To Trust a Stranger Page 6

  “Maybe I just felt like going for a midnight drive.”

  His expression said yeah, right, and Julie sighed.

  “Look, I’m sorry about your car, I’m grateful for all your help, and if you can somehow get my car back for me I’ll kiss the ground you walk on, but I really don’t want to go into every little detail of my personal life, okay?”

  “So you are cheating on your husband.”

  “No, I am not.”

  At the outrage in her tone, he lifted his hands, palms up, in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. Hey, if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, fine. It just seems to me like if you’re rolling out of bed in the middle of the night to drive downtown in your underwear, then are scared to death your husband is going to find out, something is wrong in your life and—maybe you need a friend.”

  His voice gentled on that last, and the smile he gave her was disarmingly charming. So charming, in fact, that it caused a pang in the region of her heart. God, he was good-looking—and she wanted to trust him, she really did. He was right, at the moment she could use a friend.

  “I’m wearing pajamas, not underwear,” she said for the record.

  “My mistake.”

  “How do you know my name?” There was a wary note to that, because she was busy reminding herself that it was better to be safe than sorry. Impossible as it seemed, he might have some sort of connection with Sid. Of course, she realized with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, in that case the trick would be to keep him quiet about what he already knew.

  Debbie shrugged, and stuck his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ve seen you around. You own a dress shop out in Summerville, don’t you? Flashy evening gowns, sequins, feathers, that kind of thing?” He grinned. “Nothing in my size, though. You might want to rethink that. Us larger gals like to look pretty, too.”

  Julie smiled involuntarily at the idea of him trying to squeeze into one of her gorgeous gowns, none of which came in a size larger than 8. If he did somehow manage to get one on, and then actually wore it out, he would ruin her reputation forever.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” she said. Actually, she designed and made gowns and other wardrobe essentials for beauty pageants, and her shop was strictly for contestants and their handlers, but there was no point in going into all that.

  The clock was still ticking. That thought left her unable to sit still a moment longer.

  “Oh, God, what time is it?”

  She put Josephine on the floor and stood up, moving toward the kitchen to check. Debbie stopped her with a hand on her arm. Too nervous now to be more than peripherally conscious of the hard warmth of that hand as it curled around her upper arm, Julie glanced up at him.

  “Two-twelve.” He was looking past her shoulder at the VCR atop the TV. Following his gaze, Julie realized that there’d been a little digital time readout in the room with her all along.

  “I’ve got to get home.” She pulled free of his hand to pace the long wall that separated the living room from the kitchen.

  “I’m no friend of your husband’s, you know,” he said, watching her. “Nothing you tell me will get back to him, I promise. And you never know, maybe I can help you get whatever this is sorted out.”

  The ensuing pause as she stopped pacing and their gazes met lasted perhaps a couple of heartbeats.

  “I think Sid is cheating on me.” Julie blurted it out. She hadn’t really made a conscious decision to confide in Debbie, the words had just sort of come out on their own, but the minute they left her lips she experienced an overwhelming sense of relief. She had needed to tell someone, she realized. Needed someone to listen to her suspicions and tell her that she was being an idiot—or not.

  “Ah,” Debbie said, the single syllable drawn out. “And what makes you think that?”

  “He’s been sneaking out at night after I’ve gone to bed,” she said. “Tonight I followed him. I heard him leave the house and I jumped out of bed and followed him. I lost him on the street where I hit your car. I was turning around in the parking lot when those punks stole the Jag.”

  Julie took a deep, shaken breath and folded her arms over her chest. It felt—cleansing, somehow, to utter her suspicions aloud. No more pretending that Sid was the perfect husband, or that hers was the perfect marriage. Telling the truth was cathartic.

  “Let me get this straight,” Debbie said after the briefest of pauses, rocking back on his heels and giving her a severe look. “You were tailing your husband in your own car? A Jaguar? You ever think he might just possibly have glanced in his rearview mirror and noticed you behind him?”

  Julie’s eyes widened as the terrible possibility sank in.

  “I never thought about that. I just jumped in my car and took off after him.” Coming close to panicking at the idea, she mentally reviewed the drive.

  “Girl, you’re not safe to be let out.” He shook his head in disgust.

  Julie ignored that, reached the end of her cogitations, and felt relieved. “If he’d seen me, I would have known it. Sid’s not subtle. Believe me, I would have known it.”

  Debbie looked thoughtful.

  “It ever occur to you that maybe he’s just going out for a late-night snack or something?”

  Julie grimaced. “And winding up on a street with triple-X bars and strip joints? I wish I could think so, but I don’t. Besides, we—I have other reasons to think he’s having an affair.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He eyed her with interest. “Like what?”

  “On Monday I found eight Viagra pills in his medicine cabinet,” she confessed. “By tonight there were only six. And . . . and . . .”

  “You weren’t the lucky beneficiary, hmm?” Her expression must have told the tale, because he grinned. “Okay, I get the picture. So hubby’s been sneaking out at night, has he? Every night? About what time?”

  “Two or three nights a week for the last month. A weekend night, usually, and one or two others. It varies. I usually go to bed around eleven, and he’s out by midnight.”

  “You ever followed him before?”

  “No.”

  “So . . .”

  He was interrupted by a muffled ringing sound. Digging his cell phone out of the front pocket of his jeans, he opened it and spoke into it. “Yeah?”

  Julie held her breath as the voice on the other end said something she could not quite hear. Then Debbie grimaced. “Shit.”

  The expletive scared her. He wouldn’t say that if things were going according to plan, would he?

  “Okay, you do that. Yeah. Catch you later.”

  He broke the connection, then returned the phone to his pocket. His gaze as it met hers was rueful.

  “What?” she asked faintly.

  “Well, the good news is they found your car.”

  “They did?” Hope springs eternal.

  “Too late. It’s been stripped. Engine, tires, even the stereo. All gone.”

  5

  “OH, NO.” JULIE FELT LIMP SUDDENLY, as though all the rigidity had suddenly evaporated from her bones. Her knees threatened to give way, and she swayed as the room did a slow revolution around her.

  “Whoa!” Debbie reached out and snagged her elbows, stopping her spineless wilt before she ended up in a puddle on the floor. Mindlessly she tilted toward him, and he pulled her against his chest. He felt very strong, very solid, very safe—a rock to lean on. She snagged handfuls of his T-shirt for support and breathed.

  “Okay, don’t panic. We can still figure out something to get you off the hook.” He rubbed her back reassuringly. Julie allowed herself the pure luxury of being comforted. He was warm, and strong, and he smelled faintly of soap and cold cream, and his wide, well-muscled chest was the perfect pillow for her head. It felt so good to be in a man’s arms again that she snuggled close. Her cheek rested on a firm pec, and she could hear the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. He must have sensed her need for comfort, because his arms wrapped around her, holding her cl
ose.

  She’d missed this: being held by a man. Even in this nonsexual context, it felt so amazingly good.

  “Like what?” Her voice sounded despairing to her own ears. She closed her eyes, and tightened her grip on his T-shirt. Her next words were tragicomic. “I might as well just go ahead and kill myself and save Sid the trouble.”

  “That might be a little drastic, don’t you think?”

  From his voice, it sounded like he was smiling. Her eyes opened, and a swift upward glance confirmed it: he was smiling. Well, she supposed she was glad someone could.

  “Not really.” Her voice was glum.

  “You know, most people in your situation would probably just get a divorce.”

  Debbie’s dry observation so exactly meshed with her thoughts that Julie glanced up again, startled.

  “I’m thinking about it,” she admitted. To actually express the thought aloud was liberating somehow. “But, to me, divorce is kind of a big deal.”

  Just watching her mother change marriage partners had probably traumatized her for life. As a little girl, she’d promised herself that when she got married, it would be forever.

  “People do it every day.”

  “I don’t.” She took a deep breath and, much as she hated to do it, pulled herself out of Debbie’s arms. Wonderful as it felt to be cuddled and comforted, it was over. Time to face the music. “I suppose I might as well go ahead and call the police. I’m going to have to report the Jaguar stolen now. Sid’s going to have to know.”

  The thought made her stomach churn. With fear? She didn’t know how else to describe what she was feeling.

  Oh, God, when had she become afraid of Sid?

  Debbie frowned at her.

  “How about if I take you home, and you go on upstairs to bed just like you’ve never been out at all, and then I break into your garage? When your husband gets home, he’ll discover your car missing and call the police. They’ll find signs of a break-in and assume the Jaguar was stolen right out of your garage. Doesn’t make any difference where the car goes missing from, you know.”

  Julie stared at him as hope did its eternal thing again.

  “Isn’t lying to the police a crime?”

  He shrugged. “Hey, crime happens. Spitting on the sidewalk’s a crime. So is murder. It’s all a matter of degree. This particular one won’t cause so much as a ripple. The question is, would you rather tell the police you’ve been in bed asleep all night or tell your husband exactly how you came to lose your Jaguar?”

  Julie shuddered. It wasn’t even close. “Okay, so I’ll lie to the police.”

  He grinned at her. “Attagirl.”

  Another problem reared its thorny head. “My purse was stolen too. Oh, I guess I can say I left it in the Jaguar. Which is true. I did leave it in the Jaguar, so that part won’t be a lie. Exactly.”

  “Don’t think of it as lying. Think of it as telling carefully selected facts.” His grin broadened. “Welcome to the dark side, Luke Skywalker.”

  She made a face, then stiffened as a hideous possibility occurred to her. “What if the police find the punks who stole my car and they tell where they got it?”

  “They won’t find them.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just am. Believe me. Mother and his pals run a tight ship, no violence, not hurting anybody, and the cops mostly look the other way.”

  Julie took a deep breath, and glanced over her shoulder. The clock read 2:15. She was out of time. And, she realized, despite countless objections raised by her basically cautious, law-abiding nature, out of options. The decision had been made: she was going to go with his suggestion.

  “I need to get home. Sid’s usually back by three.”

  “No problem. Let’s go. Let me grab some gloves.”

  “Gloves?”

  “I don’t want to leave fingerprints all over your garage when I break in.” He was already heading toward the bedroom again.

  “Oh.” Her voice was small. She couldn’t believe that she was actually going to take part in a crime. The thought was scary. She’d never even so much as filched a quarter from the collection plate at church before.

  He was back in a moment, stuffing a pair of black knit gloves into the pocket of his jeans. “All set?”

  Julie nodded and turned toward the door. As she did, she saw Josephine, almost hidden behind the recliner, happily worrying a magazine that she held between her front paws. That corner of the room was strewn with shredded strips of newsprint and glossy magazine pages. Julie remembered the pile of reading material that had earlier waited beside the chair, and her eyes widened. There was nothing left but confetti.

  Apparently following her gaze, Debbie saw the same thing.

  “Damn it, Josephine!”

  Josephine looked up at that, bright-eyed, tail wagging, the picture of innocence—if it hadn’t been for the strips of shredded magazine dangling from her mouth.

  “Hold on a minute,” he said with a sigh, and swooped down on the offender. Josephine was scooped up without protest, and borne off toward the back of the house, her adorable pom-pom of a tail still wagging furiously.

  “What did you do with her?” Julie asked with some trepidation when Debbie returned, minus the poodle.

  “Locked her in the bathroom. There’s not much she can get into in there, I don’t think.” He opened the door, then stood back to let her precede him outside.

  The steamy heat felt good, Julie thought, and realized that she had been cold, from nerves or his air-conditioning, she couldn’t be sure which. The jasmine-laden night air wrapped around her like a lover’s caress, and she welcomed it.

  “Even if she did chew up your magazines, you’re lucky to have her. I’ve wanted a dog for years. Sid won’t hear of it,” she told him over her shoulder as she walked down the short front sidewalk toward his car. The street was deserted now, except for the insects that fluttered around the streetlight on the corner. Lights were on in the upstairs windows of two of the houses; a few night owls were apparently still up. Overhead, a pale sickle moon and thousands of pinprick stars gleamed ghostly white. All in all, and in spite of the fact that she was sick with some weird combination of betrayal and fear, it was a beautiful night.

  “Sid’s smart.” There was a sour note to Debbie’s voice that made Julie frown reproachfully at him.

  “How can you say that? Josephine is adorable.”

  A grunt was the only reply. He walked around the car to unlock her door for her, opened it, then waited for her to get settled inside before closing it again. Julie made a face as it occurred to her that, had the slight impediment of his sexual preference not stood in the way, Debbie would have been the kind of guy that women drooled over.

  Herself included.

  “I am so incredibly nervous about this,” she said as he got in beside her.

  “About what? Deceiving your husband or lying to the police?” His sideways glance was teasing as he started the car and pulled away from the curb.

  She frowned at him. “You’re not helping.”

  He drove to the corner and then turned right. “As long as you stick to the story that you went to bed at the usual time, heard nothing, and have no idea what happened to your car, you’ll be fine. With your husband and the police.”

  Julie grimaced. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to do it.”

  “You can always change your mind.”

  Julie thought about that, considered the consequences, and shuddered. “No. I’ll lie.”

  “That’s the spirit. Hang tough.”

  He turned up the ramp onto the expressway, heading northwest. The streetlights glared yellow, completely outshining the moon. A few cars whizzed past, but not many. It was too late—or early, depending upon one’s point of view—for the kind of heavy traffic that usually poured into and around Charleston in the summer, courtesy of clueless tourists who didn’t know that summer was the worst possible time to visit, thanks to the humidi
ty and swarms of biting insects.

  A thought occurred to Julie. “Hey, wait a minute. How did you know which way to go? You don’t know where I live. Do you?”

  The glance he gave her was unreadable in the shadowy interior of the car. “I assumed you lived out in Summerville near your shop. Am I wrong?”

  “No-o, you’re right. We live in Summerville.” She eyed him doubtfully. His reply had been just a shade too casual—hadn’t it? Or was she being paranoid again?

  It’s not paranoid if they’re really after you. The saying popped into her head uninvited. Under the circumstances, it seemed appropriate.

  But Debbie had fallen into her life purely by chance, and since then he had put himself out to help her. More, he had proved to be kind and caring, a friend.

  And she badly needed a friend.

  “Just tell me where to turn off.” He sounded cheerfully unconcerned, and, because she really had no basis for them, she let her suspicions go.

  “The first Summerville exit.”

  “Same as the shop. What’s it called?”

  “Carolina Belle.”

  “Maybe I’ll stop in again sometime. If you start carrying larger sizes, that is.” A crooked smile accompanied his sideways glance.

  “Actually, I only sell to the trade.” Julie smiled too at the sudden irresistible picture of Debbie in one of her gowns, and was grateful for the resulting easing of the tension that had her hands curled into fists in her lap. “Pageant contestants, that is. And their handlers.”

  “Are you telling me that you’ve got to be in a beauty contest to buy clothes at your shop?”

  He sounded so affronted that Julie’s smile broadened. “Basically.”

  As a former Miss South Carolina, a veteran of pageants from the age of two on, and the wife of a rich and prominent businessman, her credentials for running a shop that sold custom-designed and fitted evening gowns, swim-suits, and costumes for use on the state and national pageant circuit were impeccable. Carolina Belle was, in fact, quite successful, and she made a decent little income from it. Divorcing Sid would be bad for business, she thought, and with that gloomy reflection felt her muscles start to tense all over again. Every other girl in South Carolina entered beauty pageants; it was almost a sport, like football or something. All the ones she took on liked to think that if they faithfully dieted and exercised and waxed and tanned and bleached and curled, they would end up just like Julie: Cinderella after the ball and the wedding to the prince. An acrimonious divorce wasn’t part of that dream.