Twice Kissed (6 page)

“I don’t think I owe you anything,” she said slowly, folding the cloth, eyeing the pan of cold, burned stew, and ignoring it. She wasn’t hungry, hadn’t been since Thane had walked back into her life.

“This isn’t a matter of payback.”

“Then why?” She walked into the living room and took a seat on the arm of the sofa.

“You know I would never lift a finger to hurt Mary Theresa.”

Her heart squeezed painfully. Oh, how she knew it was true. From the minute Thane had set eyes on her more seductive twin, he’d been smitten. She suspected that Thane had never stopped loving Mary Theresa. He’d only stopped loving Maggie. “Of course.”

“The police don’t know it.”

In an instant, she understood. “You mean, not only do the police suspect foul play in Mary Theresa’s disappearance, but they think you’re involved.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

It was Thane. He did this to me.
Mary Theresa’s cryptic message crept through her brain again, chilling her blood, causing her stomach to cramp.

“I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t have to,” he said, and she knew he meant it.

“I just can’t up and leave,” she began, then heard herself. This was her sister they were talking about. Her twin sister. The person most like her on this earth. And she was in trouble. “There’s Becca to consider and…” She let her thoughts trail off. What if Mary Theresa needed her? The coffeemaker dinged, and she returned to the open kitchen to pour two cups with hands that weren’t quite steady. “I…I don’t know,” she admitted, carrying the mugs of steaming coffee into the living room and handing one out to him. “There’s sugar or milk in the kitchen…”

“I take it black. Thanks.”

She remembered. Not that she wanted to. Not ever. She settled into a corner of the couch, tucked her feet onto the cushions, and blew across her cup. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” she suggested. Maybe if she heard what he had on his mind, she would better understand the situation.

“I don’t know what happened to Mary Theresa or Marquise or whoever you want to call her,” he admitted. “No one seems to. Some people think she was kidnapped; there’s even talk of murder, you know that.”

Maggie nodded mutely.

“Then there are those who think this is some kind of publicity stunt, or that she just left because the pressure was so great, and she needed some peace of mind.” He took a swallow from his cup, studied the dark liquid inside, and frowned. “I’m not sure I believe that one, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because whenever the rat race got too much for her, the ratings were down on her show, her latest lover had taken a hike, or she needed to get away from the high-profile life she was living, she’d show up at my ranch.”

“Your ranch?” Maggie repeated, dumbstruck. She’d thought that Mary Theresa hadn’t seen Thane since their divorce. Never had her sister confided that she’d spent time with her ex-husband.

“Sometimes the ranch in California, other times the one outside of Cheyenne.” Setting his cup on the window ledge, he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Sometimes I was there, but a lot of times I wasn’t.”

“I…I never knew that she even saw you,” Maggie said, realizing for the first time how little she understood about the woman who was her twin. It was almost as if when Mary Theresa had changed her name to Marquise, she’d severed ties with her family.

His eyes were steady. As cold as the Arctic Ocean. “There are lots of things you don’t know about your sister, Maggie. Lots of things you’d rather not know.” He stood and looked out the window to stare into the night. His reflection, distorted in the cold panes, was pale and shimmering with a steady determination. She knew from experience that Thane Walker was as stubborn as he was sexy.

The phone jangled and Maggie jumped, nearly spilling coffee all over her lap. By the second ring she grabbed the receiver and felt her heart thudding a million miles a minute. Maybe Mary Theresa had finally gotten her messages. “Hello?”

“Maggie? It’s Connie.”

Maggie’s soaring spirits crashed. She recognized her sister-in-law’s voice and steeled herself for more bad news.

“Hi.”

“I know you’re wondering why I’m calling so late, so I’ll get right to the point. I heard that Marquise is missing. I have a friend who lives in Denver who knows we’re related. Well, sort of. Anyway, I…I know this is awkward, but I wanted to call and see if you and Becca are all right.”

As if you cared.
“We’re fine,” Maggie lied.

“Well, good. Good. I, um, wanted to offer to help out. Oh, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, and still do. But Becca is still my niece, damn it, and I care what happens to her.”

Or what happens to her share of her inheritance.

“Thank you,” Maggie said without much warmth.

“Have you heard from Marquise?”

“No. She hasn’t called.”

“Oh. I…I don’t know what to say. But, believe me, if I can be of any help, just let me know.”

“I will,” Maggie lied as she hung up.

Becca, in her room, waited until she heard the click, then replaced her receiver. Through the thin walls of the cabin, she’d heard most of the conversation between her mother and Thane Walker, Marquise’s first husband. When the phone had rung, she’d picked up, but before she’d been able to answer, her mother had started talking.

From what she could gather, Marquise was missing, no one knew why, but Thane wanted her mother to go to Denver with him. Her mom was worried about her sister. Becca smiled to herself in the darkness. She wasn’t worried about Marquise. Marquise was too smart and pretty, too much of a celebrity to be in any kind of real trouble.

Becca watched the blue bubbles gently rising in the base of her lava lamp. She liked the fact that Thane was trying to talk her mother into going to Denver. In fact, that was perfect. If Becca worked things right, she’d be able to con her mom into letting her visit her cousin in L.A. Hadn’t Aunt Connie offered any kind of help?

For the first time in a long while, Becca felt a ray of hope. Maybe there was a chance that she could get out of this loser, hole-in-the-wall town that her mother thought was heaven. In Becca’s opinion, Settler’s Ridge, Idaho, was the pits.

“Just think on it,” Thane suggested as he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. He watched as a gamut of emotions crossed Maggie’s face, and, along with a sense of satisfaction in knowing she was going to agree, he felt a second’s hesitation, a tiny grain of guilt that pricked at his conscience.

“I’m not sure.” She glanced at the phone again, as if willing Marquise to call. It wasn’t going to happen.

“I’ll be back in the morning.” He reached for the door and saw the hesitation in her eyes. She didn’t know whether to invite him to stay or not. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to spend the night here. “You can let me know then.” As he walked through the door a blast of wind cut through him like a razor. He eyed the sky as snow continued to fall and hoped that they weren’t in for a blizzard.

Inside the truck, he flicked on the engine, lights, and wipers, then switched the radio to a local news station. Above the static came a brief report that started with a local shooting. As he threw his rig into reverse, the beams from its headlights flashed against the house and he saw Maggie at the window, arms folded under her breasts, eyebrows drawn together pensively, mouth compressed. A beautiful woman. More beautiful than her more high-profile sister, though she didn’t know it. Probably the reason she held so much more appeal.

Fool,
his mind taunted, and he saw the reflection of his eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue-gray, hard, and glinting with a twinge of lust. He’d always been an idiot where the Reilly girls were concerned, probably always would be. Calling himself a dozen kinds of moron, he cranked the wheel and drove down the lane until he found a wide spot in the road, where he pulled off and cut the engine.

Reaching behind him to the compartment that held his essentials, he dragged out a down sleeping bag, draped it around himself, then opened the glove box and retrieved a pocket flask. Unscrewing the cap, he smiled grimly to himself. “Here’s to you, Walker, you miserable son of a bitch.” He took a long tug, felt the rye whiskey splash against the back of his throat, then burn a welcome path to his gut. Not satisfied, he lifted the flask again to his lips, swallowed long and hard, then screwed on the cap and settled in for what promised to be a long, cold, and probably fruitless vigil. But he had to wait; he couldn’t take a chance that he’d been played for a fool again.

Maggie, help me, please! Remember how Thane used you, how he used me. Whatever you do, don’t trust Thane Walker!

Maggie’s eyes flew open. Her heart pounded and sweat poured off her. Mary Theresa’s voice was as clear as if she’d been in the room. But she wasn’t. Maggie was alone in her bed, in the cabin near Settler’s Ridge. She swallowed back the fear that dried her mouth and pounded through her brain as the digital clock blinked a bright red three-seventeen. The dream had been so real, she wasn’t convinced it hadn’t happened. The three of them, Mary Theresa, Thane, and Maggie, had been standing at the edge of a ravine, the precipice high over a black abyss that seemed to have no bottom. Mary Theresa, laughing and flirting, had stepped backward.

“Don’t!” Maggie had cried.

“Here, grab my hand!” Thane had ordered, as Mary Theresa’s bright expression had fallen away and sheer terror had contorted her face. The earth beneath her feet had crumbled. She’d scrambled, her skin blanching, her eyes wide with panic.

“Thane!” she’d cried, and he lunged forward as if to catch her.

Maggie had screamed as his expression had turned to hatred and the hand he’d offered her sister had been used to push her farther over the edge.

“No!” Maggie had yelled, but it had been far too late.

Marquise began falling, her arms and legs frantically flailing as she became ever fainter, and the yawning black hole swallowed her completely. Thane, his features once again calm, had turned and faced her as if she was his next victim. That’s when she’d heard Mary Theresa’s voice again.

Now, the nightmare still palpable, Maggie sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her insides were shaking, her pulse thudding deep in her brain.

“Mom?”

She gasped, only to see Becca, a pale figure in the doorway. “Good Lord, you scared me,” she admitted, clicking on the bedside lamp.

“You
scared me.” Becca, still wearing the jeans and sweatshirt she’d had on when she’d been thrown by Jasper, was leaning on the doorframe, her injured foot cocked, her other leg bearing all her weight. She blinked against the sudden wash of light, and her hair was a tangled mess, evidence that she’d been sleeping.

“Sorry. I had a bad dream. A nightmare.”

“About Marquise,” Becca guessed.

“Yes.” Giving herself a quick mental shake, she stood and walked to the doorway. “I’m sorry, honey. I guess I’m just worried.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s get you back to bed, and I’ll get some more ice and—”

“I’m okay, Mom, really.” Becca yawned. “You just weirded me out. You’ve been acting so strange lately. Today in the barn when you were on your knees, and now with the screaming.” Becca’s teeth sunk into her lower lip. “It’s kinda creepy.”

“Oh, honey.” Without thinking, Maggie wrapped her arms around her daughter, and for once Becca didn’t squirm away. “The last thing I want is to be creepy.”

Becca managed a nervous giggle as she slid out of her mother’s embrace. “I know you’re worried about Marquise, and I heard you and Thane talking about you helping him.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. “I wasn’t really eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” Becca added hastily, her gaze sliding away from her mother’s. “So why don’t you go find out what happened to her?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. The neighbors will take care of the horses, your book isn’t due for another couple of months, I could miss a few days of school and stay with my friends or Aunt Connie and Uncle Jim in L.A….”

“So that’s what this is all about,” Maggie said, wondering how conniving her daughter was becoming. As the years rolled by it seemed that Becca was developing her own sense of how to manipulate people.
Just like Mary Theresa.

“But you could help find Marquise.”

“I could?”

“You write mystery novels, Mom. True crime. You talk to policemen all the time, and you worked for a private investigator, didn’t you?”

“That was a long time ago.”

Becca lifted a shoulder. “Isn’t it kind of like riding a bicycle?”

“Not quite,” Maggie said, chuckling a little as the effects of her nightmare faded away. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Becca offered a shy smile. “How about that hot cocoa now?”

Maggie wasn’t so groggy that she didn’t realize she was being conned, but she couldn’t help herself. If this was Becca’s self-centered and manipulating way of bonding, so be it. “Okay, okay, but then back to bed, and don’t try and talk me into this trip to Denver, okay? I’ll decide on my own.”