a bit off the road. The steering wheel fought against him, and he hauled harder to keep the car in the turn.

  He made it.

  But he didn’t make the next one.

  He didn’t yank the steering wheel in the other direction fast enough to make that next turn. Tires hit dirt, flinging up a cloud of dust. And then he was airborne for a breath-stopping moment.

  He crashed hard back onto earth. And then he was hurtling down, down.

  The car jolted as it hit grapevines. He bounced up and down in his seat, his head knocking into the car’s ceiling. The steering wheel twisted in his hands, out of control.

  Then suddenly he slowed and stopped.

  He gasped in a labored breath. His chest ached violently. Was he having a heart attack? No, the seat belt had cut hard and deep across his torso and shoulder.

  He sat there, just breathing. Glad to be breathing at all.

  His hands shook with adrenaline as he fumbled for his cell phone. It had fallen to the passenger-side floor. He couldn’t reach it. Then he realized that he had to undo his seat belt first.

  Releasing the seat belt seemed to make it easier for him to breathe. He called Becca Itoh.

  “Hello, Dr. Knightley. What can I do for you?”

  “I need…” He couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs.

  “Devon? Are you all right?” Becca’s voice had gone from polite to alarmed.

  “My brakes went out. I went off the road, down a hill, into a vineyard.”

  “Oh my goodness, are you all right?”

  “I think so. I need a tow truck.”

  “I’ll call one. Where are you?”

  He gave the road he was on, and the closest cross road he could remember.

  “I’ll get a tow truck to you right away. And we’ll drive over there to pick you up.”

  “Thanks, Becca.”

  “What are you doing out here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “What do you mean? I got Naomi’s dinner invitation.”

  He heard Be
cca murmuring to someone, heard Naomi’s soft voice in answer.

  “Devon…we never invited you to dinner tonight.”

  TEN

  A short while later at the Grant house, Monica Grant, Naomi’s younger sister, affixed a bandage to a cut above Devon’s eye. “You might have a black eye tomorrow.”

  “How lucky you were so near our house,” Becca said. “That way Monica can fix you up.”

  “He’s a doctor, Aunt Becca.” Monica collected the trash from the bandages. “He could probably fix himself up.”

  “But it’s always better to have someone else do it for you. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s a nurse.”

  Monica’s eyes rolled a little, but her aunt didn’t notice. She got up from beside Devon on the couch.

  Augustus Grant leaned forward and looked Devon in the eye intently. “Strange, your brakes going out like that.” The stroke made itself known by Augustus’s slightly slower speech. He didn’t slur his words, but he spoke them at a slower cadence than Devon remembered.

  “They felt soft when I left the hotel, but they were still fine. After I left the highway, I was driving slowly and didn’t use my brakes much. But when I entered the foothills…”

  “Those winding roads get steep quickly,” Naomi said, entering the room and placing a mug of steaming coffee in front of him.

  “When I was waiting for the tow truck, I looked under the hood at the brake fluid. It was low.”

  “A leaking brake line?”

  “Except the car didn’t pull to one side. One leaking line would make it pull, wouldn’t it?”

  “So…” Augustus’s brow furrowed. “Leaks in all the lines at once?”

  That meant sabotage. Not some type of wear on the car. Devon flashed to that awful feeling of being airborne as he missed the turn and went over the edge of the road. No, he had to focus. He was all right.

  “Is that the note?” Naomi pointed to the coffee table at the message supposedly from her.

  He was glad he’d thought to bring it with him. “Want to see it?” He handed it to her.

  A frown marred her forehead as she read the note and sank into a chair across from him. “That’s not my handwriting,” she said. She shook her head as she set it back down on the table. “I’m sorry, Devon. I didn’t send it.”

  “Although whoever did gave wonderful directions to our house,” Becca pointed out.

  “So it’s someone who knows us. Who probably has been here.” Naomi frowned and twisted her hands in her lap.

  Augustus also frowned. “It’s not hard to get directions to the house from the Internet.”

  “But how would they get our home address?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Monica said as she reentered the parlor. “You can find almost anything on the Internet these days. Plus Dad’s been doing a little business here at the house—yes, Aunt Becca, I’m monitoring him—so we’ve had lots of things delivered here rather than at the spa.”

  “So it could be anyone.”

  “Do you think Jessica’s murder is definitely connected to these attempts to hurt Devon?” Naomi asked.

  He didn’t think Naomi realized the softness of her tone as she said his name. The mere memory of her voice curled his insides.

  “How can it not be?” Monica said. “These events all point back to the spa.”

  “They all implicate Naomi in some way,” Becca said, voicing what Devon had been thinking.

  “Devon, are you going to report this to Detective Carter?” Naomi asked.

  “No,” he reassured her. “Besides, there’s no proof it was sabotage.”

  “The garage will tell us later,” Augustus said.

  “Besides,” Rachel said as she entered the parlor. “I was with Naomi from about seven o’clock. She can’t be implicated in delivering the note.” She bore a tray with Japanese-style handleless mugs and a gigantic teapot. “Anyone?”

  Devon stared at his coffee. “Did you brew this just for me?” he asked Naomi.

  She shrugged, although color seeped up from her collar. “I know you don’t like green tea.”

  Her embarrassment warmed him more than the coffee.

  “Is it…safe at the spa?” he asked, sipping his coffee. “You don’t know if it was one of the staff, or a client, or someone who snuck in the back door.”

  “No one snuck in,” Becca said as she accepted a mug of tea from Rachel.

  Naomi looked sharply at her.

  Becca’s mouth formed a tiny O before she pressed her lips together.

  “How do you know no one snuck in?” Devon asked.

  “Oh,” Rachel replied, “they saw the exterior surveillance videos.”

  Naomi stared hard at Rachel, who returned with a mild gaze. “What?” Rachel asked. “It’s not as if he shouldn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Our security guards made copies of the surveillance videos before giving the originals to the police.”

  Naomi’s mouth tightened at her sister’s airy answer, but she sat back in her seat, obviously defeated.

  “So the only people you saw in and out—”

  “Were staff and clients,” Becca finished for him.

  “So you know I’m telling the truth. About not killing Jessica,” Devon said.

  “I never doubted you,” Becca said, but Naomi spoke at the same time.

  “You have to admit it looked suspicious, your coming in to ask for her.” She shrugged. “I didn’t really know until we saw the video.”

  Her distrust stung. But he couldn’t fault her feelings. It had looked suspicious. “Is that why you asked me to come with you to talk to Marissa Paige? You finally trusted me?”

  She regarded him with steady eyes. “I trusted you enough.”

  His heart had been feeling like a twenty-pound weight in his chest ever since he heard about Jessica’s necklace from Marissa Paige. Now it gave an awkward lurch. Maybe he should mention the necklace…

  But he’d just gained their trust. No one else knew about it except his sister. And there was no guarantee Jessica had been wearing his mother’s necklace in the first place.

  But Naomi’s piercing gaze made him want to spill everything, including how she made his heartbeat race when he saw her.

  No. It was safer to keep his mouth shut, or he’d talk about more than just the diamond necklace.

  “Well, I’m just glad you’re unharmed.” Becca interrupted his thoughts and Naomi’s searching eyes. “God was watching over you.”

  Becca’s religious talk didn’t make him uncomfortable. God had been watching over him. The accident could have been much, much worse, and he could have had more injuries than just his aches and the cut over his eye.

  If this kept up, he’d be covered with bruises from head to toe. His ribs and shoulder still ached from his near accident in the restaurant parking lot.

  “God was watching out for you both times,” Naomi said softly.

  “Both times?” Monica’s question snapped his attention back to the conversation.

  “When he was almost run over,” Naomi said. She bit her lip, and her eyes clouded. “That was horrible.”

  “It was frightening to witness,” Becca said.

  Maybe God had been watching over him then, too. But it was hard for him to fully believe—old thought patterns didn’t change overnight.

  His doubt must have registered on his face, because Augustus said, “Not convinced? As I recall, your father’s a staunch atheist.”

  “Dad…likes to talk about religion. Or rather, the lack of it.”

  “I once spent an entire fund-raiser evening arguing with him about the existence of God.” Augustus’s eyes slid to Devon. “Is his son the same way?”

  He answered honestly, because with this family, with this man, he owed it to them. “Not lately. Not after seeing how your family has been handling everything that’s happened.”

  Becca beamed. Naomi’s cheeks turned rosy, but her eyes were serious.

 
“Jesus is always there for you,” Becca said, putting a hand on his arm. “And He said—”

  “Not now, Becca,” Augustus said, although not unkindly. “Poor boy’s been shaken up enough tonight.”

  But somehow, even Becca’s fervor didn’t grate on him so much. Something about this family’s faith covered them like a protective shield. In their simple hospitality, in the way they accepted him. They didn’t argue with him as his father did.

  “Well, it’s late, but why don’t we eat dinner?” Becca stood. “And Dr. Knightley—” she winked at him “—I promise, this is a real invitation to dinner.”

  Naomi was being paranoid, but she couldn’t help herself. As she entered her office near the end of the day, she checked to see if anything had been moved.

  Everything was as orderly as she’d deliberately left it this morning.

  She sat behind her desk, but the sight of her belongings didn’t relieve her. It was as if the fingerprints of the person who had rifled through her office covered everything like an invisible film that she couldn’t wipe away. Her office wasn’t her own anymore.

  The message light flashed on her phone. She’d better check her voice mail while she had a spare minute. But before she could, there was a light knock on her door. Devon appeared in the doorway, holding a box. He filled the small space, pushing out the shadow of whoever had invaded her office yesterday, making her feel sheltered and shielded at the same time.

  “What are you doing here? It isn’t safe for you,” she said.

  He smiled.

  Her stomach flipped. Then she wanted to grab her words back—she sounded too concerned for his welfare than she had a right to be.

  “You’re here,” he said.

  “I work here.”

  “Someone here might also be trying to frame you,” he said.

  “Someone here might be trying to kill you.”

  His smile faltered, then turned rueful. “You got me there.”

  She nodded at the box he held. “What’s that?”

  “The reason I’m here.” He set it down on her desk. “I went home.”

  “All the way back to South San Francisco?”

  “Atherton, actually. My office is in South San Francisco.” He was bent over the box, but he looked up at her with laughter in his eye. “I do have to work, you know.”