by Karen Rose
She had, in fact, been silent as she struggled to process all the thoughts and fears that warred in her mind. “I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking.” She remembered her manners. “Thank you for going with me tonight,” she said. “You’ve been very kind.”
His jaw was tight as he came around to open her door. She followed him up to his house and waited while he disarmed the alarm. “Come in. I’ll get your jacket.”
“And my satchel.”
His smile was grim. “I didn’t think you’d forgotten about it.”
Riley sat up, yawning again. He padded across the room and plopped down at Alex’s feet. Vartanian’s lips twitched. “And you’re not even a pork chop,” he murmured.
Alex bent over to scratch Riley’s ears. “Did you say ‘pork chop’?”
“It’s a private joke, mine and Riley’s. I’ll get your coat.” He sighed. “And satchel.”
Alex watched him go, shaking her head. Men were not creatures she’d ever fully understood. Not that she’d had much practice. Richard had been her first, if she didn’t count Wade, which she never did. So that would be… one. And wasn’t Richard a sterling example of her finesse with members of the opposite sex? That would be… no.
Thoughts of Richard always depressed her. She’d failed at their marriage. She’d never been able to be what he needed or the kind of wife she’d wanted to be.
But she wouldn’t fail Hope. If nothing else, Bailey’s child would have a good life, with or without Bailey. Now both depressed and terrified, she looked around Vartanian’s living room for a distraction and found it in the painting over his bar. It made her smile.
“What?” he asked, holding her jacket draped over one arm like a maître d’.
“Your painting.”
He grinned, making him look younger. “Hey, Dogs Playing Poker is a classic.”
“I don’t know. Somehow I took you for a man with more sophisticated taste in art.”
His grin dimmed. “I don’t take art too seriously.”
“Because of Simon,” she said quietly. Vartanian’s brother had been a painter.
What was left of his grin disappeared, leaving him sober and haunted. “You know.”
“I read the articles online.” She’d read about the people Simon had killed, including Daniel’s parents. She’d read how Daniel assisted in Simon’s capture and death.
I’ll see you in hell, Simon. She needed to tell him. “Agent Vartanian, I have information you need to know. When I left the morgue today, I drove to Bailey’s house. While I was there I met a man. A reverend. And a soldier, too, I guess.”
He sat on a bar stool, dropping her jacket and satchel to the bar and focusing his piercing blue eyes on her face. “A reverend and a soldier came to Bailey’s house?”
“No. The reverend was a soldier, an army chaplain. Bailey had an older brother. His name was Wade. He died a month ago in Iraq.”
“I’m sorry.”
She frowned. “I’m not sure I am. I guess you think that’s pretty rotten of me.”
Something moved in his eyes. “No. I don’t, actually. What did the chaplain say?”
“Reverend Beardsley was with Wade when he died. He heard Wade’s last confession and wrote three letters Wade dictated, to me, his father, and Bailey. Beardsley mailed Bailey’s and her father’s to the old house where Bailey’s still living. He didn’t mail mine because he didn’t have my address, so he gave it to me today.”
“Bailey would have received the letters a few weeks ago. The timing is interesting.”
“I told Beardsley that Bailey was missing, but he wouldn’t divulge what Wade had said in his last confession. I begged him for anything that could help me find Bailey, anything that wasn’t privileged. Before he died, Wade said, ‘I’ll see you in hell, Simon.’ ”
She blew out a breath and watched as Vartanian paled. “Wade knew Simon?”
“Apparently so. Just like you know something you haven’t told me, Agent Vartanian. I can see it in your face. And I want to know what it is.”
“I killed my brother a week ago. If nothing showed on my face, I wouldn’t be human.”
Alex frowned. “You didn’t kill him. The article said that other detective did.”
His eyes flickered. “We both fired. The other guy just got lucky.”
“So you’re not going to tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Why are you so sure I know something?”
Alex narrowed her eyes. “Because you’ve been way too nice to me.”
“And a man always has an ulterior motive.” He said it darkly.
She shrugged out of his letter jacket. “In my experience, yes.”
He slid off the stool and stood toe-to-toe with her, forcing her to look way up. “I’ve been nice to you because I thought you needed a friend.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. I must have ‘stupid’ tattooed on my forehead.”
His blue eyes flashed. “Fine. I was nice to you because I think you’re right-Bailey’s disappearance is connected to that woman we found yesterday and I’m ashamed at how the Dutton sheriff, who I thought was my friend, hasn’t lifted a goddamn finger to help either of us. That’s the truth, Alex, whether you can accept it or not.”
You can’t take the truth. As it had that morning, the taunt sprang from nowhere and Alex closed her eyes, quelling the panic. She opened her eyes to find him still staring, every bit as intently as before. “All right,” she murmured. “That I can believe.”
He leaned closer. Too close. “Good, because there’s another reason.”
“Do tell,” she said, her voice cool despite the way her heart now pounded.
“I like you. I want to spend time with you when you’re not scared to death and vulnerable. And because I respect how you’ve held up now… and back then.”
Her chin lifted. “Back then?”
“You read my articles, Alex, and I read yours.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. He knew about her breakdown, about her suicide attempt. She wanted to look away, but she refused to be the first to do so. “I see.”
He searched her eyes, then shook his head. “No, I really don’t think you do. And maybe that’s for the best right now.” He straightened and took a step back and she sucked in a deep breath. “So Wade knew Simon,” he said. “Were they the same age?”
“They were in the same class at Jefferson High.” She frowned. “But you have a sister who’s the same age as I am and she went to Bryson Academy.”
“So did I and so did Simon at first. My father went there, too, as did his father.”
“Bryson was an expensive school. I imagine it still is.”
Daniel shrugged. “We were comfortable.”
Alex’s smile was wry. “No, you were rich. That school cost more than some colleges. My mother tried to get us in on a scholarship, but our kin hadn’t fought alongside Lee and Stonewall.” She injected a drawl into her voice and his smile was equally wry.
“You’re right. We had financial wealth. Simon didn’t graduate from Bryson,” he said. “He got expelled and had to go to Jefferson.”
To the public school. “Lucky us,” Alex said. “So that’s how Wade and Simon met.”
“I assume so. I was away at college by then. What was in Wade’s letter to you?”
She shrugged. “He asked my forgiveness and wished me a good life.”
“What was he asking forgiveness for?”
Alex shook her head. “It could have been any number of things. He wasn’t specific.”
“But you’ve got it narrowed to one,” he said, and she lifted her brows.
“Remind me not to play poker with you. I think Riley’s dog pals are more my speed.”
“Alex.”
She huffed a breath. “Fine. Alicia and I were twins. Identical twins.”
“Yeah,” he said dryly. “I got that this morning.”
She grimaced in sympathy. “I truly had no idea you’d be so startled.” He was s
till hiding something, but for now she’d play his game. “You’ve heard all the twin stories about switching places? Well, Alicia and I did that more than a few times. I think Mama always knew. Anyway, Alicia was the party animal and I was the practical one.”
“No,” he said, deadpan, and she chuckled, in spite of herself.
“A few times we’d switch places for tests, until the teachers wised up. I felt so guilty, cheating like that, so I told them and Alicia was so mad. I was a ‘downer,’ no fun at the parties, so Alicia started going alone. She had a string of boyfriends from Dutton to Atlanta and back and a couple times she double-booked. Once, I stepped in.”
Daniel became suddenly serious. “I don’t like the direction this is going.”
“I went to this B-list party-the one she didn’t want to go to, but didn’t want to get excluded from the next time around. Wade was there. He was never an A-list party kind of guy, although he always wanted to be. He… put the moves on Alicia. Me.”
Daniel grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”
It had been. No one had ever touched her there before and Wade hadn’t been gentle. It still made her sick to her stomach to remember. “Well, yes, but technically we weren’t related. My mother never married his father, but it was still gross.” And terrifying.
“So what did you do?”
“I slugged him, on pure reflex. Broke his nose, then kneed him in the… you know.”
Vartanian winced. “I know.”
She could still see Wade lying on the floor, in a cursing, bleeding fetal ball. “We were both shocked. Then he was humiliated and I was still shocked.”
“So what happened? Did he get in trouble?”
“No. Alicia and I got grounded for a month and Wade walked away whistlin’ Dixie.”
“That wasn’t fair.”
“But that was life in our house.” Alex studied his face. There was still something… But he was a far better poker player than she. “I never thought I’d get a deathbed apology. I guess you never know what you’re gonna do when the Reaper knocks.”
“I guess not. Listen, do you have that chaplain’s contact information?”
“Sure.” Alex dug it out of her satchel. “Why?”
“Because I want to talk to him. The timing’s too convenient. Now, about tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Your cousin leaves tomorrow, right? How about I bring Riley to meet your niece tomorrow night? I can bring some pizza or something, then we can see if Hope likes dogs before we take her to talk to Sister Anne.”
She blinked, a little stunned. She’d never thought he’d been serious. Then she remembered his hands on her shoulders, supporting her when her knees wanted to buckle. Maybe Daniel Vartanian was really just a very nice man. “That will work. Thank you, Daniel. It’s a date.”
He shook his head, his expression changing, almost as if he was daring her to disagree. “Not hardly. A date doesn’t typically involve children or dogs.” His eyes were totally serious and sent a shiver down her spine. A nice shiver, she thought. The kind she hadn’t had in a very long time. “And it definitely does not involve nuns.”
She swallowed hard, certain her cheeks were red as flame. “I see.”
His hand lifted to her face, hesitating a moment before his thumb swept across her lower lip and she shivered again, harder this time. “Now I think you finally do,” he murmured, then flinched. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket where it had apparently buzzed him out of what was becoming a very interesting mood.
“Vartanian.” His face went expressionless. It was his case, then. Alex thought of the woman on the table in the morgue and wondered who she was. If someone had finally missed her. “How many tickets did she buy?” he asked, then shook his head. “No, I don’t need you to spell it. I know the family. Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”
He hung up and stunned her once again by pulling his sweatshirt over his head and jogging toward the stairs. On his way he balled the sweatshirt and shot it basketball style at a laundry chute in the wall. He missed, but didn’t stop to try again. “Stay there,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she watched him disappear up the stairs. The man had a beautiful back, broad and well-muscled and covered with smooth, golden skin. The glimpse of his chest hadn’t been half bad either. Hell. There was nothing half bad about that man. Alex realized she’d reached out to touch. Ridiculous. She considered the look in his eyes just before his cell had gone off. Maybe not so ridiculous after all.
She drew a shuddering breath and picked up the sweatshirt, indulging the urge to sniff it before stuffing it down the chute. Be careful, Alex. What had he called it? Unfamiliar ground. She cast a wistful look up the stairs, knowing he’d probably pulled off the jeans when he’d reached the top. But damn fine unfamiliar ground it was.
In less than two minutes he was thundering back down the stairs, dressed in his dark suit, tugging his tie into place. Without slowing down, he picked up her satchel and kept walking. “Get your jacket and come on. I’ll follow you back to Dutton.”
“That’s not necessary,” she started, but he was already out the door.
“I’m going there anyway. I’ll bring Riley to your house by six-thirty tomorrow night.” He opened her car door and waited till she’d buckled up before closing her door.
She rolled down the window. “Daniel,” she called after him.
He turned to face her, walking backward. “What?”
“Thank you.”
His steps faltered. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Dutton, Monday, January 29, 11:35 p.m.
Daniel got out of his car and looked up at the house on the hill with a wince. This was not going to be good. Janet Bowie had used a credit card to buy her own admission ticket to Fun-N-Sun and the tickets of seven other people, a group of kids.
Now he got to tell state congressman Robert Bowie his daughter was thought dead. With heavy steps he climbed the steep driveway to the Bowie mansion and rang the bell.
The door was opened by a sweaty young man wearing running shorts. “Yes?”
Daniel pulled out his shield. “I’m Special Agent Vartanian, Georgia Bureau of Investigation. I need to talk with Congressman and Mrs. Bowie.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “My parents are asleep.”
Daniel blinked. “Michael?” It had been nearly sixteen years since he’d seen Michel Bowie. Michael had been a skinny fourteen-year-old when Daniel had gone away to college. He wasn’t skinny any longer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
“You, on the other hand, haven’t changed a bit.” It was said in a way that could just as easily be taken as a compliment or as an insult. “You need to come back tomorrow.”
Daniel put his hand on the door when Michael started to close it. “I need to talk to your parents,” he repeated quietly but firmly. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.”
“Michael, who’s calling at this time of night?” a booming voice thundered.
“State police.” Michael stepped back and Daniel stepped into the grand foyer of Bowie Hall, one of the few antebellum mansions the Yankees hadn’t managed to burn.
Congressman Bowie was tying the belt of a smoking jacket. His face was impassive, but in his eyes Daniel saw apprehension. “Daniel Vartanian. I heard you’d come into town today. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night, Congressman,” Daniel began. “I’m investigating the murder of a woman found in Arcadia yesterday.”
“At the bike race.” Bowie nodded. “I read about it in today’s Review.”
Daniel drew a quiet breath. “I think the victim may be your daughter, sir.”
Bowie drew back, shaking his head. “No, it’s not possible. Janet is in Atlanta.”
“When did you last see your daughter, sir?”
Bowie ’s jaw hardened. “Last week, but her sister tal
ked to her yesterday morning.”
“Can I talk to your other daughter, Mr. Bowie?” Daniel asked.
“It’s late. Patricia’s asleep.”
“I know it’s late, but if we’ve made a mistake, we need to know so we can keep searching for this woman’s identity. Somebody is waiting for her to come home, sir.”
“I understand. Patricia! Come down here. And make sure you’re properly dressed.”
Two doors opened upstairs and both Mrs. Bowie and a young girl came down the stairs, the girl looking uncertain. “What’s this about, Bob?” Mrs. Bowie asked. She recognized Daniel and frowned. “Why is he here? Bob?”
“Calm down, Rose. This is all a mistake and we’re going to clear it up right now.” Bowie turned to the young girl. “Patricia, you said you talked to Janet yesterday morning. You said that she was sick and not driving down for supper.”
Patricia blinked innocently and Daniel sighed inside. Sisters covering for each other.
“Janet said she had the flu.” Patricia smiled, trying for sophisticated. “Why, did she get a parking ticket or something? That’s just like Janet.”
Bowie had grown as pale as had his wife. “Patricia,” he said hoarsely, “Agent Vartanian is investigating a murder. He thinks Janet is the victim. Don’t cover for her.”
Patricia’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Did you really talk to your sister, Patricia?” Daniel asked gently.
The girl’s eyes filled with horrified tears. “No. She asked me to tell everybody she was sick. She had somewhere else to go that day. But it can’t be her. It can’t.”
Mrs. Bowie made a panicked sound. “Bob.”
Bowie put his arm around his wife. “Michael, get your mother a chair.”
Michael had already done so and helped his mother sit while Daniel focused on Patricia. “When did she ask you to cover for her?”
“Wednesday night. She said she was spending the weekend with… friends.”
“This is important, Patricia. Which friends?” Daniel pressed. From the corner of his eye he watched Mrs. Bowie sink into a chair, visibly shaking.
Patricia looked miserably at her parents, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She has a boyfriend. She knew you wouldn’t approve. I’m sorry.”