Protecting Peggy Read online

  She had Samantha and she had the inn. Raising her daughter and operating a business kept her steady, maintained her balance. Last night had changed nothing about those aspects of her life.

  Slowly, Peggy slipped from beneath Rory’s arm. He muttered a few unintelligible words, then turned his head and buried his face in the pillow.

  The rain had put a chill in the air, sending goose bumps prickling over her skin. A hard, quick throbbing of her pulse accompanied the goose bumps when she spied the pile of pale ivory silk in the center of the braided rug. She could still feel Rory’s hands stripping her of the cool fabric.

  Blowing out a breath, Peggy gathered up the chemise, then walked soundlessly toward the door. There, she plucked her coat off the floor and slid it on. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she padded along the dim hallway, down the three flights of stairs, then into the foyer. She paused to turn off the light she left glowing each night. That done, she headed toward the kitchen.

  While she readied the coffeemaker, she glanced out the window. Any hopes she had that Charlie O’Connell might have returned overnight with her station wagon faded when she saw through the drizzling rain that Rory’s car was the only one in the lot.

  She opened the refrigerator, her mind formulating a breakfast menu of ham and egg blossoms with hollandaise, accented with fresh dill. The dill she would have to gather from her greenhouse. Fine, she told herself as she closed the refrigerator door with a snap. Since the attack she had avoided the greenhouse, had halted her daily routine of checking on her plants. The delicate buds she had planted in peat pots the previous week needed water and care, or she would lose them. Kade had put extra police patrols on the inn. The drifter who had probably attacked her was no longer in the area. She had to start back working in the greenhouse and today was as good a time as any.

  With her emotions in such upheaval, she needed the comfort of her routine.

  She turned the oven to preheat, made sure the coffeemaker had begun spewing out its heady brew, then moved down the hallway to her living quarters. She wasn’t sure what time Rory would leave for the lab in San Francisco, but she wanted to make sure he had a good breakfast before he went. Since he’d been asleep when she left his room only moments ago, she estimated she had just enough time to take a quick shower, dress and collect the dill before she started cooking.

  Rory felt an instant flare of disappointment when he strode into the empty kitchen where the rich scent of coffee filled the air. Dammit, he had wanted Peggy to be there, wanted her to gaze across the center island at him with those beautiful green eyes. Eyes that had gone dark and smoky throughout the long night when he had made her his.

  On his way to the coffeemaker, he nudged up the sleeve of his sweater, checked his watch and winced. He should be airborne by now, halfway to the lab in San Francisco. He hadn’t planned on oversleeping, hadn’t planned on having a reason to have overslept.

  Hadn’t known he would need time to tell Peggy that she had spent the night making love with a man who carried a badge.

  He shoved a hand through his hair, still damp from his hurried shower. Pouring coffee into a mug, he tried to ignore the sweaty fist of dread that lodged in his stomach. He’d had several casual affairs that had lasted over weeks, months sometimes. Never had he given thought to what he would do, how he would feel if any of the women he’d been involved with had ended the relationship before he was ready to move on. Now that prospect had panic sneaking up to scrape at the back of his throat.

  He didn’t want to leave the woman, the child, the inn. Not now. Not yet.

  The sound of heavy footsteps on the back porch had him swinging around. Kade Lummus pushed open the door and stepped in, his uniform neat and trim, his dark hair damp, his expression grim.

  Rory set his coffee aside. He had checked the parking lot from a window before coming downstairs, so he knew O’Connell hadn’t returned during the night with Peggy’s station wagon. “Do you have some word on O’Connell?”

  “More than just some word. We found him.”

  “Where is he?”

  Lummus stepped to the coffeemaker, filled a mug. His gaze swept the kitchen. “Where’s Peggy?”

  “I just came downstairs, so I’m not sure.” Rory glanced across his shoulder toward the dim hallway that led off the rear of the kitchen. “Back in her room, maybe.”

  Lummus leaned against the counter, sipped his coffee. “O’Connell’s dead. He went over a cliff in Peggy’s station wagon.”

  “Christ.” Rory had not liked the man, but he hadn’t wished him dead, either. “Where?”

  “North, about twenty miles from here. The road runs along the top of a cliff and is a nightmare of twists and turns. No guardrails. A county survey crew went out there this morning and saw the station wagon. Good thing, because it’s hidden from the road. If it weren’t for that crew, there’s no telling how long it would have been until someone stumbled across the wreck.”

  “Any idea what happened?”

  “The only thing we have right now are skid marks from two vehicles on the road at the same point the wagon went over the cliff. There’s no way to tell how long those skid marks have been there, or if they were made at the same time.”

  “What about point of impact?”

  Lummus narrowed his eyes. “There isn’t one on any of the rocks or trees, so it’s not like O’Connell hit a wet spot, then skidded into something and bounced over the cliff. It looks like he just headed toward the edge and went straight over.”

  “That could mean a car came from behind and pushed the station wagon off the road. A heavier car or truck with more power.”

  “Could.” Rory felt Lummus’s assessing scrutiny as the cop sipped his coffee. “No way to prove that.”

  “What about damage to the station wagon, other than what was caused by the plunge off the cliff? Any paint on it that doesn’t belong?”

  “There’s some white paint on the right rear bumper. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. I need to find out from Peggy if the paint was there before.”

  Rory set his jaw. “She gets attacked in her greenhouse, then it’s possible someone purposely runs her station wagon off the road. All that within a few days. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

  “I’m a cop, Sinclair. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  “Neither do I. That means someone could have thought it was Peggy behind the wheel instead of O’Connell.”

  “I agree.”

  Rory paced toward the back door, turned and stalked back to the center island. That so many questions remained unanswered in his mind had his hands balling into fists of frustration. “Is there anyone in town with a reason to hurt her? Anyone who might even try to kill her?”

  “Not that I know of. You can be sure I’m keeping my eyes open.” Lummus raised a dark brow. “What about O’Connell?”

  “What about him?”

  “Do you know of a reason someone might want to force him off that cliff?”

  “Nothing solid. Did you find any of his work papers in the car with him?”

  “No.”

  Rory muttered an oath. “The more time that’s passed without his coming up with what contaminated the water at Hopechest, the more I suspect him of holding back. And for reasons other than his being a disgruntled government worker.” Rory thought about the gas-station charge slips and cash-register receipts he had photographed in O’Connell’s room. Yesterday he’d checked all the locations on the receipts, asking questions about the EPA inspector, trying to dig up something—anything. He’d hit a dead end.

  “Problem is,” Rory added, “I have no proof that O’Connell was up to anything. I haven’t exactly come up with answers about the water, either.”

  Lummus sat his mug on the counter, then crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not a scientist, so I’ll leave the water issue up to you.”

  “Fine.” Rory paused. “Any idea how long O’Connell’s been dead?”

  “The M.E
.’s aide estimated at least a day. The body’s on the way to the morgue. The M.E. says he’ll finish the autopsy by late afternoon, so we’ll know more then.”

  “Has the station wagon been moved?”

  “Not yet. The only way to get to the base of the cliff is by a narrow footpath. A wrecker alone can’t handle the job of getting the wagon out. We’re bringing in a crane to lift it up onto the road. It’ll be a couple of hours at least before the crane gets there.”

  “I want to take a look at the scene.”

  “Sorry, it’s a possible crime scene. No civilians allowed.”

  “Dammit, Lummus, I’m not a civilian. I think you’ve pretty well figured that out by the questions I’m asking.”

  “Maybe.” Lummus angled his chin. “Got some ID?”

  As he walked across the kitchen, Rory glanced down the dim hallway that led to Peggy’s room. It was empty. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his badge case, flipped it open. “FBI special agent. I work out of the lab in D.C. That good enough to get me onto the scene?”

  “I’d say so.”

  “FBI?”

  Rory’s heart stopped at the sound of Peggy’s voice coming from behind him. With the air clogging in his lungs, he slowly turned.

  She stood in the open doorway between the wind and the warmth, dressed in an emerald sweater and slacks. Her dark hair was pulled back from her deathly pale face, her eyes wide and dark with hurt. In the crook of one arm, she cradled a cardboard box. On top of the box lay a cutting from a plant Rory couldn’t identify. She had been outside, he realized, had opened the back door and stepped into the kitchen without his hearing.

  “Ireland—”

  “You’re an FBI agent? A cop?”

  He drew a careful breath at her cool tone. “Yes.”

  “In that case, Agent Sinclair, I suppose this box should go to you.”

  Rory’s gut knotted at her use of his rank. “Peggy—”

  “I found it in the greenhouse, hidden behind a bag of peat moss.” She rapped a finger on the shoe box. “It has Mr. O’Connell’s name on it and glass vials inside. I can’t imagine why he hid this in my greenhouse.”

  Walking stiffly to the nearest counter, she sat the box on top, then turned, the plant’s cutting clenched in one fist. “Hello, Kade. Are you here about Mr. O’Connell?”

  “Yes.” Lummus’s gaze darted between her and Rory. “Peggy, you’re as pale as ice. I think you should sit—”

  “I’m fine. What about Mr. O’Connell?”

  “He went off a cliff in your station wagon, about twenty miles north of here. He’s dead. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, God.” Her hand went to her throat. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “There’s some white paint on the wagon’s right rear bumper,” Kade continued. “Do you know if it was there when O’Connell borrowed it?”

  “I don’t know.” A crease formed between her dark brows. “I didn’t notice the paint, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.”

  Her eyes were cool, very cool when they flicked back to Rory. “So, that’s the scene you were insisting on going to when I walked in. Don’t let me keep you.”

  An ache punched into his stomach and up toward his heart. He couldn’t leave her like this, not without explaining. Dammit, he needed to explain. He looked at Lummus. “Give us a minute. I want to talk to Peggy alone.”

  The cop shifted his gaze across the kitchen. “Is that okay with you, Peggy?”

  “Mr. Sinclair and I don’t have anything to talk about.”

  Rory took a step toward her. “You need to understand something. I’m not leaving until you and I talk. Alone.”

  “Wrong,” Lummus countered evenly. “You’ll leave when Peggy says. Otherwise, I’ll advise her to sign a trespassing complaint against you.”

  Rory flashed him a feral smile. “Good try, pal, but that won’t work. I’m a paying guest. Legally, I’ve done nothing that gives my landlady the right to force me to leave.”

  “You might be right.” Lummus rested a hand on the butt of his holstered automatic. “But if Peggy does sign a complaint, you and I will have to go to the courthouse and let a judge settle things.”

  Without comment, Rory walked to the counter, lifted the top of the shoe box. Inside were numerous vials containing a clear liquid. Each vial bore a dated label marked “Hopechest” and the initials “CO.”

  Rory turned, met Lummus’s gaze. The Prosperino cop wasn’t the only one who could play hardball. “Mrs. Honeywell has discovered evidence significant to an FBI investigation.” That was a stretch, Rory conceded. After all, he had come to Prosperino on personal time, as a favor to Blake. “My investigation is classified. That means information is on a need-to-know basis. If I think you need to know what this witness has to say, Sergeant Lummus, I’ll let you know after I take her statement. I intend to do that right now. I doubt I have to tell you what problems my agency can cause for yours if you knowingly impede a federal investigation.”

  A muscle worked in Lummus’s jaw as he turned to Peggy. “If you have a problem being alone with this guy, I’ll stay here until he goes.”

  She closed her eyes, opened them. “I’m sorry to involve you in this, Kade. To cause you problems.” She flicked Rory an icy look. “To have you threatened in my home. You don’t need to stay, Kade. I can handle this.”

  “If you decide you need some help, I’ll be right outside.” Lummus walked to the door, pulled it open, then turned. “I’ll wait in my car, Sinclair. You can follow me to the scene. I wouldn’t want you to get the idea I’m impeding your investigation.”

  “Fine.” Rory knew he had some fences to mend with the cop.

  Peggy walked to the center island, laid the sprig on a cutting board, then looked at him. Despite the fists her hands were clenched in, they were shaking.

  Knowing it was probably unwise to try to get closer, he moved to the opposite side of the island. “I’m sorry—”

  “I’m sure you are, Agent Sinclair,” she interrupted, very cool, very calm. “It’s obvious you never intended for me to find out that you’re a cop.”

  “I was planning on telling you this morning.”

  “What was wrong with telling me last night?”

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’ve made a mistake. I should have told you. I just wanted… I just didn’t.”

  Her eyes sparked, shot green fire. “You had no right not to tell me. No right!”

  “I know that. I know.”

  Cursing himself for a fool, he turned, looked out the window at the gray drizzle. “Blake called me at the lab in D.C.,” he said quietly. “He told me about the water contamination, and said he was fed up with O’Connell’s lack of results. And suspicious of him, too. Blake had spotted O’Connell having a clandestine meeting at a hay shed on Hopechest, so Blake figured the guy was up to no good. He asked me to come to Prosperino, represent myself as a private chemist so I could test the water and watch O’Connell. Blake figured the best place I could do that was to check in where O’Connell was staying.”

  “I don’t care how you wound up here.” Her voice didn’t waver, but her hands were now clenched so hard on the edge of the island that her knuckles showed white. “All I care about is that you leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until we settle this.”

  “It’s settled.”

  “Like hell.” He walked around the island toward her. He couldn’t not go to her. “Nothing’s settled until you let me explain—”

  “You knew. You knew how I felt about cops, but that didn’t matter.”

  “It did matter. I was crazy to get my hands on you. The minute you told me how your husband died, about how you’d sworn off cops, I backed away. Dammit, I spent three days avoiding you while going slowly out of my mind.”

  “I trusted you.”

  “I told you everything I could,” he shot back, his hands fisting against his thighs. “I even considered telling you I was a cop, b
ut I couldn’t take that chance.” Digging deep, he found his control again, softened his voice. Every word he spoke hurt his throat. “I had to assume that if I told you, your behavior toward me would change. I didn’t know—don’t know—what O’Connell was up to. If you suddenly started acting different toward me for no apparent reason, it might have made him suspicious. He could have started thinking you knew something about me that he needed to know. He could have hurt you trying to find out.”

  “Oh, so, by lying you were protecting me.” With a sudden angry gesture she jerked off the band tying back her hair. Dark waves tumbled over her shoulders. “How noble of you.”

  “Dammit, I didn’t have a choice!” Her frigid anger helped justify his own. “Has it for once crossed your mind that O’Connell might be the man who attacked you in the greenhouse?”

  Surprise dulled the anger in her eyes. “Why? Why would he do that?”

  “Maybe he was already inside the greenhouse that day, hiding the shoe box of water samples when you came in. No way could he come up with a believable explanation for being there, so he hid under one of the potting benches. If that’s the case, he probably panicked when he heard my car pull in—he might have thought I would come to the greenhouse, too. The fog was as thick as soup that day. He would have known if he made it to the door he could get away without my seeing him, even if I was in the parking lot. His one chance to do that was to put you out of commission for a few minutes so he could get out of there.”

  “Maybe it was him.” The quiet resignation in her voice reached Rory. “That’s not the issue here. You didn’t respect me enough to tell me the truth about yourself.”

  “Respect has nothing to do with it. I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t risk O’Connell coming after you. If it was him who attacked you in the greenhouse, that gives you an idea of what he was capable of. And that’s not all,” Rory continued, jerking his head in the direction of the shoe box. “You think O’Connell hid those water samples because he didn’t know what was in them? It’s my guess he knew early on what contaminated Hopechest’s water, but he had a reason to keep that to himself. If that’s the case, he could have clued in Jason Colton, given the doc facts about what those pregnant teens from Hopechest consumed. Instead, those girls are still terrified over what might happen to their babies. If I’m right, O’Connell purposely let everyone in this town suffer because he had some sort of personal agenda. You think he’d have had any qualms where you’re concerned?”