His pulse jerked to startled attention. He had an irresistible urge to smile back. He quickly sent his gaze on a desperate search for Janet. He’d almost made them official tonight, before his grandfather’s text derailed his plans.
Chapter 2
Phoebe couldn’t drag her fascinated gaze from the charming Morgan Harrington who paced beneath the fluorescent lights behind his grandfather’s chair. He didn’t utter a word to either Aunt Helen or her as Tucker wrote out his statement.
Why should he? They had broken into his house. Tucker must have heard them moving about and called his grandson. Either the old man lied about sleeping with his hearing aid off or he hadn’t gone to bed at all. Lucky for him, his grandson had been out with his girlfriend. Unluckily for Phoebe and her aunt, Morgan’s girlfriend turned out to be a police detective.
Janet returned from fetching some forms. On passing Morgan, she wrapped her arm around his waist and gave him a hug. That Public Display of Affection looked possessive.
Aunt Helen snorted. So, her aunt didn’t like Morgan’s girlfriend. Interesting. Could interrupting this date have been the real reason behind tonight’s cat rescue? She couldn’t recall Aunt Helen mentioning that Morgan was seeing someone.
That PDA had serious connotations.
She scanned his tall frame, her gaze resting on his dark hair and long thick lashes over wide-spaced eyes. Despite his current stoic expression, the wrinkles by his mouth hinted at a life where laughter was a friend.
When she caught his eye, she offered a contrite smile.
His frown deepened in reaction.
“If we’d known you were on a hot date, we would have chosen another night,” she said, in jest.
He glanced away, blatantly ignoring her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, unable to help herself. She had a terrible urge to get a rise out of him. “Cat got your tongue?”
His grandfather didn’t look her way either but he chuckled.
Janet scraped the metal chair across from Phoebe. Once she took her statement, the detective’s sour look suggested she wasn’t buying Phoebe’s missing cat story.
Phoebe sighed. Spoken aloud, her excuse did sound outlandish. Had the cat even been at the house?
Once she was printed and processed, she was taken to her holding cell. Aunt Helen came in shortly after and sat beside her on a bench padded with a stained mattress and stared at the other prisoners sharing their space. Five women were crammed in here with them, all in various stages of undress. HBPD must have done a brothel bust.
She glanced at Aunt Helen to see how she took in the raunchy company. Her face was difficult to read, even with the black grease cleaned off. Her great-aunt hadn’t said a word since they’d been caught. Unusual for this normally feisty lady.
Did the police intend to keep both of them here all night? Phoebe had told the detective the cat-napping scheme was all her idea and she’d dragged her aunt along. Who knew what Aunt Helen had said? If she were anything like her niece, she, too, would have taken all the blame.
Phoebe leaned on her knees and studied her feet. Unlike her silent aunt, Phoebe’s boots were clamoring for her attention.
Hidden in a compartment built into the heel of the right boot was a note written in Tamil, a Sri Lankan dialect. Leaving an assignment unfinished was unprofessional, but this secret in her footwear bordered on the criminal. Yet, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell her boss or her partner about her find. Not yet, anyway.
A few days ago, a tip had sent her and her partner, Matt, to the city of Kandy in the central highlands of Sri Lanka to find indications of a Tamil operative conspiring with a western financial backer. A routine mission, like others she’d done in various troubled countries in the past couple of years.
Their informant had given them clear directions to this house. He insisted that somewhere inside was incriminating evidence about a terror network that was once again stirring trouble in this beleaguered country.
Phoebe and Matt had waited until the family who lived there drove away. Then Matt lured the watch dog with meat doctored with a sleeping tablet and locked the large white snoring mutt in the shed. While Matt kept watch outside, Phoebe stole in to find the evidence they sought.
She’d searched every room and finally reached the loft above the kitchen. It was packed with bags of grain and boxes of food supplies. The sound of a car driving up to the house had her crouching in alarm. Surely the family couldn’t be back? Their informant had said the members of this household would be away for several hours. She checked her cell phone. She’d been in here for less than twenty minutes.
Two children ran into the kitchen below through the back door. Their parents followed and Phoebe lay still, trapped in the loft space. She couldn’t leave here without being seen.
She would have to wait them out. Sooner or later they would go to bed and then she could get away. Meanwhile, since she was stuck here, she quietly continued searching. Easing her hands between bags and into boxes, Phoebe absently listened to the chatter below. The large kitchen seemed to be their favorite place to hang out.
Phoebe had studied the Tamil language for this assignment and picked up most of what this family said. Made sense that they spoke this tongue, since the criminals they sought were Tamils. Though this family didn’t strike her as terrorists.
Once they had eaten their meal, the mother settled the children down to read them a bedtime story. It was apparently an ancient tale from Sri Lanka’s past involving rampaging tigers and rogue elephants. The children’s story was easier to follow than their earlier quick chatter.
The little boy sitting on his mother's lap, hugged a ragged stuffed toy and listened with wide-eyed attention. The older girl, who must have been all of six, occasionally screamed as she play-acted scenes with her father. He was doing a credible job of sounding out the animal roles.
Their antics reminded Phoebe of her childhood growing up with three brothers in HB. As the night wore on, long-ignored longings for familial love and companionship crowded the loft space where Phoebe hid.
Just as the mother reached the end of her tale, Phoebe’s hand brushed a piece of paper between two large sacks of rice. Her pulse jerked in triumph, quickly followed by horror that this family may now be in danger. Her stunned glance flew over the open ledge to the drama being played out below. Could these people be the rebels she and Matt sought? It seemed implausible. Surely the father was too good humored?
Slowly, she pulled out the paper and squinted at the note in the dim light. Maybe this was just a lost grocery list? It was written in Tamil.
While Phoebe was good with spoken Tamil, the written words were more of a challenge. She knew enough to tell this wasn’t a grocery list. It was too neatly scripted.
A scream shot her nerves into high alert. Was the girl still play acting? She leaned over the edge to check.
The child was by the window, pointing outside. Phoebe caught sight of Matt running for cover and barking in the distance. The dog must have woken up.
Hefting an iron poker from beside the stove, the father hurried out to check on the intruder. The mother and her children huddled together. Minutes ticked by, and the father didn’t return.
Phoebe wasn’t worried. Matt was an experienced agent; he’d know how to lose a local. Now, if the father had been an actual killer, that might have proven trickier. The fact he grabbed for a poker instead of a gun before going out ruled out that possibility in Phoebe’s mind. She and Matt must have either entered the wrong house or their intel had been mistaken.
Once this night was over, they would laugh about this evening. How the dog had chased Matt. It would be a funny story he’d one day tell his daughter, once she was old enough and he was no longer an agent. If the number of times Matt mentioned how much he missed seeing his baby girl grow up was any indication, he wouldn’t be an agent for long.
Soon, the children below began asking questions.
Who’s outside,
Amma?
What do they want?
What should we do?
She lost track of some of the words of their dialect, but she couldn’t mistake the fear in their voices. Her compassion for this family blossomed like a lotus opening in the dead of night. Along with those softer emotions surged a fiercely protective instinct to safeguard this Tamil family.
She wanted to race down the ladder and hug them all and tell them not to worry, that she wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them. Only, she couldn’t do that. She shriveled inside at the idea of shoving this family into trouble because of what she had uncovered in their loft.
If this note proved to be damaging, it could potentially bring the entire Sri Lankan and Indian governments down on this family like a hail of coconuts. Phoebe shook her head in denial of that dire outcome. This family couldn’t possibly be the villains of their own story. They were innocent. Weren’t they?
If she hadn’t found the paper, she would have been certain of it. The sheet burned between her fingertips, calling her a fool for believing in fairy tales. Without conscious thought, Phoebe secreted the note into the heel of her boot.
Once the father returned empty-handed, the tension level dropped and the family laughed off the incident. Soon they retired for the night. Phoebe waited until she heard the father’s snores. Only then did she climb down from the loft and, with another piece of doctored meat in her fist, she left that home as silently as she had entered it.
As she and Matt stole away from that Sri Lankan neighborhood, a simple plan wove into place in her mind. She would decipher the note before telling anyone about it. If it proved incriminating, she’d hand it over to Matt so the information could get passed onto Conroy, their boss. Until then, she wanted to ensure no one paid any further attention to that Tamil family.
More alarming than choosing to keep quiet about the note she'd found, was the way she changed thereafter. Her perception felt different. The way she made decisions altered. Worst of all, she was no longer certain that what she had been blissfully doing these past few years was what she wanted to continue to do. Not if it meant that what she did, instead of helping, might end up hurting innocent people.
It explained why she’d so easily succumbed to her great-aunt’s cry for help. She had needed time to think and plan out her future. Before she could make any long-term decisions, however, she had to first deal with her unfinished business. The note was metaphorically drilling a hole through her soul.
Phoebe now glanced at the bars that prevented her from returning to her assignment. What a time to get stuck in jail.
She was entitled to a phone call. Yet, she wasn’t ready to contact Matt or Conroy. So, who could she call?
She cringed at the thought of her mother finding out she was back in town, and in jail, with her great-aunt. This must be what it felt like to be stuck between a rock and hard place.
“Know any good lawyers?” she asked her aunt.
“Best one in town,” Aunt Helen said, finally finding her voice. “Handles all the family business.”
“Did you call him?”
“Didn’t have to.” Her aunt lay back against the concrete wall. “He’s Tucker’s grandson and he’ll get us out when he’s good and ready.”
FOR WHAT WAS LEFT OF the night, Morgan slept little and agonized more than Helen probably did about leaving her in jail. Worse, he couldn’t shake the intense sense of excitement he had experienced at discovering Phoebe Clay was back in Harrington Bay. He tossed and turned all night dreaming about her.
By morning, his mind’s illogical obsession with the Clay’s only daughter left him with dark circles and an irritable temper. He wore shades to the police station and snapped at a guard too slow in handing over the Clays’ release papers.
Janet pulled him aside for a talk. “What’re you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“As if you plan to let those two criminals walk free.”
He never understood her dislike of the Clays. Did she seriously expect him to not help Helen? It was bad enough she’d talked him into leaving the elderly lady here last night, ostensibly to teach her a valuable lesson.
The only one who’d learned anything was him. He now repeated his conclusion after his restless night. “The Clays are my friends. Of course, I’m going to bail Helen and her great-niece out. I’m Helen’s lawyer.”
“How does your grandfather feel about this?”
He shrugged. “He didn’t object when I told him at breakfast.” Tucker had laughed and, unlike with Morgan, there hadn’t been one dark circle under the old man’s gleeful eyes.
She gave an impatient sigh. “I don’t understand him.”
“Get in line.”
She moved closer. “Morgan, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t think you need these in here.” She plucked off his sunglasses, tucked them into his breast pocket and straightened his tie. He watched her endearing actions and wondered why his annoyance was rising instead of falling.
In some inexplicable way, the world seemed different this morning. He disliked it. Ever since his parents' deaths, Morgan had been arranging his life to ensure he and those he loved remained safe and secure and undisturbed. Nothing felt safe about or around Phoebe. He was also thoroughly disturbed.
Wanting to recapture his normal life that seemed to be slipping out of his grasp, he drew Janet closer and kissed her, desperate to recover what he’d lost after the elusive Phoebe Clay returned to Harrington Bay. From her brothers’ talks, he’d often wondered if she was a myth.
The kiss did nothing to settle his churning thoughts. Disappointed at still feeling agitated, he ended the embrace.
Janet chuckled, possessively wrapping her arms around his neck. “Guess someone missed me last night, huh?”
She hadn’t noticed the lack of spark in their kiss? A nerve twitched above his left eye. He unwound her arms. “I’d better get them out of there.”
“Do them good to stay longer. Those Clays think they own this town when it was your family that founded it.”
Morgan rubbed his throbbing forehead. “They’re not like that, especially Helen. She’s a sweetheart. I should never have left her here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Thinking straight for a change,” Janet muttered.
He ignored her quip and returned to the guard desk to ask that Helen be brought out alone first.
The moment Helen came out, she gave him a hug. It was tight, cushy and went on non-stop. Helen gave the best hugs.
Relief washed over him at the old lady looking none the worse for her night in jail. If anything, she seemed more alive, her eyes sparkling with interest and her movements quick and energetic. Could his grandfather have been right that Helen was enjoying herself?
“Are you all right?” he asked, still concerned.
“’Course, Morgan.” Helen gave the detective beside him a cool glance. “Hello, Janet.” She turned back to Morgan. “Those women in with us have a right to practice their profession without harassment from the law. You should talk to them, Morgan. Also, why pick on the women instead of the johns? They are the people whom HBPD should have arrested. It’s plain discrimination.”
Beside him, Janet stiffened, so he put a restraining arm around her shoulders, afraid she might insult Helen with a caustic rebuttal. “I’ll think about it,” he said to Helen in a gentle tone. “I’m going to check on your niece. I’ll be right back. Janet will see to your comfort.”
He gave Janet a warning squeeze to indicate he wanted Helen pampered after her harrowing experience.
All the prisoners were awake. Breakfast trays lined the floor outside the bars, the food only half eaten. The prostitutes that Helen mentioned were gathered against the opposite wall from where Phoebe sat. If he didn’t know better, he’d have said those street-hardened women were afraid of her.
One of the women whistled at his approach and a couple moved toward the
front bars. They reached out slender arms with brightly painted nails and offered lewd suggestions.
Phoebe remained seated on the cell’s only bench, arms on her thighs, staring at her boots. The uniformed guard accompanying him rapped on the bars. She ignored the signal. The guard shrugged, mouthed “good luck” to Morgan, and left.
“I’d like to speak with you, Ms. Clay,” Morgan said.
She glanced across at him. Her glasses had slid halfway down her nose.
His fingers twitched, wanting to push them up.
“You arranged for Aunt Helen’s release?” she asked.
He nodded.
She studied him with her penetrating gaze for an uncomfortable three heartbeats. Then she lost interest and went back to contemplating her boots
He wanted to shake her. She’d just spent a night in jail. He didn’t say he’d bailed her out along with Helen. So, why didn’t she react? Wasn’t she the least bit like the other Clays? They were both vocal and physical with their affection or frustration. Phoebe didn’t seem to feel anything. For some unfathomable reason, that irritated him.
“I haven’t told your mother you’re here,” he said. “Does she know you’re back in town?”
A blush stole up her cheeks. A hit. Excellent. “If she doesn’t know, why don’t you leave before she finds out?” he asked.
“How do you propose I do that?” she replied.
Good point. He could bail her out but she would need to appear in court for the Break and Enter charge, perhaps be sentenced to time in jail or assigned community service. He had hoped to talk his grandfather into dropping the charges now that he was aware it was Helen and her niece who had broken in. Tucker had refused last night but Morgan had hoped to change his mind by morning. That hadn’t panned out.
Still, his grandfather had a soft spot for Helen. He might relent. If Phoebe refused to apologize or at least appear contrite, that could prove tricky.
“How do you think your father will feel when he learns you’re responsible for his aunt’s arrest?” he asked, hoping to get through to this most difficult Clay. “Haven’t you hurt your mother enough?”
Missing You Page 2