Wonders Never Cease (Harlequin Super Romance) Read online

  He glanced at her once then looked away. Peter couldn’t be bothered by nuisance things, like animals and kids. Even plants required too much attention. He liked the image plants provided just not the work that went along with them. Same with wives.

  “As I was saying,” Peter told Ben, apparently picking up the conversation where he’d left off before the ruckus, “Jill was one of the most ordinary people you would ever hope to meet.”

  Well, thanks a lot, Jill growled.

  “I don’t mean that in a bad way. On the contrary, she was ‘salt of the earth,’ ‘good people.’” He put his fingers up to frame his words in imaginary quote marks. Jill always hated it when he did that.

  “This is such a tragic accident.”

  Ben, who was still kneeling beside Jill, rose. Obviously working to control his anger, Ben walked to the patio door and closed it before speaking. “This was no accident, Mr. Martin.”

  Peter looked appropriately abashed. “I didn’t mean that like a car wreck or something. I meant more in the nature of a random act of violence.”

  “We’re still investigating.” Ben’s tone didn’t invite a reply, but Peter never let manners stop him.

  “But Bud said you’ve caught the guy. Some doper who pummeled her with one of Mattie’s pornographic figurines.”

  Jill snorted. Peter had never liked the primitive art her mother sent from faraway places.

  Ben moved one shoulder a microshrug.

  “You think it was premeditated?”

  Jill looked at her ex-husband sharply. It was quite a leap from a random act by a whacked-out stranger to a premeditated attack. Was Peter somehow involved? Would he go to such lengths to protect his precious project?

  “It wouldn’t surprise me that Jill’s made enemies,” Peter continued. “She can be the most stubborn, single-minded, self-absorbed person you ever met. Especially when she’s working on a story. Maybe this had something to do with one of her investigations. Do you happen to know what she was working on?”

  A low menacing rumble seemed to come from her throat.

  Peter moved closer to Ben who’d paused in front of her Donna Wright watercolor. The piece, Glacial Falls, constituted a big hunk of Jill’s final award in the divorce settlement. She wondered what Ben thought of her taste in art.

  “I really couldn’t say,” Ben told him. “What’s her cat’s name?”

  Peter made a negligent gesture. “I don’t know. She got him after I moved out. I’m allergic to cats.” He sniffed for good measure. “I’m starting to get stuffed up even as we speak.”

  “You can leave anytime.”

  Peter frowned. “I wish I knew where Jill kept those settlement papers. She told me she’d made a copy for me.”

  Jill tilted her head. What papers?

  “Obviously they’re not in plain sight and I don’t think it would be a good idea to dig through her files or drawers. This is a crime scene.”

  Peter started to argue. “Sergeant Simms said—”

  “Amos asked me to meet you here so you could pick up some papers your ex-wife was supposed to have ready for you. No papers are in sight, so I think it’s safe to assume she was attacked before she had a chance to get them out for you.” It was obvious to Jill that Ben didn’t like Peter.

  A low sound—a cross between a purr and growl—emanated from beneath the navy armchair. Jill glanced over, the hair on her back lifting. Frank was a mere three feet away. Jill covered her nose with her paws.

  “Is your dog afraid of cats?” Peter asked, looking right at Jill.

  “Czar hates cats,” Ben said.

  With his back to Jill, Ben didn’t see Frank inch out from under the chair and approach Jill. Some gleam in the animal’s eyes told her Frank recognized her. Frank rubbed up against her with a happy purr.

  Oh, Frank, not now. How’s this gonna look?

  Peter laughed.

  Great. Now Peter thinks I’m some kind of wimp.

  Ben looked over his shoulder; his frown made her want to curl up in a ball. “He has a head injury,” he said stiffly.

  Peter snickered. “Jill told me that cat hates everyone but her. I stopped by once to drop off some papers and the damn thing attacked me. I think its name is Frank. That’s right. She named him after Sinatra.”

  His name is Franklin; I named him after Ben. The other Ben.

  Peter walked over and leaned down to pet Frank.

  Don’t do it, Peter.

  The ensuing hiss, screech and scratch were poetic justice to Jill’s way of thinking. When Peter responded automatically by raising his foot to kick Frank, Jill reacted with some wonderful dog’s instinct she didn’t know she had and clamped her teeth around his ankle.

  “Ow,” he howled. “Get him off me.”

  Jill lost her grip but a tooth snagged the fabric of his suit and she heard a satisfying rip.

  “This is a four-hundred-dollar suit, Jacobs. Your boss is going to hear about this.”

  Ben shrugged his magnificent shoulders. White really was his color. “Hey, make a quick move around a highly trained police dog and you could lose a body part. Be thankful it was just your pants.”

  Frank, who had disappeared during the ruckus, was back at Jill’s side, purring contentedly.

  “I have a business appointment, and now I’ll have to go back to the hotel and change my suit.” He turned to leave. “Do you need me to make a statement? My wife and I were at the Ahwahnee when this happened. We have a dozen witnesses, including you.”

  Ben took a deep breath. “I wasn’t under the impression you needed an alibi, Mr. Martin.”

  Peter looked uncomfortable. “I meant maybe I could help.”

  Ben frowned. Jill wasn’t sure what she expected, but his question surprised her. “What went wrong between you two?”

  Peter shrugged. “Jill’s family moved around a lot when she was a kid, and I guess she got tired of moving. She wanted to stay put, but I couldn’t. I probably never will.”

  Ben walked to the fireplace and looked at the framed photographs of her family. Her father—looking rumpled but distinguished. Her mother’s glamour shot taken last year at Christmas.

  “You need a partner to make it in this business,” Peter said. “Jill wasn’t up to the role. Clarice was born to it.”

  “Jill wasn’t a good hostess?” Ben asked, bending down to look at a wine cooler built into one end of the island. When Peter lived in the house, the unit had been filled with expensive, vintage bottles of wine. Now it was unplugged to save energy.

  “She did her part—for a while, but people change,” Peter said with a sigh. “Listen, Jill’s a good person. I’m sorry for what’s happened to her, but time is money and I have to run. You have my number.”

  He left without saying goodbye. So very Peter.

  Jill sensed Ben looking at her. “Come.”

  Short and sweet. Jill obeyed. She stayed at his heels as he exited the house. So did Frank, although it was obvious he was only going because of Jill—not because of anything the man said.

  “No,” Ben said, trying to grab Frank. “Cat. Stay.”

  Frank darted under Jill and batted Ben’s hand, claws extended.

  “What the hell is going on, Czar?”

  Jill looked between her legs. Frank, you’re going to get me in trouble.

  Frank blinked but didn’t answer.

  Ben braced one hand on the frame of the door. “This is insane.”

  Come on, Ben. You heard Peter. Things change. Jill turned and trotted to the Blazer—cat at her side.

  After a few minutes, Ben joined them. He rubbed a spot above his nose and heaved a weighty sigh before opening the rear door. Jill jumped in; Frank glared at Ben once for good measure then followed.

  “A cat,” Ben muttered, slamming the door. “I don’t believe it.”

  They drove the six blocks to the hospital in silence; Frank hid behind the gearbox. Ben parked in a spot designated for police then opened the door, clearly int
ending to leave Jill behind. She barked until he opened the side door.

  Concern warred with obvious frustration as he said, “Czar, you can’t go. This is a hospital. Jill’s mother doesn’t like dogs, remember?”

  She made little mewling noises that seemed quite effective.

  “All right,” he groaned, pulling a leash from a rack in the door.

  Jill danced excitedly, making it tough for Ben to attach the lead to the brand-new collar he’d bought at the vet’s. “Stop it, Czar. You’re driving me nuts. You know that, don’t you? And what about that cat?”

  Jill hoped Frank wouldn’t panic when she left, but he seemed content in the corner.

  Ben reached past Jill to close the window between the two compartments. Jill froze as his scent enveloped her. Dang, she liked his smell. “Now, behave yourself,” he cautioned. “This is a hospital.”

  JILL HAD BEEN MOVED to a private room a few hours earlier, the receptionist at the front desk told him, pointing down the hall to the left. Her family was with her, but Ben and Czar were both on her list of visitors.

  “Officer Jacobs,” a voice hailed as Ben walked down the hall.

  Ben glanced to his left. “Dr. Whitehurst.”

  The man motioned him over. “Good to see you. Czar, you’re looking better. Dogs do have amazing recuperative powers, don’t they?”

  Ben wished he were as certain of that as Dr. Whitehurst seemed. Czar, while physically improving, simply wasn’t himself. Ben didn’t know how to explain it. Or whom to tell.

  “How’s Jill?” he asked.

  “To be frank, I’m baffled. We’ve done everything we can, but she isn’t responding the way we expected.”

  That wasn’t what Ben wanted to hear. “But it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”

  “I know, but we had hoped for some response to stimuli, physical or verbal, by now. We may not know for several weeks if there is permanent brain damage, but the sooner she responds, the better her chances.”

  “Brain damage? Permanent?” Ben refused to accept what he heard in the doctor’s tone.

  “While the physical blow may have compromised individual cells or neural pathways, it’s the result of the possible oxygen deprivation that has us worried.”

  He lowered his head and sighed.

  Whitehurst looked at Czar, who stared back unblinking. “Even extensive damage to the cerebral cortex won’t necessarily impair consciousness,” he told them, “but the cortex is aroused by signals from the part of the brain stem called the RAS, the reticular activating system. If the RAS is permanently damaged—if those cells were suffocated for want of a better word, the situation would be irreversible.”

  Ben heard the words; at some level they made sense but not where Jill was concerned. He felt a nudge and looked down. Czar’s black nose was pressed against his hand, apparently sensing his master’s distress.

  “Are you saying it’s hopeless?” Ben’s grip on Czar’s leash tightened. The stiff cord was his line to sanity.

  “She scored a three on the Glascow coma scale, which means she’s in the deepest coma possible. I want you to prepare yourself for any outcome—even the worst. I’ve tried talking to Jill’s parents, but they’re entrenched in denial. I was hoping that you might be able to help them come to grips with this.” The doctor looked past Ben’s shoulder. “There’s Jill’s father. He seems like a fine man—very easy to talk to. Maybe he’ll be more receptive if the news comes from you.”

  As Ben turned, he felt a tug on his hand. Czar strained against his collar like an ox pulling a cart. He obviously wanted to go to the tall, lanky stranger.

  “Czar, heel,” Ben gruffly commanded in German.

  The order went unanswered.

  Before he could try again, the man turned and looked in Ben’s direction. His gaze fell to Czar, whose tail wagged in greeting.

  “Czar?” Ben croaked in confusion. His fingers went numb; the leather leash fell from his grip, and the dog he’d trained from youth and had worked with side by side for nine years suddenly shot across the room to leap about and bark with obvious glee at a complete stranger.

  Jill’s father didn’t seem to know how to react, but after a slight hesitation he dropped to one knee and put his arms around the dog’s neck. Czar licked the man’s face with obvious joy.

  Completely dumbfounded, Ben said, “He’s never done that before.”

  “Maybe Jill’s father reminds him of Jill,” the doctor said, obviously trying to help. “His scent or something.”

  Ben swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly trudged across the room. Before he could say anything, Jill’s father straightened and threw his arms around Ben’s shoulders, hugging him fiercely.

  “Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” the man said. “Thanks to you—and this brave, wonderful dog—my Jillian is alive. You will be in my will. I promise.”

  Overwhelmed and speechless, Ben laughed. So did Jill’s father. He stepped back and put out his hand. “I’m Nils Jensen. Come. Mathilda will be back any minute. She wants to apologize for her rudeness this morning. She loves Jill more than life itself, and this has been a terrible shock.” He leaned down and patted Czar’s head. “You, of course, will never be denied access to Jill’s room. You two share a common bond.”

  Ben and Czar exchanged a look. If he didn’t know better, Ben would have sworn he saw tears in his partner’s eyes.

  What the hell is going on? Ben longed to shout. But to whom—the God of Dogs and Cats?

  CHAPTER NINE

  JILL REGISTERED the room’s atypical hospital décor right away: two placid watercolor paintings, country-chic wall-paper and contrasting trim in dusty blue with rose accents. In the far corner, below the wide picture window rested a rosewood cradle with pastel animal-print comforter and bolster. A birthing room.

  The God of Irony is smiling on us, Jill thought, following her father into the room.

  “Mattie wanted a more homelike setting for Jill,” Nils said, heading straight for the bed where her body was lying. No obvious accoutrements of life support were visible.

  Jill strained against her leash. She needed to be by her father’s side. For some reason, seeing him made her believe everything was going to be all right. If there were a way to get back into her body, her father would figure it out.

  She looked around wondering where her mother was.

  Nils walked to a cushioned recliner adjacent to the bed and sat down. “I don’t want to seem impolite, but I’m working on very little sleep,” he said, motioning Ben forward. “Mattie’s even worse, which is one of the reasons she made a scene this morning. She told me about it. I hope you understand. She certainly didn’t mean to alienate the new man in our daughter’s life.”

  Jill hacked on a swallow that didn’t quite make it down her long neck. This had to mean that her father had passed along the news of Jill’s divorce to her mother. Jill had let slip the information in one of her emails, but it hadn’t occurred to her that her parents actually talked to each other. She glanced at Ben, who looked uncomfortable to say the least.

  “Um, sir, I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding. I care about your daughter, but we haven’t known each other very long. I’m not sure she’d call me that.”

  Nils hunched forward, folding his hands together. Jill always called it his thinking pose. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, Ben, but Dr. Whitehurst told us you were with Jill when this happened. And when I spoke to Penny on the phone, she mentioned that Jill was very taken with you.”

  The fink. That’s the last time I tell her my deepest thoughts.

  Ben cleared his throat then said, “We wanted to get to know each other better. I think the attraction was mutual, but I can’t speak for Jill.”

  I can. I’m crazy about you, Ben Jacobs.

  “Czar, quiet,” Ben scolded. “I told you no barking.”

  Nils reached out to touch the still form on the bed. A heavy sigh followed. “As I told my wife, it seem
s fortuitous that you are a member of Bullion’s finest. You can keep us abreast of the investigation into Jill’s case. I do hope you’re prepared to investigate it properly.”

  Jill watched Ben, who seemed drawn to the body on the bed. After hearing Dr. Whitehurst’s dire predictions, Jill wasn’t sure she dared look.

  “They…we’ve arrested a suspect.”

  “So I heard. Unfortunately, while the young man you have in custody may be a worthless piece of flotsam in the sea of life, he did not attack my daughter.”

  Ben looked at her father. “I beg your pardon?”

  “He didn’t do it,” Nils repeated.

  “You sound pretty convinced of that.”

  “Because I know Jillian. She had her nose in somebody else’s pie and somebody didn’t want to share. If you’d care to sit down, I’ll explain my analysis of the situation and my theory.” He pointed to the overstuffed rocker near the window.

  With a brief glance at Jill’s body, Ben took the proffered chair. “You’re saying you believe this attack was premeditated?”

  Her father nodded grimly. “I made a few calls. I spoke to Jamal, the photographer at the paper. He said Jill was working on something on the side. Something she wouldn’t talk about.

  “I also called the mechanic who worked on her car. His father is an old friend of mine. Although he couldn’t prove it, he said he believes someone tampered with her brakes.”

  Thank you, Daddy.

  “The suspect reportedly has been pestering your daughter for weeks,” Ben said.

  “I’m sure it would make everybody’s life easier if this person were convicted of the crime, but I’m afraid little in life is simple. I’m convinced there’s more to the story than that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Jill is a reporter. A damn fine one.”

  Ben cleared his throat and looked at his hands. “She writes obituary notices.”

  Jill appreciated his diplomacy, especially since the only thing of hers he’d ever seen was pure garbage.

  “Yes. And very well I might add. But, regardless of what that pompous editor of hers says, Jill is more than just an obit writer. She always excelled in whatever she did. As Peter’s wife, she gave the best parties, bought the perfect gifts for clients and whatnot, and always managed to look better than her pretty-boy husband.”