Silver Sparks Read online

  “You think I’m safe?”

  “What do you want, a guarantee? I can’t give you that.” She raised her eyebrows. He hadn’t meant to spit it out so forcefully, but her determination to control the situation was exasperating; it was the reason she was in this mess. He could imagine Julie doing the same thing, and she’d ended up dead. “The man’s dangerous and unpredictable, Maggie. If you’re afraid of him—and you should be—then for God’s sake, give him what he wants. How many times do I have to say it? Pose for the press, pretend to like him for a couple days, then break up.”

  She glared at him, more angry than he’d expected. “Never. I refuse to be associated with that lecherous moron, even as a pretense. I already take enough flack for being one of the Larkin girls; I don’t need to add further proof by dating some Hollywood man-whore.”

  Ah, there was that reference to the Larkin girls again. “What does that mean, being one of the Larkin girls?”

  She gave him a bitter smile. “That’s right, you aren’t from around here. I guess I should be glad our reputation hasn’t spread all the way to Oklahoma.” When he just waited, she blew out a breath in a resigned manner. “Let’s just say it’s nothing I’m proud of. I’d prefer to keep it in the past.”

  “Well, obviously you haven’t been able to, so I want to know.” At her stubborn look, he added, “Or should I just ask around?”

  He was pushing hard against a sore spot, and was relieved when all she did was turn away until she got her resentment under control. Every muscle in her body was taut, and he half expected her to whirl around and spit out a string of nasty words but, in a minor miracle, reason won out. She shook back her hair and found her determined expression. He was beginning to suspect she met a lot of life with that look on her face.

  “My upbringing was sort of . . . unconventional,” she said. Starting at the beginning. That was okay with him; he hadn’t expected it to be a simple story. “My mom’s an original hippie. No psychedelic drugs, but she did have flowers in her hair, communal living, free love lifestyle, the whole thing. Especially the free love part.”

  He nodded, making sure not to look judgmental. He knew he was getting as few facts as she could get away with telling, and he didn’t want her to censor the story too much. When she seemed to be waiting for a response, he said helpfully, “Like Woodstock.”

  Her smile was bitter. “Yeah, like that, only about a decade later. And more organized—she and her friends started a commune on Two Bears Mountain. My two sisters and I lived there until my grandma took us in. Hippie kids.” She said it as if it were in quotes, and he knew it was the name other people had given them.

  He imagined three girls growing up in the small town of Barringer’s Pass, where everyone would have known about their mother’s unorthodox lifestyle. “So people just assumed, like mother, like daughters? That the Larkin girls slept around?”

  She gave a rueful smile. “Mostly because we did. Well, Zoe and I did. Not Sophie—she’s been smart enough to escape that trap. She’s eight years younger than me, six years younger than Zoe. When Zoe and I turned into wild teenagers, acting out and generally living up to expectations, my grandma stuck Sophie in a private school in another town and kept her sheltered from those rumors. Poor kid was practically wrapped in cotton because of us,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “But it worked. No one ever looked down on her, and she never had to prove she was as good as everyone else. Or refuse to prove it, and just live up to it. That was my brilliant choice. Not the brightest move, but I was pretty headstrong when I was a teenager, and kind of made my own rules.”

  He choked back a laugh. “What a surprise.”

  She allowed a tiny smile. “Maybe I still do. But I don’t sleep with every guy I go out with. Anymore,” she added with an embarrassed look. “Unfortunately, what you do at sixteen or seventeen isn’t forgotten just because you’re thirty-two and you’ve become a responsible member of the community.”

  His age. He would have thought she was in her mid-twenties. Maybe that fiery spirit made her seem younger. “So to everyone else, you’re still one of those wild Larkin girls?”

  “Yeah, except the term they use isn’t that polite.”

  “How did Rafe find out?”

  “I don’t know. I like hanging out at the resorts because I meet people who aren’t from here. They don’t judge me by my name, and don’t hit on me because they think I’m easy. Up there, the past never happened. It’s like getting a fresh start.”

  He knew all about that need from his own childhood. “You fit in.”

  She gave him a surprised look, but didn’t question him. “That’s right. But when he threw the past in my face the other night, I kind of lost it.”

  “It’s your trigger.”

  She sighed. “I guess it is.”

  Cal didn’t want to upset her further, but she might as well be prepared. “You should know that those reporters are going to be asking around about you. They’ll use your past in their stories, if they haven’t already.”

  She winced. “I know. I should probably warn Zoe.”

  “You think she’ll be okay with them starting up those rumors again?”

  “Of course not, but she won’t run and hide from it. She’s a fighter.” She set her jaw and thrust it forward. “We both are.”

  “And what about Sophie?”

  Maggie narrowed her eyes. “What about her? This has nothing to do with Sophie. She’s not even here, she’s in grad school at CU—Boulder, just finishing up her semester. The tabloids don’t know she exists.”

  “Right. And how long do you think that will last?”

  He hated to be the cause of the sudden, stunned look of fear in her eyes. She licked her lips nervously and said, “You think they’ll find out?”

  He’d have given anything to reassure her, but it wouldn’t be the truth and would only hurt her more in the long run, so he pinned her with a hard look. “Maggie, I think they’ll find out the name of the first boy you slept with and ask him how good you were. I think they’ll find out what other celebrities you’ve been seen with this past year. I think they’ll track down your first-grade teacher. Hell, they’ll find out the name of your dog and do an interview with his veterinarian.” He took a deep breath and blew it out in a disgusted sigh. “Yeah, I think they’ll find Sophie.”

  She finally dropped into the chair at her desk. “Shit.”

  He gave her enough time to imagine the repercussions, then pushed again. “Does that mean you want to back off and do it Rafe’s way?”

  “No, I . . .” She shook her head, her hair partially shielding her confused expression. “I don’t know.”

  “Then prepare for things to get worse.”

  She looked up. “Worse how?”

  “Exaggerations, even outright lies, about your past. Suggestions that you’re mentally unstable. Maybe more hints about run-ins with the law. The De Lucas will see that it gets to the press.”

  She rallied at that. “But that’s ridiculous! My run-in with the law amounts to one speeding ticket when I was nineteen. They can’t make anything of that.”

  “You’d be surprised. All they need to say is, ‘confidential sources report’ or ‘a friend of the family revealed,’ and add anything they want.”

  As the magnitude of it registered, she paled. He watched her closely, determined to convince her to go along with Rafe’s cover story and avoid the virtual bloodshed sure to come.

  “I need to think about it.”

  Not good enough. “There’s another consideration, Maggie. Your store.”

  She frowned, and he saw the concern behind it. “What about it?”

  “The De Lucas have a home here in Barringer’s Pass. They probably have friends—or people who are afraid to cross them, which is just as good as far as they’re concerned. All they have to do is let it be known you’re on their blacklist, and people will stop shopping here. How much of your business is local?”

  She pressed he
r mouth into a tight line. “Maybe half.”

  “And how many of your customers from out of town are from the Hollywood crowd or the music industry?”

  She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know.” Her voice had lost its steely quality. “I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She muttered a few swear words under her breath, then looked up with renewed fire in her eyes. “Can I get back at him? Hit him first and distract the reporters? If they focus on him, they might leave Sophie alone.”

  Damn—he was torn between cheering her fighting spirit and warning her to back off. How could he encourage someone not to stand up to an injustice, not to defend the innocent?

  By remembering that some people preferred to live in the midst of chaos, and were more than happy to drag you into it with them. He’d seen it up close. His fault. It didn’t have to happen again.

  Frustrated, he said, “I don’t recommend it, but I’m not sure that makes any difference to you. You know, this wasn’t supposed to be my fight. I’m just trying to keep De Luca from killing you while I figure out how to prove he killed Julie.”

  Any camaraderie she might have felt toward him disappeared in a flash. She shot to her feet. “Well, excuse me for dragging you into it and involving you in my personal issues. Oh wait, that was your idea, wasn’t it, boyfriend?”

  He couldn’t argue, which made it all the more irritating. Everything about Maggie Larkin was irritating. How had he gotten this mixed up in the problems of a stranger? Maybe he needed to let her handle things on her own. She’d been right about one thing—Rafe probably wouldn’t hurt her, at least not physically. Maggie was under too much scrutiny now. And anything else De Luca did to her, like shredding her reputation, was not Cal’s concern. Julie was. It was time to remember that.

  “You’re right, I chose to get involved,” he told her. He walked to the back door, then turned with one hand on the knob. “But I don’t have to stay involved. You want my advice? Here it is: Stay out of dark alleys and don’t accept rides from strangers. And if Rafe threatens to kill you, call the cops. See you around.”

  He left without waiting to hear her response. From what he already knew of Maggie, he’d lay bets it was colorful. And loud.

  Cal caught himself wondering about Maggie at least ten times the next day as he tracked down resort employees who might have seen the two missing girls. He wondered what Rafe would do to her. What the press would do to her. Each time, he furiously blocked the thought and turned his focus to Julie. Julie, who at twenty had been too naive to see the shallow side of Rafe De Luca that Maggie had pegged within minutes. And too stubborn to call her big brother for help when things had turned ugly and dangerous.

  But blaming Julie for not calling him was a cop-out. She would have been too proud to admit she’d misjudged the handsome, famous man who’d swept her off her feet. Too embarrassed to ask the brother she barely knew for help getting away from him. Still, their mother had figured it out. Cal might have intervened in time to save Julie if his mother had known how to reach him.

  But she hadn’t. He’d intentionally cut himself off from her, left without giving her so much as a phone number. But if Sherrie June Drummond Ellis Howard knew one thing it was men, and she’d recognized the evil in Rafe De Luca. She’d known her daughter was in over her head. And she would have turned to Cal for help if she could.

  Because she couldn’t, Julie had died.

  He had to live with that guilt. Assuming his two half sisters could depend on whatever man happened to currently be in their mother’s life had been stupid. He’d failed Julie as badly as their mother had. All he could do for her now was prove that Rafe De Luca was the monster who had killed her and dumped her body like a piece of garbage.

  That would be a lot easier if Rafe didn’t find out who he was. Claiming to be Maggie’s boyfriend might actually help—there was no reason for Rafe to connect Maggie’s local friend Cal Drummond to Julie Ellis, a brief fling in California.

  A bigger danger might be the reporters. Being in their sights would restrict his ability to monitor Rafe, and it wouldn’t take long for them to figure out that he wasn’t local. He had to be extra careful, which included not letting them follow him straight to his cabin.

  Cal cruised slowly by the slightly shabby main building of the Lost Canyon Lodge and the cabins that trailed deep into the trees on either side of it. His gaze lingered on a blue car parked by the main lodge with a man behind the wheel. The guy might be waiting while his wife paid the bill or bought a souvenir T-shirt in the tiny gift shop. Or he might be a reporter, staking out the place in hopes of finding the mystery man who’d helped Maggie escape from The Aerie bar.

  He wasn’t willing to risk it. Turning around at a gas station, he drove back to the small family restaurant across the street. He could watch the driver of the blue car and anyone else who might be loitering near the cabins for the next half hour to make sure they weren’t looking for him. He wasn’t in a hurry; Rafe probably wouldn’t be prowling for women until later tonight.

  He walked in and scoped the place out. All the tables along the windows seated four or more—they’d never let a lone diner monopolize one. A perky young girl led him to a table for two in the center. He chose the chair that faced the windows and the lodge across the street. The blue car and driver were still there. Cal ordered a piece of pie and a coffee, scarfed down the pie, then sat sipping the coffee as he watched the blue car.

  “Hey, you want this?”

  He looked up to find the lone diner at the table next to him offering a folded newspaper.

  “I’m done with it, and you looked like you needed something to do.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” The guy dropped it on his table. “Can’t say I blame you. It’s nothing but speculation about that scuffle between Rafe De Luca and some local chick.”

  “I already heard about it.” Cal took another sip of coffee and returned to watching the lodge across the street. The blue car hadn’t moved.

  “It’s nothing but trash journalism.”

  Cal agreed but didn’t answer. Better to let the subject die.

  “’Course, you gotta wonder, anytime a woman hits a man,” the guy said. Apparently some people couldn’t take a hint. “Mostly, women don’t like to make a scene. Unless they’ve been drinking. No telling then. Maybe this Maggie chick was drunk.”

  He should ignore him. Or grunt agreement, re­inforcing the idea that he didn’t want to talk. But the idea of another nasty rumor about Maggie floating around town ate at his conscience like acid on metal. “She wasn’t drunk,” he muttered.

  “Really? Seems unlikely—”

  “I got it firsthand from someone who was there,” Cal said, cutting him off abruptly.

  “Oh.”

  Yeah, oh. Now shut up and find something more important to think about. People needed to get a life and stop wasting time reading celebrity gossip. Or hanging around cheap tourist cabins waiting to see if he showed up. Damn reporters were going to have him looking over his shoulder until this thing died down, which didn’t look to be anytime soon.

  “Of course, there’s that whole other piece of the puzzle, the guy who stepped in and decked the bodyguard,” the man reasoned aloud. “Could be he started the whole thing. Jealousy can make a guy do strange things.”

  Cal pushed his coffee away, even though it probably wasn’t the reason for the sour feeling in his stomach. He turned sideways to face the guy. Long hair brushed the man’s eyebrows in front and covered his collar in back. Cal figured a haircut was about two months overdue. A shave wouldn’t hurt, either. Combined with the guy’s worn denim shirt and jeans, he could have been a man in need of a job. Except for the glasses. The square black frames imparted a serious, slightly professorial air to a face that was not much older than his own. Or maybe it was the steady gaze behind the glasses. The guy looked too smart to care about some no-talent rich asshole’s bar f
ight.

  Cal gave him his stern cop face, the one he saved for argumentative drunks. “Sounds like you’ve read all about it. I thought you said it was trash journalism.”

  He shrugged. “Entertainment for the masses.”

  “More like crack cocaine,” Cal told him. “Feeds an empty craving while taking the focus off real life. I told you, I’m not interested.”

  “You don’t think it matters if a woman slugs a man in a bar, then ducks out like she has something to hide?”

  “I think it’s between the man and woman, and the cops. And just because a woman doesn’t want to get shot by a raging, drunk bodyguard, doesn’t mean she has something to hide.”

  The guy cocked his head, thinking it over, nodding sagely. “You could be right.”

  “I am.” Cal turned back to the window.

  “I guess you would know.” He let a pause hang in the air for a few seconds. “Since you were involved.”

  Cal turned back. The guy’s frank gaze looked pretty damn sharp now as he waited for a reaction. Cal scowled. If he was fishing for a quote, he wasn’t going to get one.

  The guy held out his hand. “Rick Grady. You got a name, other than Mystery Man?”

  Cal ignored the hand. The name sounded familiar, probably from one of the bylines in those trashy tabloids, and he had no desire to shake hands with one of those hacks. “Congratulations, you found me. I have nothing to say to you or the other slugs who live under your rock.”

  He shrugged. “That won’t stop anyone from writing about you.”

  The reporter’s lack of concern only aggravated the frustration that had been building since last night. “And you have the scoop on that, don’t you? You can tell the world that I like apple pie and take my coffee black. Or do you just make shit up like all the other vultures?”

  Rick Grady leaned back in his chair, unmoved. In fact, Cal thought he looked slightly amused. “Your diet is fascinating stuff, but I’m not interested in writing about you.”

  “And yet you sit here making wild speculations and pumping me for comments on the big incident. That doesn’t sound like a lack of interest to me.” The problem was, Cal hadn’t been the only subject of those speculations. The thought of Rick Grady spreading more lies about Maggie jabbed at his gut like a hot poker, spreading heat through his whole body. He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “If you even think of writing one of your sick, twisted lies about Maggie Larkin, I’ll find you and break your fingers one by one.”