by Mari Manning
“But—”
Kirby was out the door before Brittany could object. Let her tell Miss Bea if she wanted to. The nasty old woman could hardly hold Kirby against her will.
Kirby headed across the back lawn toward the Mercedes, which beckoned her from the open garage. Ducking inside, she dropped her purse onto the front seat. Beside her, a short flight of steps rose to the coach house. The solid door and two shiny brass dead bolts seemed to holler at would-be visitors, Keep Out.
On a wall beside the steps, a pegboard hung. A dozen keys dangled from its hooks.
“Seth, are you there?” No answer.
Police work could be very satisfying. Very, very satisfying. Like now. She lifted the Mercedes key from a hook, palmed it, and headed for the barn where Maguire had disappeared after his skirmish with Miss Bea.
Deep in the barn, Maguire hosed down giant screens. Kirby watched him lift the large frames as if they weighed nothing then maneuver the nozzle in an efficient S pattern. His movements were graceful and sure beneath his sweat-dampened shirt. No mystery why this man had Frankie and Brittany falling all over themselves. A small spark of desire warmed her belly. If he was a better man, a decent man, she might be falling all over herself, too.
She turned away from him and inspected the barn for any obvious places to hold a hostage. As far as she could see, there were none.
On her right, two stalls spread with fresh hay awaited Old Tom and Darby’s return from the paddock. Reins, feed buckets, and other horse gear hung from the wall beside them. Below the horse gear, the rifle from the ridge lay across a tack box.
Bang!
Kirby jumped.
Maguire had dropped the metal screen. He pulled a long brush from a bucket and scraped the frame.
A single bead of sweat ran down her face. She wiped it away and lifted the rifle from the tack box. It was only a few pounds heavier than her Glock. A kid’s gun. Or a lady’s. Resting it against her shoulder, she aimed out at the fields and checked the sight. Waves of lavender swayed into view. Had the shooter meant to warn them away from the ridge? Or had he meant to kill Frankie?
She fingered the ornate stock. It had been hand carved and polished to a deep luster. A rifle made for show and sport. The intertwined leaves and branches framed two letters: BV. Bea Vine.
The water stopped abruptly. “Frankie? What are you doing in here?” Displeasure glittered in Maguire’s eyes.
She set the rifle down. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Seems like you were sneaking up on me.”
She was damn sick of being the bad guy. Irritation tightened her jaw. “I didn’t sneak. I walked. Into the barn. To talk to you.”
“So what do you want to talk about?”
“I just saw Miss Bea. She seemed upset.”
“Yeah?”
“What happened?”
He shrugged and took a few steps closer to her. “None of your business.”
“Of course. I just wondered if it had something to do with her gun.”
His mouth thinned. “No. Go back to the house, Frankie. I got work to do.”
Some folks lied in interrogation; others preferred to blow smoke. Like Maguire. “So the gun used in the attack this morning was hers. Right?”
“Forget about this morning. I have everything under control.”
“It’s a simple question. Yes or no.”
“Since you know it was, why are you asking?”
“I thought no guns were allowed on the ranch.”
A speculative look lit his eyes. “We talked about this last month. Remember?”
He was lying. Wasn’t he? She had no choice but to take a chance or not get her questions answered. “No. I don’t. Are you sure?”
“You asked if it was loaded,” he said.
“Definitely don’t recall asking that. And you said what?”
“No. Shaw let Miss Bea keep it for sentimental reasons. Anyone who wanted to use it would have to drive into El Royo and buy bullets.”
“The shooting should be reported. The local cops will check the gun shops. See who bought ammo in the past week.” Why didn’t he want to call the police? Why didn’t Frankie? It didn’t made sense.
The way he tilted his head, the way he looked at her like he could read her thoughts, told her one important fact. He knew why the police weren’t called, and he thought she should, too. “Nothing happened out there. An unknown person shot a gun. Probably by accident.” He jerked his head at the rifle. “Maybe it was that gun, maybe not.”
“Did you check the chamber? Is it loaded?”
“Listen, Frankie. No one was hurt. Besides, Miss Bea says she didn’t do it.”
“You don’t believe her,” Kirby said. She wanted the truth from Maguire, and she wasn’t letting go until she got it.
He glowered at her. “You a mind reader now?”
“You tell me. I say you confronted her, she proclaimed her innocence, you didn’t believe her. Does that just about sum up what happened a little earlier?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spoke roughly.
“I think I do.” She narrowed her gaze and met his, daring him to lie to her face.
He rubbed his chin and studied her. A dangerous gleam lit his eyes. “Never seen you so nosy before.”
Panic squeezed her, then it was gone. He couldn’t prove she wasn’t Frankie, and in a few days she’d be in Tulsa, and Frankie would be back in Shaw Valley and, hopefully, reunited with Charleen. There was nothing more to learn here, and by the looks of him, Maguire needed time to cool down. A dangerous gleam lit his eyes, and his mouth had tightened into a hard line.
“I should go,” she said, stepping back from him.
“Stick around, Frankie. The new you is sort of growing on me.” His gaze swept down her body and landed on her ballet flats. “Maybe you’d like to help me clean the lavender screens. Seeing as you got your sensible shoes on today. You liked feeding the horses, didn’t you? This will be fun, too.”
Her heart thumped. “I’d just be in the way.”
“You helped me last year.” He studied her. “Remember? It was your first week at the ranch, and you came wandering in here. Just like now. Said you wanted to work at my side.” His eyes bored into hers. “You were wearing those ridiculous shoes. You remember them, don’t you?”
Something in his gaze and the way he moved closer made her throat constrict. “Uh, yes. Of course.”
“What did you call those shoes again?”
He took another step. The heat of his body closed around her. The scents of detergent and perspiration and anger assaulted her nose. She pulled out of his reach and said, “Heels?”
They were eye to eye now. Sparring for answers neither of them was willing to provide. The words hardly mattered.
Maguire shook his head. “No. Something else. Sounded Italian.”
Slowly, carefully, steadily, he kept coming. A hunter closing in on his prey. He breached her personal space, hovering over her. The toes of his boots pressed against her ballet flats. Her eyes were even with his thick chest.
If she ran, he’d know. Guilt always ran. She held her ground. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Look at me.” His fingers slipped under her chin and tilted her face up. They were hot and rough, like his breath and his stubbled cheeks. Like him. She couldn’t breathe. Suspicion smoldered in his eyes, and something more dangerous. The desire to break her. He released her chin. Heavy palms pressed her shoulders and brushed down her bare arms, curling in to capture her elbows. He lowered his head. His mouth was a breath away from hers. She couldn’t look away.
“Who the hell are you?” he whispered.
The heat inside her turned to ice. She jerked back. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you’ve been hanging all over me since you got here last year.”
Her jaw dropped.
A corner of his mouth quirked up victoriously. “I’m
talking about how two weeks ago you walked out of the main house all painted up and smelling like a bottle of French perfume, wearing a see-through nightie. Gave Shaw a fright, that’s for sure. And how you came up to my apartment and paraded around naked, and now here we are alone and all of a sudden you’re acting like Mother Teresa.”
Her cheeks burned.
Seth’s eyebrows shot up. “Have I upset you?”
She pressed her hands to her face. “I’ve got to go.”
“Stick around, Frankie.” His voice was raspy and low. “Do a little striptease for me like you did before. Manny’s gone. No one will disturb us. Let’s see that fancy boob job again. Who knows? Maybe it will get me in the mood this time.”
Inside her, pure panic screamed. She’d blown her cover. Not even twenty-four hours as Frankie, and she’d been made. “Don’t touch me.” She pushed hard against him, and he staggered back.
He grabbed her wrist. Eyes the color of storm clouds blazed into hers. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you?”
“And I said, don’t touch me.” She flung her captive arm out and brought her knee up toward his crotch.
“Fuck!” He released her and jumped back.
He was breathing hard when he straightened. His eyes locked into hers. She couldn’t turn away. Maybe she didn’t want to. Finally, he nodded, as if he’d just finished reading every secret locked inside her.
“Seems like we got a problem,” he said.
“What’s that?” At least she sounded tough.
“I want something from you, and you want something from me.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“That’s not what your eyes say.”
Heat spread across her face. Again. “You’re crazy.” She turned and left the barn fast as an orderly retreat allowed.
…
Seth let her go.
Who the hell is she?
She looked like Frankie, sounded like Frankie, dressed like Frankie. But she wasn’t Frankie. Her eyes were kind, not hungry like Frankie’s. This girl saw him. Frankie’s eyes consumed him…like he was Thanksgiving dinner.
But how was it possible? Maybe Frankie got banged on the head or maybe she had multiple personalities or maybe she found religion. The last one made him laugh. He rubbed his fingers together, still feeling the silk of this girl’s skin. No. She wasn’t Frankie. He’d know.
The Mercedes’s engine turned over and came to life. Shit. She was getting away.
“Frankie, come back.”
He ran. But it was too late. The Mercedes roared from the garage, tires spinning as doppel-Frankie shifted into drive and zoomed off.
She’d go to El Royo.
He backed his Jeep out of the garage to chase her, then slowed. Brittany was sprinting across the lawn. Her plump arms waved frantically. Not now. But he stopped.
“What is it?” He snapped the question at her.
Tiny beads of perspiration coated her pale skin. Her little pink mouth was hauling in air like she’d run a marathon. She leaned against his door. “I have to tell you something.”
“I don’t have time—”
“Miss Frances has a gun.”
How the hell did she get a gun? It bothered him more than having doppel-Frankie dropped on his doorstep. She had a gun, and from the way she’d handled Miss Bea’s rifle, he had no doubt she could use it. “Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh.” She picked up a pigtail and chewed the end. “Saw it myself. It was in her underwear drawer.”
Brittany’s large breasts pressed against the car door. She leaned into the window. A sweet berry scent floated into the Jeep.
“That it? I gotta go.” He’d figure out something later. After he figured out what doppel-Frankie was up to now.
She tickled her cheek with the wet tip of her hair. “It was a pistol. A Glock, I think. It’s okay, though. I took out the bullets.” She fished in her overalls and produced a bullet. “See.”
“Damn good thinking.”
Brittany’s little mouth curled into a smug smile. “I’ve been watching her. In the house, I mean. I thought you’d want me to.”
He could use an ally. “I appreciate your help, Brit. You let me know if you see anything else.”
“Like if she’s asking a lot of questions or sneaks into Mr. Shaw’s side of the house?” Her gaze sidled into his.
“Did Miss Bea see any of this?”
“This morning Miss Bea and Mr. Shaw caught her snooping in the west wing.”
It would explain why Miss Bea was fit to be tied when she called him to fetch Frankie from the house. “Good to know. Tell me if you see anything else.”
“Wait! I wanted to ask you something.”
“Make it quick, honey.”
Brittany’s round face turned ten shades of red. “I, uh, I just wondered if you liked, uh, pie. Cherry pie. I’m a real good cook.”
Was she coming on to him? He held back a groan. Between Frankie, doppel-Frankie, and Miss Bea, he had all the female trouble he could handle.
“I’ve got to go.” He pressed his foot to the floor and got the hell out of Dodge.
Chapter Seven
Kirby inhaled her greasy cheeseburger and fries, scraping up everything on the plate but the words “Limestone Diner.” After the chicken feed and forage served at the ranch, heaven was a hamburger.
She motioned to the waitress. “Can I get the check?”
“Keep your shirt on, Frankie. If you know how.”
Sheesh. It just didn’t add up. How could an entire county of folks hate one girl so much? Was it jealousy? Shaw Valley Ranch had to be worth a fortune. Kirby thought about the envelope of cash in her purse. If Frankie was flashing cash around town, it might be enough to get folks’ hackles up.
A tall shadow moved over the table. Maguire’s voice rumbled. “Mind if I sit?”
His hair was tussled, his eyes narrow slits, his crooked nose pinched, but he managed a jaunty smile. Faker.
“I prefer to be alone.”
He slid into the booth and faced her. A second later, the waitress slinked up. “Haven’t seen you for a while, babe.” She winked at him. “The usual?”
His eyes met Kirby’s. “Just a Coke.”
Maguire and the waitress. Maguire and Brittany. Maguire and Frankie. Her half sister wasn’t the only person getting around in Shaw Valley. “You’re quite the lady-killer. Of course, what woman could resist your smooth charm?”
Surprise flickered across his face. He leaned in, so close she could almost taste him. His voice was soft and low. “Not the real Frankie.”
The drive to town and the lunch had given her time to pull it together. She wasn’t giving him anything. “Sunstroke’s a real danger around here,” she said. “Causes hallucinations. You should see a doctor.”
He chuckled but didn’t move. His gazed bored into her. “You look cornered.”
“And you look crazy.”
“Thought you liked it when I was friendly.” A mirthless smile curled his lips.
She shot him a nasty grin. “Do you really mean it? Do you want to be friendly?”
His eyes flicked over her. “Very friendly.”
“Then go back to the ranch and leave me alone.”
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Need to keep my eye on you. Never know what you’ll get into next.”
“I’m just sitting here minding my own business. You might try it sometime.”
“Since you’re having a lot of amnesia lately, let me refresh your memory. The last time you came to El Royo you got hammered, and when you finally managed to stagger home with your date…” A dark brow rose and the corner of his mouth curled upward. “You two made enough noise to wake the dead. That includes Shaw and Miss Bea. Remember?”
She kept her gaze steady and hard. “Jealous?”
A Coke banged on the table. A straw dropped between them.
Maguire looked up at the waitress. “Thanks, Angie
. How you been?”
“Been better.” She eyed Kirby.
“Yeah?”
Kirby slid out of the booth. “Gotta use the restroom.” Maguire rose. “Don’t get up.” She turned to Angie. “Great burger. He’s paying.”
Kirby studied her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. Hair tangled from the drive, nose pink from the sun, eyes green and unfamiliar. She smoothed down her hair and splashed cold water on her face.
“Frankie?” Angie poked her head in the bathroom. She glared at Kirby. “Seth says to get your ass out here or he’s coming in.”
“Tell him I went out the back.”
“Fuck you.”
Angie was small and pretty—smooth, rosy skin, bright blue eyes, curly blond hair. Maguire’s type? Who was she kidding? Angie was every guy’s type. Maguire must have been all over her like a stallion on a stud farm. Had Frankie gotten jealous?
“I really need you to tell him I’m gone.”
“Thought you were hot for him.”
“I’ve sort of gotten over him.”
Angie’s cheeks blazed bright red. “You bitch! You told Miss Bea about us and got me fired.”
“I was going through a rough time.”
“You owe me. I never got my last week’s pay.”
“I’ll pay you today. Right here. Just get rid of him.”
Maguire’s voice vibrated through the door. “Is she in there?”
A few seconds ticked. Head tilted, chin up, mouth pursed, Angie considered her. She backed out of the ladies’ room. “One of the guys saw her duck out the kitchen.”
Bless Angie’s money-grubbing little heart.
Maguire’s response was immediate and sharp. “Shit!” The pound, pound, pound of his boots shook the floor, then faded away.
The bathroom door opened, and Angie returned. She held out her hand. “I can call him back. Just so you know.”
Kirby pulled out the envelope. “How much?”
“Four hundred dollars. Of course, that doesn’t include severance.”
“Tell you what, Angie. I’ll pay you back wages plus two weeks’ severance if you answer some questions for me.”
“Like what?”
“Just general stuff.”