Haunting Rachel by Kay Hooper Page B

I’d be there just then. Nobody.”
    “That makes sense,” he said slowly. “Not even the Realtor could have known for sure which store we’d check out first. It took some time for the gas to build up, time to set up some gadget to cause a spark. We were inside no more than a couple of minutes before we smelled the gas.”
    “So—it couldn’t have had anything to do with me.”
    “I don’t believe in coincidence,” he said.
    “In this case, you’ll have to. It can’t be anything else.” She was arguing with herself as well as him.
    “Maybe. Just promise me you’ll be careful from now on, Rachel. Very careful.”
    “You bet,” she said lightly, and watched the tea slosh around inside her cup.
    “I’d like to know why the hell I had to hear about this from the police, Rachel.” Graham was definitely upset, and didn’t try to hide it.
    Rachel sat on the edge of her bed with a sigh. She’d just been about to go soak in a hot tub in a hopeful attempt to ward off soreness tomorrow, having finally escaped the anxious attention of Fiona and Cam. Adam had remained just long enough for his cab to arrive.
    “I’m sorry, Graham. I would have called as soon as I had a chance to catch my breath. But why did the police call you?”
    “They always call me whenever anything happens involving the Grant family. Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine.” She was getting tired of saying it, especially since it wasn’t true. “Although, if it hadn’t been for Adam, I wouldn’t be.”
    “So he was Johnny on the spot again.”
    “He probably saved my life, Graham. I wouldn’t have moved fast enough to get out of there, not without him.”
    “I don’t trust him, Rachel. And I sure as hell don’t like this explosion coming barely a week after your car’s brake lines were cut.”
    “It was just a bizarre accident. No one could have known I’d be at that particular store at that particular moment.” She kept repeating that fact like a mantra.
    “Delafield was always with you? He didn’t excuse himself for a few minutes at any point?” “No.”
    Graham was silent for a moment, then repeated, “I don’t trust him.”
    “You checked him out, didn’t you? Like you said you would?” She rubbed her forehead slowly and thought longingly of a bath and peace.
    Again, Graham hesitated. “I did. The company exists. Delafield Design. It was founded about five years ago. It
appears
to be successful.”
    “Then he told me the truth.”
    “Maybe. Or maybe he just told you some of the truth. His background information is too damned sketchy for my taste. I’m going to keep digging.”
    Rachel sighed. “Fine. You do that. In the meantime, I’m going to go soak a few bruises away. Good-bye, Graham.” She hung up without waiting for a response.
    She was accustomed to Graham’s caution, knew it came from affection and concern, and sincerely valued his opinions—but this time he was taking things too far. She could trust Adam.
    He’d saved her life, hadn’t he?
    Mercy hung up the phone and gazed across the kitchen at Nicholas, who was clearing up the remains of the Chinese takeout they’d had for dinner. “You heard?”
    “Your half of the conversation, yeah. So Rachel’s all right?”
    “I think so. What do you know about this Adam Delafield she says probably saved her life?”
    Nicholas dumped several empty cartons in the trashand turned to look at her. “We knew each other a long time ago.”
    “That’s what Rachel said. That you two were old friends.” She left it there, but watched him steadily from her stool at the breakfast bar.
    Nicholas came to the bar and poured fresh wine for both of them. “It isn’t a long story, love. About ten years ago Adam worked for a design firm I did some business with.”
    “Had you known him before that?”
    Nicholas shrugged massive shoulders. “As a matter of fact, I had. We first met about fifteen years ago. He was in college. We had some mutual interests, and a