Wife Most Wanted

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  The door opened, and Dana was standing there, surprise evident on her face.

  “Kurt,” she said. “Why are you here? Do you have news of a trial date?”

  “Hello,” Kurt said dryly. “How are you this evening, Detective Noble? Would you like to come inside where it’s warm?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sorry.”

  Dana stepped back to allow Kurt to enter the room, then closed the door behind him. He turned to face her, still frowning.

  “What took you so long to answer the door?” he said. “Were you in another wing of the estate?”

  “I was…I was getting dressed. It has been such a damp, chilly day that I took a long soak in a hot tub.”

  She’s lying, Kurt thought. If Dana had been soaking in a hot bathtub, her skin would be flushed from the warmth of the water. Instead, she was very pale, appeared tired and tense.

  She looked, once again, like someone who needed a comforting hug. But this time, by damn, he had enough sense not to volunteer for the job.

  “Would you care to sit down?” Dana said, sweeping one hand in the direction of the chair by the table.

  I need a hug, Kurt Noble, her mind yelled. The memory of being held in Kurt’s strong arms was so vivid. The remembrance had never been far from her beleaguered mind, bringing with it every sensuous detail of the kisses shared with Kurt.

  She hadn’t been expecting to find him at her door, hadn’t had time to prepare a physical and emotional defense against the effect he had on her. He seemed to be filling the small room to overflowing with his masculine magnetism, making it difficult to breathe.

  “I’ll stand, thanks,” Kurt said. “I just stopped by to see how you’re doing. It was a rather cold, dreary day, and I thought it might have been tough going.”

  “Where I’m going is out of my mind,” Dana said, planting her hands on her jean-clad hips, “and it’s not tough at all. I’m a blink away from being there.”

  Kurt chuckled. “Oh.”

  “Don’t smile,” she said, nearly yelling. “Don’t you dare produce that damnable sexy smile. I’m going crazy staring at these four walls, Kurt Noble. Are you understanding me? I’m not going to be worth diddly as a witness at the oh-so-important trial if I’m babbling in a corner.”

  “That’s a good point,” Kurt said, nodding. “Get your coat.”

  “What?”

  “I’m taking you out for some good old-fashioned cooking. We’re having dinner at the Hip Hop Café.”

  “Oh, well, I… Yes, all right.”

  “Unless, of course, you’re afraid you’ll catch a cold by going outside after just having had a warm bath?”

  “I’ll risk it,” Dana said, glaring at him.

  “Mmm.”

  The Hip Hop was doing a brisk business, despite the inclement weather. It was meat-loaf-and-baked-potato night at the café, a favorite blue plate special among many of the citizens of Whitehorn.

  Seated in one of the booths, Dana glanced around.

  “People,” she said. “Living, breathing, talking, smiling people. Fantastic. Human beings. Music to my ears.”

  “I hear you, Dana,” Kurt said. “The circumstances you’re in are not the greatest.”

  If he only knew, she thought dryly.

  “Look,” Kurt went on, “if the weather is better tomorrow, why don’t you check out the shops, stroll around town? I’m not holding you prisoner in that motel room. You’re free to come and go.”

  “As long as I stay in Whitehorn.”

  “That can’t be helped. We want the scum convicted.”

  “Yes, I know,’ she said, sighing. “How is the man who was shot? Clem, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. He’s still in a coma. The doctors can’t predict how it’s going to go. The whole town is pulling for him. Everyone knows Clem. He taught a lot of us in elementary school.”

  “Now there’s a sobering thought,” Dana said, smiling. “I bet you were a handful when you were a little boy.”

  “I was a perfect angel.” Kurt paused. “You have a lovely smile, Dana Bailey. Seeing you smile just now makes me realize how much time you spend frowning.”

  “As you said, Kurt, my present circumstances are not the greatest.”

  “True.”

  “Meat loaf, meat loaf,” Janie Carson said, sliding a plate in front of each of them. “Enjoy. I have to work a double shift on meat-loaf night, so you’d better love every bite. Bye.” She hurried away.

  Dana picked up her fork. “Did we order meat loaf?”

  “That’s all that’s offered tonight. I hope you like it.”

  Dana took a bite, chewed and swallowed. “It’s delicious.”

  “Good,” Kurt said, beginning to eat.

  Dana glanced around the crowded, noisy room again.

  “So,” she said, “all these people came here this evening because of the meat loaf?”

  “Yep.”

  “How charming.” Dana laughed. “I mean it. It’s so delightfully small-townish. I don’t think that’s a word, but… It’s sort of like a big family sharing a meat-loaf dinner. That’s nice, it really is.”

  “A lot different from Chicago. Right?”

  “Oh, heavens, yes. The pace there is maddening, and… I never said I was from Chicago.”

  “You just confirmed what I suspected. It’s not a big deal, is it? The fact that I know where you’re from?”

  “No. No, of course not. But are you ever not being a detective?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” Kurt said, looking directly at her. “There are definitely times when my profession is the furthest thing from my mind.”

  Like when he was holding Dana, he thought, kissing Dana. Noble, eat your meat loaf.

  Dana tore her gaze from Kurt’s and concentrated on her meal.

  She was ignoring the increased tempo of her heart that was the result of being in close proximity to this man, she told herself. She wasn’t thinking about Kurt’s lips, his taste, his aroma, the strength of his arms, the muscled power of his body. She was focusing on meat loaf.

  “Here we go,” Kurt said. “You think that gathering for meat loaf is small-townish? I can top that. Winona Cobbs just came in the door. She’s our resident psychic, palm reader, the whole nine yards. She owns a place called Stop ‘n’ Swap outside of town. Everyone ends up browsing around out there eventually. Some folks believe she’s nuts. I think she’s great, a very classy lady.” He waved. “Winona! Over here.”

  A short, round woman with gray hair and wearing a multicolored dress with a swirling skirt hurried to answer Kurt’s summons.

  “Hello, dear,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I can’t join you. I’m dining with Homer Gilmore, the crazy old coot.”

  “Winona, I’d like you to meet Dana Bailey,” Kurt said. “She’s the one—”

  “Who decked the perp who shot Clem,” Winona finished for him, extending her hand to Dana. Dana smiled and shook Winona’s offered hand. “The folks of Whitehorn are mighty grateful to you, Dana dear, for staying on so you can testify against that awful man who hurt our Clem.”

  “Well, I… Well…” Dana shrugged.

  Winona released Dana’s hand and turned to Kurt.

  “Dear boy,” she said, “come outside with me for one second, will you please? I couldn’t get the key out of the ignition in my truck, the temperamental thing. Your meat loaf won’t get cold if we hurry. It was lovely meeting you, Dana dear.”

  “The pleasure was mine,” Dana said, smiling. “Maybe I’ll come browse at your place. Kurt recommends it.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on for tea when you arrive,” Winona said. “I’d love to read your tea leaves,” she added with a wink. Dana felt the color rise in her cheeks and stared down at her dinner.

  Kurt slid out of the booth and followed Winona out of the Hip Hop.

  “My truck is fine,” Winona said, once they were standing on the sidewalk. “I wanted to speak to you alone, Kurt.”

  “What is it, Win
ona?”

  “It’s your Dana, dear.”

  Kurt frowned. “She isn’t mine.”

  “Hush and listen. I sensed, felt… No, it’s not like when I had visions of a woman with two faces, which turned out to be the fact that Mary Jo Kincaid was actually Lexine Baxter. No, what I saw regarding your Dana is different from that.”

  “She isn’t mine. What did you see?”

  “A woman with two faces, Kurt, but not layered like Mary Jo and Lexine. They were standing side by side. Two Danas. The same face. But standing next to each other.”

  “What in the hell does that mean?”

  “How should I know, dear? You’re the detective. Now! Let’s go enjoy some Hip Hop meat loaf.”

  Five

  For the first time since she’d fled from Chicago in the dead of night, Dana found herself actually relaxing and enjoying herself.

  Kurt introduced her to what seemed like an endless stream of people who stopped by the booth to say hello. Everyone expressed gratitude for Dana’s willingness to help convict the man who had shot Clem.

  Her conscience was pricking her a bit, Dana realized, as she knew she was staying in Whitehorn to testify because she had been ordered to do so under the letter of the law.

  But Kurt appeared comfortable in allowing her to take credit for a humanitarian act, so she basked in the warmth and friendliness being extended toward her by the folks of Whitehorn.

  She even laughed aloud several times at some teasing being directed at Kurt by people who had known him since the day he was born.

  It was meat-loaf night at the Hip Hop Café in Whitehorn, Montana, and Dana felt like a member of the family who had gathered to savor the delicious home-cooked meal.

  “Are you ready to go?” Kurt asked finally. “There are people waiting for this booth.”

  “Yes, of course, but… Well, I hate to end the evening. I had a wonderful time, Kurt. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “You bet,” he said, sliding out of the booth.

  As Kurt settled the bill, his mind once again focused on what Winona had said.

  There were two Danas standing side by side? he thought. Maybe there was nothing ominous or complicated about Winona’s vision. He’d seen Dana smile tonight, and laugh right out loud. She’d lost that tense, tight demeanor, and been fun to be with.

  That could very well explain what Winona had sensed, seen: the uptight Dana, the relaxed and real Dana. The two faces of Dana Bailey.

  Kurt frowned as he and Dana left the café and he assisted her into his vehicle. He went around to the other side, and within minutes was driving away from the café.

  There was just one thing niggling at him, he knew, and it was Dana’s reluctance to say where she had been going and why when she stopped at the convenience store in Whitehorn. The purchases she’d made indicated that she was not anticipating returning home anytime soon.

  Dana had secrets.

  Was that fact the basis of what Winona had seen? A two-faced Dana in the negative sense? Hell, he hoped not. He was still on emotional overload from trusting and believing in the wrong woman. He had nowhere to put it if it happened again.

  Dana shifted in her seat to look out the rear window of the Blazer.

  “What was that building across from the café that had all the lights on?”

  “The library.” Kurt chuckled. “They stay open late on meat-loaf night. It cuts way down on overdue books, because so many people are coming into the Hip Hop and drop their books off on the way to dinner.”

  “Maybe I’ll go there tomorrow. I’ve read the novel I got at the convenience store. Would they issue me a temporary card so I can check out books?”

  Kurt pressed on the brake. “I’ll take care of it right now.”

  Dana reached across the seat and placed her hand on Kurt’s forearm.

  “You don’t have to give up your entire evening for me,” she said.

  “It’s no problem,” he said, turning the vehicle around. “There’s no one waiting for me at home except a bunch of pesky stray cats.”

  “Cats?”

  “While I’m here in Whitehorn, I’m staying in the house where I grew up. My mother died a few years back, but the stray cats put the word out that there is a Noble in the house again. I’m feeding them out of respect for my mother, but they’re bugging the hell out of me.”

  “And your father? Where is he?”

  Kurt shrugged. “I have no idea. He split when Leigh and I were kids. My mother raised us the best she could. She was a fine woman.” He paused. “Do your parents live in Chicago?”

  Dana shook her head. “They were killed five years ago in a small plane that went down in a snowstorm in Colorado. They had gone to Aspen for a skiing weekend, and… Well, they never came back.”

  “That’s rough,” Kurt said quietly. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  He parked in front of the library and shut off the ignition.

  “I have a sister,” Dana said, unfastening her seat belt. She opened the door. “We’re identical twins.”

  Kurt’s hand shot out, and he gripped Dana’s arm.

  “What?” he said.

  Dana looked at him questioningly. “I have an identical twin sister. Well, we look exactly alike, but our personalities are as different as day and night, North Pole, South Pole, and every other example of opposites you could come up with. Natalie and I have nothing in common whatsoever.”

  “A twin sister,” Kurt said, a smile breaking across his face. “Two Danas standing next to each other. There’s nothing sinister about that.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  Kurt slid his hand down to clasp Dana’s hand, his thumb gently stroking her fingers.

  “Winona Cobbs is a psychic, remember? When I went outside with her, she told me that she’d had a vision of you with two faces. Not layered faces, like a mask, but two of you standing side by side. She thought I ought to know.”

  “I see,” Dana said, looking at him intently. “So you couldn’t help but wonder if I was engaging in some kind of duplicity.”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, you just explained it. Winona picked up on the fact that you have an identical twin. End of story.” He laughed and shook his head. “I’ll be damned. That Winona is something, isn’t she?”

  Dana managed to produce a small smile. “She certainly is.”

  Kurt gave Dana’s hand a squeeze, then, still smiling, got out of the vehicle. As they walked toward the front entrance to the library, he looked up at the sky and commented on the fact that the clouds were moving on through, revealing a smattering of twinkling stars.

  Dana said something she hoped sounded appropriate, while willing a rush of panic to dissipate.

  Dear heaven, she thought frantically, she had to get out of this town. Winona Cobbs was a bona fide psychic. So, okay, Kurt was accepting the existence of Natalie as a perfectly reasonable explanation of Winona’s vision of a two-faced Dana.

  But what if Winona had more visions? What if she saw Dana running from police officers? Or saw her in handcuffs, or jail, or…

  Calm down, Dana Bailey.

  Kurt was no longer dwelling on what Winona had told him, Dana thought. For now, the danger, the crisis, had passed. Darn it, why had she mentioned the library? Every moment she spent with Kurt was one more moment when she might slip up and say the wrong thing.

  Or do the wrong thing?

  When Kurt held her hand, then stroked it in that tantalizing rhythm with his callused thumb, she’d felt the heat of desire begin to pulse low within her, in a matching tempo.

  Oh, yes, indeed, Kurt Noble was dangerous. He was a threat to her not only because he was an officer of the law, but also because he was a man who was constantly evoking heated passion within her. Passion like nothing she had ever experienced before.

  Forget that part, Dana ordered herself. She’d grab a couple of books from the library,
plead fatigue and ask Kurt to take her back to the motel. In the meantime, the key was to keep attention away from herself and directed toward Kurt. Fine.

  “Kurt,” she said, as they entered the building, “you said you were staying in your childhood home while you were in Whitehorn. That sounds as if you’re only here temporarily.”

  Kurt nodded. “I am. I’m on leave from the Seattle police force.”

  “If you’re on leave, then why are you still performing in the role of a police officer? I mean, aren’t leaves of absences supposed to be like vacations, or whatever?”

  “It’s a long story. What kind of books do you like to read?”

  Dana stopped walking and turned to look directly at Kurt.

  “My, my,” she said, lifting her chin, “the man has secrets. But then again, maybe you’re just a private person, as I am.”

  Kurt looked at her for a long moment.

  “Maybe,” he said finally. “Where is this going, Dana? Are we playing the game you-show-me-yours-and-I’ll-show-you-mine? You tell me where you’re headed and why, and I’ll explain why I’m not in Seattle?”

  “I’m not playing at any game, Detective Noble.”

  “Aren’t you?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  “What on earth is your problem?”

  Dana glanced around quickly, suddenly remembering that she was in a library. She glared at Kurt and lowered her voice to a near whisper when she spoke again.

  “A few minutes ago,” she said, “you were tickled pink because you’d discovered what Winona Cobbs’s vision, or whatever it was, meant. Now? You’re back in your cop mode, questioning every little thing I do or say. Well, I’ve had enough of your mood swings. Forget the stupid books. Just take me back to the motel.”

  Kurt let out a pent-up breath, puffing his cheeks in the process.

  “You’re right,” he said, raising both hands. “I humbly apologize.”

  “You do?” Dana said, surprise evident on her face.

  “I certainly do, Ms. Bailey. I shall make a tremendous effort to curb my naturally suspicious nature.” Kurt grinned. “Do you want to check out books with words, or just pictures?”