Controlling Interest (2 page)

A couple of old women in polyester pants outfits shuffled by. Then a cluster of teenagers, apparently home for spring break. Natalie waited, dancing with impatience — and aching insoles — on her cork platforms. Maybe she'd take them off and pretend she was a model some other time.

One clog in hand, she spied a dark young woman hesitating behind a middle-aged couple in matching “I Love Holland” T-shirts. The girl wore a long, silky apple-green tunic over loose-fitting matching leggings. Shiny black hair peeked out from under a diaphanous embroidered shawl, and intricate beaded earrings swung against her fragile jawline. A series of thin gold bangles jingled on one wrist, and a diamond pendant sparkled at her throat. Wow. Exquisite.

But the big black eyes were shadowed with fatigue, the full mouth turned down at the corners. The twelve-hour flight must've been a killer.

“Yasmine!” Natalie waved the program. She dropped her shoe and tried to shove her foot in it before Yasmine disappeared. “Yasmine Patel!”

The young woman stopped, passengers swarming around her like bees around a particularly exotic orchid. She stood on her toes and caught Natalie's gaze. Her eyes flicked up to the improvised sign, then widened. She looked over her shoulder and bolted around the Holland tourists.

Away from Natalie.

Natalie got her shoe on without twisting her ankle. “Yasmine! Hey, it's me, Natalie Tubberville. I'm your ride!” She dodged a mom pushing a baby stroller and caught up to her passenger. “Aren't you Yasmine?” She swung around in front of the Pakistani girl, forcing her to stop. Good grief, she was a little thing. Natalie felt positively gargantuan.

Yasmine's shoulders slumped. “I am Yasmine Patel.” A hesitant smile showed small, perfect white teeth. “You are sent for me?”

“Sure am.” Natalie held out a hand.

Yasmine offered her slim, elegant fingers. “So happy. Thank you for coming.” Extravagant black lashes swept downward. “I am feeling . . . some lost.”

Natalie tried to peg the accent. A bit sing-song, infused with a British twang. Sophisticated, compared to her own Tennessee drawl, but definitely wobbly. Natalie's heart softened. Maybe the girl was acting weird because she'd expected her fiancé to meet her.

“Well, come on, let's snag your luggage and I'll buy you some lunch. You hungry?” She took off toward baggage claim.

Yasmine tip-tapped along beside Natalie on jeweled sandals. “Thank you, I am not hungry, just — please, could you slow down?”

“Good grief, I'm sorry.” Natalie slowed, looking down at her diminutive companion, who was panting like a Pekeapoo on a leash. “Wasn't thinking.”

“It is no worry. But I would like a drink of . . .” Yasmine took a deep breath, as if coming to a monumental decision. “Starbucks. Yes, caramel vanilla macchiato, if you please. Whole milk with a packet of Splenda. Whipped cream on top.”

Natalie blinked. Yasmine hadn't seemed to be the demanding type. “Starbucks?” That was going to add fifteen minutes onto her wait for lunch. She switched the mental list around and decided she'd eat at Carrabba's. Big juicy steak with Caesar salad on the side. Daddy owed her big-time for this.

Yasmine looked up at her with huge, limpid near-black eyes. “I did not see a Starbucks sign somewhere? I thought all American airports — ”

“Of course there's a Starbucks. No problem. This way.” Natalie made a U-turn.

“No, no. Please.” Yasmine clutched Natalie's arm. “You get it while I find my luggage. We shall save time.” She linked her fingers under her chin. There was a solitaire rock the size of Baghdad on her engagement finger. “Please? I am anxious to see my . . . my fiancé, but I am sooo thirsty.”

Okay, kinda different, but what do I know?
Natalie sighed.

“Alright. You go on to baggage claim, get a skycap to help you, and I'll be right back.” Natalie backed toward the refreshment center. “No problem.”

“Whipped cream,” she muttered as she limped into Starbucks and stood in line for what seemed like an hour. Tweetie was pointing to five-thirty by the time she'd ordered, recklessly adding a double mocha espresso for herself. She'd be awake all night, but then she was half the time anyway. Life was too interesting to waste it sleeping.
Carpe diem
.

She sat down at a little round table to contemplate her guest's odd behavior. Maybe she'd been raised in a harem. No, that was Mesopotamia.

Ten minutes later, she had laid a trail of Splenda packets in the form of a giant yellow
N
when she noticed the counter clerk craning his neck. “Caramel vanilla macchiato and a double-mocha espresso?”

Natalie jumped up and snatched the drinks along with a handful of the yellow packets. Surely Yasmine had her luggage in hand by now. Coming from that far away, planning to stay and get married, the Pakistani girl probably had a ton of clothes. Unless she planned to do some serious trousseau shopping. Natalie brightened. She could offer to help with the shopping.

She walked fast, sipping the espresso and wincing at the pain in her feet. The clogs were staying in the closet tomorrow, new or not.

There was the carousel for Yasmine's flight, a few pieces of luggage still going round and round. She scanned the crowd. No bright-green tunic and shawl. Just plain everyday American T-shirts, suits, and baseball caps.

Natalie could've sworn she told Yasmine to wait in baggage claim, but maybe she'd gone outside.

She circled the area one more time, then, sipping espresso for fortitude, stomped toward the exit. Chasing the girl all over the airport hadn't been part of the agreement. Daddy owed her dinner at the country club and a movie. Nothing less.

A line of taxis waited outside. People were stowing luggage in trunks, paying off drivers. “Yasmine?” Natalie called uncertainly.

Her eye caught a flash of apple-green disappearing into a white van parked at the Northwest Airlines entrance. The van's side door slammed from the inside, the end of a gauzy scarf catching in the crack.

Holy schmoly. Yasmine had gotten into a complete stranger's van. What was she thinking? Panic shot through Natalie, from the soles of her feet all the way up to her chest.

“Yasmine!” She took off running, heedless of whipped cream and hot coffee sloshing out of the tops of the two cups. “Ow!” Her purse dangled on her wrist, swaying wildly. Her feet screamed with pain. If she fell and broke her neck it would serve her right. She should've worn jeans and sneakers today. A denim mini-skirt was completely inappropriate apparel for chasing heiresses.

The van pulled out into the drive and headed for the exit. Natalie chugged faster, beginning to pray.
Oh, Lord, what's going on?
She kicked off the shoes, tossed aside the coffee, and bore down. Her final Little League baseball all-star game flashed through her brain.

Pitcher Natalie Tubberville rounds third and heads for home.
The centerfielder makes the throw. She slides to avoid the catcher's mitt. Her hand swipes at the corner of the plate and misses.
She's out!

The van wheeled out of sight, pouring diesel smoke into the sweet Memphis-in-May air.

When Daddy found out she'd misplaced the heiress-bride, he was going to write her out of his will.

Lovely.

Matt Hogan was giving fasting a whirl. Test-driving it around the block to see what happened.

Dad would probably say he was being sacrilegious at worst, flippant at best, but a guy couldn't be too careful. Even with God.

After all, he reasoned as he loitered by the hostess station, there was some verse or other about trying God and proving him faithful. He didn't have a clue where that was, or what it actually said, but Dad would tell him if he asked.

The wood smoke smell of the place made him glad he'd chosen to swear off women instead of food. The Rendezvous was world famous for its ribs. His new business partner definitely had taste — in more ways than one, judging by the blonde seated across from him.

Eddie Tubberville was a piece of work alright. Granted, the guy was single — divorced, to be precise — but the girl looked young enough to be his daughter, cute in a clean-scrubbed kind of way. Not exactly the type Matt would've picked for a high roller like Tubberville. The cornsilk hair was chopped off chin length, tucked behind one ear. Little black glasses perched on a button nose, and a dimple flashed beside her mouth when she talked. Which was a lot.

He checked the hang of his old blue sport coat, worn with khakis and a faded yellow polo. A good impression was critical.

Deep breath, Hogan. Swagger over like you own the place.

As he approached Tubberville's table, the blonde's hands circled. “Daddy, I'm telling you she just disappeared! The van was gone before I could take a breath. What was I supposed to do?”

Daddy?
So Tubberville wasn't such a sleazeball after all.

“I'll tell you what you were supposed to do,” Tubberville barked. “You were supposed to go to the airport, hold up a sign, and take her to her hotel. How can you possibly lose a woman in a lime-green harem costume?”

“She wanted coffee, and I was trying to be hospitable! How would I guess she'd abscond with a couple of yahoos in an electrical van?”

Matt cleared his throat.

Tubberville turned around. “Hogan! There you are.” He stood up and offered a handshake. “I'm afraid you've walked in on a situation here. Meet my daughter Natalie. Natalie, this is Matthew Hogan. He runs the PI agency I was telling you about.”

Matt nodded.

Natalie sort of grimaced, as if she wasn't sure whether she should smile or not, then gave her attention back to her dad. “Anyway, she
knew
I was there to pick her up. I mean, there was the Orpheum playbill and everything!”

Matt had no idea what a theater program had to do with a missing harem princess. He was more interested in the fact that this girl had ignored him. Women did not ignore him — at least, not unless he wanted them to. He stuck his hand in front of her face. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Trouble — uh, Tubberville.”

She looked down at his hand, then up at his face. Behind the glasses her eyes were a pale, black-shot green, with black lashes and dark eyebrows. Cat eyes. Reluctantly she shook his hand, a glint of humor tugging the corner of her mouth. “Me too. Have a seat and join the fray.”

“You don't know how true that is,” Tubberville growled. “The trouble part, I mean. This girl's been making chaos out of order since she rode her bicycle into the school building in kindergarten.”

“Daddy!” Natalie's bottom lip stuck out.

Matt grinned. “Catch me up. Who's gone missing?”

“Daughter of a business connection of mine, Abid Patel. The girl's name is Yasmine. She was set to marry a young man she's been engaged to since birth. Guy named Jarrar Haq.”

“I take it these people are Middle Eastern.” Matt looked up as a waitress brought him a glass of water and a menu. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said the waitress, giving him a gratifying once-over. “I'll give you a few minutes to look at the menu.”

“Just bring me the ribs special with a Coke.” He looked at Tubberville. “You guys order yet?”

“We were about to. Triple that order, little lady.” Tubberville dismissed the waitress with a wave.

Natalie bristled. “But, Daddy — ”

“You know you always order ribs, so don't get all snotty on me.” Tubberville glanced at Matt, a twinkle lurking in his eyes. “Girl eats like a football team and still has to run around in the shower to get wet. Burns a thousand calories a day flapping her mouth.”

Natalie's face flamed. “If I could get a word in edgewise, I'd remind you I haven't had a bite since dawn. I was going to take Yasmine to dinner.”

Matt, who considered himself a connoisseur, could see little to complain about in Natalie's figure, even if she was a little on the skinny side. She had on a modest red knit top that complemented her pale, shiny hair and clear English-rose complexion. For some reason he felt like coming to her defense.

“Everybody loses a bride occasionally,” he said mildly. “What's the big deal?”

“The big deal is Abid Patel's honor, not to mention a three-million-dollar oil account.” Tubberville glowered. “We don't find her, we're all going to be on the skids. Including you, Hogan.”

“Me? What's it got to do with me?”

“If I take a hit on this thing, I'll have to fold the agency. Can't afford a losing investment.” Tubberville folded his arms.

“Huh? Tubberville, you can't fold my agency!”

“Since I own fifty-five percent of the company, I certainly can.”

“Whoa. Just hold the bus right now!” Matt's stomach did a three-sixty flip. He glanced at Natalie, who was staring at her dad open-mouthed. “I let you buy in to help me get back on my feet — not to blow me down like a tornado.”