But someone was spying on them, taking photos of Claire.
Her panic intensified, threatening to overwhelm her, but she ruthlessly crushed it down. She ushered Claire calmly into the house and locked the sliding glass door. She lifted Claire to the sink and washed her hands. Still working on autopilot, she took out the juice, helped Claire into her chair, opened the animal crackers and propped up the bear.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Claire asked, her voice tight.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Her falsely cheerful voice sounded too far away. “It’s just a little hot in here. I’m going to close the drapes to keep it cool. I’ll be right back.”
She forced her lips into a brittle smile, closed the blinds on the sliding glass door and strolled sedately into the hall. Then she raced around the house like a maniac, locking the windows, yanking the drapes closed, scrambling up and down the stairs, rushing from room to room to room, throwing the deadbolts on every door.
She returned to the kitchen, sank into a seat across the table from Claire and covered her face with her hands. What on earth was going on here? What diamond? She’d sold her wedding ring as soon as she’d left Wayne.
Besides, Wayne was in jail. It couldn’t be him.
Unless he’d hired someone else to harass her.
Trying to compose herself, she scrubbed her face with her quivering hands. God, she was sick of this. So bloody tired. All she wanted was a life without fear. Was that too much to ask?
The phone rang.
She jerked up her head, stared at the phone. Her palms started to sweat.
The ringing stopped. The answering machine turned on. Her sister’s message ended, and the machine made its high-pitched beep.
And then there was heavy breathing.
“Tonight.” The single word cleaved the silence, detonating her nerves. The machine clicked off. The tape whirred softly as it rewound.
Her adrenaline surged. Panic wiped out her thoughts. She had to run. Flee. Go somewhere, anywhere, and keep her daughter safe.
She looked at Claire, saw her daughter’s lower lip quiver, the anxiety pinching her face. And she knew with dead certainty that she couldn’t run. If this was Wayne, he’d only find them again. For Claire’s sake, she had to end this terror now.
And if there was one thing she’d learned about her exhusband, it was that he thrived on power and control. He wanted to see her run, plead, whimper with fear. And she’d be damned if she’d play his sick games.
She rose, her knees knocking so hard she could barely stand, and crossed the kitchen to the answering machine. She ejected the tape, slipped it into her pocket and disconnected the phone.
Then she grabbed her purse from the counter and fumbled through her wallet for Detective Martinez’s card. She found Luke Montgomery’s number instead.
She hesitated. Should she call him? If the letter and phone calls were related to the casino attack, he would want to know.
But her priority was Claire, keeping her safe. Which meant reporting this to the police—no matter what Luke Montgomery might want.
Still, the memory of the skepticism in his eyes made her pause. He hadn’t trusted her; that had been clear. He thought she’d sell her story to the highest bidder, even though she’d given him her word.
And maybe she was a fool to care, but there was something sad about a man that cynical, who thought that money always talked. And if she didn’t call him now, she’d only confirm his jaded beliefs.
So maybe she should warn him. Maybe she should update him on this latest threat first and then inform the police.
And pray that whoever was watching them did n’t see them go.
She met her daughter’s frightened eyes, and a frigid pit formed in her gut. Claire was right to be afraid. Because if their watcher learned what she was up to, her daughter would pay the price.
The Las Vegas police were certainly thorough. Three hours later, Amanda still hunched on a folding metal chair in the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police station while Claire dozed on her lap. She’d turned over the evidence, given multiple statements, submitted fingerprints so they could exclude her prints from the note. Now several people crowded around her in the airconditioned room—the detective she’d met in the casino, a petite police officer named Natalie Rothchild, several others whose names she couldn’t recall.
And Luke Montgomery. He’d arrived shortly after she had, to her surprise. Now he sat in the chair beside her, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up, his dark forearms braced on his knees, listening intently while Natalie Rothchild summed up the case.
The police officer tucked her short brown hair behind her ears, then cleared her throat. “All right, then. In light of these developments, I think we have to consider the possibility that the ring isn’t lost after all.”
“Damn,” Luke muttered.
Amanda glanced around at the circle of grim faces, confused. “What ring?”
Detective Martinez shifted his bulky frame in his seat. “We had a murder case recently—a woman named Candace Rothchild.You might have read about it in the news.”
“Yes.” She’d read up on the sensational case after she’d met Luke.
“She was Natalie’s sister,” he added.
“Oh.” Amanda shifted her gaze to the other woman. “I’m sorry.”
Natalie nodded. A pained look shadowed her eyes. “The night she was killed, Candace was wearing a diamond ring, a family heirloom we called the Tears of the Quetzal. We never found it, so we assumed it was lost. But we’ll have to rethink that now.”
Amanda frowned. “You think my note is related to that ring?”
“I think we have to consider that possibility, yes.”
“But I just moved here. How could I possibly be involved?”
“That’s what we need to find out. And it might not be related. But we can’t rule it out, especially since the man who held you up demanded a ring. And that note is similar to the one my father received.” She turned her head, spoke to one of the men. “Get that note to Lex Duncan at the FBI, will you?”
Amanda’s head whirled. She gaped at the nodding men. Surely they were joking. She was tangled up in a diamond theft? It didn’t make any sense.
She gave her head a sharp shake, tried to recall the facts of the case. From what she’d read, Luke had hosted a jewelry convention in his casino a few weeks back. Celebrities from around the globe had attended the glitzy event—including the casino heiress Candace Rothchild. Later that night she’d been murdered, her ring stolen. The priceless diamond ring—rumored to be under a bizarre curse promising the wearer love at first sight—had never been found.
Luke had originally been a suspect, although he’d later been cleared of the crime. She cut her gaze to his harsh profile, noted the rigid line of his jaw. No wonder he’d come here. He was as involved in this case as she was.
She pressed her hand to her throat, still unable to process it all. It was bad enough to think Wayne could be watching her. But a vicious murderer…
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Natalie said gently.
Dazed, Amanda jerked her attention from Luke. The other police officers rose and began filing out. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Your exhusband was released from jail last week.”
Shock rippled through her. She tightened her hold on Claire. “But…Detective Martinez said he was in jail.”
Natalie made a face. “I’m sorry. There was a computer glitch, and some of the data didn’t get entered on time. Wheeler reported to his parole officer in Maryland yesterday, though, so you shouldn’t have to worry about him.”
“You don’t know Wayne.” He was clever. Cunning. And he knew her habits, her fears. She closed her eyes, felt her skin go cold. Her worst nightmare had just returned.
Natalie stood. “We’ve increased our patrols in your neighborhood, and we’ll have someone monitor the house tonight in case anyone goes near that mailbox. We’ve also told Maryland to alert us if Wheeler breaks his parole.”
