Tall, Dark, and Deadly

by Heather Graham

  “Rowan practically threw me out of his life,” Sam said angrily.

  “He was going through a bad time.”

  “And maybe he’s still going through a bad time! Laura, I don’t want to be neighbors with him. I don’t want him dropping in on me on a casual basis now! Dammit, you’re the one always telling me that I don’t go out, that I don’t give relationships a chance. Well, that’s the man who ruined any real relationships for me!”

  “If I may interrupt this sorry-for-myself fest—”

  “Sorry-for-myself fest? Excuse me. Who’s dragged you out of every morbid mood you’ve been in for the last decade?”

  “If he ruined other men for you, it makes sense. He’s incredible, he’s handsome, intense, talented, determined, sexy… Naturally, it’s tough for other guys to stand up against all that.”

  “Laura, excuse me! I wound up in dozens of tabloids because of him! I was grocery-store-checkout-line reading because of him. I was vilified, notorious—”

  “Lots of women might have enjoyed the attention and media.”

  “Laura—”

  “Don’t you remember? Marnie always said that she wished it had been her.”

  Sam let out a snort of total frustration.

  “Besides, what do you care what people think or say?”

  “Forget all that! You’re right. He hurt me. Badly. You weren’t there at the end—”

  “That’s right. So I have no argument with him.”

  “I don’t believe this!”

  Laura rubbed a hand over her forehead. “All right. If you really, really, really don’t want me going over there, I won’t.”

  “I really, really don’t want you going over there.”

  “You’re not acting like yourself. You’re supposed to be all mature and reasonable and dignified.”

  “Yes, and I like to be that way.”

  Laura turned and started toward the door again.

  “What are you doing?”Sam demanded.

  “I’m going to call on your new neighbor.”

  “You just said you wouldn’t!”

  “I lied.”

  “Laura!”

  At the door Laura spun around again. “Sorry, my son’s a struggling musician and Rowan may not be playing anymore himself, but I’m willing to bet he’s still got some great connections.”

  “If you go over there now, you’re not my cousin anymore!” Sam told her, arms crossed over her chest.

  Laura grinned. “It doesn’t work that way. Genetics, you know. You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your relatives. Sorry.”

  Laura walked out of the house. Sam stared after her. “Son of a bitch!” she exclaimed in Laura’s wake.

  She spun around and headed for the kitchen. She thought she’d actually made it back to her house fairly reasonably. She hadn’t thrown herself on her lawn kicking and screaming, nor had she attempted to tear her hair out. She hadn’t even made herself a drink. She didn’t drink a great deal, she reminded herself. She was a fitness expert and physical therapist, moderate in all things. Like hell.

  She made herself a stiff gin and tonic with lots of ice and tons of lime. The clinking of the ice into the glass seemed like a good, rational, normal sound. She stared at the drink. Dammit. She’d built herself a nice life. A safe life, she mocked herself. She lifted her glass. “Moderate in all things, including living!”

  He had hurt her. It was that simple. She should have known better. She should never have fallen for a married man, even if he had been separated for months. Even if he was devastating, the best time she’d ever had, even if it had seemed that they were closer than any two people could possibly be…

  One day the door had shut in her face. She’d come to support him, to offer her love, her devotion against all odds, and he’d closed the door in her face and told his security people to make sure that she didn’t bother him anymore.

  Well, she wasn’t going to have anything to do with him. She was going to go upstairs and get dressed and look her best for another man.

  She swallowed the last of her gin and tonic in a long gulp, then dashed up the stairs. So, they were going shopping, and then clubbing. A black cocktail dress for a stroll around the mall? Sure, they were going to Cocowalk, an open-air mall in the heart of Coconut Grove with shops, restaurants, and clubs. Some people wore tank tops over bathing suits, and others dressed up, depending on which way they were headed. She would just straddle the two extremes. Black cocktail dress, killer heels—it could be a pain in the butt being short, or medium-short, as Laura called her.

  She discarded her clothes along the hallway, dove into the shower, and dressed in a matter of minutes, wearing the highest heels she had. She viewed them in the mirror as she brushed her hair with furious strokes. Great shoes. They added the dimension she needed. The kind of shoes that enhanced muscle tone if you had it and made it appear that you had great calves even if you didn’t. She smiled for a minute. One of her friends, a writer who worked out at the gym, classified dress shoes in two ways—those with wild, tough heels were fuck-you shoes. Delicate sandals and high spikes were fuck-me shoes.

  These, she reasoned, were somewhere in between.

  The doorbell rang. For a moment her heart seemed to hammer, heat, and then freeze. None of these things really happened, she knew. Her adrenaline was simply in a rush.

  She put the brush down, eyeing herself in the mirror. She hated to feel like this. Going crazy over a long-dead affair was ridiculous.

  The doorbell rang again. She tore down the stairs and through the house, throwing the door open before she could think more or panic in any way. As she opened the door, she saw a man standing in the shadow. He’d rejected her. When she had thought that he would need her most, he had rejected her.

  The man standing on her doorstep was tall and dark, but he wasn’t Rowan. He was thirty-something with a leathered complexion and look of someone accustomed to working in the sun. She blinked for a minute, then realized that she was looking at Marnie’s contractor, Phil Jenkins.

  “Phil!”

  He looked her up and down before answering, so much so that she wondered if she’d gotten a little carried away with the dress and the shoes.

  “Yeah, uh, sorry to bother you, Samantha, but I was… uh, you look great, you know,” he said.

  She flushed. “Thanks. You were saying?”

  “Yeah, I haven’t been able to reach Marnie all day. I thought maybe she was with you.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m actually a little concerned.”

  The look he gave her assured her that he wasn’t exactly concerned.

  “Well, you know our Miss Newcastle—better than I do, I’m sure. But I don’t suppose I’d waste my time being too concerned. That lady does seem to have the world by the balls—whoops, sorry, excuse my French!”

  “Marnie can be very determined and stubborn. She has to be, in her position,” Sam said, irritated that she sounded so defensive. “It’s a tough world out there. She’s worked very hard, and she works with a lot of hard types.”

  “Yeah, well, some people kind of have a knack for making the old world tougher themselves, know what I mean? Never mind. Sorry. She’s your friend. Hey, when you get around to redoing this old place, make sure you give me a call. It’s a beauty. I’ll give you a great deal.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I can work on credit, too. Have you seen Marnie’s place yet?”

  “Several times. You’ve done beautiful work.”

  He was still staring at her, hovering on her porch. Her fault. It was the shoes.

  He grinned, showing perfect teeth. He made good money as a contractor; he had obviously invested some of it in his mouth.

  “You could invite me in and we could discuss all that I could do on credit.”

  “Well, you know, I’m just not ready to get into any renovations yet, Phil. And knowing Marnie, I’m willing to bet that she’s not quite through with you.”

  His sm
iled broadened. “Yeah, well, she is one tough broad, for certain. But then again, she’s a wild one, and I reckon maybe you’re right. Maybe she’s not quite through with me. She’s a stickler for perfection, but she sure knows a good thing when she, er, sees it.”

  Now she was decidedly uncomfortable. She was about to pull the door closed, but she hesitated, seeing a sleek Lincoln pull up in front of Marnie’s house. Not Marnie’s car, but maybe Marnie was in it.

  “Look maybe that’s her now,” Sam said. Her concern caused her to ignore Phil and step around him. She crossed her small front yard as quickly as she could in her heels.

  A man was emerging from the car. He was lean, moving with an easy, fluid motion. His wavy dark hair was styled in a traditional cut that was enhanced by the perfectly tailored designer suit he was wearing. He got out of the car alone, looking up at the house, smoothing back his hair as he did so.

  “Hello,” Sam called.

  The man turned to her. He recognized her and smiled. “Samantha. Hi, how are you?”

  Yes, she knew him. Nice-looking guy, smooth as silk. He worked at Marnie’s firm. In fact, he frequently worked with Marnie, but they were also competitors in a way— both pushing for the next partnership.

  He extended his hand. “Sam, it’s Kevin, Kevin Madigan. I’m hurt, I must say. You don’t remember me.”

  “Yes, of course, I remember you,” she told him. He hadn’t meant it. He probably believed that no woman ever forgot him. “Kevin, hello, how are you?”

  “Very good, thank you. And you?”

  “Well, thanks. I… I do admit, though, I was rather hoping that you were coming here with Marnie.”

  “Yes, I gathered you were worried.”

  “You did?” Sam inquired, startled.

  He smiled. Another man who had put a lot of money into his teeth. “You called the office today. Loretta told me.”

  “Loretta?”

  “Marnie’s secretary. You spoke with her earlier.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes, of course. She must have been the one who answered the phone when I called the main number.”

  “Yes.” He just smiled, looking at her.

  “Well,” she murmured, “I still haven’t seen Marnie. Have you?”

  “Not since you called. But we were in court together on Friday. It’s a little early to be getting worried about a grown woman like Marnie, don’t you think?”

  His tone was great. Not condescending, just logical. Of course, he was an attorney.

  She smiled in return. “But then again, you’re out here.”

  “Well, having heard that you called, Mr. Daly just wanted to see if Marnie had gotten home.”

  “Mr. Daly?”

  “Of course. Mr. Daly.”

  He indicated an older man with snow-white hair sitting in the passenger seat of the car. The man made no effort to get out, but he nodded gravely to Sam as she looked his way. She nodded in return. Mr. Daly. Marnie’s firm was Daly, Simpkins, and Smith. Daly was a senior partner. “Has she come home yet?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “She hasn’t come home.”

  Sam swung around. Phil had come up to stand behind her. He stared at Kevin Madigan. Madigan stared back.

  She could almost smell the testosterone on the air. The two men were so very different—Phil so rugged, Kevin Madigan almost elegant and yet so assured. Confident. They were both macho men each in his own way.

  And Marnie had slept with both of them. Sam was suddenly certain of that fact.

  “Sam, Sam! Is Marnie back, then?”

  Sam groaned inwardly. Laura was now on her way up to the group, hurrying anxiously over to the Lincoln parked in front of Marnie’s house.

  “No, she’s not back. But Phil and Kevin are looking for her, too,” Sam said.

  “Oh, hi, Phil!” Laura had seen Phil around the place often enough. She hadn’t been to Marnie’s office very often, so she just smiled at Kevin Madigan, who smiled back at her.

  Sam felt a strange, creeping sensation as she realized that Laura wasn’t alone. She had been followed out of Rowan’s house. By Rowan.

  “Rowan, Kevin Ma—”

  “Yes, I know Kevin,” Rowan said, shaking hands with the man.

  “Rowan purchased his property here through our firm,” Kevin said.

  “Of course. I knew that,” Laura said. “Well, then, Rowan, meet Phil Jenkins—”

  “Yes, actually, we’ve met, too,” Rowan said, shaking hands with Phil.

  Sam watched the exchange, feeling as if a pit were being dug in her stomach. Yes, they had all met. Through Marnie.

  The testosterone quotient seemed even greater now.

  The tough-man contractor, the suave attorney… and Rowan. Somewhere between the two. Skin bronzed by the sun, features given character by the passage of life, somehow all the more striking for the lines weathered into his face around his eyes. Dark hair a little longer than that of the others. He wasn’t as casually dressed as Phil, nor was he as elegantly decked out as Kevin. He wore a black knit polo shirt, black jeans, and a dinner jacket. He smelled clean, his hair was damp; to Sam he seemed to reek masculinity. His simple presence seemed to call out to every natural instinct in her body.

  Old Mr. Daly chose that moment to exit the car. “If Marnie isn’t here, she isn’t here. We’ve left messages on her machine. If she doesn’t show up by Monday morning, we’ll call the police.”

  “Perhaps we should go in—” Kevin suggested.

  “Despite a key, that would be breaking and entering,” Mr. Daly said indignantly.

  “Oh, no, not really! Both Sam and Rowan have already been in the house!” Laura announced cheerfully.

  Sam and Rowan stared at her simultaneously. Sam realized that she and Rowan were sharing a common emotion at the moment; they were both ready to box Laura’s ears.

  “You were in the house?”Daly inquired, looking from one of them to the other.

  “Marnie is a friend. I have a key to check up on her.”

  “I was afraid someone had broken into the house,” Rowan explained.

  “You have a key, too?” Daly asked.

  Sam thought that Rowan hesitated for a split second. Then he simply said, “Yes.”

  She lowered her head, feeling ill again. Hands clammy. A sickness in her stomach. An awful, painful jealousy.

  They had all slept with Marnie. In fact, it was like one big Marnie slumber party out here.

  Of course, she could be wrong, but…

  “If half of us have already been in the house, perhaps someone should use his or her key to let us in so we can make sure that Marnie isn’t lying hurt somewhere. Maybe she tried to fix something, got up on a ladder, fell,” Kevin said.

  “I looked. Marnie wasn’t here at all,” Sam said.

  “Should we just check?” Kevin asked gently.

  “All right. My key is in the house—” she began.

  “Mine is in my pocket,” Rowan said. He swept past all of them heading up the walk. One by one they followed.

  Entering the residence, they all paused in the foyer, looking around. “Marnie!” Laura called. “Hey, Marnie!”

  No response. Even now, with all of them in the foyer, the way Laura’s voice bounced back sounded eerie to Sam. She walked around the foyer.

  “Shall we check upstairs?” Kevin asked.

  “Sure,” Phil said. He, Kevin, and Rowan started up the stairs. Kevin and Rowan both headed down the hall toward the guest rooms. Phil entered Marnie’s room. Sam followed him.

  He bumped into her on his way out. “Nothing!” he said.

  “Umm,” she murmured, but she walked on by him. She’d already been in the room. She walked back to the dressing table. Nothing. In perfect alignment. To most people, it couldn’t be more perfect.

  Marnie wasn’t most people. And still…

  Who could she possibly convince that this was awry? Just because colors weren’t matching up…

  Maybe it was nothing. Nothi
ng at all.

  She suddenly swung around, sensing that someone was behind her. Rowan. He looked at her, around the room, and back to her again. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really—”

  “Nothing?” he queried, eyes sharp, aware that she was hesitating.

  “Her make up is out of order.”

  He frowned, coming toward her. “I’ve never seen anything left so neatly in my life.”

  “The colors don’t match up,” she said.

  He frowned.

  “Never mind,” she murmured. He was standing too close to her. She didn’t want to be this close.

  “We’ve been here before,” he reminded her quietly. “No blood and guts.”

  “No blood and guts,” she agreed, and she turned quickly, heading out of the room.

  She walked briskly back to the hallway. Rowan didn’t follow. She bit her lip, wondering just how familiar he was with Marnie’s bedroom.

  She could hear Phil and Kevin, down the hall, still checking out closets and bathrooms. She started back down the stairs, certain that they would find the rest of the upstairs in perfect order.

  Mr. Daly, who walked with a cane, stood at the foot of the stairway.

  “She isn’t here, is she?” Daly asked Sam, staring hard at her. He might be old, she thought, but his eyes are sharp as glass. He was tall and despite the cane, it appeared that he had maintained broad shoulders and good muscle tone into his twilight years. His hands were large, and she imagined that they might be quite powerful. He was still a very handsome and dignified man.

  “I don’t believe she’s here, no,” Sam said.

  “And you’re worried.”

  “She was so thrilled with this house, I have to be worried if she isn’t here to show it off to everyone.”

  Daly nodded. “Still, she’s a bold and impetuous young woman. If she did decide to take off somewhere with someone, she would have done so, not giving a damn that others might be worried about her.”

  Sam frowned. “It doesn’t sound as if you like her very much, Mr. Daly.”

  “On the contrary. She is a woman after my own heart. She is, quite frankly, a barracuda, and I admire her tremendously.” He smiled, and Sam couldn’t help but think, Oh my God, it sounds as if he knows Marnie really well, too. Really, really—intimately!—well, too!