Dangerous Melody (8 page)

EIGHT

S
tephanie tried to get her bearings. It was not the dim interior that confused her senses, but the way her body reacted to Tate’s touch. He was an addict, and she could not allow him in her life again. That was clear, but why did her body seem so reluctant to get the message? She took a deep breath and willed her pulse to simmer down.

Tate stepped in behind her and they
both stood still, listening. The soft hum of voices startled her until she saw Tate mouth the word
radio.
They stood in a minuscule kitchen, the sink filled with water and submerged cookware. A rickety table and chair stood off in the corner, littered with an untidy pile of sheet music and a plate smeared with something that might have been dried ketchup.

The kitchen had two exits. One led
out to the store area, and the other must lead to Devlin’s private room, where the light gleamed from under the slightly open door. She made a move toward the bedroom, but in a flash Tate was in front of her, crouched low, pushing the door open.

He managed to keep her behind him until he’d poked in his head. Then she pushed past and into the room which housed a cot and small end table, yet
another stack of sheet music, an odd collection of hardware from various instruments and a chipped coffee mug. On the wall was a calendar of famous golf courses of the world, the page set to three months prior. In the corner, an old golf club and a bucket of balls were propped.

Stephanie was at the desk, sorting through the odd scribbled papers and moving aside piles of bills. “Nothing here
of substance,” she whispered.

He picked up a mug. “Still warm.”

Her eyes widened. With an unspoken agreement, they left the bedroom and made their way toward the store. Once again they paused to listen before they pushed aside the door. The air was stuffy, the smell of mildew strong. Tate turned on the flashlight and beamed it around, looking into the spaces large enough for an intruder
to hide. Large shapes covered with sheets gleamed back at them. Instruments, she imagined, but looking more like pale beasts in the gloom.

Tate was sidling around to the counter in the back corner, where they had first met Devlin. It would make the perfect hiding spot for Devlin, or someone else. There was no moonlight to help now, since long floor-to-ceiling drapes covered the front windows.

She wanted to call out, to ease Devlin’s mind if he was indeed cowering on the dingy tile floor behind the counter. But there were others in the game. Maria was after the prize, and Ricardo was a player who was as determined to find the violin as the Treasure Seekers, a man who might be willing to kill in order to obtain it.

Tate was inches from the counter now, and she tugged at his
belt loop. He looked over, face swimming in shadows. She opened her mouth to whisper...what? To be careful? Tate wasn’t careful and never had been. It was part of the reason she’d loved him.

Past tense, Stephanie. He’s history, and this is your investigation.
She quickly danced around him and approached the counter. Grabbing a handful of music from a shelf, she tossed the sheets on the countertop.
There was no startled movement, no sudden fluttering of a stranger hiding there.

She stuck her head over the top, Tate right at her side.

No one was there.

Stephanie sighed as Tate turned on a nearby lamp. “He’s gone, but recently.”

She went to pull aside the curtain and get a look at the street. Something solid met her fingers—a figure behind the curtain. She let out a cry
as the figure, head covered by a knit cap, shoved by her, knocking her to the ground, heading for the back of the shop.

Tate rushed after, knocking over a wastebasket, which slowed him down momentarily.

By the time Stephanie made it to her feet, they had both shot out the back door and into the night. She took off after them, disconcerted when she exploded into the darkened yard, startling
an owl from its perch on the limb overhead.

The yard emptied into a wild space behind Devlin’s store, flat ground peppered with desert holly and folding down into a dry ridge straddling a gorge. It didn’t provide much cover, or much of an escape avenue. The front would make more sense. She jogged along the pebbled stepping stones to the street, which was eerily quiet. The truck was still
there, so Tate had pursued on foot. Ears straining, she could not decide which direction they had gone.

Her heart hammered in her chest, body frozen with indecision. The only reasonable plan was to drive the streets until she found them, but she had no keys. Had Tate left them in the truck? She scurried around to the driver’s side. Just as she grasped the handle, she felt someone behind her.

She whirled to find herself face-to-face with a young woman. The girl’s long hair was spilling loose from the knit cap, her dark eyes wide and scared. She clutched at Stephanie’s forearms.

“Go home. Both of you. Go home and it will be okay, I promise.”

Stephanie fought through her surprise. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She shook her head and looked around. “I can’t explain it
right now. Just get out of here before you get hurt. Tell Tate.”

“No, you’re going to tell him.” Stephanie grabbed the girl’s wrist. “If you’re running from Bittman, it’s a matter of time before he finds you.” She tried to pull her toward the store but the girl resisted, yanking so ferociously that Stephanie lost her grip and took a step backward.

The younger girl stood for a moment
in the street, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I know what I’m doing. You’re putting us all in danger by being here. Go home,” she hissed once more before she whirled and ran away into the darkness.

Tate sprinted into view, breathing hard. “Did you see which way he went?”

Stephanie swallowed. “Not he.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t Ricardo hiding behind the curtains, Tate. It was Maria.”

* * *

They returned to the shop, Stephanie trailing Tate inside. She did not want to tell him his sister’s message. It would only worsen his pain, but there was no way around it. He had to know. She related the conversation as best she could while he stood, arms crossed, taking it in. When she finished, he turned away, silent.

She went to him and put a hand on his shoulder, feeling
the tension that turned his back muscles to steel. “We know she’s safe for the moment. That’s something.”

He turned. “Safe? She’s come here to steal from Bittman. How is that safe?”

Stephanie tried for a calming tone. “I know you were hoping it wasn’t true.”

He rubbed his hand across his face. “Yeah, I was hoping she was back home somewhere and Bittman was mistaken. Should have
known.”

She hated to see his helplessness. “We have to move forward, Tate, figure out what’s going on and sort through it all. I’ll call Luca and fill him in. See if there’s been any movement from Ricardo.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he began to pace in restless circles around the periphery of the shop while she related the situation to her brother and learned that Ricardo was still inside
the restaurant, though he had emerged several times to smoke a cigarette and make phone calls.

“So what happened to Devlin?” Luca demanded.

“That’s the question of the day. He left here quickly.” She lowered her voice. “Or someone took him.”

Luca blew out a breath. “Maria must know.”

“No doubt, but for the moment we don’t know where she is, either. We’ll drive through town,
check around and then meet you.” She disconnected and eyed Tate, who was now standing, arms folded, staring at the wall until he suddenly pulled out his phone and checked his messages.

“Text from Gilly. He says Maria hasn’t touched her credit cards.” Tate slammed the phone down on the counter and glowered. “Maybe Bittman is threatening Maria. She’s trying to protect herself by running, not
stealing his violin.”

“Only one problem with that theory, Tate. Maria is here in Lone Ridge now, so she’s involved all right—up to her neck.”

His mouth tightened. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Maybe it’s not what you want to see. Denial is easy...” She broke off.

He blinked. “For an addict?” His words were soft, but they convicted her anyway. “I’ve done my share of denying,
but this is my sister and I’m going to believe the best of her anyway, just like you’d do for your brothers.”

She nodded. “I just hope you’re not disappointed in the end.”

“You need hope to be disappointed, and I lost that when I lost you.”

The emotion came so quickly, she could not defend her heart against it. “I...”

“No guilt. My decisions, my choices. Right now, I’ve just
got to look out for my sister.” He moved away, scanning the walls of the shop, though she suspected his mind was far away.

I lost that when I lost you.
She could not think of anything to say, staring at the tortured person before her, the remnants of the man who had been the anchor to her soul.
That was your mistake, Steph.

Only God could be that anchor. No one was strong enough, not
Luca, not Victor and not Tate Fuego, as much as she wanted him to be. She’d expected too much from him, invested too much in him and he’d let her down. Lesson learned.

She tore away her gaze. “I’ll look in the back. Maybe Devlin left a note somewhere about where he was going.” Without waiting for him, she marched into the kitchen, stomach still twisted in tight knots.

Devlin had been
there recently, but so had Maria. If there was anything to find, she may already have snatched it. Recalling the dark look on Tate’s face, she didn’t think it would do any good to suggest it. She rifled the piles of papers again and sorted through Devlin’s files, feeling more like a nosy relative than an investigator. A half hour later she was ready to pull the plug. It was nearly two o’clock in
the morning, and the day was catching up with her. Fatigue and the tension between them seemed to weigh down her limbs. Her stomach felt alternately hungry and sick with fear. Time ticked away relentlessly. She mumbled a prayer for her father, for Victor... She cast a glance to the darkened store area and added a prayer for Tate and his sister.

Would Maria’s bad decisions be too much for
him to bear? Would it end this time in a tragic overdose? With fingers gone cold, she returned the pile of papers she’d been sifting through to their place and went back to the shop.

“Can’t find anything,” she said. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops on us.”

He nodded and moved with her, but stopped abruptly, staring at the wall.

“What is it?”

He pointed to the yellowed
picture of Devlin’s old shop, the one he’d noticed before that tied Devlin to Bittman’s father, Hans. For a moment, she thought he was going to remove the picture and take it with them, but his fingers plucked something from behind—a stiff square slid behind the photo with only a small edge showing.

She crowded next to him as they shone a flashlight on the square. It was a Polaroid snapshot
of a violin. Stephanie’s breath hitched up a notch. “This must be what he called us about. Something in this picture was a revelation to him.”

Tate pocketed the photo. “You were right before. We need to go now. We’ll take a closer look, but not here.”

She followed him out and they closed the door, making their way to the truck. Stephanie used her penlight to scrutinize the photo as they
drove, but the light was poor. The silence between them lasted the whole hour’s return trip until they met Luca, who was leaning against the side of the rental car. Stephanie recognized the tension in her brother, tension that often arose after long periods of inactivity.

He straightened as they emerged, and Stephanie showed him the photo. “It’s got to be the Guarneri.”

“As near as I
can tell. It’s not a great picture and I’ll need better light to examine it, but that’s my guess. It’s our first solid proof that we’re on the right track.”

“No more calls from Devlin? Maybe he got spooked when Maria showed up, stashed the photo and ran.”

Tate shook his head. “My sister didn’t threaten him. I think she was there looking, too.”

“Maybe,” Luca said slowly.

A dusty
semi rolled onto the property, momentarily drowning out their conversation. They waited until it parked, the driver and passenger lost in shadow as they headed toward the restaurant.

“Ricardo seems to be getting more agitated. He comes out every ten minutes or so to look around. Whoever is meeting him is late.” They continued to watch for another fifteen minutes until a banged-up Volkswagen
Bug rumbled from the back parking lot and vanished into the darkness. “I’m going to take a look inside,” Luca said. “I’ve got a bad feeling. Watch Ricardo’s car.”

Stephanie did not want to endure any more painful exchanges with Tate, but she knew making an obvious entrance might cause Ricardo to bolt.

A man with a thick black beard came out of the restaurant as Luca went in. Stephanie
pretended to talk on her phone as the man approached Ricardo’s sedan.

He casually pulled out a set of keys, took a look around and let himself in. Tate caught him by the sleeve and yanked him out before he could turn the key.

“Whatsa matter with you?” the man spluttered, his arm raised in a fist. “I got nothing worth stealing, man. You got the wrong sucker.”

Stephanie held up a
calming hand. “We’re not going to rob you. This car doesn’t belong to you. How did you get the keys?”

A sly smile appeared under the tangle of beard.

“Did you steal them?” Tate demanded.

“Nuh-uh. He gave ’em to me.”

Tate pressed closer. “Who?”

“Guy in the diner. Traded me.”

Stephanie’s heart sank. “Traded you for what?”

The man laughed. “My old clunker. Told
me I could have his wheels if I’d give him mine. Nice trade, huh?”

Stephanie groaned. “What type of car did you have?”

The grin appeared again. “My old VW Bug. Sweet, huh?”

Tate exchanged a look with Stephanie.

They’d been beaten. Again.

NINE

T
ate exchanged an exasperated look with Stephanie. It could not be that Ricardo had evaded them again. There was another piece of information that he was reluctant to ask for, but had no choice. “Was the guy who traded cars with you alone?”

“Yep.”

Tate let out a relieved sigh.

Scratching his head, the man continued. “Until some long-haired chick came in. Their
talk was real serious like, and that’s when he came over to my table, paid for my dinner and traded cars. Left right after. I finished my ice cream and came out to enjoy my new wheels.” His eyes narrowed. “Got a problem with that?”

Stephanie shook her head. “No, no problem. Is it okay if I look in the car for a minute? Just to see if the man left anything in there? He’s an...acquaintance
of ours.”

He shrugged. “Go ahead, but if he left any cash, it’s mine fair and square. A trade’s a trade.”

Tate rolled around the facts in his mind while Stephanie searched the car. Maria left Devlin’s shop and thumbed a ride with the semi driver. She scooted into the restaurant, right under their noses, and convinced Ricardo to ditch his car. His sister was smart, too smart for her own
good—but not smart enough to keep herself from partnering with Ricardo. He felt like slamming a fist on the car hood.

Luca jogged out. “Hostess told me Ricardo and Maria left by the back exit.”

“In a VW Bug they bartered for,” Stephanie said miserably as she got out of Ricardo’s car with a creased road map in her hand.

Tate’s self-control snapped. “So I guess your tracking device
isn’t worth two cents now. Treasure Seekers isn’t worth much, either.” Frustration rose in him like the clouds of dust kicked up by the VW as it drove away. “Computers, fancy cars, the people you’re paying. It turns out to be nothing but show.” He’d expected outrage, anger—hoped for it really, a way to release the emotions building inside, a wall for him to slam into.

Luca looked more surprised
than angry. “So that’s what your problem is? Money? You resent the fact that we’ve got resources?”

“No,” he said, looking away.

Luca must have read some truth in his voice. “I think that’s it. You got a chip on your shoulder because of our net worth. It’s always goaded you, hasn’t it, Tate?”

Tate’s teeth clenched. “You’re no better than me.”

Luca raised an eyebrow. “I know
that and you never heard me say it, did you? Or imply anything of the kind? Ask Stephanie, and she’ll tell you the same thing. The problems we have with you, Tate, have nothing to do with your finances. Whatever inferiority complex you’ve got going is of your own making, so don’t lay it at my doorstep.”

Tate walked away a few paces, sucking in air, rage giving over to some other emotion.
Much as he wanted to, he could not fault Luca, true enough. The decision four years ago, the last-minute switch of vehicles with his father, could not be foisted off on Luca as much as he desperately wanted it to be. The naked truth was, Tate had convinced his father to let him use the car because he was embarrassed to take Stephanie to a Gage family picnic in his own battered Ford pickup.

It was a decision driven by the same shame that made him avoid their other family invitations, excuse himself from certain Gage events. He was not of their strata. He’d thought he’d read it in their eyes, but maybe he was seeing only his own feelings reflected there. He rubbed his callused hands against his jeans, his father’s words coming back to him.

“The greatest man was a carpenter.”

Tate remembered the way his father’s hands looked, scarred and leathery, strong.
“You’re worthy because He said so.”

Worthy. He tried on the idea as if it was a new jacket laid across his shoulders, and for a split second, he felt straighter, stronger. Worthy of respect? From Stephanie? From the Gage family? From the sister he’d failed? Flickers of the past shot through his mind, the
pills he’d swallowed, the sight of Stephanie lying on the pavement, the accident that killed his father. Bottom line was, he’d convinced his father to drive the pickup, and that same pickup experienced brake failure on a steep section of sandy road. His father was dead. The hunger for comfort ate at him—a need which had previously sent him to the medicine cabinet.

You don’t use pills anymore.
You’re going to fight through it, every day, every minute, like you have for the past year.

Looking over at Luca and Stephanie, he wished he could tell them.

I’m clean, and I’m going to stay that way.

Their heads were bent together, a team, a family.

“You had your chance, Tate,” he whispered to himself.

Stephanie gestured for him to follow, and they headed into the diner.

“Going to ask some more questions?”

“No, going to get something to eat before I keel over,” she said. “We know where they’re headed anyway.”

He nodded. “Bitter Song.”

“Right. So I may as well not drop dead of starvation on the way.” She took the lead, and he smothered a smile. He’d learned way back in high school that Stephanie, petite as she was, did not do well skipping meals.
His own stomach growled, and he kept up the pace.

The waiter at the counter was a skinny teen with hair to his shoulders. He took their order of sandwiches for Luca and Stephanie and a burger for Tate, to go. When he sauntered off, Stephanie pulled out the Polaroid and squinted at it.

“Not a good quality photo.” She flipped it over. “No notes or dates on the back.”

“Just looks like
a violin to me,” Tate said.

She held the photo closely. “I can see a gleam of white here, a scrap lying next to the instrument.” She held it so they could see. Her eyes shone. “Could be a label.”

“Proving what?” Luca asked, taking a sip of tea.

“The Guarneri family labeled most of their instruments. Generally it was a piece of handmade paper, and the text was in Latin. It would
authenticate this treasure we’ve been killing ourselves to find.”

Tate raised an eyebrow. “If this thing is from the 1700s, would the label have survived?”

“It’s possible.” Stephanie considered it. “The labels were attached inside the instruments. Do you have a magnifying glass, Luca?”

He shook his head. “Didn’t think to bring one. Maybe we can get hold of one in Bitter Song.”

She started pacing. “I wish they’d hurry up with that order. I need to get my hands on a magnifying glass.”

“It’s going on three in the morning. Where do you expect to find an open store in Bitter Song at this hour?”

She flashed him a smile that made his stomach tighten. “I’m a very resourceful gal. Ask anyone.”

He didn’t need to ask. She was resourceful and beautiful, and he
was not surprised that her beauty had not waned one iota in the years they’d been apart. Now it seemed he would be shoulder to shoulder with Stephanie in the next leg of their adventure.

He had a feeling that finding an eighteen-million-dollar violin in the middle of the desert might just be the easy part of the trip.

* * *

Stephanie’s phone buzzed and she clicked it on, unable
to resist a smile as the gruff voice rumbled through the cell.

“I hate the desert. Too many bugs,” Tuney said.

“You hate everything. It’s good to talk to you.”

He grunted, voice softening. “How you holding up, kiddo?”

“Okay, but we need this to be over. Do you have anything for us?”

She heard a crunching noise, and she knew the crotchety private eye was munching on his
favorite snack, animal crackers.

“Matter of fact, I do.”

Stephanie straightened, and both Luca and Tate caught her excitement.

“Had a talk with one Roger Goldberg, who is an incredibly annoying mechanic who happens to be a friend of a certain helicopter pilot who works for this Bittman character.”

Her eyes widened. “What did he say?”

“Seems his buddy mentioned he had a
flight to do in San Francisco for the boss on that Wednesday afternoon.”

“Did Roger know the end destination?”

“No, Bittman scares his people enough that they know not to blab too many details.”

Her stomach dropped. “Oh.”

“But he does happen to know it was someplace local because he met the guy for an early dinner that same day.”

She gripped the phone. “So Bittman didn’t
have my father taken out of the area. He’s being held nearby. Maybe even in San Francisco.”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Tuney, you’re wonderful.” She relayed the information to the others. “How did you ever get Roger to tell you all that?”

Tuney laughed. “Trade secrets, but tell your brother he’s going to loan me that fancy fishing boat of his for a good long while.”

“I’ll
tell him.”

Tuney’s voice sobered. “This isn’t done. San Francisco is forty-six square miles, and I’m going to cover every last one until I find your father.”

Stephanie’s throat thickened. “Thank you.” Luca was gesturing for the phone, and she knew he would call in more people to help with the search. “Just remember, Bittman is...”

“I know—ruthless as a starving piranha. Well, guess
what? I’m pretty ruthless myself, not to mention ornery, and no one scares me off a case.”

She thanked him again and handed the phone to Luca, blinking back tears.

Tate took her hand and squeezed. “Staying strong?”

She felt the aching comfort of his touch ripple through her body before she withdrew her hand, nodding vigorously. “Absolutely,” she said, ignoring the twisting in her
stomach. She knew he was watching her, and she could not stand the feeling of those intense gray eyes on her for one more moment.

Leaving Luca to make arrangements with Tuney, Stephanie excused herself to visit the restroom. She saw her own reflection in the mirror, and for a moment did not recognize herself. Her hair was wild, eyes shadowed with fatigue, face drawn with worry. Every hour
that passed brought them closer to the violin, but it meant another hour that her father was under the power of the crazy Joshua Bittman.

She splashed water on her face and tried to fix a positive thought in her mind. He was probably fine; his stubborn, irascible personality had seen him through many a rocky time in his life, including the death of their mother when Stephanie was a baby.

A lady with ash blond hair entered and smiled as she washed her hands.

Stephanie smiled back, but did not encourage any conversation. She wanted to get on the road without any further delay.

“Visiting?”

Stephanie started. “What?”

“You’re not from around here.” The woman’s eyes played over Stephanie’s jeans and jacket. “On vacation?”

“Business trip.”

The woman
smiled, and there was something sly in the expression. Stephanie’s skin prickled.

“Most people don’t come to the desert for business,” the lady said, painting a coat of pink onto her lips.

Stephanie quickly dried her hands.

The woman stepped between Stephanie and the door. “But then, you don’t look like most people. Where are you headed?”

Pulse thudding, Stephanie took in her
size—she wasn’t big, but she looked strong. Her hand was in the pocket of her jacket. “Not sure.”

The woman moved closer—close enough that Stephanie could smell her perfume, a heavy floral. “I thought you were a business woman, but you don’t know where you’re going?” She inched one more step, crowding Stephanie back toward the stalls.

Stephanie forced a smile. “Sorry, in a hurry.”

“That’s not very friendly.” Keeping one hand in her pocket, she brought the other to her face, long nails tapping thoughtfully on her front teeth. “What kind of business are you in anyway?”

“The kind that’s not your business,” Stephanie said.

The woman put her hand in her purse and pulled out a knife. “Suppose I make it my business.”

Stephanie eased back as much as she could
and got into a ready position. She’d practiced the scenario many times in her mixed martial arts class.

The woman’s eyes flickered as she caught the movement. “You some kind of Bruce Lee?”

“No,” Stephanie said. “But I’m good enough to get that knife out of your hand and take you down in the process.”

The would-be assailant hesitated before she slipped the knife back in her purse.
“I’m not getting paid enough for that.”

Stephanie kept her ready stance. “Who paid you and why?”

“Dunno his name,” she said with a shrug. “Just told me to slow you up. I wasn’t really going to hurt you.”

“Silver crew cut?”

“Yeah. Gal’s gotta make a living somehow. No hard feelings?”

Stephanie didn’t bother to answer. With a quick movement, she elbowed the woman aside and
escaped into the hallway. She made her way quickly back and found her brother and Tate waiting. The lady did not emerge from the restroom.

“Let’s go, right now,” she said, nearly sprinting for the door.

“What’s going on?” Tate asked, falling in behind her.

“Some lady in the bathroom was paid by Ricardo to give me a hard time.”

Luca took her shoulder and turned her around. “Did
she hurt you?”

“No, but she thought about it for a while.” Stephanie felt another rush of prickles along her arms. “Bittman has people everywhere, keeping tabs on us, and now Ricardo is getting in on that game.”

Though Luca and Tate both wanted to look for the woman, Stephanie convinced them not to. “We’ve got to get to Bitter Song. Maria and Ricardo are already there, and I want to
get a feel for things before we decide on a plan for tomorrow—actually today.”

She glanced over her shoulder, but there was still no sign of the woman. “Besides, the longer we stay here, the more information is reported back to Bittman or Ricardo.”

Resisting the urge to run, Stephanie exited the restaurant, back out into the cool air. The sky was a brilliant, star-spangled velvet over
their heads, and she breathed deep. Tate was at her elbow. Though he didn’t touch her, she felt his presence strongly, like the cool breeze on her face.

When Luca steered her toward the rental car, she did not resist.

Keep as much distance between you and Tate as you can.