Brody spoke up. “Mrs. Tinsdale, would you like me to show him out?”
Luke straightened. A slow smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Captain, you couldn’t if you tried.”
Brody shifted away from the mantel and took a threatening half step in Luke’s direction. Luke did likewise. Who the hell did this son of a bitch think he was?
“Stop it!” Rebecca ordered hotly. “I won’t have this in my house!”
Luke turned on her. Anger flashed in his black eyes. That short temper of his had shot up faster than a bullet, and he wasn’t used to backing down. But this was her house, and—
“All right,” Luke muttered, with a slight shake of his head to dispel the anger.
Brody, too, gave a curt nod and retreated to his place by the hearth.
Luke dropped down on the settee, making clear his intention to stay, in case there was still some doubt in someone’s mind. “Okay, someone tell me what happened.”
He was arrogant and self-involved as ever, Rebecca thought, her own temper moving up a notch. Looking at him sitting casually on her sofa, for the briefest moment she was tempted to recant and let Brody escort Luke out.
Who did she think she was kidding? Brody throw Luke out? Not hardly. Not without a scene. There was only one way to make him budge, and that was to give him what he wanted.
“My son disappeared yesterday,” she told him flatly. And it’s all my fault. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew it must be. Her guilt added to her anguish.
“What time?” Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
Her mind wandered back to the terrible moment when she’d realized he was really gone. Disbelief had turned to shock, then fear. It was the fear that was twisting noose-tight in her stomach as the minutes slipped past. “What? Oh...” She began to pace again, her hem brushing the carpet as she walked. “Luke, I’ve already gone over this with Captain Brody.” She nodded in Brody’s direction, and he responded with a smug sort of nod.
“Well, tell me, then we’ll all know,” he said, his tone a mix of sarcasm and demand.
She was so astounded by his firm tone that she was more surprised than angry. And maybe that was the best thing. People made mistakes, said things better left unsaid, when they were angry. She needed all her wits about her when dealing with Luke.
She halted by the grand piano and looked out through the lace-curtained window. Rain sheeted on the glass, the lawn and the street beyond, casting blurred shadows, dark and menacing as the vivid fears she had for her son.
With sightless eyes, she continued to stare out as she spoke. “It was about four in the afternoon. I’d let him play in on the porch until dinner was ready. When I went to check on him, he was gone.”
“Any sign of a struggle, of any...injury?”
She turned sharply. “What do you mean, injury?”
“Blood?”
“Dear God, no!”
“Could he have run off?” he countered quickly, not wanting to upset her more than necessary. “Maybe he’s gone somewhere he isn’t supposed to go? Boys have a way of doing that sort of thing. Maybe he’s afraid to come home.”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “Andrew’s not afraid of me. He knows, no matter what, I love him. Besides, I’ve checked with his friends, and no one has seen him. The only family we have is my mother-in-law, Ruth. She lives with us. She’s out there now searching...like I should be, would be if—”
He held up a placating hand. “Just a couple more questions.”
Luke stood and faced Brody directly. So the boy had been missing all night. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. Still, there was no sense jumping to conclusions. “All right, Captain, what have you done to find the child...Andrew?”
“Listen, Scanlin, this is none of your business,” Brody flung back at him, obviously still smarting from the earlier challenge.
Luke didn’t give a damn. “Becky’s child is missing. I’m making it my business.”
Brody slapped his cap on his head and made as if to leave.
Luke blocked his path.
“I asked you a question, mister, and I want an answer. What have you done to find this child?”
Brody took a couple of steps back and looked up at Luke. Rage colored his blue eyes. “Look, Scanlin, you don’t have authority here, and I—” he thumbed his chest, near his badge “—don’t answer to you. I’m handling this just fine.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Luke said, without an ounce of remorse in his voice, “but I do have authority here.” With thumb and forefinger, he peeled back the edge of his gray wool vest to reveal a small silver badge. “U.S. marshal for this region, as of last Monday.”
Brody puffed up like an overstuffed bullfrog. “So?” he sputtered. “This ain’t a federal crime. This is local, and that means it’s my jurisdiction.”
“I wouldn’t let a little thing like a technicality get in the way. Becky’s in trouble. Her son’s in trouble, and that’s all the authority I need. This is personal.” And it was, he realized with a start—very personal.
Brody’s gaze flicked from Luke to Rebecca and back again. “Personal, huh? You and `Becky’ old friends?” he said smugly, in a way that implied something illicit. It implied something that could ruin a lady’s reputation.
Luke grabbed a fistful of blue uniform and yanked the man up close, so close their faces were only inches apart. “I don’t think I like your tone...Captain.” He spit the words out harshly. “The lady and I are friends. You wanna make something more out of it?”
Brody covered Luke’s hand with his own, trying to pry it loose. His pudgy fingers cut into Luke’s knuckles. Luke responded by giving the man a shake. “Now either watch what you say, or you and I can step outside and discuss this more vigorously.”
“Luke, for heaven’s sake,” Rebecca cut in. Luke ignored her this time. No way was he letting this bastard make a remark, start some gossip. He didn’t know much about society, but he knew firsthand how hurtful gossip could be.
Brody’s cheeks were mottled with red. His eyes literally bulged in his face. Through clenched teeth, Luke continued, “Well, what’s it gonna be?” He saw Brody’s gaze dart around the room, as though he were looking for help or an escape.
Luke’s mouth pulled up in a crooked smile that held no warmth, a smile that said there was no escape.
Helplessly Brody bobbed his head up and down like a puppet on a string. “You and her—”
“Who?” Luke demanded.
“Mrs. Tinsdale! You and Mrs. Tinsdale are friends.”
“Damned straight,” Luke snarled. “If I hear anything to the contrary, you and I are gonna tangle, Brody.” Luke released his hold so suddenly the man stumbled back a couple of steps before regaining either his balance or his composure. “Now, answer my question. What have you done to find the boy?”
This time Brody did answer, though to say it was curt would have been an understatement. Luke listened to Brody’s half hearted excuse for a search plan. The man couldn’t find his hat in a room full of spurs. Good thing Luke had spent the past three days looking over the files in the office, the map of the city, police rosters and the like. It was always his habit to familiarize himself with a town. Luke had never thought he’d need his knowledge so quickly, or for such an unhappy reason.
Without hesitation, he said, “Pull the patrolmen from the residential areas. Those are low-risk and can spare the men. Leave the business districts and the, ah...entertainment areas down by the docks at full staff. If there’s any trouble, it’ll be there first. Have the men here within an hour.”
Brody smoothed his rumpled uniform over his belly. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here—”
“I think I’m the man who’s gonna find that boy.” If it wasn’t too late, he thought but didn’t say. Becky looked upset enough, without him adding to it, especially if it wasn’t necessary.
Brody made a de
risive sound in the back of his throat. “The men won’t like being pulled off duty to search for some kid who’s probably holed up somewhere, laughing his head off at all the excitement.”
Rebecca spoke up. “Andrew would never—”
Luke cut across her words. “I don’t want to hear your opinions, Brody. Do what I’m telling you, and do it now, dammit!”
Brody slapped his cap on his head and stormed toward the front door. “I’ll see the mayor about this, Scanlin.” He disappeared around the doorway.
“Yeah, well, tell him to wire President Hayes if he’s got any complaints,” Luke snarled. There were some advantages to being a U.S. marshal. Being a presidential appointee was one of them.
Quickly he called out, “Right here, one hour—or I’ll come looking for you.”
The door slammed with glass-rattling force. With an anger he didn’t mean to take out on Rebecca, Luke whirled and said, “I’ll need a room.”
“What?” she muttered. She was still trying to assimilate the fact that Luke was a U.S. marshal. Of all the places in this country that needed a marshal, why did he have to be here—now?
Suddenly his demand penetrated her thoughts. “What do you mean, you want a room? Don’t marshals get offices and quarters?”
“Offices yes, quarters no—”
“Well, you can’t stay here.” she said, meaning more than in this house and more than this minute. She wanted him gone.
“Becky, my room is way the other side of town. The search area is here. I need to be close to the trouble.”
He obviously wasn’t going to go quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me with Captain Brody, and I appreciate you wanting to help with the search, but I hardly think you need to stay here.”
She started for the hallway. Luke followed, not bothering to bring along his hat and slicker.
She could be just as determined as he was. Lifting her coat from the mirrored hall tree, she pulled it on. The black wool was expensive and cashmere-soft against the side of her neck.
Luke positioned himself between her and the doorway. “Are you deliberately trying to make this difficult?”
“I’m not.” It was already more difficult than anything should be. With both hands, she pulled her hood up to cover her hair. “Staying here isn’t—”
“Do you want the boy—”
“Andrew.”
“Andrew,” he said with a nod. “Do you want him back or not?” He ran both hands through his hair, leaving furrows in the inky blackness.
“Of course, but—”
“I’m telling you, I need to be here. I need to coordinate with the police, and I can’t do that if I’m running back and forth most of the time. Look, if it’s so troublesome, I’ll camp in the damned front yard. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been cold and dirty.”
She looked up then, saw the determination and the concern mirrored in his grim expression. Was there some plan to make her life as difficult as possible? She desperately needed help, had prayed for help, but not from Luke Scanlin. Anyone but Luke Scanlin.
Logic warred with fear—fear of herself and him and the sudden flare of pleasure she’d felt when he first walked in here. What kind of a woman was she to have even the barest trembling of desire when her son was missing?
Without thinking, she took a retreating step back. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you need me.”
“I don’t need you,” she countered emphatically.
“Well, you need someone, ‘cause even I can see that Brody’s not getting the job done. I do this for a living, and I’m damned good at it.”
That she had no doubt about. It was the needing-him part that was grating on her already raw nerves. She needed Luke Scanlin like she needed to be trampled in a stampede, but it all came down to this: Brody was next to useless. Luke had managed to get more from the man in the past few minutes than she’d managed since last night. Andrew was out there, and if it would help her get her son back, she’d dance with the devil himself. Looking at Luke’s hypnotic black eyes, she had a sinking feeling that the dance was about to begin.
“There’s a guest room at the top of the stairs.” She gestured with her head. “I’ll have the maid show you.”
“I can track down a guest room.” He smiled, and this time he touched her shoulder, very lightly.
It was the second time he’d touched her. The second time those familiar shivers had skittered up her spine. No! She wouldn’t give in to him. Not this time. Not ever again. Needing distance, she moved away. “Third door on the left.” She fumbled with the ebony buttons on her coat. “The bed’s made, and I’ll have towels brought in when I return. The housekeeper’s been sick. She’ll be back tomorrow. My mother-in-law will be here tonight.”
Luke smiled. It was a lopsided smile, filled with enough roguish charm to melt the coldest heart. If she stood here looking at that smile much longer, her knees were going to melt, that was for certain.
“I’ll be back later.” She was reaching for the shiny brass doorknob when his hand on her shoulder turned her to face him again. His dark brows were drawn together in a frown.
“Back? What do you mean, back? Where are you going?”
“Out.” She made a show of tugging on her kidskin gloves while she slipped free of his touch. Darn those goose bumps.
Luke’s expression drew down. “Out? Why, for heaven’s sake? The police will be here in an hour, and then—”
“I’m going now.” She turned the knob and pulled the door partially open. The rain dripped from the roof and made noisy plick-plops on the wooden planks of the porch. The sudden draft felt blessedly cold against the side of her face.
“Look,” he started to say with a nod—a gesture Rebecca suspected was meant to pacify rather than to indicate agreement. He grasped the edge of the open door, holding it firmly, and looked at her in a way that was all too familiar, a way that brought better-forgotten memories rushing to the surface faster than lava in a volcano, and just as hot.
“This is crazy. We’re gonna cover the same ground in an hour.” He pushed on the door.
Rebecca held fast, as though this were a test of wills between them. Accepting help was one thing, surrender was another. This felt like giving in. “I’m going.” She pulled, and he released his hold on the door.
She slipped out and pulled the heavy oak door closed behind her. She knew he was watching her through the clear etched glass. Until thirty minutes ago, she had thought she’d closed the door on Luke Scanlin just as easily. It seemed she was wrong.
Chapter Two
Rebecca took the front steps in five firm strides. She was angry, and it wasn’t until the rain splattered against her cheeks that she realized she’d forgotten to take an umbrella. Clenched-jawed and angry, she kept going. She’d drown before she’d go back in there. She’d had enough of him for now. She’d had enough of him for good.
Raindrops clung to her eyelashes, and she swiped them away with the back of her gloved hand, then yanked her hood farther forward—not that it did much good. It was raining like hell. By the time she turned through the gate, her coat was soaked and the wet had penetrated through to her dress. Goose bumps were prickling across her shoulders, and a shiver was inching down her spine.
She made a sharp left turn that would have been the envy of any military cadet. Thunder rumbled, but failed to silence the steady click-clack of her heels on the concrete sidewalk. Her coat flopped open with each step, further drenching her dress. Nothing and no one was cooperating—not the police, not the weather, and not even the good Lord, it seemed. She cast her eyes upward. “How could you do this to me? Luke? You sent me Luke?”
With a sigh of resignation, she increased her pace, and promptly stepped in an ankle-deep puddle for her trouble.
“Thanks,” she muttered, and kept going.
She passed the Johnson mansion, four colors of clapboard and geegaws in the latest style. Circus tent was the thought that flashed
in her mind as she paused long enough to scan the yard and porch for the third time since Andrew had disappeared. The Hogans’, next door, was more sedate—plain, white siding and blue trim, the usually pale green roof shingles now forest-dark from the rain.
A delivery wagon rumbled past, splashing her with more water. “Hey!” she hollered, but the driver kept going. So did she, scanning the yard yet again.
All the while, she kept thinking that Andrew was out here and Luke was back there. She wished it was the other way around. She wished Luke was gone—back to Texas or Wyoming or Timbuktu, anywhere but here. Part of her wanted to deny it, pretend it wasn’t true, pretend that Luke Scanlin, the man who had changed her life forever, the one man who unknowingly had the power to ruin her life, wasn’t sitting in her parlor.
She stopped still. He’d be there tonight. He’d be sleeping down the hall. He’d talk to Ruth. Oh, no! Oh, no, this wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to take this kind of risk, not again.
When she got home, she was going to send him packing. That was all there was to it. She didn’t have to explain or justify herself to him. In fact, the more she thought on it, the more she thought she didn’t even need him.
Brody’s going to find Andrew, right?
Sure. “I’ll have the men keep an eye out,” he had said. Yes, that would go a long way toward finding Andrew, she thought, her heart sinking as she faced reality.
Okay, so Brody was unreliable. Luke’s take-charge attitude obviously was going to get the job done, she admitted—only to herself, and only because she was alone.
Since she was admitting things, she’d also admit she should have stayed at the house, should have waited for the search parties he was organizing. And yes, dammit, she was grateful for his help.
A smile tickled her lips. It had been something to see, watching Luke put that pompous Brody in his place. One side of her mouth actually curved upward in a sort of smile—not a real one, though. She wouldn’t give Luke that much.
Water splashed and soaked up her stockings as she stepped off the curb and crossed the street. What are you getting all worked up about? she asked herself. You can handle Luke Scanlin. You’re not affected by him anymore, remember?
Susan Amarillas Page 2