“Did you get my message?”
“About the survivor’s group? Yes.” She hesitated. “I’m not into therapy.”
Simmons seemed to deflate, as if he’d hoped she would tag along and reassure him therapy was okay. And it was okay. Just not for her.
“Maybe when everything settles down, we could get together and talk,” Kayla said.
“Sounds good,” Simmons replied, regret in his tone. “You have my number. Call me.” He paid for his water and headed outside.
Back at the Acura, Kayla inspected the car for a tracking device and came across one under the rear fender. She crushed it with the heel of her shoe. At the same time her sister’s cell phone jangled. She answered.
“Ashley, it’s me, Jacob Feinstein, Kayla’s client.” He sounded breathless. Panicked. “I’ve got to see you. Something weird is going on. Someone called me.” Was he referring to Eve’s outreach? “I can’t explain on the phone. Can I come by your place and?—”
“No. ” Her skin thrummed with anxiety. “It’s late and I’m beat. Tomorrow,” she said with Ashley-like imperiousness. “Good night.”
“Wait!” Jacob yelped. “My computer has gone haywire, too. Can you fix it?”
If he believed Kayla was Ashley, why mention his computer? She held the phone to her chest trying to regain a sense of perspective. Was everybody suspect? Yes, until proven innocent.
“I can’t, but tomorrow I’ll give you some tips Kayla gave me,” she said, and ended the call.
Once she was back in the car, she screamed, “This is insane!” Tears stung her eyes and spilled down her face. She pounded the steering wheel and screeched again. How could she get through another day without her sister? Her twin sister. The sister she’d shared a womb with. Half of her felt dead. The loss was eating at her soul.
Three minutes later, when her grief subsided, she dialed Hanrahan. She left a message about William Norton chasing her and the tracking device. If the inspector was any good at her job, she would drag his sorry butt in for questioning.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
When Captain Waldleft Megan’s desk, she sighed with relief. She had a half hour to change into her gown and make it to the ball. The event would run until the wee hours of the night. Even if she didn’t find a seat at Tom’s table, there would be plenty of time to make eyes at him. Maybe she’d turn the tables and ask him for a dance.
While packing all relevant notes on the Macintyre investigation into her carryall, something nagged at her. She mulled over the way Captain Wald had tensed up when she’d mentioned Richard Troy. Hastily, he’d explained that he and Troy had met years ago at one of his muscle car club meetings. Each of them owned a ’67 Corvette. Truth or a good cover?
Not tonight, Megan urged.Shut off your brain.No more business.
She hoisted the carryall and noticed the blinking light on her phone. “Please, let it be nothing,” she groused. But it wasn’t nothing. It was something. Ashley Macintyre had left her a message about William Norton putting a tracer on her car and pursuing her on the freeway. Luckily, she’d eluded the tail. Norton’s action surprised Megan. In fact, it was downright stupid. She’d assumed, if anything, he would do everything hecould to find his wife, not lash out at Kayla Macintyre’s sister. On the other hand, obsession could make a person do impulsive things.
Rodrigo snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Hey, partner.Qué pasa?”
Megan beamed. “Perfect timing.” With his wife out of town visiting family, Rodrigo had passed on going to the ball. “We’ve got a case of road rage on our hands, and it involves Ashley Macintyre. It seems William Norton used his Mercedes as a battering ram. Are you busy?”
“Norton is the guy who abused his wife?”
“Yep.”
Rodrigo licked his lips. “Man, I’d like nothing better than to track down a guy who uses his fists on a woman.” His kid sister had been the victim of abuse.
Megan could’ve kissed him.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The forecastedrain hit at the exact moment Kayla neared Ashley’s townhouse. She pulled the Acura into the closest parking spot on the street and, remaining alert for a silver Mercedes or any car that seemed out of place, strode down the sidewalk. An elderly couple walking beneath an umbrella passed by without looking at her.
Kayla darted into the townhouse and locked the door. Java leaped. She caught him in the nick of time. “Darn it, beast, you scared the living daylights out of me.” She plopped the cat on the floor. Java rubbed his head against her ankles. “No, I will not forgive you.” He purred. “Yeah, okay. I love you, too.” She wiped the rain off her face and scooped him up. “Hungry?” She started for the kitchen but halted as headlights swept the drapes in the living room.
She dashed to the window and peeked out. A silver Porsche, not Mercedes, pulled up to the curb and parked. Jacob owned a Porsche. Could he have figured out where Ashley lived?
“Get out of the car,” she urged. “Let me see your face.”
When the driver’s door opened, she recognized Ashley’s heavyset neighbor. Not Jacob Feinstein or William Norton or the guy that had tailed her on the Golden Gate Bridge. Shewaited until the neighbor entered his townhouse two doors down before she abandoned her vigil.
