Against the Storm1 (24 page)

He wanted her trust.

And maybe even her heart.

It scared him to death.

“You’re angry,” Maggie said as she returned from the bathroom, her tousled hair combed and her short black dress once more in place. “I knew it when you walked through the door.”

She could feel his dark eyes on her, following her movements as she continued toward him. God, he looked good. The line of his jaw wasn’t as hard as it had been, and the muscles across his shoulders were no longer tied in knots. And yet she could still sense the tension running through his body.

“I was angry,” he admitted. “I still am. But I would have stopped if you’d wanted.”

“I know that.” She paused in front of him. “I didn’t want you to stop. You’re a different lover when you’re angry. You set your passions free. I like it.”

His jaw tightened once more. “Damn it, Maggie.”

“Tell me why you’re so upset.”

Trace blew out a breath. He wandered over to the dining table, picked up one of the pretty silver forks
beside a flowered porcelain plate, then set it back down and looked at her. “You lied to me again.”

She frowned. “I don’t think so. I told you I wouldn’t do that and I meant it.”

“I found out about David Lyons.”

A little tremor of unease moved through her. “I told you about David. I told you we lived together for a couple of months.”

Intense brown eyes fixed on her face. She felt the impact as if he’d touched her. “You didn’t tell me he tried to kill himself.”

Her stomach clenched. She should have known Trace would find out. Digging up information was what he did for a living, what she had hired him to do. But she’d felt she owed a certain amount of loyalty to a man who had loved her so much.

“David was ashamed of what he tried to do. I didn’t think telling you was important enough to override the pain it was bound to cause him.”

Trace straightened, seemed even taller. “Someone is angry enough to burn your house down with your sister and her baby inside, and you didn’t think it was important enough to tell me?” His temper was rising again. She wondered if maybe they’d end up having another round of hot, steamy sex.

“David isn’t the stalker.”

Trace strode toward her, reached out and caught her shoulders. “You can’t know that. Not for sure. The man is obviously unstable. Maybe something happened recently that sent him off the deep end. I need to talk to him. I need to be sure he’s not our guy.”

Trace was right, she knew. She should have told him in the first place. Certainly after the fire, she shouldn’t have hesitated. She was just so sure it wasn’t David.

“All right, you can talk to him, but I’m going with you.”

“Fine, but we need to do it now.”

“Now? Right now? It’s Saturday night. He’s probably out on a date.”

“Call him. If he’ll meet us, we’ll put supper on hold and eat when we get back.”

“I’m telling you it isn’t him. He wouldn’t know the first thing about planting bugs and setting houses on fire.”

“Maybe not, but he’s got plenty of money—enough to pay somebody to do those things. If he did, then we can’t know what he’ll do next—or when.”

A shudder ran through her.

“We need to eliminate Lyons as a suspect. Once we do, we can move forward, look in other directions.”

She studied Trace’s face, which was now closed up, hiding whatever he was thinking. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

He hesitated, took a breath and slowly released it. “Look, odds are it was the stalker who paid someone to set your place on fire. The problem is the arsonist went in specifically to take out your studio.”

“Because he was mad at me for hanging up on him.”

“It’s possible.” Trace’s eyes shifted away for an instant.

“But you don’t think so.” And suddenly it was clear. “You’re thinking the fire might have been set for some other reason altogether, something that has nothing to do with my stalker.”

His expression gentled. “It’s something we need to consider.”

Maggie started frowning, mulling over the prospect. “If it’s true, who would go to that much trouble just to
destroy my work?” She glanced up. “Someone who is jealous of my success?”

Trace’s gaze held steady. “Or someone who wanted to get rid of something that was in one of your pictures.” He waited a moment for the thought to sink in. “Your memory cards were in the studio. No one but you knew your work is also stored in Photodrive. Whoever set the fire was a high-dollar professional. Someone paid him a pretty penny to do a specific job.”

“Which means if you’re right, it must have been really important to get rid of my photos.”

“We need to talk to Lyons. Afterward, if we’re convinced it wasn’t him, that he didn’t hire someone to set fire to your studio for some sick kind of revenge, then we need to broaden our thinking.”

Maggie sank down on the sofa, feeling slightly ill. “Oh, my God.”

“Look, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. At the moment, I’m working on the theory that David Lyons hired a guy to burn up your house just to cause you grief. He could afford it, and if he blamed you for driving him to the point of suicide, he might think he had good reason. Call Lyons. We’ll see where it leads.”

But as Maggie got up to retrieve her cell phone, she was thinking two things: that she had lost a little of Trace’s trust tonight, something she discovered she wanted very badly.

And that he might be right, and her problems had just doubled.

D
avid was kind enough to invite them to the apartment he had leased after the breakup. Number 7 Riverway was an exclusive, twenty-story building along Buffalo Bayou just west of the 610 Loop.

He answered the door, his blond hair neatly combed, his khaki slacks and polo shirt perfectly pressed, his eyes warm in greeting as Maggie came through the door. Trace walked in behind her.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” she said. She glanced around the apartment, which was luxurious, ultramodern, done in dark brown and white, with brown marble floors and twelve-foot ceilings. Its Spartan design perfectly fit David’s orderly persona, Maggie thought, though she preferred a cozier, less formal atmosphere. It was just one of a dozen reasons they had never really suited.

“I saw the fire on the morning news,” he said. “I meant to call you, make sure you were all right.”

“As it turned out, no one was hurt.” She turned, inviting Trace into the conversation. “David, I’d like you to meet Trace Rawlins. He’s a private investigator. He’s
looking into the fire and some other problems I’ve been having lately.”

David’s pale blue eyes ran over the man who stood at her side. They were about the same height, but David had a lanky build instead of Trace’s solid, V-shaped body. They were perfect opposites—night and day.

“It’s nice to meet you,” David said. “Why don’t we go into the living room? Would either of you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” Trace said. Maybe David didn’t notice the way he was sizing him up, the slight tension in his jaw, but Maggie did.

“We’re fine, thank you,” she said. “Trace has some questions he’d like to ask. We’re hoping it will help the investigation.”

“Of course.” David led them into the living room with its high ceilings, brown marble fireplace and high-tech, built-in entertainment center. Intricate glass sculptures decorated the shelves and sat on the chrome coffee table in front of a plush brown sofa and matching chairs.

“At the moment we’re just collecting information,” Trace said. “We need to know where you were the night of May 13.”

David frowned. “I was out to dinner with friends. Why?”

“That’s the night someone set fire to Maggie’s condo.”

David straightened. “And you think I had something to do with that?”

“Someone was angry enough to destroy her studio. Her work was the target. After what happened between you, maybe you wanted some kind of revenge.”

David’s gaze darted to Maggie. His expression closed
up as he looked back at Trace. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Maggie felt a rush of guilt. “He knows our relationship ended badly, David. He knows about your suicide attempt.”

“You told him about that?”

“It happened,” Trace said, interrupting before she could defend herself. “That’s what matters. And your breakup with Maggie was the cause. The question is how far are you willing to go to make her pay for what happened?”

David slid onto the edge of his seat. “You’re insane. I’d never do anything to hurt Maggie. I loved her.” He turned in her direction. “Part of me always will.”

Her heart squeezed. She had known how David felt before they had moved in together, known he was deeply in love with her and that she would never love him that same way. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she had.

“You don’t believe I set the fire, do you, Maggie? I told you I was out with friends that night, and I can prove it. Even if I couldn’t, surely you don’t believe I’m capable of something like that.”

Maggie walked over to his chair, knelt down next to the arm. She reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t believe you were responsible, David. I never did. I just… Trace needed to be sure.” She rose, and so did the two men.

“The fire was set by a professional,” Trace said. “Someone highly paid to destroy Maggie’s work.” He glanced around the fabulously expensive apartment. “You’ve got the kind of money it takes to do something like that.”

“I had nothing to do with the fire. I’ve only seen
Maggie once in two years—the night she went dancing at Galaxy. Now if you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police.”

“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Trace said darkly.

David sighed, made another attempt to explain. “Look, that night at the club…Maggie reminded me it would never work between us. Deep down, I knew she was right. It isn’t her fault we’re so different. It isn’t her fault she never really loved me. It’s just the way life is. I’ve accepted it. And I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

Some of the tension went out of Trace’s shoulders. He gave David a last perusal, then slowly nodded. “I appreciate your honesty. And your cooperation. Whatever we’ve discussed goes no further than this room.”

David swallowed. “Thank you.”

He walked them to the door. “So the two of you… Are the two of you…?”

Maggie tried to smile. “Trace is just—”

“Yes,” he said firmly.

David smiled sadly. “I’m glad she’s got someone looking out for her. Take care of yourself, Maggie.”

Her eyes welled. “Goodbye, David. And thank you.”

She walked out into the hallway. Trace followed, closing the apartment door behind them. She turned, lifted her chin. “So now are you convinced?”

“My job requires that I trust my instincts. I needed to see him, talk to him. It was clear he didn’t know someone had been paid to set the fire. He’s still half in love with you, but he isn’t obsessed, he’s just lonely. He isn’t your stalker. And he didn’t pay someone to destroy your house.”

“That’s what I told you.”

The corner of Trace’s mouth edged up. “I guess you’ve got pretty good instincts yourself.”

Mollified a little, she let him guide her to the elevator. Moments later they crossed the parking garage to the Jeep.

“So now we set our trap?” she asked as he held the door while she climbed inside.

“Yeah. Now we set our trap. And just to be on the safe side, we take a look at your latest photos. See if there’s anything in one of them that might have convinced someone to pay big bucks and risk killing somebody so that no one would see them.”

Standing on the huge front porch in the soft yellow lamplight, Jason banged on the front door of the big white-columned mansion so hard his fist began to ache. Billings, the butler, in his usual black suit and white shirt, pulled open the door.

“Why, Mr. Jason. It’s good to see you. Please, come in.”

Though Jason liked the little man with the dark hair and ready smile, he found his brother-in-law’s pomposity in hiring a butler ridiculous. “I need to see my sister. Will you tell her I’m here?”

It was almost nine o’clock. He’d told himself to wait until morning, but his anger kept building until he just couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I’ll tell her,” the little man said. “Why don’t you wait for her in the blue room?”

“Thank you, Carl.” It was Billings’s first name, though neither Parker nor Emily used it.

The butler led him down the hall to the drawing room and disappeared, leaving Jason to pace the pale blue carpet beneath a pair of crystal chandeliers. The house was overblown and far too fussy for Jason’s taste, with
velvet sofas and gilded chairs, and porcelain figurines on rosewood tables.

The house he’d grown up in had been extravagant, but more subtle and in far better taste. This was done to suit Parker, not his sister. Emily had never had the courage to say no to her husband—which was the reason Jason was there.

Appearing in the open doorway, Emily floated toward him in a pair of loose-fitting black pants and a flowing, pink silk blouse, her short, dark hair gleaming in the lamplight. Even at this hour her makeup was flawless, but underneath, her features looked pale and strained.

He took a calming breath, reminded himself of the stress she was under.

“Jason. It’s wonderful to see you.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

“I know it’s late, sis. This couldn’t wait. We need to talk.”

She flicked a glance at the butler, who hovered in the doorway. “Shall I have Billings bring us some tea?”

Jason clenched his teeth, fighting to rein in his temper. “I’m fine.”

Billings took his cue and closed the tall, wood-paneled doors.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Emily took a seat on the blue velvet sofa while Jason sat down across from her.

“I got a phone call today,” he began. “The police tell me you changed your story about what happened the night Dad was murdered.”

Emily glanced away. “I didn’t exactly change it. I just…clarified things a bit.”

His control slipped a notch. “You lied, you mean. Parker didn’t come home until well after midnight and
you know it. What’s going on with you, Emily? How can you sit back and help a man like Parker get away with murdering our father?”

Emily’s spine stiffened. “Parker didn’t do it. He says someone is trying to frame him. He insists he’s innocent. As his wife, it’s my duty to believe him.”

“Do you also believe he didn’t steal millions of dollars from the company? That he didn’t stash the money in a half-dozen offshore accounts? Your name isn’t on any of those accounts, Em. Parker never meant for you to go with him when he left the country.”

She swallowed, kept her eyes on Jason’s face, though he could see the effort it cost her. “I know he took the money. He was tired of working for a pittance of what he was worth.”

Jason shot out of his chair. “Those are his words you’re spouting, Em, not yours. The man is a thief and a murderer. Dad let him keep his job only because of you! Parker doesn’t care about you, Emily. He never did. He married you for your money. He stole from all of us and he killed our father! How can you be such a fool?”

Emily started crying. “He says he’s innocent.”

Jason walked over and sat down beside her, slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I know you love him. You’ve loved him since the first time you saw him. Parker’s handsome and charming. He pretended to be exactly the man you wanted. But it was all an act, Em, and by now you know it. You deserve a man worth ten times what he is, a man who will love you as much as you love him. A man who would never do anything to hurt you or your family.”

Emily started sobbing, and Jason drew her gently into his arms. “You’ve got to tell the truth, sis. No half-
truths, no more believing what you want to believe instead of what you know in your heart is true.”

“I still love him, Jason. I love him so much.”

“But you loved Dad, too. Remember how he always said no matter how old you got, you’d always be his little girl?”

She trembled. “I remember. I miss him so.”

“Dad deserves justice. You know that, Em. Do what is right for our father. Do what is right for yourself.”

She took a shaky breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the tip of her finger. “I know you’re right. I’ve tried to tell myself the things you’re saying aren’t true, but I know they are. Parker doesn’t love me. He never did.” She shook her head. “I know I have to give him up, but I don’t know how I’m going to get along without him.”

Jason squeezed her hand. “I’ll help you, sis. I promise.” He smiled at her warmly. “I never understood how you could be so blindly in love with Parker, but for the first time in my life, I’m beginning to see. I’ve met someone, sis.”

She looked up at him and a sad smile curved her lips. “You’ve always had girlfriends, Jason. As many as you wanted.”

“Ashley’s different. She’s sweet and she’s smart. She works hard and she has goals.”

“You’re a Sommerset. Maybe her goal is to marry you and have anything she wants. Look what happened to me.”

“I don’t think Ashley gives a damn about my money. As far as marriage goes, I think she’d rather be a chef than a wife.” He grinned. “I’m hoping if I take it nice and slow, I might be able to change that.”

Emily studied his face. “I’ve never seen you this way.”

“I’ve never felt this way. She has a son, sis. The cutest little boy. I want you to meet them.”

Tears filled Emily’s eyes. “Parker said he wanted children, but he never thought the time was right.”

“Tell the truth, Em. Let Parker get what he deserves. If you do, I truly believe you’ll find the kind of happiness
you
deserve.”

The tears in Emily’s eyes slipped onto her cheeks. She nodded. Jason rose and so did his sister, wiping away her tears as she walked him out to the foyer.

“I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning,” he said. “We’ll go see the D.A. together. Changing your story back and forth doesn’t exactly help their case, but at least this will straighten things out.”

“All right.”

“You’re doing the right thing, sis.”

Emily managed a wobbly smile as Jason bent and kissed her cheek. He left the house, a quick check of his watch telling him it was almost time to pick Ashley up after her shift. She was already becoming part of his life, and though he knew he should take things slow, make sure what was happening between them was real, deep down he was certain it was.

Jason smiled as he turned the key, firing the Porche’s powerful engine, and reminded himself to start looking for another car.