Fatal Secrets

by Barbara Phinney

  Yet, if he was reading her right, he bet she’d never asked a soul for anything, never manipulated a man before. Until now. He was tempted to test her determination, to see if there really was silk over steel where her will was concerned.

  But a battle of wills was pointless and he had no taste for such foolishness. He’d had his fill of that nonsense years ago.

  And besides, he found himself not wanting to argue with the beautiful Kristin Perry.

  Slowly, he put away his pad and pen.

  “Thank you.”

  Zane barely heard the words over the other conversations around them. But the gratitude rang clearly. “So, tell me about the woman you want me to find.”

  “She’s around forty years old, has brown hair and green eyes, slim-boned and with a scar on her right cheek near her lips. It’s in the shape of a rose petal.”

  He watched her hand drift up to her temple to smooth her hair. As if noticing his keen interest, she dropped her arm immediately.

  “A rose petal?” he echoed. What on earth was the shape of a rose petal?

  “Yes, you know. Rounded, with a slight point at one end.”

  “Okay,” he began. “What’s this woman’s name?”

  “Eloise.”

  “What’s her relationship to you?”

  A pause. “Like I said before, I can’t say. I mean, I don’t think it’s something we need to discuss.”

  Zane pulled in a deep breath, then eased it out slowly to smooth over his growing impatience. Was this woman using him? Had he pegged her wrong when he’d thought she’d never manipulated men before?

  This was fast becoming a big waste of time. He didn’t need any more evasive people in his life, not after dealing that last time with his own parents. “Look, Kristin, I can’t find a person with such vague information.”

  “What I’ve told you isn’t vague, Mr. Black.”

  “Call me Zane.”

  “Fine. I told you her name, as I know it, and a basic description. She’s somewhere in Montana.”

  “Which is a big state. How do you know she’s here?”

  “An acquaintance told me.”

  The person she’d spoken to a moment ago, the one who’d seemed to have dropped a bombshell? “And this person couldn’t tell you anything more than that?”

  “No.”

  “Have you begun to search for her by yourself?”

  Color seeped into her cheeks, and her neck turned an attractive pink. “I asked around a few places.”

  He leaned forward, trying a stern look to stem the pull of her perfect features. Pretty girls were a dime a dozen in a college town, more so in this small town of Westbrook, he thought. He refused to be lured by her innocent eyes and classic good looks. “Kristin, you need to be more forthcoming here. I don’t want to waste your money by doing things you’ve already done. So tell me. Where have you been?”

  “I thought she’d gone south, to a bigger urban area like Missoula, so I went down there. But I could only go for the day. I’ve, um, been busy lately.”

  Busy doing what? he wondered. “More than half the state of Montana is south of Missoula. You need to be specific about where you think she went.”

  “I can’t be. I asked at the city hall in Missoula and the public records, and at the tech colleges and such, in case she’d taken some courses. But I found nothing.”

  “Why those places?”

  She shrugged. “I had to start somewhere. Getting an education is important. But I realized that I needed help. I’d lost a bit of my schooling this past spring because of personal issues, and I need to make it up this summer. The university offers summer courses. I can’t spend my time doing both things.”

  Still a bit evasive, she was. He made a mental note to find out what kind of personal issues she’d dealt with this past spring. “Any other places?”

  She paused, pursed her lips and then wet them. After swallowing, she answered him. “I found out that Eloise lived for a while at a foster home in Chicago. I talked to the woman who ran it. She’s supposed to, er, send me some info.”

  She didn’t want to tell him, that, he noticed. Why? Was the idea of a foster home difficult? Or had the woman asked for anonymity? Surely she would know that she shouldn’t be offering information about the children in her care, even the ones who had probably aged out long ago.

  Abruptly, Kristin leaned forward. “Please, Zane, I need your help. A friend recommended you, and I really need to find this woman. But it has to be done very discreetly.”

  If his gut was telling him correctly, the woman was her mother.

  A mom. Supposedly the one person in a child’s life who should love unconditionally. Yeah, like that happened.

  Still, didn’t he already love unconditionally the brother he’d come to Westbrook to find? Without even knowing him?

  He did. Zane noticed Kristin’s hand slip from her lap up onto the table between them, to rest there like a shy, stray animal in search of food or affection.

  Did he really need this case? No, not for the money. He was sensible enough to have saved so that he could spend his summer searching exclusively for his lost brother, though he had yet to start. He didn’t need to follow weak clues from an evasive woman. He’d only agreed to meet her because he’d been intrigued by that smooth, velvet voice.

  He stood. “I’m sorry, Kristin, but I’m going to need more than just the few things you’ve told me. If you’re not willing to say more, then you can’t expect anyone to find your mom.”

  She gasped. “How did you know she was my mother?”

  “I’m good at my job. I know how to read people.” He’d learned that the hard way, the way any battered kid learns to watch a parent for those subtle signs that a beating was imminent. “I see.”

  He watched as her eyes welled up. Great. Feeling he was being a bit too hard on her, he planted his hands on the table, one on each side of hers. Her body tensed as she eased her hand closer to her body.

  “Kristin, you need to trust the person you hire to find her, and obviously you’re not ready to do that. When you are, call me back.”

  “It’s not a matter of trust here.”

  “Then you’re being too stubborn for some reason. I need cooperation and trust before I can go any further with this.”

  “But I need to find her. It’s a matter of—” She cut off her words.

  “Of life and death?” He threw her a dubious look. “Then go to the police.”

  “I can’t. And I can’t explain why.”

  “Then I can’t help you.” He straightened. The café around him came into sharp focus. Being a typical college-town café, it had atmosphere aplenty, right down to the poster styled mirror mounted on the wall behind Kristin. In that brief instance, he caught his reflection.

  Did his brother look like him? For the past two years, since his mother had finally told him the truth, he’d searched for the man, a full brother two years younger. Would he ever meet him?

  He looked down at Kristin. “You’ve got my number. Call when you’re ready.” His heel drilled into the battered pine floor as he pivoted. He could feel her gaze glued to his back as he walked out the door.

  The sun had already warmed the day, more than expected, he thought. He’d been in northwest Montana for two years and had noticed that springtime here could mean anything weather-wise.

  Today, the sun beat down on him and he pulled from his jacket pocket a pair of sunglasses. He strode across the street, noticing the traffic had increased with a small town’s version of morning rush hour.

  “Zane!”

  He turned. Kristin stood in the café’s entrance, holding the door with one hand, her purse with the other. Once she’d caught his attention, she released the handle and trotted across the sidewalk, cutting through the increasing flow of pedestrians. The favorable weather was luring people outside in droves. Older people and students who’d chosen to stay the summer to get extra credits, a popular thing to do here, all seemed to
be walking to work or school today.

  For the first time, he could fully see what she was wearing. Dark jeans, a thin university hoodie and, over it, a light vest. Typical college-student wear around here.

  She’s changed her mind, he thought, having decided that vagueness wasn’t going to locate her mother. Smart girl, but frankly, he wasn’t interested. His own family, his mom especially, had been secretive enough. Sure, she had her own trouble with his father, but she hadn’t once stood up for her adopted son, the boy she’d promised to care for. Instead, she’d kept secrets from him, even lying to save her own skin sometimes. Leaving his skin to be blistered from beatings.

  He’d had a lifetime’s worth of secretive garbage, and he didn’t feel like dragging the same stuff from another reluctant woman.

  At the outer edge of his vision, a truck accelerated, grinding first gear into second as it approached. Kristin stopped between the cars parked on an angle, her glance down the busy street telling Zane she also saw the truck coming. He waited. Should he take her on as a client?

  Depends on what she says, he decided.

  He glanced again at the midsize delivery truck, old and battered, with a grizzled, bearded driver. As the power train jerked into third gear, the vehicle lurched closer.

  A scream sliced through the air, and Zane snapped his head back over.

  Her arms flaying out wildly, Kristin was falling directly into the truck’s path.

  TWO

  Zane leaped forward, only to be blocked by the truck. The driver laid on the horn, adding to the sound of screeching brakes as the huge vehicle careened to a lumbering stop.

  Zane slammed into its left side and after he spun once, he raced around the back.

  Kristin was sprawled facedown by the right front tire, her purse beside her. Zane sliced through the growing crowd as she began to roll over.

  “Don’t move,” he told her. “Stay still for a minute. You may be hurt.”

  The truck driver hurried around the front bumper. “Is she all right? I didn’t see her until she jumped out at me!”

  Kristin sat up. “I didn’t jump. I was pushed.”

  The driver stepped back in shock. Zane took the opportunity to move in front of him. As he did, Kristin threw back her hair. “Someone shoved me!”

  Immediately, Zane glanced around, stretching his vision from one end of the street to the other. Apart from the crowd that had gathered, he saw no one hurrying away. Murmurs threaded through the onlookers at her accusation, each person checking out their neighbor. He watched each surprised face. No one looked guilty.

  Zane stooped to take her arm. “I told you not to move.”

  She grabbed him and pulled herself to her feet. “I’m fine. A little scraped up, that’s all.” Then, with a shocked gaze, she looked around. “Didn’t you see him? The man who pushed me?”

  The driver shook his head. “I laid on the horn when I first saw you,” he cried out. “It looked like you’d stumbled!”

  She threw off Zane’s helping hand. “I didn’t stumble. I was pushed. I distinctly felt two hands on my back.” She looked at Zane. “You didn’t see him, either?”

  “No.” Inwardly, he cringed at his short word. It wasn’t as though he suspected her of lying, but with the blank looks from the crowd gathering around them, he wondered briefly if she’d staged this to get his attention.

  Was this a ploy to avoid telling her precious secret, all the while gaining sympathy and an agreement to take her case?

  Zane gritted his teeth. His mother had done something similar when he’d begun to ask questions. She’d faked an illness to avoid the truth.

  Kristin straightened. “Well, someone pushed me.” With a hand that was definitely shaking, she smoothed her straight brown hair. For one brief moment, he caught sight of a long white scar just above her temple. Then, as quickly as it was exposed, it slipped back into hiding beneath the straight cloak of shiny brown tresses.

  And as if realizing she was creating a scene, Kristin grabbed her purse and brushed off her jeans. “I know what I felt. I was pushed, but managed to roll away from the truck in the nick of time.”

  Zane moved her away from the crowd. It wasn’t such a good idea to attract this much attention. Kristin had been evasive for a reason, and while he hated secrecy, he knew she shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the street if she needed some privacy or protection. And as a private investigator, he preferred to keep a low profile, as well. Playing hero for all to see wasn’t what his profession was about. He was trained to blend into the crowd, notice things without being noticed.

  To that end, he steered her around the truck and toward his car, to get away from local curiosity.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To the truck stop out by the highway. We’ll talk there.”

  She followed him to his car, hesitantly, stopping short of climbing in. “I don’t get into strangers’ cars.”

  “Good advice for anyone.” Then, pulling out his car keys, he handed them to her. “You can drive if it makes you feel safer. Do you know the truck stop I’m talking about?”

  “Of course. I was bor— I mean I grew up here.”

  He caught her correction, but decided to ignore it for now.

  “But driving your car isn’t going to make it safer for me,” she reasoned.

  “Let me show you my ID. But frankly, you should have asked for it as soon as I sat down in the café.”

  “You’re the first private investigator I’ve ever hired. And you come highly recommended.” After checking out his ID, she took the keys and clicked the unlock button before tossing her purse into the back. With a short hesitation, she climbed in behind the wheel. Automatically, she moved the seat up to accommodate her shorter stature.

  She started the car. “Does this mean you’ll take my case?”

  “Maybe. Who recommended me?”

  “Jake Downs. His sister and I are in the same chemistry class. He’s the locksmith who helped me open my father’s safe a few months ago. We made a mess of the wall at home because Jake had to take the safe to his shop and drill through the side of it just to open it. You know, look at the lock from the inside? When I asked if he knew any private investigators, he recommended you.” She shrugged. “And he also recommended a good drywaller to fix the wall in my father’s office.”

  Zane knew Jake Downs. A good locksmith, accredited and bonded, with a cocky charm that seemed in total contradiction with the man’s strong personal faith. He was a Christian, and had even invited him to church once.

  Zane had declined. For work reasons, he’d said. Truth was, the cost of believing was just a bit too high for him.

  Still, he nodded. “I know Jake, but I didn’t know he had a sister.”

  “Maggie. She’s the funniest person ever, so we don’t get much chem work done.” She paused a few seconds as she pulled into traffic. “She works at the lab at the university.”

  She glanced at him as she signaled to merge onto the highway. It took her a moment to ask, “Have you decided to take my case?”

  He paused. “Have you decided to trust me?”

  By now, they’d reached the truck stop, it being only a short drive down the highway. After parking, she turned to him. “Zane, I need to find my biological mother. I don’t know much about her, but I know she’s in danger.”

  Hmm. Was this her idea of trust? A few mysterious words? “In danger of what?”

  “Of being murdered.”

  The words hung between them in the car, as Zane watched Kristin’s eyes grow wide with some instant realization and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Besides the obvious fact you think your biological mother is in danger.”

  Her expression turned hollow as she stared out the windshield. “They’re after me,” she whispered. “Jackson was right!” She bit her lip before adding, “I should never have gone to that guy’s trial! But that couldn’t have been ho
w…”

  What on earth was she talking about? “Look at me, Kristin. What’s going on?”

  She turned toward him, her eyes like a Japanese cartoon. “I went to Vincent Martino’s trial,” she breathed out. “That must have been where they saw me, but he didn’t say it was.”

  He shook his head and frowned. “Whose trial?” He itched to reach for his notebook, but stopped himself, instead committing the name to memory. “Did you have to testify?”

  “No. It’s a long story.”

  “Where was it?”

  “Chicago.” She blinked. “While I was there, I met up with Jackson McGraw again. He’s an FBI agent there. I’d met him some months ago when I started the search for my mother. During a recess at the trial—”

  “Wait!” he interrupted. “Are you talking about the mobster Vincent Martino? Wasn’t he convicted, but escaped custody?” He stared intently at her. “What was so important about going to his trial? That courtroom was probably the most dangerous place to be in all of the country.”

  “It was also said to be the safest place in the country.”

  Zane sat back, trying to recall the details that had flooded the news last month. With the tightest security since the president was sworn in, the judge would only allow those closely associated with the trial to be in the courtroom. How did this woman get in?

  More to the point, why did she think Vincent Martino was now after her? What was going on?

  “Drive. Start the engine and drive,” he told her.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the police station. You need to report what happened to you.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but shut it again.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “I should make a phone call first. It won’t take long.” She twisted around for her purse.

  “And in the meantime your assailant’s trail goes cold. The police can help you, but you can’t be calling a girlfriend first.”

  Their gazes locked. He could easily see the irritated indecision in hers. “The police can only help you if you’re timely, Kristin.”