Chase's Promise

by Lois Faye Dyer

  Chase and Raine took seats at the comfortable, upscale bar. The low-backed stools were upholstered in soft black leather, the surface of the bar in front of them a polished, gleaming ebony.

  “Evening, folks. What can I get you?” The bartender looked to be in his thirties and wore the hotel uniform of black slacks, white shirt and red vest.

  “Scotch,” Chase told him. “Raine?”

  “A glass of white wine.”

  Chase waited until he brought their drinks before taking out Trey’s photo once again. “We’re looking for the lady’s brother,” he said. “Have you seen this man during the last few weeks?”

  The bartender picked up the photo, tilting it for better light, before handing it back to Chase. “Nope, sorry.”

  Raine listened as Chase asked him several questions about other bartenders on the evening shift, what waitresses may have been working and if there were other staff, such as busboys, who might have been in the lounge and seen Trey. The bartender’s answers didn’t give her reason to be hopeful.

  He moved away to serve guests farther down the bar and Chase tossed back his drink. “So much for Trey having visited the hotel lounge that night.” He gestured at the untouched glass of wine in front of Raine. “Are you going to drink that?”

  “What? Oh…no.”

  They left the lounge and crossed the elegant lobby to the elevators. Chase pushed the call button and looked down at her. “We’ve barely started,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t expect to get a solid lead tonight.”

  “You didn’t?” Surprised, she met his eyes. “But I thought you felt we would learn something at the Bull ’n’ Bash.”

  “It was an outside shot. It’s the first place the police would have gone and chances were their search was thorough. The Bull ’n’ Bash is a bar with a regular clientele; if Trey had been there, he would have stood out. The employees or one of the usual customers would probably have remembered him because he wasn’t a regular. They would have told the cops, who in turn would have told you.”

  “Then why did we come here?”

  “Because I never accept another professional’s version of the facts.”

  “Ah.” Raine nodded. “Being thorough and verifying reports is part of the package that results in your 98 percent success rating.”

  “You did your homework before you hired me.”

  “Of course.” She eyed him. “I was hoping you’d succeeded in finding your quarry 100 percent of the time.”

  “Nobody in the business has a 100 percent record.”

  “Does anyone have a 99 percent rating?”

  “Not anyone I know.”

  “So if Trey can be found, you’re the man most likely to find him.” It wasn’t a question. In fact, Raine realized she was stating her own conviction and hope aloud.

  He didn’t reply, merely shrugged.

  The elevator chimed and the doors whisked open. A group of five men in business suits, intent on their conversation, left the elevator.

  Beside her, Raine felt Chase go suddenly still. She stared up at him and was surprised to see cold menace on his features, his gaze focused intently on the group.

  She looked at the men, her swift intake of breath a mere whisper as she recognized Harlan Kerrigan.

  A distinguished, silver-haired man was the last to exit the elevator. Deep in conversation with Harlan, he walked past them before he stopped abruptly. Recognition lit his features and he grinned broadly.

  “Chase.” He spun on his heel. “Good to see you. How’s your dad?”

  “He’s well, Senator Harris. Busy as always,” Chase replied, shaking the man’s outstretched hand.

  “That’s our John. I keep telling him he needs a vacation now and then. He should take that pretty mother of yours to Mexico and soak up some sun.” He laughed and looked expectantly at Raine.

  “Senator, I’d like you to meet Raine Harper. Raine, this is Senator Bill Harris.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Senator.” Raine held out her hand and smiled. Her gaze didn’t stray to Harlan, standing silently just beyond the senator.

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Harper.” The senator smiled benignly. “Your name seems familiar…?”

  “Raine and her brother own several businesses in Wolf Creek,” Chase told him.

  “Ah, yes, of course. My wife and I stayed at the Harper Hotel last summer.”

  “I hope you enjoyed your time with us,” Raine replied.

  “We did. I was impressed with the friendliness of the staff,” the senator said. “Well, I’d better let you two go.” He looked at Harlan. “I’m holding up a business meeting.”

  Harlan managed a polite smile for the senator, however his expression held barely concealed dislike as he swept Chase and Raine with an assessing, cold stare.

  Raine’s scalp prickled. She felt an urge to step back out of the line of fire. But the senator merely lifted an eyebrow at Chase, nodded slightly in what appeared to be an acknowledgment of some sort and drew Harlan away.

  Chase appeared to dismiss the incident; he pushed the elevator call button again. The doors sprang open immediately and he took Raine’s arm, ushering her inside.

  The doors slid shut, cutting off their view of the lobby just as Harlan and the senator disappeared through the archway into the restaurant.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Raine said, unable to let the matter drop.

  Chase looked directly at her, and she had to steel herself to keep from retreating before the anger in the fierce, bright blue eyes. “What?” he said, the very softness and lack of inflection in his voice a threat.

  “You and Harlan Kerrigan.” Raine cocked her head to one side, eyeing him. “You reminded me of two heavyweight boxers being weighed in on ESPN before the big fight. The air practically crackled with hostility. I expected the two of you to take a swing at each other any minute.”

  “Boxers?” He seemed taken aback. “What do you know about boxers psyching each other out before a fight?”

  “My dad was a boxing fan,” she explained, pleased to have surprised him. “I grew up watching film clips of Smokin’ Joe Frazier and Cassius Clay, before he renamed himself Muhammad Ali. Let’s see, who else? Oh, yes. Mike Tyson. Dad wasn’t a big fan of Tyson, though.”

  “I remember watching fights with your dad,” Chase said, a faint smile brightening his somber features. “But I don’t recall you being there.”

  “I didn’t start watching boxing with him until after Mike died,” Raine said. She used her brother’s name purposely, intent on reading Chase’s features as he registered her remark.

  His face went blank.

  The elevator pinged a warning and the doors whisked open.

  “This is our floor,” Chase said.

  She didn’t miss the fact that he hadn’t responded when she’d brought up Mike. Interesting, she thought. She’d always wondered how Chase felt about Mike’s death. Had he grieved the loss of his best friend? Did he still? Or did he resent and blame Mike for the years he had spent in jail after Mike died?

  She was no nearer to the answer now than she’d been fifteen years ago. And she still wanted to know, needed to know if the boy she’d adored as a little girl still existed, deep inside the complicated, dangerous man walking by her side.

  Chapter Four

  Chase didn’t wake Raine during the night. His computer search turned up nothing of interest on Trey Harper—no activity on his credit card or bank accounts and no new information on the whereabouts of his vehicle. Chase sent an e-mail to Ren Colter at the Seattle office of Colter & McCloud Investigations and asked his partner to run national searches for Trey through the usual resources. Finally, at 2:00 a.m., he shut down his laptop and went to bed. Given the nature of his job, he’d developed the ability to fall asleep instantly and wake just as quickly but tonight, thoughts of Raine kept him awake.

  He remembered the little girl she’d once been. He was five years older than her and Trey but the much yo
unger twins had followed him and Mike on occasion, wanting to join in their adventures. One hot summer day, Raine had fallen out of a tree house they’d built in Mike’s backyard and broken her arm; afterward, Mr. Harper and his own dad had lectured them at length about looking after her and Trey. When her exasperated mother had caught Raine trying to climb the tree with her arm in a cast, Chase and Mike had dismantled the aerie and built one in the McCloud yard.

  It was hard to equate the adult Raine with that little girl. Except for the dark hair and the gray eyes with their thick black lashes, nothing about her was familiar. Those gray eyes held a woman’s secrets, the dark brown hair a sexy, sleek fall that called attention to the delicate shells of her ears and shape of her face. High cheekbones framed the classic line of her small nose and the lush fullness of her mouth. Raine’s very adult, very feminine curves and long legs were nothing like the angular body and coltish limbs of the child that had tagged after her brothers and Chase.

  He wasn’t sure he totally believed she had a psychic connection to her twin but whether he believed her or not didn’t matter. He’d find Trey Harper, alive or dead. And if he was lucky, the search for Trey would lead him to the person who’d written the letter. If someone was stirring up interest in a fifteen-year-old mystery, Chase wanted to know what they knew. That was his real goal.

  More importantly, he wanted to know why the letter writer had kept silent for fifteen long years. On the day he was released, he’d walked away from the youth correctional facility and put the unwelcome memories behind him, vowing not to waste his life seeking vengeance against the Kerrigans. But the possibility that evidence might exist to prove his innocence in that long-ago crime was too important to ignore.

  In the meantime, he needed to keep his hands off Raine.

  He shouldn’t have tucked her under his arm when they walked into the Bull ’n’ Bash. Now he knew what the curve of her breast felt like pressed against his side, how the slide of her jeans-covered thigh against his made him ache to know what it would be like without cloth between them, and just how soft the sensitive skin below her ear was.

  Dumb move, McCloud.

  Something had compelled him to warn off the other men in the bar. He hadn’t lived like a monk over the years—he’d had his share of women. None of them had ever made him want to claim them. It was annoying as hell that he’d been unable to ignore the urge with Raine.

  He fell asleep with the memory of the scent of her hair in his nostrils and the taste of her skin on his lips.

  They left Billings shortly after lunch the following day.

  “Not a single person we talked to remembered seeing Trey,” Raine said, dejected.

  Chase glanced at her, then back at the road. She wore khaki shorts that left the sleek curves of her tanned legs bare from midthigh to her pink-tipped toes in flat sandals. A tailored shirt that looked as if she might have stolen it from her brother’s closet hung unbuttoned over a white tank top and her thick mane of silky hair was pulled high off her nape in a ponytail. Her soft mouth had a downward curve and her body slumped against the leather-covered seat. They’d spent the morning walking the streets surrounding the Bull ’n’ Bash, showing Trey’s photo to business owners and shoppers. Unfortunately, no one recognized him.

  “Investigations aren’t connect-the-dots,” he said. “It would have been nice to get a lead, but I’m not surprised we didn’t.”

  “So, now what?” Raine lifted her travel mug and sipped coffee.

  “Now we trace the most logical route Trey might have taken when he left Wolf Creek for Billings. There’s a map in the glove compartment.” He hoped giving her something specific to do would bring back that stubborn optimism he’d seen from the first moment she’d walked into his forge at the ranch.

  Raine settled her mug in the cup holder and leaned forward to take out the map. The folded paper rattled as she spread it out on her lap, then refolded it to reveal the area surrounding the highway they traveled.

  “This is a lot of territory.” She traced the blue highway line with her fingertip. “He could be anywhere.”

  “He could,” Chase agreed. “But we know he left Wolf Creek, which gives us a starting point. We also know he told you he planned to drive to Billings. That gives us a destination. The shortest route between the two towns is the road we’re on and if he stopped for gas, coffee or food along the way, maybe someone will remember seeing him.”

  Raine sat a bit straighter in her seat. “Right.” She scanned the map. “There’s a truck stop about twenty miles ahead.”

  “We’ll stop there for lunch, show Trey’s picture around and talk with the employees to find out if anyone remembers seeing him.”

  “And if no one does, then we move on to the next place on the map?”

  “Yes.”

  “This could take forever,” she murmured, sounding discouraged.

  “It might take a while,” he admitted. “Ready to go home yet?” He realized with surprise he hoped she’d answer no. He’d never liked traveling with a client—they inevitably distracted him from the job. And Raine sure as hell was a distraction. So why did he want her here?

  “No.” She eyed him curiously. “What made you ask?”

  Chase shrugged. “Just wondering if you’d had enough. Most clients don’t make it past the first day.”

  “I’m guessing you were hoping I wouldn’t, either,” she said dryly.

  “Well now, that’s the thing,” he drawled. “All clients are distractions that get in the way of my doing the job. You, on the other hand, are closer to what I’d call an attractive nuisance.”

  “Really?” she said, sounding amused.

  “Oh, yeah.” He glanced at her, smiling slightly at the skepticism in her eyes. “Your legs are lots easier on the eyes than my last client’s—he had knobby knees and lots of red hair. I know this because we were in Mexico and he was wearing shorts. Not to mention,” he continued over her laugh, “he smelled like he’d skipped soap and bathed in cheap aftershave. Gave me a headache. You, on the other hand, smell like some kind of flowers.”

  “And the flowers aren’t giving you a headache?”

  “Nope. Not yet,” he responded, satisfied his teasing seemed to have made her forget her despondency over the lack of clues about her brother.

  “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “this is the first time I’ve seen you really smile. I thought perhaps you’d lost your sense of humor after all those years of chasing criminals.”

  “I have a sense of humor,” he protested mildly.

  “I haven’t heard you laugh very often.”

  “Maybe not,” he said, realizing he’d dropped his guard with her—something he normally only did around his family.

  She sipped her coffee, watching the sagebrush-dotted landscape go by.

  “What were you making the day I came out to your ranch and you were working at the forge?” She asked idly.

  “An iron gate.”

  She shifted in her seat so she could watch him. “Really? For your ranch?”

  “Not this time. It’s a commission for a tech-millionaire in Seattle.”

  “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

  “I’m not. I’m a welder, sometimes a farrier, and sometimes I make ironwork lace for fences, gates, that sort of thing.”

  “How long have you been doing ironwork?”

  “Since I was a teenager.” He glanced at her, a self-derisive smile twisting his lips. “In addition to regular high school classes, I could take career accounting or welding when I was incarcerated. I chose welding. It got me out of the classroom.”

  She didn’t look away from his eyes. “Good choice,” she said calmly. “Did you make the wind chime hanging outside the door at your house?”

  He nodded. “I don’t usually do small pieces but my mother wanted a wind chime. The one you saw was practice for the one I finished for her.”

  “It’s beautiful. Call it what you like, the chime has ‘artist’ w
ritten all over it.”

  “Thanks.” He knew his work was good but it warmed something deep inside him to know she admired one of his pieces.

  It surprised him that he cared she’d noticed the delicate metalwork in the wind chime. He wondered briefly if spending time with Raine was more dangerous than he knew. But before he could work out just why that might be, she asked him a question about how he’d met the tech-millionaire in Seattle who’d commissioned the iron lace fence.

  Miles flew by as they drifted casually from subject to subject, Chase gaining insight into Raine’s life in bits and pieces. She and Trey had taken over the family businesses while they were still in high school. Which explained why she appeared to have the maturity of a woman older than her twenty-seven years, he thought.

  They reached the truck stop but their questioning of the employees there netted zero results.

  By the time they reached their third stop on the map, a small ranching town just off the highway, Raine had a growing conviction that whatever had happened to Trey had occurred closer to home. None of the places they’d been to in Billings and none of the stops they’d made along the highway made her feel Trey had been there recently.

  “There’s a small mom-and-pop grocery store on the main street,” she told Chase as he took the highway exit. “It has two fuel pumps out front and Trey has a habit of stopping there for gas on his way to Billings—he likes the coffee.”

  They drove through three residential blocks, the wide streets shaded by thick oak trees, before reaching the business district. The commercial center of town was only two blocks long and consisted of a feed store, grain elevator, a bar, a bank and the small grocery store. Several small offices with signs indicating they belonged to a doctor and a lawyer, as well as a couple of cafés were visible down side streets. The dusty main street was nearly deserted in the late-afternoon heat. They turned into the grocery’s parking lot and stopped in front of the two fuel pumps.