Maxine (22 page)

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While Nick slept, Cara watched the noon news on television with Aunt Sophia. The reporter played a tape of Cara’s statement and then Lance’s face appeared on the screen. She turned up the volume and wondered what lies he’d tell this time.

“As I told the police, I did not fire a gun at anyone. I can’t believe my own wife would accuse me of such a thing. Yes, I was in Gig Harbor looking for Cara, but I did not shoot a gun or burn Mr. Donatelli’s house. I don’t know him and I have no idea where his house is.”

Lance looked down and sniffed, then continued. “Cara has been acting strange for months. When I married her, I had no idea she’d inherited her mother’s mental illness. I love her and I’m worried sick about her. She needs help. I tried to get her to see a psychiatrist when we moved to Seattle, but she refused, and then she disappeared. She’s so messed up, she probably shot her lover and burned his house herself.”

Gazing into the camera, a stricken look on his face, he said, “Please, if anyone out there has any influence over her, get her some help before it’s too late.”

Cara flipped the TV off. “Damn him!”

Aunt Sophia patted Cara’s arm. “Nobody will believe him, Cara.”

“Somebody must have or he’d still be in jail.” Why did they let him out so soon after what he’d done?

Two minutes later, Gerry called. “Cara, did you see Lance’s interview?”

“I watched him beg someone to get me help, then I turned it off. Why did they let him out?”

“Apparently, they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him.”

“But I saw him.”

“They know that, but they also know you and your husband are estranged. Lance’s attorney questioned whether you were able to get a clear look from that distance, and the police didn’t find any smoke residue on him or any evidence that he’d fired a gun recently.”

Cara rubbed her forehead. “I got a clear look, but that’s not the reason they don’t believe me. Lance is an accomplished liar.” He started telling his lies on television the day after she left him. He’d had weeks to play up the mental illness nonsense and get the public’s sympathy. The more she thought about the things Lance had done, the more angry she became. “Did they ask about his name and criminal background?”

“He said you knew who he was, that you were the one who suggested he use another name so no one would know of his police record.”

“And they believed him?”

“I don’t know if they believed him or not, but you have to admit, he looks and sounds very convincing.”

“Of course he does, Gerry,” she snapped. “He’s a damn con man. What about the painting? I thought there was a warrant out for his arrest for the theft of the painting.”

“The guy who took the painting recanted his statement, and Lance said he was just giving a job to a friend down on his luck.”

“What about the tape we made?”

“We can’t use it, Cara. When Sally gets back, we can ask her to speak with the prosecutor about Lance’s intentions to lock you up, but she wasn’t there when he shot at the boat or set the fire, and she didn’t know about the painting.”

Cara groaned. “I thought the law was supposed to be on the right side.”

“Do you want to hold a press conference?”

“To dispute Lance’s claims? No, I can never give a performance as good as his. Did you know he used to be an actor?”

“No, I didn’t, but it fits. That’s what con men do. They act.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the dark television screen. Anger burned inside her like a white hot poker. Maybe she should consider hiring someone to kill him, because Lance wouldn’t give up until he had what he wanted. And what he wanted was Cara’s estate. To get it, he’d have to kill her before Gerry ended their marriage. “He’ll try again.”

Gerry sighed. “Yes, I imagine he will.”

Chapter Thirteen

O
ver the next two days, Nick’s cousins drifted in and out of his hospital room, bringing him little bits of home.

Cara always turned his television off when the news came on, but the morning he was to be released, he got to the control before she did. He stared at the television in stunned silence and then turned to her. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me that bastard burned my house?”

“You’d just been shot, Nick.”

“That’s why you want me to go to California?”

She sat beside his bed. “It’s one reason. The other is for safety. They let Lance go. If you stay here in Gig Harbor, I’m afraid—”

“Don’t you
ever
keep something like this from me again.” Nick walked into the bathroom, closing out the hurt look on her face. It wasn’t her fault his house burned down, but she should have told him. Everything he owned was in that house, and now it was gone. He’d had to start over after the divorce, and now he’d have to do it all over again. Only this time he didn’t own a pot to piss in. “Shit!”

He came out to see Cara wiping a tear from her eye. She quickly turned to the window, hiding her tears from him again. He’d lost everything he owned, but he had no right to take it out on her. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hey, it’s just a temporary setback, like my divorce, and I have insurance.”

“I’m so sorry, Nick.”

He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Cara.” He turned her to face him and kissed her gently. “Don’t blame yourself.”

It would take time to rebuild his house and his life, and time before he could eliminate the source of their problems—Michael Lance. And he would eliminate the bastard. A man like that didn’t deserve to live.

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An hour later, reporters hovered outside the hospital as Nick, wearing Tony’s clothes, with Aunt Sophia’s favorite rosary in his pocket, rolled out in a wheelchair and sat in the front seat of Tony’s car. A reporter stuck a microphone in his face. “Mr. Donatelli, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good for a guy who got shot in the heart.”

“I understand you’re going to Miss Andrews’ home in California to recuperate.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t go home. My house is gone.”

Cara said, “He took care of me when my house collapsed in the earthquake. Now it’s my turn to take care of him.”

“Mr. Donatelli, what is your relationship with Miss Andrews?” a woman called.

Nick’s head whipped around. “What?”

“We’re friends,” said Cara. “Good friends.”

“What about your husband?” a man shouted.

“What about him?”

“Did you know about his criminal background before you married him?”

“No, I most certainly did not. Everything my husband ever told me was a lie, including his real name. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a plane to catch.”

They were bombarded with questions, which Cara ignored. She closed the car door for Nick, jumped in the back seat, and slammed the door. Nick was surprised she didn’t say more about Lance’s deceit, then realized she had to hold back until she ended her marriage.

Tony drove them to the Tacoma Narrows Airport in Gig Harbor, where Cara’s private plane waited. Nick slowly climbed the stairs and sat beside Cara. Bonnie, his private nurse, checked his seatbelt and sat across the aisle.

Cara rubbed his hand. “Nick, if you need to lie down—”

“Aw, Cara, will you quit fussing over me.”

A smile pulled at her mouth. “If you think this is fussing, wait until Cassie gets her hands on you.”

“Now, her I don’t mind. Is she making chicken pot pie for dinner tonight?”

“Is that what you want?”

“After hospital food, anything sounds good.” He glanced across the aisle at Bonnie and leaned down to ask Cara, “Why do I still need a nurse?”

Without hesitation, Cara replied, “For my peace of mind.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Nick knew how bad she felt about the shooting and fire. He also knew how much she needed to be needed, to somehow make up for what happened. She wouldn’t let him stay alone with Lance out there somewhere, and he knew she wouldn’t leave the state without him. She was safer at her estate in California, with her armed security guards. Until he got his strength back, they were both safer there.

They landed at Cara’s estate and a guard took them in the cart from the airstrip to the house, where Mr. Pettibone met them with a wheelchair. Nick groaned. “I don’t need that thing. I’ll walk.”

Cara took his arm. “We’ll walk together.”

She took him in an elevator to her grandfather’s suite upstairs. He vaguely remembered it from when Cara showed Aunt Sophia around. “Whoa, this is nice.” Plush burgundy carpet covered the floor, and deep chairs of cream leather flanked a tapestry love seat in front of the marble fireplace. The canopy and bedspread were made of the same cream and burgundy tapestry print that covered the love seat. Two plush recliners faced a big-screen TV in the corner of the sitting area.
Now this is class
.

“This was my grandfather’s suite.”

“Yeah, I remember. Did he have a big-screen TV?”

“No, that’s yours. It’s for your house, when you rebuild it. The recliners, too.”

He walked around the sitting area. “I don’t suppose this place has a bar like yours.”

She pushed a button and the panels in the wall slid open to reveal a bar padded in burgundy leather. “This one is bigger. It has a microwave, too.”

“Is the refrigerator stocked?”

“Oh, I imagine so. My staff promised to stock everything you’re allowed to have.”

He grinned. “Hey, I could get used to this.”

She pointed to the bed, “Right now, you’re going to lie down and rest. This bed is adjustable. The controls are right here.” She showed him, raising the head of the bed. “The television control is here, and the button to call the nurse is right here.” They were all laid out on the shelf on the headboard.

With a lecherous grin, he leaned down to ask, “Where’s the button to call you?”

She sighed and turned down the covers. “Take a nap. Rest.”

“Alone?”

“Nick, the nurse is here and you just got out of the hospital.”

He whispered, “Send her away.”

Cara whispered back. “We’ll send her home in a few days.”

Nick kicked off his slippers and eased his sore body into the bed. He shouldn’t be so tired from sitting on a plane for a couple hours, but he was. Cara kissed him lightly, said, “Sleep,” and left the room.

The doctor said it would take weeks for him to get his strength back. As soon as he felt strong enough, he’d go back to Gig Harbor to see if he could salvage anything from the fire. If the cops didn’t have Lance locked up by then, he’d take care of the lying bastard himself. He’d buy himself a gun, because the next time that snake took pot shots at him, he intended to shoot back.

With a deep sigh, Nick let his eyes drift closed.

<>

Cara went to her own suite and found a letter from Sally on the desk.

Michael lied about the sanitarium on St. Rupert’s Island. It’s not a fit place for humans or animals. Anyone who stays for more than a few days would surely lose their mind. I can’t believe he was going to put you in a place like that. I’m so sorry about everything.

Sally McCullough

Cara sat holding Sally’s l
etter for several minutes. Walking into the sanitarium must have been quite a shock. It didn’t matter who Sally spoke with now. Gerry had enough evidence to end the marriage without giving Lance anything.

Killing her now wouldn’t gain Lance anything, but did he know that? Did he still think he could get his hands on the estate? If he did, he was a bigger fool than she thought.
Revenge.
That’s what it was. She’d spoiled his plans and cut him off, and he wanted revenge.

She put Sally’s letter in the desk and went to check on Nick. Bonnie smiled and left the room. Nick looked peaceful when he slept, so completely relaxed. A wave of protective love swept through her, bringing a single tear to her eye. The thought of life without Nick was too painful to consider. She loved this man with everything in her.

Sitting in one of the new recliners, Cara leaned back and yawned. She hadn’t slept through the night since Nick was shot, and she was wiped out, physically and emotionally.

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Nick woke to find his nurse standing over him, taking his pulse. “Sorry,” said Bonnie. “I didn’t mean to wake you. You’ve been asleep for hours. You missed lunch. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, sure. Where’s Cara?”

Bonnie pointed to the recliner. “I’ll tell the girls in the kitchen to send your lunch tray up.”