Against the Storm1 (10 page)

“Mind if I steal your sister for a couple minutes?” Trace asked her. “There’s a couple of minor items we need to discuss.”

Ashley smiled. “Not at all. It’s nice to meet you, Trace.”

“You, too, Ashley.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and finish getting settled?” Maggie said to her. “I’m sure this won’t take long. There’s food in the fridge if you get hungry.”

Trace set a hand at her back, guided her out to his Jeep, and they both climbed inside. He tossed his hat into the backseat but didn’t start the engine. “Why is it I’m just finding out you’ve got a sister?”

Maggie’s head snapped toward him. “I’m sure I mentioned her. I said my mom remarried down in Florida and had another child.”

He grunted. “From the way you said it, I didn’t expect her to be a grown woman.”

“I haven’t seen Ashley in years. This morning she showed up on my doorstep, babe in arms. I couldn’t just send her away.”

“No, I guess not. But it sure as hell complicates things.”

“I know.”

“I get the idea you haven’t told her about your stalker.”

“Not yet, but I will. I didn’t want her to think I was just trying to get rid of her.”

“Is that what you want?”

Maggie sighed. “Let’s just say I’ve got enough trouble without adding more. I don’t really know Ashley. I haven’t seen her since she was fifteen.”

“What else?” he pressed, sensing there was more.

“Fine. You’re so high on the truth, here it is—I’ve always resented Ashley for being the daughter my mother loved. I wanted a mother so badly, but Mom barely knew I existed. I know it’s silly, but that’s the way I felt.”

His mouth edged up. “You’re both grown now.”

Maggie released a slow breath. “I know. And she’s got a newborn. She and my mother aren’t speaking, which means I’ve got to help her. I can’t just turn her away.”

Trace made no reply. She was right, as far as he was concerned. The girl was family. That was enough. And she was Maggie’s sister. Secretly, he had always wanted a brother. Maybe that was the reason he’d become so close to Dev and Johnnie, his buddies in the army. The men were more like brothers than just friends.

“Listen, Maggie, this morning I went on the internet and found that song you heard last night. It’s from an old animated children’s movie,
The Prince and the Maiden.
”

Her green eyes widened. They were rimmed by
lashes nearly as thick as her sister’s. “You’re kidding! I saw that film when I was a little girl.”

“Anything you remember about it that might help us?”

She thought for several long moments. Then shook her head. “I loved the movie. I guess I was a romantic even before I knew what it meant. Aside from that, I can’t think of a thing.”

He handed her the computer printout. “These are the rest of the lyrics. Anything stand out? Any flash of memory that could mean something?”

Maggie read the words, which were mostly a repeat of the first two lines. She sighed and dropped the sheet onto her lap. “I have no idea what this guy is thinking, Trace, I swear.”

He picked up the paper, folded it, unsnapped his shirt pocket and tucked it inside. “It’s not your fault. The guy is obviously a nutcase. You don’t think the way he does. Probably better you don’t.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“I need to speak to your real estate agent.”

She cast him a hopeful glance. “Can I go with you? The office is only a few blocks away. I need to get out of the house for a while, try to get my head together about all of this.”

He should probably say no. The more time he spent with her, the more he thought about taking her to bed. “I don’t see why not.” At least with him, she’d be safe.

“Let me go tell Ashley.”

On the other hand, as much as he wanted her, she’d probably be safer if she just stayed home.

M
aggie leaned back in the deep leather seat as Trace drove the Jeep away from the town house. The Garmin Real Estate office was a couple miles away, in a small shopping center on Bissonnet.

As they started toward the door, she felt Trace’s hand at her back, guiding her up the walkway, and just that slight touch made her skin feel warm.

The office was mostly empty, she discovered as they walked inside, with just a few agents sitting at metal desks. Photos of homes for sale rested on pedestals in the front window, and sales licenses hung on the walls.

“Mike Jenkins was the listing agent for all six town house units,” Maggie told Trace, pointing to a short, stocky man with thinning hair seated at the desk farthest away. “That’s him over there.”

Trace urged her in that direction. Mike stood up as they approached and greeted them with a smile. “Hello, Maggie. It’s nice to see you. I hope you’re enjoying your new home.”

“It’s great, thanks. Mike, this is Trace Rawlins. He’s
an investigator. Recently, I had a break-in. Trace is hoping you can help me.”

Mike turned to him. “I’m happy to do what I can.”

“I need to know who had access to the key to Maggie’s condo.”

“No one lately. Not since the deal closed. Before that, we all did.” He gestured to the entire office. “While the condo was for sale, the key was on the sales board. Agents just sign it out when they need it.”

“Then you have a record of who might have used it.”

“That’s right. We put the property sign-out sheet in the file after the sale closes.” He walked to the back of the office and pulled open a drawer from a row of metal files along the wall. Withdrawing a manila folder, he closed the drawer and returned.

Mike opened the file, took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Trace. “This is a list of anyone who checked out a key.”

“Are these all salespeople?”

“Well, yes, and pest control, cleaning people, the guy who did the home inspection.”

A muscle jerked in Trace’s cheek. “So pretty much anyone on this list could have made a copy.”

“Well, I guess so, yes. But we’re all professionals here. We’ve never had a problem.”

“At least that you know of. You might want to consider rekeying a home after you’ve sold it.”

“Absolutely. We always advise our buyers to do exactly that.”

Trace turned a hard look on Maggie and a guilty flush rose in her cheeks. “Mike said I should rekey. I just never got around to it.”

The Realtor’s chubby face broke into a smile. “We look after our clients in every way we can.”

“Anyone show an interest in the place after you’d shown it to Maggie?”

“There couldn’t have been many,” she interjected. “I made an offer just a few days after I first saw it, and the offer was accepted.”

“That’s right. Once the property went into escrow, it was taken off the market.” Mike took the sign-out sheet from Trace’s hand, looked down at the names and dates. “I showed Maggie the condo on Friday, the first of March.” He opened the transaction file, thumbed through a couple pages. “We made the offer on Monday, the fourth, and the property went into escrow later that same day.”

Mike glanced back down at the list. “Jim Brewer signed out a key on March 3, the Sunday before we made the offer. That would have been after Maggie had been there. Jim held an open house.”

“I’ll need to talk to him,” Trace said. “Any idea when he might be in?”

“He’s sitting another open house, at 2255 Woodale. It’s just off Braeswood. You can find him there.”

“All right, that’s it then.” Trace offered a hand and the agent shook it. “Thanks, Mike.”

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

Trace urged Maggie back toward the door and she let him guide her out to the Jeep.

“I guess we’re going to an open house,” she said.

She found Trace’s eyes in the mirror. She thought he might say no, but instead he started the engine. “I guess we are,” he said.

Maggie thought of the dozens of people who had been in the town house, people who could have made a key. It seemed impossible to find out if one of them had become her stalker.

“Why would this guy, my stalker, go to an open house? How would he even know I was interested in buying the place?”

“I’m not sure he did. But he got inside fairly easily, so either he had a key or he knew the layout, or both. Maybe he was following you the day Mike showed it to you. If he was, maybe he heard you say you planned to buy it, and he wanted to see where you would be living. Maybe he just went to the open house because you’d been in the condo and he wanted to be in a place you had been.”

Maggie felt a chill. “I can’t…can’t believe he’d be that obsessed.”

Trace flashed her a sideways glance. “You can’t?”

She thought of the notes, of the eerie song left on her answering machine last night, and her insides tightened. How dangerous was this man? Just how frightened should she be?

And what about Ashley and little Robbie?

A sign appeared on the road: Open House, with an arrow pointing the direction.

“It’s up ahead.” Trace followed a trail of signs to an older, white, ranch-style home shaded by a cluster of big, leafy trees.

They walked inside and a thirty-something agent with short sandy hair and hazel eyes started over to greet them. He was wearing a suit and tie and a wide white smile.

“Mike Jenkins sent us,” Trace said. “We aren’t here to see the house, just to ask you a couple of questions.”

The smile slipped away. “Oh?”

“I’m Maggie O’Connell. I bought one of the town houses your company had listed on Broadmoor. You
held an open house on my unit the Sunday before I made the offer.”

“I remember the place. You got a good buy.”

“I like to think so.”

Trace tipped his head toward the guest book lying open on the table in the entry. “Did you keep a guest register that day?”

“I did. That’s the way we pick up clients.”

“Lots of people show up that day?”

“No, just a few.”

“Did everyone sign?”

“I think so.” He walked over to the book and flipped the pages back to an earlier date. “Here it is…2818 Broadmoor, unit A. Only two couples came in that day.” He glanced up, frowned. “Wait, that’s not right. There was a man…he said he wasn’t really a buyer, at least not yet. He just wanted to take a look around, get an idea of values for when he was ready to purchase. Since the condo was empty, I let him wander a bit. He didn’t stay very long.”

“What’d he look like?” Trace asked.

“Big guy. Forties. Heavyset. A touch of silver in his hair. Nothing that really made him stand out. I only remember him because he didn’t want to sign.”

“Dark hair?”

“Yeah, but with silver running through it. He looked kind of distinguished. I figured he had some money. That’s one of the reasons I let him wander.”

Trace looked at Maggie. “Ring any bells?”

She shook her head. “A client, maybe. Someone who bought one of my pictures. No one specifically I can think of.”

Trace turned back to the Realtor. “Thanks. We appreciate your help.”

“Anytime.”

They walked out of the house, heading for the car.

“You think the man Jim saw at the open house was him?” Maggie asked as they climbed into the Jeep.

“No way to tell, at least not yet. But it’s something.” Trace slid in behind the wheel. “If we get another lead that points to a guy who fits the same description, we’ll know we have something.”

“If it’s him, it isn’t David. He’s younger than that, slim and blond, and he has blue eyes.”

Trace grunted. “Sounds like a real pretty boy.”

Maggie bit back a smile. “I guess you could say that.” She looked at Trace from beneath her lashes. “You’re kind of pretty yourself.”

He laughed, white teeth flashing in a face so ruggedly handsome it made David look like a sissy. Trace turned to gaze at her and silence fell between them. He reached out and settled a hand on her cheek, and she could feel his working-man calluses, feel the strength. Leaning over, he very softly kissed her, just the lightest brush of lips before his mouth settled firmly over hers.

Maggie’s pulse roared. Her breathing quickened and damp heat poured through her. Trace kept kissing her, soft moist kisses that made her toes curl inside her sneakers and need tighten like a fist in her belly. The kiss deepened, turned erotic. A soft moan escaped. He tasted like heaven. Like cinnamon and coffee and hot, sexy male.

God, she wanted this man. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to happen after the sex, but she had never felt this kind of desire before, this strong an attraction, and she wanted to find out where it might lead.

By the time Trace ended the kiss, she had forgotten
where they were, forgotten everything but the aching want clawing through her body.

When he settled his tall frame back against the seat, he was breathing as hard as she.

“I was afraid of that,” he said, sounding almost angry.

“Afraid of what?” She couldn’t concentrate. All she could think of was how much she wanted him to kiss her again.

“Afraid you’d taste as sweet as you do, and I’d want you even more than I already did.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. As much as she wanted him, she wasn’t the kind of woman who jumped into bed with a man. She needed to know what she was getting into, needed to think this through before she did something stupid, the way she had with David.

A shuddering breath whispered out. She worked to slow her breathing, determined to force things back on a safer track. “So, um, how do we find another lead?”

He leaned down and cranked the key, and the engine roared to life. “We hope he calls after we set up the trap on your phone.”

Maggie studied Trace’s profile, tried not to think of that mind-blowing kiss. She was wildly attracted to him. But she didn’t need any more trouble in her life, and it was clear this man was a handful. “You don’t look optimistic.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “There’s a chance. But like I said, this guy doesn’t seem the type to make that kind of mistake. He probably used a disposable phone.”

“Like the ones you buy at the supermarket?”

“Right.” Trace pulled the Jeep out into the street. “I’m putting Rex Westcott on your place tonight. He’s
good. You won’t see him. Neither will your stalker if he shows up.”

Her senses went on alert. “You think he might?”

Trace didn’t bother to answer. The man had been there before. “You need to tell your sister.”

Maggie moistened her lips, which suddenly felt dry. “I’ll tell her when I get home.”

Trace drove Maggie back to her town house. He was still hard inside his jeans. One lousy kiss. Dammit, he’d known better. He had rotten luck with women, especially redheads. But his willpower was nil where Maggie was concerned.

“Where are you going from here?” she asked, which put his big head back in charge, thank God.

“I need to talk to Emily Barrington. I called her this morning, told her I wanted to stop by early this afternoon.”

“Hewitt’s daughter?”

“That’s right.”

“So you’re still working on the murder.”

“There’s still no proof there was one. I need to find out if Parker Barrington really was home with his wife the night her father died.”

“Is that what Emily says?”

“That’s what she says.”

“So the case is ongoing.”

“The D.A.’s building an embezzlement case against Parker. In the meantime, I’m doing some digging on my own.” Trace turned the Jeep onto Broadmoor. Maggie’s condo was just down the block. “I want you to keep me advised of your movements. I don’t want this guy getting you alone somewhere, okay?”

She stiffened. “I’ve got to work, Trace. I need to take
some more photos, finish getting others framed and ready for the show. I’ve got a black-tie opening on Friday at the Twin Oaks Gallery. It’s a very big deal for me.”

“It that so? Unless we catch this guy, you’ll be bringing a date to the party.”

“A date? I’m not bringing a date, I’ll be working.”

“Maybe I should have said
bodyguard.
”

Her russet eyebrows shot up. “You?”

“That’s right.”

She eyed him as if she were trying to decide if he’d come up to scratch. “You’d have to wear a tuxedo.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “I think I can handle it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Maggie didn’t say more and he wondered if she was comparing him to Pretty-boy Lyons. She’d said she wasn’t in love with the guy. Carly never loved any of the men she slept with but it didn’t keep her out of their beds.

“I don’t suppose you’d take me with you to see Emily?” Maggie asked. “I could wait outside in the car.”

Trace grinned. “Which is it? The sister or the baby?”

“Both. I don’t know Ashley, and I don’t know anything at all about babies.”

He chuckled. “Come on, Maggie. I never took you for a coward.”

She laughed. “Just shows you how little you know about me.”

His humor slowly faded. All too true. He knew very little about her, and he was a rotten judge of women. Maggie seemed different, but he could damn well be wrong.

He let her off in front of her town house. The look of dread on her face softened his mood. “You’ll be fine,” he assured her.

“Thanks for the ride,” Maggie said darkly. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up the sidewalk as if she were facing a firing squad.

From Maggie’s, Trace drove across town to an area off the Allen Parkway. It was an elegant, prestigious neighborhood, with some of the most expensive homes in Houston. Parker Barrington’s house looked like a Southern plantation, sparkling white, with two massive Corinthian columns out front and a balcony that wrapped around the second floor.

When Trace rang the bell beside the big double doors, a short, thin, dark-haired man in a black suit and white shirt opened the door.
The butler.
The pretension was Parker all the way.

Trace wondered how the man was going to adjust to the eight-by-eight cell he’d be sharing with some big bruiser, and almost smiled.