Meryl Sawyer - Play Dead

The Wrath? The name dinged some distant bell in Ryan’s brain. Then it came to him. The Wrath was the Mixed Martial Arts national champion. Ryan had watched a few matches while he’d been home with his shoulder injury. It combined boxing, wrestling, kickboxing, judo and other fighting techniques in a no-holds-barred smack-down fight. The barefoot fighters wore shorts and padded gloves. The only rule that governed their fight was no biting or eye-gouging.

Interesting, Ryan thought. Hayley didn’t seem like a woman who’d hook up with an MMA fighter, but what did he know? The way Ryan had responded to her blowing a kiss at the end of the CD still had him on edge. How could he react so strongly to someone he’d never met?

He wandered out of the kitchen and into one of two bedrooms sectioned off from it that opened onto a living room overlooking the bay. It was Hayley’s room, he realized the instant he entered. The crime techs had dusted everything and removed the sheets from the bed.

Something swept through him, like an adrenaline rush but stronger. Ryan opened the closet door and a delicate scent came from the clothes hanging in front of him. He inhaled deeply. Vanilla, he decided. The perfume Hayley wore had a trace of vanilla in it.

Lavender was her favorite color, he realized. And she didn’t own a suit unless the crime techs had bagged one as evidence, which he doubted. Most of the items hanging in her closet were casual clothes. He checked the dresser drawers, knowing they’d been searched but wanting to get a feel for this woman.

Okay. She loved skimpy thongs and lacy bras—size 34C. Not centerfold material, but Ryan always said anything more than a handful was wasted. Honest to God, what was he thinking?

Ryan slammed the drawer shut and stood there, furious with himself. He caught his reflection in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. He hardly recognized the image. In his mind’s eye, he always saw himself the way he’d looked in his wedding picture, taken just before the season that ended his career.

Time and Jessica’s illness had changed him. Even though he was just thirty-five, Ryan thought he looked older. It was because he was thinner than he’d ever been and his face seemed gaunt. Black stubble shadowed the square line of his jaw, making him look more serious than he felt. He tried to smile, the way he once had so easily, but it was just a grimace.

A tragedy, sure , he told himself. You’re still alive. You’ll get past this eventually . He didn’t want to get over Jessica. But another part of him must feel the need to move forward with his life. That’s why he was reacting so strongly to Hayley.

He forced himself to look through the books and mementos that must once have been artfully arranged on a bookshelf. They were askew now and covered with fingerprint powder. More photos of the dog and Hayley’s family.

He flipped open his cell phone and dialed Meg’s number. It was late, but Hayley’s aunt had assured him that she wouldn’t be sleeping and to call with any questions.

“What did you find?” Meg asked the instant he identified himself.

“Not much.” This was the truth; he didn’t want to get Meg’s hopes up. “The police have taken a lot of evidence. They might discover something. I do have a couple of questions. Where’s Hayley’s dog?”

Two long beats of silence. “With her, I’m sure. She took Andy everywhere. The police said Hayley parked at the back of the lot under the trees. I know it was dark, but it was early evening and still warm. It would have been cooler under the trees. She probably left him in the car while she went inside.”

Aw, hell. Just what he didn’t want to think about. The dog that Hayley had obviously loved so much—pulverized.

“What was her relationship with Ian Barrington?” he asked to steer their thoughts away from death. “She has several e-mails from him.”

“Hayley knew him from design school in San Francisco. I guess they remained friends when she moved home.”

Interesting, Ryan thought. The e-mails he’d read clearly indicated a business relationship. Obviously, Hayley hadn’t told her aunt everything. What else had she kept from her?

“Did she mention a guy called The Wrath?”

This brought the suggestion of a chuckle from Meg. “Of course, the man who fights in a cage.”

True, he thought. MMA fights were held in chain-link enclosures called cages. There was no escape until one man won—and the other lay bloodied on the mat.

“They have clothing sponsors just like other sports figures,” Meg told him. “Hayley created a line sold at Surf’s Up that The Wrath wears. You know, she had a better head for business than Trent. She knew Tap-something—the designers with the bats on their clothes—”

“TapouT.” The only way to end an MMA fight short of getting knocked out was to physically tap on your opponent or the mat to signal you gave up. TapouT clothes had stylized bats on them. The T-shirts were so popular that even Ryan recognized them.

“That’s it! Hayley figured the surf craze has peaked. MMA clothes will be the next big thing. Her line has really done well so far.”

MMA the next big thing? Who knew? “Did she have a personal relationship with this Wrath guy?”

“N-not really,” Meg replied a bit hesitantly. “They’re just friends.”

He’d asked about current boyfriends and Meg had told him that Hayley hadn’t been dating anyone special since her breakup with the sleazy lawyer who cheated on her. There was no evidence around the loft that a man spent time here.

“She hasn’t been dating. She hadn’t quite gotten over Chad’s betrayal.”

Ryan thanked Meg and hung up. He sat down on Hayley’s stripped bed, thinking. What kind of a man could cheat on a woman like Hayley?

He lay back on the bed and stared up at the loft’s industrial-style rafters, imagining himself there with Hayley. He was drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain and it bothered him.

MIDAFTERNOON two days later, Ryan was standing under the rotunda near the valet-parking stand at the Balboa Bay Club with Ed Phillips. They had just been to Hayley’s standing-room-only memorial service at All Saints Church. He was waiting for his father to arrive with Meg in one of the limousines for the reception while Ed spoke on his cell phone to a bomb expert in Quantico.

Phillips clicked off his cell and tucked it into his pocket. “They have a preliminary report from analyzing the bomb debris.”

Ryan braced himself to hear about body parts. At the service, there had been a huge photograph of Hayley. Her head had been thrown back slightly as if she were on the verge of a laugh. It had been an even more provocative photo than the one Meg had first shown him. Hayley’s haunting eyes followed Ryan no matter where he moved in the church.

“The explosive device was attached with a magnet and a wire to her car’s electrical system. It left a two-foot-deep crater under the car and flash melting on metal three cars away. The instant she turned the ignition, the bomb detonated.”

“How do they know that?” Ryan asked. He hadn’t received any training in bomb-making and none in detection.

“They use infrared spectrography to analyze bomb fragments. The type of device used shows the window of time necessary to place the bomb and where it was located. It was installed after she parked. It didn’t take long to attach it but the killer must have crawled at least partway under the car.”

“And risk being seen? What about the dog in the backseat? Didn’t he bark and put up a ruckus?”

Phillips shrugged. “Maybe. The locals are interviewing people to see if anyone saw anything. So far—nothing. But it does establish the time frame when the killer planted the device.”