The Marriage Profile

by Metsy Hingle

  Earlier today she might have thought his anger and concern meant that he still loved her. She knew better now. “I’m staying for the same reason you’re here. Because it’s my job. And as you’ve pointed out, this is business. Nothing else.”

  His shoulder hurt like hell and he’d barely slept a wink, Justin admitted the next morning as he stood at the sink in the bathroom and struggled to get a fresh bandage on his shoulder. The end result didn’t look nearly as good as the one they’d put on him at the hospital, but it would have to do. No way did he intend to take Angela up on the offer of assistance she’d made last night. For once, he intended to follow his own advice, which she’d tossed back at him so nicely. Things between them would remain strictly business. And maybe by not muddying those waters, he’d keep the headstrong woman from getting herself killed and save himself a lot of grief.

  Justin listened for sounds of movement from upstairs, and hearing none, he headed to the kitchen to put on the coffee. Angela had never been a morning person. Given the events of yesterday and their late conversation, he wasn’t surprised she’d slept in this morning. He thought about her sleeping upstairs in that big bed, remembered how it had felt waking up there with her yesterday morning instead of alone in the guest room. Irritated with himself when he realized what he was doing, he poured himself coffee from the pot before it had finished brewing and headed into her workroom to make some calls.

  Fifteen minutes later he’d put Hank in charge, left instructions for Bobby and went through the list of items needing his attention with Audrey Lou. “If anything comes up, you can reach me here or on my cell phone.”

  “So how long you planning to stay at your wife’s place?” Audrey Lou asked him.

  “Ex-wife,” Justin corrected her, though he knew it was a waste of time. “And I don’t know. Is there anything else?”

  “No, I think we’ve about covered it all.”

  “All right. Tell Bobby to make sure he interviews the staff who were on duty at the club last night, too. One of them might have seen something. And if he comes up with any witnesses, I want to know about it right away.”

  He hung up the phone, punched in the number for his contact in the customs office again to see if she’d been able to find anything on a female and a child with the last names of Joseph who had arrived from London last year via the Dallas or the Houston ports of entry. It was a long shot that anything would turn up. They could even have come through a port of entry in another state. But it was a long shot he couldn’t ignore, because if Haley had managed to disguise herself so well that she’d actually been in Lone Star County without being detected, matching her new face to a passport could save them a lot of time. When he got the voice mail, he left a message and gave numbers where to reach him.

  After completing the call, he rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel a vicious headache coming on, his shoulder hurt something fierce, and it was just barely nine in the morning. Not the way to start the day, Justin thought. Opting to pass on the painkillers because of the fuzzy-headed feeling they gave him, he decided to see if aspirin would help and headed for the bathroom. He found a bottle in the medicine cabinet. After shaking out two tablets, he filled a glass with water and washed them down. When he exited the bathroom, he heard the water running upstairs.

  Deciding to pour himself another cup of coffee while he waited for Angela, he was on his way to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. With the memory of the attempt on Angela’s life so fresh, he checked the peephole in the door and scowled when he saw Ricky Mercado on the other side.

  Justin opened the door. “What do you want, Mercado?”

  If Mercado was surprised to see him, he gave no indication. He simply said, “I want to see Angela. Where is she?”

  “In the shower. If you want to leave a message for her, I’ll see that she gets it,” Justin told him, and had the pleasure of seeing the other man’s expression darken.

  “No thanks, Wainwright. I’ll wait and give her the message myself.”

  Justin blocked the doorway, dared Mercado with his body language to try to get past him. It was a dumb maneuver on his part, Justin admitted—especially considering he had a hole from a bullet in his shoulder and would probably have trouble holding his own even against a teenager at the moment. Ricky was no teenager and had never been a slouch when it came to handling himself. And judging by the deadly look in his dark eyes, the man would have loved nothing better than to plow him down. But for whatever reason, Ricky didn’t press him. “When Angela comes downstairs, tell her I’ll be in my car.”

  “She and I are liable to be tied up for a while,” Justin taunted.

  Ricky’s lips thinned, but he didn’t take the bait. “That’s all right. Just tell her Bruno and I are waiting outside.”

  “Bruno?”

  Ricky inclined his head in the direction of the dark sedan parked across the street with a bald hulk of a guy behind the wheel. “He’s a bodyguard I’ve arranged for Angela.”

  “What makes you think she needs a bodyguard?”

  “Because when she phoned me from the hospital last night, she said you claimed the shooter was after her. If that’s the case, I want her protected.”

  “I intend to see that she is,” Justin told him.

  “No offense, Wainwright, but considering you were the reason she was so upset that she went out on that terrace alone in the first place, I don’t want to count on you sticking around to take another bullet for her if it comes down to it. Besides, you’ve already done more damage to her than any bullet ever could.”

  “My relationship with Angela is none of your damn business, Mercado. Who in the hell do you think you are to talk to me about how I’ve hurt her?”

  “I’m someone who cares about her. Apparently a lot more than you do.”

  Furious with Ricky for what he’d said and angry with himself because he suspected it was true, that he had hurt Angela last night when he’d cut off her explanations, Justin said, “Go to hell, Mercado. And take your bodyguard with you. If anyone’s going to protect Angela, it’s going to be me.”

  “Thanks, but I can take care of myself,” Angela said from behind him. “You want to tell me what’s going on and what you’re doing here, Ricky?”

  “I’ve hired you a bodyguard,” Ricky informed her.

  “And I just finished telling Mercado you don’t need his protection,” Justin added. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, you’ve got part of that right,” Angela told him. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I also don’t need you here standing guard over me. I can take care of myself. And I don’t appreciate either one of you treating me like some female cream puff who needs a man to protect her.”

  “Don’t pull that feminist crap on me. You were nearly killed last night,” Justin pointed out.

  “He’s right,” Ricky added.

  “Which is why from now on, I’ll be carrying this,” she said, and held up the derringer. She made a point of checking the safety before strapping it inside her boot. “I appreciate the offer, Ricky, but tell your bodyguard he can go home. And I’d also appreciate it if you could move your car so I can get out.” Picking up the tote bag resting on the floor beside her, she walked out the door past him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Justin asked.

  She paused, looked back at him. “To do my job. I have a list of properties to check out.”

  “Not without me, you don’t,” Justin informed her. He pulled the door to her condo shut.

  “I just finished telling you that I don’t need a bodyguard or a baby-sitter.”

  “And you’re not getting either. I’m doing my job, too. In case you’ve forgotten, this is my case. We’ll take my truck,” he told her, and fished his keys out of the pocket of his jeans.

  “You’re in no condition to drive. Dr. O’Day said you needed to take it easy,” she argued.

  “Then I won’t drive,” he told her. “You will.” And he tossed the keys to
Angela.

  Eleven

  “I warned you this would be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Justin told her as they called it a day and headed back to her condo.

  “I still think we’re on the right track. Otherwise, why would Del Brio have tried to have me killed?”

  “It could have had something to do with the fact that you marched into the county clerk’s office and asked for a listing of properties that he owned.”

  “I also asked for a listing of all the ranches in the area that specialized in the training and breeding of horses,” she pointed out, then sighed at the give-me-a-break look he cast her way. “All right, so maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. But I felt that if it would help us find Lena quickly, it would be worth the risk.”

  “It would have been. But I’ve had Del Brio watched for a couple of weeks now, and if he’s got the little girl stashed, he’s playing it smart and not going anywhere near her. And so far there’s no sign of a kid at any of his usual hangouts.”

  “Then maybe it was something about one of those places I visited that set him off. Like I told you, I had this creepy feeling that I was being watched, only…”

  “Only what?” Justin prompted.

  “Only maybe I was being overly sensitive,” she admitted, no longer sure of herself and exhausted from the emotional roller coaster she’d been on for days now because of Justin. And until they found Lena, she’d no doubt have more days like the one she’d just put in. “What I mean is, I hadn’t expected things to happen between us the way they did, and we never had a chance to talk before you left that morning.”

  “It’s water under the bridge,” he told her.

  “I know that. I’m just trying to explain that maybe I wasn’t as focused as I should have been. I’d gotten lost. It was getting late, and my cell phone wouldn’t work. Maybe I just imagined I was being watched.”

  “It’s possible. But I don’t think so. You’re not the type to get spooked or imagine things, Angela.”

  “Thanks. I think,” she replied, somewhat surprised by his compliment.

  “Just stating the truth,” he told her. “Anyway, I think we ought to retrace your steps and take a second look at those places. Maybe tonight you should put together a list of where you went and we’ll hit those places first thing tomorrow,” he said, and grabbed at his shoulder as she hit an uneven stretch of road.

  “I really don’t need you to come with me,” she told him, noting how he held his shoulder and the way his lips tightened each time she hit the slightest bump.

  “We’ve already had this conversation. Where you go, I go.”

  “Fine,” she told him, exasperated by his stubbornness. “And when the pain in that shoulder becomes unbearable and you keel over, remember you have only yourself to blame.”

  “My shoulder’s fine. I just need some aspirin.”

  “Too macho to take the pain pills, huh?”

  “I don’t want to argue with you, Angela,” he said, and leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  The weariness in his voice, coupled with the shadows beneath his eyes, sent guilt slicing through her with the swiftness of a bullet. As difficult as this situation was for her, it had to be even more so for Justin, she realized. Regardless of his feelings for her or lack thereof, he had insisted on staying at her place to protect her. That gallantry—as antiquated and maddening as it could be at times—was a part of who he was. And was one of the reasons she loved him, she admitted.

  She glanced over at him asleep in the passenger’s seat and sighed. There was no getting around it. She loved him, had always loved him and would probably go to her grave loving him. There was something so decent and solid about him, she thought. He was a man who had few secrets. A man who dealt in facts, in those things he could see with his own two eyes. While she…she lived in a world filled with secrets and shadows, and things that could never be explained.

  Yet he had believed her about the sketches. Despite their history, despite how complicated things were now between them, Justin had believed her and in her. She took the exit that led to her condo and instead of dwelling on her own sense of loss, she contemplated what Justin must be feeling.

  She knew from the notes in the file he’d given her to study that he had pushed himself unmercifully to recover the little girl long before she’d ever come onto the scene. Not succeeding would have left him frustrated and angry with himself, she reasoned. Her presence and his physical weakness now would have only magnified those feelings.

  When she pulled into the driveway ten minutes later, she vowed to do her best not to add to Justin’s troubles or her own. She’d get through this. They both would. Once they found little Lena—and she vowed that they would—she would return to her life in San Antonio and he would go back to his in Mission Creek. She simply prayed that when she left, she’d do so with at least her pride intact, if not her heart. Angela cut the engines and lights, and was wondering whether to wake him or not when he opened his eyes.

  “I must have dozed off. Sorry,” he said, and rubbed a hand down his face.

  “No problem,” she said. After unfastening her seat belt, she exited the truck. When she reached her condo door, she spied the envelope taped to it. “It’s for you,” she told him, and handed him the note with “Mr. Justin” scrawled across the front.

  “It’s from Mrs. Martinez. When we stopped for lunch, I called her at the ranch and asked her to pick up a few things at the grocery. She says she left them with your neighbors, the Collinses.” He shoved the note into his shirt pocket and looked in the direction of her neighbors’ condo, where a car was parked in the driveway. “I gave her quite a list and with my arm in this thing,” he said, indicating the sling, “I may need you to give me a hand.”

  “I was planning to go to the store,” she told him as she followed him across the lawn.

  “Now you don’t have to. And as long as I’m staying at your place, you’ll be able to eat something besides junk food.”

  “I happen to like junk food,” she countered, embarrassed that he’d had to ask his housekeeper to buy food for her place. She couldn’t help wondering what the woman thought of her. Probably the same thing that his family thought of her. That she was all wrong for Justin.

  “I don’t,” he informed her as they made their way to the neighbors’ door. “That’s why I asked Mrs. Martinez to go to the store.”

  “Well, I’ll pay you for the groceries,” she told him.

  He rang the bell and then turned to face her. “Let’s get something straight. I’m staying at your place until we find out who tried to kill you and I put him behind bars. As long as I’m here, I have to eat, and I prefer to eat real food. I don’t expect you to pay for my food or to fix it because I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for me. Are we clear on that?”

  “Crystal,” she said, annoyed with him and herself.

  The door opened and Angela got her first close look at her new neighbor. He was just under six feet, she guessed, but muscular with reddish hair, hazel eyes and a dusting of freckles across his nose. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at them. “Yeah?”

  “Hi. I’m Angela Mason from two doors over.”

  “And I’m Justin Wainwright. Angela’s friend. I understand some groceries were left here for us.”

  The man turned his head and glanced around. “Right. There’s a box of stuff here,” he said, and picked up the cardboard box sitting just inside the door.

  “I’ll take it,” Justin said.

  The man hesitated. “You sure you can handle it with that sling? I could bring it over for you.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve still got one good arm,” Justin informed him as he took the box and anchored it under his arm.

  “Thank you for holding it for us. We’re sorry for any inconvenience,” Angela said.

  “Honey, is that our neighbor?” a woman called out from inside the condo.

  “Yeah. They’re picking up the groceries that
were left here,” he called back. “My wife, Annabelle. She was in the tub,” he explained.

  “Don’t forget the stuff in the fridge that’s theirs,” Annabelle added.

  The man frowned. “Hang on a second,” he said. “There’s apparently a bag of stuff in the kitchen that belongs to you, too. If you want to go on home, I’ll bring it over.”

  “That’s all right,” Justin said before Angela could agree. “We’ll wait.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll be right back with your stuff,” Collins told him, and closed the door on them while he retreated into the house.

  “Real friendly guy, isn’t he? Wonder why he didn’t invite us inside?” Justin commented. He nudged the door, which hadn’t been firmly shut, and it opened slightly to reveal a living room with only a couple of chairs.

  “Here you go,” Mr. Collins told Angela as he returned, and practically shoved the bag of food at her. Evidently reading something in her expression, he said, “I’m afraid most of our stuff hasn’t arrived from Kansas yet.”

  “I understand,” she said. “Thanks again for holding this for us.”

  “Sure. No problem,” he replied, and shut the door before she’d had a chance to offer him the use of some tray tables and a television set.

  “How long ago did you say this guy and his wife moved in?” Justin asked her.

  “About a week ago. They moved in the day after I did,” she told him as they headed back to her condo. “Why?”

  “And I bet before you went to bed your first night, you had your pictures on the walls, pillows and knickknacks scattered around to make the place feel like home.”

  It was true. She had. “So?”

  “So Collins and his wife haven’t put out so much as a snapshot,” he pointed out as they went inside and headed for the kitchen.

  “Well, he said most of their stuff hadn’t arrived yet,” she offered as she placed the bag of groceries on the counter and began to unpack. “Besides, what difference does it make?”