Читать книгу Keeping Christmas - B.J. Daniels, B.J. Daniels - Страница 11

Chance woke to Christmas music on the radio and sunshine. Through the window, he could see that it was one of those incredible Montana winter days when the sky is so blue it’s blinding.

He could also see that it had snowed most of the night, leaving a good foot on the level. He dug out early, knowing it was going to be a long day as he cleared off the deck, then started shoveling his way to his pickup.

The moment Chance had opened the door, Beauregard bounded outside to race around in the powder. Half the time the dog had his head stuck down in it, coming up covered with snow, making Chance smile. All he could think as he shoveled was that his daughter would have loved this.

Once he had a path to the pickup, he loaded Beauregard in the front seat—against his better judgment. Sure enough, the first thing the darned dog did was shake. Snow and chunks of ice and water droplets flew everywhere.

Chance swore, brushed off his seat and climbed in after the dog. The pickup already smelled like wet dog and he knew it wasn’t going to get better as he started the engine, shifted into four-wheel drive for the ride out and turned on the heater.

Beauregard, worn out by all the fun he’d been having, curled up in the corner of the seat and fell asleep instantly.

Chance turned his attention to navigating the road out of the cabin—and thinking about Dixie Bonner. Last night, after finding his office had been broken into, he’d checked his Caller ID. He recognized all but one of the calls that had come in—a long-distance number with an area code he didn’t recognize. There had been eight calls from that number.

Dixie?

When he checked with the operator, she informed him that the area code was from a cell phone out of Texas. He was betting it was Dixie Bonner. But if she had a cell phone number, why hadn’t her father given it to him?

He’d tried the number and got an automated voice mail. He hadn’t left a message.

This morning he drove up the road far enough away from the shadow of the mountain that he figured he might be able to get cell phone service and tried the number again. Same automated voice mail.

He hung up without leaving a message and drove on up the lake to his favorite place to eat breakfast. Lake Café was at the crossroads. Anyone headed his way would have to stop at the four-way.

According to Beauregard Bonner, Dixie Bonner drove a bright red Mustang with Texas plates. Add to that a Southern accent and, no doubt, the Bonner family arrogant genes. All total, Dixie would be a woman who would stand out in a crowd. Especially a Montana one.

Chance took a booth by the window, figuring he wouldn’t miss a red Mustang with Texas plates when it came by this way because he was betting he would see her before the day was out.

A radio was playing back in the kitchen. Country and western Christmas music. Another reminder that he should be at home in front of the fire, feet up, dozing on a day like this with Beauregard sprawled at his feet.

Instead he was chasing a damned Bonner.

To lighten his mood, he thought about what he would do when he had her. Christmas or no Christmas, he wasn’t in a joyous let alone forgiving frame of mind. If Bonner was right about this kidnapping being bogus, then it was high time someone taught Dixie Bonner a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.

And this morning, Chance Walker felt like the man who could do it.

OLIVER WAS NOWHERE around the next morning when Rebecca woke up. She just assumed he’d gone to work already but as she came down the stairs she saw her uncle Carl heading down the hallway toward Oliver’s den.

“Good morning, Rebecca.” Carl was older than his brother Beauregard, about the same size but nothing like her father in nature. Carl was quiet and less driven. A whole lot less driven.

“Is Daddy here?” She couldn’t help being confused. It wasn’t like Carl to stop by unless there was a family dinner of some kind going on.

“I just stopped in to see Oliver,” Carl said as she descended the stairs.

“Oh.” Rebecca couldn’t imagine what Carl would want to see her husband about. Both were employed by Bonner Unlimited, but it was no secret that neither had anything to do there.

And she knew that Carl had never approved of Oliver. She remembered when she’d announced her engagement to Oliver. Carl had taken her aside and asked her if she was sure this was what she wanted.

She’d been angry with her uncle that day and had brought up the fact that he wasn’t one to give advice on relationships given that he’d never married.

“The woman I wanted was in love with someone else,” was all he’d said. “I couldn’t bring myself to settle for anyone else.”

“Oliver is the man I want,” she’d snapped.

“I just want you to be happy.” He’d kissed her on the cheek and left her feeling terrible because she’d been unkind to her favorite uncle. But also, she realized now, because he’d been right to question her choice.

“Rebecca?”

She blinked.

Carl had stopped in the hallway and was studying her. “Is everything all right?”

She forced herself to smile. “Fine.”

He nodded. “You have a good day, okay?” he said pleasantly as he smiled, then continued down the hall to the den.

She watched him open the den door without knocking and step in, closing it behind him. He wasn’t smiling, she noticed, when he closed the door. Did this have something to do with Daddy going to Montana? Was Uncle Carl who her husband had been talking to last night on the phone?

No, she thought. More than likely he’d been on the phone with the one person who resented Daddy even more than Oliver—her father’s cousin, Ace Bonner. Ace, who was Daddy’s age, had recently gotten out of prison.

Daddy being Daddy, he had given Ace a job at Bonner Unlimited. She got so sick of her father feeling guilty for having so much money. He wore it like a chip on his shoulder. No matter how arrogant he came off, Beauregard Bonner didn’t feel he measured up, and she hated that about him.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard raised voices, startling her. Carl never raised his voice. What had Oliver done now? Something that Carl was upset about. Let it have something to do with Bonner Unlimited, she thought. Just like Dixie being in Montana. Just don’t let it have anything to do with me.

Rebecca had enough problems. But as she headed for the kitchen, desperately needing coffee, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her world was on the verge of crumbling around her.

She found the nanny in the kitchen with the children. Amy was pounding on the high-chair tray, splashing milk everywhere. Tanya was yelling for the nanny, Ingrid, to do something about Amy. And Linsey was on her cell phone talking to her best friend Miranda.

“I’m going out,” Rebecca called to Ingrid, trying to escape before the nanny took the spoon away from Amy. As Rebecca hustled back upstairs, she shut off Amy’s shrieks only after reaching her bedroom and closing the door. When the house was built, she’d had extra insulation put around their bedroom for privacy. At least that’s what she told the builders.

She hadn’t wanted her sleep disturbed by the children waking up in the middle of the night. That’s what she had a nanny for. A light sleeper, she had to have the room a certain temperature and complete darkness. And she had the money to get exactly what she wanted.

As she climbed into the shower, she thought about her lunch date with her best friend Samantha “Pookie” Westbrook. Pookie was everything Rebecca had always wanted to be. The daughter of a well-known Houston old-money family with an impeccable reputation and the grace and charm of Texas royalty.

Imagining as she often did what her life would have been like if she’d been the Westbrook’s daughter instead of Pookie, kept Rebecca from worrying about what Oliver and Uncle Carl had been arguing about in the den.

AFTER ORDERING his breakfast, Chance stepped outside to see if he could get cell phone service. It was always iffy in the mountains. He’d never been able to get a signal at the cabin, which was just fine with him.

He dug his cell out, cursing the damned thing, and on impulse, first tried the cell phone number again that had been on the Caller ID at his office. He got voice mail again and again didn’t leave a message. Then he dialed the number Bonner had left for him.

“Hello?” Beauregard Bonner boomed.

“It’s Chance. Any word from Dixie?” He’d been holding his breath, hoping Dixie had found her way home. Or at least there’d been some contact.

“Nothing,” Bonner said. “I just flew into Houston and was going to find my other daughter.”

Chance thought about telling Bonner to say hello to Rebecca, but instantly came to his senses. “Do you have a cell phone number for Dixie?”

“No. I’m sure she has one. I tried to get the number, but couldn’t.”

Chance smiled to himself, hearing the frustration in Bonner’s voice. Even Beauregard Bonner didn’t get everything he wanted.

“I’ll let you know when I come up with something,” Chance said and snapped the phone shut.

Back in the café, he kept an eye on the four-way stop, hoping he was right about Dixie. Of course, that brought up the question of why she was zigzagging across the state, why she was headed his way in the first place. If she even was.

All he could guess was that Dixie Bonner liked to play games—just like her father.

As Chance waited for his breakfast, he dumped the contents of the manila envelope Beauregard Bonner had given him out onto the table. Last night he’d looked at the credit card report, convinced like the police and FBI that Dixie was anything but the victim of a kidnapping.

Disgusted, he hadn’t even bothered to see what else Bonner had provided him. But this morning, as the contents of the envelope spilled onto the table, a photograph fell out and he recalled that Bonner had said all he had was an older photo of Dixie.

It was a three-by-five, shot by a professional in a studio, and appeared to be Dixie Bonner’s high school graduation photo.

Strange, Bonner didn’t have a more recent photo of his youngest daughter. Not a snapshot taken at some birthday party, Christmas or family get-together. Chance wondered if that didn’t say a lot about the Bonners and what had been going on with that family since he’d left Texas.

He stared at the young woman in the photo. Pixielike, her hair was cropped short and dyed a glaring hot pink. At the center of thick black eyeliner were two twinkling blue eyes that radiated a mischief he remembered only too well. Dixie had always been cute. The cheekbones were high and maybe her best feature. Her lips were full and turned up in a devilish grin. A hellion. Just as her father had described her.

Chance chuckled to himself thinking Dixie probably was Beauregard Bonner’s comeuppance. Maybe there was justice on earth after all.

“REBECCA? Rebecca.”

Rebecca Bonner blinked.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Pookie snapped irritably. They were having lunch at Rebecca’s favorite restaurant. She’d hoped that lunch with her friend would improve her mood. So far it had been having the opposite effect.

“What is going on with you today?” Pookie demanded.

Rebecca shook her head, realizing this had been a mistake. She should have gone shopping instead, bought something outrageously expensive and skipped lunch. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

Pookie did an eye-roll. “What is really bothering you? Is it the kids?”

It wasn’t the kids. Not that Rebecca had really wanted children in the first place. It was just something you did. Like the big house, the expensive car, the clothes and the husband.

She’d had a nanny from even before she brought Linsey home from the hospital. She gave the kids little thought except when they were screaming like this morning and she had so much on her mind.

“It’s not the kids.”

Pookie lifted one perfectly shaped brow. “What’s the bastard done now?”

“It’s not Oliver, either.” She sipped her strawberry daiquiri.

“Of course it is.”

“Have you heard something?” Rebecca asked, her heart starting to pound. Pookie often knew things almost before they happened. That was one reason Rebecca had called her for lunch today. If there was a rumor going around, Rebecca wanted to be the first to hear about it and make sure it got nipped in the bud quickly.

“I haven’t heard a thing.” Pookie held up three fingers. As if she was ever a Girl Scout. “And I can’t believe I wouldn’t have heard.”

Rebecca was counting on that. “You’d tell me at once if you did.”

“Of course.” Pookie looked worried. “Why, have you heard something about Adam?” Adam was her friend’s husband. A balding, pot-bellied, thirtysomething attorney at a top agency in the city who kept Pookie in a style even better than she’d been accustomed to—which said a lot given that Pookie was born to Houston society.

“Come on, what’s going on with you?” Pookie asked, leaning toward her, grinning. “Give. Who is he?”

Rebecca shook her head and tried to wave away Pookie’s protests. Pookie would be surprised if Rebecca told her that she hadn’t been with a man other than her husband in months. Her friend went through a lot of men and thought everyone else did, too.

“Come on. You and I have never kept secrets.”

Rebecca thought how naive Pookie was. Everyone kept secrets. Even from their best friends if they were smart.

“I told you about my pilates instructor.” Pookie pretended to pout.

“There isn’t anyone,” she said, feeling even worse. Not even Oliver. Except for that one night. He’d acted so strangely that night. She brushed the memory away, hating to remember his attempts at lovemaking. They’d never made love that she could recall. Intimacy at their house was more like a corporate takeover.

“Oliver’s been acting…strange,” Rebecca confided, seeing no harm in the obvious.

Pookie lifted a brow as if to ask how she could tell. “Well, if it isn’t another woman…”

“He’s involved in some kind of deal at work. I’m sure that’s all it is. He has this thing about winning.” That, she knew, was his form of orgasmic release. He had never seemed that interested in sex. Or maybe it was just her he wasn’t interested in.

Pookie narrowed her eyes, studying her. “There isn’t a man? Come on, I saw that look in your eye.”

Rebecca groaned, knowing her friend would keep after her until she gave her something. “I was thinking about Chance Walker,” she said, and braced herself for her friend’s reaction.

WHEN HIS FOOD arrived—his usual—a slab of bone-in ham, two eggs over easy, hash browns and whole-wheat toast with blackberry jam, Chance placed the picture next to his plate, studying it periodically as he ate.

If he was right and the photograph was taken eleven years ago, who knew how much Dixie Bonner had changed. She was probably more outrageous than ever.

He shook his head as he thought about the kid he’d known. Would he even recognize her now?

“Girlfriend?” the waitress asked, moving for a better look at the photo.

“Not hardly. Actually, it’s a case I’m working on. Any chance you’ve seen her? She’d be eleven years older than when this was taken.”

Lydia, an older, stocky woman, shook her head. “Sorry. And believe me I would have remembered the hair if it was still that color.”

“I have a feeling this one has tried it all,” he said, looking at Dixie’s photo.

“You sound like you know her.”

“Used to, when she was twelve,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “She was hell on wheels back then. I just assumed she would grow up and be more like her sister.”

Lydia raised a brow.

“I dated her older sister.” It surprised him the regret he heard in his voice. Not that he hadn’t married Rebecca. Just that things had ended so badly.

“First love?”

“I guess it was. She went away to college back east and met someone…” Someone more appropriate. “I hear she has three kids now and her husband is a hotshot attorney in Houston.”

Lydia put a hand on his shoulder. “Honey, something tells me you are better off without her.”

Chance laughed. “I have no doubt about that.”

“Want the rest of that ham wrapped up for Beauregard?” she asked as she cleared his table.

“Please.” He put everything back in the manila envelope, including Dixie’s picture, finished his coffee and took the envelope and foil-wrapped ham out to the pickup.

Beauregard devoured the ham in one bite and waited for more as Chance started the pickup. “Sorry, bud, that’s it until dinner.”

Taking out the map of Montana, he stared at the jagged line he’d drawn on it last night as he’d traced Dixie Bonner’s route.

Dixie hadn’t come to him, so that meant he’d have to go to her. If he was right, there was a definite pattern to her movements. She was headed his way. All he could figure was that she didn’t want anyone to know it.

Chance found that pretty humorous since someone obviously knew and had gone to some trouble to break into his office to take his answering machine tape. He wondered what message she’d left and why it was important to whoever was apparently looking for her.

He planned to ask her when he saw her.

There was also the remote possibility that she really had been kidnapped, that the kidnapper had foolishly left eight messages on his machine. But that brought up the question of why call him? Also, what kidnapper would leave eight messages on his machine?

He figured no matter what was going on, Dixie wouldn’t have left her location or where she was headed on his answering machine. And neither would her kidnappers.

Chance swore and headed down the lake and eventually into town, figuring she should be here today if she continued her traveling pattern. The day was brilliant, the sky a deep blue, the mountains glistening white, the sun blinding overhead.

He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a light-colored panel van pull out behind him.

“YOU WERE THINKING about Chance Walker?” Pookie cried, then ducked her head as several of the nearby diners frowned over at her. “Why?” she asked in a hushed whisper. “It wasn’t like you were ever serious about him. Marrying him would have been social suicide.”

Rebecca nodded. All true. She hadn’t even considered marrying Chance. But what she hadn’t told Pookie was that she’d thought he would stay around Houston. She would have had an affair with him in a heartbeat.

She’d never dreamed Chance would go to Montana to work for the summer and not return to Texas. One of the secrets she’d never told Pookie was about the breakup. Pookie had always assumed that Rebecca had broken it off with Chance because she’d met Oliver and he was the better catch hands down.

What Pookie didn’t know and never would was that Chance had been the one to break off their relationship. He’d figured out that she’d never planned to marry him. Oliver knew she’d been dumped and had never let her forget it. The bastard.

So even if Chance had stayed around Houston, she doubted he would have been up for an affair. Just the thought made her angry and upset.

And now her sister was in Montana.

With Chance?

The thought killed her appetite.

“Why are you even thinking about Chance at this late date?” Pookie demanded quietly.

“I wasn’t. It’s just that I think Daddy is in Montana and it made me think of Chance.” At least she assumed that was the “son of a bitch” Oliver had been referring to, and Oliver had said something about Dixie.

Pookie started to say something, then stopped as she looked past Rebecca and smiled. “Well, he’s not in Montana anymore,” she said under her breath as Rebecca heard someone approach the table from behind her.

IN HIS REARVIEW mirror Chance watched the van coming up the road behind him. The two-lane highway ran along the lake, over the dam, then headed south to Townsend where his office was located. This time of year, the road got little traffic with most of the places on the lake closed up for the winter.

Chance slowed to give the driver of the van the opportunity to pass. The van slowed, as well, staying right with him, and confirming his suspicions.

As the road began to snake around the north end of the lake, Chance sped up. The van sped up, too, the driver doing his best to stay with him, even taking some dangerous curves too fast, leaving little doubt that the driver was determined not to lose him.

Fortunately this morning there was no other traffic on the road. As Chance came around a corner with a nice wide deep ditch on each side, he braked, coming to a stop, blocking both lanes.

The van came flying around the corner. The driver hit his brakes but clearly realized there was no way he could stop on the snow-packed road and aimed the van for the ditch.

Chance pulled his pickup over to the side of the road and, taking the shotgun from the rack behind the pickup seat, jumped out to bound down into the snowy ditch to jerk open the driver’s side door.

He shoved the shotgun in the man’s face. “Why the hell are you following me?”

“Easy,” the man cried, throwing his hands up. “I’m a private eye. Just like you.”

Chance swore at the man’s thick Texas drawl. “Who the hell are you?”

“Let me reach into my jacket…”

“No way.” Chance reached in and withdrew the man’s wallet—and a 9 mm pistol. He chucked the pistol over the top of the van where it disappeared in the deep snow. The wallet he flipped open to the man’s ID. J. B. Jamison, Private Investigator, Houston Texas.

“Who hired you?” Chance asked as he tossed the wallet into the back of the empty van. Not that he didn’t already know the answer.

“Bonner. Beauregard Bonner.”

“What the hell did he hire you to do?” Chance demanded. “Follow me?”

“Find his daughter and take her back to Texas.”

Chance was still pointing the shotgun at the man. “And that has what to do with me?”

“Bonner told us she might contact you.”

So that was it. Beauregard was covering his bets. Setting Chance up because he thought Dixie would come to him. But lacking faith that Chance could get Dixie back to Texas. Now why was that?

“So you broke into my office and stole my answering machine tape,” Chance accused.

The man looked genuinely surprised. “No. I was just tailing you, hoping you’d lead me to Ms. Bonner. That’s all.”

“Roll up your pant legs,” Chance ordered. “Whoever broke into my office scraped his leg on my desk.”

Jamison didn’t look happy about it, but he pulled up one pant leg, then the other. No sign he’d been the one to get hung up on the desk.

“Get out.”

Jamison looked out at the deep snow, then at Chance and the shotgun. “I didn’t break into your office. There is no reason to—”

“Out.” Chance stepped back so the Texas P.I. could get out of the van. The man stepped gingerly into the deep snow. He wore loafers and slacks, although he’d been smart enough to get himself a down coat.

Chance quickly frisked the man, found no other weapon and ordered Jamison to walk out a dozen yards, through the snow and trees, from the van.

While the man’s back was turned, Chance threw the van’s keys into the snow and searched the van.

No answering machine tape. But what Chance did find shocked him. In the back of the van was everything a man would need to hog-tie and bind a woman to transport her back to Texas.

He felt sick as he left J. B. Jamison cursing him to hell beside the road and drove off. That bastard Bonner hadn’t mentioned he put another P.I. on the case let alone that he’d sent the man to bring Dixie back to Texas.

Chance’s job was to find Dixie. Period.

Under most circumstances, Chance would have quit right there. But after what he’d seen in the back of Jamison’s van, he was afraid for Dixie Bonner and even more anxious to find her.