Dangerous Web

  Dangerous Web

  Reggi Allder

  Copyright 2019 Reggi Allder

  All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, this book may not be reproduced or utilized in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, known today or invented hereafter, xerography, photocopying or any information storage or retrieval system and is forbidden without the written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events is entirely coincidental. Published by Cressmead Publishing.

  ISBN 978-1-7751287-31

  As always, dedicated to Lee Lee.

  Thank you to my critique partners.

  Books by Reggi Allder

  Dangerous Web

  Shattered Rules

  Her Country Heart Christmas Edition

  With Glowing Hearts

  Her Country Heart

  Coming soon:

  Dangerous Money

  Dangerous Denial

  His Country Heart

  Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive- Sir Walter Scott

  Chapter 1

  “Do you know what day it is?”

  Emma Craig looked up from her desk at the Palmer Real Estate office in San Francisco and stared at her friend and business owner Karen Palmer. The middle aged and fashionably dressed woman deposited her designer bag and paper coffee cup on the desk next to Emma’s.

  “Well, do you?” Karen asked, presumably waiting for an answer to a question Emma considered rhetorical.

  She’d never forget the second anniversary of the day her husband went to the store for a quart of milk and never returned. She recalled every minute, every hour, and struggled with the memory. She relived the terror of thinking any second the phone might ring with the news he’d been killed in a horrific accident on Highway 101.

  Webb’s voice, like a warm breeze, use to heat her on cold nights. His gentle touch had sent desire flowing within her, his smile promising forever. Of course, she damn well remembered what day it was.

  “Emma, what are you going to do about it?”

  “He’s gone. No trace. The police couldn’t find anything, not even his body. The officers think he abandoned his wife—me. It’s becoming clear they’re right and I can’t go through anymore torment.”

  “So why are you still wearing your wedding ring? For pity’s sake, take it off. Face the fact he disappeared without so much as a goodbye and forget the jerk.”

  Easy for Karen to give advice. She hadn’t loved the man, promised her life to him. She groaned. They’d vowed to be together for eternity. She might learn to hate him, but never forget him.

  “Karen, I don’t want to think about it. It’s a Friday like any other, not an anniversary.” She slammed the desk drawer closed harder than she’d meant to, slumped deeper into her desk chair, and held up her hand. “Please, Karen, stop. Don’t say anymore. Okay?”

  “One more thing and I won’t mention it again.” Karen dug into her purse and yanked out a smart phone. “Someone’s interested in your Sierra Nevada cabin. Here’s his Facebook profile.”

  Emma pushed the phone away.

  “You spent your honeymoon in the place. Em, I understand, but it’s time to let go and move on. A chance like this might not come along for years. The cabin’s rural, exactly what the guy wants. Do you know how often someone has asked for a place in the Sierra’s away from the lake, casinos, and grocery stores?” She paused. “Never. I quoted a high price and he didn’t blink. Guess he’s used to Bay Area real estate. He’s some Silicon Valley dude looking to get away from the hustle and bustle.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Hey, it’s been tough and I don’t mean to be a bitch, but face it, you need the money. Emma, they aren’t supposed to, but bill collectors have been calling here at work. I know your husband left you in debt. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he disappeared like a coward.”

  “What can I say?” Emma shrugged.

  “Say you didn’t do anything wrong. He’s a bum.”

  “He didn’t know I was in a car accident after he left. How could he?”

  “Maybe so, but you told me how high your medical bills are. Even with insurance, there are co-pays. You don’t make enough to take care of those, do you?”

  She shrugged again.

  Karen held her hand to her ear. “Listen. The phones aren’t ringing. The doors are open, but no one’s here asking to see homes. We’re a new company, just getting our ads going and starting to network. It takes time to build a business.” She took a sip of coffee. “The cabin’s in your name. You might as well get the benefit. Close out your debt.”

  “I…”

  “If it sells under the Palmer Realty banner, it would be good for my company. The guy’s Silicon Valley friends might use this office when they are ready to buy something. It could be the start we both need.”

  Emma sighed. As usual, Karen might be right. The cabin belonged to her, a present from Webb. Her husband had insisted the deed be put in her maiden name. At the time, she’d protested. Now, she almost thought he understood he was going to disappear and wanted to give her a consolation prize. Emma shook her head. What a crazy idea. “I’m not going to deal with any of this today.”

  Karen sat down at her desk and took another sip of coffee.

  Emma waited. She’d known her friend too long to think the woman had finished pushing the idea of listing the cabin. A good business woman, relentless, striving, but sometimes it was hard to be her friend.

  “Emmy, don’t be mad. I told the tech guy he could look at your cabin next weekend. You have a week to get up there and give it a quick once over before he comes to check it out. Sweep the cobwebs, vacuum, and whatever. You know the drill. I mean it’s dead here. You might as well. It’s been two years. You know what they say, time waits for no man or woman, and money talks, you know what walks.” Karen smiled.

  “I guess.”

  The office phone sounded. Karen grabbed it on the first ring. “Palmer Realty, how may I help you?”

  “Emma, it’s for you. I think it’s a bill collector.”

  ***

  Scent from the sugar pine filled the Sierra Nevada mountain air. Emma took a deep breath and wiped her forehead. Hot and tired, she squeezed the wheel of her old sedan to keep it out of the ruts in the single lane, dirt road. How much further? It seemed forever since she’d left the main highway. As the car hit the bumps in the road, she could hear the bottles of cleaning solution rolling around in the trunk and hoped they didn’t pop open.

  When her husband had searched out the remote place to buy, he’d told her he was looking for a love nest. Of course, she’d been wildly in love and had believed him. Today, she laughed bitterly at how naïve she’d been and tried to ignore the heartache dredged up by the memory of their honeymoon night spent in the cabin. Her body heated. Damn. She still wanted him. How could she detest Webb and desire him at the same time?

  The car’s front tire hit a pothole causing her to focus on the road. She brought the compact under control and slowed down.

  The sky flamed orange as the sun lowered on the horizon. A cold wind came through the open driver’s side window and she shivered.

  As the country road made a sharp left turn, the cabin came into view in a grove of ponderosa pines. The house stood strong, but weathered and unwelcoming. The perennials she’d planted in the front yard lay lifeless, as dead as her relationship with her husband. Seeing them sent a shard of pain through her. Don’t think about what might have been.

  Why had it taken so long to understand Webb wasn’t coming
back? Until now, she’d held out hope. In the waning daylight, she stared at their vacation home and finally accepted the truth. The marriage was over.

  She parked, turned off the engine, and let out a single sob. Stop. No crying. You’ve done more than enough in the last two years.

  The wooden stairs squeaked as she climbed to the large front deck. With shaking fingers, she held the cold metal door key in her hand.

  “Miss.”

  She jumped at the sound of the male voice and glanced at a forty something man dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt. He wiped his brow before putting a black and orange baseball cap on his brown shaggy hair.

  “Yes.”

  “I can finish weeding the backyard garden, but I’ll have to come again later and get the fallen tree behind the house. Got to get a bigger truck if you want the whole tree cut up and taken away.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Or I can leave the wood for your fireplace.”

  A chill ran down her back. It wasn’t as if he said anything menacing, but she hadn’t sent for a gardener. “There must be a mistake. I never called for a gardener.”

  “I’ve been coming here for two years.”

  “Impossible. I—two years?”

  He sniffed and rubbed his nose.

  “Look mister, I own this place. I never ordered or paid for anyone to do work in the garden.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I only do what I’m told.” He pulled a kerchief from his back pocket and rubbed his neck. “You got a branch in the backyard, almost broke a window. If it’s not cut and pulled away from there today, you could end up with trouble. A storm is coming.” He sniffed again.

  “But I...”

  “Lady, I was sent to do a job. You got a problem, call my boss. I’ll move the branch from the window before the glass gets broke. You can take up the bill with the company. You’ll be glad I was here, when the rain comes tonight.”

  “Okay—if it’ll prevent the window from shattering, but…”

  He walked toward to a nearby truck, apparently finished with the conversation.

  Stunned, she stood on the deck trying to make some sense of who would pay for the yardwork.

  She glanced at the pickup’s door. “Sierra Gardeners.” Later, she’d call and find out who was shelling out money for the job.

  Carrying a dust pan and broom in one hand, her keys and purse in the other hand, she put everything down and pulled her phone from her jacket pocket.

  No signal, she should have understood being so rural there wouldn’t be a cell tower nearby.

  As she headed for the front door, the sound of a chain saw broke through the quiet.

  When she turned the key in the cabin’s lock, the door squeaked open. The knotty pine walls had darkened, but the handmade sofa and chairs were still where she’d placed them. The turquoise and sage green upholstery, chosen so carefully, now appeared to mock her. “Our love nest,” She whispered to no one.

  The smell of smoke wafted toward her. She’d expected mildew or dust, but a burning oak log in the brick fire place—never. Had the gardener started a fire? Would he have the nerve to come into the house? She set her purse and keys on the entry table. Coffee? She took another whiff of the indoor air and smelled freshly brewed coffee.

  A chill jogged down her back. “Hello. Is anyone here?”

  Silence.

  In the kitchen, a French Press coffeemaker sat alone on the Formica table. She touched it. Hot. It had to be the gardener. After all, he hadn’t expected her. Being far from anyone, it might be his routine to make himself at home. She shook away her fear.

  Nevertheless, to be sure she was alone, she’d check the rooms. First the extra bedroom, empty. She froze at the door of the master bedroom. Her wedding night played in her mind. Honey, don’t be shy. Webb had coxed her. You’re beautiful. I love you, Emmy. Come to me.

  “No.” She wouldn’t relive the night, not now, not ever.

  The pine floorboards squeaked as she entered the bedroom and flicked on the overhead light to illuminate the dark wood walls. The pale green and blue landscape, she and Webb had found in an antique store, still hung-over whitewashed pine bed. She pushed back the closet curtain. Men’s shirts hung on the wooden rod in the cedar clad closet. A duffel bag sat on the floor.

  A squatter’s living here. Oh God. Wait, would a squatter hang up his shirts?

  She ran from the room to the backyard. Waving her hands to get the gardener’s attention, she yelled, “Are you living in the cabin?”

  “What?” He brought his hand to his ear as a hard of hearing person might.

  “Are you staying in the house?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I got my own place miles from here.”

  “Oh—I found—never mind. I’ll let you get back to work.”

  He started the saw immediately, leaving her to wonder what to do next.

  Her cheeks burned as she stumbled toward the cabin. Call the police. Can’t. No signal. Unsure if she should enter her home again, the minutes ticked by. Afraid, she paced at the front door to the cabin. Maybe she could ask the gardener to come into the house with her. Too late the truck was driving out of sight.

  Should she leave too? Shit. Her keys and purse were on the entry hall table. She had to go back inside. With a deep breath, she turned the door handle and, as quietly as possible, entered.

  The small log in the fireplace still burned, but someone had added a larger one and the lights in the room were on now.

  “I didn’t remember your eyes were so incredibly blue.”

  There it was the deep warm breeze of Webb’s voice. It can’t be.

  She struggled to catch her breath and stop shaking, tears would soon follow. She blinked, moved closer, searching his features. Her husband, not a mirage. “Dear, God. I thought you were dead.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Emma.”

  “How dare you?” Before she could think, her hand collided with his face, making a hollow sound in the quiet room and leaving a red mark on his cheek. His eyes narrowed and he swayed. Had she hit him that hard? Well, he deserved it.

  “You jerk. Hold dinner, Emmy. I’ll go get a quart of milk and be back in a minute. That’s the last thing you said to me when you left two years ago. Damn you! I thought you were in some horrible accident. Years of despair and all you talk about is the color of my eyes. Why don’t you say you’re sorry and ask for forgiveness?”

  His eyes widened and his skin had a gray pallor. He favored his right side and held his arm against his body. After a shallow breath, he said, “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

  “Well, I am. What do you have to say to me?”

  “No words will change what happened.” He coughed, and grimaced. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “I bet you didn’t.” Suddenly cold, she trembled.

  The log in the fireplace crackled and spewed the scent of oak into the room as the air heated.

  “They said you never come to the cabin. Hadn’t been here since I left.” He stood tall and frowned.

  “Who said I never come here?”

  “Doesn’t matter. They were wrong.”

  ***

  In a dingy motel room in the low rent district of town, Smith glared at the stocky man slumped in the stained beige sofa. “Leonard, how did Ethan Lancaster get away?” Smith paced in front of the man. “Couldn’t you get a decent room?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “It’s not for lack of money. I pay you well.” He brushed the perfectly pressed slacks of his impeccably tailored charcoal gabardine suit and stood his full height, then sniffed. “The damn place stinks.” He glanced at a club chair but decided not to risk sitting in it. Who knew what the hell lived in the upholstery?

  “How did Ethan slip out of your grasp?”

  Waiting for a reply, he stared past the pathetic man and caught his own image in the darkened motel window. The lines in his dry skin seemed deeper than they had this morning. He looked older than his fifty years. He grunted. Shit
, it’s been a long day. He’d planned an early dinner, a steak, baked potato, and a large glass of cabernet. For dessert, he’d expected to bed his young, amply breasted wife. Instead, he was forced to deal with this wretched man with the eyes of a trapped animal.

  “I told you the prisoner was hardly breathing and he was bleeding like a pig,” Leonard finally said in his defense. “He didn’t look like he could get to the bathroom let alone get out of the room.”

  Smith sniffed again and waited for the insufficient excuse the underling would soon deliver.

  “Look, Mr. Smith, I had to untie Ethan to roll him over and stop the bleeding. He wouldn’t be any good to you dead. Couldn’t tell you anything if he bled to death.” He ran his trembling hand through his thinning blond hair and sat a little straighter. “A stiff wouldn’t be any help to you, would it?” Leonard pleaded for agreement.

  “He sure as hades is not any good to me now,” Smith grunted.

  “Lancaster clocked me with the God damned water pitcher I’d set near the bed. I’m lucky I didn’t lose an eye.”

  For the first time, Smith spotted a small cut over the man’s left brow. If he couldn’t stop Ethan from getting away, Leonard shouldn’t have a cut. He should be deceased, but here he was sitting in a cheap motel making excuses.

  “Tell me what you learned while you had Lancaster?”

  “He was shot—unconscious most of the time. I beat the shit out of him, but he didn’t say nothing.” The man’s eyes widened as if he, for the first time, comprehended the trouble he faced. He fidgeted and seemed to search for something more to report. “His wound was festering and he came down with a fever. In his delirium, Lancaster said one name over and over.”

  “What name?”

  “Emma, Emma Craig.”

  “Who the hell is that?”

  The man shrugged. “Thought you might know.”

  “Another operative? His contact?” Smith had to find out. “Any idea where she is?”