THE MISSING (L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Book 4)

by Linda Style

  Taking it extra slow, she slid the curtain aside. A man’s face appeared on the other side of the glass. She lurched back, stumbling over her feet before realizing it was only Luke.

  Oh, God, it was only Luke.

  The door burst open. “What are you doing?”

  She tried to breathe, but could only draw a few jagged breaths. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or mad as hell. In short spurts, she said, “You…scared…the crap out of me.” Okay. Angry it was.

  His expression went blank. “I didn’t know you were here. You should’ve turned on some lights.”

  She closed her eyes in an effort to calm herself. “I couldn’t sleep. I was going to have a glass of wine, hoping it would help.”

  He held up a glass of milk. “Great minds think alike.”

  “What were you doing outside?”

  “Looking at the stars.” He grinned. “Wondering how in the world things got so screwed up with my dad.”

  Yes, she wondered too, only she didn’t mean with Abe.

  “You need an ear?” she offered, though she knew he’d say no. Why would he want to talk to her now when he hadn’t during most of their marriage?

  “Sure,” he said. “Let’s sit outside.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go first.

  Surprised that he’d actually agreed, she hesitated, noticing he wore pajama bottoms and a navy sweatshirt.

  He plucked a black leather jacket from the closet near the door and dumped it on her shoulders.

  She went ahead, but something told her this wasn’t a good idea.

  “Steps or rockers,” he asked.

  “Rockers,” she answered as she walked over to the two wooden chairs at the opposite end of the patio. Rockers were safer. There’d be some distance between them.

  Sitting in the chairs, they rocked together, the curved runners making a rhythmic clacking sound against the adobe-tiled floor.

  “Just like a couple of old people,” Luke said.

  “Speak for yourself, Methuselah.”

  “I remember when my dad made these chairs and how my mother loved them. They’d sit out here every night in good weather.”

  “That’s a lovely memory.”

  “Yeah. One would think.”

  Frowning, Julianna stopped rocking and looked at him. “So, even though you said before that your mom and dad had problems, they were happy together.”

  He closed his eyes and kept rocking. “I guess there were good times and bad, like any marriage. Anyway, I was thirteen when she died and maybe what a kid thinks isn’t always the way it is.”

  “I know what you mean. I always had this fantasy image of what my father was like, what my parents were like together. Then when I was about ten, I learned he’d deserted us without a thought and my fantasy took a nosedive. It took me the longest time to come to grips with that whole thing. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really did.” She glanced at him. “I’m repeating myself. I told you the whole ugly story before…a long time ago.”

  It was true. Time and again she’d bared her soul to the man she’d loved—and he’d returned next to nothing.

  “You did. That whole thing sucks.”

  She moistened her lips.

  He turned to gaze at her and his blue eyes looked like moonstones against the dark of the night.

  “A child should be able to keep a few fantasies.”

  She sighed. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it? But things never seem to work out that way.” Before they’d married she’d had a fantasy or two about what their life would be like, but she’d learned a lot since then. “Fantasies are simply a way for people to delude themselves, to pretend life can be what they want it to be.”

  ~~~

  HER WORDS SLICED like a razor-sharp knife carving a chunk out of his heart, and Luke felt every cut. He’d promised her everlasting love, and dammit, he’d never wavered from that promise. She was the one who’d left…the one who’d torn their marriage apart. And he still didn’t know why. Not the real reason. “Things work out one way or another, depending on the choices we make.”

  “And when there is no choice? What then?”

  He ground his teeth. He’d vowed he wasn’t going to get sucked into another hopeless battle. But… “People always have choices.”

  “Yes, I suppose. Even if they’re bad ones.”

  “So, then we adjust.”

  She looked into his eyes. “Sometimes that’s impossible.”

  “Well, I see things differently. If you want something you go for it.”

  “Sometimes what we want isn’t what’s best for us.”

  Now she was talking in riddles. He hated when she did that. He stood, walked to the edge of the patio and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Speaking of impossible,” he said, “Dad will go ballistic if I tell him I hired someone. I’m not sure how to approach it.”

  “You hired someone?”

  “Not yet. But I hope to tomorrow. I had to call the guy and tell him I couldn’t make it today. I’m hoping he’s still available when I see him.”

  “So what will you do if Abe refuses the help?”

  Luke gave a futile shrug. “I’ll cross that road when I get there.”

  “Maybe you could convince Abe that since you won’t be here, he’ll need a hand while he recovers. If he thinks it’s temporary, then he might be more accepting.”

  “And then, after a while, he’ll realize he really does need help and may ask the guy to stay on.”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  Luke had to laugh. “You learn those devious methods in San Francisco?”

  She grinned. “I’m a journalist. You learn to be creative. I think this is one of those times.”

  “Maybe so.” She’d been right about several things. But one thing still bothered him. The threats she’d received. They hung like an ominous dread over him. Like the ominous dread one horrible night five years ago.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE NEXT MORNING on the way to Santa Fe to see Abe, Luke pulled into a Circle K gas station. While he filled the tank, he scoped out the area, his senses always on alert, and especially since hearing the calls Jules had received. Two cars were parked in front of the store, one black, one silver-gray.

  Just then Jules got out of the car and came around to his side. “I’m going inside to get a coffee. Would you like one?”

  “A giant Coke with no ice would be good.”

  She stuck her hands in the pockets of her Levis and laughed, a light teasing laugh. “Same old, same old.”

  He shrugged. “Gotta have my fix. And it’s not as expensive as a Starbucks.”

  She turned and walked toward the store. And he kept watching, not just to keep an eye on her, but because he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the quick swing of her arms, the subtle movement of her hips. Instant hard on time. The primal urge. Just looking at Julianna had always been a turn-on. The passage of years hadn’t changed a thing.

  When she reached the entrance, he was about to look away but just then a guy wearing a Stetson got out of the silver car and followed Jules inside.

  Odd. Had the guy been sitting there…waiting? Luke reached for his gun, remembered he wasn’t carrying. He secured the gas nozzle and sprinted across the asphalt, his heart racing. Inside, he scanned the store for Jules. Where was she? And where was the guy in the cowboy hat?

  He bolted down one aisle and the next until he reached the beverage section at the back of the store. He stopped. Jules stood with her back to him, talking to the man who’d followed her in. Did she know him? She turned when Luke walked up, surprise in her eyes.

  “Luke? What’s wrong?”

  He grabbed her arm and herded her toward the door.

  “What’s going on?” she said, wrenching away. “Are you crazy?”

  “Who was that guy and why were you talking to him?”

  “He asked for directions, that’s all. Sheesh! Stop acting like a cop all the time.”

  Luke
gritted his teeth. “It’s what I do,” he said, throwing her earlier words back at her. But was she right? Was he overreacting? It was natural for him to be suspicious of everyone. If he wasn’t it could cost a life—his or someone else’s. “Just get your stuff. I’m ready to go.”

  As he returned to the pump, another vehicle chugged up into the next stall. A faded maroon Pontiac with steam rising from the hood. The driver got out and nodded at Luke.

  “I think I’m overheating,” the man said, pushing back his battered baseball cap.

  “Looks that way,” Luke answered as he watched the door for Jules to come back out. “Or maybe you have a leak in your water hose.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it’s not good. I’ve got business to take care of.”

  Still agitated, Luke didn’t respond. The guy wanted to chitchat because that’s what people did here. They had nothing better to do. Well, he wasn’t going to get sucked into a conversation he didn’t want to have. He had more important concerns—like keeping an eye on Jules who thought chatting with anyone who asked her a question was no big deal.

  Finishing, he closed the gas cap. Julianna returned. “Here you go,” she said handing him his drink. “Cola with no ice.”

  “Perfect.”

  On the road again, Luke turned on the radio and found a country station. Jules gave him a skeptical gaze.

  “What?” he asked. “You don’t like country?”

  “Not really. Maybe some. Like Keith Urban and Carrie Underwood. I didn’t know you liked it either.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t until I won some free tickets to an Alan Jackson concert.”

  “Uh-huh. Did you stay for the whole thing?”

  Zing. She was good at that. “I did. Not one call out,” he said. “That only happened when I was with you.”

  “Well, I’m glad I was so special.” She smiled. “What is it that you like about the music?”

  “Honest lyrics straight from the heart. It’s music that tells a story.”

  “You mean like ‘My girlfriend dumped me when I crashed my pickup and now I’m so lonely I could cry’.”

  “Hey, it happens.”

  “I did like one girl on The Voice. She sang country.”

  He did a double take. “You watch reality shows?”

  She shrugged, grinning. “My dirty little secret.”

  “I listen to country and you watch reality shows. So much for thinking we’re the same people we were five years ago.”

  “Thank God,” she said.

  He didn’t know if she was referring to him or herself, but it was a can of worms he wasn’t going to open. He drove on—silently—until he felt her watching him.

  “What?”

  “Well, now I’m wondering what else has changed.”

  He waggled his eyebrows and gave a lecherous grin. “Some things never change.”

  “Oh,” she said dryly, “I figured that out already.”

  “Me, too.” He kept his eyes pinned to the road. “But don’t worry. I’ve learned self-control.”

  That brought another long silence.

  Finally she said, “I’m curious. Do you think I’ve changed?”

  He glanced at her. “Some.”

  “In what way?”

  Luke tightened his grip on the wheel. Keep it light, Luke. Just keep it light. “Well, some things are still the same. You’re still in great shape.”

  She turned, touching the collar of her shirt. “You think so?”

  “Uh-huh. And you still answer a question with a question.”

  She grinned.

  “You still have a weird sense of humor and your laugh is the same.”

  All traits he admired. Traits that had drawn him to her from the first day they’d met. He scratched his chin. “As to what’s different, you used to wear your hair pulled back most of the time.” He fixed his eyes on the road, only glancing over once in a while. “And the lipstick. I don’t remember you wearing any kind of makeup before.”

  He debated. Should he say more? Could be risky. Could get into lots of shit. But the one big difference he’d noticed seemed important, something he wanted her to know. “You seem more at ease, more self-assured.” He caught her eyes with his. “I like that. It’s…sexy.”

  She tagged him on the arm. “Damn. It’s always about sex with you.”

  He turned. Met her eyes. “I seem to remember I wasn’t alone in that thinking. In fact—”

  She averted her gaze. “That was a long time ago.”

  “True.” He had to remember that. “Yeah, five years can make a big difference in a person’s life.”

  “It can. But you don’t seem all that different.”

  If you didn’t count the years he’d spent trying to forget how she’d ditched him when he needed her most. For him, it’d been four years of hell and another year of clawing his way out of the inferno. “Same old, same old. That’s me. Same job…same friends.”

  “Well, I have noticed one thing that’s different about you. You seem more concerned about your dad than before.”

  A skunk darted across the road in front of them. Luke pulled the wheel to the left, swerving out of the way. “For all the good it’ll do me.” He sighed. “I came here with an idea that maybe we could clear the slate and attempt a normal father-son relationship, but I know now that isn’t going to happen. Whenever we’re together—it doesn’t matter what we’re talking about—I feel this undercurrent of disapproval.”

  “But you’re trying to change things. That’s the important thing. I think that’s admirable.”

  If only. “No, you’re wrong. It’s not at all admirable. It’s selfish, something I need to do for me.” He gave a wry laugh. “And I know now even that isn’t going to happen. You can’t change people and you can’t change the past.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice so low he barely heard her. The pretty smile had switched to a frown. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, as if she might be getting a headache.

  Damn. He’d fucked up again. Jules knew better than anyone that there are some things you can’t change no matter how much you want to or how hard you try.

  They were silent the rest of the way and reaching the hospital, he cranked the steering wheel, swung into the parking lot and into a visitor’s space. “Come on. This can’t take too long because I’ve got that interview at eleven.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “GET ME OUT of here,” Abe demanded the instant Julianna and Luke entered the hospital room. Nothing they hadn’t expected.

  “Of course,” Julianna said, seeing Luke’s jaws clench. She elbowed him in the ribs, urging him to say something. Something nice, she hoped.

  “We’ve got to talk to your physician first,” Luke grumped. “I’m going to see if I can track down Dr. Martinez right now.” Luke turned and left the room.

  Abe still had the oxygen tube in his nose, but seemed feistier than the day before. He also had an IV in his arm.

  “What’s that for,” Julianna asked.

  “They say I’m dehydrated, but I think they’re pumping me with drugs.”

  She raised a brow, then sat in the chair next to Abe’s bed. “But you’re looking better, Pops.”

  He placed an age-spotted hand over hers. “You and Luke getting along?”

  “We’re doing fine,” she answered. “We’re adults. We can be civilized for a little while.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh.” Dang it. Abe continued to harbor the misguided notion that she and Luke should still be married. It had taken him forever to accept their divorce, and when he finally did, he blamed Luke. She’d tried to explain it was no one’s fault, but that wasn’t Abe’s mind-set. If something happened, someone had to take the rap for it.

  Just then Luke came back in with Dr. Martinez.

  “Good morning, Abraham,” the doctor said.

  “When do I get to go home?”

  The silver-haired ma
n walked to the bed and picked up the chart. “Nothing’s changed since last night. As I said then, I want you to stay for a few days until we get the infection under control.”

  The physician took Abe’s pulse. “You can go home when we’re sure you’re one hundred percent.”

  Abe grumbled something about the food being terrible, the beds being hard, and that there was nothing good on television. By the time Julianna and Luke left, they weren’t sure he wouldn’t bust out of the place.

  “He’s so…ornery,” Julianna said on their way down the hall.

  “So, what’s new?” Luke opened the door for her to go out. “We’ve still got some time before I have to be back for the interview. Want to have coffee in the plaza?”

  The plaza. It had been one of their favorite places when they came to visit Abe at the ranch. Way back when. Her first instinct was that, no, she didn’t want to go there again. But maybe she should. How often had her therapist said she needed to face the past before she could go on? She’d disagreed and thought she’d done just fine. So what was holding her back? “Sure. I haven’t been there for years,” she said.

  It wasn’t far from the hospital to the old plaza square in downtown Santa Fe. The air was crisp and the sun was shining, a perfect fall day. They parked on a side street and walked into the courtyard lined on three sides with tiny boutiques and upscale art galleries. More galleries and trendy restaurants filled the narrow streets that jutted from the plaza, the heart of Santa Fe.

  Local artisans were setting up shop on their blankets and tables under the Palace of the Governors’ portico, a building that dated back to missionary days. Displays of turquoise-and-silver jewelry, Navajo pottery and handwoven blankets and baskets were laid out on sidewalks on both sides of the portal, leaving space for customers to walk down the middle.

  Some people said the displays of jewelry weren’t really the Native American handcrafts they purported to be, that most were just knockoffs imported from China or Malaysia. Having grown up in the area, Luke was pretty astute when it came to knowing the difference.