Against the Storm

He folded the paper and set it on his desk. The headline stared up at him. Missing Woman Found. The article told of a teenage boy finding a woman’s body washed up on a local beach. No positive identification had been made at the time the article was written, but the victim’s clothing and hair led authorities to believe it was the young woman who had recently disappeared. An autopsy was scheduled to determine the cause of death.

Unconsciously, Trace glanced toward the door, expecting Carly to appear any minute demanding his protection. He wasn’t in the mood for his ex-wife and her dramatics, or any other woman—at least not right now.

His thoughts returned to Maggie and the bitter disappointment he felt. She had lied about the false rape, about the police and probably about the stalker.

Worse yet, she had made Trace lose control.

It didn’t happen often. Like honor and honesty, in his family, control was a valued commodity. His daddy had lost his temper only once, when Trace had lied to him about sneaking out to meet his friend Willie Johnson and drinking the pint of whiskey Willie had stolen from his mama’s special medicinal supply. Trace had been ten years old and his father had used a hickory switch to show him the error of his ways.

Later, his dad had come to him and apologized, as if he were the one who had done something wrong.

“I lost my temper, son. A man can’t afford to let that happen. Not ever.”

And because Trace wanted to be the man his dad believed him to be, he made sure it never happened.

Well, almost never.

In the army, his nickname had been Ghost. It wasn’t just because he had a talent for appearing and disappearing without being seen, a skill that often came in handy. It was also because of the way he remained in control, the way he always stayed calm no matter the situation. Calm and controlled, out of sight and out of mind, as quiet as a ghost.

But Maggie O’Connell had broken through his well-honed defenses. He had begun to trust her, begun to let down his guard.

She’s one of those women, Mark Sayers had said. The kind who crave attention, the kind who’ll do anything to get it. But she hadn’t seemed that way. Which just proved what a piss-poor judge Trace was of women.

Worse yet, part of him worried that maybe Sayers was wrong. Maybe there was a stalker. Maybe—at least about that—Maggie had been telling the truth.

Trace leaned back in his chair, refusing to continue dwelling on his brief relationship with another woman he couldn’t trust. He glanced up at a knock at his office door, watched it swing open. Annie never waited for permission.

“Detective Sayers is here to see you. Wants to talk to you about the information you left for him.”

Trace sat up in his chair. “Send him in.”

Mark walked into the office and closed the door. As always, his light brown hair was neatly combed, while his J. C. Penney suit was slightly wrinkled.

“Parker’s got an alibi,” he said, cutting straight to the point. “His wife says he was home with her all evening.”

“Bullshit.” Trace came out of his chair. “She’s covering for him. Emily’s been a fool for Parker since the day she met him.”

“We’ve still got the embezzlement charges. The D.A.’s on it. He’s putting together a case. He doesn’t want to move until he’s got all his ducks in a row.”

“I’ll talk to Jason, tell him what’s going on. I’ll ask him to speak to his sister, see if he can get her to tell the truth.”

“He doesn’t know about the stolen money?”

“Not yet,” Trace said. “But he’s in line to take over the company. He’s going to need to be told.”

“Might not be a good idea,” Mark said. “Word is the kid’s pretty hotheaded. He might come to the same conclusion you did, and try to do something about it.”

Trace thought of the son who had worshipped his powerful father. “You might be right.”

“We’re on this thing, Trace. If Parker killed Sommerset, he’s going down for it.”

He nodded. “The funeral is on Wednesday. Once it’s over, things will settle down. I’ll talk to Emily myself, pay my respects. I’ll be sure not to mention that her no-good husband was stealing a fortune from her dad.”

Mark chuckled. “Sounds good. Let me know how it goes.”

Trace walked his friend through the office, out to the unmarked brown Chevy he was driving that perfectly matched his inexpensive brown suit.

“So what happened with the redhead?” Mark asked as he opened the car door.

“I wouldn’t know. She’s no longer my client.”

“Wise move. I can tell you that as far as I know, she hasn’t made any more 911 calls.”

“That’s good, I guess.” But Maggie had always been reluctant to call the police. She didn’t think they would help her, and pretty much, she was right.

Trace didn’t like the way that made him feel.

“Like I said, keep me in the loop.” Mark slid into the car and drove out of the lot, and Trace returned to his office. The kid, Sol Greenway, was working at his desk in the glass-windowed office next to Trace’s, partly hidden behind a couple of forty-inch monitors. Trace was good at digging up information, but the kid was better. He could find out anything, legally or illegally. Trace was careful not to encourage him.

Most of the time.

The door was open, Trace walked in and Sol looked up at him. “Yeah, boss?”

“Think you can get into an old, sealed, juvenile arrest file?”

Sol grinned. He pushed his long, straight dark hair out of his eyes. “Sure. Just give me a name.”

“Margaret O’Connell. I’ll get you her address and phone number and whatever else I’ve got.”

“Shouldn’t take long.” Sol cracked his knuckles, a habit Trace found mildly annoying, then replaced his fingers on the keyboard.

Silently cursing himself for giving in to his worry about Maggie, Trace turned and walked back out the door.

Eight

The days slipped past. As promised, a man with JDT Security Systems arrived at her door within an hour after Trace had brought her home from their trip to the shore. Mr. Wilcox had carefully shown her how to set the alarm, and had checked to see that everything was working as it should.

“It’s a wireless system,” he explained. “Fairly basic, but it’s all most people ever need. If the alarm goes off and you don’t enter the proper codes to turn it off, the system automatically calls the security company. From there, the police are notified. You should be perfectly safe as long as you remember to turn it on.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilcox.”

“No problem.”

So far there hadn’t been.

And she had to admit she felt safer with the alarm system in and dead bolts installed. Since nearly a week had passed and there hadn’t been any more notes or hang-up calls, she was beginning to think she didn’t need Mr. He-man Rawlins, after all.

The doorbell rang. It was Friday night. The weekend had finally arrived and Maggie had plans for the evening. She checked the peephole, smiled and opened the door.

Dressed in tight red leather pants and a red silk blouse that left her midriff bare, Roxanne sashayed through the door. “You ready, lamb chop?” With her black hair swept into a twist and soft tendrils curling beside her ears, Roxanne, at thirty, was a fox.

Maggie smiled. “I’m ready.” Her own outfit was a little less flashy, a very short black skirt, gold silk halter top, gold jewelry and very high black-and-gold heels. “I’m overdue for a little fun.”

They were going to Galaxy, an upscale nightclub that catered to the late-twenties through early-forties crowd. Maggie loved to dance. Anything from modern to ballroom, country to hip-hop. Anytime, anyplace, she was game. She was especially good at swing and ballroom dancing, since her dad had insisted she take cotillion.

Cotillion. The old-fashioned word made her smile. Because she didn’t have a mother “to teach her certain things,” her dad had signed her up on her twelfth birthday, and insisted she attend classes once a week.

Now she was glad she had.

“Grab your purse, girl. Let’s rock and roll.” Roxanne was always up for going out. She liked drinking martinis and socializing more than actually dancing, but it worked out fine just the same. And since Roxy was leaving for a couple weeks to visit friends in New York, this was kind of a farewell evening.

“Car’s out front,” Rox said. “I’ve got Alonzo driving tonight so we don’t have to worry if we get a little tipsy.”

Roxanne had more money than she could spend, a legacy of her daddy’s oil fortune. Though she was two years older than Maggie, they had gone to the U of Houston together, Roxanne starting as a freshman after she had spent a couple years jet-setting around Europe.

They had met in art history class, the one subject Roxanne knew backward and forward, since she had seen a number of antiquities up close and personal in her travels and developed an appreciation. Aside from their common interest in art, for reasons neither of them completely understood, they had become fast friends and still were.

Roxanne’s white Mercedes S550 sat in front of the condo, with Alonzo, her good-looking part-time driver, seated behind the wheel. She and Maggie climbed into the backseat and headed for Galaxy, which was over by the Galleria.

It didn’t take long to get there. Alonzo opened the door for them, and as they made their way toward the entrance, the doorman recognized them and waved them to the front of the line.

“Thanks, honey,” Roxanne said to the big black bouncer with the thick Southern accent.

He just grinned. “You two gals be good tonight. Don’t y’all go gettin’ them boys stirred up and fightin’ over ya.”

Maggie laughed at the backhanded compliment. “We’ll be sure to mind our manners.”

They stepped inside, onto the stainless-steel floor in the entry, and were captured immediately by the heavy beat of the music. The place was slick and modern, with lots of brushed chrome and dark wood. Mauve and blue lighting gleamed beneath the bar and along the walls, and the ceiling glittered with tiny white lights that winked like stars. The stainless-steel dance floor was large and the DJ was really good at choosing songs, usually a combo of top forty and Latin, with a little disco and the occasional country song thrown in.

Since the crowd was her age or older and Maggie was a regular, she knew a number of people in the crowd. As she and Roxanne slid onto high, dark blue leather seats at the black granite bar, a face she hadn’t seen in months was one of the first she recognized.

Roxy leaned toward her, raising her voice a little to be heard above the music and the crowd. “Isn’t that your old flame, David, sitting over there?”

Since she had already spotted him, Maggie kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. “That’s him.”

“I thought he was dating someone.”

“I thought so, too.” But clearly, he was alone tonight. Their breakup two years ago hadn’t been easy and Maggie felt a tightening in her stomach.

The bartender walked over just then, olive-skinned and handsome. “What can I get for you ladies?”

“Grey Goose martini, if you please, Enrique.” Roxy had an amazing memory for the names of good-looking men. “Up, and very, very dry.”

“I’ll have a Cosmo,” Maggie added, but one or two were her limit. She was basically a white-wine drinker, though occasionally the strong, fruity cocktail tasted good.

Roxanne leaned closer. “Don’t look now, but I think he’s coming over.”

Maggie inwardly groaned. She told herself not to glance in David’s direction, but her eyes went there just the same. He stopped in front of her, a tall man, very lean and perfectly groomed, with blond hair and pale blue eyes.

“It’s good to see you, Maggie.”

She smiled, tried to ignore the thread of guilt she felt for the way they had parted. “You’re looking well, David.”

“Thank you. You look beautiful. But then you always do.” Very formal, always proper, that was David.

“You remember Roxanne?”

“Of course. Hello, Roxanne.”

Roxy took a sip from her long-stemmed glass. “I’m surprised to see you here, David. You were never much for socializing.”

David did corporate law for Holder Holder & Meeks. He was happiest behind his desk working on briefs, or researching case law. Just going out with another couple for dinner was a major undertaking for David. Which had been a problem for Maggie, since her job required she attend various gallery shows around the state, and meeting people was just good business. It was also something she enjoyed.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.