Where Danger Hides

by Terry Odell

  Dalton’s face was a few shades redder than normal, too. “Miri, this is Debbie, one of Blackthorne’s finest lab techs. Deb, Miri.”

  Debbie gave her an embarrassed grimace. “I’m so sorry. My manners have atrophied. Too much time alone in the basement trying to give these guys what they need. I’m Deb. Can we start again?”

  Miri had to laugh. “Sure. Getting off on the wrong foot seems to be a Blackthorne tradition.”

  Debbie lifted her eyebrows at Dalton. He shrugged. “My personal life got in the way of our first meeting.”

  This time Debbie laughed. One of those disgustingly charming, musical laughs. “I didn’t know you had a personal life.”

  Miri smiled at Debbie. “Mr. Blackthorne offered Dalton’s services to investigate some missing people. We’ve been doing some research this afternoon, but I’m sure we’ll be finished in time for him to take you to dinner.”

  “That’s okay,” Debbie said. “I like it better when he owes me one.” She ran her fingers down Dalton’s chest. “Right, Cowboy?”

  “Um . . . right.”

  “I’ll let you two get back to work. Nice to meet you, Miri.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.” Miri waited until Debbie had one hand on the doorknob. “Oh, Debbie? Do you have the time?” She kept what she hoped was an innocent expression on her face as Debbie checked her bare wrist. Miri dangled the timepiece from her fingers.

  Debbie’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes went saucer-wide. Then she laughed, a warm, reverberating tone this time. “Touché.” She strapped the band around her wrist. “Watch it, Cowboy. She’s good.”

  The door clicked shut.

  “Um . . .” Dalton said. “That was Debbie.”

  Miri nodded.

  “She works in the lab.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “She’s a damn good tech.”

  “I’m sure she is.”

  “We’re friends.” Dalton rubbed his jaw. “It’s not like we have anything serious—oh, shit. This is awkward.”

  “It shouldn’t be. You’ve got a life. Mr. Blackthorne dumped me into it, but I don’t expect you to give up your friends. Or explain your relationships.”

  “I don’t have a relationship with Debbie.”

  “Fine. Why don’t we forget the whole thing and get back to work?”

  She rounded the desk and sank into the chair.

  “In a minute.” Dalton stepped across the room. He leaned down until his scent threatened to strip the composure she’d tried so hard to maintain during the Debbie encounter. He rested his palms on the desk.

  She swallowed. With more effort than she was willing to admit, she met his eyes. Heat smoldered behind the storm clouds. Heat that hadn’t been there when he’d looked at Debbie. “Wh . . . at?”

  “You lifted her watch.”

  She fussed with the mouse. “I gave it back.”

  “Did you take anything else?” He tucked a finger under her chin until their gazes met again.

  “No. Of course not. It was . . . like a reflex, I guess.”

  He slapped the desk. She jumped.

  “That’s a reflex. Picking pockets is not a reflex.”

  She fisted her hands at her waist. “Well, it is for me.”

  “You want to explain?” He traced her jaw line with a forefinger.

  A quivering shudder ran down her neck. She shook her head. “It’s something I do when I get . . . nervous, I guess.” Or jealous, apparently.

  He bent down, a hand on each arm of Miri’s chair. “Where’d you learn it?” His lips moved closer. His breath warmed her cheek.

  “New Orleans.” At least that’s what she tried to say. As soon as she got to the “Or” his lips were on hers. Warm, pliant lips. Tender, gentle lips. Did she moan? He increased the pressure a hair. Yep. She definitely moaned. She met his increase and raised him another fraction.

  His tongue ventured over her lower lip, more in question than demand. She parted her lips in subtle invitation. Her tongue found his. Teased, drew back. His followed. Danced, darted. Entwined.

  * * * * *

  Dalton closed his eyes, savoring the kiss. Miri’s lips were so soft. She tasted so sweet. And this was so wrong.

  Damn! He had no business kissing her. She was a Blackthorne client, for God’s sake, and vulnerable. He didn’t take advantage of women, vulnerable or not. He tried to pull away, but his lips clung to hers as if trapped by some all-powerful magnet. He clenched the chair’s armrests because if he touched her, he might not be able to stop.

  He nibbled her lip. She ran her tongue along his teeth. She made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. He groaned. This was barely a kiss, yet he was rock hard. His jeans shrank half a size. Bells rang.

  When Miri pulled away and bent over for her purse, he didn’t know whether to curse or give thanks. Wiping sweat from his upper lip, he did both.

  As she opened her cell, she flipped her bangs, revealing tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead.

  Miri answered her phone with a smile and a breathless, “Hey, Sis.”

  With his back to her, he adjusted his jeans, worked at getting his breathing under control. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Be right back,” he mumbled, heading for the door. In the hall, he bent over a water fountain, thinking a cold shower would be more effective than a cold drink. Things were not settling fast enough. He took the stairs to the third floor and poked his head into the anteroom of the communications center. The fax machine held a stack of pages in the output tray.

  He waited, but the clerk wasn’t around. He found the faxes addressed to him and settled into one of the chairs against the wall. Leafing past the two reports his contacts had provided about Tania and Elena, he stopped at the cover sheet headed Chambers, Miri.

  He stared at the black-and-white print until the words blurred. When he’d requested the information, Miri was a pain-in-the-ass client. A woman who’d picked his pocket and embarrassed him in front of his boss.

  Then, not five minutes ago, he’d been stuck in a lip-lock he didn’t want to end, while a crack radiated like a spiderweb across the wall of his emotional fortress. To read the pages he held would put Miri right back into pain-in-the-ass client territory. Never mind that it was the smart, professional thing to do. Professional was the last thing on his mind.

  Things snapped back into perspective. He was a professional, dammit. He pulled the cover sheet aside and started reading. He finished the first page. Everything there was consistent with what she’d told him about her life and job. He dug through the papers for the next page. Nothing but the reports on the two dead women. He went back to the fax machine, searching for the pages he must have missed. Nothing. He read the cover sheet from Miri’s report more carefully.

  Two pages including cover. That was it? Miri’s existence faded into nothingness eight years ago.

  Most five-year-olds left longer paper trails. He’d have to do the search himself.

  He braced himself for Miri’s reaction. If it was going to hit the fan, he might as well get it over with. He crammed the pages into an envelope from the counter. Mentally plastering the cracks in his wall, he marched down the hall.

  Rounding the corner, he slowed his pace to a leisurely stroll. At the door, he counted to ten before opening it.

  Miri glanced up from the monitor. If she was thinking of their kiss, she hid it well. That was fine with him. It should never have happened. So, why couldn’t he forget it?

  “Any good hits?” he asked.

  She pushed her chair back and stretched her arms over her head. He couldn’t help noticing how the movement lifted her breasts, which led to visions of what it would be like to cup them in his hands, which led to those places he had declared off limits. Before she lowered her arms, she reached behind her neck and fanned her hair. He casually positioned the envelope in front of him, ignoring its contents. Time for that later, when he was thinking clearly.

  “I’ve Googled until I
’m cross-eyed, and I’m starting to think this whole thing is simply a bunch of unfortunate coincidences. I found two more people, and they’re fine.”

  “Are you saying you want to give it up?” In which case she wouldn’t be a client. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  “I don’t know. It happened so fast. Mr. Blackthorne offered to help, and it made sense, but you keep saying there’s no connection, and maybe you’re right.”

  “You’re in charge,” he said. “If you don’t think there’s a problem, say the word.”

  “I wish I knew. But you were probably right from the beginning. It’s a wild goose chase, but I don’t think there are any geese. My instincts aren’t perfect, and the law of averages says that eventually I’ll have a bunch of wrong hunches, one after another. Like tossing a coin and getting ten heads in a row. It can happen.” She reached for her purse. “I’ve been gone most of the day, and the House is short-staffed. If you don’t mind driving me back, I’ll be out of your hair and you can get back to what you really want to be doing.”

  No, he wasn’t going there. He gripped the envelope a little tighter.

  She tilted her head, her eyes questioning. “If it’s a problem, I can take the bus.”

  Right. He was supposed to talk. As long as he didn’t mention what he really wanted to be doing, he should be fine. “No. I’ll give you a lift.” At least he hadn’t stuttered. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Are you sure, though? You really want to drop this?”

  She sighed. “Yes. No. Hell, I don’t know. You’re right. The cops are right. People leave and don’t really owe us an explanation. I suppose I was hurt that they didn’t stick around, but it’s time I face reality. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m surprised Mr. Blackthorne even suggested you investigate.”

  Dalton wouldn’t bring up the obvious answer. That this was nothing more than busy-work, an assignment meant to keep him occupied but out of trouble. “It’s your decision, but why don’t you think about it for a while? Go home, regroup, get things in perspective.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She reached for her purse. “Let’s go.”

  Why did he want her to stick with the case? As they walked to his car, he tried to convince himself it was because the investigation warranted more time and effort. That there might be a few more days sitting side-by-side with Miri couldn’t possibly have anything to do with it.

  They approached his car, but he didn’t press the remote until his hand was on the passenger door. Irritation flickered across her face, but she stepped back and allowed him to open it. What the hell. He moved away, let her haul herself into the seat, enjoying one last view of her delightful rump.

  He still held the envelope with the faxes and tossed it on the backseat before climbing in.

  Despite the questions swirling through Dalton’s head, he couldn’t find the right approach. He almost laughed out loud. He had the reputation of being able to sweet-talk anyone out of anything, but Miri tied his tongue in knots. She sat, cupping her elbows, staring out the side window. With a sigh, he punched the radio button.

  When Dalton pulled into one of the parking slots behind Galloway House, Miri leaned across the console. With a feather-light brush of her lips on his cheek, she grasped his hand between hers. “Thanks for everything, Just Dalton.” She hopped out of the car.

  He watched her trot to the back door and slip a key in the lock. After she’d gone inside he discovered a scrap of paper she’d slipped into his hand. He unfolded it and stared at a phone number he didn’t recognize.

  Chapter 11

  Miri had lost track of how many times she’d punched all but the last digit of Dalton’s number into the phone over the last three days. Did she really want to know if more people she knew were dead? And if he found them, what good would it do? They were adults—most of them, anyway. They’d made their choices, and there were still so many more people she could help. Or was she looking for an excuse to see him again?

  She slid the receiver back onto the base, convincing herself that toe-curling kisses aside, he was a man with too much baggage. She had enough of that with the people she dealt with all day.

  What she needed was something different. Something light, fun, frivolous.

  Who was she kidding? She had four new residents, a leaky water heater and Will had smuggled in a puppy. A very unhousebroken puppy. Who had time for frivolous?

  The phone rang, and she jumped. Taking a calming breath, she picked up. “Galloway House. How may I help you?”

  “Hey, kid. I figured you might need a reminder about the party.”

  Nancy. Her going-away party. Why had she promised to show up? Stupid question. Because she couldn’t say no.

  “Right. Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. At the witch’s castle. I’ll try.”

  “Miri, you promised. Hunter’s back for the weekend, and then we’re both going to Santa-something-or-other. Mrs. Sanderson’s doing the full-blown martyr bit—her poor, brave son, setting off into the wilderness to bring indoor plumbing to the destitute. Sheesh—I’ve talked to Hunt. It’s not like that at all, but to listen to her, you’d think these people were all drug-crazed lunatics living in tents. I need an escape hatch.”

  And you need to get out.

  Although Nancy didn’t speak the words, Miri heard them as if they were broadcast over the PA system at Candlestick Park. “I’ll be there.”

  “With a date.”

  Dalton’s image flickered. But he hadn’t called since they’d parted company. “I can’t promise that much.”

  “I could set you up. I think Buddy Higgenbotham’s on the prowl.”

  Talk about the antithesis of frivolous. “God, no. I’ll find someone.” Who was she kidding? Nobody she knew had a tux—except Dalton. Why wouldn’t the man stay out of her head?

  The receiver slipped off the ends of Miri’s fingers. She adjusted it on the base, staring at it for several heartbeats before she picked it up and punched in Dalton’s number—all the digits this time. Much as she dreaded what could only be termed groveling, the alternative—an evening with buck-toothed Buddy Higgenbotham and his oversized adenoids—was a definite no.

  After seven rings, as she was about to hang up, Dalton answered, breathing heavily. Thoughts of what she interrupted flooded her brain with pictures she didn’t want to see. Before she could slam down the receiver, he spoke again.

  “Miri?”

  Great. Caller ID.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—I mean, I’m interrupting—I’ll let you go.”

  “Miri, wait. Is something wrong?”

  A rhythmic thumping came through the line. Her face heated. “No, nothing’s wrong. I thought—never mind. I shouldn’t have called.”

  Still breathing heavily, he called to someone. “I’ll catch up. Go on without me.”

  “Umm . . . Are you sure you want to be talking to me right now?”

  “What? I’m eight miles into a ten-mile run, but I can talk.”

  “You’re running? Like in exercise running?” She leaned back in her chair.

  “Yeah. PT. Physical Training. What did you . . . you mean you thought I was . . . ?”

  “Something like . . . that.”

  “Well, it’s nothing like . . . that, I can guarantee. What do you need?”

  “A favor. Kind of a big one.”

  “More people missing?”

  “No. I need an escort for tomorrow night.”

  Dead air. The silence brought the heat back to her face. “I shouldn’t be bothering you. It’s nothing. You’ve probably got a date already. It’s last minute. And a Saturday.” Buddy Higgenbotham wasn’t that bad. She could tolerate him for an hour or two, adenoids and all.

  “It’s no bother. What time?”

  “Just like that? What if I told you it’s black tie?”

  “I’d say I’ll drop by the cleaner’s on my way home and pick up my tux. What time?”

  He sounded so matter-of-fact. Like
she was still an assignment. Maybe that was a good thing. “The party starts at eight.”

  “Seven-thirty all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Miri!” Keisha swung into the doorway, grabbing the jamb to stop herself. “You have to come see. She’s dead, I think.”

  Miri swore Keisha’s dark skin paled. “Gotta go,” she said into the mouthpiece even as she slammed the phone down. “What’s going on?” Miri asked Keisha.

  “I saw her.” The woman was breathing more heavily than Dalton—as if she’d run a marathon, not just down the hall.

  “Who?” Miri gripped Keisha’s shoulders. “Slow down. Talk to me, Keisha.”

  “Luisa. Explosion. On the TV.”

  Miri put her arm around Keisha and guided her to the recreation center. A handful of residents gathered around the television, transfixed. “Okay, Keisha. Tell me what you saw. Who you saw.”

  “Luisa. There were cops. Lots of cops. A bunch of women, and Luisa be there. And—” Keisha burst into tears. “I think she be dead.”

  Hearing Keisha’s speech patterns revert to ones she’d been taking pains to unlearn, Miri settled her onto a sofa. “Relax, hon. It’ll be all right.”

  Miri stared at the breaking news broadcast, which displayed a smoldering house and a lot of cops and paramedics. “What’s going on?” she asked the group. Everyone spoke at once, but Miri sorted through the cacophony, processing what she needed.

  “Meth lab exploded.”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “That place on Holden.”

  “Near the park.”

  Miri’s heart leaped to her throat. The park. Where she’d told Sammi to take Will and his puppy. And Suzie.

  “Where’s Sammi and Will?” Miri asked. No one answered. “I said, has anyone seen Sammi or Will?”

  The group exchanged glances and gave a collective head shake.

  Miri ran.

  Her sneakers pounded the concrete. She dodged and snaked her way through alley shortcuts. She smelled smoke mixed with chemicals. Ahead, tall green trees marked her goal and she pressed harder.