by Paula Graves
She watched James Cole make a slow turn around his daughter's apartment, moving with an easy grace that Laura suspected came from decades of practice. When he spoke, he sounded humble. Sincere. "Thanks for letting me come here."
Laura wasn't fooled. Cole was a politician to the core, his words carefully chosen to illuminate or conceal, depending on his intentions. Even his expression of gratitude was carefully calculated to paint the picture of heart-sick father. She particularly liked the way he walked thoughtfully around the room, touching each piece of furniture with near reverence and just a hint of wistful nostalgia, although Laura would bet a year's salary Cole had never stepped foot in his daughter's apartment before this evening.
"What are you looking for, exactly, sir?" Agent Travis Cooper stood near the doorway, detached and watchful. Cole had contacted the F.B.I. agent with his request for a walk-through of his daughter's New Orleans apartment. Cooper, for reasons Laura hadn't yet figured out, had invited Laura to tag along.
"May I see her bedroom?" Cole ignored Cooper's question.
Laura inclined her head toward the open staircase ascending to the second floor. She followed the former president upstairs into his daughter's airy bedroom, where a platform bed dominated, surrounded by an eclectic mix of nice mahogany pieces interspersed with what Laura suspected were thrift store finds.
Cole paused by the bed briefly, just long enough to look like a loving father without drifting into creepiness. He turned to the dressing table, where a small collection of cosmetics lay scattered in front of a small jewelry armoire.
Cole looked through the necklaces hanging inside the armoire. Apparently not finding what he was looking for, he started opening drawers.
"Are you lookin' for something specific?" Laura ventured.
"Her mother's ring." For the first time, there was no artifice in his voice. "Worth over thirty thousand dollars."
Cooper cleared his throat. "And you're looking for it because—"
Cole turned on heel quickly, his expression lined with disgust. "Are you implying I'm here to scavenge for jewelry while my daughter's life hangs in the balance?"
"I'm just wondering what you're hoping to accomplish here," Cooper responded impatiently. "I thought you had something to add to our case by coming here, but what you think rifling through your daughter's jewelry can accomplish—"
"Do you believe the ring might be instrumental in helpin' us find your daughter?" Laura kept her voice gentle, though she was only marginally less annoyed than Cooper appeared to be.
"You said no money has been withdrawn from my daughter's bank accounts since the day she disappeared, correct?"
Laura nodded.
"What about Jack Bennett's bank accounts?"
"He withdrew five hundred dollars the same day he told his associates that he'd be out of pocket a few days. No withdrawals since that time; we have his account tagged."
"They're running low on money, then," Cole said.
"You speak as if your daughter's a willing participant in her abduction," Cooper commented.
Cole looked at the F.B.I. agent as if he were an idiot. "Of course she is. My daughter is just naïve and gullible enough to believe that boy's lies and try to help him."
So the old man could tell the truth when it suited him, Laura thought. "Okay. They're runnin' low on money," she said aloud. "What would Marguerite do?"
For the first time, James Cole looked uncertain. He sat heavily on the edge of his daughter's bed. "I'm not sure. I hardly know my daughter anymore."
"You're looking for the ring," Cooper pressed. "Why?"
"It's the most valuable thing she owns besides her trust fund. And she'd know you'd have her bank accounts flagged."
"But she might try to sell the ring."
Cole suddenly looked his age. "It's hard to imagine her letting go of that ring. It has a lot of sentimental value. But maybe if she were desperate enough—" He slumped forward, head down, his forearms resting on his knees.
Laura crossed to where Cooper stood. She kept her voice low. "I'll contact pawn shops in a five-state area. I'll get President Cole to give me a detailed description of the ring."
"I'm going to be out of town at a meeting tomorrow, but I still want to be contacted directly with any hits," Cooper said. "I don't want this to fall through the cracks."
"Of course," Laura said. But she had her own ideas about who'd get the first heads up if Marguerite hocked Mommy's ring.
And it definitely wasn't Agent Cooper.
"Maggie?" Jack's voice cut through the residue of her dream, drawing her awake. It took a moment to regain her bearings, to recognize the comfortable great room of the hunting lodge, the nubby chenille throw clutched between her rigid fingers. Jack crouched in front of the sofa where she half-reclined, his expression concerned. "You cried out."
She rubbed her eyes, trying to remember what she'd been dreaming about. It was hazy but she had a definite sense of creeping danger. "I'm okay. Must have been a nightmare or something." She tried to smile, but sense of foreboding lingered like a bitter taste in her mouth. "Where's Remy?"
"Out in the bunkhouse." Jack smiled. "I told him it was too early to go to bed, but he kept yawning and swearing he could barely keep his eyes open." He rose and sat on the sofa beside Maggie. "Dishes are done and leftovers put away."
The feral gleam in his eyes drove away the last vestiges of sleep. She eyed him warily. "I'm sorry I dozed off and left you guys to do the clean-up."
"You cooked, we cleaned. Fair deal." He tangled his fingers in her mussed-up hair. She let herself relax against him, pressing her forehead into the curve of his throat. His arms moved around her, holding her close.
"Remy doesn't sleepwalk, does he?" he murmured.
She shook her head. "Not that I know of."
"Good." He cupped her chin in the curve of his palm, tipping her head back to brush his lips against hers. Even that light, undemanding kiss was enough to send her reeling, as if the earth had fallen away beneath her feet and his arms were the only thing keeping her from plunging into oblivion.
Against her rib cage, the pocket of Jack's leather jacket began to vibrate, jarring her. She forced a saucy grin. "Is that a phone in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"
Jack gave her hair a gentle tug and turned away just enough to reach into his pocket for the phone. He glanced at the display panel on the phone. His unsmiling expression gave Maggie a sudden chill. She craned her neck to read the caller I.D. display.
And saw the name "Laura."
Her stomach dropped and she looked up at Jack. His attention was on the phone, his brow furrowed and his jaw muscles tight. He waited for the phone to stop vibrating and stuck it back in his pocket. "It can wait." He sat back against the sofa cushions, but kept a little distance, his expression suddenly tense and faraway.
Maggie stood slowly, making a show of stretching, though her stomach was turning queasy little flips. She licked her dry lips, wondering if she should press him to tell her that the call was from Laura. Would he admit it? Or would he lie and say the call had been from someone else?
Maggie didn't want to know. She was exhausted, emotionally on edge. She didn't think she could bear it if he lied to her about Laura. She walked into the kitchen, making a show of wiping down the breakfast bar with a dish towel. But she kept her eye on Jack, trying to read his expression.
He chewed his lower lip, his expression bemused. Maggie could almost see his mind churning through his options. Call Laura back? Ignore the call altogether?
Unable to bear the suspense, she laid down the dish towel. "I'm heading to bed. Tomorrow's going to be a long day for everybody."
He looked up, surprised. "You're going to bed now?" He didn't add "alone" but the implication was there.
"Long day tomorrow. I'll talk to you in the morning."
She crossed to the bedroom, anxiety swirling in the pit of her belly. What would she do if he joined her inside, tried to finish what he'd s
tarted before Laura's call? Would she call him on his evasion, see if he lied to her face? Would she pretend she'd never seen Laura's name on the phone display and take whatever pleasure he could give her in the short time they had left before he went to Mobile?
But he didn't follow her to the bedroom immediately, though she left her door slightly ajar. Busying herself with undressing, she moved in near-silence, listening for any sound from outside.
Was he calling Laura? She strained to hear his voice, but all the only sounds coming from beyond her bedroom door were faint footsteps as Jack moved around the great room. Through the narrow crack in the doorway, she saw the lights dimming, one by one, until finally there was only darkness. A moment later, Jack's footsteps crossed to her door and paused there a moment.
Maggie froze, her heart suddenly racing.
The silence on the other side of the door became a living thing, enveloping Maggie with exquisite tension until all she heard was the jackhammer pounding of her pulse in her ears.
Please come in, she thought, forgetting her suspicions, her fears, even the danger they were in—everything but the way Jack's hands felt on her skin, the warm, slick slide of his tongue over hers, the rough timbre of his voice in her ear.
A floorboard creaked. The soles of Jack's shoes made faint squeaking sounds as he moved past her door to the other bedroom. A doorknob rattled. There was the soft click of a door closing.
Then, silence. Ordinary, uneventful silence.
Maggie dropped to the side of the bed, her knees giving out on her. She took several swift, deep breaths, forcing her rapid heartbeat to settle into a slower, steadier rhythm.
The scary part was, she was starting to like the way he made her feel—reckless, off-kilter, breathless and electric. Like a roller coaster at full speed, whipping around the curves so fast that she could barely hang on.
She used to hate that feeling, that loss of control.
Why didn't she hate it now?
By eleven, it was clear to Jack he wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon, and the oppressive silence of the bedroom was starting to slowly drive him mad. When Remy had announced his intention to sleep out in the bunkhouse, all Jack could think about was being alone, finally alone, with Maggie. Nothing to interrupt. Nothing to keep them from finding out just how deep and far their feelings for each other really went.
Then, Laura had called.
He should have taken the call. Maybe she knew people in the Mobile F.B.I. office. She could go to bat for Jack with one of the agents, make sure that he listened to what Jack had to say. He should have answered the damned phone.
But Maggie didn't trust her, so he'd ignored the call.
These days everything he did came back to Maggie. She knew more ways to get under his skin than he knew existed.
Jack closed his eyes, trying to shut out the thoughts and emotions destroying his ability to think clearly and rationally. If I were trying to handle this situation for a client, what actions would I suggest they take to solve the problem?
The answer lay against his hip, small, compact but oh, so powerful in this particular situation. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
Breakfast was a tense, quiet affair, once Remy's initial outburst of protest at Jack's plan subsided. Afterwards, Jack outlined for Remy and Maggie his plan for the day, including the fact that he wouldn't be able to use the cell phone to keep in touch. "They probably don't have probable cause to get a wiretap warrant, but I don't want to risk it."
"I don't like this, Jack." Remy looked up at him, his eyes wide and dark with fear. No hint of his usual bravado remained.
"I know. I don't like it either." A fierce protectiveness surged through Jack, surprising him. Until this moment, it hadn't occurred to him that he was involved in this mess for any reason other than helping Maggie. But maybe he was trying to protect Remy, too.
Remy hadn't asked to have addicts for parents or to be shuffled around in the foster care. And despite it all, he wasn't a bad kid. Already, he had responded well to the combination of Maggie's tenderness and Jack's discipline, and what he lacked in manners he made up for in brains and courage.
Jack could think of worse things to be than Remy Chauvin's advocate.
He squeezed the boy's arm, giving him a reassuring smile. "We can't keep going like this. We have to have help."
"Promise you'll be careful." Beside Jack, Maggie's voice was quiet, low with tension.
He let go of Remy's arm. "I will."
"Don't walk into a trap." There was an odd, almost defeated tone to her voice.
"They don't know I'm coming. I have the luxury of surprise." But her pessimism was apparently contagious; he felt the muscles of his abdomen grow tight with apprehension.
"Please be careful. There aren't a lot of people you can trust right now." Her eyes brimmed with an odd combination of fear and sadness. A shiver ran down his spine.
Maggie and Remy walked with him to the Blazer, the better vehicle to take since it was likely police hand an A.P.B. out on the Beretta. He wished he had a moment alone with Maggie to talk her out of her anxiety. Despite his own qualms, he knew they couldn't go much longer without help. Their money was running low; filling up the Blazer with gas for the trip was going to put a big dent in what was left.
But with Remy there, he could only squeeze Maggie's hand and whisper his assurances that by the end of the day, they would all be safe. She responded by pressing her forehead against the side of his neck. "Be careful."
He stroked her hair. "I will."
She stepped back, robbing him of her soft warmth. The day seemed colder than ever as he slid behind the wheel of the Blazer and started down the gravel drive. He cranked up the heat, letting its artificial warmth drive away the bone-deep chill that had crept over him as he watched Maggie and Remy grow smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror as he drove away.
He felt like a soldier going off to war, leaving his family behind, not sure he would ever see them again.
Chapter 11
Dark clouds rolling in from the Gulf of Mexico blanketed the piney woods around the lodge with unrelenting gloom. Rain threatened, but so far it had held off. Maggie glanced at her watch. Almost eight thirty a.m. Jack would be nearing the Alabama state line.
She pulled his leather jacket tightly around her, breathing in Jack's unmistakable scent, a spicy blend of soap, aftershave and man. She filled herself with the smell, the memory of him, evoking images old and new. She missed him desperately already.
What would she do if he never came back?
Her skin crawled with the need for someone else to share the space around her, fill it with warmth and noise. With Jack gone, the lodge felt empty and dead.
Remy's still here, she reminded herself. Remember him?
But he'd gone back to the bunkhouse after breakfast, still kid enough to find pleasure in something as simple as new, interesting surroundings.
She should check on him, she thought, heading outside.
A brisk breeze ruffled her hair as she followed a lightly-worn path into the woods. Settling deeper into Jack's coat, she picked up her pace, her quicker movements making the edges of the jacket flap. Something in the right pocket slapped against her thigh with each step. She reached into the pocket, her fingers closing around a cool, smooth shape.
Jack's cell phone.
Maggie pulled the phone from the jacket pocket, gazing down at its blank display panel. Laura Sandoval had called him on this phone last night. Had he called her back?
It would be easy to find out. Push a button and have the answer to the question that had plagued her all night.
Rubbing her thumb across the power button, she hesitated. Jack had put a lot on the line for her and Remy, and she owed him a little trust. But she also had a right to know if he had betrayed them to a woman who might be the enemy.
She pushed the power button. The phone hummed to life.
Maggie took a deep breath
. Please don't be there. Clicking through the "recent calls" menu, she found a call placed at eleven-forty five p.m. to a New Orleans area code.
Heat swept up her neck into her cheeks, made her ears ring and her head feel light. Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred. She dashed the moisture away with her fingertips.
Jack had made his choice. His loyalties still lay with Laura Sandoval. Maggie and Remy couldn't depend on Jack, since obviously they weren't his number one concern.
Maggie had always known she might have to go it alone.
Time to put plan B into motion.
Jack reached the Water Street exit off I-10 a few minutes after nine. From there, he had only a few blocks' drive to the sprawling building that housed the F.B.I.'s Mobile Field Office.
"The only agent I know by name is Kevin Dewberry," Laura had told him on the phone the night before. He'd been vague with his inquiry and Laura hadn't asked questions, just told him she'd known Dewberry from her time in D.C. a few years back. "I didn't know him well, but he seemed pretty straight up."
Jack hoped she was right about Dewberry, because he was less than a block from the F.B.I. building and in a minute, he was going to have to put his life—and the lives of Maggie and Remy—in the F.B.I. agent's hands.
Though there was plenty of parking at the F.B.I. building, Jack pulled into a lot across the street instead and parked the Blazer in the middle of a sea of cars and trucks. His view of the F.B.I entrance remained unobstructed, however, allowing him a good look at what he'd begun to think of as enemy territory.
This wasn't who he was, this wary creature peering out at the law-abiding world through suspicious eyes. He was the lawman, the one who protected and served. The
F.B.I. and police were his allies, not his adversaries.
When had it all gone wrong? The minute he gathered up Remy and Maggie for the dash across south Mississippi? Lied to his co-workers? Switched car tags? Or had it been when he'd welcomed Maggie into his life with open arms and raging libido?