Читать книгу Not a Moment Too Soon - Linda Johnston O. - Страница 11

Because it was summer, daylight still glowed when they arrived at Margo Masters’s home.

Shauna noticed right away that the light blue stucco house was larger than the others on its crowded residential block in Sunland, an area in the northern San Fernando Valley. It was the only one with a second floor. Had it had been added by Margo, or had she bought it that way?

Or had this been where Hunter, too, had lived when they were married?

That thought snatched all the charm she’d noticed from the home as she preceded Hunter along the winding front walk between patches of well-manicured lawn.

There hadn’t been a detailed description in her story of where the kidnapping occurred. But then, there never were great descriptions. Sometimes, she had to use intuition to determine the origin of the emotions that set her stories into play.

This time, because it had involved Hunter’s family, the origin had been obvious.

If only all connections with Hunter had been severed when he’d left. That was a laugh, after all those stories she’d written in the interim.

Hunter had driven them here in his sporty silver GTO, which he’d parked near LAX while away on business. Now Shauna waited while he stepped around her and rang the bell. Margo pulled the door open in less than a minute. Shauna recognized her. She’d looked the struggling actress up on the Internet after writing her story about Hunter’s marriage.

“Thank heavens you’re finally here,” she exclaimed, her low, throaty voice conveying simultaneously both relief and criticism. She glanced at Shauna without saying anything. “Oh, Hunter, it’s been terrible.” Tears glittered in her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, that single word conveying both acknowledgment of her pain and the expression of his own. “Anything new?”

“Yes,” Margo wailed. “You need to control your assistant. And make sure that policeman he called doesn’t do anything to put Andee in worse danger—if it isn’t already too late.”

Shauna, inhaling the strong and probably expensive scent wafting around the woman, forced herself not to stare at her flawless beauty: high cheekbones, smooth skin, softly pouting lips, shoulder-length light brown hair shimmering with auburn highlights. She wore a short white shirt and slim black slacks. Margo wasn’t a tall woman, but even in her wired emotional state she held herself regally, and the movement of her hand as she motioned them inside was as graceful as a model’s.

Her eyes were pale brown. Shauna had no doubt that the way they’d been enhanced with makeup sometime earlier that day would have rendered them outstanding and gorgeous. But Margo’s crying had caused her makeup to run, turning her beauty fragile and sad.

Margo preceded them into her living room. Three men seated in the conversation area around a low, polished coffee table rose at their entrance. A woman, too.

Hunter made the first introductions. “Everyone, this is Shauna O’Leary. Shauna, you met Margo Masters at the door. This is Detective Arthur Banner.” He gestured toward one of the two men who’d been seated on chairs. “And Simon Wells.” Hunter pointed to the guy beside Banner.

Shauna knew that Simon was Hunter’s assistant at Strahm Solutions. He was not quite as tall as Hunter and barrel-chested, and had a brown mustache darker than the longish hair on his head. He wore a tweed sport jacket over a brown mock turtleneck. As he bowed his head in greeting, Shauna had the incongruous impression of old-world courtliness. If they’d been closer, she’d not have been surprised if he’d kissed her hand.

Arthur Banner, on the other hand, was tall, thin, reserved, and seemed to memorize everything about Shauna in a single, prolonged look with small but omniscient gray eyes. Hunter had told her about the police detective, whose nickname “Banger” was a joke, for he was trustworthy, an all-cop cop.

Margo had slipped past Hunter and now stood between the other two people in the room. “My friends BillieAnn Callahan and John Keenan Aitken,” she said, finishing the introductions. Not that Margo had said, but Shauna figured that BillieAnn and John were fellow actors. Though both were dressed casually, their self-possession suggested they awaited their next cue. BillieAnn was taller than Margo, but still resembled a pixie, with her short, wispy cap of dark brown hair around ears that protruded a little too much, pouty lips painted deep red with shiny gloss, and short, clingy blouse with flowing sleeves.

Aitken put a protective arm around Margo. He was of moderate height, slim, a Cary Grant type with an air of savoir faire punctuated by his raised chin and cool smile. The impression was destroyed, though, by his clothes: blue jeans and a muscle shirt adorned with the logo of a Hollywood theater.

“Can I get everyone something to drink?” Margo asked, as if this was a social gathering.

“I’ll get it,” BillieAnn said. But no one took them up on the offer, though Shauna was tempted. Her mouth felt dry.

Hunter sat down at the edge of one of two matched antique-looking sofas that faced one another, both with beige damask upholstery and carved backs and legs. He was brawny enough to look as out of place as the proverbial bull in a china shop. But maybe he liked this kind of furniture now.

Shauna noticed how he’d made himself right at home. And why not? Even though he was no longer married to Margo, he undoubtedly spent time here with their daughter.

Shauna ignored the hurt that constricted her throat. She was long past that particular pain.

As Shauna joined him, Margo’s friends resumed their seats on the sofa matching the one where Hunter and Shauna sat, and Margo slid between them. Simon and Banger sat once more on the high-back chairs they had vacated at the same end of the coffee table.

Vases, figurines and other knickknacks graced the table and glass shelves at the room’s corners. They looked old, too, and valuable.

A five-year-old child had played here? The place didn’t look childproof to Shauna, who made sure there were no sharp corners or anything she valued too much to get broken around Fantasy Fare, particularly in the small room where she told stories three nights a week. Just a lot of plants.

Margo rose again, as if too full of energy to stay seated. She walked to the side of the sofa where Hunter sat. And why not? She had every right to share his pain and partake in mutual comfort.

Instead, shaking her head, she moaned, “What are you trying to do, Hunter?”

She swayed, and BillieAnn and John immediately took their places again at her sides. She tossed them thankful smiles. “I promised to stay calm, so I will. But I told Hunter the kidnapper said we weren’t to tell anyone. And did he listen? No, he sent his assistant.” Pursing her lips, she blinked at Simon. “He called the police, which is even more against the rules.” Banger received her next fearful glower. “I couldn’t take any more, so I called BillieAnn and John. I know I can trust them, at least.” Her demeanor changing from anxious to angry, she took a step toward Hunter. “And then you bring this woman here.” Her glare at Shauna oozed malice. “Your old girlfriend. You told me about her before, and I recognized her name. Do you think this is a joke? Do you want Andee killed?”

Fighting the urge to wince, Shauna shifted her gaze to Hunter, to see his response to the verbal assault.

Cold fury gleamed in his green eyes. He stood and walked behind the sofa, glaring not at Margo but across the room, between Simon’s and Banger’s shoulders. When he spoke his voice was ominously quiet—a tone Shauna remembered well, from the end of their relationship. Then, when it was directed at her, it had churned her stomach, drawn tears into her eyes.

“I was out of town when you called, Margo. You know that. I didn’t want to wait to get a search for Andee started. That’s why I asked Simon to talk to you. He did the right thing by requesting police assistance. He called Arthur because we’ve worked with him before and know he’s a good guy.”

“But why her?” Margo cried. “She’s not a cop or an investigator. You told me she ran a restaurant. How will that help us find Andee?”

Shauna wasn’t about to explain her involvement. In fact, Hunter and she had discussed whether to tell anyone about her story. Their decision: no one but Simon. Hunter had insisted on telling him, since Simon was his closest friend, all-around assistant and near-partner in Strahm Solutions. He wouldn’t have to believe what he was told, but it would explain why Hunter had already asked him to start investigating stuff that otherwise would look off base.

And Margo? No way would Shauna want Hunter’s former wife to think of his long-ago lover as weird, an unnatural creature. Even if the thing she did that sounded weird was true.

Before Hunter attempted a reply to Margo, Shauna stood. “I understand how hard this must be for you, Ms. Masters. Hunter asked me to come here expressly to help you. I do own a restaurant. But I’m also a licensed psychologist and my specialty is working with people in crisis situations.” She felt the sting of Hunter’s glare but ignored it. Who knew? Maybe she could be of help that way. “I’m here for you to talk to, and if you’d like I can offer advice on coping with the stress.”

Ignoring Shauna, Margo moved from the circle of her friends. At Hunter’s side, she threw her head back and looked up into his face. “You brought your old girlfriend here to give me advice? That’s sick, Hunter. Get her out of here. Now.”

“I would welcome your advice anytime, Shauna,” said Simon in a British accent as upper-crust as his rigid posture as he stood and joined her. Shauna smiled gratefully at his teasing expression. Had Hunter told him about her story yet?

“Okay,” she said, in a tone that suggested she was bantering back, “I’d advise you to come outside with me while Hunter and Margo—”

“Bad idea.” Banger rose and strode toward Margo. “You don’t have to talk to Shauna or anyone about how you feel. But you’ve delayed enough. Now, we are going to talk. You insisted on waiting till Hunter got here before answering my questions.”

“I talked to Simon before,” Margo protested, “but—”

Banger continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s time you cooperated with the police. So, we’ll sit down, Shauna included, and chat. Not your friends, though. They can come back later if you need company.”

“If she stays,” Margo hissed, “my friends can, too.”

Wondering why Banger, who didn’t know her background, wasn’t kicking her out, too, Shauna opened her mouth to say that was fine, she’d go—but Hunter gave a quick shake of his head. She didn’t want to argue with him.

She didn’t want to argue with anyone.

Least of all Margo Masters, whose emotions seemed to mutate moment by moment, from sad to accusatory, to who knew what?

Give her a break. The woman’s child was missing.

Hers and Hunter’s.

Once, Shauna had thought she would have Hunter’s child someday….

Dragging defeatedly, Margo retreated to the sofa and sat. BillieAnn joined her, and John took his place behind them both, one hand on Margo’s shoulder.

Margo aimed a baleful glance toward Shauna.

“Now, if you two would excuse us.” Hunter looked from John to BillieAnn and back again.

“We’re not going anywhere if Margo wants us here,” BillieAnn protested.

“I agree.” John’s voice was modulated but firm. “Although I’ve an audition coming up, so I can’t stay much longer.”

Then Shauna had been right; Margo’s friends were actors, or at least one was.

“It’s okay.” Margo’s tone was cheerfully courageous. “I’ll call you both later. Thanks so much for coming.” She followed them, presumably to see them to the door.

As the three left the room, Shauna said, “If it’s going to cause problems for me to be here—”

“Stay here,” Hunter commanded. And then, more softly, he added, “Please.”

She might wind up having to pick her battles with the man. This one was a no-brainer. Shauna stayed where she was.

A minute later, Margo returned. “All right,” she said, a catch in her voice. “I don’t like being ganged up on like this, but what do you want?”

“It’s our intention to find Andee for you, Ms. Masters,” said Simon, “yet we need your guidance. You are the closest to an eyewitness that we have.” His aristocratic accent added once more to the formality of his words.

“Start at the beginning,” Hunter told Margo. “I know you told me before, but I want everyone to hear. Tell us exactly what happened when Andee disappeared.”

Hunter wanted to get on the move to find Andee, if he only had a clue where to look.

He also wanted to throttle his ex-wife. She should be tossing them clues. That was in the strategy Hunter had started developing, since it made sense.

Hell, nothing made sense right now.

He’d seen the pain in Shauna’s expression when Margo attacked her. Found himself admiring Shauna for her composure under fire. She was here only because he’d dragged her along, in case she could be of help. Not as a shrink, of course, but no one else needed to know the real reason.

And though he would never admit it to her—didn’t want even to admit it to himself—as a psychologist or not, her presence was of some comfort, at least to him.

Banger must have picked up on it, or at least on something regarding Shauna, since he hadn’t told her to leave as he had Margo’s drama-society support system. Or maybe he just liked the looks of her. Who wouldn’t?

Right now, Margo’s cluelessness and nastiness were only a fraction of why Hunter wanted to wring her neck.

On top of everything else, now that she had an audience, her description of how she’d reacted to Andee’s disappearance was heartrending, as if Margo, and not their missing daughter, should be at the center of their concerns.

“I was only inside for a couple of minutes,” she said. She was seated now, her face in her hands, her voice muffled. “I—I expected a call about an audition, but I’d forgotten to carry the portable phone. Andee was outside, waving one of those wands that blow giant bubbles. I grabbed the phone and went right out again, but when I returned to the backyard, the wand was there but Andee wasn’t.”

Her voice broke, and she shuddered as she cried into her hands. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I know I haven’t always been a good mother, but I love Andee. We have to find her.”

If she hadn’t been Margo, an actress whose stock-in-trade of over-the-top emotion Hunter had seen all too often as she’d manipulated him, he’d have felt sorry for her. Might have held her, to ease her pain.

But as he’d gotten to know her, after they were married, he had lost all certainty as to what was feigned and what was real.

She’d given him custody of Andee easily enough. Having a kid burdened an up-and-coming unmarried actress.

On the other hand, even if she admittedly wasn’t an ideal mother, Andee was her child, too.

“Tell us how you attempted to find her.” Simon, bless him, had gone to Margo’s side and rested a hand consolingly on her back.

She looked up, and her eyes actually were red, swollen and wet—and they looked directly at Hunter.

Which made him feel about three inches tall. What a louse he was. Of course she cared that their daughter was missing.

“I’m sorry, Hunter,” she said. “It’s all my fault. The gate was shut, so at first I thought she’d followed me into the house without my noticing. I called her and looked around before I started getting really worried. But I couldn’t find her.”

More sobs. This time Hunter did approach her. Awkwardly, he touched her head.

In moments, she had stood and was crying against his chest.

Automatically his arms went around her. Even though it didn’t feel natural to have her so close. Especially now.

His eyes involuntarily darted toward Shauna. She was watching them, a look of compassion on her face. And sadness.

And pain.

For Andee, of course. And, in sympathy for him, whether he wanted it or not.

He had no doubt it felt awkward to her to be in the same room as her onetime lover and his ex-wife. She had made it clear, though, she no longer cared for him. Any more than he still cared for her.

But he did still care for her…sort of. Nostalgically.

Even so, he gently pulled away from Margo, his eyes on Shauna. He could see her struggle to hide any emotion. Did she, perhaps, still have some feelings for him—other than to despise him for leaving all those years ago?

He looked deliberately away from her and into Margo’s eyes. “We need to hear the rest,” he told his ex-wife. Even though he had heard it from her before, on the phone.

Her story didn’t change. She’d continued looking for Andee, then assumed she had somehow gotten out the gate and started wandering the neighborhood. Margo’s backyard abutted a narrow alley, as did most other houses along her street and the one behind it. She didn’t see anyone there, so she went up one road and down the next, knocked on a few doors. But no one had seen Andee. That was when she had first called Hunter.

The second time was after she had received a call from the kidnapper.

“It was a man. He said that if I told anyone besides her father, he’d kill her.” She looked straight at Banger. “I wasn’t to talk to the police. He said I could pay for her safe return and promised he’d be in touch to tell me what to do. And if I didn’t follow his instructions, I’d never see my daughter again. If he saw anything in the media, or one of those Amber alerts, or anything public, it would be all over for Andee.” Tears ran down her cheeks. Her gaze returned to Hunter. “I may have been at fault in the first place, but you brought in all these other people.” She darted another brief, disapproving glance toward Shauna. “We’ve got to do as he says, Hunter.”

He nodded, then turned to Banger. “Glad you’re here,” he said. “You’ve taken charge of this case, I hope, even though it’s outside your division.”

Banger’s narrow, solemn head nodded. “That’s right.”

“Do I dare ask how you’re managing it?”

“Not if you value your P.I. license,” Banger growled, though a corner of his mouth quirked up as though it attempted a grin without his permission.

“Okay, then, here’s something I do dare to ask. How about putting a listening device on Margo’s phone?”

“What do you mean?” His ex sounded horrified.

“To trace the kidnapper when he calls again,” Banger explained.

“Don’t you need a warrant or something for that?” she asked.

“Only if the subject of the wiretap isn’t aware or doesn’t agree,” Banger said. “Do you have any problem with it?”

“Of course not,” Margo said. “Not if it will help get Andee back. But that means more people will know. And if word gets out—”

“We’ll be careful,” Banger said. “I’ve already got an investigation started. Mostly Foothill Division guys.” He looked at Hunter. “They’re okay. I know all the detectives on the case. They’ll keep a low profile, don’t worry.”

For once, though, Hunter sided with Margo. “You’ll have to be damned careful,” he told the detective. “We can’t take the chance of a leak. Any publicity will spook the kidnapper. In fact, I want to handle the canvassing of this neighborhood myself. Do you have any problem with that?”

Banger didn’t look happy. “You know that if it wasn’t your kid, I’d tell you to go pound sand and not interfere with a police investigation. But you and I have a history, so I’ll cut you some slack and call off the guys I’ve got on the way—for now. We’ll work the case from some other angles. But I don’t like it. I won’t give you more than a day.”

“But that’s not—” Hunter protested.

“One day,” Banger repeated. “And only regarding asking questions around here. The rest of the routine is already underway. I checked out Margo’s yard personally when I got here, looked for evidence of the abduction, kept a log of what we did and what we found, dusted the gate’s latch for prints, took a zillion photos of stuff big and small, that kind of thing. Not that it’s regular procedure, but Simon assisted. Good thing you both were cops once and know the drill.”

Blessing Banger for having enough seniority and guts to take any heat for doing things his own way, Hunter asked, “Anything helpful?”

“Nada, so far. Not even Margo’s prints on the latch. Looked like it was wiped clean. But we gathered print samples from the house and yard, plus some of Andee’s things and other items from outside. Started a standard—more or less—report, including collection and chain of custody of evidence. I’ll send what little we found to the lab for analysis soon as I get back to my office.” He shook his head. “I’ll let you take the initial swipe at asking questions around here, but you’ll need to butt out otherwise. Though I’ll keep our investigation as quiet as I can, a kidnapping’s high priority. I’ve already called my most trusted FBI contact—maybe you know him, Lou Tennyson?”

“I know of him,” Hunter said. “The feds all tend to be heavy-handed. The kidnapper has made it clear he’ll harm his victim—” He almost choked on the last—it seemed like such a detached way to refer to his sweet Andee. “—if there’s any publicity at all. And the more people you get involved on this case, the more likelihood there is it’ll leak out.”

Banger’s slow nod made his long, thin face look even more doleful. “I’m doing my best, but you know I can’t do nothing. While you’re looking around here, my guys’ll be asking questions at Andee’s school, talking to parents of kids there, your neighbors, whatever. We’ll give ’em a good cover story, like they’re investigating you for a security clearance or something. Even so, word’ll get out, count on it. A day, two days—” He raised his hand to silence Hunter, who’d opened his mouth to protest. “That’s assuming we don’t get her back right away, which we hope to do. But I’ll keep a lid on it as long as I can—as much of a lid as can be on a kidnapping investigation.”

Through this discussion, Shauna appeared to be attentive, taking in every word. Only when they were nearly done did she venture a question to Margo. “Can you think of anyone who might have taken your daughter?”

Margo, who’d cried quietly into her hands during the discussion, looked up tearily. Her tone was disdainful as she replied, “I’d have told these men if I did.”

That had been a clue in Shauna’s story, if it was true. Andee apparently knew her kidnapper. It was something Hunter intended to pursue, just in case. Right now, he gave Shauna credit for not flinching under Margo’s contemptuous stare.

“Of course you’d tell them,” she said soothingly. “Tell me this, then. Do any of your friends or acquaintances go by nicknames that refer to letters, like their initials?”

Interesting question. Hunter had been racking his own brain for who this “Big T” could be but had come up with no one.

“What are you talking about?” Margo’s tone suggested bewilderment—unsurprisingly. It was a rather offbeat question.

“Just answer, please.” Shauna could hardly say it was a clue that came to her out of the blue, or Banger would demand to know what she meant. And Shauna and Hunter had already agreed to avoid mentioning her story to the official investigators.

Looking at Hunter with exaggerated tolerance, Margo said, “No, I don’t know anyone who uses initials for their nicknames.”

“How about friends or acquaintances whose names—first or last—begin with the letter T?”

“What—?” Banger began.

“Just humor her,” Hunter said. He jotted down the few names Margo mentioned, but they were mostly women. Shauna hadn’t specified men, but her story, and Margo, had indicated that the kidnapper was male. A couple of the men Margo named were clearly name-dropping—big Hollywood celebrities whom his ex might have met at large industry parties.

When Margo threw up her hands and proclaimed she couldn’t think of anyone else, Hunter suggested that they map out investigation tactics.

They continued their discussion until it became clear they could accomplish no more that night. Though what he wanted to do was to start pounding on doors right now, Hunter knew he’d only freak people out. He’d do what he could tonight on his computer, mapping out strategy, doing what research he could, directing Simon on the rest. Time for Shauna and him to leave.

Once they were in his car, Hunter headed for the San Diego Freeway, which he would take south toward his home. And his personal computer, which would serve him just as well, for now, as his office computer.

Then there was the other thing he intended to do. Or, rather, he intended Shauna to do.

“Are you okay?” Shauna asked.

“No. Are you? You should be pretty pleased with yourself. Everything’s following your story so far, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Andee disappeared, and the kidnapper called her mother. Her father did the right thing and told the authorities, and enlisted their cooperation while he starts the search for his missing daughter.”

“I’ll change things—the outcome, at least,” Hunter insisted. “Everything that’s come true did so without my input, or I did it because it made sense.”

“Don’t blame yourself for mostly following the story,” Shauna said. “Though I can’t tell you why, I don’t think you have much choice. And I can say from experience that even if you do things differently, it doesn’t change anything.”

“So you said.” He knew he sounded irritable, but, hell, he believed in free will. No damned story was going to be so engraved in stone that real life would follow it.

His daughter would be fine.

“I’m still changing your story, Shauna,” he finished. Fortunately, they were stopped at a red light near the freeway entrance. He looked at her.

The time was close to midnight, but they were under a streetlight. Shauna’s brown eyes were wide and puzzled and even a little irritated. “Hunter, I’ve already explained—”

“Yeah, I know you think that changing something won’t make a damned bit of difference. And even if I alter events and you enter the changes onto the computer, it won’t save them. But I won’t give up before I’ve even tried. Got it? And you’ve got to work with me, like it or not. That’s why you came, isn’t it—to help me?”

She was silent, biting her bottom lip as she obviously thought how to respond.

He once had nibbled on that same full, sexy lip. The top one, too.

And other places on her silky, sexy body—

But that was before. He’d keep his hands off her now, even if it killed him.

Because if he didn’t, if he upset Shauna enough to make her leave, it might imperil his daughter’s life even more.

Of course, that gave credence to the credibility of her damned story. But like it or not, he’d already given it credence. Ignoring it wasn’t an option.

He’d learned his lesson the hard way before.

“Okay, Hunter,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay, at least for a while. If I can do anything at all to help Andee, you know I will. And if the best I can do is to help you accept—”

“I’ll never accept that,” he retorted, his voice raised. “Don’t play shrink with me.” He noticed that the light had turned green. Fortunately, there was no one behind them.

“All right,” Shauna said sadly. Her hand touched his cheek. His eyes closed as his senses drank in the contact—the softness of her skin, her unique scent, which was neither too sweet nor too spicy. His entire body responded with awareness of Shauna and her touch, her closeness to him after so many long years. Good thing they were still stopped.

His eyes popped open, and he turned to look at her. She withdrew her hand, but it still hovered between them. He’d have shoved it away if all he’d seen was sympathy on her face. It wasn’t. Yet…was it desire darkening the brown of her eyes?

Did she feel it, too?

Lord, how he wanted to take her into his arms, the way he once did. Make love with her, to forget all that was happening, if only for a few, wonderful minutes.

She looked away first. “You missed the light.”

He glanced in that direction. “Yeah.”

“I don’t have reservations, but are there any hotels around here?” She swiveled in her seat. They’d driven a ways from Margo’s into a rougher area of town. There was no way he would leave Shauna here.

“You’re staying with me,” he said.

“I can’t, Hunter.” Her voice was low, husky, but this time, as the light changed, he didn’t look at her.

“Yeah, you can. I’ll keep my hands off you, don’t worry.”

He had to.

“Like I said, I’m changing your story, Shauna. And for that you need to hang around. You’ll come with me when I ask questions. Help me brainstorm what else to do. You can gather new and different stuff to type in while you’re along for the ride. In the story, I investigate alone. Now, I’ll have an assistant along. If enough is thrown into your story that’s different, maybe the ending will change. And having you with me, when in the story I go it alone, will be a good start. Deal?”

They were on the freeway, and the best he could do in the silence was to glance momentarily at her. She was staring straight ahead. Her upper teeth were again worrying her lower lip in that same, sexy manner.

He wouldn’t let it affect him.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Okay, Hunter,” she finally said. “Deal.”