Deadly Intent. Camy Tang
the past three years at the annual Zoe International dinner, he’d enjoyed talking with Naomi. He’d actually spent too much time talking with her. But the first time he’d met her, he was going through the divorce, and the other two times, he’d been trying to rebuild his business and finances. He hadn’t acted on his attraction because he’d been too distracted by other things. Plus, Naomi’s personality reminded him too much of Jessica’s—both bouncy and cheerful, although he sensed that Naomi had a more serious, responsible core.
Or maybe he just didn’t want Naomi to be too much like Jessica.
Logically, he knew that Naomi Grant was not Jessica Ortiz. Jessica’s family did have something in common with Naomi’s—they were both local but successful business owners. The Ortizes owned an exclusive clothing boutique with only one physical store in San Francisco, adding to the clothing’s appeal, allure and prices. Jessica had worked for her family, just as Naomi did—she’d been public relations manager for the store until she married him.
And then it had all changed.
She had spent all his money. Started running up huge bills and charging on credit.
And it was usually jewelry. Always jewelry.
And then came the divorce, when she’d taken him for everything that wasn’t nailed down.
Two years later, and he was finally starting to rebuild his finances. Luckily, his reputation hadn’t suffered; he’d continued to have a steady stream of patients in addition to his work with the Oakland Raiders.
He’d vowed he wouldn’t be betrayed by a woman again.
It wasn’t just the money—he’d truly loved Jessica for several years. But her personality had changed, and she’d hurt him in ways he hadn’t even admitted to his therapist.
The ugly divorce had made him more bitter toward her than he realized. Yesterday, when he’d found out from her personal secretary that she had an appointment at the Joy Luck Life Spa in Sonoma, he’d felt a sour anger that she could blithely go on with her life after ruining his.
No. He had to stop thinking about the divorce and focus on his cell phone. Naturally Jessica would be in his thoughts after what happened to her today, and he’d done all he could to help her….
Wait a minute. He had used his phone. Or specifically, Naomi Grant had used it to call the police. The dispatcher had put him through to the paramedics on their way so he could brief them before they arrived. And all the while, he’d been trying to stop the bleeding…but they’d been too late. She’d lost too much blood.
Jessica was gone before the paramedics arrived only minutes later.
Witness to it all, Naomi was dangerously pale, and he’d forced her out of the room.
He’d never retrieved his phone. There hadn’t been time. He’d spoken more to the paramedics as they tried to save Jessica. When they finally called the time of death, he’d left the room, but Naomi was gone.
He grabbed the hotel phone and called his cell. No answer. He called the spa, but again, no answer. Well, it was nine o’clock—the spa was probably empty except for the security guards left on the premises to monitor Dr. Rachel Grant’s research labs built into the backside of the spa building. He remembered Becca Itoh telling him about them a few years ago when he first met the Grants.
Wait, Becca would be able to help him. She liked him—or at least, she did before it seemed as if he were mixed up in his ex-wife’s murder.
He had her business card somewhere…No, he had her private number in his cell phone. But Martha would have that number, too. He called his admin.
“Have you forgotten you gave me the day off?” No hello. Typical Martha.
“Hello to you, too. Would you please get me the private number for Becca Itoh. I-t-o-h.”
“You’re assuming I have my computer with me.”
“You always have your computer with you. Don’t think I don’t know about the eBay stuff you do.”
She hmphed, but he also heard the clicking of computer keys. She rattled off the number and he copied it onto a piece of paper.
“Are you going to tell me why you needed me to look it up instead of dialing it yourself on your cell phone?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You lost it, didn’t you?”
“There were extenuating circumstances. Speaking of which, something has come up and I have to stay in Sonoma for a few days longer.” Hopefully not in a jail cell. Just the thought made his stomach coil tighter.
“A few days? How many days?”
“You’ll need to clear my schedule for the next week.”
“The next week?” Her screech made the telephone vibrate.
“Martha, it has to do with Jessica.”
She immediately quieted. “I’m sorry. That woman has caused you more hurt and headache—”
“She’s dead. Murdered.”
“What?”
“And I’m the prime suspect.”
Silence.
“Martha?”
“This is awful. Just awful. Oh, God…”
“Your God isn’t going to help me now.” Why should He? He hadn’t done anything about the torrential divorce, what Jessica had done to his finances, what she’d nearly done to his reputation.
Martha didn’t tsk, but he heard it in her voice. “You’re not in a position to thumb your nose at Him.”
She was right. “Well, right now I need to recover my cell phone. I’ll keep you posted about how long I need to stay in Sonoma.”
“I’ll be praying for you, Devon.”
Her soft voice made the worry in his gut boil harder. “Pray I get my phone soon. Bye.”
He called his cell phone again, and the spa again, both with no answer, again. Then he dialed Becca Itoh.
“Dr. Knightley. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Becca, but I think Naomi has my cell phone.”
“Your cell phone?”
“She used it to call 911 earlier today.”
A brief pause. “Oh.”
“I called my cell and the spa, but there’s no answer. Is she with you?”
“No, she’s not home yet.”
“Not home?” It was full dark. And Jessica had been murdered in Naomi’s massage room. The killer was still out there…
“She was determined to take a late client at the spa tonight.”
“I thought the spa was closed.”
“We canceled all our other appointments, but Penelope Olson asked for a special session and Naomi agreed.”
“I realize she’s the senator’s wife, but isn’t it dangerous for Naomi to be there so late?”
“Don’t worry, we hired an extra night guard at the spa, and they’re looking out for her. I know she’s still there, and you’re in the Cronby Hotel, right?”
“Yes.”
“You can get there in only a few minutes. She should be finishing her session in about forty minutes, so why not meet her out at the spa to get your phone? I’ll call the security desk to let them know you’re on your way.”
“Thanks, Becca.”
“In