Twice Kissed (26 page)

“I’m not Marquise.”

“No?” The reporter smiled and winked. “Are you going by Mary Theresa again? Look, everyone at the station has been worried sick—”

“You don’t understand,” Maggie cut in. “I’m not Mary Theresa.” She felt Thane’s fingers on her elbow.

“Let’s get out of here,” he growled into her ear.

But Maggie stopped short and sensed the other reporters approach her. “I’m Mary Theresa Gillette’s sister. I came to Denver to help locate her.”

“You mean Marquise. You’re her sister?” The woman paused, then as if remembering something, “You’re not from around here.” She glanced at a cameraman. “Tess said something about a twin sister, but no one had tracked her down. You lived in California but moved north—Montana or…Idaho.”

Maggie was stunned. It had been only a few days, but the resources of the press were incredible. So they should be used to find her sister.

“Do you have any idea where she might be?” the Asian woman asked.

“No.”

“She’s disappeared before, hasn’t she?” This from a tall, thin man wearing a ski parka. Another microphone was shoved under Maggie’s nose. “Do you think foul play was involved?” he asked, eager eyes searching for a story. “Could she have been kidnapped?”

“No comment,” Thane insisted loudly, then said into Maggie’s ear, “Let’s not get into this now.”

“Who’re you? The bodyguard?” one reporter demanded as Thane tugged on Maggie’s elbow and passersby on the street slowed or craned their necks at the commotion.

“The ex-husband,” another reporter clarified.

“Is she a dead ringer for her sister or what?” Ski Parka asked.

“Please, I’d like to set up an interview with you,” the first woman said. She shoved a business card in Maggie’s gloved hand. “I’m Jasmine Bell. I work at KRKY with Marquise.”

“Later,” Thane said.

The woman leveled Thane with a cool I’m-used-to-men-trying-to-push-me-around gaze. “I was talking to…what’s your name?”

“Maggie McCrae.”

“I was talking to Ms. McCrae.” Her dark eyes found Maggie’s while the other reporters inched closer. “Give me a call.”

“If you’ll help me find Mary Theresa.”

“I’d love to. Everyone at KRKY is concerned for your sister’s well-being. I’m sure Ron Bishop, the station manager, would be more than willing to get our people and resources more involved.”

“Hey, wait a minute—” the tall reporter was trying to wedge himself between the two women.

“That’s it,” Thane said, his expression unforgiving as he shepherded Maggie toward the truck. “We’re out of here.”

She pulled her arm out of his grip but managed to keep up with him. His stride was longer, but her boots pounded the sidewalk in quick time. Anger coursed through her veins. Damn it, she was sick and tired of his high-handed tactics, as if he knew what was best for her.

Fortunately, the reporters didn’t follow, and Maggie did a slow, steady burn. By the time they reached his truck, she was ready to explode. “You and I better get something straight, Walker.” She jabbed a gloved finger at his nose. “Just because we’re both trying to find out what happened to Mary Theresa doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do, or manhandle me, or embarrass me. Got it?”

His eyes narrowed, and for a second, as he stared down at her, she didn’t know if he intended to shake some sense into her or kiss her. For a heartbeat the city seemed to melt away. He reached forward. Her breath caught. She swallowed hard but focused on the thin line of his mouth. His arm grazed her shoulder as he forced a key into the lock and opened the pickup’s door.

In a second, the magic moment evaporated.

“Don’t hold your breath if you’re expecting me to say, ‘yes, princess.’ The way I see it we’re in this together. Equally. I’m not about to take any orders, got that?”

“Equally?” she repeated, flabbergasted. “You think you’ve treated me equally with those Neanderthal tactics back on the steps of the police station?” She glared up at him. “Well, let me tell you something, cowboy, ordering a woman around might work on your ranch or in some outpost in the middle-of-nowhere Wyoming, but not with me.” She hooked her thumb at her chest. “Don’t push me around.” Climbing into the cab, she added, “I’m not the kind of woman who wants to be placed on a pedestal or put under some man’s thumb, and I never have been. You got this, Walker? I
never
want to be told what’s best for me, because I think I can figure it out for myself.”

“Right on, sister,” he mocked, and she nearly came out of her seat. “Now, Ms. McCrae, is that all?” His expression was unforgiving, his eyes as gray-blue and stormy as a raging sea in winter.

“For now.”

“Well, praise be!” He slammed the door shut and strode to the driver’s side, where he slid behind the steering wheel, twisted on the ignition, and pumped the gas pedal. When the truck started, he eased out of the parking lot. “Where to?”

“Marquise’s house.”

“Don’t you think it’s off-limits?”

“Maybe, but the detective didn’t say so, and I just happen to have a key.” She pulled out her key ring and flashed it in front of his eyes.

“You didn’t ask.”

“Because I didn’t want him to say no. This isn’t exactly a game of ‘Mother, may I?’ So if Henderson has a fit, I can plead innocence or at the very least ignorance.” She wiped some condensation from the passenger side of the windshield with her glove. “Besides, my sister gave me the key ‘in case of an emergency.’ I think this qualifies.”

Thane nosed the truck into a slow line of traffic heading for a bridge that spanned Cherry Creek. “You know, lady,” he said as they eased over the bridge, “you’re more like your sister than I thought.”

She felt an unwarranted jab of disappointment. The more she knew about Mary Theresa, the less she felt she had in common with the woman who had become Marquise. “From you, I’ll take it as a compliment,” she lied.

“Exactly how it was intended.”

“Oh, right.” Unable to hide her sarcasm, she opened her purse, found a pair of sunglasses, and forced them onto the bridge of her nose. She didn’t believe him for a moment.

In her estimation, Thane was hiding something. Something big. And she was bound and determined to find out what it was.

From his viewpoint at an upper-story window, Detective Henderson sipped his coffee around the wad of gum that had grown stale in his mouth. Squinting, he noticed Thane Walker’s black pickup meld into the steady flow of traffic. A few seconds later an unmarked police vehicle followed suit, and he felt a little better. He didn’t trust Walker, and, if his gut instincts were right, Marquise’s twin sister was holding something back, some piece of information.

But then everyone involved was tight-lipped—from Syd Gillette, the second husband, to Wade Pomeranian, Marquise’s latest lover—they all seemed to hold a secret. Even Eve Lawrence, Marquise’s secretary and a woman who seemed genuinely worried, wasn’t anxious to talk to anyone associated with the police department. The same could be said of Craig Beaumont, the cohost of
Denver AM,
who appeared to hold more than his share of grudges against his partner.

Sooner or later, Henderson knew, the truth would come out. It always did. It just took the right amount of digging and a lot of patience and perseverance.

Of all the people associated with the case, Thane Walker bothered him the most. Probably because he’d been in trouble before. Then there was that little domestic dispute that Marquise’s neighbor, Jane Stanton, had reported. Too bad the woman had heard only bits and pieces of the conversation, but Walker had threatened Marquise according to the woman. “If this is one more of your bullshit lies, Mary Theresa, I swear I’ll kill you.” Or so the neighbor who lived alone with six cats was willing to testify. What was that all about? And why was he so damned secretive? His I-don’t-give-a-good-goddamn attitude settled like lead in Henderson’s gut. “But why would he want his ex-wife dead?” he muttered to himself.

“That’s a good question. He really doesn’t have much of a motive, does he?” Hannah had finished scribbling her notes and tucked the pad into a voluminous purse she forever carried with her.

“She does owe him money.”

“How much?” Hannah’s head snapped up.

This was news he’d just learned from the county records, news he hadn’t yet shared with her.

“A couple of hundred thousand. Closer to two-fifty.”

Hannah whistled low. “Secured?”

He nodded. “Second trust deeds on both her houses. About the only collateral the woman had. She was in debt to her pretty neck. If Marquise is dead, he can force a sale against the estate and collect.” Seeing that the tail was neatly and discreetly in place as the unmarked Jeep rounded the corner, he turned and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Couldn’t he do it if she was alive?”

“Oh, yes. But she could fight him; make it messy. Lots of bad publicity and lawyer fees.”

“Does he need the money?”

“Doesn’t look that way. The guy has a knack for investments, it seems. Self-made. Worked hard, put money away, got lucky on a couple of real-estate deals. He bought a lot of land in California when the market went bust a few years back. Now that it’s turned around, it looks like he’s a wealthy man. But who knows?”

“You think he’d find a way to kill her for two hundred grand?” Hannah was skeptical. “He doesn’t strike me as the type.”

“Walker’s hiding something. And, unless the convenience store clerk really did see Marquise, Thane Walker was the last person who saw her alive. So, I’ll want to talk to Marquise’s neighbor again, find out if she remembers anything more about that argument.”

“It’ll have to wait. Jane Stanton is visiting her daughter for a couple of days.”

“What?”

“Her daughter had a skiing accident, or something,” Hannah said, flipping the pages of her notebook. “Jane wanted to see that she was okay. But she should be back by the weekend.”

“Great.” Sometimes it seemed that nothing went right.

Hannah clicked her pen. “So what do you think Walker’s hiding?”

“That’s the quarter-million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Henderson spit his gum into the trash and still hungered for a cigarette. “But now at least we know that he’s got motive.”

“Still no body.”

That was the good news. Maybe Marquise was alive somewhere. “Yeah, there’s a chance we still could get lucky. She might turn up fit as a fiddle.” But as each day passed, he thought that chance was less and less likely. “This could be an elaborate publicity stunt, or she could’ve holed up. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere and licking her wounds for some reason. Could be she just needed to get away, or she might have had a bad case of amnesia.”

“The Jeep will turn up.”

“Mmm.”
Unless it’s already in a chop shop.
He rubbed a knot out of the tight muscles at the base of his neck, the same damned muscles that always tightened up and gave him a headache whenever he was stressed out. “What did you think about the sister?”

“I liked her.” Hannah nodded and clicked her pen again, as if she were agreeing with herself.

“Why?”

“Smart. Honest. Down-to-earth. Concerned about Marquise. She handled herself pretty well.”

“You think so?” He usually respected Hannah’s opinion, even when it didn’t jibe with his own.

“Yeah. Him, I’m not so sure about.”

“Me, neither, but tell me, as a woman, what do you think about the guy?”

“Oh, you want the female perspective.”

“That’s right. Shoot.” Henderson picked up his now-cold cup of coffee.

A small smile played upon Hannah’s lips and she tugged thoughtfully on her ear. “Well, for one thing, he’s sexy as hell. Too damned male for his own good. He’s almost a cliché, you know. Tall, ranch-tough, chiseled features, irreverent. A cowboy with an attitude. Every American woman’s secret fantasy.”

Henderson snorted.

“Even your remark that he’s hiding something holds some kind of appeal; women are curious, they like a man who has a dark side. Don’t ask me why. There’s a thrill to it, I suppose. The element of not knowing. Danger.” She was obviously looking for a reaction. Henderson gave her none.

Hannah cocked her head to one side as she always did when she was thinking. “Walker’s used to having women fall all over him, unless I miss my guess. Probably Marquise never quite got over him.”

“So that’s why she ran to his ranch every time she got into trouble?”

“A good guess.”

“What about the sister, Maggie? How does she fit in?”

“Now, there’s an interesting glitch,” Hannah said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully and the tip of one polished nail tapping her front teeth. “Woman’s intuition tells me that she’s in love with him.”

“With Walker?” He’d sensed it, too, didn’t like that particular kink in this already-tangled case. He preferred things more straightforward. Trouble was, they never were. Christ, he could use a cigarette.

Hannah nodded, her smooth brow creasing at the implications. “Yep. Unless I miss my guess, Ms. McCrae’s got it bad. Real bad. For her twin sister’s ex-husband.”