by Gina Wilkins
She told herself it couldn’t possibly be dangerous to call from here. No one except Stephanie knew she and Blake were staying here, and Blake obviously trusted Stephanie implicitly.
It was ridiculous to think that anyone would be monitoring her parents’ phone...wasn’t it? Just because whoever had chased them to Marietta knew exactly who she was didn’t mean they would be watching her family...did it?
At what point did reasonable precautions become rampant paranoia?
She could call her brother Trevor in Washington. But Trevor had always known her too well. He’d hear her voice and immediately know that something was wrong, which was one reason she’d avoided calling him after she’d been fired from the law firm.
Trevor was the type who thought he had to take care of everything. That was one of the reasons he was so drawn to politics. He would have been immediately on the phone to her former employers, demanding that they reinstate her immediately. And if he knew that she’d become involved in a murder, he would be on a plane to Georgia within the hour.
As for her younger brother, Trent—well, he was young. And he tended to worry too much. Calling him would serve no purpose except to upset him.
But the silence in a stranger’s apartment was pressing down on her, making her feel much more alone than she’d been during those two weeks she’d holed up to sulk in her own apartment. After another hour of pacing, trying without success to get interested in one of Stephanie’s books, and staring out the window at the river, Tara could resist no longer. She needed to talk to someone, or go crazy.
She picked up the phone and dialed the number of the one person who never failed to be available when she was needed. As young as she was, Emily McBride was the best listener in the family, the one whose doors, and whose heart, were always open.
“Tara, it’s so good to hear from you,” Emily said warmly, immediately identifying her cousin’s voice. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“Worried about me?” Tara was surprised. “Why?”
“I could tell at Dad’s funeral that something was really bothering you. And no one’s heard from you since you left town. Aunt Bobbie and Uncle Caleb are afraid you’ve been working too hard. Aunt Bobbie’s been hoping you would call her soon. Have you talked to her today?”
Tara didn’t realize she’d given her parents any reason to fret about her. “No, I haven’t called Mom today,” she admitted. “Emily, will you do me a favor?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Tell Mom you heard from me, and that I’ll call her in a few days, okay? Maybe another week. Tell her I’m still on my business trip and I really don’t have time to talk right now. Tell her I just called you to see how you’re holding up, will you?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then, “Tara, what’s wrong?”
“It’s a long story,” Tara said, wondering if she’d made a mistake calling her cousin. “I’m sort of in a mess right now, but I’m all right. I just wanted to talk to someone for a minute.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No. I’m afraid not. But don’t try to call my apartment, okay? I won’t be there for a while. Tell Mom not to call there. I’ll call her, just as soon as I can.”
“Does this have something to do with your work? Have you gotten involved in a difficult case?”
“Something like that,” Tara answered, feeling guilty for the lie.
“You’re...you’re not in any actual danger or anything, are you?”
Tara faked a laugh. “Of course not. Really, Emily, don’t worry about me, okay? I just called to find out how you are.”
“I’m fine,” Emily answered, not sounding noticeably reassured. “I’ve gotten lots of rest during the past couple of weeks. More than I’ve had in the past year, actually.”
Tara knew that her cousin had had a difficult time of it, caring for her father who had died very slowly and very painfully. At only twenty-six, Emily had been forced to sacrifice a great deal, utterly refusing to put Uncle Josiah in a nursing home.
“You’re still working every day?” Tara asked, thinking of how little time Emily had taken for herself. “Have you taken any time off since Uncle Junior died?”
“Only a couple days for the funeral arrangements,” Emily admitted. ‘I’d like to take some time off, but it’s been so busy at the office lately, and I hate to leave them in a bind. Maybe someday...”
Typical of Emily to be so aware of everyone else’s problems, so oblivious to her own. Didn’t she ever long to break away from her tiny hometown? To do something completely reckless and selfish and carefree, while she was still young?
But then, hadn’t Tara basically given up her own youth in pursuit of her career goals? When was the last time Tara had done anything reckless and irresponsible, just for fun?
The adventure she was having right now didn’t count, of course. Running for her life, sidestepping the law at every turn—well, it was hardly a carefree lark. And, yet, oddly enough, Tara had felt more animated and energetic during the past few hours than she had in weeks.
“You’ll tell Mom I called? That I’m all right, and that I’ll be in touch with her?” Tara repeated to Emily.
“I’ll tell her. And, Tara, you’ll call again if you need anything, won’t you? You’d let us know if anything is really wrong?”
“Of course.” She would have to call if she suddenly saw her face splashed across the television screen, Tara thought grimly.
It was a miracle, on the whole, that it hadn’t already happened. And wouldn’t the gossipy citizens of Honoria, Georgia love to hear that yet another McBride was suspected of murder: Emily’s brother, Lucas, had left town under a similar cloud fifteen years ago, and hadn’t been heard from since. Tara didn’t want to have to disappear the way that Lucas had. Emily still grieved for her missing, much-older half brother. Tara couldn’t bear to think of causing her own family the same heartache.
Tara heard a key in the lock of the front door and her pulse increased. Blake had returned. “I have to go, Emily. Take care of yourself for a change, you hear?”
“You do the same.”
“I’ll try,” Tara promised and hung up the phone.
She smoothed suddenly damp palms over the legs of her jeans as she turned to meet Blake, hoping she’d done the right thing by making the phone call.
It wasn’t Blake who entered the room. It was a tall, stunningly beautiful redhead in a formfitting knit dress that ended above her knees to reveal shapely, mile-long legs. Tara immediately felt plain and dowdy in comparison to this vision of feminine perfection.
Stephanie, she thought, her heart sinking.
Could this situation get any more complicated?
“WHY, HELLO.” Stephanie’s pretty face lit up with what appeared to be a genuinely friendly smile. “You must be Tara.”
“Yes. And you’re Stephanie.”
“That’s right. Where’s Blake?”
“He’s gone out. He didn’t say where.”
Stephanie shook her head and sighed. “He rarely does.”
“It was very kind of you to let us use your apartment this way,” Tara offered, feeling awkward.
Stephanie brushed off her thanks. “Blake knows he and his friends are always welcome here. Are you hungry? I missed breakfast and I’m starving.”
Tara glanced at her watch, realizing that it was nearly two in the afternoon. Just where was Blake, anyway?
Stephanie had already headed for the kitchen. “Do you like spaghetti? I have homemade sauce in the freezer. It’ll just take a few minutes to heat it up and boil some pasta to go with it. And there are probably some vegetables in the fridge for a salad.”
It looked as though she and Stephanie were going to cook lunch together, Tara thought, dutifully following. How cozy.
“Blake told me he’s gotten you involved in one of his cases,” Stephanie said as she opened her freezer and peered inside. “I have to admit I was surprised. He’s u
sually very careful not to endanger innocent bystanders.”
Tara felt compelled, for some reason, to defend Blake. “He really had no idea that this case would turn dangerous. He never would have gotten me involved if he had.”
Placing the frozen sauce in the microwave, Stephanie glanced at Tara, making Tara wonder just what the other woman had heard in her voice. “No, of course not,” she agreed, sounding thoughtful.
There were so many questions Tara would have liked to ask Stephanie, and not one of them was any of her business, she reminded herself. Stephanie’s relationship to Blake was of no concern to Tara—or so she wanted to believe.
“Is there anything I can do to help with lunch?” Tara asked quickly.
Stephanie nodded toward a cabinet door. “There’s a big pan inside there. You can fill it with water and set it on to boil for the pasta while I cut up a salad.”
As she complied, Tara wondered where Stephanie had grown up. Her accent reminded Tara of Blake’s— an intriguing mixture of the South and the Southwest. And again, she asked herself just how long Stephanie and Blake had known each other.
She turned to find Stephanie absently juggling three tomatoes on her way from the refrigerator to the island counter. The swift, skillful movements of Stephanie’s hands as she tossed and caught the colorful fruit reminded Tara forcibly of Blake again.
Catching Tara watching her, Stephanie laughed a bit self-consciously and set the tomatoes carefully on the counter. “Dumb habit,” she murmured. “I can hardly pick up more than two items at a time without juggling them. I blame it on Blake—he’s always doing the same thing.”
“So you’ve, um, known Blake a long time,” Tara said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Stephanie lifted an eyebrow in apparent surprise. “You mean he hasn’t told you...?”
“I see you two have met,” Blake said, entering the kitchen at that moment.
The way Stephanie’s face lit up at the sight of Blake made Tara’s heart twist.
“Blake.” Even Stephanie’s voice had gone warm and soft as she stepped forward to greet him.
Tara watched from the corner of her eyes as Blake took Stephanie in his arms for a hug, and then gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “You look good,” he said, holding her at arm’s length for inspection.
Good? Tara had to resist making a face at the understatement. Anyone with two eyes couldn’t help but notice that Stephanie was drop-dead gorgeous.
“And you aren’t too hard on the eyes, either,” Stephanie teased in return. “I hope you’re hungry. Tara and I are making spaghetti for lunch.”
Blake glanced at Tara, his expression suddenly a bit guarded, his smile changing. The memory of that morning kiss seemed to hang in the air between them.
“Spaghetti sounds good,” Blake said. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Just stay out of the way,” Stephanie replied, her green eyes darting from Blake to Tara and back again.
He obediently took a seat at the bar, close enough to talk with them, but out of the traffic pattern.
“You were gone a long time,” Tara said to him, trying to make conversation—as opposed to just standing there gazing longingly at him. “Did you have a productive morning?”
“Somewhat,” he agreed. “I think I’m getting closer to figuring out what happened. I’ll know for certain when we get inside Willfort’s house.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Stephanie murmured, dropping a carrot. “Is that really necessary, Blake?” she asked worriedly.
“I’m afraid so. But I have a plan.”
Stephanie groaned and looked at Tara. “I usually run for cover when I hear him say those words,” she advised. “Maybe you’d better do the same.”
Blake smiled a little, but shook his head. “She can’t. I need her.”
Tara’s heart gave a little jump in response to the words. She told it to behave. “What do you want me to do?” she asked calmly.
Instead of answering her directly, Blake looked at Stephanie. “Can you help us change her appearance?”
Stephanie looked speculatively at Tara. “In what way?”
“Can you turn her into one of Jeremy’s girls?”
Stephanie’s eyes widened. “So that’s what you have in mind.”
Tara wished she knew what the heck was going on. Who was Jeremy—a pimp? Just what, exactly, was Blake planning?
Blake nodded. “I’ve already talked to Jeremy. It’s the best opportunity I’m going to get, Steph.”
He’d left the morning newspaper lying on the table. He reached over to retrieve it and laid it on the island, pointing to an article in the “Lifestyles” section.
Tara leaned over to read the column, which focused on a major charity event to be held the following Friday evening at the spacious country estate of local millionaire philanthropist C. Jackson Willfort. The feature act, the article said, would be internationally famous magician Jeremy Kane. Tickets to the event were five hundred dollars per head, by invitation only, with proceeds to be donated to a local battered women’s shelter. Two hundred guests were expected to attend.
“You’re going to try to get us invitations?” Tara asked blankly.
“Not exactly,” Blake murmured.
“He’s planning to go in undercover,” Stephanie explained, looking a bit concerned. “You as a magician’s assistant. Himself as—what, Blake? A techie?”
He nodded. “Something like that.”
Tara felt her eyes grow wide. “Me? A magician’s assistant? One of Jeremy Kane’s redheads? Blake, that’s crazy!”
“This is the only way I know to find out for ourselves what’s going on, Tara,” he said. “I called my contact in Atlanta, and the police are still looking for a couple matching our descriptions in connection with the unsolved robbery of the Pryce Gallery. The police still don’t have our real names—probably because the men who shot Botkin are hoping to get to us first. I suspect they’re watching your apartment, maybe your family, combing Atlanta looking for us.
“We can call the Atlanta P.D.,” he added, “and we might even convince them to believe that there was a shooting during the gallery showing Friday night, and that we had nothing to do with it. But we have no evidence that Willfort was involved, unless we find those paintings still in his possession.”
“We don’t actually know Willfort was involved,” she couldn’t help pointing out.
Something in Blake’s expression told her he’d learned more than he’d admitted during his morning out. “What is it?” she demanded. “What do you know?”
“I know that your water is boiling,” he said, glancing away from her. “Better get the pasta on. I’ll go wash up.”
“Blake...”
But he’d already left the room.
“Don’t you just want to strangle him sometimes?” Stephanie asked sympathetically.
Resisting an impulse to chase after Blake and make him tell her everything he’d done and heard since he’d left her that morning, Tara turned reluctantly to the other woman. “Yes,” she agreed grimly. “I do.”
Stephanie’s eyes were speculative as they rested for a moment on Tara’s face. And then she brightly changed the subject, chattering about inconsequentials while they finished preparing the meal.
“THIS IS CRAZY. It will never work.”
Stephanie only smiled in response to Tara’s plaintive complaint. “Trust me, Tara. No one will recognize you when I’m finished with you. Now lean your head back over the sink so I can rinse your hair.”
Since Blake had convinced her to help them, Stephanie had become quite enthusiastic about the project. Tara didn’t want to question the other woman’s motives, but she still worried what she was going to look like when Stephanie finished with her.
Tara couldn’t help liking Stephanie. She was friendly and amusing and intelligent, and had been so generous with her apartment and her possessions. It was obvious that there was a very close bond between Stephanie and Blake, but Tara
was beginning.to question her earlier suspicions that the two were lovers. Would Stephanie really be so unquestioningly accepting of Tara’s presence if she was in love with Blake?
Stephanie refused to let Tara look in a mirror. “You’ll see it when I’m finished,” she said airily. And then she pulled out a pair of scissors.
Tara bit her lip. “Um—Stephanie...”
“Trust me,” Stephanie said, sounding too much like Blake for Tara’s peace of mind. “I know what I’m doing.”
“This isn’t going to work,” Tara said flatly. “You won’t be able to make me look so different that the men who’ve been looking for us won’t recognize me.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Stephanie advised, and took the first snip from Tara’s hair.
“Even if you can change my appearance, I know absolutely nothing about being a magician’s assistant.” That was one career Tara had never even considered!
“I’ve been working with Jeremy Kane on and off for the past ten years,” Stephanie said firmly. “I’ll help you. And Jeremy will make sure you look like you know what you’re doing. He’s brilliant.”
“But...” A spray of snipped hair fell into Tara’s face.
“You’d better close your mouth before you get hair in it,” Stephanie suggested cheerfully. “Stop fretting, Tara. You’ll do fine.”
Nearly an hour later, Stephanie helped Tara into a slinky black dress that closely skimmed Tara’s curves and ended in a swirl of skirt at her calves. Stephanie had curled and fluffed Tara’s hair and painted her face, but still hadn’t allowed her to look in a mirror. She wanted Tara to see “the whole package,” she’d said.
Stephanie finally stopped fussing over Tara and stepped back to look her over closely. Tara felt like a department-store mannequin as Stephanie walked slowly around her, studying her from every angle. And then Stephanie stopped in front of her, smiling brightly.
“Terfect,” she pronounced. “Ready to take a look?”
Suddenly nervous, Tara cleared her throat. “I’m not sure.”