Against the Storm1 (18 page)

Her sister set the baby carrier down on the ceramic tile floor. “I found just the thing! Jason is going to love it.” Then she spotted Trace and the excitement in her face changed to an expression of concern. “Did something happen while I was away?”

“I got another call,” Maggie explained, casting a look at Trace, her body still thrumming with desire for him.

“We’re going to catch him,” he declared. “It’s only a matter of time. Until then, you keep an eye on your sister, okay?”

“I will, don’t worry,” Ashley replied.

Trace’s gaze locked with Maggie’s and his look said he wanted to take her home with him, finish what they had started. “Probably not a good idea to leave your sister here alone tonight—not after telling the SOB to
bugger off. You never know how some of these jokers will respond.”

He was right, of course. She couldn’t leave Ash and the baby, not tonight. Still, she was aching for more of those hot, wet kisses, more of his amazing lovemaking, and the smoldering look he gave her said he felt the same.

“I’m as close as my phone. If anything happens—anything—you call me. And the police. I talked to Detective Sayers. He’s put them on notice this isn’t a drill. They’ll come if you need them.”

“All right.”

Ashley carted the baby carrier down the hall to their bedroom and Maggie walked Trace to the door.

“Best laid plans and all that,” he said, settling his hat on his head.

She just shrugged.

“I hear Jason’s coming over for dinner. Kid called to tell me. Kind of thinks of me as Ashley’s protector, I guess. He promised to be on his best behavior.”

“Good for him.”

“You’ll want to leave the lovebirds alone, so why don’t I make dinner for you at my place that night?”

One of her eyebrows went up. “You can cook more than Pillsbury breakfast rolls?”

He grinned. “Quite a bit more.” His gaze ran over her, as hot and sexy as before. “You might want to bring your toothbrush.”

Her stomach contracted. Maggie smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

R
ichard Meyers stood in the darkness behind the abandoned warehouse. Though it was well after midnight, the temperature was warm, the air damp and heavy. Only a sliver of moon lit the black sky. The property around the old metal building was littered with trash and rusty pieces of iron. A rat scurried into an overturned garbage can, and Richard shivered against an edge of fear.

A place like this was the last spot he would have chosen. He didn’t know the man who had set up the meet, just a voice at the end of a telephone line, someone who knew the right people—for the right price.

Yesterday, Senator Logan had spoken to a contact in the police department, who had talked to a friend, a captain in the vice squad named Varner. Varner knew all about Maggie O’Connell and her possible stalker. He’d had a run-in with the woman years ago. The senator had gotten all the lurid details of the false rape charges and the fact that Varner had a long-standing grudge against Maggie.

According to Logan, at first the captain had believed
Maggie’s 911 calls were nothing but a publicity stunt. Lately, he had come to believe that “some kook,” as Varner had put it, was obsessed with her. After the trouble she had caused his son, Varner figured it was poetic justice.

As far as Richard was concerned, the important point was that Maggie O’Connell had an enemy. If that enemy happened to break into her home and destroy her studio, well, one just never knew what a creep like that was capable of.

A noise in the darkness drew his attention. Footsteps crunching on gravel. A shadowy figure in a long coat with the collar turned up, and a narrow-brimmed fedora, appeared around the corner of the warehouse.

Right out of a spy movie.
Richard bit back a laugh. He wondered how badly the guy was sweating inside the coat.

“You bring the money?” the man asked as he approached.

“I brought it,” Richard said. “Half tonight. The rest when the job is finished.”

The stranger nodded. In the darkness, with his hat brim in the way, it was impossible to see his face.

“There’s a security alarm in the house,” Richard told him. Another little tidbit the senator had uncovered. The man was a genius at getting people to spit out whatever he wanted to know. “Can you get past it?”

The man chuckled, a raw sound in the darkness. “Unless the place is protected like Fort Knox, it won’t be a problem.”

“There may be surveillance cameras outside.”

“I’ll find ’em, take ’em out.”

“The residence is a town house. There’s another property attached, to one side. They said you could do
the job without destroying the neighboring condos. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“I can’t make promises, but there are ways to handle it. I’ll do the best I can.”

Logan had been adamant. But the senator was Richard’s meal ticket and unless the problem was taken care of, both of them were in serious trouble. He wasn’t about to let all his years of hard work go down the drain. Besides, there were certain risks in everything.

“The woman’s sister is in the house. She’s got a baby.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” But he didn’t sound particularly concerned. “Now, do you want this done or not?”

Richard drew in a slow breath. He was already in so deep he had no real choice. “Go ahead and do it.” Reaching into his pocket, he handed over an envelope containing fifteen thousand dollars.

“I’ll be in touch,” the man said, stuffing the envelope inside the pocket of this of his coat. Turning, he walked back around the corner of the warehouse.

Richard watched until he disappeared. Only then did he realize he was sweating as much as the man in the trench coat.

Trace got a phone call from Johnnie Riggs on Wednesday morning. He was sitting behind his desk, trying not to think of Maggie and the dinner he was cooking for her that night, trying not to get carried away as he imagined all the ways he meant to have her.

The phone call saved him, but just barely.

“Hey, buddy, how’s it hangin’?”

Trace almost laughed. If his friend only knew. Johnnie’s image appeared in his head, six feet of solid muscle, thick dark hair and dark eyes, a five o’clock
shadow that was there by ten in the morning. “Hey, Hambone. Hangin’ in there. Whatcha got?”

“I got a line on your guy Weller. Interesting stuff.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Like the fact he’s in the closet. So deep not even his friends know the truth. He pretends to be a player. Likes the image of being a lady’s man, likes the attention from all the women. And it keeps him from having to explain why he isn’t married, isn’t involved with a particular female. Fact is the guy prowls the gay bars down in the district, picks up male prostitutes, gets his rocks off, then goes back to his straight life as a hotshot photographer. Sex with a woman doesn’t interest him. Looks like your lady was telling you the truth.”

“My client, you mean.”

“She’s a redhead. Six to one, you’re sleeping with her.”

Annoyance filtered through him. Johnnie knew him too well. “As I recall, you’ve got a penchant for blondes.”

Johnnie chuckled. “Point taken. Anything else you need?”

“Not at the moment. Send Annie your bill.”

“Hope the info helps.”

“Helps my peace of mind,” Trace said and hung up. He’d needed to know about Weller, he told himself. He was just being thorough. And though he felt a little guilty for doubting Maggie’s word, he also felt relieved to know she’d been telling him the truth.

He was smiling, thinking of the night ahead, when the phone rang again. This time it was Mark Sayers.

“Coroner’s report just came in,” the detective said. “Thought you’d want to know.”

“Tell me.” Trace picked up a pencil, wrote the words
Coroner’s Report
on the pad next to the phone.

“They found a needle mark in Sommerset’s neck. Missed it the first time because they figured him for a suicide. The puncture convinced them to look in a different direction, and guess what they found?”

“Tranquilizer of some kind.”

“That’s right. Ketamine. It’s used in darts to sedate animals—deer, bear, dogs, monkeys, a lot of different stuff. You can get it from a veterinarian or over the internet.”

Trace’s fingers tightened around the pencil. “What do you bet Parker’s computer turns up an internet search for animal tranqs?”

“Department’s on it as we speak.”

“If they find it, you’ll nail the prick.” He penciled
ketamine
on his scratch pad, a reminder to look it up. “You told Jason yet?”

“No, but he’ll get an official call sometime this afternoon.”

Trace grunted. “Good thing good ol’ Parker’s in custody.”

Mark chuckled. “Might just be. But near as I can tell, Jason’s a good, solid kid. He’ll handle it.”

Trace could almost see the fury in Jason’s eyes. He’d handle it because he had to, but he wasn’t going to take the news well.

The call came to an end and Trace leaned back in his chair. Parker had been so cocksure he could get away clean.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Hewitt deserved justice. It was beginning to look like he was going to get it.

“I got a job!” Ashley burst into the condo and began to dance around, holding a brown paper bag of grocer
ies as if it were her imaginary partner. “I start Friday night!” She shuffled her feet, twirled dramatically as Maggie descended the last few stairs.

“You got a job?”

Ashley grinned. “Yup!”

“I think I missed something,” Maggie said. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.” For the last couple hours she’d been upstairs going through her photography files, sorting memory cards, getting ready to take the pertinent ones to the photo imaging shop to have the pictures reprinted. As soon as they were ready, she would deliver them to Frontier Framing, get them matted and framed, then get them to the gallery.

Ashley carried the groceries into the kitchen and set them on the counter. “There was this ad in the paper, you know? I’ve been reading the Help Wanteds every morning. The job’s only for a couple of weeks while Eddie—that’s the cook—looks after his mom, but it’s working in a restaurant and I have to start somewhere.”

Maggie began to smile. “Congratulations. That’s wonderful, Ash. So where exactly is it you’ll be working?”

“The Texas Café.” She began pulling groceries out of the bag, the ingredients she needed to cook supper for Jason Sommerset. Maggie had a hunch it had taken the last of the meager savings Ashley had brought with her from Florida.

“I’ll be working for a woman named Betty Sparks. I told her I was living in Houston with my sister, Maggie O’Connell, and she said she knew you.”

Maggie thought of Trace’s fight in the café with Bobby Jordane, and inwardly winced at her shabby attempt to grab a paparazzi-style photo. “We met a few weeks back.”

“She asked me if you were dating a guy named Trace Rawlins, and I said it looked that way, and she laughed.”

Maggie felt a trickle of irritation. “I’m sure she did.” But Maggie had a hard time seeing the humor. Betty had warned her Trace had a weakness for redheads. Apparently, she was just another one of them.

The thought did not sit well. She told herself her interest in Trace was also strictly physical, and managed a halfhearted smile.

“So you got a job at the Texas Café, and…?”

“And I start Friday night. I really liked Betty and I think she liked me. She said as long as I could cook, she’d teach me the rest of what I needed to know. I’m really excited about it.”

“That’s great. I’m so happy for you.” Maggie shot a quick glance at the groceries spread out on the counter. “I take it Robbie’s at Mrs. Epstein’s?”

“I took him over a little early, since I had to go to the job interview, and cooking this stuff isn’t easy. I really need to concentrate.”

“You seem excited about seeing Jason.”

Ashley pulled the cellophane off a package of cut-up chicken, set it in the sink and turned on the water. “I’m not sure. I’m kind of nervous. I know he’s out of my league. There’s only one thing he could possibly want from me. I don’t know why I said yes.”

Maggie rounded the breakfast bar and walked into the kitchen. “That is so not true. You’re beautiful and you’re smart. You have goals and you’re willing to work hard to reach them. You have a lot more to offer a man than just your body.”

Ashley looked up and her features softened. “That’s really a nice thing to say. Thanks, sis.”

She drew her into a hug. “I mean it. Jason’s lucky to get a shot.”

Ashley shook her head. “He isn’t getting a shot. He’s getting dinner. That’s all.”

Maggie smiled. “He’s getting your wonderful company for the evening. That’s worth a heckuva lot.”

Her sister grinned. “He’s getting chicken cacciatore with prosciutto tortellini gratinato. And lemon mousse with raspberries for dessert. That really is worth a lot.”

Both of them laughed.

“So what about you?” Ashley asked as she began retrieving various pots and pans for the meal she was preparing. “You’re going over to Trace’s, right? Are you guys getting serious?”

Maggie scoffed. “Are you kidding? We hardly know each other. We’re strictly in lust.”

“I’d say you know each other pretty well. He always seems to be there when you need him. That’s more than you can say for most men.”

She pondered that, and how Trace had a way of making her feel safe and protected. “Not most men,” she corrected, “but a lot.” She smiled. “I never thought I’d have the hots for a cowboy, but I have to admit I do.”

“But it isn’t anything serious,” Ashley said with a hint of amusement.

She shrugged. “I like him. I think he likes me. In bed, he’s amazing.”

Ashley had started to reach for a bowl, but stopped and turned.

“What is it?” Maggie asked.

“I’ve never felt that way about sex. You know, having the hots for a guy? Ziggy…well, he wasn’t my first, but there were only a couple others, and none of them were amazing.”

Maggie reached up and looped a curl of her sister’s hair behind an ear. “You’re young. You’ve got lots of time. You can wait until just the right man comes along.”

“Is Trace the right man for
you?
”

Maggie ignored a funny little quiver in her middle. “When it comes to sex, he sure is.” Grinning, she turned and headed back upstairs.

Her grin slowly faded. She just hoped her attraction to Trace didn’t go a whole lot deeper than she wanted to admit.