Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Read online

  Jake set the last box in the middle of the room and surveyed the big, nearly empty space. “Are you planning to sleep here tonight?”

  Laurel tucked her hair behind her ear then stretched to ease the tight muscles in her back. “Absolutely. We should have enough time to grab a bite to eat and rest our feet for a few minutes before the delivery truck arrives with the bed, coffee table, and three tall bookshelves.”

  “Good. Once we pick up the sofa, you’ll be all set.”

  She laughed. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easily. The sofa is the only piece that comes fully assembled. How good are you with incomprehensible instructions and a screwdriver?”

  Fortunately, she was able to decipher the instructions, and Jake turned out to be very good with a screwdriver. By five o’clock, the apartment looked much more like a home. The shabby-chic white bed that had been such a bargain online—complete with a puffy, watery blue comforter—was set up against the wall, so Laurel could see the ocean through the big, west-facing windows. Three tall white bookcases graced the opposite wall, leaving space for the sofa and table with chairs in the center of the room.

  Jake surveyed their handiwork with satisfaction. “It’s looking good. Are you ready to go?”

  She grabbed her jacket and purse from the kitchen table. “I’m ready if you are. Once we get the sofa up here, dinner at Earthly Delights in on me. Afterwards, if you can still keep your eyes open, you can help me unpack these boxes and look for that mysterious missing flash drive.”

  The skin around his mouth tightened for a second, then eased. “Hey, compared to hauling hay for thirty-six hungry cows, this was nothing. I’m fresh as a daisy, as my mom used to say.”

  With a chuckle, she shrugged into her coat and locked the door behind them. Between spending the whole day in Jake’s company and her excitement over her new place, most of the tension caused by Sergei’s surprise visit had dissipated. The brief incident at the front door took on a surreal quality in her mind, almost as if it had happened to someone else, and she was merely an observer.

  They were slowed by the northbound rush hour traffic on Highway 1 as they neared Monterey but arrived at the store a little before six. She and Jake loaded the blue, linen-look sofa into the bed of his truck, covered it with a sheet of heavy plastic, and secured everything with bungee cords before hitting the highway again. As promised, they made another stop to pick up a basic security system then headed south.

  Laurel leaned against the door in the darkened cab and regarded Jake’s profile against the lights of the oncoming cars and intermittent street lights. “I’ve been wondering, what made a boy who grew up working outside on a dairy farm decide to become an accountant.”

  He shrugged. “I was always good with numbers…and like I said before, milking a bunch of cows before the crack of dawn in below-zero weather isn’t as glamorous as you might think.”

  The image alone gave her a shiver and instant goose bumps. “I can understand that, but why the FBI? I expect you could make a lot more money working for one of those big accounting firms.”

  He glanced over for a second then turned his attention back to the dark highway. “I hate scammers and thieves. They steal more than just people’s money—they ruin lives.” A deep thread of anger wound through the words.

  “That sounds personal.”

  “It is.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Instead of answering, he stared silently ahead, so she settled back into her corner of the cab and concentrated on how to arrange the new bookcases.

  A few minutes later, without prelude, Jake said, “My father killed himself when I was a junior in high school. Hanged himself in the barn.”

  His words were matter-of-fact, but the raw edge of his voice sent Laurel’s heart into a spiral. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “How could you? It’s not something I broadcast to the world. In fact, you’re the only person in the state of California who knows.”

  But why me? Why now?

  He tipped his head as if he’d heard her unspoken questions. “You asked why I became an accountant for the FBI.”

  “Your decision was tied to your father’s death?”

  He nodded. “When I was about thirteen, the pastor of our church got his own radio show on the local station. It became something of an overnight sensation. Pretty soon he was being broadcast across the whole southern half of the state. At first, he stuck to his Sunday sermons, but as his audience grew, he started giving investment advice to the faithful, pushing a fund he said supported God’s work and guaranteed substantial returns.”

  “Is that even legal? It sounds like that guy in New York who ended up in prison.”

  “His fund was similar—a classic pyramid scheme. But times were tight, and my father had complete trust in the pastor. He took out a second mortgage and gave the man every spare penny we had. Soon after the scheme was exposed and the pastor sent to jail, the bank started foreclosure proceedings on the farm. My father was devastated. He couldn’t face what he’d done to the family.” Jake paused, flexing his hands on the steering wheel. “After his death, we moved into town, and my mom took a job as a waitress at a truck stop out by the highway.”

  “That’s horrible! I can understand why you want to keep that from happening to other families.”

  “A lot of people think financial crimes are victimless, but that’s far from the truth. The pastor who stole my family’s money was much more than a con-man. As far as I’m concerned, he might as well have slipped the noose over my father’s head himself.”

  His anger was palpable, and Laurel couldn’t blame him. She’d been furious after her father’s death, too, and it had been an accident. At least Jake had found a purpose and constructive focus for his anger.

  He released a breath, and it seemed to take some of his tension with it. “Besides, I enjoy my work. Forensic accountants are detectives, but we look for a specific kind of evidence. You know the old adage, follow the money? It’ll lead you to the bad guys every time.”

  His mention of bad guys drew her mind back to Richard and Sergei. Had they really been laundering money for the Russian mob through the gallery right under her nose? She’d worked there for a year without an inkling of anything underhanded going on. It was discouraging to think she’d been as naïve about the business as she’d been about her former fiancé’s true character.

  As they drove slowly up the gravel driveway, and the headlights illuminated the front of the garage and house, Laurel sighed in relief. The driveway was empty. Even though Jake was with her, she wasn’t in the mood to face Sergei again. Until he was either cleared of suspicion or in custody, she wouldn’t be able to leave the house without expecting to see him at every turn.

  The sofa was heavy and awkward, but working together, they managed to hump and bump it up the stairs and through the door without damaging the fabric. They settled it on the blue-and-white striped rug, facing the wall of windows.

  Once it was in place, Laurel collapsed on the soft cushions with an oof and blew her bangs away from her damp forehead. “Remind me again why I thought a sofa would be better than a couple of folding chairs.”

  Jake plopped down beside her and draped one arm across the back behind her head. “Because it’s much more comfortable for this.” With light, but steady, pressure on her shoulder, he turned her to face him. When their faces were close, he hesitated, a questioning look in his eyes.

  Laurel smiled and leaned forward, closing the distance. She was tired, but kissing him felt like the most natural thing in the world. He worked hard and without complaint. He eased her fears and made her laugh. He supported her when she faltered, yet encouraged her to push her boundaries. Most importantly, with him she never felt weak or lacking. And on top of all that, because he refused to wear long pants, she knew he had cute knees.

  When she eased back, Jake smiled. His fingers brushed the side of her cheek as he reached up to tuck a loose aubu
rn lock behind her ear. “Hungry?”

  Her stomach growled as if on cue.

  “Shall we get some dinner before we unpack the boxes?”

  She dragged her gaze away from his mouth. As much as she might enjoy a little pre-dinner appetizer, she was wary of diving into anything too fast. In less than a month, her whole life had turned upside down. She liked Jake Carlson—more than liked him if she was honest—but she was relieved he had the patience to give her time.

  She replied with a grateful smile. “That’s an excellent idea.”

  He flexed his knees and stood, holding out a hand to her. “Let’s go then.”

  She put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. When he released her to grab their jackets, she felt a fleeting pang of loss.

  An hour later and full of Rosemary’s mushroom pilaf, they returned to the apartment and set to work unpacking the boxes. Even though they took the time to inspect every item as it was removed, Laurel had brought so few belongings from Seattle, they finished quickly.

  Jake stood back and eyed the shelves, now half-filled with books and bits and pieces from her life before Richard. “They look good, not too crowded.”

  Laurel set one last item, a ceramic cat she’d made her freshman year, on a shelf next to a row of art books and joined him, wiping her hands on the front of her jeans. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll fill them in no time. Thanks again for your help.”

  “No problem.” He smiled, but his eyes remained troubled. “But I wish we’d found that thumb drive. I’d like to get Ivanov off your back.”

  “Me, too, but I’m more convinced than ever that Richard was mistaken about the drive. He was in such a state when he showed up here, he probably forgot what he did with it.”

  “All that remains is to convince Ivanov.”

  “He’ll just have to accept the truth.” She raised both hands in a shrug. “If it’s not here, it’s not here. I can’t make it suddenly appear.”

  “No.” He remained silent a moment then walked over to the bag from the electronics store that was sitting on the floor next to the door. “Now for last job of the night—the security system.”

  Laurel glanced at her watch and sighed. “Couldn’t we save that for another day? I’m beat, and you must be, too. You’ve been here since before nine this morning.”

  “Have you changed your mind about me sleeping on your couch? I’ve got an overnight bag in my truck.”

  She laughed at his hopeful expression. “Always prepared?”

  “That’s my motto. I’m a regular Boy Scout.”

  “That you are.” She waved a hand at the bag. “Go ahead. I give up.”

  A few minutes later, Jake had installed and tested both entry sensors. He shrugged into his jacket, and she followed him to the door. Despite the hour and her fatigue, she was surprised to find she was in no hurry for him to leave. “I’ll walk you to your truck.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. You’ll stay inside, lock the door, and arm this system I went to so much trouble to put in.”

  “You did not. It was easy. I watched you.”

  He relaxed and smiled. “True. But I did it for you. I want you to be safe.”

  Before she could reply, he pulled her to his chest and kissed her with a thoroughness that pushed their previous kisses out of her mind. When he finally released her, Laurel swayed dizzily.

  He pressed one last kiss on her forehead, opened the door, and stepped onto the landing. “Now, lock the door and go to bed.”

  She stood dazed as he pulled the door shut with a firm click. When she heard no further sounds from outside, she realized he must be waiting. As soon as she turned the lock, footsteps sounded on the stairs and faded away.

  It would probably be a terrible idea, not to mention completely shameless, to chase after him to take him up on his offer to sleep on the couch.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next morning, Laurel’s phone rang while she was slathering peanut butter on a piece of toast. She picked it up and glanced at the screen. Jake. A smile tugged at her lips.

  She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder. “Hello?”

  “Good morning.” His voice was warm and a little husky.

  “Hi. What’s up?”

  “I’m getting ready to leave for work, but I wanted to see how the first night in your new place went.”

  “It was great. I was so tired, I slept like a sedated sloth.” She squatted to fill Rufus’s bowl with fresh food. He was so excited, he head-butted her hand mid-pour, sending morsels of dry cat food skittering across the floor. A frustrated expletive slipped from her lips. “You bad boy!”

  “What did I do?”

  “Not you. Rufus.” She scooted around her compact kitchen, collecting the errant bits. “He’s made a mess of his breakfast, and naturally, I don’t have a broom yet. I’ll have to pick one up on my way home this evening.”

  “About last night, I assume you didn’t have any unwanted visitors.”

  “Nope. Everything was quiet.”

  “Good.” Seconds ticked by, but he didn’t hang up.

  Laurel dumped the spilled cat food into the wastebasket then went in search of her black pumps. “I’m running a little late. Was there anything else?”

  Jake cleared his throat. “I’m tied up today, but I wondered if you’d like to have lunch tomorrow.”

  She was about to accept when she remembered tomorrow was Friday. “I’m sorry, but I have a standing lunch date with Melody on Fridays. How about dinner? I could cook something here.”

  “I’d hate for you to go to so much trouble. You’ve barely moved in.”

  She found her shoes under the bed and slipped them on. “After all your help yesterday, it’s the least I can do. I don’t claim to be much of a cook, but I’m looking forward to breaking in my new kitchen.”

  “In that case, I’ll see you at seven o’clock.”

  “Make it seven-thirty, and you’ve got a deal.”

  After they rang off, she headed for the bathroom. She couldn’t help smiling at her reflection while she brushed her teeth and put on her make-up. This was a first. She would be cooking dinner for Jake in her own kitchen, in her own apartment. After moving in with Richard, she never cooked. He had dismissed her culinary efforts as sub-par, preferring the fare at his favorite restaurants. Tomorrow night she would fix something edible or burn the place down trying! She made a face at herself in the mirror and then laughed, happier than she’d been in a long, long time.

  The whole day was a mad rush at the gallery, with the pre-holiday shoppers out in force. Victor flitted in and out because he and Martin had appointments with a florist and the catering manager at one of the local hotels where they were hosting a lavish public reception after the final performance of A Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve. When Laurel got home, she was happy to spend the evening sprawled on her sofa, reading a mystery novel with Rufus curled up on her stomach and a plate of crackers and cheese for dinner.

  Friday morning passed in a similar blur. Once again, Victor was gone for a couple of hours, meeting with an old client at her house about possibly taking a few of her paintings on consignment. However, he was back in time for Laurel to meet Melody at one-thirty at the cute French bistro across the street. When she arrived, her friend waved from a table by the front windows.

  Laurel smiled at the hostess then forged her way through the cadre of servers to the table. She draped her coat over the back of her chair and unwound her scarf. “Whew! It’s crowded in here today.”

  Melody glanced around with a wry smile. “Yeah, the tourists are everywhere. We’ve already had a dog vs. dog assault on the beach, two lost cell phones, a missing Chinese passport, and a slip-and-fall on city property this morning.”

  Laurel chuckled. “I guess I shouldn’t laugh, but that’s all so typically Carmel.”

  “And we treat each and every incident with the gravity it deserves.” Melody’s eyes twinkled with amusement, then her
expression sobered. “If you think about it, any of those things would be traumatic for a traveler. Who wants to deal with the police while they’re on vacation, especially in a foreign country? We try to make it as easy for them as possible.”

  Laurel accepted a menu from the server. “You’re a good person. I’m not sure I could be that patient.”

  “Sure, you could. Just imagine it’s your mom or one of your sisters.”

  They both ordered the French onion soup, and the server collected their menus. Minutes later she reappeared with a basket of warm baguette chunks, fresh from the on-site bakery.

  Laurel chose a thick slice. “So, what else has been going on in the exciting world of Carmel law enforcement?”

  “Actually, I’ve been spending most of my time on a more serious problem than the usual tourist-related incidents.”

  “Oh?”

  Melody nodded as she buttered her baguette. “There’s been a big jump in meth-related crimes throughout the county this year, and I’ve been assigned to a multi-agency task force to study and address the problem.”

  “I didn’t realize we had a problem.”

  “It’s been getting worse for months. Last week an alarm went off at three-thirty in the morning in one of the buildings downtown. The responding officer found three guys painting and doing construction work.”

  “That’s an odd hour to be painting.”

  “Uh-huh. And one of them had an outstanding warrant and a sizeable stash of meth and heroin in his possession.”

  Laurel’s brows shot up. “Yikes!”

  Melody nodded. “Uh-huh. Then, Saturday night, a young guy barricaded himself in the men’s room at a gas station and called 9-1-1 five times. When the deputies showed up, he tried to stab one of them with a pair of scissors, and when they got him to the jail, he bit another one. Meth again.”