Against the Storm1 (8 page)

T
he days slipped past. As promised, a man with JDT Security Systems arrived at her door within an hour after Trace had brought her home from their trip to the shore. Mr. Wilcox had carefully shown her how to set the alarm, and had checked to see that everything was working as it should.

“It’s a wireless system,” he explained. “Fairly basic, but it’s all most people ever need. If the alarm goes off and you don’t enter the proper codes to turn it off, the system automatically calls the security company. From there, the police are notified. You should be perfectly safe as long as you remember to turn it on.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilcox.”

“No problem.”

So far there hadn’t been.

And she had to admit she felt safer with the alarm system in and dead bolts installed. Since nearly a week had passed and there hadn’t been any more notes or hang-up calls, she was beginning to think she didn’t need Mr. He-man Rawlins, after all.

The doorbell rang. It was Friday night. The week
end had finally arrived and Maggie had plans for the evening. She checked the peephole, smiled and opened the door.

Dressed in tight red leather pants and a red silk blouse that left her midriff bare, Roxanne sashayed through the door. “You ready, lamb chop?” With her black hair swept into a twist and soft tendrils curling beside her ears, Roxanne, at thirty, was a fox.

Maggie smiled. “I’m ready.” Her own outfit was a little less flashy, a very short black skirt, gold silk halter top, gold jewelry and very high black-and-gold heels. “I’m overdue for a little fun.”

They were going to Galaxy, an upscale nightclub that catered to the late-twenties through early-forties crowd. Maggie loved to dance. Anything from modern to ballroom, country to hip-hop. Anytime, anyplace, she was game. She was especially good at swing and ballroom dancing, since her dad had insisted she take cotillion.

Cotillion.
The old-fashioned word made her smile. Because she didn’t have a mother “to teach her certain things,” her dad had signed her up on her twelfth birthday, and insisted she attend classes once a week.

Now she was glad she had.

“Grab your purse, girl. Let’s rock and roll.” Roxanne was always up for going out. She liked drinking martinis and socializing more than actually dancing, but it worked out fine just the same. And since Roxy was leaving for a couple weeks to visit friends in New York, this was kind of a farewell evening.

“Car’s out front,” Rox said. “I’ve got Alonzo driving tonight so we don’t have to worry if we get a little tipsy.”

Roxanne had more money than she could spend, a legacy of her daddy’s oil fortune. Though she was two years older than Maggie, they had gone to the U of
Houston together, Roxanne starting as a freshman after she had spent a couple years jet-setting around Europe.

They had met in art history class, the one subject Roxanne knew backward and forward, since she had seen a number of antiquities up close and personal in her travels and developed an appreciation. Aside from their common interest in art, for reasons neither of them completely understood, they had become fast friends and still were.

Roxanne’s white Mercedes S550 sat in front of the condo, with Alonzo, her good-looking part-time driver, seated behind the wheel. She and Maggie climbed into the backseat and headed for Galaxy, which was over by the Galleria.

It didn’t take long to get there. Alonzo opened the door for them, and as they made their way toward the entrance, the doorman recognized them and waved them to the front of the line.

“Thanks, honey,” Roxanne said to the big black bouncer with the thick Southern accent.

He just grinned. “You two gals be good tonight. Don’t y’all go gettin’ them boys stirred up and fightin’ over ya.”

Maggie laughed at the backhanded compliment. “We’ll be sure to mind our manners.”

They stepped inside, onto the stainless-steel floor in the entry, and were captured immediately by the heavy beat of the music. The place was slick and modern, with lots of brushed chrome and dark wood. Mauve and blue lighting gleamed beneath the bar and along the walls, and the ceiling glittered with tiny white lights that winked like stars. The stainless-steel dance floor was large and the DJ was really good at choosing songs,
usually a combo of top forty and Latin, with a little disco and the occasional country song thrown in.

Since the crowd was her age or older and Maggie was a regular, she knew a number of people in the crowd. As she and Roxanne slid onto high, dark blue leather seats at the black granite bar, a face she hadn’t seen in months was one of the first she recognized.

Roxy leaned toward her, raising her voice a little to be heard above the music and the crowd. “Isn’t that your old flame, David, sitting over there?”

Since she had already spotted him, Maggie kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. “That’s him.”

“I thought he was dating someone.”

“I thought so, too.” But clearly, he was alone tonight. Their breakup two years ago hadn’t been easy and Maggie felt a tightening in her stomach.

The bartender walked over just then, olive-skinned and handsome. “What can I get for you ladies?”

“Grey Goose martini, if you please, Enrique.” Roxy had an amazing memory for the names of good-looking men. “Up, and very, very dry.”

“I’ll have a Cosmo,” Maggie added, but one or two were her limit. She was basically a white-wine drinker, though occasionally the strong, fruity cocktail tasted good.

Roxanne leaned closer. “Don’t look now, but I think he’s coming over.”

Maggie inwardly groaned. She told herself not to glance in David’s direction, but her eyes went there just the same. He stopped in front of her, a tall man, very lean and perfectly groomed, with blond hair and pale blue eyes.

“It’s good to see you, Maggie.”

She smiled, tried to ignore the thread of guilt she
felt for the way they had parted. “You’re looking well, David.”

“Thank you. You look beautiful. But then you always do.” Very formal, always proper, that was David.

“You remember Roxanne?”

“Of course. Hello, Roxanne.”

Roxy took a sip from her long-stemmed glass. “I’m surprised to see you here, David. You were never much for socializing.”

David did corporate law for Holder Holder & Meeks. He was happiest behind his desk working on briefs, or researching case law. Just going out with another couple for dinner was a major undertaking for David. Which had been a problem for Maggie, since her job required she attend various gallery shows around the state, and meeting people was just good business. It was also something she enjoyed.

“Would you like to dance?” David asked her.

The DJ was playing a slow song. She didn’t want to encourage him, but she didn’t want to be rude, either. “All right.” Slipping down from the bar stool, she let him guide her through the growing crowd onto the dance floor. When she stepped into his arms, they felt as comfortable as they had during the months they had lived together.

But Maggie had discovered that a comfortable relationship wasn’t enough for her. She wanted more, wanted the heat and the passion, wanted the kind of enduring love that happened in romance novels.

Maybe she would never find it. But she was determined to try.

“I’ve missed you, Maggie.”

She looked up at him, tried to smile. “I thought you were seeing someone, David.”

“I was, but it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I thought… I asked around. You aren’t seeing anyone, are you?”

Why Trace Rawlins’s image popped into her head, she couldn’t begin to say. The man didn’t even like her. “Not at the moment.”

“I was thinking…maybe we could go out sometime. We’re both older, wiser. Maybe things would be different between us now.”

Maggie bit back a sigh. “Nothing’s different, David. I still care for you as a friend—but nothing beyond that. There’s no point in going through all of that again.”
All that
being the breakup David had taken so hard, the terrible guilt she felt for ever making him think they might have a future together, when deep down she’d known it would never work.

The song came to an end and he walked her back to her seat at the bar. “Thanks for the dance.”

She managed to smile. “It was nice seeing you, David.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Take care, Maggie.” Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Maggie released the breath she had been holding.

“How did that go?” Roxanne asked, arching one black eyebrow.

“Take a wild guess.”

Roxy lifted her half-full martini glass. “So David and his girlfriend broke up and he’s sniffing after you again.”

“Yes, they broke up. And I hope he’s not sniffing. I hope this was a one-time thing.”

“I think the guy has masochistic tendencies. You’ve
only told him a dozen times it’s never going to work between you.”

“I know, but even with his busy job, David is basically lonely. He’s a really nice guy. He deserves to find a woman who truly loves him.”

“You tried, kiddo. That’s all anyone can do.”

“I guess.” But she should have followed her instincts, should have known from the start she was going to hurt him. He was a good man, but not the one she wanted.

Another guy walked up to them just then.

“This is a really great song. You wanna dance?” His name was Doug Winston, Maggie recalled. Early forties, attractive in a kind of too-slick way and carrying a few extra pounds around his middle. But he was a very good dancer. Which was all that mattered when she came to Galaxy.

“I’d love to.”

Roxy lifted her glass in salute as Maggie headed once more for the dance floor. This time she was able to give herself up to the hot beat of the music, to relax and enjoy herself.

She deserved a night out.

She wouldn’t think about anything else, she vowed, and flashed a bright smile as she and her partner moved around the floor.

It was a little after midnight when Trace drove into the two-car garage behind his house. He’d been out to a movie and dinner with Ben Slocum and Ben’s current girlfriend, Rita DeStefani. Rita’s cousin Haley was in town for a visit, a pretty little blonde Trace had met before. The trouble was that Haley was a talker, and most of what she said was about herself. He had gone as a favor to Ben—who now owed him big-time.

Rubbing the ache in the back of his neck, Trace climbed the back porch steps, pulled open the screen door and stepped inside the screened-in porch. He unlocked the door and walked into the kitchen, flipped on the light switch and punched in the alarm code, turning off the system. Rowdy raced up, tail wagging, and Trace reached down to scratch his ears.

“It’s been a long night, buddy,” he said, and he was damned glad to be home.

Rowdy whimpered as if he understood.

Then Trace’s iPhone started to ring, and silently, he cursed. Nothing good ever happened at this time of night. He sighed as he pulled the phone out of the pocket of his tan slacks and pressed it against his ear. “Rawlins.”

“Trace…? Trace, it’s Maggie. Please…please don’t hang up.”

His fingers tightened around the shiny hunk of plastic. “I’m not going to hang up. Tell me what’s happened.”

“I went out tonight and when I—I came home…when I came back to the house, my phone message light was blinking. Nothing bad has happened, you know, not…not since the last time. So I didn’t think anything about it, but this time it…it wasn’t just a hang-up call. When I played the message…oh, God, Trace, this guy is really scaring me.”

“Check your doors, make sure they’re locked. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Trace didn’t consider not going. His instincts had been warning him from the start. And earlier in the week, Sol had dug into Maggie’s sealed juvenile records. Reading the transcripts of what she had said when she had gone to the police to tell them the truth about the rape had moved him deeply.

I love my dad so much…. I didn’t want to hurt him. (subject begins to cry) When he caught me sneaking into the house, he asked me what happened and I—I just couldn’t…couldn’t tell him the truth. Josh and I…we didn’t mean for anything to happen, we just…somehow things just went too far. I started crying, and Dad asked me if Josh had forced me to have…have sex with him. I looked at him and I couldn’t make myself say the truth, so I just nodded. I thought I could find a way to…to straighten things out in the morning. (subject continues to cry) Then I found out Dad had gone to the police and I—I was terrified for Josh. But I didn’t know how to undo what…what I had already done.

Reading the transcript had left Trace with a sick feeling in his stomach. She was just a kid at the time, he realized. At sixteen, still innocent, a young girl trying to find her way. If it hadn’t been for her dad going to the cops—which Maggie hadn’t expected him to do—the boy would never have been arrested.

Maggie had been horrified and riddled with guilt. As bad as it was for Josh, it was also a terrible trauma for her.

Trace pulled the Jeep into a parking space in front of her condo and killed the engine. As he crossed the asphalt to the sidewalk, she opened the door and just stood waiting. Her face was pale, her chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. As he stepped onto the porch, Trace reached out and pulled her into his arms.

“You all right?” he asked softly against her ear.

Maggie clung to him. She was so upset she was shaking. No way was she faking it.

She nodded, held on an instant longer, then took a deep breath and turned away. “I-I’m okay. Thank you for coming. I know the way you feel and I—”

“I was wrong. I should have listened to what you had to say.”

She swallowed, looked as if she wished he would hold her again, but instead moved farther away. “Come on in and I’ll play the message.”

Trace walked inside and closed the door. He set his hat on the coat tree and turned. For the first time, he got a really good look at her. Black miniskirt, gold satin top that left her back and shoulders bare, sexy high heels. Her pretty red hair was clipped up on the sides, but soft russet curls hung down past her shoulders.