Missed

by Tess Thompson

  Her breath caught. “Oh.”

  “You want me to wreck this car and kill us both?” His voice had lowered to a deep growl.

  “No.”

  “Then move a few inches to the right, because all I can think about is pulling this car over and showing you how much I don’t want to be your friend.”

  She grinned and tossed her hair. “That could get us arrested.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  She laughed and sat back in her seat just as her cell phone buzzed from her purse. “It’s my mother.” Talk about a libido killer. Great timing, as usual. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Lisa, have you heard from David?”

  “Not since yesterday. I’ve been trying to reach him. Is he okay?”

  “No, he’s not okay. He’s being questioned by the DEA at this very moment.”

  “Mom, speak a little slower. I’m having trouble following you. Did you just say they were questioning David?”

  “There’s a warrant out for her arrest. For Marigold. They say she’s a drug dealer. Not small-time, either. Like she’s in with some bad people. And she’s disappeared. No trace of her for two days.” Incomplete sentences? Her mother was rattled.

  “What do they want with David?”

  “They’re trying to figure out if he had something to do with all this.”

  Lisa had an image of Marigold last Christmas. Her sister-in-law had worn a red cashmere coat and black designer boots when they’d attended church services on Christmas Eve. Marigold was an only child of wealthy parents. She’d been spoiled all her life. When she married David, she never understood that she couldn’t just go out and buy whatever she wanted. When Lisa saw the cut and make of the coat and boots, she had worried about Marigold’s spending. Were money problems the cause of the dark circles under David’s eyes? Lisa asked him when they sneaked away for a cocktail and a chat. “Where’s she getting the money for those clothes?”

  He’d said she’d gotten a part-time job at a department store. “For the discount and a little break from the boys.”

  Lisa had bought it. David must have, too, because he wouldn’t lie to his twin. There were no secrets between them. He’d gone on to tell her there were major problems in their marriage. Marigold resented his career. In her opinion, architects made paltry money compared to the number of hours they spent at work. She wanted him to sell real estate instead. Reserved David in a sales role? Ludicrous. Lisa had itched to say something to Marigold—to give her a stern talking-to about loving her brother for who he was, not how much money he made. Furthermore, did she really need a thousand-dollar coat? But she hadn’t. Lisa knew better than to ruin the visit with an honest conversation. Anyway, it would only have hurt David to see them fight.

  “They’ve been watching her for months.” Mom’s high-pitched, panicked voice pulled her from her thoughts. “A rock-solid case against her, Lisa. That’s what they told your father and me when they came here to interview us.”

  “The DEA came to your house?”

  “Yes, and they were scary. Dressed in dark suits, and they never once cracked a smile. I was terrified. They thought we might know where she’d run off to. I told them in no uncertain terms that we know nothing about this and neither did our son.”

  “Did they believe you?”

  “I don’t know. They left. That’s all we know.” Her mother’s voice was one note off from screeching at this point. “They suggested she was either dead or had fled the country.”

  Oh, God. David. The babies.

  “Where are the kids?” Lisa asked.

  “With us. Not those awful people.”

  “Who?”

  “Her parents. They had the audacity to say this was all David’s fault. If he’d been a better provider she wouldn’t have gotten fed up and left him. They think this is a marital spat. I could wring both their necks.” The sound of her mother’s gasp came through the line. “I have to go. David’s here. We’ll call you back.”

  Before she could answer, her mother was gone.

  She set the phone on the console between her and Rafael. If she called back, Lisa didn’t want to miss it.

  Rafael had probably heard the entire conversation. Her mother’s voice carried. On a day like this, she almost didn’t need a phone at all. Lisa would be able to hear her all the way from Iowa.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Lisa said.

  “I used to be a cop. I’ve heard a lot of things.”

  They’d reached San Francisco by then and headed south on the freeway toward the airport.

  “Do you think she could be dead?” Lisa asked. “My sister-in-law.”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how badly someone wants her quiet.”

  7

  Rafael

  * * *

  Rafael had never flown first class in his life. He knew he shouldn’t get used to it, but man, it was fantastic. The seats were wide and there was plenty of room, even for his long legs.

  The minute they’d settled in, the flight attendant introduced herself as Marie and asked what they wanted to drink.

  Lisa ordered a glass of champagne. Bubbly and pretty like her.

  “What would you like, sir?”

  His first instinct was to order an IPA. This is your job, idiot. Not a date.

  “Um, I don’t know. Maybe a soda water?” he said.

  “He’ll have an IPA,” Lisa said, like she’d read his mind.

  He didn’t protest. There would be no more driving today. He’d left the Mullens’ SUV at the airport. A driver would be waiting to take them to the hotel when they landed in LA. And truthfully, a cold beer sounded like heaven. Maybe it would relax him and encourage his mind to think of something other than what Lisa looked like under that pink sundress.

  Lisa had been quiet and pale since her mother’s phone call. Now her hands fluttered in her lap as her gaze darted about the first-class cabin. She stood and looked down the aisle before sitting back in her seat. Enclosed areas would make her nervous for a while now. They were places from which there was no escape. If someone decided to fire away or plant a bomb, there would be nowhere to run.

  Passengers seated in coach were piling in one after the other. With each one, Lisa fixated on his or her face for a split second. She was trying to determine if they were evil. There was no way of telling. An image of the woman and child who had blown themselves up flashed before his eyes. Don’t go there. Not today. Lisa needed him.

  “The security in the airport was tight today.” He leaned closer and spoke softly into her ear. “No one’s getting in here with a gun.”

  She wrapped slender fingers around his wrist. “Are you sure?”

  How could he be sure? He couldn’t, so he lied. “I’m positive.”

  She blinked. Those eyes. He might fall in and never escape, like a man sinking into a deep, glorious pool of warmth. They were the same color as the topaz ring on her finger and shone like there was a strobe light at the back of her eye sockets. No gemstone could shine as brightly.

  She loosened the death grip on his arm and tilted her chin into her neck. Thick eyelashes fanned over her high cheekbones. She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, like she was counting to ten.

  “Tight places are going to make you feel edgy. It’s normal to feel that way.”

  She looked back into his eyes. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Know what I’m thinking.”

  “Been there, I guess.”

  She brushed her fingers over his hand. “Thank you.”

  He filled with a longing he couldn’t quite name—a physical ache that made him want to scoop her into his arms and hold her until every fear disappeared from her clever mind. “No problem,” he said, gruffer than he meant. She smelled like flowery shampoo, and her pink mouth was like a perfectly shaped peach.

  She should laugh every day the way they had in the car over her endearing photograp
h. His job should be to make her laugh, to lighten her heart. Dude, stop. What was he doing? Dreaming about being the man who made the angel next to him laugh? Good luck with that, buddy. Way out of your league.

  He’d learned a few things about Lisa Perry in their short time together. She was sensitive and kindhearted with a great empathy for other people, evidenced by her compassionate response to using the shooting to her advantage.

  She’d worked hard to get where she was with no support from her family. Although she hadn’t come right out and said it, his gut told him the mother was part of the reason Lisa was so apologetic for her existence. The brother sounded all right, but he obviously had problems of his own.

  She was classy. Way too classy for him. It wasn’t her physical beauty but what was underneath that put her in a different category from many of the women he’d known. He’d been with a few who were pretty on the outside but had terrible manners and potty mouths. Girls he couldn’t and wouldn’t bring home to his mother. But Lisa? His mother would fall in love with her instantly. Just as he had.

  Marie returned, forcing him to focus on the here and now instead of daydreaming about bringing Lisa home to Mama. Using a pair of tongs, Marie handed them each a warm washcloth.

  Lisa settled back in her seat and wiped her hands. He mimicked her. If he hadn’t seen her do it, he might have used it to wipe down his tray. A fish out of water up here in first class.

  Their drinks arrived. Champagne and beer. Just like us. One pale and refined, the other dark and bitter.

  Lisa raised her glass. “To you. My hero.”

  He smiled as he clinked her glass with his bottle. “To you, Stardust.”

  She tapped her mouth with a finger and watched him. “Is that my nickname now?”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “Are you trying to bother me?” She lifted her pointed chin toward him, exposing even more of her swanlike neck.

  What would her skin feel like in that spot just under her ear? Would it be as soft as it looked? “By bother, do you mean tease?”

  She twisted a lock of her hair around one finger and fluttered her eyelashes like a silent film star. “Or are you flirting with me?”

  “Whatever I’m doing—does it distract you from worrying?” he asked.

  She sobered. “Yes. More than you can imagine.”

  “Good. Then I’ll sleep well tonight.”

  She peered into her champagne glass, then took a sip. “I’ve never cared for flying.”

  “You can hold my hand,” he said.

  “I might take you up on that.”

  Please do.

  The plane was full now and the crew hustled about, performing last-minute flight preparations. When they began the slow crawl to the runway, Lisa paled and slipped her hand into his. The smallness of her hand in his big rough one softened his heart. He’d never met anyone more willing to be vulnerable.

  They sped down the runway and lifted into the air. When they were stable, Lisa withdrew her hand from his and finished her drink. Marie appeared with a bottle of champagne and filled her glass.

  He declined the offer of another beer. Instead, he watched the angel next to him take dainty sips from her glass.

  “I should slow down, or I’ll be drunk and start talking your ear off again,” she said.

  “You talk all you want. I’ll keep listening.”

  She smiled at him as Marie set turkey sandwiches on their trays. Hungry, he took a large bite out of his. Lisa, however, took hers apart and nibbled on the turkey meat.

  He suspected she was thinking about her brother and his troubles.

  She confirmed this a moment later when she lifted her glass. “My sister-in-law has champagne taste on a beer budget. David’s an architect. Did I tell you that already?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Architects don’t make as much money as people might think. Especially when they’re just getting started. He works for a firm in town where the partners take most of the profit. I told him I thought he should go out on his own, but he insists it’s too risky. He has a family to take care of. That’s what he told me.” She cut a piece of turkey into smaller pieces as she talked. “Marigold buys things I know they can’t afford. I thought they were massively in debt, but if she’s been dealing drugs, then it all makes more sense.”

  “You think David’s been in the dark?” He watched her carefully, his cop instincts on alert. Would she defend him even if she believed he were involved?

  She looked him in the eye and shook her head. “He’s the straightest guy ever. In high school he was a star athlete and still managed to make great grades. There was nothing he couldn’t do. My mom called him her ‘golden boy.’” Lisa’s voice hitched slightly at the mention of her brother’s nickname. She took another sip of her champagne.

  David was the golden boy. What role did that leave for Lisa?

  “Marigold decided she wanted him in high school, and she’s never let go.” She pushed away her food. “Until now.” Lisa looked over at him. “How will he raise those two little babies all alone?”

  “He’ll find a way,” Rafael said. “That’s what people do.”

  “If she goes to jail, he could lose everything—reputation, job.” Her eyes widened. “Could he lose the kids?”

  “Not if he didn’t know and he cooperates. Sounds to me like they have a solid case against her, which means they know he wasn’t involved.”

  “How could he not know?”

  “You might be surprised by the things spouses don’t know.” Rafael had seen a lot of dysfunction during his time on the force: men with two families, gambling addictions, a suburban father of four running a prostitution business out of his basement. “I saw some crazy stuff when I was a cop. A lot of times there were hints of the truth, but people didn’t want to see them.”

  Her nose scrunched. “If I were married, my husband would never get away with anything.” She pointed to her nose as she lifted her glass. “For one thing, I have an exceptionally accurate nose. A hint of perfume on a collar, and boom, busted.” She drank more champagne. “I made a lot of money on these last two jobs. If I have to, I’ll use it all for lawyers.”

  “For Marigold?”

  “No, for my brother. She can rot in jail for all I care. I mean, who does this when you have babies?” She glanced past him. “If I had sweet Laine and Ollie, I’d do anything to make sure I was around to raise them. No designer coat is worth it.”

  “Designer coat?”

  “Last Christmas she showed up at church in this coat I knew cost thousands of dollars. I know because back in New York I worked retail in the hoity-toity department—the Hoits—that’s what we call the women who shop there. I couldn’t afford the clothes, but I know what they look like.” She picked up the cocktail napkin from her tray and rolled it into a tube. “When I went home last Christmas, I’d already been paid for the miniseries. For the first time, I didn’t wake up every morning with that pit in my stomach, knowing that bills were due and I didn’t have the money for them. I offered all of it to my brother, even though I felt certain I’d never get another acting job.”

  “He didn’t take it.”

  “No, he said they were fine. And I believed him.”

  “Because you wanted to. Anyone would.”

  A man passed by their seats on the way to the bathroom. Marie came by to gather the remnants of their dinners.

  “Have you ever wished you could go back in time and make a different choice?” Lisa asked.

  “Sure.” More than a few times.

  “Me, too.” Her eyes filled, and she fixed her gaze on her tray table. A teardrop hovered in her bottom lashes as she moved a cocktail napkin in a circular motion. “A man had to carry me out of there. I’m ashamed of that.”

  “You were trying to help the woman next to you.”

  She lifted her head to look at him. “How did you know that?”

  “Kara told me.”

  “Oh, well
, that’s true.” She shuddered and her narrow shoulders heaved forward. “How stupid could I be? The poor woman had her chest blown apart.” Her voice cracked. She closed her eyes. “I can’t get that image out of my mind.”

  “Some things you’ll never be able to erase from your mind.” No, don’t do it. Don’t touch her. Too late. He swiped her cheek with his thumb and caught the tears that traveled the length of her heart-shaped face. Her skin was silk.

  He dropped his hand back into his lap.

  She stared at the back of the seat in front of her. “Her name was Cheryl. It was her fiftieth birthday. Her husband couldn’t go because he got called into work. She offered me some of her popcorn. I was the last person she ever talked to. We ran together. Until he got her.”

  He tapped her forearm like a pianist playing the first tender notes of a ballad. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve wondered the last few days if I’m still here. Can you see me? Is this real? Or did I die out there?”

  He placed two fingers on her slender neck. Her pulse beat strong and steady. “You’re still here.”

  She pressed against his hand for a brief second before letting it go. “Why me? Why did I live and not Cheryl?”

  “I don’t know.” Her name was now tattooed across his palm. If a palm reader were to analyze the lines, he was certain they would all lead back to her.

  “Am I supposed to feel like I was spared for a reason?” she asked. “Because I can’t imagine why that would be when there were people with little children who died.”

  The back of his throat felt as though a golf ball had suddenly lodged there. He took her hand and brought it into his lap, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. “I’ve wondered the same thing too many times.”

  “In the war?”

  “Yeah. I watched good men fall. Men who had families waiting for them at home.” He swallowed against the golf ball. “Never made sense. Some things don’t.”

  “And we have to simply accept it?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “We have to live, too. We owe it to the people who died to make the most of our lives.”