Against the Storm1 (29 page)

T
race leaned back in the chair behind his desk at the office. He hadn’t been home for two days. He and Rowdy had been sleeping on the sofa in the back room.

He rubbed the bristles along his jaw. He needed to shower and shave. But he was still on Maggie’s payroll. He still had a job to do.

He sighed into the quiet. At least he’d been working on her client list. Sol had run the names of the people who had bought her photographs, but come up with nothing useful except the addresses of where they were employed.

Trace was working on a theory. He just hadn’t had time to put it all together. He needed to talk to Maggie, explain what was going on. And he needed her help to finish going over the second half of the photos sold the night of the opening.

He didn’t reach for the phone. Maggie was moving out this morning. She hadn’t called. Apparently, she didn’t need his help.

At the sound of a knock on the door, he looked up,
then rose to his feet as Jake Cantrell turned the knob and walked in.

“Hey, buddy, good to see you.” Trace extended a hand. Cantrell gripped it and slapped him on the back.

“You, too, my friend.” The former marine was six feet five inches of solid muscle, with dark hair and pale blue eyes. He and Trace had worked together off and on over the years, most recently with Dev Raines and Johnnie Riggs in Mexico on the child-abduction case.

“I thought you were south of the border,” Trace said.

“Was. Just got back. Thought I’d take a week or two off, rest up a little before you put me back to work.”

“If I don’t have something by then, somebody will. There’s always work for guys like us.”

Men who knew how to handle themselves in tough situations, who put the job first and did whatever needed to be done to protect the good guys from the bad.

Jake sat down in the chair beside Trace’s desk. His size made the office seem smaller. “So what’s new around here?” he asked. “Anything exciting going on?”

Trace sighed. “I thought so for a while. It didn’t work out.”

Jake eyed the growth of beard along his jaw. “Another redhead?”

He nodded. “I must have a death wish.”

His friend chuckled. “There’s always next time.”

But Trace was thinking,
not for me.
This was his last attempt at normal, his last stab at home and family. He hadn’t said anything like that to Maggie. Hadn’t realized it himself until it was too late. The pipe dream was over now. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Unfortunately, she’s still a client,” he said. “Got a stalker. Maybe some other trouble, too. I can’t just walk
away—at least not yet.” Trace filled Jake in on the fire and their failed trip to the shore.

“You need some help,” he offered, “you know where to find me.”

“Thanks. Alex and Ben have been pitching in. Rex did some recon. So far, nothing we’ve done has turned up squat.”

“Like I said…” Jake stood up and headed for the door.

Trace walked him to the front of the office, watched him cross the lot and climb into his big black, open Jeep with its roll bar and oversize tires. The machine was beginning to show its age and the wear and tear Cantrell put it through.

Trace watched him drive away, the pipes rumbling a little louder than they should. When he turned, he found Annie staring out the window.

“That man makes my heart flutter, and I’m sixty-four years old.”

Trace chuckled. “Well, obviously, you aren’t dead yet.”

She laughed. “I guess not.” She turned her mother-hen glare on him. “You look like somethin’ the cat dragged in. You know, I really liked this last one. I thought you two were getting along.”

“I thought so, too. The lady didn’t seem to agree.”

“More fool she.”

He released a tired breath. “I guess I’m not cut out to be a settled-down kind of guy.”

“That is not true, Trace Rawlins. You were a great husband to that rotten little witch you married. I really thought this one was different.”

“So did I. Shows how dumb it is to trust your instincts.”

Annie opened her mouth to argue, but the phone rang, giving him a reprieve. He turned, headed back to his office.

“Line one,” Annie called after him. “It’s your lady. Maybe she’s wised up.”

He just scowled. As he sat down at his desk and reached for the phone, his stomach knotted. He pressed the receiver against his ear. “What is it, Maggie?”

“Jason and Ashley found something. I was going to call yesterday, but I…”

He didn’t try to help her find the words. He knew why she hadn’t phoned. The same reason he hadn’t called her.

“So what did they find?”

“Maybe nothing. I’m not sure, but it might be important.” She went on to tell him about watching the movie, about the prince and the maiden and how they weren’t just singing the song, they were waltzing, just like the couple in the figurine.

“I love to dance, Trace. Before all this started, Rox and I went clubbing all the time. I think…I have a feeling I danced with him somewhere.”

There was a long pause.

Trace leaned back in his chair. “I guess that means we’re goin’ dancin’,” he heard himself say. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“I wrote down my new address and the gate code, and left it on your kitchen table. I’m borrowing your laptop for a few more days, if that’s okay, until I can get my new computer hooked up.”

“Like I said, I’ll be there at eight.”

“Trace?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing… I’ll see you tonight.”

Trace hung up the phone. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to feel worse than he did already.

Heading out of his office, he called to Rowdy, asleep in the back, heard his small feet padding across the carpet. Trace ruffled the dog’s fur and adjusted his collar. “Come on, ol’ buddy. We’re going home.”

He had almost reached the front door of the office when Annie’s voice stopped him. “So what did she want?”

Trace grunted. “A dancing partner,” he said, and closed the door.

Maggie was ridiculously nervous. As she waited for Trace, she paced back and forth across the living room. The rented apartment was furnished, but not with any sort of style, just gray carpet, a gray sofa and chair, a black coffee table and end units, and a couple lamps. The framed artwork on the wall looked like something from Walmart.

There was none of the warmth she’d grown used to at Trace’s, nothing that made her smile. She missed the comfortable atmosphere. Missed hearing the thud of boots on the carpet. She even missed Rowdy.

The only thing the apartment managed to do was show her what a stupid mistake she had made.

Maggie sighed. She should have stayed, should have talked to him, explained her feelings, found out what he was thinking in return.

But beyond the great sex they had shared, she had no idea what Trace’s feelings for her actually were, and exposing herself that way just wasn’t something she was ready to do.

Ashley said he loved her. But Ashley was young
and inexperienced with men, no matter that she’d had a child. And Trace had never said anything remotely giving the impression that Maggie played any role in his future.

Nor had she to him.

She had hidden her feelings behind the incredible sex, hidden them from Trace—and also from herself.

Ashley was right about one thing: Maggie was madly in love with Trace Rawlins. She didn’t want to run away from him—she wanted to run straight back into his arms.

But it wasn’t going to happen. She knew what he would say if she told him how she felt. He wouldn’t believe her. It was just that simple.

She had moved out of his house, basically told him she didn’t think it would work between them. Saying she had changed her mind was just not going to cut it.

The doorbell rang.

She checked the time, took a deep breath, walked over and opened the door. Her heart lurched at the sight of him, standing there in his perfectly creased black jeans, a short-sleeved white Western shirt and black ostrich-leather boots. The ladies in the clubs were going to be drooling.

When he smiled, he looked so handsome Maggie’s heart squeezed.

“I’m ready,” she said, because if she said anything else, she was going to start crying.

His gaze ran over her. “You look nice.”

She had taken extra care with her hair and makeup, tried on ten outfits before choosing a short red dress she had never worn, but which seemed to fit her nicely. She managed to smile. “Thanks, so do you.”

His eyes fixed on her face. “I liked having you in the house, Maggie. I just wanted you to know.”

Her eyes burned. “I liked being there. More than I realized.”

He just nodded, then turned away from her toward the door. “Let’s go catch a stalker.”

She swallowed. He was all business now, the consummate professional. He was her bodyguard and nothing more.

And it was all her fault.

“We need to hit your usual places,” Trace said. “Where’s our first stop?”

“Galaxy. That’s my favorite. Rox and I went there a lot.”

“All right, Galaxy it is.”

It didn’t take long to reach the trendy nightclub in the Galleria district. He could hear the music throbbing out the front door as they drove up to the parking valet. Trace tossed his hat into the backseat and climbed from the Jeep, joining Maggie as a dark-haired young man helped her out onto the walkway. Trace raked a hand through his hair, settling it back in place, then rested a hand at Maggie’s waist and guided her into the club.

Music thrummed inside. The place was high-tech, all brushed chrome and dark wood, with mauve and blue lighting. There was an empty stool at the bar. Trace guided Maggie in that direction. She was wearing a very short, sexy little red dress that showed way too much leg to suit him, and left her entire back bare. His jaw felt tight. She wouldn’t lack for dancing partners.

“Order a drink,” he said softly, clamping down on the jealousy he didn’t want to feel. “Dance when you get asked. I won’t be far away.”

She nodded, ordered a cosmo. He had never seen her drink anything but wine before. He wondered if she was more nervous about the stalker or about being with him.

She looked pale, tired, and he might say sad. Maybe she regretted her decision. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

She took a sip of her drink, then slid off the stool to accompany a heavyset man onto the dance floor. The DJ was playing a fast song. The guy should have been clumsy, given his size, but he wasn’t. They danced together as if they had done it a dozen times, and Trace made a mental note to get the guy’s name.

A lot of people knew Maggie. She danced again and again, but none of her partners seemed overly possessive. They were just enjoying themselves, same as she was. A slow song came on as she headed back toward the bar. Trace told himself not to move, but all of a sudden there he was, taking her hand, leading her out on the dance floor.

He drew her into his arms and heard her soft little sigh. Maggie looped her arms around his neck and snuggled up to him, and though desire curled through him, mostly he just thought how much he missed her. He’d dated a dozen redheads. None of them made him feel the way she did.

None of them had the power to hurt him the way she did.

They danced well together. He wasn’t great, but he wasn’t all that bad. When the next song started, a Texas two-step, he couldn’t resist hanging on to her hand.

“You know this one?” he asked.

Maggie grinned. “Just try to keep up, cowboy.”

Guitars and fiddles, a good, fast Western song. He
loved it. For a few short minutes, he forgot he was her bodyguard, forgot he was supposed to be watching for a stalker. For a few short minutes, like everyone else, he was just enjoying himself.

When the song ended, he walked her back to the bar.

“Thanks for the dance,” she said, as if he was just another partner, but she was smiling.

“My pleasure, darlin’.”

Trace went back to work then, waiting and watching every man who partnered her, telling himself it didn’t bother him when she laughed or smiled at something one of them said. An hour later he came up behind her.

“I want the name of the first guy you danced with. He’s the only one who comes close to fitting our possible description.”

“That was Doug Winston. He comes in here all the time, but I don’t think it’s him. He just likes to dance. He’s never even asked me out.”

“We’ll check on him, anyway.” Trace urged her toward the door. “It’s still early. We’ve got time to hit a couple more places.”

She nodded and they headed outside. As the valet brought up the Jeep, Maggie’s cell phone began to ring. She dug it out of her purse and pressed it against her ear.

She stiffened for an instant, then her face went pale.
“It’s him,”
she mouthed as she walked farther away from the music so she could hear. Close beside her, Trace bent down so he could listen to the voice on the other end of the line. It wasn’t distorted this time.

“I miss you, Maggie. I’m so lonely. Won’t you come out and play with me?”

She swallowed, glanced up at Trace. He motioned for her to talk, whispered, “Try to get his name.”

“I’d really like to,” she said into the phone. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come to you.”

Trace nodded in encouragement, telling her she was doing the right thing.

The voice on the phone was deep and resonant, and yet it sounded oddly childlike. “Remember how perfectly we fit together, Maggie? I remember how you laughed, the way you smiled at me.”

“That was a special night, wasn’t it?” A faint tremor shook her voice. “I can’t quite remember exactly when it was.”

Silence fell over the phone. “You don’t remember?”

“Not exactly. I need you to remind me.”

He didn’t reply. The silence stretched out. Then the phone went dead.

Trace clenched his jaw. Maggie’s hand was shaking as she hung on to the phone. “He didn’t try to disguise his voice this time.”

“No. He thinks you know who he is. He’s escalating. This isn’t good.” Trace dug his own phone out of his jeans pocket and dialed Mark Sayers, who sounded sleepy when he answered.