Angel of the Dark
The man smiled sheepishly. “That’s kind of embarrassing.”
“I’d say embarrassment is the least of your worries.” A cold edge had crept into Lisa’s voice. “Who are you? And what the hell were you doing breaking into my home?”
The man extended a hand. “Matt Daley. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m not going to shake your hand! You were trying to rob me”—Lisa shivered—“or worse. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you arrested and thrown into jail this instant.”
Matt couldn’t help but admire the way her full breasts rose indignantly out of her low-cut Chloé blouse and her cheeks flushed when she was agitated. She’s beautiful. Just like the others.
“Because you’re in grave danger,” he said solemnly. “And not from me. Mrs. Baring, I know you have no reason to trust me. But the man who killed your husband, the man who hurt you, has killed befo
re. And the wives of his victims have a disconcerting tendency to go missing—”
“Yes, I know, I know.” Lisa waved her hand dismissively. “Inspector Liu told me. He wants to keep me under lock and key until they catch this guy. But as the police in…four countries is it now?…seem to have singularly failed to catch this man for the past decade, the idea of hanging around was not exactly appealing.”
Matt smiled. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of Lisa Baring. If he was honest, he thought she’d be some sort of meek and mindless trophy wife, the kind that rich old men usually went for. But she was nothing like that at all. She was feisty and fiery and sharp-tongued. If there was a soft center underneath, she did a good job of hiding it. He liked her.
Lisa looked at him suspiciously. “You still haven’t answered my first question. Who are you? And what interest do you have in me and my safety? Are you a reporter?”
“No, absolutely not. I’m a victim, of sorts. Like you. The man who killed your husband also killed my father.”
The blood drained from Lisa Baring’s face. Was it possible?
“Who was your father?”
“A man named Andrew Jakes.” Matt closed his eyes. A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him. He slumped back onto the pillows. “I don’t feel so good.”
Lisa summoned one of the maids for a glass of water. She handed it to Matt. “Drink this.”
Matt sipped the water slowly and began to revive. Lisa, on the other hand, still seemed to be reeling with shock.
Eventually she asked him, “How did you know I’d be here? In Bali.”
“I didn’t,” Matt said. “I thought you were still in the hospital in Hong Kong. But no one would let me near you there, and I knew you and your husband had a place in Bali, so I came out looking for clues.”
“What sort of clues?”
“Anything that might link you or Miles to the other victims. I hoped you might come here, eventually. To get away from the media circus. But I wasn’t expecting you to be in the villa last night. That’s the truth.”
There was no earthly reason for Lisa to believe him. Yet she found that she did. There was an honesty in his face, an openness that invited trust. It was an emotion Lisa Baring had almost forgotten she was capable of.
“And did you find any?”
Matt looked puzzled.
“Clues?”
“Well, no.” He rubbed his head ruefully. “Some old lady whacked me over the head with a frying pan before I got the chance.”
“Do the police know you’re here? Interpol?”
Matt was taken aback. He hadn’t expected her to ask him such a direct, specific question. He didn’t want to lie to her, it felt wrong, but Danny McGuire had made him swear up and down not to mention their connection, and a promise was a promise.
“No.”
“All right, Mr. Daley.” Lisa Baring stood up. “Try and get some rest. We’ve both had a long night. I’ll have Mrs. Harcourt bring you some food later. If you’re up to it, perhaps we can discuss this further at dinner this evening.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “You’re letting me stay here?”