Trouble in Tallahassee (Familiar Legacy Book 3) Read online

  Victor saw nothing in the situation to justify the grin.

  “Besides, I recognized your truck. Got your tag number memorized.” Lucas dropped the grin. “Believe it or not, I’m keeping an eye out on your lady friend too. Just driving by to be sure she got home safe after that ruckus at the Drapers’ house. Now, sir, would you just go home?”

  The front door opened, and Abby stepped onto the stoop. Trouble darted out, running toward Victor and rubbing his leg. Abby stood with both hands on her hips, glaring at him and Lucas. “What?”

  Lucas hurried toward the front door. “Ma’am, just like I told your fella here, I’m just checking on you. Mind if I come in, look under the beds and things?” His grin reappeared. “Maybe let Victor come in too?”

  Victor stepped up beside Lucas on the front porch, with Trouble beside him.

  Abby didn’t look happy, but she stepped aside and gestured for them to come in.

  “Y’all stay here, talk a minute, while I check things out.” Lucas hesitated, glancing from Victor to Abby. “Might be I should also tell you something. Rizzo’s a fine man, a good detective, but he’s frustrated because he can’t find Layla. And when he gets that way, he looks for some place to put blame.”

  Lucas nodded toward Victor. “This young fellow is where Rizzo’s putting all his frustration right now. But just because Rizzo says something, doesn’t make it true. You hear?”

  With that, Lucas stepped down the hallway, leaving Victor with Abby.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Trying to hide her confusion and anxiety, Abby went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She pulled out some tea bags and took two blue china cups out of the cabinet.

  “If you’d rather have coffee, or something stronger, I can fix that instead.” She turned to face Victor as she spoke.

  “Tea’s great.” He stood with his hands in his pants pockets, rolling slightly back on his heels.

  She felt him watching her as she made the tea, but didn’t know how to ease the awkwardness. Rizzo said Victor was a man who had posted nude photos of his wife on Facebook while they were in the middle of a nasty divorce. Was she really falling for a man who would do something like that?

  She couldn’t deny what she felt for this man. It wasn’t just that rush of physical attraction she’d felt when she first saw him. This was something deeper, something real. She wasn’t sure if she was in love with him, but she had a definite emotional attachment.

  Everything she’d seen about Victor showed her that he was not the type of man who would do what Rizzo accused him of doing. Yet Abby had represented decent people in divorces and seen them do indecent things.

  Still, hadn’t Lucas just said Rizzo was wrong? More importantly, shouldn’t she trust her own observations and own feelings? There was no meanness in Victor. That’s what her heart was telling her.

  Could she be wrong?

  Frowning as the thoughts tripped about in her head, Abby poured some milk in a saucer for Trouble before she poured the boiling water over their tea bags. “Shall we?” She pulled out a chair at her kitchen table and sat.

  Victor did likewise, his face etched with strain and fatigue. Abby couldn’t help but worry about him—after all, he’d been knocked out earlier that night and he hadn’t slept either.

  Quickly, Abby told him about going to confront Jennifer, going inside, smelling the gasoline, and all the rest of the horrid experience. He listened, nodding now and then, but saying nothing while she talked.

  Finally, Abby quieted. She sipped her tea. She watched as Victor sat upright in his kitchen chair, with his face a study of concentration.

  “We might not have a serial killer on the prowl, but we’ve sure got a serial arsonist on the loose.” He fingered his cup of tea, but didn’t drink. “And now we know it isn’t Phillip. What better alibi than being in jail?”

  “I told you it wasn’t him.” Abby tried to keep the sharpness out of her voice. But she kept thinking of all the time the police had wasted—first thinking Victor was the kidnapper, then arresting Phillip for the crime. Meanwhile Layla might be dying.

  Or already dead.

  Abby looked across the table, her eyes meeting Victor’s. She could see the compassion, worry, and caring in his expression as clear as if the words had been tattooed on his forehead.

  She was as bad as the police, wasting time on some spiteful accusation when they should be working together to save Layla.

  “Tell me your side of the story.” Abby hesitated, watching as Victor ducked his head. “Please.”

  “All right.” He raised his head and looked at Abby, a hangdog look on his handsome face.

  “I want to hear it.” Ashamed she hadn’t asked him for his version earlier, Abby sat still with her tea steaming in front of her. Trouble finished his milk and hopped into her lap.

  “My wife and I met in the Navy. She was a very pretty woman. And she was very proud of that, always showing off her body, wearing provocative clothes when she wasn’t in uniform. She was also…promiscuous. I didn’t know it at first, and when I found out how many …affairs…she’d had, I filed for divorce. This made her mad. Apparently I was supposed to overlook her sleeping around.”

  Abby took a slow sip of her tea. She studied Victor’s face and posture for any indications he was lying, but saw none.

  “She tried to talk me out of it. But when I asked her to leave our apartment and filed for divorce, she went ballistic and demanded alimony and half of my pension—which I wouldn’t even get for another five years—and she wanted the title to my SUV. I hired a lawyer to fight her.”

  Abby’s experiences as an attorney in divorces notwithstanding, she remained amazed at how love could turn to hate.

  “Given the circumstances, especially since my wife was a petty officer in the Navy and didn’t need alimony—or my pension—the lawyer was confident we’d win.”

  Trouble reached out a paw and tapped Victor on the leg, and meowed. Once again, Abby was impressed by Trouble’s obvious understanding of human words and emotions.

  “Well, she hit on an idea. There was a big scandal breaking with members of the military posting photos—nude ones—of women in the service. My wife had my password to my Facebook account and she posted some photos of herself. Tasteful, studio-quality, but naked. Very naked. I don’t even want to know who the photographer was—but it wasn’t me.”

  “And you got blamed for it?”

  “Yes. She claimed I’d taken the photos with her permission, but then posted them for revenge without her permission while we were breaking up. She vehemently denied giving me the okay to post them.”

  “Why didn’t you fight back? Surely there was some way to prove you hadn’t posted them?”

  “How? The photos were posted on my Facebook account from the hard drive of my computer. They were even taken with my camera. I was sloppy, or trusting, leaving all my passwords and my things around for her to get. But I didn’t think she’d try anything like that. Hell, I didn’t even change the locks on my doors after she moved out.”

  “But surely you could have explained all that.”

  “Maybe, but it’d be her word against mine, and I didn’t think I stood much of a chance. Or maybe I just didn’t have the heart to try. Especially since the offer on the table was to resign with an honorable discharge or be charged with conduct unbecoming an officer. Besides, I didn’t really want to call my wife a slut in front of a court martial.” Victor dropped his head. “I had loved her, after all.”

  Abby realized with a huge sense of relief that she believed him. Nothing in Victor’s tone or demeanor suggested he was lying. She hadn’t been wrong about him, or about how she felt about him. She stood up, and went to where he sat, and, standing behind him, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before.”

  Victor slid back his chair, stood up, and turning around, pulled Abby into his arms. For a long moment, he just held her. Then he tilted his head so he could re
ach her mouth with his.

  When Victor’s lips touched her, Abby felt a comforting, yet demanding warmth spread through her body. She arched her back so that her breasts pressed against his chest. Some part of her acknowledged this had been what she’d wanted from the first time she’d seen him. Her lips parted with a will of their own and her hands traveled down his body. Her heart raced.

  She had completely forgotten that Lucas was in the house until he cleared his throat. “Reckon the coast is clear. Looks like y’all don’t need me.”

  Abby broke from Victor long enough to say goodnight to the detective. Trouble escorted Lucas to the door, leaving her and Victor alone.

  Victor grinned at her. “Much as I want to carry you right into your bedroom and make love to you, what we both need is a quick nap, and to hit the trail again. Rizzo is still too invested in me or Phillip as the kidnapper. We’ve got to rethink everything. Talk it out. Look at what we know. But first, a catnap, okay?”

  Abby nodded, her body registering disappointment that there wasn’t going to be anymore kissing—or anything else—at the moment. But her mind knew Victor was right.

  Later.

  After they found Layla.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Victor yawned and stretched after his nap. He and Abby had collapsed together in her bed, fully dressed because it would have been too tempting otherwise, and miraculously, they’d slept until the alarm woke them. Abby had grabbed a quick shower and now she was dressed in a fuzzy robe with her damp hair twisted up with a clip on top of her head. He rose out of bed, sorely tempted to nibble her ear, kiss the back of her neck, and peel her slowly out that robe.

  Standing behind her, he ran a finger lightly up and under the front of the robe, and leaned forward for one slow-traveling kiss along the damp, warm skin of her bared neck. As his lips moved down her neck to below the fuzzy collar of the robe, she dropped a handful of things she’d been holding onto the dresser, and moaned. His fingers began to untie the belt of the robe.

  Trouble pounced on top of the dressing table and started pawing and meowing insistently at something.

  “Not now, Trouble,” Victor said, frustrated by the intrusion.

  But Trouble started batting around the pieces of whatever it was Abby had dropped, and his plaintive meows couldn’t be ignored.

  Reluctantly Victor pulled away from Abby and glanced at what Trouble was so focused upon. Jewelry, several pieces of it, were scattered where Abby had dropped them.

  Abby was staring at Trouble now too, the mood broken by the cat’s insistent caterwauling.

  “It’s nothing but Jennifer’s jewelry,” Abby said, her voice puzzled. “The EMT asked me to take it so it wouldn’t get lost at the hospital. I guess I’ll put it all in the safe at the law firm.”

  Victor barely nodded. Two items had caught his eye—just like they had captured Trouble’s attention.

  “These earrings look like the one that Trouble practically knocked into my hand when I was going through Layla’s things in your guest room. Layla had just the one earring, hidden in her padded bra.” He looked at Trouble, who sat gloating by the earrings.

  Abby leaned closer to study the set of earrings on the dressing table, as Victor stuck his fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out a single earring. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I went to Jennifer’s to ask if this was hers, and, if so, why Layla had it.”

  Victor put the one earring from his pocket next to the two that Abby had taken from Jennifer at the EMT’s request.

  They studied the three earrings on her dresser, while Trouble purred. Upon close examination, Victor saw that the set of earrings Jennifer had been wearing were not identical. One of them had a smaller pearl in it and its gold was duller with a slightly more yellow color.

  “They really don’t match, do they?” Abby pushed the two earrings closer together. “But on Jennifer’s ears, probably nobody would notice.”

  “But look at this.” Victor moved the one from his pocket next to the better one from Jennifer’s ears. “A perfect match.”

  Abby turned each one over in turn, studying the engraving of the word love. “These two, the engraving is very refined, artistically so.” She gestured at the mismatched one with the smaller pearl. “But on that one, the word’s rather crudely done.”

  As Abby spoke, Trouble meowed again and sat on his haunches looking supremely satisfied.

  “I’ve had this one since right after Layla was kidnapped.” Victor tapped the earring with his finger. “The police never had it because I took it out of Layla’s room before they searched it.”

  Abby frowned, fingering the earring Victor had taken from Layla’s room. “Is that what somebody is looking for? An earring? It can’t be that valuable. Could it?”

  “I think it’s more complicated than that.”

  “She—I mean Jennifer—must have lost this one.” Abby pointed to the one from Victor’s pocket. “And tried to get a replacement made.”

  “But why did Layla have it?”

  Abby looked up at Victor, her eyes deep amber ovals in her pale face. “Do you think she stole it?”

  “Layla’s not a thief.”

  “Then maybe she found it?”

  “Where would she have found it?” Victor wrinkled his forehead. “Unless she took it from the Drapers’ house while she was there alone with Phillip.”

  “You just said she wasn’t a thief.”

  Victor shook his head. “I’ve been wrong about plenty of things before.”

  At least these two are finally realizing they are seriously smitten. Beyond having a fancy for each other, they also seem to be learning to trust one another.

  Yet neither of them could put the earrings together until I shoved the evidence right in their faces. How will they ever find Layla at this rate?

  There is one more task facing me before I let Abby and Victor out the door of this house. That can of cat food in the refrigerator.

  No, I’m not talking about mealtime. Though I do recall a piece of left-over salmon in the fridge that I wouldn’t object to sampling.

  Rather, I am thinking about that can which had been opened and resealed with a plastic top—a can of cat food from which no one had given me any food. Captain’s Sea Fairy, to be precise. Why had someone opened it, if not to feed me?

  I have my suspicions. Layla is obviously a smart young woman with a flair for hiding things. I’m guessing there is something in that can of cat food that Victor and Abby need to see.

  I run into the kitchen while Abby gets dressed. But in the kitchen, I’m confronted once more with the problem of not being able to open the refrigerator door. Despite my attempts, my paws just cannot pull the door open.

  I need a biped. And quickly, before they leave.

  Zipping back to Abby’s bedroom, I find her door is opened just wide enough for me to slip in. Abby is dressing in a pair of slim-legged tan linen pants and a soft white blouse with a touch of lace down the front. I’m not the only one who can see a hint of a peach-colored bra from under her unbuttoned blouse as Victor is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching with a hungry look on his face.

  Having discovered long ago it is never too early to try to communicate with a biped, I start meowing. In the plainest terms I can imagine, I tell them both what I need. Someone to open the damn refrigerator.

  Abby shushes me, something I know she would not do if she were not hopping around on one foot as she slips her other foot into a chocolate-colored ballerina flat.

  “Need some help?” Victor asks her.

  “Feed Trouble for me, will you please?” Abby steadies herself and slides the second shoe on. I run through the crack in the bedroom door and dash to the kitchen.

  Victor hurries after me. I paw at the refrigerator door and he pulls it open for me, casting a curious glance at me. “Looking for chow or another earring?”

  He’s teasing me, but I don’t take time to rebut. Instead, I put my head to the task in fro
nt of me and jump into the refrigerator.

  “Hey, get down.” To his credit, he sounds more amused than angry.

  Ignoring him, I push the cat food can with my nose toward the edge of the refrigerator shelf. Victor starts fussing at me, the amusement gone from his tone, as I push the can off the edge and watch with satisfaction as it falls to the tile floor.

  Splat. The can hits with a resounding clatter, and I hop out of the refrigerator.

  Victor yells and I yell back. He’s going to have to learn better manners if he intends to marry Abby.

  “What is going on in here?” Abby stands in the entrance way to the kitchen. “I can hear you two in the bedroom.”

  While Victor starts to explain, I nose the can. The force of the fall knocked the plastic cover on the can loose. With my teeth and paws, I’m able to pull the lid all the way off.

  “Meow.” I yell as distinctly and loudly as I can—meaning: would you two shut up and look at this?

  They do.

  Inside the can of cat food, there is no food. Someone—doubtlessly Layla—has scooped out the food and filled the can with a crumpled paper towel.

  Victor swoops down and picks the paper towel up. Inside, there is a single gold wedding band.

  Sounding like a boastful Mum, Abby says, “I told you he was a better detective than either of us.”

  “I’m sorry I doubted him.” Victor straightens up from petting me and holds the ring toward Abby. “I’m guessing you didn’t hide this in the cat food.”

  Abby shakes her head no. “But this is so weird. I found a flash drive at the law firm, hidden in Layla’s diabetic bars in the kitchen. So Layla might hide things in food?”

  Victor fingers the ring in his hand. “Not just food. I found a flash drive taped to the toilet at the Drapers’ house.”

  Abby gives him a perplexed look, but doesn’t ask what he was doing examining the Drapers’ toilet. “All right, then, she’s leaving a trail of flash drives, like a trail of crumbs on the forest floor, along with a couple of pieces of jewelry. We just have to figure out what they mean.”