Lost But Not Forgotten

by Roz Denny Fox

  Nothing remained on their plates when Gillian rose and began to gather the crockery for washing.

  “Leave those. We’ll clean up later. Let’s go see the town.”

  “Won’t walking up and down hills be too hard on your hip?”

  “Nope. I want you to see how beautiful it is here.” What Mitch didn’t say was that he wanted Gillian to fall in love with Arizona—and with him—enough to stay. Forever.

  They walked hand in hand, poking into specialty shops tucked into narrow malls. At one adobe-front store, Mitch insisted on buying her a native Zuni fetish necklace she admired.

  “Each animal is representative of a living power,” he told her. “You’ve chosen wisely in the bear.” He touched a rosy quartz carving that lay nestled between her breasts. “According to legend, the bear embodies strength, courage, power, good luck and healing.”

  “Well, those are all things I need. You shouldn’t have been so extravagant, but I love it, Mitch. Thank you.” As they walked, she kept touching the piece.

  Mitch openly wore a smile. He enjoyed seeing her eyes sparkle, even if they’d changed color on him. “There’s another special place I want you to see.”

  Rather than walk all the way back to the condo to get his pickup, Mitch rented a Jeep and drove them to an impressive church that seemed to grow right out of the red rocks. Taking her hand, he led her inside.

  “Mitch, it’s absolutely awesome,” she whispered. “I felt at peace earlier today while I watched the sun come up. Here, I— It’s— How it affects me is beyond words.”

  He turned her around and pointed. “In the rock face across the gulch, can you see the natural formation of the Madonna and child?”

  Her breath caught. With her eyes glued on the sight, Gilly covered her stomach with both hands. Surely this was a sign she would have Mitch’s baby one day.

  Eventually he nudged her. “You can’t spend the night, Gilly,” he teased. “I suggest we end our outing at a Mexican restaurant I’ve heard has great food and a spectacular view of the sunset.”

  She roused herself but gazed at him out of unfocused eyes. “Should we spend money on eating out? I’ve never cooked Mexican food, but I make some pretty good Cajun dishes.”

  “We won’t use money, we’ll give them plastic. It’s the American way.”

  Rallying, she punched his arm playfully.

  He hooted. Suddenly lighthearted, he looped his arm around her neck and nibbled on her earlobe before racing her to the Jeep—letting her beat him, of course.

  Back in town, after Mitch had turned in the Jeep, they crossed the street and climbed a set of steps leading to a noisy restaurant. The place was packed with snowbirds. When it came their turn, they were delighted to receive a table on the patio. During dinner they were treated to a kaleidoscope of colors cartwheeling across the red rock formations.

  “Spectacular view aside, chile relleno is nothing like what I expected,” Gillian exclaimed. She’d done a good job of devouring most of what had been on her plate. “All the same it was delicious.” She leaned back with a sigh.

  Mitch swallowed the last bite of his Sonoran-style tamales. “I guess you are ravenous as you claimed. That’s the most I’ve seen you eat since we met.” In the fading rays of the sun, his eyes glowed with golden warmth. “We’ll have to order Mexican food more often.”

  She crossed her eyes and puffed out her cheeks. “If I stick with you, Valetti, you’ll have me waddling away from Sedona.”

  “Fat chance.” When she giggled, he said, “I still think you’ve lost weight. Ready to leave? I don’t want to rush you, but I should check in with Ethan again.”

  Gillian stopped clowning, sat up straight and felt for her good-luck necklace. “Lead the way,” she said in a sober voice.

  “Mitch.” She clasped his hand as he stood. “I want you to know this has been the most wonderful day I’ve had in months. Years, maybe.”

  He savored her compliment as they strolled toward Noreen Malone’s condo, which suddenly seemed like home to Mitch. Because Gilly was there with him.

  “Brr.” Gilly hunted for the thermostat after they’d entered the apartment and turned on the lights. “My education about Arizona has been sadly lacking. I’d never have expected the temperature to drop so drastically.”

  Mitch inspected her lightweight jacket. “Is that the warmest thing Regan rounded up for you?”

  “No. She sent two sweatshirts. I’ll bring one if we go out tomorrow. Would you like me to make coffee? I think I’d like some to warm up.”

  Mitch nodded, the phone already at his ear. He was relieved when Gillian went into the kitchen; this way he could speak more freely. “Hiya, partner. Just checking in.”

  There was loud swearing at the other end. Mitch cringed as he lowered the phone for a moment. “We went out for a few hours. I didn’t know I was supposed to keep her prisoner. Next time I’ll bring the cell phone.”

  Gillian walked back into the living room. Mitch turned his back on her. She took the hint and disappeared into the bedroom. “You brought in Turpin and Capputo? Good job! What do you mean the chief called in the FBI? Why can’t you hold them? Anyway, isn’t our objective to follow them to their leader? At least we’ll know who posts bail.”

  Gillian returned. She carried the small suitcase that had become so familiar to Mitch. He frowned when she sat on one of the love seats and unpacked the quilt, the tiny pink dress and then set aside the urn.

  He clapped a hand over the mouthpiece. “What are you doing?”

  “Hunting for the key again. I got to thinking… Daryl might’ve slit one of the quilt blocks and slipped a key inside. Is your phone call private? If so, I can do this in the bedroom.”

  Mitch debated whether he should have her stay or go. What Ethan had to say did, after all, involve her. He shook his head brusquely before he went back to listening. His call ended a moment later. Mitch slammed the phone down, and released a pent-up breath.

  Gillian was distracted from her task by his actions, and her hands stilled. “Bad news?”

  He saw she’d removed her colored contacts in the bedroom, and her tragic blue eyes were wary and fixed on him.

  “Ethan arrested the men who’ve been tailing you.”

  “Isn’t that good?”

  “They were bailed out faster than Ethan could sneeze. Capputo and Turpin each called a different attorney. Standard practice when these guys are associated with crime bosses. It confuses local authorities.” He paced nervously, all the while massaging the back of his neck. “In the case of our boys, both lawyers have been under FBI surveillance. Now the Fibbies want to talk to you.”

  “Me?” She looked like a rabbit facing a predator, not knowing which way to run.

  “It’s fairly standard operating procedure,” he said, dropping to his knees beside her. “You already know what kind of men Turpin and Capputo are. It shouldn’t come as any surprise to hear they’ve made someone’s ten most wanted list.”

  “But the FBI! Mitch, I can’t help them. Will you talk to them, please? You know everything I know.”

  “I’ll be here, Gilly, but they’ll want to hear the story directly from you. That’s just how those guys are. So, you repeat exactly what you told Ethan and me.”

  “They—they won’t confiscate my suitcase, will they?”

  “They’d better not. Come on, I’ll help you look through it again.”

  They each patted down every colorful quilt square. Mitch loosened the lining in the case itself and double-checked all the corners. Sitting back on his heels, he watched Gilly carefully restore the items to the case. “I’ll swear there’s no key in that bag,” he said as she lightly touched the urn and then closed the lid on the case.

  “I know. Yet it’s so unlike the Daryl I knew. He simply wouldn’t tell Patrick I’d have a key in my possession and then not make sure I did.”

  “I think we have to assume his plans went awry.”

  “That’s the part I can’t
fathom. His plans never went awry. He was so methodical about everything. Believe it or not, the clothes in Daryl’s closet were number-coded.”

  “He dressed by number?” Mitch asked, incredulous.

  “Yes. He tried to organize me, too. I hated studying a chart every morning to try and decide if it was a 4, 3, 6 day or a 2, 7, 8 one.”

  Mitch couldn’t help laughing. “I shouldn’t make fun of someone who can’t defend his position. Obviously, he took numbers seriously. I’m beginning to see why you and Malone were so sure you’d find the key. But you’ve heard that saying about the best-laid plans.”

  “Maybe you ought to tell that to Turpin and Capputo.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll ask the FBI to pass it along, with our regards—once they track those bastards down again. Tonight, though, is still ours to enjoy. Let’s put this out of our minds and go to bed.”

  A smile worked its way across Gillian’s face. “Wait till you get a load of the nightgown Regan sent for me to wear.”

  Mitch edged closer and waggled his brows. “I thought you looked fine without one.”

  “Isn’t a hint of mystery supposed to be sexier? You know, something to make you wonder what’s under the red satin?”

  He rocked his hand back and forth. “I’m willing to show I’m broad-minded. How much time do you need to slip into your red-hot number? Sorry, I didn’t mean to use that word—number, I mean.”

  “A minute or two.” Her voice was low and sultry.

  “I was about to go sample the coffee. But if you talk like that again, all bets are off.”

  She teased him further with a drawn-out kiss. Then before he could put his hands on her, she slithered out of his reach and pirouetted off to the bedroom.

  Mitch rubbed both hands over his face, as if that would stave off the fire rising through his veins. He needed caffeine like he needed a hole in the head, but Gilly deserved a chance to deck herself out. She’d left most of what she owned behind in New Orleans, and then those sleazebags had slashed the pitifully few things he’d seen hanging in her closet.

  Decision made, Mitch pulled himself together and went to pour a mug of coffee. Trusting she’d had hers earlier, he switched off the coffeemaker.

  He stood at the glass door, staring at the winking stars that studded the night sky. He sensed her presence behind him, seconds before catching the scent of her perfume. Mitch turned and felt the air leave his lungs. The mug slipped from his grasp and hit the floor tile. Luckily it bounced instead of breaking. Coffee splashed his legs, but the heat seeping through the cuff of his jeans was tame compared to the fire consuming the rest of him.

  Gillian posed in the doorway, one arm raised, her right hip casually leaning against the casing. A wide band of red lace flirted with her upper thighs, leaving a mile of leg smooth and bare. The same kind of peek-a-boo lace plunged in a deep V between her breasts, offering him an enticing, shadowy cleft.

  “You were right and I was wrong,” he said when he managed to find his voice. “Red satin is sexy. Damn sexy.” Mitch stepped over the puddled coffee and knew Gilly could feel the effect of her appearance in the swell behind his jeans zipper as he crushed her tight and swung her into his arms.

  He wanted to take his time tonight for her sake. But in less than five minutes, the red satin confection lay tangled on the bedroom floor.

  Gillian had toyed with the idea of teasing him, maybe playing hard to get. One look into his smoky eyes and she was lost. Though both of them were hot and ready, Gilly hung on to her control long enough to press him into the mattress and to slide a thigh up and down his injured hip. Her last coherent thought—she was darned well going to treat him to seduction, Southern-style, tonight.

  Mitch might have been the one to start out fully charged, but she soon caught up. They fell into a natural rhythm as the heat and pressure built and built and built—until a thin layer of resolve stood between each of them and explosion.

  Gilly knew she’d achieved her aim when Mitch swore and begged for mercy. But he was too far gone to feel her catlike smile form around his exploring tongue.

  Her heart pounded hard, like rushing water through her ears.

  His almost leaped out of his chest.

  Sweat slicked their bodies, drenching the sheets. Mitch wondered how high a man’s body heat could rise before he died.

  He needn’t have been concerned. They did explode then, virtually together. In the moments that followed, he was positive he’d landed on a new planet. Or in heaven. Why else would he be drifting among soft, downy clouds?

  “Are you all right?” Gilly murmured, stirring at last.

  “No, but I’ll help you prepare my eulogy in the morning.” He held her in place, stretched along the length of him, when she tried to wriggle off. With one limp hand, he awkwardly pulled the bedspread over their still-heated bodies.

  This time, her smile curved against his chest. “We were pretty perfect, weren’t we?”

  His answer was to grasp the back of her head while he leaned forward and fused their mouths in a kiss of gratitude…and just plain happiness.

  Afterward they slept, arms and legs entwined. Somewhere in the back of Mitch’s mind lay a fuzzy intent to try to top their performance….

  The next thing he knew, he and Gilly were ejected from a sound sleep by a loud knocking at the front door.

  “It’s them,” Gilly cried in fear, snapping on the bedside lamp as she scrambled to pull on her nothing nightgown.

  “Who?” Mitch hopped around on one foot, attempting to turn the second leg of yesterday’s jeans right-side out.

  “The men! The Arm and The Turtle.”

  “I don’t think so.” Mitch had finally managed to calm his pounding heart. “Those guys tried to break down the door of your apartment. Whoever’s out there now is slightly more civilized. Maybe the FBI? I’ll go check. Just in case we need to make a fast break, why don’t you wear something more…substantial?” Even as he said it, his eyes caressed her.

  She pointed at the bedside clock. “Mitch, it’s 2:00 a.m. Who calls on anyone at that hour?”

  Then they heard a gravelly voice announce, “FBI, open up.”

  “Well, now we know—and it’s not exactly a surprise.” He sighed. “I’ll go take a gander at their ID while you change into something…warmer.”

  She was already gathering clothes from the duffel Regan had packed. “Be careful,” she warned seconds before disappearing into the bathroom.

  Mitch took time to pull on a T-shirt and his boots. He even finger-combed his hair on his way to the door. “Hold your horses,” he called out. “We’re not all night owls just because you are.” He peered through the peephole. “Okay, I’m here. Let’s see a badge.”

  Two men in dark suits held shields close to the halogen light illuminating the condo door. Satisfied, Mitch threw the dead bolt and the night lock and opened the door a few inches.

  “We’re here to talk to Noelle McGrath. She may be calling herself Gillian Stevens. Get her,” snapped the bossier of the two men, shoving his way inside.

  “State your name,” said the other, a man who wore horned-rimmed glasses.

  Mitch narrowed his eyes. “You know my name. Chief Wellington, Desert City P.D., gave it to you. Or Detective Ethan Knight did. I’m Mitch Valetti, formerly with the Desert City force.”

  “Don’t get smart with us, Valetti. Ex-cops have zero authority.”

  “You’ve got no right to speak to Mitch like that,” Gillian said in a cool voice from the bedroom doorway. “I’m Gillian Noelle McGrath. Please keep your voices down, and everyone sit. Noreen Malone was kind enough to let us stay in her home. I’d hate to have neighbors complain and cause her trouble.”

  Mitch felt a burst of pride in the woman who’d scrubbed her face to a little-girl shine, but who’d clearly taken command of the room.

  The agents lumbered all the way in and sat down, trying to be civil. “I’m Agent Bob Hall, and my partner’s Agent Kevin Eloy.”

&
nbsp; “Got any coffee?” Eloy, the one blinking behind glasses, asked hopefully.

  Gilly raised her eyebrows. “I’ll be glad to make some, but I doubt many normal people have a pot going at this hour.”

  “I’ll zap what’s left from last night in the microwave,” Mitch offered. “It’ll still be better than the rotgut stuff these guys guzzle day in and day out.”

  Gillian nodded, but she wished he’d stay. When he walked out of the room, the small amount of bravado she had disappeared with him.

  “Well, well, Mrs. McGrath,” Hall began the minute she’d settled on the love seat. “You and your husband, Daryl, kept company with some A-1 assholes.”

  Gillian bristled. “First, Daryl and I were divorced before he was killed. Second, from the little I know, they were his clients. I gather he didn’t like them any better than you do. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made a list of their names.” As Mitch had suggested earlier, Gillian began to tell them what she knew.

  He came back with coffee for everyone before she’d finished her story. He sat on the overstuffed arm of her love seat and curved a reassuring hand over her shoulder.

  “Names,” Hall spat when she ended. “We need those names and any other particulars you can give us. The lawyers who bailed out Capputo and Turpin are both tied to known mobsters who deal in drugs, prostitution and gambling. We also suspect they’re in the illegal weapons business now.”

  “I—I—” she stammered, turning a stricken face to Mitch.

  “She just told you about the key. No one’s been able to find it. Take it easy, Hall, she’s not the enemy here.”

  “You have proof of that?” Hall curled his lip. “She’s a player in a field where the stakes are enormous and everyone plays or dies. How can we know she’s not using you and Knight to cover her tush while she holds on to the key, trying to shake down the head honchos?”

  “What are you saying?” Gillian demanded. “What’s he saying?” She looked at Mitch with frightened eyes.