Dangerous Illusions (Code of Honor Book #1)

by Irene Hannon

  Pasting on a smile, he picked up a piece of pizza he didn’t want. “I have to admit, this is a lot more fun than eating alone.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy to see me. To us.” She lifted her glass toward him in a toast.

  He clinked his beer can with it. “You know . . . we ought to celebrate finding each other. Are you free on Tuesday night?”

  “No. I work at the salon until nine. Thursdays too. What did you have in mind?”

  “Dinner at an upscale restaurant.”

  “Yeah?” Her eyes lit up. “I’d like that. I could go Wednesday.”

  He played with his beer can. Too far away. Every delay increased the risk she’d spill some dangerous piece of information.

  “I don’t want to wait that long to see you again. Why don’t we go on Monday?”

  “Works for me.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight thirty.”

  She frowned. “Isn’t that kind of late for dinner?”

  “Not in Europe. In Spain they don’t eat until nine or ten—and I want to take you to a fancy, European-style restaurant.” He also wanted it dark when he picked her up—and dark during his detour back here to retrieve his conveniently forgotten wallet.

  “Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I love surprises!”

  Good.

  Because she was in for a big one.

  And she wasn’t going to love it.

  “You want some more pizza?” He motioned to the grease-stained cardboard circle.

  “I wouldn’t mind having another piece or two . . . unless you’re in a hurry.”

  “No rush. We have all night.”

  While she demolished two more generous pieces, he leaned back against the island, nursing his beer. As long as she was here and he was bored, no reason not to take advantage of whatever she was willing to offer.

  Especially since she wouldn’t be offering it again.

  “Sorry I had to bail yesterday. I appreciate you guys being flexible.”

  As Kristin slipped into the booth at the popular Sunday brunch spot, Rick handed her a menu. “To tell you the truth, the delay worked out better for me. We’re in high gear at the camp, with the summer session about to start. Ducking out for a couple of hours yesterday would have put a serious crimp in my schedule.”

  “Glad to hear it wasn’t an inconvenience. And I’m betting our friend here didn’t mind sleeping in yesterday, after his hot date with Trish Friday night.”

  Colin choked on his coffee.

  “Take a deep breath.” Kristin patted him on the back.

  He bought himself a few seconds to think by taking a slow sip of water. There was no way Kristin could have known about his dinner with Trish unless she’d been at Hacienda.

  “I take it you were in the mood for Mexican on Friday too?”

  “Uh-huh.” She skimmed the brunch menu and set it aside. “She’s very pretty.”

  “For the record, it wasn’t a hot date.”

  “No? It seemed awfully cozy to me.” She leaned toward Rick and spoke in a stage whisper. “They were holding hands.”

  “We weren’t holding hands. I was trying to . . . reassure her.”

  Kristin sniggered. “Talk about a lame spin.”

  “Why didn’t you call and give me the scoop?” Rick shot the female member of their gang a disgruntled look.

  “Because there wasn’t any scoop to give.” Colin fisted his hands in his lap and turned his attention to Kristin. “And how do you know it was Trish, anyway? Were you eavesdropping?”

  “Not necessary. The bandage on the arm was a dead giveaway.”

  Oh yeah. There was that.

  “We were discussing the mugging . . . among other things.” He pretended to read the menu.

  “I’ll bet.” Kristin grinned.

  “It was all very professional.”

  “Right.” Rick chuckled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If it was professional, you wouldn’t be flustered.”

  “I’m not flustered.”

  “Then why did you just add a bunch of cream to your coffee when you always take it black?”

  Colin peered into his mug. Diluted brew stared back at him.

  He was hosed.

  “Is everyone ready?” A waitress stopped beside their table, pen poised over order pad.

  Yes! Perfect timing. After this diversion, he might be able to redirect the conversation.

  But Rick didn’t give him a chance. The instant the woman walked away, he pounced again.

  “Cream in coffee. Want to talk about it?”

  No—but based on their determined expressions, he was going to have to give them a few crumbs.

  “Fine. I like her.”

  “You’re smitten.” Kristin added a heaping spoon of sugar to her java.

  “Let’s not get carried away.”

  “We’re not the ones getting carried away.” She leaned toward him. “And it’s okay. She looks like a very nice woman. If you want to date her, you have our approval.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Speak for yourself. I haven’t met her yet.” Rick elbowed Kristin.

  “Neither have I. But we will . . . soon. Right, Colin? You could invite her to our next Saturday breakfast.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What? You don’t trust us to be couth?” Rick tucked his napkin in the top of his dress shirt and fluffed it.

  “Very funny.” Colin yanked out the square cloth and tossed it at his friend. “I won’t be bringing her because it would be unprofessional.”

  “What does that mean?” Rick tucked his napkin back onto his lap, where it belonged.

  “It means County is digging into the case again.”

  Kristin exchanged a look with Rick. “The case of her mother’s death? I thought that was closed.”

  “Not anymore. Some . . . peculiar . . . new developments have raised our suspicions.”

  “About Trish?” Rick rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, all levity gone.

  “No. But I need to keep a professional distance until we get some answers.”

  “Based on what I saw Friday night, that’s not going to be easy.” Kristin played with her fork.

  Colin sighed. Why deny what was apparently obvious? To his two childhood buddies, at any rate.

  “No, it’s not. But it will be harder on her. She’s alone. Totally. I have you guys.” His voice scratched, and he took a sip of water.

  “You want me to call her? Invite her to lunch?” Kristin gentled her voice and touched his hand.

  “You haven’t even met her yet.”

  “If she’s important to you, she’s important to us. Right, Rick?”

  “Right.”

  Colin toyed with that notion for a few seconds. Trish had told him she’d had little time to nurture friendships over the past two traumatic years. Perhaps she’d welcome an outreach from Kristin. Friends didn’t come any finer than these two—and if everything played out as he hoped, she’d be part of their lives, anyway.

  “Let me mention it to her. And thanks for the offer.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The waitress delivered their food, and though he knew his friends were dying to ask some questions about the new case developments he’d referenced, the conversation moved on to other topics. They’d learned long ago he didn’t discuss active investigations.

  But as they said their good-byes and went their separate ways, Colin thought back to Trish’s comment in her kitchen while they’d eaten his omelets. About how good often came out of bad—like meeting him after the death of her mother.

  Despite his less-than-idyllic childhood, he had to admit her point was applicable to this situation. God might not have saved Neal . . . and he might not have healed their fractured family . . . but he’d brought Kristin and Rick into the circle of a lonely little boy when he’d most needed friends. Without that lifeline, C
olin wasn’t certain he’d have survived those tough years.

  Maybe, as Trish had suggested, God had been at work even during the dark days when he’d felt no divine presence.

  Maybe God was still at work, bringing a lovely woman into his world just when he’d begun to think love might have passed him by.

  And maybe God would give them a future by bringing closure and resolution to a situation that grew more puzzling with every passing day.

  In light of all the strange . . . and sinister . . . new developments in this case, that was a prayer worth offering.

  15

  “You haven’t mentioned Trish all week. What’s up with that?” Mac hung a right at the corner in the rundown business district.

  Colin surveyed the storefront addresses as the car rolled along the main street of the small municipality in unincorporated St. Louis County. “We’re getting close to our address.”

  “End of the block, I’m guessing. You gonna answer my question?”

  His colleague’s tenacity was a definite plus on the job. Not so much when it came to personal topics.

  “Nothing’s up. We’re on hold until the investigation is over.”

  “No mixing business and pleasure, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Been there, done that—with Lisa. Tough spot to be in.”

  Tough didn’t begin to capture it.

  “At least I had a reason to see her, since we were working a case together.” Mac jumped back into the silence. “Maybe you can come up with an excuse to drop by or call.”

  “Yeah.”

  Except he’d already caved and tried the call tactic. Trish hadn’t answered, and he hadn’t left a message.

  Why not try again after they wrapped up here, though? Their Mexican dinner six nights ago seemed like ancient history.

  He motioned to a shop with photos of hairstyles plastered to the windows. “We’ve arrived.”

  Mac pulled into the curb with a practiced twist of his wrist, set the brake, and surveyed the faded sign. “Polly’s Beauty Boutique could use some beautifying.”

  “That’s an understatement. You ready?”

  “Yeah. Investigating a missing person report should be a breeze after the double homicide that hit our plates this week. Assuming this woman is even missing.”

  “I hear you.” Colin gave the past-its-prime shop another sweep and opened his door. A fair number of missing adults disappeared by choice, and there was nothing the police could do in those situations except try to confirm there’d been no foul play. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

  Mac circled the car and met him at the entrance. “You want to take the lead while I observe?”

  “Sure.”

  After stepping through the door, he gave the interior a quick scan. Hair dryers on one side, sinks on the other, a row of chairs in front of mirrors, a table containing a rack of nail polish. Every person in the shop was female . . . and every head swiveled their direction.

  He stepped forward. “We’re looking for the owner.”

  A fiftyish buxom brunette with streaks of purple in her black hair and a doughy face painted with too much makeup murmured a few words to her customer and walked over. “I’m Polly.”

  Colin introduced himself and Mac. “Is there a private place where we could talk?”

  “My office in back is about as private as it gets. And I don’t have a lot of time. We’re busy today.” Annoyance scored her words as she swept a hand over the interior. “Give me a minute to finish up with my customer.”

  Without waiting for a response, she returned to the gray-haired woman in the chair and put a few more rollers in her hair.

  Colin leaned closer to Mac and spoke under his breath. “Not the warmest welcome I’ve ever received.”

  “I’m wondering why she bothered to call in the report.”

  “Ditto.”

  While they waited, Colin surveyed the middle-aged-and-older clientele. Some were openly ogling the male visitors; others were more discreet, peeking over the tops of their Hollywood gossip magazines. He wasn’t silver-screen handsome, but you’d never know it based on the admiring looks these women were giving him and Mac. Tall, youngish males in jackets and ties must be a novelty in a place like this.

  His gaze paused on a young woman cutting hair in the far corner. She was surreptitiously watching them too—but her expression wasn’t flirty or curious.

  It was nervous.

  Why?

  He angled toward Mac and tipped his head toward her station.

  The other man gave a slight nod. He’d noticed her edgy behavior too.

  “All right. Let’s go into the back.” Polly brushed past them, leading the way through the shop and into the tiny office. After circling behind a desk cluttered with product samples, piles of paper, curlers, and a wig stand sporting a mass of frizzy hair, she motioned to two molded plastic chairs.

  Colin folded his long frame into one, grunting as his knees hit the front of the desk. Mac closed the door, scooted the other chair back until it hit the wall, then sat and wedged his legs between the desk and the seat.

  “We’re here to follow up on the missing person report you filed on Natalie James.” Colin shifted his weight, trying without success to find a more comfortable position. “I understand she’s an employee here. Are you also related to her?”

  “No. Far as I know, she doesn’t have any family. That’s one of the reasons I called the cops.”

  “What were the other reasons?”

  “She’s my best manicurist—and I’ve got customers with appointments. Canceling is bad for business.”

  “When did you realize she was missing?”

  “I told all this to the cop who showed up this morning.” She glared at him.

  “If you don’t mind, we’d like to hear it again.”

  The woman huffed out a breath. “She was supposed to work Tuesday afternoon and evening. She didn’t show. She was also on the schedule yesterday. Again, she didn’t show. And she isn’t here today, either. Her shift was two to nine. I’ve lost a chunk of change, thanks to her. Now I’m scrambling to find a replacement.”

  “How long has she been employed here?”

  “Four years.”

  “Has she been reliable in the past?”

  “Yes. Never missed a day except last year, when she had the flu. She actually came in, but I told her to go home. I didn’t want the rest of my girls or the customers to get sick.”

  “Have you tried to contact her?”

  “Yes. Cell phone, home phone, email, texting. I even drove by her place and knocked on the door at lunch today. No answer—but her car was in the lot. That’s when I called the cops.”

  They already knew she wasn’t at her apartment . . . and that her car was. That had been their first stop. Trying to trace her cell phone had been a dead end too. No signal.

  “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  The woman sniffed. “I don’t gossip with my employees or ask about their personal business. As long as they show up and do their job, I don’t pry.”

  “But you may have overheard her talking on the phone or to one of your other staff members.” Mac stepped in, his tone easy. Conversational. Empathetic. “That’s not prying—and this is your shop. I imagine you hear a lot of tidbits in this business that require discretion.”

  “You’ve got that right.” She eyed Mac, her demeanor softening under his megawatt smile.

  “If there’s anything at all you could tell us that would assist in our investigation, we’d be grateful. We couldn’t do our job without citizens like you who go out of their way to help people who might be in trouble.”

  Man, he was laying it on thick.

  But it was working. The woman practically preened under his praise.

  “Well . . . I don’t know anything else myself, but you might want to talk to Maxine. She works here too.”

  “Is she the one at the corner chair?” Colin rejoined the
conversation.

  Polly did not seem pleased by his interruption. Her grudging demeanor immediately slipped back into place.

  “Yes.”

  He passed the baton back to Mac with a look. His colleague was having a whole lot better luck getting cooperation from this woman.

  “Are they friends?” Mac picked up the questioning.

  “I don’t know if they socialize outside of work, but they talk a lot here. It’s possible she might know some useful information.” Polly adjusted one of the springy, wayward curls on the wig stand. “To tell you the truth, Maxine is one of the reasons I called in the report. She was worried, but she didn’t want to get involved with the police. A bad experience with a restraining order she got on an old boyfriend, I think. I heard he went ballistic and she ended up worse off than before. That’s hearsay, you understand.”

  Colin glanced at Mac and read his own thoughts in the other man’s face.

  If this Maxine didn’t like police, she might dodge their questions.

  But it was worth a try.

  “Would you mind if we talked to her for a few minutes? We won’t keep her away from your clients for long.” Mac gave her another warm smile.

  “I suppose that would be okay.” She pushed herself to her feet and smoothed the too-snug tunic top over her ample hips. “I’ll send her back as soon as she’s at a stopping place with her customer.”

  The instant she disappeared, Mac stood. “That is the most uncomfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.”

  “I think it’s safe to say this office wasn’t designed for comfort.” Colin rose too. “Based on this Maxine’s history, she might not have much to say.”

  “I know. I’ve seen more than a few restraining orders gone bad—and it’s never pretty.”

  No, it wasn’t.

  “Why don’t we . . .”

  The young brunette from the corner chair appeared in the doorway, hovering on the threshold as she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “Polly said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Yes.” Colin introduced them, giving the woman’s hand a firm shake before signaling Mac to take the chair behind the desk. “Why don’t you have a seat? We won’t keep you long.” He claimed the chair closest to the wall and tapped the one next to him.

  She edged into the cramped space and perched on the edge of the rigid plastic.