Bad to the Bone (3 page)

“Thanks.”

Iris brightened suddenly. “Unless you want to leave your card? I can have her call you tomorrow.”

“That’s okay. I think I’ll wait.”

Iris shrugged. “Whatever.”

Sully fought laughter. The kid already had the I’m-a-teenager-I-could-care-less look nailed.

Taking a seat in one of the pale-blue-and-white-striped chairs across from the couch, Sully loosened his tie. Thank God the aunt was on her way. His questions would only have alarmed Phil Munro’s daughter. She might talk tough, but she was still a little girl. The aunt would be better. It had been one helluva day, and he was ready for it to be over.

More than ready.

If Munro had returned
any
of his calls, Sully would have closed the case, cursed his new chief for sending him on a wild-goose chase, and happily gone home to his wood shop. Turning a few more spindles for his chair backs was preferable to sitting here with the sick feeling he’d stumbled into bad news. Yessiree, buddy. One brief phone conversation with Munro, and he could have been knee-deep in sawdust right now instead of knee-deep in suspicion.

Sully tugged his fingers through his hair, smiled at the kid and hoped his instincts were wrong for once. The odds were against it. Munro couldn’t be reached, and no one knew where he was—not his secretary, his vice president, his pilot, or his daughter. Wherever the man was, he wasn’t on a scheduled business trip or a family vacation. The man’s associates agreed it wasn’t unusual for Munro to disappear for a few days, but Sully didn’t like coincidences. Not even ones as farfetched as a psychic warning about an incommunicado executive.

Iris heard the gate buzzer before he did and bounced off the couch. “She’s here!”

Although Sully had a good view of the foyer, he stood up and moved closer. The butler, who had been
hovering in the hallway, halted Iris with a hand on her arm and went to let in the aunt. He checked the peephole first and then cracked the door. Sully figured he was more bodyguard than butler.

“Aunt Jessica!” Iris went flying toward her, barreling into her and sending the woman back a step. “I’m so glad you’re going to stay while Daddy’s gone!”

Sully didn’t move. Other than to close his mouth.

He had imagined a blonde. He had expected pretty. Rich women could usually manage pretty, and he could usually manage them. He’d had plenty of practice; Houston had more than its share of rich, attractive women who liked to flirt with danger.

So much for expectations.

Aunt Jessica was a sensual brunette whose genetic makeup could just as easily have been Italian as Spanish. The woman wore simple and very short khaki shorts, a red silk T-shirt, and running shoes. Her legs were a shade longer than the Texas legal limit and had probably caused more than one bar brawl—assuming she frequented bars.

Instinct told Sully she’d seen the inside of one or two. She didn’t have the look of an ivory tower princess. This was a woman who could call a spade a spade and bring a man to his knees. In fact, most men would be perfectly happy to hit their knees in front of that body. Sully wondered how many already had.

Nothing about her dovetailed with his expectations of Phil Munro’s sister. And then there was the startling white streak in her long dark hair, and the way she reacted to her niece. She patted the girl awkwardly on the shoulders as if unsure of how to hug the kid. Finally she set Iris away and turned to the butler. “Would you get my bags out of the car?”

“Yes,
ma’am
.”

Sully’s eyebrow rose at the sarcasm in the man’s tone. He wasn’t certain if the distaste was for the woman or for the task. Iris volunteered to help with the bags, and suddenly they were left alone. When Aunt Jessica looked at him for the first time, Sully added dangerous to the list of things he hadn’t expected.

Trouble had arrived in Jericho.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?
Jessica asked herself as she stared into the most unforgiving pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen. The man didn’t like her, and he didn’t even know her. Smart man, she decided.

As she returned his gaze her sixth sense about danger prodded insistently.
Be very careful with this one, Jessie
. This was no ordinary small-town cop. He’d assessed her too quickly, too subtly. Too completely. She hadn’t been taken apart like that in a long time.

Something about him made her feel pressured and on edge—like he had all the answers, and it was time for a pop quiz. Fortunately for Jessica, she’d never met a pop quiz she couldn’t ace. She was very good at deflection.

Forcing herself forward, she extended her hand. “Jessica Daniels. And you are?”

He shook her hand, letting the gesture linger a second too long before he pulled a badge out of the hip pocket of his jeans. “Detective Sullivan Kincaid.”

As he said his name, Kincaid’s deep, confident voice stroked her body as surely as a physical touch.
Like the handshake, his words lingered. They were almost a challenge, tossed out in the same effortless motion that he used to flip open his identification. After a cursory glance at the badge, she took her time inventorying the rest of him—from the askew tie and rolled-up shirtsleeves, all the way down to the well-worn jeans and expensive cowboy boots. She hated to admit it, but the man wore an “attitude” well. And he knew it. He probably counted on it.

Irrationally she felt the need to prick his ego. Or maybe it was the need to establish ground rules and put a little distance between them before Mother Nature’s pheromone war got out of hand. The only smart decision was to send the man merrily on his way as quickly as possible.

“Detective Kincaid, it’s a good thing you carry that badge.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because otherwise I might have written you off as a down-on-his-luck cowboy who’d stolen himself a fancy pair of boots.”

“Well, Miss—” He paused, questioning her marital status.

When she nodded, he gave her a smile of approval, obviously satisfied with her answer. Different circumstances, a different time … and that smile might have been the one to turn her inside out. But, as usual, the circumstances were bad and the timing rotten. Not to mention the fact that the man’s smile didn’t quite make it to his eyes.

“Well, Miss Daniels,” he continued, “you should never believe what you see. For instance, Iris doesn’t look a thing like you, but you’re still related.”

“Well, there you go,” she confessed. “I’m not
really her aunt. Just a close friend of the family. Phil’s not in any trouble is he? Nothing’s happened?”

“He hasn’t done anything illegal, but I would like to talk to him all the same.”

Behind them Iris and the butler struggled in with the bags and deposited them in the foyer with relieved sighs. Iris was the most vocal, collapsing on a specially designed metal sample case. “Jeez, Aunt Jessica, you sure don’t travel light. How long are you planning on staying?”

Jessica wanted to strangle Iris for bringing up a time frame. Instead she shot the girl a warning look and said, “Only until your dad gets back, sweetie.”

“When will that be?” the detective asked.

Just as soon as I find him
.

Since Kincaid wouldn’t appreciate the truth, she hedged, “He didn’t say when he’d be back, but I’m sure he’ll be checking in. Now that I’m here, if you’d like to leave a message, I could give it to him.”

Those incredible eyes of his called her a liar. Then he flicked a pointed glance at the girl. “Could I speak with you privately?”

“Oh, no!” Iris said anxiously as she jumped up and came to Jessica’s side. Somehow the girl’s hand wound up in hers. “Is something really wrong?”

Startled by the unsolicited gesture of trust, Jessica wasn’t certain what to do. Iris’s palm was warm and a little damp. It felt so right and so odd nestled inside her larger hand, like she was the last line of defense between this kid and the big bad world. Right now, the big bad world had narrowed to a tall, suspicious detective with a killer smile and an agenda to go with it.

“No. There isn’t anything wrong,” Jessica said, meeting Kincaid’s gaze and daring him to say differently.

He didn’t. Not with words, but his eyes said plenty before he turned to Iris. “I need to get a few answers from your dad, and I thought he might have mentioned the information to your aunt. So I want to talk to her.”

“Oh.”

“Iris, why don’t you go to your room? I’ll take care of this.” Jessica pushed her back toward the bags, wondering what a real aunt would tell her to do. Didn’t mothers and caretakers constantly remind kids to do things? Finally, she called out, “Finish your homework.”

Three sets of eyes swiveled toward her. The butler was smug, Kincaid curious, and Iris appalled. Not good, thought Jessica as she tried to figure out her mistake.

Iris put her out of her misery. “Homework? I don’t think so. It’s
June
.”

“Oh.
Oh
. Summer!” Jessica nodded, the light dawning. “But don’t you have summer reading or something?”

“I’ve done it.” When Jessica opened her mouth to try again, Iris gently shook her head and started for the stairs in the hallway. “Done the reports, and Rosa helped me clean my room this morning before her mother got sick. But I’ll leave anyway so you can talk about stuff you don’t want me to hear.” With that parting shot Iris disappeared upstairs.

Jessica took a second to regroup as Kincaid continued to stare patiently at her. He didn’t undress her with his eyes, which most men seemed to get around to eventually—usually sooner rather than later. No, he did something far worse. Something that set off all her alarms. It was as if he was deciding how to take her
apart psychologically. The beginning of a tingle crept up her spine.

Suddenly she didn’t want to be alone with him or be the recipient of his undivided attention. There were too many questions she couldn’t or didn’t want to answer. There was too much unsettling energy between them. So Jessica snagged the butler’s arm as he turned to leave the room.

“I’m sure you’ll want to ask—” She stumbled as she realized she had no idea what the butler’s name was. “—both of us some questions.”

“Now that’s what I like—a woman who knows what I want.” Kincaid gestured them both toward the sofa and took a chair.

Jessica noticed the way he planted his feet wide and leaned toward them, his elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. The dark, dangerous man was gone, replaced with a good ol’ boy doing his job and taking them into his confidence. Jessica wasn’t fooled. No matter how drastically he altered his expression, his posture, and his voice, he couldn’t mask those eyes, the restlessness that wanted an excuse to strike.

“Miss Daniels, I waited to say anything until you got here because I didn’t want to upset the girl,” Kincaid told them, “but yesterday we got a tip suggesting Munro might be in some danger. It’s very likely a crank call.…”

Like hell
, Jessica snapped silently. Her mind raced with possibilities as Kincaid let the silence spin out, subtly encouraging them to fill the quiet with speculation and unguarded words. Neither she nor the butler fell into the trap, and her opinion of Phil’s employee went up a notch. Maybe that sprinkling of gray in his
hair had been earned the old-fashioned way—through experience. Or maybe he was more than a butler.

Finally Kincaid continued, “All I want to do is verify Munro’s whereabouts and inform him of our concerns. Standard procedure really.”

Very slick presentation, Jessica thought. Except for the eyes; always the eyes. They cut too sharply into the people around him, soaked in every detail as he looked for anything and everything. Kincaid was beyond suspicious, she realized unhappily; he was working on a hunch. She could feel it.

Jessica swore silently. She’d have to be very careful or she’d have the police involved before she was ready. First she had to find that damn book and burn the file. Then the cops could crawl around to their hearts’ content.

Trying to look unconcerned, she said, “Like you said, it was probably a crank call. Phil seemed perfectly fine when I talked to him.”

“When was that exactly?”

“This morning, maybe nine o’clock. He told me something unexpected had come up. He felt bad because he’d promised to spend some time with Iris at the beach house this week and asked me to fill in. I said sure, hopped a plane to Houston and rented a car.”

“And you’re an old friend of the family, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you got lost on the way to their house?”

The pregnant pause between question and answer might not have been so bad except for the unfortunately loud chime as the clock struck the half hour. Recovering, Jessica laughed and gave Kincaid a rueful grin. “I get lost on the way to the bathroom, Detective. It’s a little embarrassing.”

“I see.”

Jessica gritted her teeth. The man had so many ways to call a person a liar without saying a word. The fact that she
was
lying didn’t make it any easier to take.

Kincaid’s attention never wavered from her, but his question was clearly for the butler. “When was the last time you talked to Phil Munro?”

“Not for a couple of days. But it’s not unusual for Phil to travel unannounced.”

Kincaid’s eyes narrowed slightly as the man referred to his employer by first name. “Did Munro mention where he was going?”

“No. But then he never does.”

“Phil’s in the personal security business,” Jessica added, aware that making Phil’s huge security company sound like a bodyguard service was misleading. But it suited her purposes at the moment. “His clients are very private people. He never talks about them. It might endanger them, you see.”

Sully sat back and tried to figure out what bothered him most about Miss Jessica Daniels—the glibness of her answers or the total lack of curiosity about the warning. Neither she nor Lincoln, the butler, had asked what kind of danger Phil might be in. Or if Iris was in danger. They weren’t even interested in learning the name of the person who called in the tip.

Nonchalant behavior always struck him as strange. Most people were armchair detectives, insatiably curious, always ready with a theory and a laundry list of clues. So, either there was no mystery in Phil’s disappearance, or these two already knew the butler did it—so to speak.