Silver Sparks Page 11

  “They don’t,” she said. “But they have money, and power. A lot of people here can’t afford to piss them off.”

  Rick snorted his disdain. “Personally, I’d love to piss them off. Whatever ruins their day makes mine better.”

  Maggie hummed a noncommittal reply. She didn’t need vengeance; she’d settle for being left alone. It was becoming clear that Rick invested too much energy into hating the De Lucas. Not that he was the only one—pushing people around tended to make them annoyed, and the De Lucas had done it enough to earn a reputation for being ruthless. Power bought loyalty, but it also earned enmity.

  She twirled a strand of hair absently, wondering how many people felt as strongly as Rick did . . . and how she could use that to her advantage.

  She stared unseeing at the speckled linoleum for several seconds before the silence made her look up. Cal and Rick were watching her, and Cal didn’t look at all pleased to see her formulating ideas. She freed her finger from the corkscrew of hair and flashed a smile. “So what did you guys decide to do first?”

  Cal’s eyebrow twitched. He wasn’t buying the innocent act.

  She wouldn’t have cared except for that glimmer of worry in his eyes. The death of a fellow officer still haunted him. Maggie wasn’t convinced that she was like his friend Diane, but she couldn’t deny she’d acted recklessly. And knowing that it revived Cal’s fears was enough to curb her plans.

  “We’ll talk later,” she told him. “Right now I just need to get to my store while I still have one.”

  From the way he relaxed, she knew he understood—she’d tell him what she planned to do about the De Lucas later, before she did it.

  It didn’t mean she had to listen when he said no.

  She spent the rest of the workday making returns and fielding calls for canceled orders. At the end of the day she was down another $8,000, which she considered good after the meltdown that morning. When Cal came to pick her up at 7:30, she was glad to lock the door behind her.

  It was still light as they approached her house, and she could see that the line of news vans out front had grown.

  “Good Lord, how many news outlets are there?”

  “Hundreds. Do you want me to keep going? You could stay with me tonight.” When she shot him a look, he smiled and shrugged. “Or with your sister or grandmother. But I’d be better company.”

  “I’m staying in my own house. They can’t drive me away.”

  But they could give her several unpleasant minutes. They swarmed around Cal’s truck when he pulled in, yelling questions before she even had her door open.

  “Who attacked you, Maggie?” she heard as she stepped out, nearly knocking the reporter over when she opened the passenger door. She moved quickly, ducking into the protective shelter of Cal’s arm as he pushed past the gathered reporters and cameramen to escort her to the door.

  “Did he threaten other members of your family?”

  “Did you see the knife?”

  “How many stitches did you get? Show us where he cut you!”

  They followed her up the driveway but stayed off her front walk. She opened her door and turned to Cal. “Thanks. I’m sorry you have to go back through them.”

  “I don’t think they’ll follow me; they’re stuck on covering you.”

  “Slug a TV star and you too can have your own news following.”

  “I’ll stick with dodging yours.”

  She shut the door, then watched out the window as Cal strode back to his truck, making the reporters stumble out of his way. That was the way to do it, she decided—get pushy. She’d probably get a chance to try it in the morning.

  She surfed the entertainment networks that night and saw replays of her huddled rush to the house, along with embellished descriptions of her assault and speculation about whether it related to some previous relationship. They made it sound like she had a string of bar fights and pissed-off men in her past. She sensed the De Lucas’ hand in that.

  Rafe had apparently lain low all Sunday, as there was no recent footage of him. From the tone of the reports, you’d think he’d spent the whole day in church.

  Maggie didn’t sleep well at all.

  Cal dropped her at work the next morning and kept himself from calling her until noon. “Hi, how’s your morning going?”

  “It’s dead. No calls and no customers. I’m debating having Holly bring a deck of cards when she comes in at one.”

  “How about you let her play solitaire and hang out with me? I’m going to visit Rachel Anders’s parents.”

  He wanted to take it back as soon as he’d said it. Chatting with the parents of a missing and probably dead girl didn’t sound as enticing as he’d like. But despite his lame offer, her tone perked up.

  “Okay. I can leave as soon as Holly gets here.”

  “I’ll take you to lunch first.”

  He was smiling when he hung up. Sure, she’d agreed to go because she was helping with his investigation. But there was more there, a mutual interest he knew he wasn’t imagining. It crackled between them even over the phone. He’d have to be careful. He was far more attracted to Maggie Larkin than he wanted to be.

  You don’t do reckless, he reminded himself.

  He had sworn he’d never give his heart to a woman who would be as careless with it as Diane had been, putting his love second to her need for the thrill of danger. But it wasn’t love that made his pulse race and his groin ache when he looked at Maggie. It was pure lust.

  That wasn’t necessarily a bad quality in a relationship. He could handle lust. And with Maggie, he could enjoy the hell out of it. He should probably be worried about that.

  He arrived a few minutes early. She came out before he could park, as if she’d been watching for him. The morning’s dull sky had changed to a deep gray overcast, but it didn’t dim the radiance she seemed to carry with her.

  “Pick a restaurant,” he told her. “Something touristy. I might as well see all the attractions while I’m here.”

  She chose a place that overlooked the rushing stream downtown and they ate while watching water tumble and swirl over rocks as it cut its way down the mountain. He drank it in, loving the wild, restless feel of the high country. It suited Maggie’s personality; she belonged here.

  By the time they left the restaurant, the cloudy sky was spitting snowflakes. Cal zipped his lightweight jacket, silently thankful that Maggie had a coat so he didn’t have to give her his. Being a gentleman didn’t make him immune to the cold. “What’s with the snow?” he asked, hurrying into the truck. “It’s nearly June, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Snow happens, especially around here. Ignore it.” She buckled her seat belt and turned to him. “Where do the Anderses live?”

  “Beats me. Here’s their address—you navigate.”

  She glanced at the paper. “Shouldn’t we call first?”

  “So they can refuse to talk to us? I’d rather show up at their front door and rely on my charming personality to get us in. Which way am I going?”

  “Through town, then left on Elkhorn.” She paused for only a second. “I can help get us in. I have a charming personality, too.”

  “Nah, you have an abrasive one.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched up. “Bullshit. Just with you.”

  “And you’re argumentative.”

  “That’s true.”

  He smiled, not sure why, since everything he’d said was true. Abrasive wasn’t an exaggeration. They disagreed constantly, and he’d been mad at her fully half the time he’d known her. But the other half . . .

  That had been consumed by thoughts of kissing her smart mouth until all she could do was moan with desire. Then he’d undress that tempting body, find some even better spots to kiss, then slide inside her and take them both to paradise.

  And she might just let him. As contrary as she was, they’d seemed to be in complete agreement when he kissed her. There was a definite spark between them. Hell, more like a wil
dfire.

  He stole a glance sideways, enjoying the way her skirt rode up her thigh. If he could get her to twist to her right and look behind them, he bet it would ride up all the way to—

  “That’s it, the A-frame on the right.”

  Well, damn, now he had to hope the cold air took care of the bulge in his pants before they got to the front door.

  From Maggie’s experience at The Aerie, Cal didn’t exactly have a smooth way of introducing himself. Fortunately, he used a more professional method on Mrs. Anders.

  The woman who answered the doorbell was fifty-something with poorly dyed, short brown hair, wearing a sweater and jeans. She opened the door all of six inches, blocking the cold air. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Anders? I’m Cal Drummond and this is Maggie Larkin.” The door opened wider as the woman took a look at Maggie. “I’m a police officer in Oklahoma.” He held up his ID.

  “Oklahoma?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m on leave, so I’m not here in an official capacity. I’m looking into some missing persons cases, and I wondered if I could talk to you about your daughter Rachel.”

  Mrs. Anders’s gaze went flat and her lips pursed tightly, etching creases into her cheeks and chin that immediately aged her another ten years. “My daughter ain’t missing. She ran away from home.”

  “You’ve heard from her?”

  The creases deepened. “No, and I don’t expect to. Sorry I can’t help you. . . .”

  Cal put a hand in the door as it started to close. “You still can, ma’am. Perhaps I can confirm that your daughter isn’t missing. I just need to check with the people she hung out with. If you can give me some names, it would be extremely helpful.”

  While she pondered it, Cal stomped his feet and hugged his arms close to his body, waiting patiently while he apparently froze to death in front of her.

  Maggie saw the woman’s mouth go through more displeased motions while she thought it over. The door swung open. “I don’t know much, but you best step inside so I can close the door.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And stay on the tile, your feet are wet.”

  They stood close together on the small tiled floor of the entryway.

  “I ain’t got much time. I work banquets at the Eagle’s Wing resort, and we got a big dinner there tonight. What do you need to know? I don’t know most of the kids Rachel hung around with.”

  Cal pulled out a notepad and pen. “Whatever names you know.”

  “Well, mostly she mentioned Amy and Sara.”

  “Do you know their last names?”

  “No idea. I think they worked with Rachel at The Peak. That’s a restaurant.”

  He nodded, writing. “Anyone else?”

  Mrs. Anders shrugged. “She was always seeing some guy or another, but I don’t know any names. She never brought them here. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she ran off with one of them.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she called men her ticket out.” Mrs. Anders folded her arms and raised her chin in a defensive posture. “I don’t know if you’ve seen a picture of my daughter, but Rachel’s a pretty girl. She was always going out with men she met at The Peak. It’s a fancy place, you know? She said she was going to find her a man with money who would take her out of this town. I figure she finally did.”

  Cal nodded, taking notes. “Do you know the names of any more of Rachel’s friends or coworkers?”

  Mrs. Anders flattened her mouth into a tight line and shook her head. “No. We didn’t talk much.”

  “Thank you for talking to me, ma’am.”

  She watched him put the notebook inside his jacket, eyes darting nervously as she bit her lower lip. “Will you tell me if you find out anything?”

  “Of course.” He handed her a card. “And I hope you’ll call me if you hear from Rachel.”

  She took it and gave a quick nod.

  Maggie turned and reached for the door, but Mrs. Anders’s voice stopped her. “Ain’t you the one’s been in the papers and on the news? The one that got into that fight with Rafe De Luca?”

  She turned, feeling slightly uncomfortable at being recognized from media coverage. “Yes.”

  “Did you really hit him like they said?”

  She started to offer an explanation, a defense for her actions, then thought better of it. From the hard expression on Mrs. Anders’s face, she’d already made up her mind about the type of woman who gets into fights at bars. “I’m afraid I did.”

  Rachel’s mother looked at her like she’d just tracked wet footprints all over her clean carpet. “You ever think about anyone besides yourself when you’re partying with those Hollywood folks?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Lots of people in this town depend on those tourist dollars to make a living. I do. My husband does, too—he does maintenance at the airport over by Juniper, where all the rich folks keep their private jets. What do you think happens to our jobs if those people decide to stop coming here?”

  “I, um, I don’t think giving Rafe a bloody nose will make them stop coming here.”

  “Well, think again, missy. Those De Lucas have big parties and bring in lots of business acquaintances. Who do you think got that Trust Fund Brats show to film here? The De Lucas, that’s who. And how much business is this town going to lose if they all decide to up and leave?”

  “I really don’t—”

  “More than you can replace, that’s for sure. You need to think before you take some lame-brained feminist stand and hit one of the biggest sources of money in this town, lady.”

  Maggie’s mouth hung open and her brain spun. Cal gave her a sharp nudge in the ribs. “Yes, ma’am,” she murmured.

  He thanked Mrs. Anders again and practically pushed Maggie out the door into a landscape of blowing snow. Maggie threw her hood up and shot him a resentful look. “I’m not the B-Pass Chamber of Commerce. Since when am I responsible for the flow of tourist dollars into this town?”

  “The lady was pissed. She needed an apology. I’m sure the citizens of Barringer’s Pass thank you. That is, the ones who are still speaking to you.” And she’d handled it well, no reckless accusations or comebacks. He turned up the short collar on his jacket and hunched into it. “Come on, let’s get out of this stuff.”

  They trotted for the truck, slamming the doors quickly on swirls of snow. “Damn, I need to buy a winter coat!” Cal exclaimed, brushing snow from his jacket.

  “No, you don’t. Tough it out, I promise it’ll be gone in a day.”

  He didn’t look like he believed her. Maggie waited while he started the truck and fiddled with the heater until it was blowing hot air on them.

  She turned her brooding stare away from the Anderses’ house. “Cal, if Rachel took off with some guy, she would have called one of her girlfriends and told them where she was. Even if it didn’t work out with the guy. She might have made something up if she had to, made it sound like she’d found the better life she was searching for. But either way, she would have said something to her friends. I don’t think Rachel ran away.”

  He didn’t look at her. “I know.”

  Maggie looked back at the house through the wind-whipped curtain of snow. “It’s going to be hard on her mother if they ever find Rachel’s body.”

  His jaw set grimly. “It always is.”

  Chapter

  Seven

  She had him stop on the way back to Fortune’s Folly so she could see if any new tabloids had hit the stands. They hadn’t, and she breathed a sigh of relief at not having to deal with more vicious lies and hate. It didn’t last.

  She stood by the jewelry display counter in Fortune’s Folly between Holly and Cal, looking out through the front window. Two bright yellow splatters partially obstructed their view of the snowy street beyond. “What happened?”

  “Paintballs,” Holly said. “There’s one that landed on the bricks, too. It was a drive-by shooting.”

  Maggie felt sick. “
Just our store?”

  Holly nodded miserably. “The police said you’re lucky the glass didn’t break. I’m sorry, Maggie. I would have called you, but there wasn’t anything you could do.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for handling it. I’ll see about getting it cleaned off tomorrow, once the storm is over.” She gave her assistant a hug. “And thanks again for watching the store today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “Same as always—you would have been here, doing everything yourself. You needed a break.”

  Maggie didn’t bother explaining that she was even deeper into it than before, helping Cal look for a connection between Rafe and two missing women. She sent Holly home with a reminder to drive carefully.

  The back door shut behind Holly, leaving an empty silence behind. Maggie surveyed the store. It was as devoid of customers as if it were closed, even though she would be open for nearly four more hours. With only a few shoppers braving the blowing, drifting sidewalks outside, she decided to blame it on the weather.

  Her gaze settled on Cal. He stood near the marine fossils, absorbed in studying Maggie’s favorite group of trilobites.

  “His name is George.”

  Cal turned, amused. “The one getting fresh with the other trilobite?”

  She joined him by the display, oddly pleased that he imagined the same relationship she did between the long-dead creatures. “She’s a hot chick, as trilobites go.”

  “Clearly.”

  “So naturally he’s hitting on her.”

  “A romance frozen in time.” He cocked his head at the slab of sandstone. “Of course, you do know they were both lying dead on the mucky ocean floor at the time.”

  “Some guys never give up,” she said, unswerving in her fantasy. “George is one of them.”

  “Good old George.” They contemplated the trilobites for a moment. “You know, I think George had the right idea.”

  Maggie was suddenly aware that his gaze was on her, not the trilobites. She looked up into Cal’s shadowed gray eyes. Prickles of excitement slid over her scalp. His expression was nothing like the passive, blank stare on George’s fossilized face. It was a look of frank interest. And intent.