Beguiled Page 14

  He heard the smile in her voice. “It’s broad daylight. And besides, I’m not alone. Say hi to Sahsha.” On cue, a dog barked in his ear.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  When he got off the phone, Wash wasted no time. “What’s tonight?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Really? Sounded like a date to me.”

  “I’m just bringing her car back.” Logan checked his side mirror, then switched lanes.

  “That’s another thing that needs explaining. How come you’re the one getting her window fixed? Is that a service you’re offering on all your stories now?” Wash settled back against the passenger door. “So, are you taking her out tonight or not?”

  He sighed. “I am. So what?”

  Wash let out a low whistle. “Let me congratulate you, my man, on your fine taste. She’s one hot-looking woman—that’s for sure.”

  Logan kept his eyes on the road.

  Wash laid an arm along the closed window and drummed his fingers. “I thought you weren’t interested in any female entanglements.” “That’s not what this is.”

  Wash laughed. “Really? Well, we’re having that crab boil tonight at the beach, if you feel like bringing her by.”

  “We’ve got plans.”

  They pulled into the Post & Courier parking lot, flashed their ids at the door, then parted ways in the newsroom. Logan found his old file on Reid and read through it as a refresher, stalling on one of the pages. When Grant Sebastian had first taken George’s case, Sebastian, Lynch & Orton had been Sebastian, Lynch &Monroe.

  Logan fell back against his chair. It couldn’t be.

  He woke up his computer and went to work. Jonathan Monroe had been a prominent defense attorney for the firm until December of 1989 when he suddenly disappeared. Two days later, his wife, Stella, died of an overdose of sleeping pills. Accident or suicide was undetermined.

  They were survived by a daughter, Rylee Rachelle Monroe, and Jonathan’s mother, Flora Mae Monroe.

  Logan stared at the screen. If she’d graduated from jihs in ’02, she’d have been five in ’89 when her dad took off and her mother died.

  He dragged a hand down his face, recalling the photo of her parents he’d seen at her apartment. “They’re gone now. My dad left when I was a girl. My mom . . . well, she was very down after that and . . . died shortly after.”

  He thought about all his uncles and aunts. His grandparents and cousins. Though he was an only child, his dad had six brothers and a sister. Logan was hardly lacking in the family department.

  But no one was mentioned in the Monroe obituary other than Rylee and her grandmother. The grandmother who lived in a retirement home. The grandmother she was taking him to see tonight.

  Did Rylee know her dad had been a partner in the Sebastian firm? He shook his head. She had to. But she’d never mentioned it. And why would she?

  It certainly explained her defense of Karl, though, when Logan had warned her away from him. She’d probably known the guy forever.

  Taking a deep breath, he returned to George’s file. Not long after the disappearance of Jonathan Monroe and Stella’s subsequent death, George Reid refused to testify during his court proceedings, ending up in jail.

  Truth was, Nate was right. Rylee probably did have a motive. But he knew she wasn’t Robin Hood. Nobody could fake her lack of pretense. Her innocence. Her naïveté. Nate may think she was harboring suppressed anger, but Logan knew better. Still, he had a lot of questions.

  He started typing up his notes, planning to shape them into a follow-up piece about the arrest of George. Ordinarily, he’d lose himself in the words. This time, though, he found his fingers falling still on the keyboard. His mind trying to wrap itself around the tragedy that engulfed a young Rylee, and all the little ways her life intertwined with the case.

  He finally forced some focus, finished his piece, and gave his copy a final read-through before sending it up the editorial ladder. Just as he sat back, the phone rang.

  “You called me?”

  It was Marcel Gibbon.

  Logan tossed down his pencil and braced his arms on his desk. “Yeah. Did you break into Rylee’s car last night?”

  “Don’t insult me. All I did was introduce myself.”

  “So I heard.” He wanted to put Gibbon on notice, too, just as he had Nate. The dogwalker was off limits, so leave her out of it. But he needed information. “Listen, I need a face-to-face.”

  “This is getting a little tedious, Woods.”

  “I’m happy to discuss it over the phone.”

  Gibbon sighed. “As it turns out, my evening is open.”

  “I can’t tonight.” Logan picked up his pencil and drummed it against a stack of folders. “I have plans.”

  “Change them.”

  “I can’t. It’s a . . . date.”

  “A date? Let me guess. With the luscious Miss Monroe?”

  Logan didn’t answer.

  “By all means, bring her along. If I made a bad impression, this will give me a chance to make it up to the girl.”

  Logan raked a hand through his hair. “I promised I’d go meet her grandma.”

  A pregnant pause. “My, Logan. What big eyes you have.” His cackle turned into a wheeze, then a lungful of coughing. “I’m a night owl, son. Granny will be tucked in long before our rendezvous.

  And it’s either tonight, or not at all. I have better things to do than cater to your every whim.”

  Logan rubbed his eyes. “I’ll call you.”

  As first dates went, this one was already teetering on the brink of catastrophe. He was either going to have to end it prematurely or invite her to an evening chat with the man who’d harassed her on the street. Not exactly a recipe for romance.

  He checked his watch. Under his desk, his gym bag beckoned, ready for the quick change after work. He dialed the repair shop, then called Wash for a ride over.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rylee exited through the sliding doors of the Piggly Wiggly, grocery bags in hand. As soon as she filled up the BMW, she could go home, make herself a salad, and enjoy her day off.

  Logan was picking her up at seven thirty, so Liz had insisted on spending the afternoon giving Rylee a facial, doing her nails, and helping her pick out what to wear. She’d given Rylee plenty of warning that she must, without exception, wear perfume.

  “It can be light, soft, just a whisper of a scent. I’ve got tons to choose from. But if I have to hold you down and apply it myself, you will wear it.”

  Rylee crawled into the car, lowering the windows to let out the trapped heat. The soft leather seats enfolded her. The seatbelt hugged her close.

  Running her errands in Logan’s car gave her a curious, proprietary feeling. As if she was his and he was hers. The thought made her panic a little. What had she been thinking to agree to a genuine walk-you-to-the-door-for-a-good-night-kiss date?

  She hadn’t. She hadn’t been thinking at all.

  To settle her nerves, she reminded herself they were starting off the evening by going to see Nonie. Nothing risky about that. She hoped, prayed, Nonie would be her normal self, though.

  Please, Lord. Let her be lucid.

  Even Nonie’s lucidity could be murky, so she wasn’t asking for much. Still, it would make all the difference. In one of her good moments, Logan would get to know her. He’d see the woman she’d been before, the one who’d raised Rylee up to be the woman she was today. That was important.

  If it was one of the bad times—and they were mostly bad these days, getting worse—he would miss what Rylee wanted to share with him. He’d miss meeting the one person she loved more than anyone.

  She pulled into the Exxon station and hopped out of the car.

  “Rylee?”

  She whirled around. “Karl! What are you doing over here on the island?”

  Slotting a gas pump
into his silver convertible, he leaned against its side, ankles crossed, sunglasses resting against his neck. He somehow managed to make his rugby shirt and jeans look like something from a high-fashion runway.

  “I had an appointment with a client.” He lifted his brows. “Did you get a new car?”

  She fit a nozzle into the car’s tank. “No. I’m borrowing this one. Mine was broken into.”

  “Broken into! When? Where?”

  She told him about Daisy’s window and the missing cds, where the car was parked at the time, but not about the gym bag.

  “That’s awful. I can’t believe it.” Finishing his transaction, he slipped between the pumps and nudged her hand away from the nozzle, taking over for her. “So whose car is this?”

  She felt a blush rushing up her neck. “Um, it’s Logan’s. Logan Woods.”

  He said nothing at first, the censure in his stare speaking for him. Finally he looked out at the street bordering the gas station. “I thought you were going to stay away from him.”

  She clasped her hands together.

  “How did he even know about your car?”

  “I called him.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “Why didn’t you call me? I live right there. I could’ve gotten to you in minutes.”

  She looked down. “I’ve asked myself the same thing. There are any number of clients I could have called.”

  “He’s a reporter, Rylee. And I want you to stay away from him.”

  “I know you do.”

  “But?”

  She shrugged, opting not to answer. Not sure she even could.

  Sighing, he slipped the gas nozzle back into its housing. “So how ’bout some lunch?”

  She blinked. “Lunch?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Tilting her head, she smiled to take the sting out of the rejection. “You know why, Karl. I don’t date clients.”

  “But it wouldn’t be a date.” He screwed the gas cap on. “We didn’t arrange it in advance. I haven’t come to pick you up. We can each pay for our own meal. And I won’t be expecting a kiss at the end.” Leaning close, he gave her a wicked grin. “But I’m certainly willing, if you want to bend the rules a little.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I don’t know. . . . I really—”

  “Come on. You have to eat.” He looked around. “How about there? The Souper Sandwich Shop. We’ll be in and out in no time.”

  She bit her lip. She couldn’t afford to eat out. But he’d done her a huge favor by offering to help George. He was an old family friend. And maybe she could find out for herself why George didn’t accept the offer. Logan might think Karl incompetent, but she knew better. “Okay. But I pay for my own.”

  Smiling, he opened her door. “See you in a minute.”

  It wasn’t there anymore. The Sebastian charm. Rylee realized it halfway through the story Karl was telling about the travails of a client trying to recover on a bad investment. It was meant to be funny, and it probably was. He looked good telling it, too. The sparkling eyes, the inviting smile, the tone just this side of familiar, like he was letting her in on a little secret.

  Not long ago she would have melted. She wouldn’t have trusted herself alone with Karl, would have been afraid of breaking her no-clients dating rule. Not anymore, though.

  “You shouldn’t be telling me any of this,” she said. “What about attorney-client privilege?”

  He stopped in midsentence. “Well. It’s kind of hilarious, though.”

  She decided to change the subject. “So have you heard from your dad at all?”

  He hadn’t, but the longer they talked about his father, the more critical Karl sounded. She hadn’t realized their relationship was strained, but clearly things were not good between them.

  Grant Sebastian, however, was the closest thing to a father she had. He’d set her up in the house on Folly Beach. He’d attended her high school graduation. Brokered the sale of her house three years ago and went with her the day she admitted Nonie to Bishop Gadsden. She wasn’t about to sit here and listen to Karl badmouth him.

  “So what’s up with George?” she asked, changing the subject yet again. “He turned down your offer of representation? Why would he do something so crazy?”

  “What offer? I never made one.”

  “But I thought—”

  “I know I told you I would, but here’s the thing. Five minutes talking to him, and I already knew. The man is guilty.”

  Her heart stopped.

  “He’s the one you walked in on, Rylee. Breaking into my house. So there was the conflict of interest, for one thing. But that’s not why I wouldn’t represent him. When I thought about what he could have done to you, if you’d walked in a moment sooner—”

  “He would never hurt me,” she said, softly.

  “Don’t be naïve, Rylee. The guy’s a low-life. He confessed to everything, and I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

  “Confessed?” She reared back in her chair. “Isn’t that a breach of confidentiality, telling me that?”

  “Don’t stick up for George Reid,” he said. “He’s a foot soldier for one of the dirtiest crooks in town.”

  “You mean Marcel Gibbon?”

  He gave her a piercing stare, like he was surprised she knew the name. “That’s right. The same guy Logan Woods is so chummy with. And because Woods is a foot soldier, too, he’s shilling for George in the paper, but it’s Gibbon who pulls the strings.”

  “You’re wrong about—”

  “Which is why you need to steer clear of Woods. He’ll bring you down—don’t you see that? He’s using you for a story, Rylee. And you’re just letting him.”

  He snatched the bill off her tray, eluding her unsuccessful grab.

  “I said I wanted to pay for mine.”

  He stood. “Listen to me. Whatever he’s told you, it’s a lie. So, stay away from him.”

  He strode to the cashier stand, leaving her to clean up his mess.

  Hair and makeup finished, Rylee padded into the bedroom to confront a dilemma. Liz wanted her to wear the red dress, but Rylee wasn’t so sure. The red nipped in at the waist, with cute little button tabs, but wearing it would make it a capital-d date, while her blue jersey not-too-mini dress would keep things a lot more casual.

  She held each one up in front of the mirror. She never had much of an occasion to wear the red. And Liz thought that was the one she should go with. She hung the blue back up.

  Logan knocked just as she slipped on her high-heeled sandals.

  She paused, hand on the knob, then pulled the door open.

  “Well, hello,” he said. “I mean, really.”

  She widened the opening. “Come in.”

  Liz’s instincts had been dead on. He wore a pair of dark jeans and a white button-up shirt. More importantly, he wore a cotton jacket, midnight blue, that fit him just right across the shoulders.

  The buttonholes were outlined in crimson thread, which was so cute it just about drove her crazy.

  They stood by the half-open door. He leaned close. “You smell nice.”

  “You, too.” She could feel his breath on her skin.

  Closer now, his mouth brushed her neck. She stood stock-still.

  When he pulled back, he gazed at her lips until a tremor ran through them.

  He was close enough to touch her with his voice. “We could always . . . stay here.”

  Well, hello.

  She stepped back. “I didn’t get all dressed up to stay here. And Nonie’s really looking forward to meeting you. She said she had some ground rules to go over.”

  “Ground rules, huh? I guess we’d better get going, then.”

  She grabbed a pair of flats off the bar.

  “What’re those for?” he asked.

  “I found out at the last minute that the Davidsons were leaving town. So I have to walk Toro at some point tonight. I can do it after you bring me home, but I thought I’d grab these just in case we end up on tha
t side of town.”

  He groaned. “Toro?”

  “ ’Fraid so.”

  A teasing light entered his eyes. “I was sort of joking, you know, when I said you could sic the dogs on me and all.”

  Laughing, she held up the flats. “Don’t worry. No rollerblades tonight. You’ll be safe.”

  In the parking lot, he rested his hand at the small of her back. Daisy sat next to his car, passenger window intact.

  She returned his keys. “Thanks for taking care of Daisy’s window and for letting me use your car. I really appreciate it.”

  Hitting the automatic unlock, he slid his hand to her waist and gave it a squeeze, then opened her door. “Anytime.”

  She sank into the passenger seat. As he circled around, she said a little prayer. Nothing fancy, just the same mantra she’d been repeating all afternoon, the same heartfelt plea.

  Let her be lucid, Lord. Let her be lucid.

  When they passed through the Commons, Logan seemed a little shell-shocked. “I’d heard Bishop Gadsden was upscale, but I had no idea. I was expecting, maybe, a hospital with carpet and nice wallpaper. But this is like a resort. I can’t wait to get old.”

  She shushed him with a smile. “It’s more like what you’re thinking here in The Cloister. Nonie needs twenty-four-hour care now. She has for a long time, but I’ve been fighting it.”

  They pushed through a set of thick double doors and approached the nurse’s station. Nurse Melanie was on duty. She looked up from a paperback romance, recognition lighting up her face.

  “Everything quiet tonight?” Rylee whispered.

  Melanie nodded. “Who’s your young man?”

  Rylee made the introductions. She was showing him off, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he turned on the charm, practicing for the main event.

  “I brought him to meet Nonie. How’s she doing?”

  The nurse leaned forward confidentially. “Well, honey, I tell you what. She’s just been so sweet today. I was talking to her earlier, and she was like a little girl.” Noting Rylee’s frown, Melanie patted her arm. “No, baby, in a good way. You go on in and see her. She’s been waiting.”

  They paused outside the door to Room c5.

  She took a deep breath. “Ready?”