Dead Right (9 page)

Although both men were in their early thirties, Roger lived at home, and Joe, divorced twice from the same woman, lived in a house near Stil water Sand & Gravel, the business owned by his parents. Joe and Roger worked for mom and pop, too. Madeline doubted anyone else would hire them.

They spent too much time drinking, gambling, fighting and chasing women.

“They were pretty adamant at the quarry,” Madeline said.

“I’l talk to them,” she promised. “But I, for one, hate to see you disrupt your life yet again with al this business about your father. I’m your aunt.” She waved imperiously.

“You should al ow me to advise you. And I think it’s time we al moved on.”

Now?
When the Cadil ac had just been found? This was the first break they’d had. “What about the things in his trunk?” Madeline asked. “We can’t shrug our shoulders and walk away.”

“Let it go!” Elaine nearly shook a finger in Madeline’s face.

“Why?”
Madeline asked.

Her aunt wrapped her coat tighter around her and headed for the door. “Just listen to me, for a change.”

headed for the door. “Just listen to me, for a change.”

Let it go…

Madeline tried to throw off the foreboding caused by her aunt’s words as she stood at the airport in Nashvil e, waiting for Hunter Solozano. She was late but, fortunately, so was his plane. The storm had been responsible for a lot of delays. She was surrounded by crowds of people, many of whom shifted restlessly, shook off their wet umbrel as or held up signs designating the name of the person or party they’d come to meet.

She wished she’d taken the time to make a sign. She had no idea what Hunter looked like. From his grouchy voice, she imagined an overweight middle-aged man with a receding hairline, saggy jowls and thick, sausagelike fingers. But when Hunter’s plane final y arrived and the passengers streamed into the baggage claim area, the only person she saw who even remotely resembled that mental picture was immediately approached by someone else.

As the passengers found their baggage and drifted away, Madeline began to worry that Hunter had missed his flight.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought after driving three hours in the pouring rain.

She got her cel phone from her purse, checked her signal strength and punched in his number. Who needed a cardboard sign in this day and age? She’d simply cal him.

If he’d actual y arrived, she’d tel him to meet her at the fifth carousel. And if he hadn’t—

For al her aunt’s dire warnings, she didn’t want to even think about the fact that he might not have come. She was counting on him to put an end to the doubt and conjecture.

“I’ve got to catch a break eventual y,” she grumbled and put the phone to her ear. But then she spotted a man striding purposeful y toward her from the lost luggage counter and hung up. She’d seen this guy walk past her before but…
He
couldn’t be her investigator, could he?

“Hunter Solozano?” she said tentatively.

His eyes swept over her, his expression revealing little except annoyance. “That’s me.”

He was carrying a
guitar….
A lot of country-star wannabes came through the Nashvil e airport, but he didn’t look anything like a cowboy. He was definitely West Coast.

“Is that al your luggage?” she asked. Other than the guitar, he had a smal carry-on bag that appeared to contain a computer.

He raked his fingers through blond hair that was a bit too long and beginning to curl at the ends. “They lost the rest.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He
had
to be kidding—about more than his luggage. He looked like a…a
surfer.
About six feet tal , he had icy blue eyes, a lean, rugged face and a great tan. Worse, the hint of beard covering his jaw made him appear too lazy to be cunning or perceptive. And his rock-hard body indicated he spent more time swimming in the ocean than sitting behind a desk.

“No joke,” he said. “But they told me they’d drive it to Stil water as soon as they find it. Hopeful y, it’l get here sometime tomorrow.”

What have I done?
She’d been expecting someone driven, maybe even ruthless. Someone capable of solving a mystery that had stumped Stil water’s best and brightest for twenty years. Instead, she’d hired a beach bum with a guitar—for one thousand dol ars a day!

“Right.” She barely managed to stifle a groan. He was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt over another T-shirt, a pair of faded, holey jeans and…flip-flops.

Flip-flops!
Frowning, she rubbed her forehead.

“I said they’d drive it out,” he repeated, watching her curiously.

“I heard you.”

He hiked up the computer bag he carried on one of his impressive shoulders. “So…what’s the problem?”

Dropping her hand, she decided to be honest with him.

“Tel me your father or your older brother is here somewhere.”

One eyebrow, much darker than his sun-streaked hair, slid up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re too young,” she complained.

“Too young for what? I’m thirty-two. How old do I have to be?”

“Older than that. I’m thirty-six and I certainly don’t feel equipped to handle this…this
mess.
Besides, you’re too—”

she motioned to his guitar “—God, you could pass for Keith Urban. I don’t need someone who’s drop-dead gorgeous.

And I sure as hel don’t need someone who can sing. I need a P.I. who’l take my problem seriously, who’s so dedicated and tenacious that he won’t give up, no matter what.”

His scowl darkened. “I liked the drop-dead gorgeous part, but I’m more offended than flattered by your other remarks.”

“I don’t care. This isn’t fun and games to me, Mr.

—
Hunter.
See? Now that I’ve met you, I can’t even cal you Mr. Solozano. Mr. Solozano would be your father.”

“I could go out and buy some wing-tip shoes, a magnifying glass and a trench coat. Would that help?” he asked sarcastical y.

“So now you’re a comedian, too.”

“Should I have taken you seriously? How does my appearance preclude my ability to do my job?”

“Every available woman in Stil water wil be coming on to you, wasting your time—which is real y
my
time, since I’l be paying for it.” She couldn’t admit that she might be tempted to come on to him herself, that he’d be a distraction she didn’t need. Especial y since she stil wasn’t over Kirk.

“It doesn’t matter who comes on to me. I’m not interested.”

“On the phone you mentioned an ex-wife.”

“And now you know why.”

When she hesitated, he said, “So where do we go from here, Ms. Barker? Can you get past your attraction to me?

Or do you want to sacrifice your retainer to compensate me for my trouble and send me home?”

Both questions were so shockingly blunt, Madeline didn’t know which to answer first. Money won out. “Sacrifice my retainer? Are you crazy?” she cried. “And I’m not attracted to you! I’m already involved.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The fact that she’d just lied about being involved, of course. Not only was she flying solo at this point, she was beginning to miss the emotional and physical comforts a man could offer.

She swal owed hard. “You’re not attracted to me, are you?” If it was al one-sided—
her
side—she should be okay. She certainly wasn’t about to lose the five thousand dol ars she’d given him.

It was his turn to hesitate. His gaze flicked over her a second time but quickly returned to her face. “I told you. I’m not interested in any woman.”

“Right. The ex.” She took a deep breath. “That’s good news.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.” He rubbed his hands. “So…are we on?”

“Let’s see how it goes this week,” she replied. “If you’re as good as you’re supposed to be, I should be able to tel fairly soon.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said dryly.

She started to lead him out, into the rain. “There’s one more thing.”

“I’m dying to hear it.”

Putting up her umbrel a, she raised her voice against the rumbling motors and the security guard tel ing everyone to move along. “People where I live are very…conservative. If you alienate them, we won’t have a chance.”

“Why would I alienate them?”

“I’m just tel ing you that Stil water isn’t California.”

He gave her a salute. “Consider me warned. Somehow I’l keep my liberal self in check.”

A minute earlier, he’d said he wasn’t interested in her—

or any other woman. But when she glanced back at him, she caught him checking out her behind. “I thought you weren’t interested,” she said.

He grinned. “Doesn’t hurt to look.”

6

H
unter sat in the passenger seat of Madeline Barker’s economy car, watching the windshield wipers jerk across the glass and thinking that a woman driving a 1992 Toyota Corol a probably couldn’t afford him. “Your windshield wipers might actual y work if you’d replace the blades,” he said.

She sent him an irritated look. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome.” Drumming his fingers on his knee, he cursed the moment he’d decided to come to the South.

What was he doing here? He should be in Hawaii, sitting on the beach. But despite the rain in Tennessee and an unusual and slightly worrisome reception by his new client, Hawaii didn’t sound as appealing as it should have. He’d spent most of the last month on Oahu, taking pictures of an elected public official who’d flown his children’s babysitter there for a torrid affair. Without Maria, Hunter had no desire to go back so soon. What was the point? He wasn’t the type to lounge on the beach al day—not unless he was doing it for a reason, as with his last job, or he had someone with whom to share the sun and sand.

Someone…He grimaced. Not only had he lost Maria’s love and respect, he’d managed to estrange most of his family. He’d been too hurt and angry to be civil to anyone.

And he hadn’t al owed himself a romantic liaison—a romantic anything—since he’d gotten drunk two years ago and let Selena, the divorcee next door, coax him into bed.

“So…are we going to drive the whole way without speaking?” he asked, eager to interrupt his own thoughts.

He berated himself over that mistake often enough without starting in wel before the usual sleepless night.

“I’m thinking,” she said.

“I hope you’re thinking about tel ing me what you know of the day your father disappeared. Or is that part of the test to see if I’m any good?”

“Funny.” She came up on a van, slowed, then switched lanes.

He knew they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, that he should do what he could to relieve the tension that had sprung up the moment they’d met, but he was tired and cranky after the long flight and already regretting the trip.

“You know how irreverent some of us
young
Californians can be.”

“At least you haven’t ended any of your sentences with
dude
or
awesome,
” she retorted.

His irritation level spiked. “I didn’t want to come here in the first place. This was your idea.”

She immediately backed off. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you. But…I was desperate.”

And now she was disappointed. He could hear it in her voice.

Hunter didn’t want to care—some of what she’d said made him angry—but the slump of her shoulders bothered him. Cursing silently, he dragged his eyes away from her and watched the wet pavement rush under their tires. “Don’t give up on me too soon, okay?” he said. “I can’t promise that I’l solve your father’s murder. If it was a murder. Maybe no one can. But I’l make every attempt.”

“In between working on your tan?” She’d mumbled the words, but he could stil decipher them.

“You’re just mad that I said I wasn’t attracted to you,” he snapped.

“Why should that bother me? You’re not attracted to anyone, remember?”

“I remember,” he said. But he had to admit she was pretty. Tal , though maybe a bit too thin, she had very distinguished features—wide green eyes that tilted up at the edges, thick dark lashes, high cheekbones and a ful , sensual mouth. She had a few freckles across her nose, but the rest of her skin was as smooth and unblemished as porcelain, and she seemed confident yet vulnerable. It was an odd mix, but it definitely worked.

“I wanted someone I could take seriously,” she explained.

He shook his head. “You wanted a savior, and you got a carpenter. As history suggests, they don’t have to be mutual y exclusive.”

Her gaze slid his way. “Now you’re tel ing me you have a Christ complex?”

He rol ed his eyes. “I’m done talking to you. I hope you feel like an idiot when you’re finished with this tantrum.”

“
Tantrum?
I’ve never thrown a tantrum in my life.”

Hunter told himself to ignore her until she could come to grips with her roiling emotions. He’d been where she was

—pushed beyond his normal ability to cope, desperately searching for a way to avoid the pain of his situation. He’d created his own problems while, as far as he could tel , she’d done little to deserve hers. But these days his own temper lurked too close to the surface.

“What do you cal
this?
” he asked. “Good old-fashioned Southern hospitality?”

“Try abject despair,” she replied. “Do you know how many people think I’m foolish for bringing you to town? Only my cousins approve, which is reason enough for concern.

When Clay and Grace see you—” She threw up one hand while keeping the other on the wheel.

“Maybe those who are least happy about my involvement are the very people who have something to hide,” he retorted. He was taking a big leap. But he wanted to provoke her, to find or create reasons to dislike her so he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping an appropriate distance between them. He’d already found one reason: he’d expected her to be grateful he’d relented and taken her on as a client. Instead, she acted as if she’d made a big mistake in hiring him.

“Whose side are you on?” she asked.

“My own,” he said. “That’s the way it has to be.”

She didn’t say anything for nearly twenty minutes, wouldn’t even look at him. Final y, he broke the silence. “Is this going to continue, or are you ready to tel me what you know about how and why your father disappeared?”