Miranda waved her hand. “Are you kidding? She’d long since spent it, but my rates had gone up because I had a claim against me. They refunded my overpayments and reduced my rate back to where it had been.”
“We live in a litigious society. People love to sue and file insurance claims.” Whitney thought a minute. “What about Jasper’s house? Is that covered?”
Not only was Whitney taking over her cousin’s pet concierge business, she had moved into Miranda’s tiny caretaker’s cottage behind a mansion in Torrey Pines, an upscale suburb just north of San Diego. Her cousin had been receiving free rent in exchange for taking care of a small dog and watching the main house. The owner had died, but his dog was still there. The executor had agreed to pay for the animal’s care until a relative came for the dog later this month.
“You’re covered by their home owner’s insurance. Why are you so worried?”
“I wander around a lot in that big old house because I can never find Jasper and he doesn’t come when I call.”
“Forget calling for him,” Miranda advised. “Look for him in the dog run on the side yard or under the coffee table in the living room.”
“Yesterday I bumped into a credenza, searching for him. I nearly knocked over some antique that’s probably worth more than I’ll make in a year.”
“Don’t worry about it. Jasper will get used to you. He hid from me in the beginning. He’s lonely and confused. He’s probably waiting for his master to come home.”
How sad, Whitney thought. She remembered the first days after she and Ryan had split up. She’d wandered around their tomb of a house, waiting for the door to open and her husband to return.
It had been frighteningly lonely. She could only imagine how a poor animal must feel. He wouldn’t understand that his owner had died and was never going to walk him, play with him or pet him again.
“You might try bringing Jasper to the cottage to stay at night,” Miranda said. “I didn’t because I was over at Rick’s so much, and he doesn’t like dogs.”
Never trust a man who doesn’t like dogs, Whitney thought. She wanted to warn Miranda about Rick, but considering the mess she’d made of her marriage, how could she criticize?
“ALL SET TO LEAVE?” Whitney asked when they’d completed their pet rounds and had returned to the cottage Whitney was taking over from Miranda. They’d brought Da Vinci, a Chihuahua, with them to stay while the dog’s owners were in Las Vegas. The little dog was accustomed to being carried everywhere. Whitney had him in one arm and a tote with his food and toys in her free hand.
The wind had kicked up and voluminous clouds with leaden underbellies hovered overhead. Rain had been predicted for several days, but the fronts had blown over, leaving the ground dry during a drought that could lead to another drastic fire season.
“I have a few more things to store in the garage, then everything else will be at Rick’s. Our flight to Fiji isn’t until ten.” Miranda’s laugh sounded a little giddy. “When I come back, I’ll be Mrs. Broderick Babcock.”
Whitney mustered a smile. She wished she were comfortable cautioning her cousin about this man. She’d never met the attorney, but his reputation as a legal shark was well known. They were keeping the wedding a secret so his clients wouldn’t panic because he wasn’t ten minutes away.
The whole situation seemed a little odd to Whitney, but she told herself that this was another man-like Ryan-who put his career first. And like her ex-husband, the man Miranda was so anxious to marry didn’t seem to care to meet Miranda’s closest relative.
It was after dark by the time Whitney helped Miranda move the last of her things into the single-car garage behind the cottage. It was small and narrow compared to modern garages. The estate had been built in the 1920s when caretakers were lucky to have a car. Miranda’s older-model Volvo was parked in the carport, which had been constructed sometime after the small garage had been built. It was time to send her cousin off, but Whitney needed to find the words to express her feelings first.
“Thanks for all you’ve done. I really appreciate it. I don’t know what-”
“Don’t be silly. You would have done the same for me.” Miranda hugged her tight and held on for so long that it embarrassed Whitney a bit. She hadn’t realized how much Miranda cared about her. Finally Miranda released her and opened the door to her car.
“I still want to repay you the money you spent on Mom.”
“I told you before. I don’t need it. Besides,” Miranda added with a smile that seemed a bit melancholy, “I owed it to your mother. She took me in when no one else would. It’s the least I can do.” Miranda kissed Whitney’s cheek and hugged her again. “Take care.”
“Be happy,” she called to the trail of exhaust Miranda’s car left in the moist air that held the promise of rain. For some reason the silence sent a chill through her. It was probably just the oncoming storm, but a vague sense of dread kept her from moving.
You’re just upset about all the changes in your life, she told herself. No, it was more than her husband’s betrayal and the loss of her job that bothered Whitney. Despite the way Miranda made light of the situation, there was a lot unsaid and unsettled between them. And it was Whitney’s fault.
She slowly returned to the small cottage with Lexi and Da Vinci. Boxes of her things were piled everywhere. Even though she’d spent several nights here, Whitney had unpacked only what was absolutely necessary.
The cottage consisted of a small sitting room with a kitchenette off to one side and a tiny bedroom with a bath. It wasn’t much compared to the large home she’d shared with Ryan but she didn’t mind. She changed out of her clothes and into a filmy Victoria’s Secret nightie. She preferred their cotton nightshirts and had several. She couldn’t remember where she’d packed them, so she’d put on the sexy nightgown Ryan had given her last Valentine’s Day. When she found her nightshirts, she’d throw the darn thing away.
The telephone rang, startling Whitney. It must be a client needing a dog walked or something. She wended her way through the stacks of boxes just as the answering machine clicked on.
“Whitney?”
It couldn’t be Ryan’s voice, could it? She must be imagining this, the way she’d dreamed he’d come back to her-begging forgiveness. Saying he still loved her. In her dream, she would let him dangle before reluctantly agreeing to give him a second chance. Then she would wake up and realize nothing had changed. Her husband had left her for another woman.
“Are you there? Pick up.”
She’d once loved the man behind the voice too, too well. Her throat became as taut as a bowstring, making it difficult to swallow. Never give up so much of your heart-ever again.
“Listen, babe. I need to talk to you.” The last voice she ever wanted to hear continued to come through the small black box. “It’s really important. Call me. You know the number.”
His demanding tone irritated Whitney. Whatever was “really” important probably wouldn’t mean anything to her. No doubt it was something trivial, like Ryan’s lost college yearbook. He’d accused her of taking it, then he’d found it but hadn’t bothered to call. She’d rummaged through dozens of boxes for nothing. Whatever he wanted this time could wait until morning.
CHAPTER TWO
ADAM JERKED UPRIGHT in bed, his hand reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. Another explosion rocked the room.
Run. Take cover.
Heart battering his ribs like a fighter’s punches, he lurched to his feet, then remembered where he was. Home. Well, not home exactly but close enough for government work. He had just returned to the United States and was staying in his uncle’s house. His life wasn’t in danger. A thunderstorm had blown in-that’s all.
He groped in the darkness for the lamp he remembered seeing on the nightstand. He turned the switch. Nothing. Aw, hell. The power must be out.