For The Love Of Laurel (2 page)

All the best,

Gerald

She crushed the stationary in a fist.
Shit.

“What does he mean ‘watch out for her’? How did you watch out for me?” She glared at him.

Her father hadn’t even trusted her enough to tell her. She didn’t care about the apartment. Dylan could live there until he was ninety-three for all she cared, but no way was he going to trail her around looking out for her when there wasn’t any reason for it. The sooner she could move back to her condo, the better. Her father never worried about her safety on the job when he was alive. She said as much.

“Wrong. I put a tracking device in your car. If you went someplace he didn’t like, he called me. My Jeep was perfect cover, there are so many of them.”

She remembered all the times she got home from work to find Dylan’s Jeep gone. Stupidly she’d always thought he was running errands. Come to think of it, maybe he was. He didn’t have to stick close to her if her car was bugged.

“You didn’t follow me around all the time? You bugged my car?” If she had known that, she’d have gone on a lot more adventures. “Did you watch the stupid tracking device all the time?”

“Of course not. I do have other things that occupy my days.”

“So it was all a waste of time. You just installed it to keep Daddy happy.”

He hesitated. “Not exactly. He could also keep tabs on you anytime he wanted.”

She cringed. “So he knew about my nightlife
,
I suppose.”

“He certainly might have but never mentioned it to me. I guess it didn’t worry him.”

The bar she frequented was a long way from home. How did her father expect to send Dylan to the rescue if home might be an hour or more away from her? For that matter, how would he know whether she was in trouble or not? She went to a bar—true, it wasn’t upscale, but it wasn’t a dive, either. Maybe he thought she went with a girlfriend.

“Hah,” was the only brilliant thing she could think of to say. With all the dignity she could muster, she stood and marched out of his apartment, leaving his door wide open. It soon closed with a soft click behind her.

Dylan wanted to slam the door, but damned if he’d give her the satisfaction. That woman was so contrary! The day she was born, she probably told her parents she wasn’t ready yet and wanted to go back into the womb. She didn’t realize everything he did was for her own protection. Better not ever tell her. She’d kick him out the door for sure, father’s wishes or not.

He recalled the first time he ever saw her, four years ago. She’d stood on the sidewalk outside the airport, surrounded by suitcases, looking for her ride. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, from the neck up. He was bemused by her less-than-fashionable wardrobe of ragged jeans, loud Hawaiian shirt, and dirty sneakers. She’d looked about as much like a wealthy man’s daughter as he did. He’d wondered if her father would have apoplexy when she walked through the door, but it wasn’t any of his business. For all he knew, she dressed that way all the time. Instead, he’d spent a few moments admiring the view.

She had a perfect, milky complexion. Her chin was small with a dimple in the middle, her cheekbones were high, her mouth kissable. Her eyes looked like emeralds. Yeah, even from a distance, he could see that color. Boy could he ever. And as if that weren’t enough, her face was framed by shoulder-length dark red hair.

Might as well say it
. She was gorgeous. He’d seen pictures of her, but the camera couldn’t possibly do her justice. He’d freely admitted he was in lust and couldn’t remember any other woman hitting him in the solar plexus the way Laurel had.

She took in her surroundings then, with an impatient toss of her head, drew her lips into a thin line, put her hands on her hips, and tapped her foot. She looked mad as hell.

Why? Dylan didn’t know and wasn’t sure he wanted to tangle with her to find out. Unless it was between the sheets. But he wasn’t allowed to entertain such a thought, so he’d pushed it away and done the gentlemanly thing. He approached her cautiously and introduced himself. For some reason, that had made her angrier.

“My father taught me not to talk to strangers and you’re a stranger. Get lost. I’m waiting for Ben.” She’d turned away and ignored him.

“Ben doesn’t drive for your father anymore.”

She’d glared at him. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer. I’ll get a cab.” She began walking toward the taxis lined up near the airport entrance.

“Look, Ms. Avidon, call your father and he can straighten this out.” He offered her his cell phone.

“Back off. I’ll use my own.”

He chuckled at the recollection. She hadn’t changed. She still wanted her way and could be a spoiled brat if she didn’t get it. Not all her fault, he conceded. To his knowledge, Gerald had always pampered and given in to her when what she needed was an old-fashioned spanking.

He was tempted to call her and tell her he quit. She’d be happy and he would be, too. Heaven knows he didn’t need the aggravation. But a job was a job. At the moment, his job was to protect Laurel and keep her from learning the truth. What kind of relationship with her he might want or wish for didn’t matter. Anything he imagined with regard to Ms. Avidon had to remain there—in his imagination.

He picked up an 8 x 10 picture frame from his coffee table. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at the smiling young woman.
Sandy
. His twin sister. If only he’d protected her from the signs he ignored, that she was using heavily. If he had, he sure as hell wouldn’t be here now protecting a woman who didn’t have a clue about the bad side of life. A woman who didn’t even want him here. He returned the picture to the table and for the first time ever, allowed himself to cry over Sandy’s death.

Chapter 2

Laurel took a week off after the funeral before realizing she had to go on with life. She could hear her father insist, and she had to admit she was bored silly moping around the house all day.

She pulled into the parking garage of her office building and sighed with relief, happy to be out of traffic but even happier to be away from home. At least here she was her own boss. She knew that now, she was in charge at home too, but not for long, she hoped. Without her father, it wasn’t where she wanted to be.

As she waited for the elevator, she suddenly felt profoundly lonely. She shook her head as the elevator doors opened.

Riding to the ninth floor, she thought about the stories Gerald had told her from the time she was barely old enough to understand. She remembered how they had moved to San Diego when she was a baby.

What became known as the Golden Triangle was an empty expanse of brush and rattlesnakes. Gerald Avidon could see the potential in land accessible from three freeways so he’d bought a parcel at rock-bottom prices and began to develop. Now the Triangle was home to malls, office buildings, high-rise apartments, and insane traffic.

Her assistant was at her desk when Laurel arrived, late as usual. “Hi, Sue. Rough night?” Sue Burdette loved to party and often came to work hung-over. Today, her eyes were scrunched up as if the light was too much for them.

“I’m okay. Good to have you back. I’m sure you’re glad the funeral is over.”

Laurel got a cup of coffee. “They should be outlawed. Any messages?” She didn’t really want to talk about funerals anymore.

“No.”

“Good.” Laurel went into her office and shut the door.

The office suite was in a ten-story building. The sign on the door read ‘Avidon Investigations.’ She had started the company soon after graduation when her application to the Institution of Oceanography was turned down because there were no openings.
But we will keep your application on file.

She had never been sure why she chose P.I. work. It had just seemed like a fun thing to help mark time until the Institution called.

She stared at her blank computer screen, remembering the times she spent evenings in bars, rejecting and occasionally accepting advances from jaded, half-drunk strangers. She didn’t know if she was trying to get back at Adam or rebelling against her father.

How childish her behavior seemed to her now. After being lucky for almost a year, fate caught up to her one night. She was pulled into an alley and nearly raped; if it hadn’t been for the Tae Kwon Do classes she took all through college, she knew she would have been.

She never told anyone, but the nameless man who almost violated her told her she deserved it, the way she ran around. She’d felt shame and anger—anger at the slime who’d done it and the shame of thinking he was probably right. He had said something else, something her shock caused her to forget even though it seemed important. That ended her great adventure, but the taste of being her own woman, free of Gerald’s obsessive need to run her life, wouldn’t leave.

She’d signed up for a couple of business courses, took advanced Tae Kwon Do classes—which she still attended weekly—and practiced daily. She also bought a couple of pistols and learned to shoot them. With money she had saved from her college fund, she’d finally rented an office and opened for business.

“Your ten o’clock is here,” Sue announced. Laurel smirked. Sue liked to make it sound as though Laurel had appointments all day. Actually, this was her only client in two weeks, but if Sue had her way, no one would ever know it.

Sue was a godsend. Laurel had met her in a bar when she sat on the barstool next to her. Sue nursed a beer and cried. After they’d both had a few, she told Laurel she was trying to finish college, but didn’t have the next semester’s tuition because her job didn’t pay enough. Something about her tugged at Laurel, and before she knew it, she was offering Sue a job. She warned Sue she wouldn’t have much to do, but she could spend her spare time in the office studying.

“Please send her in.” She stood as her client entered and stopped in the doorway. Gloria Gunderson, nee Grant. She wore a powder blue suit. Her ash blonde hair framed a pretty face. She was small and slim. Laurel had been acquainted with her in high school. She was the cheerleader who got the quarterback and made no pretense of looking down her nose at people she felt beneath her—one of whom, for reasons Laurel could never figure out, was Laurel herself. Laurel ignored her then and wanted to ignore her now.

“Gloria, come in,” she said, walking around the desk and extending her hand. Gloria gave it a firm shake.

“Laurel, how are you? It’s been a long time. I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. Please . . . sit down.”

She sat in a leather chair next to Laurel’s desk and crossed her legs. Laurel couldn’t help noticing how shapely they were. She pulled her own skirt over her knees.

“Nice office,” Gloria said. Laurel glanced around. She didn’t pay much attention to it anymore. It had become too familiar. A ficus and a rubber plant were about all the amenities she had, plus a silver tea and coffee service her father had given her as an office-warming gift, and which she had never used.

“Thank you. How’s Brad?”

Gloria gave a tinkling titter. “Oh, he’s old news. Be thankful you didn’t marry the star quarterback.”

“I am. So what can I do for you?”

“I want to hire you to spy on my current husband.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a compact. After opening it and glancing at her image as if to reassure herself she was still beautiful, she snapped it closed and looked at Laurel. “He’s fooling around, and I want proof I can take to court. I plan to divorce him, but he’ll fight alimony unless I can prove I deserve it.”

“Is there a pre-nup?”

“No. There’s just a stingy s.o.b.”

Laurel took notes. “How do you know he’s fooling around?”

“Just a feeling. He makes excuses not to come home, he talks on the phone and if I come into the room he lowers his voice or hangs up.”

“How long has he been doing this?”

“Several months. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but there comes a time when you can no longer ignore your suspicions.”

“But that’s all they are at this point? Suspicions? You haven’t any concrete proof of infidelity?”

Gloria looked down. “No. That’s why I’m here. I want you to get me the proof. I’ve had my suspicions for a while, as I said, but they really came to a head when I suggested a trip to Paris. He loves Paris but made excuses not to go. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. The sooner I can get him served, the sooner I can kick him out of the house. For now, I’m leaving for Paris by myself tomorrow. I’ll be gone a couple of weeks. If you need to get in touch, I’ll leave my contact information with your secretary.”

It sounded easy. Tail him and get pictures. The best part was that Gloria would pay big bucks, which gave Laurel a kind of smug satisfaction. She didn’t need the case or the money. Given who the client was, normally she wouldn’t take the case. Gloria Grant Gunderson was probably getting what she deserved. But what the heck? Maybe it would keep her mind off her father and she would give the money to charity.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can find out. My assistant has a contract for you to sign. I ask for a thousand up front.”

Gloria gave a wave as if she were swatting at a fly. “Not a problem. But how long do you think it will take? The divorce hearing is only a month away.”

“I should be able to come up with evidence of adultery by then.” She didn’t bother to add “if there is any.” She assumed there was or Gloria wouldn’t be here.

The day was typical San Diego-beautiful, and Laurel decided to spend the afternoon at the beach. She told herself, and Sue, it was a perfect place to plan her strategy on catching Gloria’s husband, Dr. Miles Gunderson, prominent plastic surgeon, in
flagrante delicto
.

She went home to change into denim cutoffs and a white halter top. She searched for her huaraches and found them under her bed. She wiped some sand, courtesy of her last trip to the beach, from the soles into a wastebasket, and then grabbed her purse and digital voice recorder. With an “I’ll be back before dinner” to Mari, she headed for her car.

As she snapped her seatbelt on and started the car, she noticed Dylan washing the Caddy. She waved, and he nodded back. In suds up to his elbows, he wasn’t likely to follow her around today.
Oh, that’s right. He
didn’t
follow her around. He said so himself.

She pulled up beside him. “I’d like you to trade in that monstrosity for something more reasonable, and I’d like you to remove the tracking thingy from my car.”

“Okay. I’ll do it tomorrow.” He went back to his task, giving her the brush-off.

What a guy.
At least he didn’t argue with her.

The beach at Del Mar was crowded. Laurel found a spot that was reasonably unpopulated and spread her towel on the sand. She reached into her purse for her sunglasses and sunscreen, making mental notes to set up an appointment with the good doctor, watch his house at night, and follow him if he leaves. There. She didn’t have to feel guilty now that she had a plan. Gloria wanted this done as soon as possible, so she had no business on the beach, but what was the point of living in the best climate in the world if she couldn’t play hooky now and again?

She found her glasses and as she grabbed them, Mike Branson’s card fell out of her purse and onto her lap. She picked it up and looked at it for the first time. It had his name, phone, and fax numbers, and that was all.

What was it he had said to her? “If you want to talk, give me a call.” She couldn’t imagine why she would want to talk to a reporter, especially one who hosted a tabloid TV show, but she did remember he had given her an envelope along with the card. She put her sunglasses on and rooted around in her purse until she found the envelope. It was white and legal-sized with her name scrawled across the front. She turned it over and opened it.

Inside was a thrice-folded newspaper article. The paper was brown and brittle along the edges. She opened it carefully. The top edge had been cut off with scissors so she couldn’t tell what newspaper it was or how old. There was a grainy picture of three people above the article. Puzzled, she read:

ARSON SUSPECTED IN FAMILY TRAGEDY

Early this morning, the residence of Robert and Regina Markham was burned to the ground in what investigators are calling arson. “The fire was so hot, nothing remained but a few charred bones in the Markham’s bedroom and their baby’s crib, causing us to believe an accelerant was used,” explained fire Chief Ron Dunne.

Robert Markham was a senior accountant at Chaber Pharmaceuticals. His wife, Regina, was a housewife and mother to the couple’s ten-month-old daughter, Delilah. None of their friends or acquaintances can imagine who would want the family dead. They were highly respected in the community. According to neighbors, they attended church regularly and were active volunteers in several charitable organizations
.

The article referred the reader to an inside page, but it wasn’t included in the envelope. Laurel looked at the picture again, but it was too blurry to get any details. All she could see was a man, woman, and baby. She put everything back in her purse. Who was Mike Branson and why would he give her the article? She could always call him but doubted she would ever be that curious.