Operation Blind Date (6 page)

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her head snap up. “No! I wasn’t. It’s a simple fact. I’m all right, but Amber is exquisite.”

He couldn’t deny the genuineness of her quick response; she really hadn’t been fishing. But what she said still surprised him.

All right? Is that really what you think, that you’re just “all right”?

It wasn’t just him, he told himself. Any guy breathing would think she was a lot more than “all right.”

But any guy wasn’t working for her—that’s how they were taught at Foxworth, you were working directly for the client—so he’d better keep his head straight.

No matter how difficult the woman sitting beside him made that.

Chapter 8

Y
ou two must have looked like flip sides of the same coin.

His words kept echoing in her head. Even though he had graciously said it was a compliment, she knew he was just reacting to her own words, in that reassuring way some men had. She appreciated it, but she also had a mirror. And dozens of pictures of her and Amber together. Reality was.

He had meant, of course, her hair, as dark as Amber’s was light. And her eyes, she supposed, ordinary brown where Amber’s were a striking golden-brown that matched her name.

He had to have meant that, because to think he’d meant to say she, also, was beautiful would open a door that had best stay closed. No matter how tempted she might be to not just open it, but to race right through. Because he was the kind of man who stopped her in her tracks.

They drove across the newer of the two—she never thought of them as twins, because they were so different—Narrows bridges. They didn’t stop for the toll, so she assumed Foxworth had a pass account.

She stayed silent, using the distraction of the expansive view of the waterway for a brief escape. She tried to tell herself this was just because she was finally doing something concrete to look for Amber, that that was what had her all wound up and on the edge of her seat. But she tried to always be honest with herself, at least, and had to admit it was more than that.

Stop it. You’re not some brainless teenager all fizzed up over hanging with a good-looking guy. You need to be thinking about Amber, and Amber alone.

On the other side he negotiated the traffic and transitions to the northbound freeway easily, reminding her he’d grown up here, on the city side. He seemed willing to preserve her silence, not surprising if he really thought she’d been hoping for some flattery before.

“I truly wasn’t fishing for a compliment.” The words slipped out, and Laney was wide-eyed with disbelief that she’d actually said them.

“Okay.”

“People look at Amber. Not just men, but women. Who can be pretty catty about it, frankly. But I reconciled myself long ago to the fact that Amber has what makes people notice her.”

“So do neon signs.”

She blinked.

“Some men—not boys, but men—prefer a little subtlety,” Teague said, his eyes on the road, as if this were simply some conversation to fill the time until they got to the airport. “The kind of slow realization of beauty, and an inside that’s more attractive than the outside.”

Laney swallowed. “Wow. If that’s a line, it’s a hell of a good one. I’ll bet it works wonders.”

He flashed her a glance then, and she saw the gleam of humor in his cool blue eyes, and it was confirmed by the upward curve of one side of his mouth into a crooked smile.

“Think so? I’ll have to try it.”

“Do,” she said, happy she hadn’t been self-deluded enough to believe it.

“Helps that I meant it,” he said.

Okay, so she was happy she hadn’t been self-deluded enough to believe it was meant to apply to her.

She relapsed into silence, wondering what it was about this man that had her so edgy. She realized on the thought that she had part of the answer right there. This man. For he was that. Not one of the boys he’d referred to rather dismissively, but a man. One who had come through hard times, loss, even war. One who had worked hard to get where he was. One who had gone through all that and grown past that carefree sort of youth that she saw so often in men Teague’s age and even older.

Never having faced what he faced, they had stayed young, callow, immature.

Teague had grown up.

They pulled into the short-term parking structure at SeaTac, found a spot not too far out, made sure they had the photos of Amber and Edward, and headed into the terminal. They made their way to the check-in desk at the airline Amber’s credit card had showed the purchase from, waited in a thankfully short line this weekday afternoon and finally got up to the counter.

The first woman, young and pretty in an Amber sort of way, eyed Teague appreciatively, and gave Laney the kind of assessing once-over she’d been more used to getting standing beside Amber. She knew the look, Laney thought.
Checking for a ring first, then deciding if I’m attractive enough to hang on to this hunk, or if she might have a chance.

And that was another difference, she thought. If it was Amber they knew there was no chance, these predatory females. With her, there was always a shot. It hadn’t always been easy, being Amber’s best friend. But she had such a generous soul, and never played up her advantage, at least not in Laney’s presence, more than once using her considerable charm and attractiveness to include Laney where she might otherwise have been ignored. She was the very best kind of friend, and that’s all that mattered now.

She focused on that, crowding out the crazy thoughts that wanted to romp through her stupid brain at the very thought of hanging on to the hunk beside her in any way.

But it seemed they were getting nowhere; nobody recognized the photos. They went to each agent working today, learned that many had this shift on the day of the flight Amber’s purchase had listed, but no one remembered the striking blonde.

Despite knowing it had been a long shot, Laney had let her hopes build; she knew by the way she was feeling more disheartened with every negative answer. She began to let Teague take the lead, ask the questions, while she inwardly dealt with her disappointment.

“Wait, you said you were from Foxworth?”

The way the man at the last window said it snapped Laney out of her personal misery.

“Yes,” Teague answered.

“I know you guys. You helped my cousin a couple of years ago. Made the case against the guy who killed his dog because he crossed a picket line to drive a delivery truck.”

Laney smothered a gasp at such cruelty.

“The chemo,” Teague said, clearly knowing exactly what the man was referring to.

“Yeah. Who knows how many might have died eventually if he hadn’t made that delivery, but that didn’t seem to matter.” He smiled. “Except to you guys.”

“Still sorry about the dog,” Teague said. “Actually, even more now. I didn’t really realize back then just how much a dog could mean.”

Cutter, Laney thought. He did now because of Cutter. Had the poor man never had a dog in his life? She couldn’t imagine that, even though she knew there were millions who didn’t. Teague just seemed like the type who would have a good dog at his side, hunting dog maybe; one who would love him with that unconditional devotion only dogs could give.

People love was so much more complicated, with feelings and baggage and overthinking involved.

She stopped her own thoughts sharply. Teague was here helping her to find Amber, and there was no time for silly inattentiveness just because she was in prolonged proximity to an attractive man for the first time since she’d moved “to the country,” as her mother persisted in calling it.

“—give me one of those, and I’ll make sure everybody on every shift sees it. Skycaps and gate people, too. There’s one guy, Willy, he’s a hound, if a woman who looked like that went by him, he’d notice.”

“Thanks,” Teague said, handing the man a copy of the photograph. “Phone number’s on the back, if you find anything.”

“Thank you,” Laney echoed.

The man shrugged. “You guys were there for my family. Least I can do. You want, I can put it on the employee bulletin board. Somebody I miss might have seen her.”

“That would be great,” Teague said.

The man tapped the picture against his fingers as he met Teague’s gaze. “You Foxworth guys did all that for nothing. Amazing.”

“Not for nothing,” Teague said with a smile. “Now you’re helping us because of it. That’s how it works. Why it works.”

“What an awful story,” Laney said as they moved on.

“It was. That was my first case,” Teague said.

“And he still remembers and wants to help. Does that happen often?” Laney asked.

“Sometimes it happens that way. Sometimes we call on people ourselves. We keep track of particular skills or knowledge the people we’ve helped have. They’re usually more than willing to help out if they can. Nobody forgets what it feels like to be in the kind of position Foxworth helps them out of.”

“I certainly won’t.” She said it quietly, but fervently.

“We will find Amber,” he said. “And we won’t stop until we do. Ever.”

She looked at him as they headed toward the baggage and transport area on the lower level. “Ever?”

“Once Foxworth takes on a case, we keep going until we get results. They may not be exactly what the client hoped for, or the news we find may not be good, but we will resolve it. No matter how long it takes. Unless the client tells us to stop.”

“Has a client ever done that?”

“Once or twice. For their own reasons. And since they’re in charge, what they say goes, barring any criminal activity being involved.”

“And if there is?”

“We have a very good relationship with law enforcement. We intend to keep it that way.”

Curious now, she tilted her head as she looked at him. “What’s the longest case Foxworth has had?”

“Years. Quinn’s got one from three years ago that was never resolved. He still lugs it around in his head. And Rafe...”

He stopped, shaking his head. They were at the ground transportation kiosk, and he was into the routine with the photo again before she could ask who Rafe was. Again, no one remembered seeing the striking blonde, and at least one of the guys fervently agreed that if he had, he would have remembered.

They stopped at the baggage claim and did the same with the skycaps, and Laney finally remembered something she thought might be useful, describing the bright, hot-pink leather luggage tags Amber had favored.

When at last they stepped outside, Laney looked with dismay at the lineup of cabs and busses. “This could take a while.”

“We don’t have to check individual drivers. Quinn’s got a contact at each of the licensed companies, and he’ll have Ty or Liam do that by email. I just wanted to—”

He stopped as his cell rang. He and Laney stepped to one side, out of the flow of pedestrians along the wide sidewalk in front of the terminal as he answered. He glanced at Laney as he listened to the caller, said “okay” a couple of times, then glanced at his watch. Then he said goodbye and disconnected.

The next thing he did was slip the remaining few copies of Amber’s photo they had left into the inside pocket of his battered leather jacket.

“Why do I get the feeling we’re done here?”

He gave her a reassuring smile that normally would have done just that. If it were anything less than Amber missing and in trouble...

“We are,” he said. “Tyler was able to confirm Amber’s ticket was never used, her name wasn’t on any passenger manifest, and Charlie just let Quinn know there’s no record of Amber entering Canada.”

Laney was disheartened but tried to hide it, to keep her tone light. “The ubiquitous Charlie again?”

“Charlie’s got contacts high up in Canada.” Teague flashed her that grin that so turned her insides upside down. “Hell, Charlie’s got contacts everywhere.”

She smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. She’d hoped they’d find the answer here, that someone would have remembered seeing Amber happily boarding a plane, her distaste for flying overwhelmed by the joy of falling in love. She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Clearly Teague hadn’t expected it to be; he didn’t seem at all upset. And that seemed to help, somewhat to her surprise.

“We’re just getting started, Laney,” Teague said gently. “This is just the eliminating of possibilities.”

“I know. I just...hoped.”

It sounded silly, now that she’d said it. Naive. Things just didn’t work out that tidily in life.

Not in hers, anyway.

“Quinn wants us back at Foxworth.”

She nodded, not wanting to risk speaking just now.

“We’ll go back on the ferry,” he said decisively. “We can grab something to eat aboard.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling suddenly contrite as she realized Teague had already put in a lot of time on this, from the time he’d tried to do Hayley a favor to now. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting. What time do you get off?”

He flicked her a glance and a grin. “Whenever Quinn says I do. When we’re on a case, there are no limits.”

She blinked then frowned. Foxworth might work for free, but the people who did the work had to eat. “You do get paid, don’t you?” she asked.

Teague nodded. “And it’s a great gig. Sometimes we work like crazy, long hours, sometimes 24/7, for weeks on end, but sometimes we go for a couple of weeks with nothing but free time.”

“Sounds...unpredictable.”

Teague laughed. “It’s no nine-to-five, that’s for sure. I like it that way.”

They continued toward Seattle, taking the off-ramp toward the ferry to one of the islands on the other side, and from there they’d take the bridge to the peninsula and then on to Foxworth. There was a bit of traffic, enough that Laney was glad she wasn’t driving, and she stayed silent to let him pay attention to the process.

His cell phone rang again just as they were negotiating the turn into the ferry holding lots. Again he answered, listened, acknowledged and disconnected, this time all through an earpiece he slipped over his right ear.

He waited until he’d paid the fare and they’d been directed into the line to wait. He glanced at his watch, said they had about ten minutes to go before loading. Then he turned off the engine and twisted in his seat to look at her.

“We know who your guy is,” he said.