This time, he would find all the answers. He would succeed.
He had a starting point, for he knew now that Vane Walters was involved, as he had been two years ago.
So was Alexa Kenner.
Alexa. Cole felt his heart grow cold. She was still so breathtakingly beautiful.
So deadly.
Unconsciously, he touched the cosmetic surgery scar at the side of his face, beneath his hair.
“Why, Alexa?” he whispered into the stillness of his room. Had she been in love with Vane even then?
Cole would never have thought there was someone more important in Alexa’s life two years ago. Not with the passion they had shared.
So much had happened between them, both in Santa Monica, and most especially here, at Skytop Lake. At this very inn, though it had been very different then. More run-down.
Why had she bought this place with Vane? So she could laugh at how she had tricked Cole? Had seduced the foolish man, made love with him…killed him?
“Damn!” Cole clenched his fists so tightly that his hands immediately cramped. He loosened them and stared at his fingers, at the small red scars, nearly invisible now, that he had also incurred in the explosion. Recalled how excruciating the physical pain had been. His hands still ached. So did much of the rest of his body.
Alexa and Vane didn’t know he had survived. He hadn’t told them because he thought their ignorance would protect them.
Instead, it had probably protected him. From them.
He glanced again at Forbes’s e-mail message. It ended with “We’re counting on you.”
Forbes had been there for him when the compost had hit the fan two years ago. Had pulled him from the garage set ablaze by the explosion. Had saved his life, and had helped to save his sanity.
No, Cole would not let Forbes down. He typed in a return message to his friend, then set the encryption software.
“Will report back soon,” he wrote to his boss. “With something useful.”
Chapter Three
There were only eight tables in Alexa’s dining room overlooking the lake, the better for her to provide individual attention to all her guests.
Before.
Now, when customers called from outside the inn, the majority were told there were no reservations available, for meals or for rooms. A few exceptions were made most evenings so the place would still resemble a public restaurant. But those people were all served early, at six o’clock. The inn’s guests ate at seven.
Then, Vane was the one to move from table to elegantly set table, the consummate host. Alexa’s role was to provide the food and serve it with a smile, then fade back into the kitchen.
That was all right with her, at least most of the time. She didn’t want to socialize with their guests. Though she was filled with questions, she doubted any of them would answer—even those who spoke English.
Putting food on the eight tables kept her busy—especially that night. She’d had a college-age kid helping until a few months ago. Now, only Minos helped to wait tables. She didn’t know where he was that evening, only that he was not at the inn.
She didn’t miss him.
When John came downstairs, it was seven o’clock. She should, perhaps, have called him down earlier, since he had made it clear he intended to eat there that night. Perversely, she hadn’t. She wanted to see Vane’s reaction to having this guest join the rest.
At the time John arrived, all tables were occupied. Vane had just gone into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine.
Alexa approached John at the dining room door. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid we’re full.” She felt self-conscious in the long, lacy apron she wore over her black slacks and sleeveless sweater. Though she was a gourmet cook, she was far from a neat one.
“That’s okay.” His eyes ranged over her, making her feel even more uncomfortable. But he raised his brows as if in appreciation and smiled. “My compliments to the chef.”
“You haven’t eaten anything yet.” She felt herself redden.
“I will.” He approached one of the tables. “Mind if I join you?” he asked two of the B & B’s guests, a young couple who sat at a table for four.
The two glanced at one another, then at the guests seated at the next table. Neither seemed certain what to do.
Apparently etiquette won out over whatever else warred inside them. “Please,” said the man, gesturing toward an empty seat. His accent was heavy, but Alexa didn’t know where he was from. His hair was dark, as was his complexion. Annoyance glowed from eyes too close together over a long, broad nose.
His female companion’s mahogany eyes took in John, who had dressed in a light blue sports shirt. She apparently liked what she saw, for she smiled.
The seductive smile annoyed Alexa. She was even more annoyed when John smiled back.
“I’m John O’Rourke.” He held out his hand.
His new companions gave their names, Ed and Jill Fuller. That was how they had registered, but Alexa suspected that the names were false.
When Vane reentered the dining room, his gaze landed on John. His demeanor grew stiff as he approached the table. “Everything okay?” he asked, including John O’Rourke in his gaze.
But Alexa knew the question was for Vane’s guests.
And if things were not okay with them, she knew who would pay. She tensed, recalling her earlier thought about wanting to see Vane’s reaction. Fool, she chided herself. Had she thought he’d be pleased?
But he might have been less irritated if John had been sitting by himself.
Before Ed Fuller could respond, Jill said, “All is good. We are friends here, yes?”
“Absolutely.” John winked at the woman.
It was Alexa’s turn to go rigid, but even with her stiff shoulders, she went about serving the others in the dining room.
Alexa kept an eye on Vane, as he watched that particular table. Closely. Now and then he joined the group.
If only Alexa could eavesdrop. In the low rumble of dinner chatter from all the other tables, she only caught snatches as she took orders, served food and cleared dishes. Was Vane making mental notes, preparing to take out on Alexa later any displeasure registered by his guests?
“Where are you from?” she heard John ask Jill, when Vane was at the far side of the room.
“I am from Bolivia,” she said very slowly and distinctly, in an accent that did not, in Alexa’s estimation, resemble Spanish.
If John thought he was being lied to, he didn’t show it. “You speak English well.”
“Not so good,” she replied with a self-deprecating smile that made it clear she enjoyed John’s attention.
Her husband was clearly displeased when he jumped into the conversation. “We are learning here to speak good,” he said, sounding defensive.
“I know how hard that can be,” John said. “Learning different languages is not something I’m good at. And believe me, I’ve tried.” His amiable grin encompassed both his companions. Ed Fuller’s glare eased a little.
“How did you try?”
Jill’s distinct and deliberate speech would have driven Alexa crazy if she’d been sitting with them. She gathered dirty soup bowls from a neighboring table, taking her time to prevent being obvious in her listening.