now but can’t hold a job. Doesn’t have many friends.” He showed Kadin a photo he’d pulled out from the envelope. “Beautiful.”
Kadin’s brow lifted and he nodded. “Very beautiful. But even pretty women are capable of murder.”
“How did they meet?” Nothing in the file indicated that, and Lucas found it odd that a man as well-off as Jared would end up in an affair with a woman like Rachel.
Lucas turned the photo so he could see her again. Rachel’s shiny hair tapered into a sophisticated chocolate bob, drawing striking lines on each side of golden-brown eyes rimmed by liner and long thick black lashes. Those eyes looked right at the camera, sultry, daring and full of dangerous mystery. This woman had seen the rough side of the tracks, but must have found a way into the pinkies-up crowd.
“Has she done this before?” Lucas asked, not liking how the woman’s hotness stirred baser instincts. He flipped the pages, skimming through them and finding a paragraph on her previous relationships.
“Yes,” Kadin said as he read. “She’s had other affairs, not with married men, but with wealthy men. The relationships never last.”
Lucas closed the file. “No surprise there. She’s not very together, and the type of men she chooses must figure that out sooner or later.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. She might be innocent.” Kadin leaned forward again. “What’s your plan?”
* * *
“I’m sorry, folks. We’re going to have to get another bus and transfer you. Engine problems.”
Rachel Delany stared at the bus driver, unable to believe the bus had broken down now, today of all days. She’d just finished her last college final before the Christmas break and had a thirty-minute window to get to work. She had five minutes left. Grabbing her backpack, she stood and walked down the aisle toward the front, where the midfifties black driver saw her in the rearview mirror.
“It’ll be a few minutes before the other bus gets here, Rachel,” he said.
“I don’t have time, Larry. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“It’s a couple of miles to the next stop,” he said. “That mean ol’ boss of yours can wait. Let me take you the rest of the way.”
She smiled big. Larry knew all about her troubles. “A little snow won’t hurt.”
His dark, bushy eyebrows lifted over trouble-free eyes and he smiled back. “What’d you say your degree was? Weather girl?”
Rachel laughed on a soft breath, envying his humble existence. Whenever she felt the struggle of her own life too much, all she had to do was think of him. He made a happy living on a low wage.
“Don’t stop to talk to anyone on the way, now,” Larry called.
Still smiling, she waved and stepped off the bus. She talked to people on the bus all the time. Strangers had such interesting stories, like sitting with Forrest Gump on a park bench.
She tipped her head back and let the cold flakes peck her cheeks. A little cold and a long walk never bothered her. Bozeman, Montana, wasn’t known for its balmy weather, and she hadn’t chosen this area for the fluff. She had a little Larry in her—along with a dream to make something of her life.
Checking the time, she broke into a jog. Her female boss had already warned her about being late. One minute didn’t seem too late to Rachel. She wished she could tell her boss where to go every time she nit-picked over silly things, but she needed this job until she graduated and found one with more requirements than clock-watching.
Reaching the mall, she entered with a few stomps to shed the snow and then decided rushing wouldn’t make any difference. She’d get her last check and leave. One more job to dribble into her past.
Dodging someone coming the other way down the mall corridor, Rachel’s backpack bumped against the metal door as she cut the corner too close at the store entrance. Her boss stood behind the counter, alone. Leaning against the back wall, she watched her with disapproval marring her pudgy, wrinkled face. She made a show of looking up at the clock on the wall above her head.
Two thirty-four. More than thirty minutes late. Even Rachel would call that late.
“I had a final and the bus broke down,” she said, only for the slight chance that the woman would listen to human logic.
Her boss sighed in that huffy way that so annoyed Rachel and then walked around the counter. “Rachel, I’ve given you more than enough chances to prove yourself here.”
“It was my last final. I’m on break now until January.”
“At which point you’ll only be late again,” the woman said. “I need someone more devoted.”
Rachel humphed. “It’s a retail job.”
The woman immediately took offense. “Any job has its responsibility. You’ve shown me none with yours. You’re late more than you’re on time.”
True, but Rachel considered this a means to achieve something more rewarding. “I rely on public transportation. I depend on bus schedules. They don’t always match my work schedule. I’ve asked you to consider that when you write my schedule.” She began to wonder why she even tried to defend herself and come up with excuses.
“I’m sorry, Rachel,” she said. “I can’t arrange everyone else’s schedule to suit yours.”
“This is the first time I’ve been more than a few minutes late.”
The woman eyed her upper body as though her jacket didn’t cover enough of her shape. “Late is late.”
She’d often eyed her like that. Rachel let the spitfire that lower-class living had set free in her take over.
“You’ve never liked me,” she said, a revelation. Why hadn’t she seen it before?
The woman’s eyes flitted all over Rachel now, down her trim body and back up to her blemish-free face. “Liking you has nothing to do with why I’m firing you today.”
“You’ve looked for ways to fire me. One or two minutes late isn’t late. You censure the way I talk to customers.”
The woman stiffened, telltale offense. “Flirting isn’t professional.”
“I never flirt here.” The woman invented things!
“I did you a favor by hiring you. It isn’t my fault you turned out to be a disappointment.” She reached over to the counter and picked up an envelope. “This is your last paycheck.”
Rachel took the money. The envelope, its feel in her hand and the knowledge of what it contained, nearly did her in. No more checks would follow. Her will spared her from crumbling. Slowly, she looked up.
“Thank you,” Rachel said. “This is best for both of us.”
The woman’s lower jaw fell slack, and misunderstanding twitched above her nose. She expected another reaction. Would seeing Rachel hurt satisfy her, a woman driven by jealousy?
“I can do better than this.” With that, Rachel pivoted and walked toward the exit.
“If you’re thinking about filing a complaint, you should know I’ve documented everything,” the woman called after her.
File a complaint. As if she’d wasted her time on that negativity. Rachel didn’t turn or respond, just left the store. A man in a nice suit stood at a sunglasses kiosk. He didn’t look her way as she passed.
Rachel checked her phone. Her boyfriend still hadn’t texted her. She’d tried to get ahold of him all day, but he hadn’t responded. Someone to talk to right now would be nice.
She saw a woman dressed to the nines, carrying four bags and looking into the window of a jewelry store as she passed. Did she have