Trust Me (Last Stand #1)(60)
Author: Brenda Novak

The musical ring of her cell phone, a snippet from Sheryl Crow’s “Soak Up the Sun,” woke Skye at two o’clock in the afternoon. She was still groggy. She’d finally taken a sleeping pill, which hadn’t quite worn off. But she knew it was probably Sheridan or Jasmine calling, trying to wake her for the fund-raiser, so she made an effort to rouse herself. She needed to get there early to help out, make sure the event went off without a hitch.

Then she’d spend the evening trying to forget the nightmare of another intruder with one completely unsexy, unappealing Charlie Fox.

“Argh…” She shoved her head under the pillow on the couch where she’d dropped off to sleep. She didn’t want to face the day. Neither did she want to face what had happened last night. The memories were already pressing close—the panic, the chaos, the body lying in the hallway. Who was that guy? Who’d sent him? And where had he come from?

The questions were worse than the memories, bad as they were.

Skye was tempted to ignore the phone and slip back into the dark void that had brought her a short reprieve from conscious thought. But the fund-raiser was too important. Jasmine might not make it back from Ft. Bragg in time to attend. Skye couldn’t leave it all to Sheridan.

I want to soak up the sun…

Kicking off the blanket, she stumbled through the living room to the kitchen and found her cell phone on the counter.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Did I wake you?”

David. His voice was enough to fill her with yearning. She hated how deeply and effortlessly he affected her. “Yes.”

“I tried to wait until later, but…I’ve been worried. I had to be sure you were okay.”

“I’m still breathing.” And her intruder wasn’t. She supposed that was something. It could easily have been the other way around.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know yet. I…I need to get my bearings, figure out who that guy was and why he was after me.”

“His name was Lorenzo Bishop, originally from L.A.”

“AFIS came through?”

“Immediately. He’s got a rap sheet a mile long, been in and out of prison, mostly for petty crimes—assault and battery, possession, spousal abuse.”

“Was he ever in San Quentin?”

“No. He started in juvey, after which he did some time in county jail. Then he spent two years at Folsom.”

“So how did Burke know him?”

“I’m looking for the connection.”

“There has to be one, right? He was here to kill me.”

“I’m glad you had that gun. Without it…” He paused. “I don’t even want to think what would’ve happened without it.”

She smiled as she rested her forehead against the door lintel. She liked the warmth in his voice, the concern, but her head was still spinning. Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten up just yet. “How come you’re working? I thought you had Jeremy today.”

“I do. I’m piddling around from home, trying to track down some people named Zufelt. Their son crossed Oliver when the boys were in eighth grade and didn’t live another two years.”

“You think he’s a victim?”

“At this point it’s just a hunch.”

“What’s Jeremy doing while you piddle?”

“He’s organizing his room.”

“I don’t want this to take you away from your time with him.”

“It’s okay.”

But wasn’t that what David was afraid of—that if he let himself care about her she’d eventually compete with Jeremy for his love and attention? “Isn’t the sheriff handling what happened here last night?”

“Deputy Meeks is contacting some of the people who went to high school and college with Burke, asking if anyone recognizes the name Lorenzo Bishop. I’m going to call Jane, and Oliver’s parents, see what they have to say. We need to find out if he ever knew this guy. If not, he could be connected to some other case you’ve been working on at The Last Stand. Or maybe Noah Burke sent him.”

“Noah wouldn’t send someone to kill me,” she argued. “It’s a pretty big leap from adulterer to killer.”

“I’ve met other men who’ve made that leap, Skye, and women, too. Self-preservation is a pretty strong instinct.”

She understood that. It was for the sake of self-preservation that she was attempting to get over David and move on with her life.

“Are you still going to the fund-raiser tonight?” he asked.

“Of course.”

There was a brief silence. “With that guy—Charlie something?”

“Charlie Fox.”

“How well do you know him?”

Was that jealousy in his voice—or just caution? “Why do you ask?”

“Because he’s taking my spot. Call him up and cancel. Tell him you have a date.”

She couldn’t believe how badly she wanted to do exactly what he suggested. But that survival instinct warned her against it. “No. It’s your weekend with Jeremy. Stay home and enjoy him.”

“I have a sitter lined up, a friend’s teenage boy, a kid I trust and Jeremy likes. We’re all set.”

What did she say now? That she’d dump Charlie? No, David had had his chance. She was finished with wanting him and getting nothing. “It’s too hard, David. Especially now.”

There was another silence, this one longer than before. Finally, he said, “What’s changed?”

“I guess I just got tired of waiting.”

“So you’re over me already?”

“Yes,” she lied and hung up.

16

Skye had never seen Peter Vaughn, their most reliable volunteer, wearing anything other than a pair of holey jeans and a Black Sabbath T-shirt, but he looked great in a tux, despite the faux Mohawk.

Spotting her the moment he came through the door, he walked over to say hello.

“Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she teased as he approached.

The shy smile he gave her made her smile, too. “I can hang with the ‘in’ crowd,” he said proudly, and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate lapel. “I sold fifty tickets to this thing. I had to come see how it turned out.”

At eighteen, he was probably the youngest attendee in the room—and the only one with tattoos all the way up his neck—but Skye was glad he felt such a part of The Last Stand. “You did a great job.”