Silver Sparks Page 3

She glanced at the card, then at the three-piece suit, and finally met Parker Jameson’s smile with a more cynical expression. Cal Drummond had been right. “Let me guess—you represent Rafe De Luca?”

  “My firm represents the De Luca family, yes. May we go inside and talk?”

  She was tempted to say no, but the forty-degree breeze rippled her thin blouse and slipped beneath her skirt. It might be late May, but winter didn’t surrender easily at this elevation. She unlocked the back door, letting Parker Jameson follow her inside, but not into the shop itself. As clean and wholesome as Jameson looked, he worked for the De Lucas; she suspected that something slimy lurked beneath the surface. The back room was good enough. Tossing her purse on the packaging table, she turned to face him. “What do you want?”

  Jameson zipped open his portfolio as he went into his pitch. “We are, of course, aware of the unfortunate incident at the Alpine Sky resort last night. The De Luca family would like to offer you reassurances that they believe no action need be taken against you.”

  “Against me?”

  “That’s correct.” He stepped around her and laid a thin stack of papers on the fake wood grain of the worktable. “These papers have already been signed and witnessed, affirming that neither Rafael De Luca nor the De Luca family will bring charges against you or in any way hold you at fault for the unfortunate misunderstanding between you and Mr. De Luca.”

  She stared at the papers, then at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. All you have to do is sign your name, and the matter is resolved.” He pulled a silver ballpoint from the portfolio and held it out to her.

  Since he was going with the lawyerly façade that all parties involved were reasonable, intelligent people, she kept a civil tone. “There’s a slight problem, Mr. Jameson. It seems Rafe and I have differing explanations for what happened.”

  His smile held a touch of condescension. “There are always two sides to any dispute, Miss Larkin. But in this case, the facts don’t matter.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That’s a unique approach to the law.”

  “The particulars need not be discussed. In fact, the agreement states that both you and Rafael will refrain from commenting on the details of the incident. A brief statement will be released to the press by the De Luca family explaining that it was simply a disagreement between two passionate people that has since been resolved. A lovers’ quarrel, so to speak.”

  “A what? You can’t seriously expect me to tell people that I’m actually dating that scum-sucking piece of garbage!”

  He didn’t even blink. “Miss Larkin, we expect you to say nothing whatsoever. People will think what they will, and you and Rafael need only carry on the charade for a few days before a mutual decision to end your relationship. This will, of course, be announced to the press, at which time the media will undoubtedly lose interest in you.”

  So much for remaining civil. “Yeah, they’ll lose interest, but you will already have trashed my name. There is no relationship! I’m not going to pretend there is, so just forget it.” She picked up the papers and slapped them against his chest, forcing him to grab them.

  “Miss Larkin, you may want to rethink that decision.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “If you don’t want to go along with what I assure you is your best option, then the De Lucas will be forced to handle this on their own.”

  “Fine, whatever.” She moved toward the door, a broad hint that he should follow.

  He didn’t. “Since they will be forced to assume you are opposed to protecting their best interests, they will not be able to protect yours.”

  His tone was as businesslike as before, but the words sounded threatening. She tipped her head, watching him through narrowed eyes. “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “I believe it means if you are not with them, you are against them. I really can’t say what the actual details might involve.”

  But it wouldn’t be anything good. The De Lucas maintained a home in the area, one of several all over the world. Thanks to their ownership of a major movie studio and record label, they were rich and famous on an international scale. Rafe’s playboy lifestyle had only added to the media’s fascination with the family. Opposing them wouldn’t be smart.

  That didn’t negate the fact that going along with their version of events would be disgusting, dishonest, and just plain wrong. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself. “Thanks but no thanks,” she told him.

  Parker Jameson tucked the papers back in his portfolio and zipped it shut. “You have twenty-four hours to think about it, Miss Larkin. I’ll contact you later.” He smiled, not attempting to hide his disrespect. “Unless, of course, you call me before then. If you’re as smart as I hear, you will.” He walked past her, opened the door, then glanced back. “Have a pleasant day. I believe there are some people here to see you.”

  She caught the door before it closed and looked outside. Two men stood by her car, camera straps slung over their shoulders, and hands cupped around their eyes as they peered in the windows. Crap—only tabloid reporters could be that bold. Still, that didn’t mean she had to put up with fingerprints all over the glass, or scratches if one of those cameras banged against the side of the car.

  “Hey, guys!” They looked up. “Hands off the car, okay?”

  They straightened immediately. “Maggie! Could we get a quote from you about your fight with Rafe De Luca?” They both jogged toward her. “Is it true your fight was because he was upset about your police record?”

  “What?” She scowled, mouth hanging open in astonishment. One of them chose that instant to raise his camera and take her picture. She snapped her mouth closed. “Who have you been talking to? I don’t have a police record.”

  They kept coming, throwing out questions as they did. “How long have you and Rafe been seeing each other?” That was from the shorter one who’d taken her picture.

  “Weren’t you the secret woman he was with in Hawaii last month?” asked the taller one as he, too, reached for his camera.

  “No! We aren’t . . .” She realized she was falling into their trap, and shut her mouth, glaring. Another priceless Kodak moment was captured with a flash. “No comment!” She slammed the door.

  Leaning against it, she took several deep breaths. Fists pounding on the outside vibrated against her back, and she jumped away. The reporters continued to shout questions, and she moved to the front of the store so she couldn’t hear.

  She hadn’t handled that well, but they’d taken her by surprise with that crap about a police record. She needed to keep her cool and politely deflect questions with noncommittal answers. Next time she would be ready.

  Maggie concentrated on calming her anger and her galloping heart. After a few seconds the pounding and shouting stopped, leaving the store in blissful silence.

  Light streamed through the two big front windows, but with the overhead lights off, the area near the back wall was dim. Soothing. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling calm seep back in. Fortune’s Folly in the early morning was her favorite retreat from the world, and she let it work its magic on her now.

  She was alone here, if you didn’t count the hundreds of corpses. “How’s it going, George?” Maggie ran her hand over the rippled black body where it hung on the wall, encased in its tomb of limestone. “Sorry about that lawyer. We haven’t all evolved to the same level.” The giant trilobite was silent, but she imagined tiny black eyes blinking kindly behind the protuberances on George’s fossilized head. George would understand—he was that kind of guy. In the four months he’d hung on her wall, they’d had many one-sided conversations, and he’d never once failed to agree with her.

  “How’s your lady friend? Has she noticed you yet?” The sandy-colored stone slab held the bodies of five more trilobites, all giant specimens about a foot long. One lay nearly within reach of George’s outstretched antenna, as if he’d spent the past five hundred million years tryin
g to get her attention. Maggie gave him a warning tap on the head. “Just keep those feelers off her ass, buddy. Girls don’t like that.”

  Pulling a long dusting rod from beneath the checkout counter, Maggie began brushing invisible cobwebs off the displayed fossils—more chunks of ancient ocean mud, teeming with the bodies of prehistoric fish, crustaceans, and ammonites. They were popular items among her customers with twenty or thirty thousand dollars to blow on an interesting conversation piece.

  She worked her way toward the front of the store, humming to herself as she smoothed silk wall hangings. She’d nearly forgotten about rude reporters when a tap on the front door made her look up. Through the glass, four men waved and signaled for her to come to the door. Two were from the parking lot, but the other two were new. Were there really that many tabloids? Her first instinct was to ignore them, but she realized they wouldn’t go away. They’d just wait until she opened for business and bother her while she had paying customers in the store. It might be better to get it over with now.

  The four straightened alertly as she reached for her ring of keys and unlocked the two heavy front doors. They pulled them open before she had the keys back in her pocket. She stepped back as all four pushed inside, holding up both palms while blocking their path. “Hold it right here, fellas. I know you have questions. I’m willing to answer if it’ll get you out of the way before I’m open for business. Agreed?”

  A chorus of agreements assaulted her, followed by a jumble of loud questions, with each one trying to talk over the other.

  “One at a time!” In the brief pause, she pointed to one at random, a man in his mid-thirties, balding, with a thin ponytail. “You first.”

  He held up a miniature tape recorder as three more arms shot out, all holding recording devices. At least she’d be accurately quoted. Shifting his camera strap aside, he moved the recorder under her nose and asked, “How long have you been seeing Rafe De Luca, and what’s the status of your relationship?”

  She pushed his hand back to a polite distance, giving him a free lesson in manners. “I’m not seeing Rafe. There is no relationship.” She cut off his follow-up question, pointing at the next man. “You.”

  “Why did you hit Rafe? Was that the first instance of abuse in your relationship, or have there been more?”

  She frowned. “I told you, there’s no relationship. I never met him before last night. And I hit him because he made inappropriate suggestions and wouldn’t keep his hands off me.” This was going better than she’d hoped. There was obviously a serious gap in the facts, and they were listening eagerly to every word, allowing her to clear up the story. No matter what spin the De Lucas tried to put on it, at least her version would be out there to counter it. She pointed again, this time to the short guy from the parking lot. “Your turn.”

  “Was Cara Rockford the reason for your breakup with Rafe?”

  “Who?” Maggie shook her head. “I told you, there was no breakup. I don’t even know Rafe. We just met last night.”

  The man nodded, as if she had just confirmed what he’d said. She hoped he replayed that tape before writing his story. Before she could move on, he insisted, “But what about Cara?”

  “Never heard of her.” Speaking over his next question, she pointed to the tall man behind him. “You.”

  “What’s your response to Blaster’s threats against you?”

  She wrinkled her brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The Blaster—Rafe’s bodyguard. That’s the name he used in pro wrestling. He was fired after you assaulted Rafe, and he swore to get even. What do you have to say about it?”

  Four pairs of eyes fastened on her as she shook her head. “I had nothing to do with his getting fired. I imagine it was because he pulled a gun, and had been drinking on the job.” Thank you, Cal. It might be a good thing he’d stepped into that mess after all, or she wouldn’t be this prepared. “It’s not my fault if the man can’t keep Rafe from forcing himself on women.”

  They all grinned, and a couple nodded in agreement. “You certainly handled yourself well, Maggie,” the first one said.

  “Thank you.” It was about time someone showed some appreciation for how she’d dealt with two bullies.

  “Maggie, can you tell us who the mystery man is?” Someone spoke out of turn, and before she could reply, another one took off on the new topic.

  “Is he an old boyfriend?”

  “Did he force you to leave against your will?”

  “What’s his name, Maggie?”

  Her orderly system was breaking down in the face of their renewed excitement.

  There was no way she was going to give them Cal’s name. And the way they used hers all the time was beginning to bother her, like they actually thought she might mistake them for friends. “I never saw that man before, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  One man chuckled. “Aw, come on, Maggie, everyone saw you run out of there with him. Who is he?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, I don’t know him, and he didn’t stick around, so I can’t tell you anything about him.” There, that ought to satisfy Cal. He might be overbearing and arrogant, but she owed him something for helping her out of a jam. Maybe now the press would forget about him, and he could go back to shadowing Rafe. Cal’s theory about murdered girls might be far-fetched, but he could probably find several lesser offenses to charge Rafe with. She wished him luck.

  “Maggie!”

  Cool air swirled into the store as a new reporter opened the door and pushed his way inside. He stood on tiptoe, stretching a tiny recorder over the heads in front of him. “Can I get a quote on your relationship with Rafe De Luca?”

  Responding to the new competition, the other four abandoned their brief fling with order. Questions tumbled over each other, getting louder with each second. She held up both hands, waving them like semaphores above her head.

  “Stop! No more questions.” A flash made her blink back spots. Another one followed, stretching her patience to the limit. “Out!” Rather than wait for them to obey, she shoved past them and held the door wide until they all followed her onto the sidewalk. Like a pack of preschoolers, they continued badgering her with questions about Rafe, his TV show, his costars, and her dating history.

  Sticking two fingers in her mouth, Maggie blew a shrill whistle. The babble faded. “We’re done!” she ordered.

  “Just a photo!” someone insisted. She turned to find the ponytailed reporter giving her an encouraging grin. “Come on, a nice shot of you in front of your store. It’ll be good for business.”

  Damn, he might be right. And a posed shot had to be better than any pictures they’d taken so far. Obediently, she stood beneath the dark green awning with the white letters reading, “Fortune’s Folly.” Cameras clicked.

  “Okay, that’s it,” she said.

  “One more! How about—”

  Obviously, they’d never be satisfied. She turned away, leaving them on the sidewalk. Before closing the front door, she reminded them, “I answered your questions. I expect you to leave me alone during business hours.”

  She locked the doors again, then lurked near the checkout counter to see what happened. Within seconds, they dispersed.

  Maggie smiled. For her first encounter with the press, she thought she’d handled it pretty well. They were pushy, but she’d kept them at bay. Cal had made it sound like she’d be mobbed by unruly hordes that would rip her to shreds. If he showed up, he’d have to eat his words.

  It was nearly three o’clock the next day when Cal walked through the front door. The paparazzi had been shooed away by the police, so they weren’t there to spot their mystery man. They’d missed her, too, when she’d stayed at Zoe’s last night instead of going home. Another day or two of this and maybe they’d get tired of stalking someone they couldn’t find.

  The day had started out cold, but heated up to seventy degrees with a high blue sky. Both doors were propped open, letting the
warm breeze play against the wind chimes just inside the door. Cal didn’t appear to appreciate the tinkling sound as he passed by. In fact, he didn’t seem to appreciate any part of the beautiful spring day as he zeroed in on her behind the display cases in the center of the store. It was too bad, because he really had an interesting face and she was betting it would look even better with a big, strong grin. Looked like she’d just have to imagine it, because he seemed incapable of smiling around her.

  Maggie replaced a ring in the glass case and straightened as he strode up to her, his boots echoing on the worn wood floor. Despite his tight expression, she put on her friendly greet-the-customer face. “Hi, sourpuss. Is it just me who ticks you off, or don’t you ever smile?”

  “It’s definitely you.”

  Not even the slightest hint of humor softened the hard line of his jaw. Still, his bad day didn’t have to ruin her good one. “What did I do this time?” she asked, not because she cared, but just because he looked like he might explode if he didn’t vent.

  “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” He slapped a stack of papers on the glass countertop.

  The banner on the top one read National Tattler. Tabloids. Mildly curious, she turned it to face her. “Did they mention me?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Her photo filled most of the front page. One arm was extended toward the camera, and she appeared to be lecturing someone. From the pose and the grainy quality, she assumed it had been taken with a camera phone the other night at the Alpine Sky, probably as she faced down the Blaster. Anger wasn’t her most flattering expression. Against the dark background, large yellow headlines next to the photo proclaimed, “Rafe De Luca and Girlfriend Caught in Rowdy Bar Brawl.”

  Maggie wrinkled her nose and shoved the paper toward him. “Don’t worry, I cleared that up yesterday morning.”

  He gave her a tight smile. “I know.” Removing the Tattler, he shoved the pile back at her.

  The Hollywood Scene lay on top. She blinked twice at the large color photo of her, mouth open in a startled expression, before recognizing the moment from the parking lot behind the store. They hadn’t wasted any time. Banner headlines declared, “Rafe’s Bar Bimbo Denies Criminal Past.”