Controlling Interest (11 page)

“My parents talked me out of it. You've met my dad. He's such a Papa Bear.” She said it affectionately.

Matt had to admit if he had a daughter, he wouldn't want her patrolling an inner-city beat.

“But you know what?” Natalie's voice firmed. “I'm a grownup, and I'm taking charge. Life's too short to spend it moping around, wishing things would change.”

“Yeah, but there's that balance between going after what you want and dealing with what happens in spite of your best efforts. I want to know how God's will plays into the mix too.”

Natalie nudged his arm. “Why, Matthew, that's a very profound question.” He looked down and found her smiling up at him, magenta Beale Street neon playing across her face. “Let me know when you get it figured out.”

He shrugged, embarrassed. “I'm not a deep thinker. But lately I've been wondering if . . . if there's more to life than chasing skirts and looking for the nearest party. Where do you go to church?”

The non sequitur didn't seem to faze her. “I joined a little Methodist church in Tunica. My parents aren't churchgoers, so when I move back here, I'll be looking for a home, like you.”

“Your parents aren't . . . Then how did you meet the Lord?” Matt steered Natalie around the corner past Silky's. She was like a little gemstone, facets blinking with new light at every turn.

“My college roommate was a Christian. She was maybe the first one I ever knew well. She didn't even sleep with her boyfriend, and I thought that was so weird, I couldn't help watching the way she lived.”

Matt nearly swallowed his gum. “Uh — ”

“But I understand it, now — you know what I mean? I keep myself out of trouble, now that I know you're supposed to. Which is the main problem with this jerk-o boyfriend I had up until a week or so ago. I met him at church, and he kept pressuring me to — you know, go further than I wanted to, so I finally got disgusted and told him to take a — ” Natalie seemed to realize Matt was gasping for air. “Is this more than you wanted to know? I could shut up now.”

“No, I — it's just that I never talked about stuff like this with a woman before.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck. “I've probably been guilty of acting like your jerk-o boyfriend in the past.”

Natalie laughed. “I can tell you don't have any designs on me. Which is a little hard on the ego, but very comforting too.”

Of course he didn't have designs on her. She was like a piece of candy stuck on the bottom of his shoe. But he didn't want to hurt her feelings. “You're one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen. It's just that I'm fasting from women right now. You understand.” They had entered the cafe, and he held a chair for her to sit down.

Those fine dark eyebrows pinched together. “I think that was a compliment. I'll take it.” Her dimple appeared as she sat down. “I've never fasted before. Are you praying about anything in particular?”

He hesitated. He was praying to get control of his agency back. “Just stuff in general.”

“Ah.” She was quiet for a moment as she looked at the menu.

Matt watched her. She was not a stupid woman. “It's nothing personal against you, Natalie.”

She looked up and sighed. “I know. But if you get what you're praying for, I go down in flames.”

He didn't know what to say, so he crooked a finger at the pretty young waitress hovering nearby. He'd flirted with her a time or two in the past. “What do you want to drink?” he asked Natalie.

“Cappuccino's fine.”

“Two of those with whipped cream,” Matt said, and the waitress backed away — reluctantly, he could tell.
Fasting, Hogan.
He gave Natalie his attention. “So. We've got to make a plan about Yasmine. Did Ray or the cook have any idea where she might have gone?”

Natalie shook her head. “At least we know what she's wearing.”

Matt gave her an appraising look. “You got a lead before I did. Good work.”

Natalie blushed. “I was in the right place at the right time.”

“Yeah, and you asked the right people the right questions.” His own record today hadn't been so stellar.
Moving right along.
“I'll go back in the morning and look around some more behind Silky's. Why don't you go to the thrift store? Maybe the folks there noticed something else that'll give us a lead.”

“Okay. But I'll be at my mom's until eleven or so — we always have Saturday morning brunch.” She looked up when the waitress brought their coffee. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” The girl gave Matt an assessing once-over that clearly said,
If you get bored with this one, I'm available,
then left the check.

Boy, was it hard for a guy to keep his head on straight.
Lord, help me out here . . .
He glanced at Natalie, whipped cream on her upper lip, oblivious to sexual come-ons going on right over her head. “Fine. Do your brunch, check out the thrift store, then call me when you're done. We'll compare notes. The sooner we catch up to Yasmine, the sooner we get our fifty grand.”

Money. That was what this was all about. Money and getting his agency back.

“So how was your first day as my daughter's partner?”

Putting the cell phone on speaker, Matt kicked aside a basketball as he walked to the closet and hung his Alcatraz tie on the rack beside Yosemite Sam. “About what you'd expect.”

He'd promised to call Eddie with a report, but at nearly midnight there was no need to go into bar fights, homeless bums, or late-night cappuccinos.

Tubberville chuckled. “Nat has a talent for stirring things up.”

“That she does.” He paused, then went ahead and admitted it. “She actually found the first lead on our girl.”

“Ho! Good for her. So what's your next move?”

“In the morning we'll check the thrift store where Yasmine apparently bought a change of clothes.” Matt sat on the bed and pulled off his socks, then flopped onto his back. He was suddenly exhausted from hauling the dead weight of an unconscious drunk guy a block and a half. Maybe his next move should be a workout at the Y.

“Outstanding. But it'll have to wait 'til after the family brunch. My wife — my ex-wife, I mean — told me to invite you along.”

“Natalie said something about that.” But she hadn't mentioned her father being there. “Are you sure your ex doesn't mind a stranger coming?”

“She wants to meet the guy who talked Natalie into moving home.”

“It wasn't — ”

“Oh, you and I know that.” An undertone snuck into Tubber-ville's voice that in another man Matt might have called diffident. “But let's keep that our little secret, okay?”

Matt frowned. “Whatever you say, Eddie.” Tubberville's matrimonial machinations were none of his business. “What time?”

“I'll pick you up around eight forty-five.”

“Okay.” Matt yawned. His cappuccino was wearing off. “If I'm going to be coherent, I'd better get some sleep. See you in the morning, Eddie.”

He closed the phone and tossed it onto the suitcase he used for a bedside table. Unbuttoning his shirt, he staggered into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had a feeling he was doomed to spend the next eight hours dreaming about a pair of sparkling green eyes and a smile like sunshine.

Tinkerbell started barking like a Rottweiler when Natalie opened her mom's front door without ringing the bell.

“Shut up, you dumb little dust bunny.” She scooped the Yorkie into her arms and walked through the living room into the kitchen. “Mmm. French toast.” With an appreciative sniff she leaned over to kiss her mother's cheek.

“Good ear . . . um, nose.” Mixing bowl under her arm, Mom vigorously beat eggs, milk, and cinnamon with a wire whip. She did everything vigorously, which was why Smith & Nephew paid her six figures a year to chase down new accounts. “So tell me how the private detective thing is going.”

“We're making progress. Last night we found out Yasmine bought some clothes at a thrift store on Beale Street. I'm going there after we eat. Matt's checking out an alley behind a pub where she was seen.” Natalie picked up a breadcrumb and fed it to Tink, who gobbled it, then growled when Natalie set her on the floor.

Mom looked over her shoulder. “I told you not to feed her people food, Nat. She'll get spoiled.”

Tinkerbell yapped and sat up to beg. She looked so much like an indignant little Ewok, Natalie laughed. “We sure wouldn't want that to happen.”

Smiling, Mom plopped some French bread slices into the batter. “There's some fruit in the colander in the sink. Would you arrange it on that glass tray by the fridge?”

“Fruit? Are you still trying to make me healthy?”

“One can always hope.” Mom tucked a strand of still-blonde pageboy behind her ear and shot Natalie a peculiar look. “So what do you think about your new partner?”

Natalie fumbled a handful of strawberries. “He's a little overprotective.”

“What do you — Oh, goodness, there's the door. And the phone's ringing.”

“I'll get the door.” Natalie ran, relieved to escape the question about her partner. Matt had seemed as glad to part ways as she. Not that they didn't get along in an
I Love Lucy
kind of way. He was so easy to talk to that she'd found herself blurting out things she had no business telling a virtual stranger. Especially a male stranger. Telling him she wasn't a virgin but had been practicing celibacy — good grief. But he didn't seem to mind; in fact he'd seemed entertained by her chatter. Most of the time he forgot to treat her like a fourth wheel on a tricycle.

But then there would come one of those jarring moments when one or the other of them remembered they were in a competition. Like when he'd admitted he was praying about booting her out of his agency. Boy, was that a conversation killer.

And it had happened again when he dropped her off in the parking lot behind his building. He insisted on unlocking her car door and then waited until she got the engine running. When she rolled down the window to wave on the way to the exit, he stopped her and leaned in the window.

“Don't forget to call me in the morning,” he said. “You might make a decent detective after all.”

She'd swallowed at the pure masculine glint of appreciation in his eyes. “I hope so, 'cause I've got a pretty tough critic to impress.”

And then his expression shifted. Realization. Wariness. He
was
the tough critic, and his goal was to push her back where she came from.

Reminding herself of that, Natalie yanked open the door. “Dad! Mom didn't say you were coming.” Her gaze took another startled leap over her father's shoulder. Mom had also failed to mention he'd be dragging Matthew Hogan along. “Matt! What are you doing here?”

Dad grinned at her confusion. “We had a phone conference last night, and I talked him into coming this morning. I knew your mother wouldn't mind.”

“I'm sure she — ”

“That was Nina on the phone.” Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway. “She said she's stuck in traffic and to please wait for her. I was just about to tell you I invited the guys.” She walked over and gently prized the door out of Natalie's frozen hand. “But we're not going to feed them on the porch.”

Natalie forced down the warmth jangling through her at the sight of a pair of deep dimples and amused hazel eyes. She stepped back. “Come on in. But don't give people food to the Ewok.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Her father barreled through, followed by Matt. “Nick's right behind us.”

After her tall, lanky younger brother came in, Natalie shut the door. She glanced uncertainly at Matt, then led the way to the kitchen, where Nick headed straight for the refrigerator and Matt held out a hand to Natalie's mother.

“Hi, Mrs. . . . uh . . .” He looked at Natalie. “Tubberville?”

Mom laughed. “Yes, but call me Deb. Eddie and I have been divorced for years, but I never bothered to change my name back. Too much trouble.”