Against the Storm1 (9 page)

His groin throbbed. He’d been out with a gorgeous blonde all evening. He suspected she’d wanted him to take her to bed, but he hadn’t felt the slightest urge. Now, just looking at Maggie, he was already hard and aching to have her.

He released a slow breath. “Let’s hear the message.”

He followed her into the kitchen, trying not to look at her ass.

He spotted her landline phone and the small black box next to it with the blinking red light.

“It’s a little old-fashioned, but I can see the light and know right away when someone has called.”

He waited while she punched the play button, and the message began. At first there was a scratchy sound he didn’t recognize. Then a song began: “I…saw…you…I knew you would be my one true love. I…saw…you…a vision so pure and sweet, my only true love….”

It sounded like an old vinyl record, a little scratchy, a little wobbly, but he knew the song, had heard it a dozen times over the years. Still, he couldn’t quite place it.

The voice that followed, electronically distorted, sent a shiver down Trace’s spine. “Mag-gie…my precious
Mag-gie. Some-day soon you will awa-ken to me. You will come to me, my Mag-gie. Soon.”

He hit the stop button, looked over at her face. The last of the color had drained away, making the freckles stand out on her nose.

“I know it’s distorted, but is there any chance you recognize the voice?”

She only shook her head.

“How about the song? You know what it is?”

“I’ve heard it. It’s been years. I can’t remember where I know it from.”

“I recognize it, too, but only vaguely. It won’t be hard to find the name. The question is does it mean anything to you?”

She replied with a shaky breath, “Not a thing.”

Trace reached out and hit the message button again, took note of the time of the call, 11:00 p.m. Then he replayed the message. He would have played it a third time if Maggie’s face hadn’t gone paler every time she heard it.

“You’re all dressed up,” he said, his gaze skimming over her sexy clothes. “Hot date?” He tried to keep his tone neutral. He had no hold on Maggie O’Connell, no say in what she did or didn’t do. Still, he didn’t like the idea of her seeing another man.

“Roxy and I went dancing. We went to Galaxy. I love to dance. We don’t go that often, but when we do, that’s where we usually go.”

He knew the place, upscale and classy, catering to a mostly thirties crowd. “Anything unusual happen? Any of your partners say anything, do anything out of the ordinary?”

She hesitated an instant too long.

“Don’t make the mistake you made before, Maggie. I need you to trust me. I need you to tell me the truth.”

She took a shaky breath. “David Lyons was there. The guy I used to live with? We danced together, but only once, and he didn’t say or do anything unusual. In fact, he was extremely polite.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

She glazed down at the toes of those very high heels, and Trace’s gaze followed. Damn, she had the prettiest legs. Slender ankles and nice high arches. He forced his gaze back to her face.

“David didn’t make that call,” she said. “He just isn’t the kind of guy to do something like that, and I don’t want to cause him any trouble.”

“You still in love with him?”

She shook her head. “I was never in love with David. That was the problem. I hurt him. I didn’t mean to but I did. I don’t want to do it again.”

“You hurt Josh Varner—now you don’t want to hurt David Lyons. Is that about it?”

She swallowed. “I guess maybe that’s part of it. I just know David was really…upset when our relationship ended. He’s a very nice man and he doesn’t deserve more problems from me.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Trace said drily. But now that he was back on the case, which apparently he was, he was going to see it through. David Lyons was on his list of suspects. For Maggie’s sake, Trace would give the guy the benefit of the doubt, but he wouldn’t overlook him completely. Not until her stalker was found.

“Anything else?”

Pondering the question, she worried her lower lip. It was plump, damp and shiny, and the muscles across his
stomach contracted. He wanted to set his mouth there, find out how sweet those full lips tasted. He wanted to do a lot more than that.

Damn. This wasn’t good.

“I can’t think of anything,” she said. “At least not at the moment.”

“There are a couple of things we can do. You’ve already reported the calls, the notes and the break-in to the police. So far, they haven’t been much help. That leaves the phone company. First thing Monday, arrange to get caller ID. You might get lucky and we’ll be able to track another call backward if one comes in. Or if the caller number is blocked, which it probably would be, you can figure it’s him, let it ring and not pick up.”

“All right.”

“Also, there’s a thing they can do called a trap. Once it’s set up, the phone company can figure out where any harassing calls are coming from. The bad news is you’ll have to be here when the call comes in, and you’ll have to log the time and date. Once the phone company finds the caller’s number, they give it to the police, who track it from there.”

“What if the police won’t do it?”

“I’ve got a friend in the department. It shouldn’t be a problem. The trouble is, if the guy was careful enough not to leave his fingerprints, he’s probably smart enough to use a disposable phone. Even if we get a number, it might not lead us anywhere.” There were a couple other alternatives, but the trap seemed to be the best option.

Maggie looked up at Trace. “I think we should try it, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. I do a lot of work with the phone company. I’ll talk to them, set things up.”

He glanced at the clock. It was nearly 2:00 a.m. “Why
don’t you get some sleep? We can talk again in the morning.”

“I’ll try.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “I feel better now that I’ve talked to you.”

So did he, he realized. He hadn’t been able to stop worrying since he’d left her last weekend. She might still be in danger, but now he was around to make sure she stayed safe.

He stifled a groan. That he cared so much did not sit well with him.

“Lock the dead bolt and activate the alarm. Call me when you get up in the morning.”

Maggie walked him to the door. She paused for an instant and looked up at him. “Thanks for coming.”

He reached out and gently cupped her cheek. “I won’t let him hurt you, Maggie.”

She managed to smile as his hand fell away. He wanted to reach for her again, ease her back into his arms. He wanted to kiss her, strip off her clothes and make love to her.

She’s the last thing you need,
he told himself, as he turned and walked out the door.

M
aggie set the alarm, then climbed the stairs, trying not to think of Trace, and failing miserably. She was ridiculously attracted to him, more every time she was with him. And the heat in those golden-brown eyes said the feeling was mutual. The problem was, though apparently he was going to help her, Trace didn’t really trust her.

Which was hardly the framework for any sort of relationship.

It’s just about sex, she told herself. Just chemistry. Pheromones did strange things to people.

Maggie walked into her bedroom and flipped on the light switch. She changed out of her clothes, pulled on an oversize pink T-shirt she’d been given at a breast cancer fundraiser and climbed into bed. But sleep remained elusive.

Instead she stared at the ceiling, her mind going over the notes the stalker had left, and the eerie message on her phone.

Who was he?

Someone she had met at one of her shows? Who had
purchased one of her photos? Or maybe it was someone she had been introduced to by friends. His words hinted that he knew her in some way. She went over the last few months, the places she had been, the gallery shows where her work had been shown and sold.

Nothing stood out. There’d been a few men who had expressed an interest in her personally, even a couple of guys who had asked her out, but none had pursued the matter once she’d turned them down.

She was exhausted by the time the sun began to creep over the horizon, tired enough that she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

It was after nine when a knock at her door jolted her eyes wide open. Grabbing the robe at the foot of her bed, she pulled it on and hurried downstairs.

Wondering if Trace might have returned, ignoring a little curl of hope that he had, she gazed through the peephole. Not Trace. Instead, a young woman with a baby in her arms stood on her front porch.

Shock jolted through her.
Oh, my God.
Maggie reached for the doorknob, her mind trying to process the sight on her doorstep.

“Hello, Maggie. Long time no see.” Blonde and slender, her half sister had grown taller than her by at least six inches. With high cheekbones, delicate features and big, thick-lashed blue eyes, Ashley had matured into an incredibly beautiful young woman.

Maggie finally found her voice. “Why don’t you come inside?”

Ashley stepped into the entry. The last time Maggie had seen her, she had been a gangly, rebellious teen. Maggie tried to calculate how long that had been.

“It’s been six years, if you’re counting.”

They stood in the foyer, both of them uncomfortable,
Maggie still trying to get her mind wrapped around the fact that the sister she barely knew was standing in her home. “That sounds about right. That would make you…”

“I just turned twenty-one.”

Maggie forced a smile. “And you have a baby.”

“That’s right.” Wrapped in a soft blue blanket, and no more than a few months old, the infant fussed. Ashley jiggled the child soothingly.

“Let’s go into the living room so you can sit down.” Maggie started in that direction, barely able to feel her legs moving beneath her. She was still in shock, still trying to grasp the notion of Ashley with a baby. And probably no husband. That was, after all, the modern thing to do.

The girl sat down on the overstuffed, beige floral sofa, cuddling the infant in her lap. Thank God, Maggie had mostly finished unpacking. At least the boxes were gone from the living room.

“Guess you’re pretty surprised to see me,” Ashley said.

She managed another smile. “You could say that.” They had never been close. In fact, the few times Maggie had visited her mother in Florida, there had been a certain animosity between the two girls. At fifteen, Ashley had been wild and out of control, dabbling in drugs and drinking. Maggie, older and working to make a living, had not approved.

“So…what brings you to Houston?”

Ashley looked away, and for the first time Maggie realized she was nervous.

She smoothed the baby’s fine dark hair and carefully kept her attention fixed on the child. “Six months ago, Mom kicked Dad out of the house. His business was
going bankrupt and you know how much Mom hates problems.”

Maggie knew, all right. A similar thing had happened to her own father. Tom O’Connell’s small trucking company had been having financial problems. Money was tight and her mother couldn’t handle it. So Celeste took off, leaving them high and dry, and returned home to Florida. As soon as the divorce was final, she’d married the first man who asked her, only to have it end in a quick divorce. A third marriage the following year had produced Ashley, and lasted, apparently, until a few months ago.

“I was six months pregnant when she gave him the boot. Dad was having his own problems. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I stayed with Mom after he left. We fought all the time. After I had the baby, it got worse. Last week, I packed up my things and moved out. I thought…I was hoping you would help me.”

Maggie just sat there. “Are you asking me for money?”

Ashley straightened and her chin angled up. “I was hoping you would help me get a job, you know? Find a place to live, figure things out.” She stood up, the baby still tight in her arms. “It was stupid. We’re not even really sisters.” She started for the door, and the sight of her leaving, clutching the tiny baby so desperately in her arms, squeezed something tight in Maggie’s chest.

“Wait!” She hurried after the girl, reached out and caught her arm. “We
are
sisters. We just don’t know each other.” She didn’t let go. “Come back and sit down. We’ll talk things out, see what we can do. It might take us a while, but we’ll manage. You can start by telling me your baby’s name.”

Ashley gazed softly down at the infant she carried,
and a tender smile curved her lips. “His name is Robert. After my dad. I call him Robbie.”

They walked back into the living room and sat back down.

“Does Mom know you’re here?”

“I told her I was leaving. At the time, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going.”

“You’ll need to call her or she’ll be worried.”

“I doubt it.”

“Still…”

Ashley shrugged her slender shoulders. “If I stay, I’ll call.”

Maggie gazed at the infant. He looked like every other baby she’d ever seen, with chubby cheeks, big inquisitive eyes, a little pug nose. “What about…Robbie’s father?”

Her sister sighed. “I was a fool. I thought I loved him and he loved me. But Zig didn’t give a damn. All he cared about was sex.”

“His name is Zig?”

“His name is Sigman Murdock. Kinda weird, huh? Zig hated his name so he called himself Ziggy—you know, from Zig-Zag, the rolling papers? Should have been a tip-off, huh? But Ziggy was charming and super good-looking. By the time I realized the kind of guy he really was, it was too late.”

Ashley bent and kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Mom and Dad wanted me to have an abortion, but I just…I couldn’t do it, Maggie.” She smoothed a finger over her child’s cheek and his big blue eyes followed the movement. “Robbie’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and no matter what, I’ll find a way to take care of him.”

Maggie looked at her sister and felt a tug at her heart.
“You don’t have to go. We’ll find a way through all of this.”

They would manage somehow. She wasn’t about to toss her out in the street.

Still, Maggie couldn’t help thinking,
Dear God, how am I going to work with a baby in the house?

She knew nothing about children. Almost nothing about the young woman who had come to her for help.

And there was the matter of the stalker. It was hardly fair to put Ashley and her baby in danger.

Maggie sighed. If she thought her life was complicated before, she hadn’t imagined the problem that had just arrived on her doorstep.

At the first light of dawn, Trace headed for the office. He wanted to know the name of the song on Maggie’s message machine. He wanted to read the rest of the lyrics. Maybe they would give him a clue to the stalker’s identity.

It was early Saturday morning, not a scheduled workday, but security wasn’t the kind of business that had set hours. He turned on the overhead lights, made a pot of coffee and carried a mug of the steaming brew into his glass-enclosed office.

It took a minute for the computer to boot up. As soon as it had, he typed the first line of the song on Google: “I…saw…you…I knew you would be my one true love.”

To his amazement, the phrase popped right up. There were at least a dozen sites on the first page, along with the movie from which it had come.

“The Prince and the Maiden,”
Trace said aloud. “Jesus, that’s eerie.”

“What’s eerie?”

He turned, to find Ben Slocum standing in the open
doorway. “You owe me, brother,” Trace said. “Last night was way above and beyond the call of duty.”

Ben just laughed. “Does that mean you went home with Haley, or you didn’t?” He was as tall as Trace, his features harder, his slightly crooked nose having once been broken. His eyes, an icy blue, drew women like a magnet. Rita DeStefani, the shapely model who was Ben’s current flame, was just one among a long, ever-growing list.

“Are you kidding?” Trace grumbled. “I was damned glad to get rid of her. Next time, find somebody else to pawn her off on.”

Ben smiled. “Shouldn’t be too tough. She’s a good-looking girl and she likes to party.”

“You mean she’s easy. I guess these days I’m looking for more than a quick piece of ass.”

One of Ben’s dark eyebrows went up. “That sounds interesting. Who is she?”

Trace frowned. “I didn’t say there was anyone in particular.”

“Maybe not, but I’m betting there is. I can see it in your face.”

Trace refused to think of Maggie. He wasn’t about to fall for another redhead. He had learned his lesson.

He hoped.

“What’re you working on?” Ben asked.

“The O’Connell stalker case.”

“Thought you said you were dropping that one for personal reasons.”

“She got a call from him last night. Played a song for her on her message machine. We both kind of remembered it, but we couldn’t think of the name.” He pointed at the computer screen. “It’s from
The Prince and the Maiden.
”

Ben leaned over and stared at the website, elyrics, showing on the monitor. “
The Prince and the Maiden
That old animated kid’s movie? That’s weird.”

“Guy electronically distorted his voice. Scared the hell out of her.” Trace clicked the play button on the YouTube link and the music floated into the room. Both men listened, then Trace clicked it off. “I got a bad feeling about this one.”

Ben straightened away from the desk. “They’re all lunatics. Let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

Ben headed for his office and Trace turned back to the computer screen, reading the words of the song again and again. The lyrics were relatively short: “I…saw…you…I knew you would be my one true love. I…saw…you…a vision so pure and sweet, my only true love….” The brief song played out, finally came to an end, a beautiful love song that could mean just about anything.

Could be the guy knew her or had met her somewhere, or as it said in the song, she was only a vision in his mind.

Trace clicked on a couple more links, discovered the film was first released in 1959. Which didn’t mean much, either, since it had been released again and again over the years, and almost everyone had seen the movie at some point in their lives.

He pulled out his cell phone, brought up Maggie’s number and punched the button. It took a while for her to answer and he wondered if she might still be sleeping. The image of her naked popped into his head, all that glorious red hair spread out on the pillow.

Maggie sounded a little breathless when she said hello.

“Maggie, it’s Trace.”

“Oh, hi. I meant to call but I…got sidetracked.”

He thought of the ex-boyfriend she had danced with last night. “Mind if I stop by? I’ve found the song and I’ve got a few more questions.”

“Well, ummm… Sure, come on over.”

Ignoring the hesitation in her voice and trying not to think that a visit from the ex might be the cause, he printed the lyrics and shut down the computer. After he talked to her, he planned to hit the real estate office that had sold her the town house, speak to the agents involved in the transaction. First he wanted to know if the song or the movie rang any bells with her.

He waved to Ben, grabbed his hat off the rack beside the door and walked out. A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of the town house. As he neared the front door, he could hear conversation inside. It sounded female, but he couldn’t make out what the women were saying.

He knocked and Maggie opened the door.

“Good morning. Come on in.” She smiled at him and a rush of heat went straight through him. All morning, he’d been thinking about her, trying to forget the feel of her soft body pressed against him last night. Clearly, it hadn’t worked, and he silently cursed.

He pulled off his hat, ran a hand through his hair. “You sleep okay?” he asked, then grimaced as the picture he’d imagined of her naked in bed popped into his mind.

“Not great.” She stepped out of the way and he walked past her into the entry. “Before we get started,” she said as she closed the door, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Trace pulled his thoughts back to business, and fol
lowed her into the living room. His gaze shot to the young woman on the sofa, a baby in her arms.

“Trace, this is my sister, Ashley Hastings. And her son, Robbie. Ashley, this is Trace Rawlins. He, um, he owns the company that installed my new alarm system.”

Trace frowned. It wasn’t a lie. After all, he was in the security business. It just wasn’t entirely the truth.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, but he was thinking that Maggie O’Connell kept more secrets than the CIA.

He focused his attention on the younger woman, a stunning blonde, tall and slender, with delicate features and a short cap of softly curling hair. She could have been a model for
Vogue
magazine.