Читать книгу Against the Storm - Kat Martin - Страница 13

Seven

Maggie was smiling as she stuffed her camera back in its case, nestled it in the backseat and closed the door, then climbed into the Jeep. “How did it go?”

“Remains to be seen.”

“Did you tell them about the embezzling?”

“I told them.” Trace didn’t say more, and the way his jaw was clenched, Maggie didn’t press him. He started the car, slammed it into gear and roared away, slinging her back against the seat. His hands gripped the wheel as if he wanted to tear it out of the vehicle. Whatever had happened, things hadn’t gone well.

Maggie kept her mouth shut. Better to give him a little space. As they raced toward Houston, far faster than the speed limit, she considered trying again to start a conversation, but one look at Trace’s hard profile and she changed her mind.

They rode back in silence, neither of them speaking all the way to her town house. By the time they arrived and Trace turned off the engine, Maggie couldn’t take another minute.

“All right, what is it?” she asked. “If it’s the murder, I’ll understand. If it’s something else, something I’ve said or done wrong…”

He turned in the seat. “You’re a liar, Maggie. In my book, that’s as wrong as it gets.”

Her stomach twisted at the look on his face. “What are you talking about?”

Trace climbed out of the car, rounded the hood and jerked open her door. “As of right now, I no longer work for you. Find some other sucker to buy into your bullshit.”

Her eyes widened. Her own anger surfaced. “What the hell is going on? The least you can do is explain.”

Instead of a reply, he caught hold of her arm and hauled her out of the Jeep. He pulled a key from a pocket of his jeans and held it out to her.

“Your new locks are in. The installers left a key with me this morning. You’ll find another inside. I’ll get your bag and your camera gear.”

She planted herself directly in front of him, jammed her hands on her hips. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened back there that turned you into a maniac.”

He ground his teeth, looking as if he wanted to throttle her. “I told you what happened. You lied to me. If you try real hard, I imagine you can figure out which particular lie I might have found a little disturbing.”

An icy chill ran through her. He’d been talking to the police. They must have seen her, must have said something. They must have told him about her Great Shame.

Her hands dropped to her sides. She realized she was trembling. “Josh Varner, right?”

“That’s right. Your old boyfriend. Now go unlock the door so I can carry your gear inside and be on my way.”

Her heart was beating too fast, slamming against her ribs. She felt sick to her stomach. Not wanting to make a scene in front of the neighbors, she led him to the door of the town house, used the key he’d given her to open the door and stepped aside so he could carry her gear inside.

Wordlessly, he stalked past her into the hall, set her camera case and yellow swim bag on the floor. The muscles in his shoulders seemed to vibrate with tension. He was angry. Furious. And he had every right to be.

She took a deep breath. “Okay, I probably should have told you.”

Trace whirled to face her, his dark eyes burning into her like twin laser beams. “Probably?”

“All right, I should have told you. I didn’t because I was afraid you would act exactly the way you’re acting now.”

“I said I’d help you if you told me what I needed to know. You didn’t think I needed to know you had an enemy in the police department? That you’d accused some poor kid of rape when he didn’t do a goddamn thing but take what you offered?”

She hated the way Trace made it sound, though every word was true. In the past she would have cried, but those days were over.

Instead, she steeled herself, forced up her chin. “I was sixteen years old. My dad caught me coming in at two in the morning and I was scared to death. I was terrified of what he’d do if he knew the truth.”

“Beat you?”

“No, but—”

“I’m done, Maggie. You lied to me before. There’s no reason to believe you’re telling me the truth right now.”

She steadied herself, fought for control. “I was ashamed to tell you, all right? It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

His hard look didn’t soften. No more Mr. Nice Guy, she thought. The charming Southern gentleman was gone. In his place was the fierce Army Ranger he had been and clearly still was. Gold flecks glittered in his dark eyes, and the muscles tightened in his jaw.

“Goodbye, Maggie.” He started to turn away, but she caught his arm.

“Trace, please. At least give me a chance to explain.”

“You’ve already explained. We had a deal. You didn’t keep your end of it. Now the deal is off.”

“But…what about the stalker?”

His jaw tightened even more. “Call the police.”

“They won’t help and you know it.”

“The locks are changed. Your alarm is in. I’ll send over one of the guys from JDT to show you how to use it.” His smile was harsh. “Though odds are you won’t need it.”

He no longer believed her. By his standards, she wasn’t worthy of his trust.

“Thank you for that.”

Trace made no reply. Without a backward glance, he turned and stormed out the door. Maggie forced herself not to run after him. She had her pride, didn’t she? Sure, she should have told him about Josh, should have known he would find out sooner or later. But she had wrongly believed that if he did discover her secret, she could simply explain and Mr. Nice Guy Rawlins would understand.

Now she knew Trace Rawlins wasn’t always the calm, controlled, soft-spoken guy she had believed. He was a man of fierce conviction and strong emotions.

As she watched his long strides carry him toward the Jeep, something stirred inside her. Some primal instinct that found such a hard, determined man even more attractive than the gentleman he had once seemed.

He jerked open the door and slid behind the wheel, and desire slipped through her. She watched him start the engine, put the car in reverse, then drive away. In moments, he was gone.

Maggie’s insides felt heavy. It was ridiculous. She barely knew the man, and yet flickers of heat still tingled through her body, along with a need she had taught herself to ignore.

But she had always been a passionate woman. Passionate about life, about her work, about her family and friends. It shouldn’t come as a surprise she would respond to a passionate man.

Maggie sighed, wishing things could have been different, grateful the relationship hadn’t gone further than it had before it fell apart.

She turned to assess her surroundings. The town house had been left neat and tidy. Aside from a note and a business card belonging to JDT Security Systems lying on her breakfast bar, and a second set of keys, there was no evidence the installation crew had been there.

She walked over to the counter. The note read, “Installation complete. Trace can show you how to set the alarm.”

Except that Trace was gone.

He would send a man over, he had said, and she knew that he would. He was reliable, steady. But he had a temper she hadn’t expected. She would have liked to discover the man beneath his surface calm, test the fire he kept so carefully controlled and explore the attraction between them.

If things had worked out differently…

But things hadn’t worked out, and that was the end of it.

Trace sat in his office Monday morning reading the newspaper. Except for his Saturday trip to the shore, he’d had a shitty weekend. Hewitt Sommerset was dead. Parker Barrington had very likely killed him. And Maggie O’Connell had turned out to be just another deceitful woman.

He folded the paper and set it on his desk. The headline stared up at him. Missing Woman Found. The article told of a teenage boy finding a woman’s body washed up on a local beach. No positive identification had been made at the time the article was written, but the victim’s clothing and hair led authorities to believe it was the young woman who had recently disappeared. An autopsy was scheduled to determine the cause of death.

Unconsciously, Trace glanced toward the door, expecting Carly to appear any minute demanding his protection. He wasn’t in the mood for his ex-wife and her dramatics, or any other woman—at least not right now.

His thoughts returned to Maggie and the bitter disappointment he felt. She had lied about the false rape, about the police and probably about the stalker.

Worse yet, she had made Trace lose control.

It didn’t happen often. Like honor and honesty, in his family, control was a valued commodity. His daddy had lost his temper only once, when Trace had lied to him about sneaking out to meet his friend Willie Johnson and drinking the pint of whiskey Willie had stolen from his mama’s special medicinal supply. Trace had been ten years old and his father had used a hickory switch to show him the error of his ways.

Later, his dad had come to him and apologized, as if he were the one who had done something wrong.

“I lost my temper, son. A man can’t afford to let that happen. Not ever.”

And because Trace wanted to be the man his dad believed him to be, he made sure it never happened.

Well, almost never.

In the army, his nickname had been Ghost. It wasn’t just because he had a talent for appearing and disappearing without being seen, a skill that often came in handy. It was also because of the way he remained in control, the way he always stayed calm no matter the situation. Calm and controlled, out of sight and out of mind, as quiet as a ghost.

But Maggie O’Connell had broken through his well-honed defenses. He had begun to trust her, begun to let down his guard.

She’s one of those women, Mark Sayers had said. The kind who crave attention, the kind who’ll do anything to get it. But she hadn’t seemed that way. Which just proved what a piss-poor judge Trace was of women.

Worse yet, part of him worried that maybe Sayers was wrong. Maybe there was a stalker. Maybe—at least about that—Maggie had been telling the truth.

Trace leaned back in his chair, refusing to continue dwelling on his brief relationship with another woman he couldn’t trust. He glanced up at a knock at his office door, watched it swing open. Annie never waited for permission.

“Detective Sayers is here to see you. Wants to talk to you about the information you left for him.”

Trace sat up in his chair. “Send him in.”

Mark walked into the office and closed the door. As always, his light brown hair was neatly combed, while his J. C. Penney suit was slightly wrinkled.

“Parker’s got an alibi,” he said, cutting straight to the point. “His wife says he was home with her all evening.”

“Bullshit.” Trace came out of his chair. “She’s covering for him. Emily’s been a fool for Parker since the day she met him.”

“We’ve still got the embezzlement charges. The D.A.’s on it. He’s putting together a case. He doesn’t want to move until he’s got all his ducks in a row.”

“I’ll talk to Jason, tell him what’s going on. I’ll ask him to speak to his sister, see if he can get her to tell the truth.”

“He doesn’t know about the stolen money?”

“Not yet,” Trace said. “But he’s in line to take over the company. He’s going to need to be told.”

“Might not be a good idea,” Mark said. “Word is the kid’s pretty hotheaded. He might come to the same conclusion you did, and try to do something about it.”

Trace thought of the son who had worshipped his powerful father. “You might be right.”

“We’re on this thing, Trace. If Parker killed Sommerset, he’s going down for it.”

He nodded. “The funeral is on Wednesday. Once it’s over, things will settle down. I’ll talk to Emily myself, pay my respects. I’ll be sure not to mention that her no-good husband was stealing a fortune from her dad.”

Mark chuckled. “Sounds good. Let me know how it goes.”

Trace walked his friend through the office, out to the unmarked brown Chevy he was driving that perfectly matched his inexpensive brown suit.

“So what happened with the redhead?” Mark asked as he opened the car door.

“I wouldn’t know. She’s no longer my client.”

“Wise move. I can tell you that as far as I know, she hasn’t made any more 911 calls.”

“That’s good, I guess.” But Maggie had always been reluctant to call the police. She didn’t think they would help her, and pretty much, she was right.

Trace didn’t like the way that made him feel.

“Like I said, keep me in the loop.” Mark slid into the car and drove out of the lot, and Trace returned to his office. The kid, Sol Greenway, was working at his desk in the glass-windowed office next to Trace’s, partly hidden behind a couple of forty-inch monitors. Trace was good at digging up information, but the kid was better. He could find out anything, legally or illegally. Trace was careful not to encourage him.

Most of the time.

The door was open, Trace walked in and Sol looked up at him. “Yeah, boss?”

“Think you can get into an old, sealed, juvenile arrest file?”

Sol grinned. He pushed his long, straight dark hair out of his eyes. “Sure. Just give me a name.”

“Margaret O’Connell. I’ll get you her address and phone number and whatever else I’ve got.”

“Shouldn’t take long.” Sol cracked his knuckles, a habit Trace found mildly annoying, then replaced his fingers on the keyboard.

Silently cursing himself for giving in to his worry about Maggie, Trace turned and walked back out the door.