Final Deposit. Lisa Harris

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СКАЧАТЬ in, and they dusted for prints. But I’m guessing the prints are my father’s or mine—the burglar probably used gloves. And he never set foot inside the house, so they don’t have much to go on.”

      He studied the solid-wood door with its nine, etched-glass windowpanes on the top half. The pane closest to the door handle was shattered. The fact that the door had been locked with a key had probably been a deterrent. If Lindsey hadn’t been here to scare him off, though, he would have found a way in eventually. But why? What had he wanted?

      “Kyle?”

      He turned to look at her. “What is it?”

      She had a hammer in one hand and a half-dozen nails in the other, and she was staring at his feet. “I thought the chocolate-covered tux shirt was a unique fashion statement, but this…”

      He followed her gaze. One brown shoe and one black shoe stared back at him.

      “It’s my fault once again, I suppose.” She let out a chuckle and handed him the hammer. “Have I thanked you for rushing to my rescue once again?”

      He quirked his left brow. Was she flirting? If she was, he liked it. “I don’t think so.”

      “Then I should.” She glanced up at him beneath long, dark lashes. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

      Nothing like a beautiful woman to turn his world upside down in the course of an evening. “You know you’re welcome.”

      “I’ll be right back. I think there’s a piece of plywood in the laundry room that we can use.”

      He watched her disappear around the corner. Washington, D.C., suddenly seemed a lifetime away.

      He glanced around the living room again and his grip on the hammer tightened. Something wasn’t right here. If George Taylor had been buying enough stuff to not only lose his entire life savings but unleash a pack of bill collectors, there was no evidence of the man’s material indulgences. Everything in the house Kyle had seen so far was cared for but far from new. There were no fancy stereo systems, laptops or flat-screen TVs in sight. If anything, Mr. Taylor’s surroundings corroborated Lindsey’s descriptions of a thrifty and frugal man.

      And there were holes in Lindsey’s identity-theft theory. Mr. Taylor was an educated man. If he believed someone had stolen his identity, why wouldn’t he have gone immediately to the authorities? It didn’t make sense. Add to that the missing porcelain pieces and tonight’s break-in—

      “Kyle?” Lindsey’s fingertips brushed against his sleeve.

      She held out the board to him, smiling.

      “Sorry.” He hadn’t heard her come back into the room. He looked down at her, wishing they were standing here under different circumstances. This wasn’t the way he wanted to get to know her again. “I was just trying to see if I could make sense of any of this. The collection notices, the missing curios and now the attempted burglary…”

      Her smile disappeared. “Any theories?”

      “At this point only conjectures. I’ll need your father’s permission to look through his financial statements and computer files.”

      “Kyle.”

      He swapped her the hammer and nails for the board and then set it against the door frame to cover the hole. “And I’m following you home when we’re done here.”

      “I know I asked for your help, but you don’t have to do any of this. Just because we were friends years ago—”

      “I might not have to, but I want to.” He pounded in the first nail. His gut told him this was something that went beyond an ugly case of identity theft. A vision of his brother lying in a casket flashed before him. There was no way he was going to let her handle this alone. “I want you to call me tomorrow once you talk to your father. With his help we can get to the bottom of this.”

      “Do you really think so?”

      “Yes, I do.” He turned to her and this time couldn’t resist the urge to brush back the loose curl that rested on her cheek. “You know, you’ve hardly changed at all. I remember a beautiful young woman who cared so much for her parents that she left school to help them during a difficult time. Today, I see a woman who’d do anything for her best friend, including wear a pink ruffled dress she probably hates, with three-inch, back-breaking heels. And—” a blush spread across her face as he talked “—who’d risk her own life to save her father’s beloved African cyclops.”

      Lindsey brought her hand to her mouth and laughed. “They’re African cichlids, and you’ve now completely embarrassed me.”

      “Cichlids. Okay.” He matched her grin. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re quite a woman, Lindsey Taylor. You always have been.”

      FIVE

      Lindsey shifted in the metal hospital chair, wishing she could find a more comfortable position. She stared over the stark white bedsheets at her father’s determined gaze and tried to stay calm. She’d always hated hospitals, but today the pale green walls of the room seemed to close in on her. She shut her eyes for a moment, wishing she could block out the constant beeping of the heart monitor and the endless influx of nurses that reminded her of her mother’s last days. Except now it was her father in the hospital.

      She wondered if the nurses could give him something for his obstinacy.

      “Please, Dad. I know this isn’t easy for you, but you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. I just want to help.”

      Her father jabbed with his fork at a piece of pear on his breakfast tray and shook his head calmly. “I’ve already told you that there’s nothing to tell.”

      Her stomach clenched, and she held back the angry words on the tip of her tongue.

      “Dad—”

      “Lindsey, please.” He held his plastic fork up as if to emphasize what he was about to say. “I told you there’s nothing to worry about.”

      Nothing to worry about? Right. She gripped the arms of the chair. After Kyle ensured she’d gotten home safely last night, she’d made a cup of tea and tried to get back into the book she was reading, but even the absorbing storyline couldn’t pull her away from reality. Next, she’d turned to the Bible—where she probably should have gone first—but even that had done little to ease her concern. She was worried. There was no getting around it.

      She took a sip of orange juice from a plastic cup, in no mood to accept his insistent rebuttals. If he wouldn’t agree to help her get to the bottom of the situation, she’d call Kyle and search through every last piece of paper in her father’s house until she found out the truth.

      “Dad…” She sighed heavily, determined to try one last time. “You can’t tell me that a stack of letters from collection agencies, and the fact that all of Mom’s porcelain pieces are missing, is nothing. So what is it? Has someone stolen your identity? Or maybe…I don’t know…have you been gambling online?”

      “Gambling?” He stabbed at another piece of fruit, clearly fed up with her questions. “What are you talking about, Lindsey?”

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