Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

“Nothing good. You should go to the police.”

“And tell them what? That I was trespassing and that someone left a marked-up picture and cassette tape of the dance in my car? They’d say it was a prank-I mean, I think it is. Right?”

He didn’t smile. “I think it’s more than a prank. Anything else happen?”

She hesitated, thought of the opened bathroom window.

“Kris?”

“Okay, so yesterday, before the reunion, the bathroom window was left open a crack, but I never open it. I didn’t think it was that big a deal; nothing was missing.”

“But someone could have been here for hours, searching the place, looking for the picture.”

“That’s a pretty big gamble. Who knew I had it?”

“Exactly, who did know?”

She shrugged, reached for the photo, and turned it over. Though smudged, the name, phone number, and address of a local photographer were still legible. “Ron Phillips Studio in Beaverton,” she said.

“I remember that place.”

“Is it still open?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“I think I’ll check it out. Nose around a little.” What would it hurt to do some digging? Try to locate the owner of the studio.

“I vote for the police. This could be dangerous, Kris,” Ross said, leaving his barely touched coffee on the table. “Did you look outside the window, check for footprints?”

“No. It was dark, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t think about it.”

“Maybe they’re still there.” He walked to the pantry, grabbed a flashlight, then headed to the front door and pulled it open, letting in a blast of cold, wet air.

“Don’t let Marmalade out-”

Too late. The cat, sensing a chance for escape, had slipped through the doorway. Ross didn’t seem to notice as he stepped outside.

Kristen finished her coffee and was putting her cup in the dishwasher when he returned, rain wetting his face and dappling the shoulders of his jacket. “Well?” she asked, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

“Inconclusive. It looks like someone might have walked back there, but that’s also near the spot where the cable comes into the house, and it looks like you had some work done.”

“Two weeks ago. The cable was out.”

“So much for my detecting skills.”

“Nancy Drew doesn’t have to worry that you’ll take her job?” Kristen teased and to her surprise, he lifted a dark eyebrow, surprised at her joke.

“Nancy’s safe.” He walked toward her, and in her mind’s eye she remembered making love on the sandy shore of a lake hidden high in the Cascades. It had been near dusk, mist had risen off the clear water, and as they’d kissed and pulled off each other’s clothes, it had seemed that they were the only two people in the universe.

She swallowed hard, licked her lips, and felt her skin flush. Ross had always had that effect on her. Always. Obviously, it hadn’t changed.

“Yeah, but are you?”

“What?” Dear Lord, was she blushing.

“Safe?” He moved close enough that she could smell the rainwater on his skin, hear the creak of leather as he reached around her to place the flashlight on the counter near the sink. The back of his hand brushed against her bare arm and she flinched, as if burned.

“I think we’re blowing this all out of proportion,” she said, stepping away from him. He leaned a hip against the edge of the stove and stared at her. Damn the man, sometimes she thought he could read her mind. “Look, if anyone really wanted to harm me, I would be dead by now. Someone’s just trying to freak me out.”

“Why?”

She tossed her towel on the counter, annoyed that her pulse had skyrocketed. “That’s a good question. I don’t have an answer yet.”

“Are you going to talk to members of the committee?”

“Of course. Don’t worry, Ross, I’ll take it from here.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Well, neither do I, but there it is.” She glanced at the clock on the counter. “Geez, I’ve got to run. I’m gonna be late.”

“Kris-”

“Look, if you really want to help,” she called over her shoulder, half running down the hall, “find the damned cat and let her in. Otherwise she’ll be out in the rain all day.”

She shut the bedroom door behind her and waited, shoulders pressed against the panels of the door, her breath held tight in her lungs until she heard him leave. The back door opened and closed, his truck’s engine roared to life. She let out a sigh. What was it about Ross that made her so crazy? Thinking sexy thoughts about him one minute, wanting to wring his neck the next? “Because you’re an idiot,” she muttered, turning on the spray in her shower, then stripping out of her pajamas.

And there’s a part of you that still loves him.

That thought hit her hard. Ridiculous. Whatever she’d felt for Ross Delmonico was long, long dead. She stepped under the spray and turned the faucet to allow a blast of cold water to hit her full force.

She gasped as the icy needles of water hit her skin.

She would have no more hot, sensual thoughts of Ross Delmonico even if she had to take a hundred cold showers.

Ross didn’t like what was happening.

Not one little bit.

His family was falling apart.

He turned off the radio, flipped on the windshield wipers, and reluctantly turned his black truck toward the freeway. First there was his daughter. Lissa was on a fast train to trouble with her attitude toward school and that scumbag of a boyfriend of hers. He’d been a horny teenager. He knew what that kid was thinking.

Then there was what was happening with Kristen and the damned reunion. He’d been against the thing from the start, figuring it would just stir up her old, unresolved feelings about Jake Marcott. But he’d had no say in the matter. It was her life, which she’d so angrily pointed out on more than one occasion.

He let it go, deciding he’d fought the ghost of Jake Marcott long enough. But now someone else wasn’t letting it lie. Someone else was resurrecting the past.

Ross waited at the ramp signal to northbound I-5, seeing the taillights of thickening traffic, hearing the rush of engines and tires, but driving on automatic, by rote, his mind going over bit by bit what he’d learned in the last twelve hours.

What the hell had Kristen been thinking, going back to the school at night? Alone, for God’s sake.

Not alone; someone was definitely following her.

A prankster?

No way. The light turned green and Ross stepped on the accelerator, threading into the steady stream of traffic heading into the Terwilliger Curves, a section of the freeway known for its winding path through the hills. He held the steering wheel so hard his knuckles bleached white.

Someone was messing with his family.

And it was because of the damned reunion.

Remember, Jake Marcott’s killer was never located.

Ross braked as a semi beside him eased a little close to his lane. The trucker kept control of his rig and Ross gunned it, moving past the eighteen-wheeler.

He saw the exit for Macadam Avenue and jockeyed into position for the off-ramp. He knew what he had to do.

His daughter wouldn’t like it and his wife would throw one helluva hissy fit. But it was just too damned bad. Until this mystery was solved-and maybe even after it was-Ross intended to insert himself back into their lives.

“So…how did the, what did you call it-‘the reunion meeting from hell’? Yeah, that was it. How’d it go?” Sabrina asked once Kristen had settled into her chair. Because of Ross, Kristen was running late. Damn the man. She remembered the concern that etched across his face as he’d stared at the photo and felt warmed.