The Hunk Next Door (15 page)

As he walked back into the warehouse, he spotted a black wallet caught between the Dumpster and the warehouse. He pulled out the tri-folded leather, only to realize it was a woman’s wallet. Looking around, he didn’t see any of the women who were part of the crew. Figuring someone would come forward soon, he walked on into the supervisor’s office. “Anyone looking for this?” he asked, holding it up.

His boss removed his reading glasses. “No one’s said anything to me.”

“I found it behind the Dumpster and thought I’d rather have a witness when I open it.”

His boss nodded. “Go for it. Then I need you to make sure the welcome sign is done right.”

With a nod, Riley popped the snap and stared, dumbfounded by the image of Mrs. Wilks on the driver’s license. “What the hell?”

“You know her?”

“She lives down the street from the house I’m renting.”

His boss checked the clock on the wall. “Take it over to her, grab some lunch then swing by and check on the welcome sign. The pair on that is more likely to build a snowman than finish the job in a timely manner.”

“Sure thing.”

Fifteen minutes later, Riley was across town and parked in his driveway next to Abby’s car. After the fire he knew she’d be working from home and he had to squash the urge to knock on her door just to say hello.

If he played his cards right, maybe he could get a repeat performance of last night’s kisses. Which was not exactly why Director Casey had planted him here. Denying himself the satisfaction of admiring the work they’d done on her yard, he fixed his attention forward and kept on walking down the sidewalk.

“Riley?”

Abby.

He turned back to greet her. “Hey.” She was dressed in a sweater and jeans. He had yet to decide which wardrobe he preferred, the professional one or her more causal side. She looked so temping in everything she wore.

“Are you already done for the day?”

He wanted to believe that was hope he heard in her voice. “No.” He held up the wallet.

“What’s that?”

“Mrs. Wilks’s wallet. I’m returning it.”

It didn’t matter that he was on the sidewalk and she was standing in her doorway—he could see doubt stamped all over her face.

“Where did you find it?” She stepped outside and pulled her door closed behind her.

“Near the Dumpster behind the warehouse.”

“When?”

He looked at his watch. “About an hour ago.”

“And you walked all the way over here.”

“No.” He pointed to his truck. “It’s my lunch break. I drove over here to return it. I’m guessing she doesn’t realize she lost it. Or that someone nabbed it.”

“Do you not hear how odd that sounds?”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “Are you accusing me of something?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.” She came down the walk to join him. “Can I take a look?”

“If you’d rather be the one to give it back to her, be my guest.” Irritated with the way she twisted him up, he handed the wallet over and started back for his house.

“Hang on.” She reached out and caught him lightly at the waist. The heat and strength of her fingers startled him almost as much as the sizzle that shot through his system at the contact. After last night, he should have expected it. “I don’t mean to be overprotective of the people I care about.”

He nodded. “It’s probably habit by now.”

“Even if she wasn’t a friend,” Abby said, “her safety is my responsibility.”

He covered her hands with his. “I understand. You take it over and I’ll head back to work.” He wasn’t sure what to do next. He wanted to kiss her but knew she’d rather not have anyone on the street see that kind of display. And he didn’t trust his control around her. When she didn’t move, he frowned. “What’s wrong? You look upset.” Had something else happened?

“I’m not upset.”

Her pale face and rapid breath offered a decent impersonation of pretty-damn-scared, but he took the safe route and didn’t share his thoughts. “I get it. She matters to you. This worries you. Go.” He jerked his head toward the street. “Make sure she’s okay.”

“It’s just that...” Abby cleared her throat, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Lately I...imagine the worst in every situation. Come on, let’s take it to her together.”

Her admission showed him just how far they’d come so very quickly. She trusted him to some degree. That meant a great deal to him on more levels than one.

When they reached Mrs. Wilks’s door, Abby pressed the doorbell and they listened to the happy chime beyond the closed door. Once the familiar tune had faded, silence filled the air.

Several seconds passed then Riley asked, “Does she nap in the afternoons?”

“She’s too busy to nap,” Abby said, turning to walk around to the back of the house.

“Then she’s out. Without her wallet,” he observed. “Her car’s not in the driveway.”

Ignoring him, Abby knocked at the back door and called out. When no one answered, she tried the knob, but even with a little jiggle, it remained locked.

“Turn around,” she said. “I know where she keeps a key.”

Trying not to laugh, he did as ordered while she retrieved the spare key. She probably didn’t want to know that he’d already identified the hiding place under the second step near the handrail. It was the cleanest spot on the stairs.

Hadn’t he just decided that Abby was beginning to trust him?
Ha!

“All right.” Abby reached for the door. “Let’s go in and check on her.”

They really didn’t have any evidence that something was wrong. Except the wallet in his hand. He didn’t know her well, but Mrs. Wilks didn’t strike him as the sort to toss her wallet out by mistake. Not to mention he couldn’t imagine what business she had at the docks. The same things were probably running through Abby’s mind.

“Mrs. Wilks?” Abby’s voice carried through the kitchen.

As Riley followed her inside, he noticed the only light came from the window over the sink and the door they’d opened. The coffeepot on the counter was full, but the warmer light was off. A programmable model, he realized as Abby called out again. He tried not to jump to conclusions, but this wasn’t adding up to anything good.

“Does she have family nearby?”

“Her son lives in Baltimore,” Abby answered. “Mrs. Wilks? It’s Abby and—crap.”

Abby had flipped on the hallway light. Crap didn’t begin to define the mess. From his position behind her he could see the overturned umbrella stand, smashed pictures of grandchildren and other bits and pieces of Mrs. Wilks’s decor broken and scattered across the floor.

Clearly, whoever had broken into her house wasn’t worried about leaving a mess. A rush through the house confirmed Mrs. Wilks was not at home.

Abby turned on him. “When was the last time you saw her?”

He studied her, recognized her cop persona. “Is this another interrogation?”

“No. Maybe.” She clenched her fists. “Just answer me. I need a time frame.”

He thought about it. “I haven’t seen her since Calder got hurt.”

Abby’s shoulders slumped. “Damn it. I was afraid you’d say that. She didn’t help with the decorating yesterday?”

He shook his head. “When did you see her last?”

Her lips quivered. “I checked with her yesterday morning after discovering the damaged lock on my garage, but she said she didn’t hear anything.” She shook her head. “How did I go an entire day and not miss her?”

Riley could rattle off the reasons but figured it would only add to her misplaced guilt. “We can ask around the block, see if anyone saw anything.”

“That’s a good idea.” She held out her hand for the wallet. “I’ll hang on to this and call in someone to start a report and a search for her car.”

Riley wanted to hold her and give her some comfort but knew she’d resist. She’d switched over to police chief mode and all he could do was try to help.

He’d seen her face when Calder had been hurt, when the station was on fire, and thought he knew her pained expression. Neither incident had anything on the torment haunting her vivid blue eyes right now. She blamed herself and he didn’t have the words to reassure her.

“I’m sorry I pulled it away from the Dumpster.” He wanted to take some of the burden, but she didn’t let it go.

Abby caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I doubt that will make any difference. I’ll send a team over there to look around just in case.”

He heard her muttering oaths and violent promises as she called for backup. By the time he exited the back door, two of Belclare’s finest were emerging from cruisers, guns drawn.

“Hold it right there.”

Riley stopped, raised his hands. “Take it easy, officers. Chief Jensen is inside.”

“What have you done with her?”

“Abby,” he called over his shoulder.

“No,” snapped the officer closest to the steps. “What have you done with Mrs. Wilks?”

“I haven’t done anything with her.”

“Riley?” Abby walked out the side door. She swore when she saw her officers. “Gadsden, what’s going on?”

He wished her first request had been for them to lower their weapons, but he could wait it out. He hoped.

“We found Mrs. Wilks’s car down by the docks. Evidence inside the vehicle led us to the Hamilton place. There we found a scarf belonging to Mrs. Wilks on the rail by the back door. Since that’s where O’Brien is living, makes sense that he knows something about her sudden disappearance.”

“Riley?”

He hated the doubt he heard in Abby’s voice. More, he hated the person orchestrating this mess. Riley had already vetted everyone on the Belclare police force and come up empty. He’d yet to find anyone who had a beef with Calder, which confirmed his suspicion that someone was using the community to torture Abby. It wasn’t a stretch to see the deadly potential here and Riley had to find a way to head it off.

“I found a scarf last night when I got home,” Riley said, his eyes still on the weapons aimed at him. “It was caught in the door, so I picked it up, looped it over the rail,” he explained. “I don’t have a clue where it came from.”

“You need to come with us, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Wait a second,” Abby said in her no-nonsense chief’s voice. “Put away your weapons.”

Finally. Riley lowered his hands but kept them in plain view. “Thanks,” he murmured to her as the officers complied.

“What evidence led you to Riley’s—the Hamilton house?”

“A tool with O’Brien’s name on it. Everyone in town knows he moved in there.”

“Never tried to hide it,” Riley tossed out.

“Hush,” Abby said. “What kind of tool?”

Gadsden clearly preferred that Riley implicate himself, but he relented. “A hammer.”

With a tight nod, Riley silently vowed that he’d get even with the bastard behind this. “I haven’t kidnapped anyone. I have at least three hammers in the truck. There’s always one on my tool belt. I used one yesterday when we set up the park display and again when we decorated the street. You can check with my coworkers or any of the neighbors.”

“We’ll need to check your story. Let’s take a walk,” Gadsden suggested. “I have a few more questions for you.”

“No.” Abby denied that request. “Do you have any sort of timeline yet?”

“The dock workers who reported the car don’t recall seeing it parked out there before this morning.”

“So you’re thinking this all happened last night.”

Gadsden nodded. “It’s possible the fire was a diversion.”

“I’m starting to agree,” Abby said, giving voice to one of Riley’s developing theories.

He could not afford to waste time in a holding cell. He didn’t think she could afford to be without his protection, even though she didn’t realize that was his real purpose here. Once more he toyed with the idea of telling her the truth, but he wasn’t about to admit anything in front of her officers.

“I found the scarf when I came home for the night.” He just managed to avoid Abby’s gaze. “Around eleven.”

“Did you see him arrive home, Chief?”

“Yes.” She gestured to the door she’d exited. “We have a crime scene inside that needs to be processed. From what I can see—the bed hasn’t been slept in and the coffee that brewed automatically this morning is still waiting in the carafe—Mrs. Wilks was attacked and taken from her home late last night.”

“You didn’t see anyone hanging around before that?” Gadsden pressed.

“No,” Abby said resolutely.

Riley kept studying the policemen. Between the crowd at the pub and the bystanders at the fire, surely they’d heard he’d driven Abby home. What were they tiptoeing around?

“We’d like to take him in for questioning.”

“No,” Abby repeated. “He was with me,” she said with a resigned sigh. “I drove home from the station and Riley met me out front to help me decorate my house. Before that, Danny and Peg can vouch for his contribution to decorating the rest of the street.”

“Yes, ma’am. But after that?”

“After, I took Mr. O’Brien to the pub for dinner. It was a dinner we never finished because Martin Filmore went off the deep end and set our police station on fire.”

Gadsden rocked back on his heels. “And after that?”

In Gadsden’s place, Riley would’ve ducked from the laser glare Abby aimed at him. “I watched him walk over to his house.”

“Did you watch him go inside?”

“No.”

“So you can’t verify his story about the scarf.”

“I can verify everything else, including his character, Officer Gadsden,” she said pointedly.

Riley muted his shock over that statement. She must trust him more than he thought. Well, she had kissed him first. And she’d let him keep kissing her once he’d recovered from the unexpected surprise.

“Yes, ma’am.” Gadsden rubbed his palm over his holstered weapon. “But why frame him?”

“Good question,” she countered. “Why don’t you start figuring it out?”

Riley gave the officer credit for persistence.

“Based on the evidence of a struggle inside and everything you’ve found we need to assume the worst,” Abby relented. “But Riley was not involved in her disappearance.”

“All right.” Gadsden acquiesced.

“Give me the address for the car,” Abby instructed. “I’ll head that way. You two can take over here.”