Against the Storm1 (11 page)

“Trace Rawlins,” he said. “I’m here to see Mrs. Barrington. I believe she’s expecting me.”

“Why, yes, Mr. Rawlins. Please come in.” The butler reached for the hat in Trace’s hand, which he surrendered. “Mrs. Barrington asked that you wait for her in the long gallery. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

The long gallery overlooked a huge, manicured yard studded with tall, leafy trees. Clusters of yellow crocus, pink petunias and purple and yellow pansies bloomed along the walkways.

He sat down on a rose velvet chair next to a matching sofa that looked out at the grounds through small
paned windows. He had met Emily a number of times over the years, but had never been to her house before. She hadn’t seemed the type to be quite so enamored of society, nor her tastes quite so lavish. But the house fit Parker like an expensive leather glove.

He looked up at the portraits hanging on the wall, gilt-framed paintings of various family members. Hewitt and Caroline Sommerset, Emily’s parents, were prominently displayed. He assumed the perfectly groomed blond couple in the picture to the left belonged to Parker.

In beige slacks and an embroidered blue silk blouse, Emily walked into the gallery a few minutes later. She had short dark hair cut in a stylish bob, the same blue eyes as Jason and her brother’s fair complexion. Trace rose as she entered, her hands extended in greeting.

“Good morning, Trace. Thank you for stopping by.”

He took her hands, gave them a gentle squeeze, leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I came to express my condolences, Emily. I admired your father very much. And I liked him.”

Her eyes misted. “He was…my father was a very great man. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Hewitt was larger than life. I figured he’d live to be a hundred.”

Emily glanced out the window, her gaze fixed on a bird that landed in a small marble fountain. “I still don’t understand why he killed himself.”

It was the opening Trace needed. “Are you certain he did?”

She sank down on the velvet sofa and Trace returned to his chair across from her.

“I can’t figure out why he would. He seemed happy.
He and Jason were planning a trip to the Bahamas. I thought he was really looking forward to it.”

“I think he was.”

She met Trace’s gaze. “Jason believes he was murdered. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You think so, too.”

Trace steeled himself. “Yes, Emily, I do. I think someone shot him and made it look like he pulled the trigger.”

“Is that…is that even possible?”

“It isn’t easy but it can be done.”

She clasped her hands in her lap. “Then that must be what happened. I don’t think Dad would kill himself.”

“There were circumstances, Emily. Before it happened, your father asked me to check into some…accounting problems that he had turned up. Do you know anything about that?”

She frowned. “No, why would I?”

“Because Parker was involved.”

“Parker? You…you aren’t implying…”

Trace made no comment.

“You’re wrong, Trace. Parker wouldn’t steal from my father. He…he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I didn’t mention stealing, Em. I think maybe your instincts have been telling you that something was wrong, and because you love Parker you don’t want to face the truth.”

She rose from the sofa, her spine stiff and her face pale. “I think…think you should leave now.”

Trace stood up, too. “Was Parker home with you the night your father died, Emily? Or was he out well past midnight? Past the time that your father was killed?”

She swayed on her feet, seemed to shrink inside her
self. “Oh, God. He wouldn’t do it, Trace. He couldn’t—could he?”

“You need to tell the police the truth, Em. You need to let them sort it out.”

She swallowed, wiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “H-he wasn’t home with me that night. H-he came in late. When I asked him where he’d been, he said he was downstairs in the library. We both…both knew he wasn’t. I had looked for him there.” She straightened, seemed to find some inner strength. “Find out what happened, Trace. Find out if my husband…if Parker murdered my father.”

“I’ve got to tell the police, Emily. They need to know so they can continue their investigation.”

She nodded, sank back down on the sofa. “Tell them. Find out the truth.”

“You can’t mention this to Parker. Not yet.”

Tight lines formed around her mouth. “That won’t be a problem. He’s hardly ever home.”

“Take care of yourself, Emily.” Turning, Trace strode back to the entry, took the hat the butler held out to him and left the house.

The first call he made was to Mark Sayers.

“S
o there you have it,” Maggie said, finishing what she had finally gotten around to telling her sister. “I’ve got some creep stalking me, and staying here puts you and little Robbie in danger.”

Ashley gently jiggled the baby in her lap, making him smile. “And Trace Rawlins is the man you hired to find this guy.”

“That’s about it. I should have told you when you first got here, but it just seemed like too much to handle all at once.”

The infant wrapped his tiny fingers around Ashley’s thumb and made a little cooing sound. A soft smile curved Ashley’s lips, then she looked up. “Did you mean what you said about helping me and Robbie?”

“Of course I did. It was kind of a shock, seeing you out on my porch like that. But I meant it. We’re sisters. I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

Ashley sat up a little straighter on the sofa. “Then we’re staying. You’ve got this Rawlins guy working on the problem—he’s a major hunk, by the way. If you’re
paying him, he’s not going to let anything happen to you, right?”

“That’s what he says.” She ignored the “hunk” comment, though she certainly agreed. “The problem is we don’t know what this guy might do next. Until we catch him, anything could happen.”

Ashley shrugged. “I ran away from home when I was in high school. Mom probably never told you that.”

Maggie shook her head. “No, she didn’t. But we don’t talk very often, and when we do, all she ever says is everything’s fine.”

“I lived on the street for a while. I wasn’t a prostitute or anything, but I slept in the open and I bummed around with some pretty strange people. I made friends with a couple of girls who turned tricks, and they talked about guys who like to be spanked and stuff. There are some real weirdos out there. I learned real fast to stay away from certain kinds of men.”

Maggie’s heart squeezed to think of the young girl who had been out there alone, struggling to find her way. “I’m sorry you felt you had to do that. I’m glad you went back home.”

“I figured out pretty fast that Mom and Dad weren’t all that bad. I mean, they fought all the time and mostly ignored me, but at least I had a decent place to live. I went back to high school and graduated before I took off again.”

Maggie watched the baby’s eyes drift closed. At three months old, he slept most of the time. He was so tiny and sweet. “Where did you go after high school?”

“I got my own apartment and took a job in a cocktail lounge. Pay wasn’t good but the tips made up for it. Unfortunately, that’s where I met Ziggy.”

“Robbie’s dad,” Maggie said darkly, disliking the guy more every time she heard his name.

“Yeah. Like I said, Zig was really good-looking, you know? All the waitresses were hot for him, but I was the one he wanted. I guess that made me feel important. I let him move into my apartment for a while and even paid his bills.” Her lips tightened. “One thing about Ziggy—he taught me how to take care of myself. If the creep who’s been bothering you comes around, he’ll get more than he bargained for.”

Maggie grinned. It was beginning to seem there was a lot more to her sister than just a rebellious nature and a penchant for getting into trouble.

“Trace’s people changed the locks and installed an alarm system. We should be safe enough inside the house.”

“I’d like to stay, Maggie, if you’ll let me.”

Maggie reached over and caught her sister’s hand. “I’d love for you both to stay.”

Ashley’s eyes glistened. “Thanks. Want to hold him? He’s ready for his nap so he won’t wiggle around too much.”

Maggie swallowed and stood up. “I’ve never held a baby. I really don’t know how.”

“It’s easy.” Fussing with the blanket, Ashley gently settled her son in Maggie’s arms. “Just make sure you keep his head supported.”

She did as Ashley instructed, nestling the baby against her shoulder, feeling the warmth of his tiny body seeping into her. Something softened inside her, made her heart swell.

“Are you nursing him?” she asked.

Ashley shook her head. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t make enough milk. The doctor said Robbie wasn’t get
ting the nutrients he needed, so I stopped. He’s doing a lot better now.”

Maggie gazed down at the infant in her arms. “He seems really happy.”

Her sister smiled. “He almost never cries. He’s such a good baby.”

Maggie moved a little, gently swaying, watching as the baby’s big blue eyes slowly began to close. “I’m an aunt,” she said, feeling a ridiculous smile spread over her face. “It feels kind of funny.” She looked at Ashley. “And kind of wonderful, too.”

The girl wiped a tear from her cheek. “I wanted Mom to love him. But she hated Ziggy so much she couldn’t get past it.”

“Well, I love him already,” Maggie said. “And we’re going to make sure Robbie has everything he needs.”

Ashley’s shoulders seemed to relax, as if some of her burden had been lightened. “Thanks, Maggie.” Her lips firmed. “And in the meantime, we’re going to help Trace catch the creep who’s been harassing you.”

Maggie gazed down at the tiny baby in her arms and worry filtered through her. What if something happened? She only hoped that in letting Ashley stay she was doing the right thing.

Trace called Mark Sayers about the conversation he’d had with Emily, then arranged for Rex Westcott to handle surveillance on Maggie’s town house that night. He knew Westcott was completely reliable, that he would be watching for anyone hanging around the condo, and he wouldn’t be spotted.

Still Trace worried. There was something about Maggie’s stalker that had his instincts on alert, something that warned there was more going on here than
it seemed. The guy might just be a loony, like most of them. Or he might be extremely dangerous, as Trace’s gut continued to insist.

And now there was a young girl with a baby in the house.

Of course, the stalker’s obsession was with Maggie. He wouldn’t be interested in the girl, but there was always the risk of collateral damage. Trace didn’t want Maggie’s sister and her baby caught in the crossfire.

After a restless night, Trace drove to the office Sunday morning. The sun wasn’t quite up, but it was already warm. In another month it would be full-blown summer.

Trace brewed a pot of strong coffee, filled his mug and sat down at his desk. He returned to Maggie’s list of names and continued digging, looking for anything interesting he might find on the internet.

A little after eight, Rex Westcott walked in. He was not quite six feet tall, late thirties, slim with medium brown hair and intelligent hazel eyes. A slight limp from an old army wound caused a subtle hesitation in his gait.

Trace left his office and walked out to greet him. “Everything go all right?”

Rex yawned. “A little too all right. It’s such a quiet neighborhood I had a helluva time staying awake.”

“Coffee?” Trace asked with a smile.

“I’d kill for a cup.”

The men walked back to the kitchen area and Trace poured a mug for Rex. “No sign of the guy, then?”

“No, and I looked pretty hard for any indication he’d been there the nights before. No cigarette butts, footprints in the flower beds, broken shrubbery, nothing.”

“We’ll try it again tonight. After that, we’ll wait and see.”

Rex finished his coffee in a few big gulps. “That’ll keep me awake long enough to drive home. I’ll get some sleep and be ready to go out again.”

“Sounds good.”

Rex left the office, and a few minutes later, Alex Justice walked in. He sniffed the air and flashed a grin that cut a dimple into his cheek. “Coffee! Thank God.”

“Long night?”

“Early morning. I’m working that security breach on the Consolidated Boatyard. I need to get down there, take another look around.”

“No rest for the weary.”

“You got that right.”

Alex stayed only long enough to check his phone messages, his email and whatever might have landed on his desk, then he was gone.

Trace called Maggie, relayed Rex’s boring night, went back to his digging, came up with nothing, then went home. What he really wanted to do was see Maggie.

Which was exactly the reason he didn’t.

Monday went much the same, except that the hum of people working in the office eased his nerves. That and hearing from Rex that again Sunday night he had seen no sign of Maggie’s stalker. Trace had spoken to the phone company and they’d set up the trap, which would be operational beginning tomorrow. He needed to speak to Maggie, remind her that if the stalker phoned or she got any more hang-up calls, she needed to write down the time and date. Until that happened, all they could do was wait.

Trace checked the clock, decided that with a baby in residence, it was probably too early to call. Since he had plenty to do just running the business, he figured today would be a good time to play catch-up, so he settled in to work.

At ten o’clock he phoned the town house. Ashley answered.

“Hi, Ashley, this is Trace. I need to speak to Maggie.”

“She isn’t here, Trace. She said she had some work to do for her book. She took off about fifteen minutes ago.”

He clamped down on a thread of anger. Dammit, he’d told her to check in with him before she left the house. “You know where she went?”

“Down to the shore. She wasn’t sure where she was going to wind up. Wherever the shots looked promising, she said.”

His temper began to heat. He remembered the young woman in the newspaper who had recently disappeared. Her body had washed up on the beach, and he had heard on the news that the police believed she had been murdered.

“I’ll try her cell,” Trace said, thinking of Maggie’s stalker and worrying the same kind of thing could happen to her. “If she calls, tell her to phone me right away. Tell her I need to talk to her.”

“Okay.”

Ashley hung up and Trace clenched his jaw. What the hell was Maggie thinking to go off on her own that way? He worked hard at staying calm, but Maggie had a way of stirring him up. He told himself it was just that damned red hair, but he knew it was more than that. Knew he was beginning to care way too much.

He dialed her cell number but the call went straight to her voice mail.

Worry tangled with anger. He wanted to strangle her. Dammit, he thought he’d been clear. He didn’t want her out there where the guy might be able to get her alone.

He stood up and went for more coffee, though he’d already had more than his share.

Where was she?

Dammit to hell and gone.

For the first time in days, Maggie felt free. She’d awakened early, rode her stationary bike and worked out a little with her free weights, then showered and dressed for the day. She had left the house half an hour ago, just as Ashley was getting up to feed the baby. Late enough that Maggie figured her watchdog, Rex something-or-other, had already gone home.

There’d been no sign of her stalker again last night. She was sure he hadn’t appeared, or Trace would have called. Or more likely, his watchdog would have called the police and had him arrested.

Still, the guy was out there somewhere, and just because he hadn’t been at her house last night didn’t mean he couldn’t be waiting for her to leave this morning. With that in mind, she had backed her little Ford Escape out of the garage with an eye on her surroundings, passing Ashley’s battered old baby-blue Chevy parked in the unit A guest space.

As Maggie rolled out onto the street and drove toward the freeway, she memorized the color and model of each car behind her, even noted some of their license plate numbers to see if they continued to travel the same route she did.

The farther she drove out of town, the easier it was
to keep track. By the time she was cruising Highway 45 twenty miles out of Houston, none of the cars she had seen earlier were anywhere behind her.

She was absolutely sure she wasn’t being followed, which gave her a great sense of relief.

Galveston was her destination. A lot of reconstruction was still going on after the damage done by Hurricane Ike a few years back. Sometimes the men and machinery working against the backdrop of the sea made dramatic photos.

She prowled Galveston Harbor, then headed for the beach, stopping here and there for any sort of interesting shot. School was still in session. It was Monday, so the beaches were relatively empty. Always fascinated by the contrast between white sand and blue sea, she snapped a few shots, one she particularly liked of the beach patrol practicing their rescue procedures for the upcoming summer season.

When her stomach began to growl, she pulled into a parking lot in front of a little thatch-roofed restaurant called the Lunch Shack. Delicious aromas wafting through the order window drew her in that direction, and she snapped a couple shots of the Asian chef in his tall white hat working over the grill.

She ordered crispy, deep-fried fish and chips, blowing her calorie count for the next several days. As she licked the last bite of tartar sauce off her fingers fifteen minutes later, her cell phone started to ring.

Trace had been calling, but she hadn’t picked up. She knew he was going to read her the riot act, but she’d simply had to get away. Ashley had called to tell her he was looking for her, and Maggie had promised to call him on her way back to the city.

She dug the cell out of her purse to see if he was calling again, recognized Roxanne’s number and answered.

“Hey, stranger,” Roxy said. She was still visiting friends in New York, a couple she had met in Rome and a gay friend she knew from Carnevale in Venice. “I’ve been meaning to call, but time just slipped away. I figured you’d let me know if anything happened, but I’ve still been worried.”

Plenty had happened, but she didn’t want to get into all that now. “Well, my sister showed up. That was a big surprise. She has a baby.”

“Your sister? Ashley? The teenager who lives in Florida?”

“She isn’t a teen anymore. She’s moved in with me for a while. It’s a long story. You can meet her when you get home.”

“Well, that’s certainly news. What about the stalker?”

“Oh. Trace is back on the case. We talked, got things straightened out.”