Secret Vows. Rochelle AlersЧитать онлайн книгу.
“He usually hangs out here for several months, then goes back to Florida. Every once in a while he’ll sit in with the band playing piano or guitar.”
“How tight is he with Chase?”
Bobby shrugged broad shoulders as he tossed back the liquid in his glass. “They both live in Bear Ridge Estates, so that would make them neighbors. Why are you asking?”
It was Greer’s turn to shrug her shoulders. “Just asking.”
Bobby narrowed his eyes. “You had to have a reason, Greer.”
If her uncle had been cleared as to her assignment, then she was somewhat obligated to be forthcoming with him. “There’s something about Chase that disturbs me,” she whispered.
“I don’t think you have to worry about him. He comes from money, so I doubt if he would be involved in anything illegal. Folks say he’s angry because he has no purpose or direction in life except to exist.”
“Boo hoo,” Greer drawled. “We should all have that problem. My heart doesn’t bleed for him, Uncle Bobby,” she added sarcastically.
“What would you do if you suddenly found you were wealthy beyond your wildest imagination?”
She sobered quickly. “That’s not going to happen, and if I did come into a lot of money, I’d put in for a leave of absence, then go to some private tropical island and do absolutely nothing but eat, drink, swim and sleep for at least three months.”
Bobby nodded. “That’s what I intend to do when I retire. What I have to decide is whether I want Hawaii or the Caribbean. Speaking of Chase, he’s an interesting character. And once you get to know Jason, you’ll realize he’s an all-around nice guy.”
“Why did he build a place here in Mission Grove? Wouldn’t L.A. be more his style?”
“Jason’s the antithesis of Tinseltown. He built a nice little house on an eight-acre parcel that sold for more money than some people make in two or three years. It’s not as ostentatious as a few of the others. I overheard someone say it’s somewhere around five thousand square feet.”
“How large are the others?” Greer asked. In her opinion five thousand square feet was definitely not a little house.
“Anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Unless you have a tribe of children, what would you need with fifteen thousand square feet of living space?”
“I wouldn’t know. When Stella and I bought our house, we’d planned to have at least two kids, but I suppose the good Lord knew what He was doing when He didn’t give us any with both of us working around the clock.”
Reaching across the table, Greer patted his forearm. “He did give you kids, even if it was only part-time. You have me and Cooper.”
Bobby grasped her hand, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. “That He did.” A wry grin twisted his mouth. “I loved taking you and your brother camping in the woods, teaching you guys how to fly-fish and shoot. Cooper was always pissed off because you were a better shot.”
“He eventually got over it after he joined the bureau.”
Greer’s thoughts drifted back to Jason. She wanted to ask her uncle, if Jason was really a nice guy, then what was his connection to Chase? She found it odd that Chase never shared his table, and only on a rare occasion did he sit and talk with anyone for any appreciable length of time.
“I’m going to call it a night. After I soak my feet, I’m going straight to bed,” Greer said.
Standing up, she kissed Bobby’s cheek, and then walked on sock-covered feet to the kitchen, leaving the mug in the stainless-steel sink for Danny to put in the dishwasher.
Returning to the table to put her shoes back on with a groan, she exited the building and headed to Bobby’s vehicle, on loan to her for as long as she was here.
All thoughts, of Chase, Jason and why she was working in Stella’s, faded as she started up the ancient truck. The engine to Johnny B. Goode II roared to life, shattering the quiet of the night. The year she had turned fifteen, Bobby had taught her to drive. He’d bought the 1956 Ford F-100 from a farmer and named it after his favorite Chuck Berry song. Greer had stalled out a number of times until learning to ease off the clutch slowly while depressing the gas pedal. The classic truck had a rebuilt engine and was fitted with power disc brakes. It sported a new coat of red paint, and black leather seats had replaced the tattered cloth ones.
She preferred a standard shift car to an automatic because it forced her to concentrate on the narrow road winding around the lake. Several times each year a motorist would speed, fall asleep or miss a sharp turn and end up in the lake. Fortunately there were few that drowned. She passed the sign leading to Bear Ridge Estates, noting the gatehouse and towering massive iron gates protecting the residents living in the exclusive community with multimillion-dollar homes.
She still couldn’t shake her nagging suspicion that Charles “Chase” Bromleigh was more than a ne’er-do-well that didn’t have to concern himself working as a nine-to-fiver. He wouldn’t be the first wealthy psychopath that embarked on a life of crime, and if her instincts were right, then Greer knew—in order to get close to Chase—she would have to befriend Jason. And she had the perfect secret that was certain to get Jason’s attention.
Maneuvering into the driveway of the house that had become her temporary home, Greer punched a button on the visor of the pickup and the automatic door to the two-car garage slid up. She parked beside an outboard motor boat resting on a trailer. The boat, also named Johnny B. Goode, was several years older than the pickup, and she had lost track of the number of times she and Cooper would take the boat across the lake to Stella’s before either of them had driver’s licenses. Bobby had issued a firm mandate that they wear life vests when riding in the boat although they’d become proficient swimmers.
She unlocked the door leading from the garage into a mudroom, disarmed the security system, then activated it again before slipping out of her running shoes and leaving them on a thick straw mat. It was time she traded the running shoes for a pair of shoes that gave her legs the support needed for her to be on her feet for hours at a time.
The moment Greer climbed the staircase to the second floor, she knew why her uncle had decided not to continue to live at the house with awesome views of the lake and valley. It was too quiet. Even now that her aunt was gone, her presence lingered along with the scent of her favorite perfume.
Greer had programmed the lights in the house to come on and go off at different intervals, giving the appearance that it wasn’t unoccupied. The crime rate in Mission Grove wasn’t what it would be in a more densely populated area, but there was enough criminal activity to warrant having a four-man police force. There had been a time when the small town was patrolled by the county sheriff, but that had changed once the residents of Bear Ridge demanded more of a police presence and were willing to underwrite the cost of having around-the-clock police protection beyond what they paid for private security. Anyone, other than residents, entering or leaving was subject to go through a security checkpoint.
Greer turned on the water in the bathroom, added a generous amount of scented bath salts and stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a large wicker hamper. By the time she’d brushed her teeth and washed her face, the water had reached the level she needed for a leisurely soak. Removing the elastic band holding her hair in a ponytail, she combed it out and secured the chemically relaxed strands in a topknot.
All thoughts of why she was in a small Oregon town faded when she stepped into the warm water, sat down and closed her eyes. The water cooled and Greer still did not stir. It was when she found herself falling asleep that she picked up a sponge and a bottle of bath gel and soaped her neck and shoulders.
Her movements were slow, mechanical, when she finished bathing. Wrapping a thick bath sheet around her body, she returned to her bedroom and fell across the bed. Within minutes she’d fallen into a deep,