Unraveled

by Allie Hawkins

  She returned, nose scarlet, eyes watery, and laid the mail on the kitchen table. Planting the receiver between his neck and shoulder, Pierce sorted through copies of P. C. Week, several flyers for computer games, and two legal-sized envelopes, both from a law firm in Kansas City. But it was the ornately, handwritten, pale lavender envelope reeking of heavy, overly sweet lilacs that told Pierce Tony hadn’t come home last night.

  “Was Tony involved with someone?” Quinn handed Pierce a lavender envelope.

  He held the letter at arm’s length, smiled a smile that hurt his jaws, felt his heart miss one, then another beat. He exhaled the building tension and said, “Molly MacIntyre’s his fifteen-year-old cousin in Endicott, New York. Tony says she has a real crush on him—writes him every week. Apparently, she’s a computer jockette.”

  The ice in Pierce’s chest had spread to his throat. He swallowed, remembering Tony’s delight with his young ’cuz. Turning the envelopes over and over, Pierce said, “Molly thinks Tony’s wonderful. Here he is—an old man of twenty-nine—”

  The back of Pierce’s throat burned the way it had after his tonsillectomy at age ten. Tony was twenty-nine. He should have a whole lifetime ahead of him...

  “Think about being fifteen.” Quinn stepped into the silence and saved Pierce from his imagination. “I bet Tony’s taught Molly a few computer tricks, right? Ergo, he’s wonderful.”

  Swallowing didn’t work, but Pierce said, “Better than that. He can beat her at all the computer games. She calls him ‘Wonder Geek.’”

  The sweet, soft smile Quinn threw him cut like a razor. Pierce winced. Waiting on the damn phone was driving him into the trough of self-pity. There had to be a clue here somewhere. Pierce knew he could find it if he looked hard enough.

  “I’m surprised they don’t e-mail each other.” Quinn threw him another chance to come out of his fugue.

  “I’m sure they do.” He switched the phone to his other ear. “Tony uses his computer for everything—from making ski reservations to checking out recipes with butter.”

  Quinn fingered the envelopes, then laid them on the table. She came to Pierce and wrapped her arm around his waist. Having her so close was a gift—unexpected and that much sweeter.

  “He must’ve had an accident, Quinn. He wouldn’t take off. He’d leave me a message.”

  “Let’s not go there yet.” The gentleness in her voice almost undid him.

  Impossible to force his head to move in agreement. In that same gentle tone, she said, “Why don’t I woman the phone? You check your voice mail again. Maybe look around here some more?”

  “I only look ready to tear the phone out of the wall.” He shoved the receiver at her, hugged her and remembered his manners. “Thanks. You saved my sanity.”

  Ever the jokester.

  On the off-chance they’d arrive—unannounced—and find Tony in an awkward situation with a girlfriend, Pierce had checked messages twice at work and twice on his cell even though he knew Quinn’s views on driving and using a cell phone.

  Third time’s the charm. The cliché ran through his brain like water through a sieve as he dialed work. Eight messages, two from Edward. Zip from Tony. To hell with Rex.

  Pierce rummaged through the mail, withdrew the law firm’s envelope and held it up to the window. Naturally, he couldn’t see a damn thing. Why the hell would Tony have business with Leonard and Yaeger—big-time Kansas City defense attorneys?

  Maybe Tony’s home office held some answers. Pierce gave Quinn the high sign he was going into the other room. She looked beat. Her patience amazed him. How’d she do it? Two minutes of waiting on the phone drove him nuts. A better man would give her a break.

  “Want me to take over?” he asked with the enthusiasm of an eggplant.

  She shook her head vigorously and waved him on his way.

  Ethically and legally, Pierce knew breaking into Tony’s PC was a lot like opening his personal mail. Ethically, Pierce felt almost no compunction about trying. At least not as long as Quinn didn’t witness his shenanigans.

  Not that there was much to witness. Unlike Tony, Pierce fell in the category of computer dimwit even after a good night’s sleep. Stumped by the PC’s hostility, he moved on to opening and closing drawers in the desk. Neat and tidy. Everything in its place. He flipped through letters filed in separate slots on top of the desk. Another envelope from Leonard and Yaeger. Postmarked a week ago and still sealed.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Quinn stuck her head around the corner. “A deputy’s on his way. They asked us not to touch anything.”

  Pierce nodded, his whole body instantly rigid, his heart stone cold. He felt like a robot—mimicking the unnatural movements of a human being.

  ****

  Tinted aviators hid the young deputy’s eyes and left Quinn with the feeling she was talking to herself. For his part, the deputy nodded his buzzed blond head so often Quinn felt dizzy. She assumed he made the gesture to reflect his understanding. He expressed all the right words in a quiet, neutral tone.

  His tone might convey empathy, Quinn thought, if we were aliens. But his body language was all wrong—rubbing his face too often, crossing his arms, tapping his toe.

  Pierce, too, was throwing off megawatts of impatience, his jaw locked, his eyes narrowed, a vein bulging in his forehead as the deputy spoke more right-sounding words and nodded a few times without offering any concrete ideas.

  Maybe he picked up on Pierce’s pissy mood, because he abruptly moved off his script, speaking in a condescending tone that left Quinn’s fingertips tingling.

  “Mr. Franklin’s a grown man. Being gone from home for a couple of days and nights isn’t that unusual for a young, single guy.”

  “What about returning my calls?” Pierce demanded. “Tony never misses our nightly conference calls.”

  “Uh-huh. A little more unusual,” Deputy Zack Wright drawled. “Doesn’t prove he’s missing. Based on my experience,” the deputy assured them, looking from Pierce to Quinn with a bland, open face, “even though he didn’t call you, I’d say there’s no real cause for alarm. SOP requires us to wait seventy-two hours before filing a missing person report.”

  Pierce made a rude noise in the back of his throat which the deputy ignored. He spoke to Quinn. “We’ll keep an eye out. Check the local hospitals. Review accident reports.”

  Worried because Deputy Zack was apparently blind to Pierce’s scowl Quinn said, “Can you come by his house from time to time?”

  “Sure. We can do that. We can also call his parents.”

  The remark was like a match to dynamite. Pierce’s dark eyes flashed, his face turned stroke-red, and the pulse in his temple banged like a hammer. “Are you craz—?”

  Quinn stepped between the two men, put her hands behind her and signaled Pierce to say nothing. Throat dry, she spoke to the deputy. “Crazy as it sounds, let’s hold off on that. We don’t want to alarm them without reason.”

  Deputy Zack shrugged. “Up to you. But he might be right there with them, you know.”

  “That’s a possibility.” Before Pierce exploded, Quinn led the deputy to the kitchen door. The wind knocked the breath out of her, but she walked outside with the guy.

  “If Mr. Franklin doesn’t show up or get in touch with his family or call Mr. Jordan after Thanksgiving, we’ll take formal steps at that time,” the deputy called, sprinting for his car.

  How reassuring. Quinn turned and jogged inside. “It’s okay,” she announced. “He’s gone now.”

  “You want to hazard a guess which end of the gene pool he swam in?” Pierce slapped a clenched fist against his open hand.

  “I’d rather figure out if we should be worried. What about calling Tony’s parents?”

  Pierce tugged his right ear, inhaled, exhaled. “Don’t think so. He’s their only child. What if he’s not there? We’d scare them silly.”

  “I could call them,” Quinn volunteered. “Make up a story.”

  “Su
ch as?”

  Always the skeptic. She blew on her hands, rubbed them together, let the ideas come. “I can say he and I were going skiing together over Thanksgiving. I got phone mail from him—garbled. So garbled I couldn’t understand it.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn sneaked a look at Pierce. His open mouth confirmed he was hooked.

  “I’m calling them to see if he’s meeting me at their house the way we discussed or if I should go on to Vail. Meet him there.”

  Pierce shook his head. “You just now made this up, right?”

  Nervousness cramped Quinn’s stomach, but her voice was harsh. “If you don’t like it, we can come up with something diff—”

  “I like it. Hell, I like it a lot.” Black eyes glowing, he grabbed both her hands and squeezed as if they were made of glass. “Nothing like it would ever occur to me.”

  “I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” Quinn arched a brow. She knew from personal and professional experience that Pierce didn’t lack for imagination.

  For the first time that day, he looked like his old self. Confident. Take-charge. Optimistic. He said, “Let’s try it. As we say in banking, what’s the worst-case scenario?”

  ****

  A woman Quinn assumed was Tony’s mother answered the Franklins’ phone. After Quinn confirmed this and identified herself, she forgot her thudding heart, turned up the smile-o-meter and smiled into the phone. “Tony introduced us a couple of years ago.”

  “We’re so appreciative for your helping him get his job with Pierce. What can I do for you, Miz Alexander?”

  Surprised at how easily Mrs. Franklin gave her the opening she needed, Quinn gave Pierce two thumbs up, hoping the details of her story came back to her.

  “Is Tony there? I’d like his opinion on the weather between Kansas City and the Colorado border. They say the skiing’s great in Vail, but I’m worried about the drive.”

  Quinn took a breath and stopped talking. Let the woman answer the question.

  “Ohhh. He’s not here. His dad and I are trying to accept he won’t spend Thanksgiving with us this year.”

  Why not? Quinn’s mind screamed. A glance at Pierce’s frown told her he knew something was wrong.

  “I’m sure you’re disappointed,” she said. “Is he headed for the ski slopes?”

  Nothing like being downright nosy. But Mrs. Franklin had said they were appreciative about Tony’s job. Maybe she wouldn’t mind Quinn’s sudden interest in her son’s skiing plans—five years after his successful interview with Pierce.

  “No, if he was going to ski, we’d see him for sure. Unless he flew directly into Denver. Which he almost never does. He said he had too much work to do.”

  Quinn’s heart stuttered. Thank God, she’d modified her story about meeting Tony at his parents’ house.

  Lied, she amended. But why would Tony lie to his parents?

  The lack of response from Quinn didn’t slow Mrs. Franklin, who kept chatting as if she and Quinn were old friends. “Tony said he and Pierce plan to work all weekend. Said maybe they’d have a turkey sandwich to celebrate Thanksgiving.”

  The older woman chuckled, a warm, open sound that reminded Quinn of her own mother.

  ...stuck at a hotel while you’re out playing detective with Pierce. Quinn’s heart thudded. How had she gotten sucked so deeply into Pierce’s worry about Tony that she forgot her own mother? She swallowed, avoided Pierce’s raised eyebrows and forced herself to laugh and listen as Mrs. Franklin went on to tell her how bad the driving conditions were from Kansas City to Junction City, the closest town to their ranch.

  “You’re more than welcome to stop by here for Thanksgiving dinner, Miz Alexander. We’d love to see you again.”

  Wiggle out of this one, fast-talker. Quinn moved the receiver to her other ear before saying, “Thanks, Mrs. Franklin. But I don’t know if I’ll get away.”

  “You young people. Work, work, work. I’m always telling Tony he needs more fun in his life.”

  Quinn mumbled some reply and they hung up. Heart aching, she took a deep breath, raised her face to Pierce and knew the ending of her story was written there.

  Chapter 14

  “Why did Tony lie to his parents?” Something in Pierce’s tone sounded like blame.

  Quinn bristled, but kept her tone neutral. “I should’ve asked Mrs. Franklin when Tony told her he was working the weekend.”

  “We never discussed it.” Pierce jabbed his finger into the kitchen table. “What the hell am I missing? Nothing makes sense.”

  “I should’ve asked different questions,” Quinn said. “I can call her back—”

  “Hey!” Pierce grabbed her in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. “You were awesome. Forget the what-ifs. You did great.”

  It was too little, too late, and the words didn’t make up for forgetting her own mother stranded in St. Louis, but Quinn said, “Maybe we’ll all laugh about this one day.”

  “Always the optimist.” Pierce’s tone said he’d rather listen to the snow fall than listen to more optimism.

  “I need to get back to the office.” She didn’t have the energy for Pierce’s disdain about Rex, and she lacked the self-discipline to withstand his lack of empathy for her mother.

  Since he wanted five minutes in the john before leaving, Quinn punched SPEED DIAL. Her mother was still at the airport hotel expecting her flight to depart by two that afternoon.

  “How’s Luce?” Quinn sat in the spotless kitchen listening for a flush in the master bath.

  “Michael thinks she’s calmer. He’s staying home today. Asked me to tell you he’s taking the phone off the hook.”

  “Smart.” Now Rex couldn’t reach Michael after the interview with Edward Roslyn.

  “I think he and Luce need a little alone-time. I said I’d text him after I land at SFO.”

  “Well, call me. I don’t care what time, okay?” The sound of muffled water came too soon. Quinn disconnected and lurched to her feet. Lack of sleep made her lightheaded.

  Not the best condition for a long ride with Pierce, but she’d fake falling asleep.

  ****

  In the ’Vette, the moment with Quinn in Tony’s bedroom felt as remote as a week-old dream. Obviously she wanted no reminders of how close they’d come to salving their old wounds. Knowing her, Pierce was surprised she’d failed to ask how he felt. Discussions about feelings were a big deal for Quinn. Pierce considered these discussions warm-up exercises for poking sticks in his eye. For once though, he was “in touch with his feelings,” but the lines etched around her mouth and eyes curbed his tongue.

  Give her a break. Tony wasn’t her problem and Michael shouldn’t be the pain in the ass he was. And life should be good fairies and rainbows after warm rains.

  Pierce smacked the CD player and let John Coltrane’s haunting sax melt the smaller rocks in his neck. Thoughts about Tony, ping-ponging in his head, slowed. He dropped into Deppity Zack’s ruts and drove in silence. Ridiculously, he worried that speaking his thoughts gave them power—to reveal the gut-gnawing fear and power to hurt Tony.

  Quinn sat with her head back, her eyes closed. The snow had turned to flurries so they reached the state highway in good shape. Mile after mile flew by with Pierce gripping the wheel, hardly conscious when the snow stopped. The black clouds hanging over the barren, white fields diverted his attention for a while. When was the last time they’d seen the sun?

  On The Plaza, acres of buildings and trees buffered the bitter Canadian air sweeping across the desolate plains. In the country, the damp and cold settled around Pierce’s heart.

  ****

  The bridge across the Kaw River gave Quinn the willies. Summer, spring, winter and fall, it had a notorious reputation for a high number of car wrecks. Too many of them fatalities. Commuters, leaving early, caught in the snow and slush, honked horns, hit their brakes, and generally drove like native Floridians, who had never driven north of Tampa.

  Her right f
oot rode an imaginary brake as she kept one eye on the traffic and checked her voice mail. A dozen messages at work. None from Michael, one from Edward Roslyn. Later.

  No signs from Pierce that he even realized she sat next to him. No inquiries about Luce. Or her mother. Dammit, how much more of his self-absorbed angst could he emit? Her fingertips tingled. She wanted to smack him. Commonsense took hold. His angst meant no rehashing that moment in Tony’s bedroom. As long as he kept quiet, she didn’t have to listen to him brood about Tony. Something was wrong there, but raising question after question after question felt wrong, too. Apparently making love didn’t include opening up to her.

  One-night stands rarely end in happy-ever-after reality, her Demon Fear whispered. Her breath caught and her heart boomed in her ears.

  Reality meant calling Michael—despite his demands for privacy. She needed to hear him tell her what was going on. Was he really worried about nevus flammeus or was that Rex’s take on reality?

  Reality meant getting back with Edward Roslyn. She needed to come straight with him about Rex. The file Pierce insisted she read made some sense, but she wasn’t a lawyer.

  Reality meant dealing with Rex. She needed to report Edward’s reaction. If he didn’t cancel the appointment, she’d send him a dozen red roses. Dream on.

  Reality meant avoiding a traffic tie-up at the light. “The back way’s faster.” she said, running her words together.

  Pierce made the turn at the next block. “You’re coming back to my house for the night, aren’t you?”

  Don’t get excited. You already know the answer. Mouth dry, heart racing, she said, “I’m busy tonight.”

  A muscle ticked under Pierce’s eye as he pulled to the curb, unbuckled his seat belt and reached for Quinn. “Come home with me.”

  The huskiness in his throat sent adrenaline zooming into her chest. She closed her eyes, inhaled the comforting scent of his wool shirt and tried to sort out the feelings driving the jackhammer in her head.

  “I asked Mrs. Taylor to fix us supper.”

  “Now you’ve pulled all the stops.” The little girl in her chest, the one she almost never let out, fought against hyperventilating. “I’ll probably open a can of chicken noodle soup. If I feel really creative, I’ll throw in a little frozen broccoli.”