by Dee Lloyd
"I know she's been out of touch only six days," she continued. "But it's not like her. Ever since Buzz was killed, she calls me two or three times a week. I'm really worried that something's happened to her."
Bret tried to think of something reassuring.
"Maybe she decided to take off for a few days and forgot to tell you."
That was pretty lame.
"Not likely. Yvette was headed back to her office after a two-week absence. Right after the wedding, she took our aunt for a five-day cruise out of Lauderdale. Believe me, that's as much holiday as Yvette can stand."
"I did get the impression that she loves her work." Bret remembered the enthusiasm in Yvette's voice when she said that she and her partner were planning to hire on a junior when she got back to New York.
"She lives for it," Milly agreed solemnly. "But she does fly down from New York for a day or two a couple of times a year to check on Aunt Florence ... and me." Milly's voice caught. "She's a real mother hen."
"Firstborn twin, I guess," Bret said. "I know the feeling."
Lord! Could he possibly sound more fatuous? He wondered how she would react to what he was really thinking. Well, Milly, I saw your sister walking down the highway a couple of hours ago. But I think she's dead. Why? Because her face was ashy gray, her clothes were covered in blood, and she vanished before my eyes after telling me to warn you.
He would have to add that he was afraid that he had lost his grip on reality. She would give him no argument on that.
"Yvette's partner expected her to be in the office on Monday morning for an important appointment." Milly carried on. "I've called all her friends in New York. My aunt has called everyone she knows. No one seems to have any idea where Yvette could be."
"Did you talk to Kit? Yvette might have mentioned something to her."
"All Kit could tell me was that Yvette was staying overnight at the new airport hotel because she had a seat on the first flight out Monday morning. I checked with the airline. She wasn't on the morning flight."
"You've made a Missing Persons report to the police." It wasn't a question.
Milly's gray-green eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "Right after my aunt and I called everyone we could think of."
Bret was silent for a long moment. He didn't believe in ghosts. As a matter of fact, he didn't believe in much. But he knew with a leaden certainty that Milly would never see her sister alive again. And, although it defied all logic and all the rules of common sense, he had a sick feeling that Yvette's determined spirit wasn't going to let him opt out of Milly's doomed search for her.
He nodded slowly. Like it or not, he was going to have to deal with this.
"All right, Milly," he said, draining the last drops of bourbon from his glass and getting to his feet, "This calls for concerted action and you can't do it alone. Here's the plan. I will make arrangements to meet with Kit and Ronald in the morning as early as we can. As far as we know, they were the last people that we know who talked to Yvette on Sunday. If we want to catch them before either of them takes off for the day, you'd better be ready to be picked up at eight."
"Why on earth should I?" He was glad to see defiant, angry sparks in her eyes. Indignation was much easier to deal with than incipient tears. "I simply asked you if you had any information about my sister. You didn't." Her voice shook with anger. "Where I go from here is none of your business."
"You need my help," he informed her firmly, somehow knowing that was the wrong thing to say. Emilienne Brzezynski would resent help. Where did he ever get the idea that she was the more serene of the twins?
"Questioning people was part of my business for a long time, Milly. Kit might have information she doesn't know she has. She'll talk to me and tolerate more from me than she would from you or a policeman. Then, after we talk to her and Ronald, we'll see what we can learn at Yvette's hotel."
Milly shot to her feet. "Thank you for your concern," she bit out through her teeth. "But Yvette is my sister and this is my problem. I'll make my own inquiries. Please do not bother coming back in the morning."
"It's no trouble," he assured her. Those fascinating eyes were flashing fire. "See you at eight!"
To prevent himself from doing something really stupid like taking her into his arms and assuring her that everything would turn out all right if she would only trust him, Bret turned and made a fast but relatively dignified escape, swiftly closing the door behind him.
He couldn't make out the words, but whatever she said to his disappearing back was loud enough to echo several times off the heavy oak door.
For the first time that evening, he felt like smiling.
Chapter Two
Milly was still catching her breath when Eva burst in the door.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "What did that guy do? I could hear you yelling at him all the way from the bar."
Milly rolled her eyes heavenwards and raised her arms in supplication to whatever gods protected unappreciated, intelligent females from domineering males.
"God! I hate know-it-all men who don't ask how a woman intends to deal with a problem. Just assume they're the only ones who can figure it out. Then tell her what to do."
"So the hunk pushed the major button, did he?" Eva's broad smile didn't lessen Milly's annoyance. "Hey, send him my way. A guy that gorgeous can order me around all he likes."
Eva had worked for Buzz since the day he opened the piano bar. When Milly had arrived for the three-week singing contract that had turned into a permanent position, they had hit it off. Eva's easy-going personality was a nice balance for her own admittedly up-tight nature. Eva perched on the edge of the desk and leaned over to peer into Milly's face. Refusing to give in to her distance vision problems, Eva never wore her glasses when she was on duty in the bar. She insisted that she got much better tips without them.
"You really are upset. Oh, Milly, there's no need to get frantic because some guy tries to boss you around. You're in charge. Just tell him to butt out."
Milly ignored Eva's suggestion. She had major complaints to air.
"I don't know the man from Adam. He walks in here, says he knew Buzz in the service, has one short drink and then...Tells me what WE are going to do. Tomorrow morning, he's coming to get me and we are going to find out what has happened to Yvette. Oh, yeah, he'll let me tag along while he traces her movements after she left here last Sunday. As if I hadn't done that already!"
Milly took a deep breath and uneasily stated the truth of why she was upset. "I don't trust him, Eva. There's something strange about him. About the way he looks at me."
She thought she'd seen sympathy in Bret's blue eyes. Had she imagined the flash of guilt? He knew something. She was convinced of it. What was the real reason Bret Thornton was determined to accompany her on her search for her sister?
"Milly," Eva said with a knowing smirk, "lots of guys look at you strangely. You have that effect on the male beast. How did he know Yvette was missing?" "I told him."
"You told him?" Eva grinned again and shook her head in disbelief. "And now you're insulted because he decided to give you a hand!"
Milly was beginning to realize that she might have overreacted to Bret's authoritative manner. She was spared having to admit that to Eva, however, when Stu announced over the intercom that she had three minutes to get to the piano for the second set.
As always, work was her salvation. She always enjoyed the second set. This late in the evening, the audience was loose and ready to enjoy the music. Their good humor was contagious. Milly sang mostly requests, old favorites that she could almost sing in her sleep. And there was no sign of Bret Thornton. By the time she stopped singing, it was well after midnight and she had worked out her bad temper.
After the last customers finally left, she and Stu quickly ran through their daily closing routine. She cleared out the till, put the proceeds in the office safe and was ready to head out to her cottage by the time Stu had tidied behind his bar. The cleaners woul
d arrive in the early morning to do the rest. As usual, Stu waited to get into his car until she was safely inside the bungalow behind The Grove that she and Buzz had shared. Hers was closest to the restaurant. The other two, Aunt Flo's and the little guest bungalow, were further back.
When she flipped on the ceiling light in her kitchen, Stu tapped his horn and left.
She went straight to bed, resigned to the fact that she would be spending a good part of Sunday with one of the most overbearing, maddening and challenging men she had ever met. She almost looked forward to it. His tall, muscular presence made her feel more alive than she'd felt in a long time. But she definitely wasn't looking for a man. She had decided that she had a better chance of finding out what had happened to Yvette with him along than on her own. Whether she liked it or not, Bret had an air of competence about him. But she couldn't figure out why he was so determined to help her find Yvette. Those intense blue eyes hid secrets.
Thinking, wondering, even fantasizing a little about Bret Thornton, Milly didn't fall asleep for quite a while.
Her heart pounding, Milly struggled towards consciousness. Hoarse screams and fast, loud saxophone music echoed in her ears. She knew the screams were coming from her own throat. It was hard to scream with those strong fingers pressing on her windpipe. The hard driving music pounded at her eardrums.
With every ounce of her energy, she tried to push away the hands. Thumbs pressed harder on her throat. She fought for breath. Her vision was clouded with a red mist. She couldn't make out where she was or who was attacking her. A man's heavy body was holding her down. She could hear his rasping breath and his curses. The sharp, heavy scent of nervous perspiration and citrus cologne were the last things she was aware of as she broke out of the nightmare.
Milly's flesh felt icy and she was shaking as she gasped in large gulps of warm night air. The dream had been so real that she ran her trembling fingertips over her throat, feeling for bruises.
She and Yvette had always sensed when the other was sick or in trouble. And she was positive her twin was having more trouble right now than either of them had ever experienced. It was even possible that Yvette was dead. No. Milly wouldn't accept that. Surely, she would feel Yvette's total absence. She had the strong feeling that Yvette urgently needed her to do something to save her. But how could she do that if she didn't know what her sister wanted her to do or where she was?
"Oh, Yvette," she whispered. "Please let me know. Are you still alive?"
Without a definite sign, she wouldn't accept the answer that pounded in her every heartbeat.
Last Sunday, when she had the dream for the first time, she awoke weeping and calling for Yvette. Every night since, she became more convinced that something dreadful had happened to her twin. More details in the nightmare were becoming clear but she still had no idea of the identity of the man who was choking her. Something about him, though, was vaguely familiar. Tonight was the first time she had smelled his cologne. That was something. She would recognize that scent.
She must get up. A door slammed across the courtyard. Flo had probably heard her screams all the way from her cottage. Milly didn't want her aunt to find her curled up in bed, sobbing. The woman who had been a mother to her and Yvette for most of their lives was worried enough without that.
Milly was on her way to the kitchen when Flo rushed into her cottage.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine, Flo. I'm sorry I woke you." She was proud that there was no quaver in her voice. "I was just about to put on a pot of coffee."
"I had to get up to start the baking in a few minutes anyway. Why don't we go right over to the restaurant and make some coffee there? " Flo was obviously doing her best to sound bright and normal.
"You had that dream again," she said. Her normally lively gray eyes were bleak.
Milly nodded and tried to keep her lip from trembling.
"Still the same?"
"I still couldn't tell where I was. Or who was attacking me."
Flo opened her arms wide and Milly went to them. Flo gave her a quick, fierce hug and then a hard swat on the bottom.
"Well," she said, gruffly, "there's no point in dwelling on it. Let's hit the kitchen. Might as well get a few minutes' head start on the day."
Flo was an energetic, trim woman in her mid-fifties who usually looked and acted at least a decade younger. Soon after Milly and Buzz were married, Buzz convinced Flo to sell her restaurant in Niagara Falls and come to Florida to run the kitchen of The Grove for him. The arrangement had been ideal for all three of them. Buzz had his chef, Milly had her dear aunt Flo nearby and Flo had a brand new state of the art kitchen. This morning, however, she looked every one of her fifty-six years. This week had taken its toll on her, too.
The two women had a fast cup of coffee then went about their regular morning routines. Soon, bread and rolls were rising in the warming ovens and Flo had the day's pastries ready for baking. About seven-thirty, Milly and Flo sat down with their toasted multigrain bagels and coffee and stared at each other across the table.
"Well, what is it that you are trying to decide whether or not to tell me?" Flo opened the conversation as she spread cream cheese on her bagel.
Why did she ever think she could keep anything from Flo?
"You remember Yvette telling us about the gorgeous twin best men?"
"Kit's cousins," Flo acknowledged, taking a bite of her bagel.
"Well, one of them, Bret, turned up here last night. Apparently he had served with Buzz and dropped in to see him. He hadn't heard what happened."
"Oh, ma petite!" Flo's pale eyes filled with understanding. "That is always so hard for you."
The two women were silent for a moment.
"For a minute," Milly said, "he thought I was Yvette. When he discovered I wasn't, he seemed almost relieved. His reaction was really odd."
Flo shrugged. "The state you are in about Yvette, I imagine he thought your reaction to being mistaken for her was a little odd, too."
"Could be."
"I dropped by the piano bar last night for a nightcap and to hear you sing. Eva was amused about your having a roaring head to head with a gorgeous man last night. What did he do? Ask you for a date?" Milly caught the sarcasm. Flo never missed a chance to insist that she get on with her life.
"No." Today's mission was not a date. "The minute he found out Yvette was missing, he announced that he was going to find her. He's being nice enough to take me with him to trace her movements. He didn't ask if I wanted his company. Or if I needed it."
"Are you going to accept his help?"
"Bret Thornton is a steam roller. He said he'd be here at eight o'clock this morning and didn't give me time to argue. I planned to tell him where to go when he got here. But I may not, now that I've had time to think about it."
"You can't do everything alone."
"I haven't been alone," Milly snapped. "You and I both called everyone we knew."
"We didn't get one lead about where she might be," Flo stated.
Milly sighed. " I know we didn't. Much as I hate to admit it, Bret can probably get more information out of his cousin and Ronald than I can. He saw Yvette with them on Sunday."
She stared into her coffee cup. "I guess I have to face it. I'm going to spend the day being ordered around."
"Wanting to run the show isn't evil, Milly. You loved Buzz and he sure liked to issue orders."
"There's no comparison. Buzz always asked my opinion about what we were going to do."
"And you always chose what he wanted." Flo shrugged. "Let's see what this Bret is like to work with."
Well, Flo was right about one thing. Buzz had always been first in the chain of command. Of course, Buzz had been twelve years older than she was. He'd lived all over the world, known all kinds of people and was the most trustworthy human being she had ever met. He had every right to expect her to rely on his judgment. Nevertheless, two years of widowhood had taught Milly to relish being in charge of her own
life. She and Flo had always given each other total support and plenty of personal space. All the same, she hoped that Flo would find something really offensive about Bret Thornton.
His tendency to take charge was annoying. She wanted to think it stemmed from conceit. A niggling little voice whispered that it could just as easily be concern or a genuine desire to help her. No. There was something else. She couldn't escape the feeling that Bret somehow felt guilty about something that had to do with Yvette. Could it be as simple as a brief fling over the weekend? In spite of Yvette's blithe comment that she hadn't met anyone who set off sparks at the wedding, Milly wasn't sure that her twin hadn't simply wanted to keep her feelings private for a while.
What had Yvette really thought about Bret? She and her sister weren't usually attracted to the same men. What was she thinking? She wasn't at all attracted to Bret. He was too ... self-assured.
At this moment, he was also standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Wearing cut-off jeans that were softened and faded by many washings, a blue T-shirt the color of his eyes, with his feet bare in once-white deck shoes, she had to admit he looked even better than he had last night.
"So, there you are," he said, looking around him with interest. "Good morning. Smells wonderful in here."
"It's supposed to," Milly bit out, getting up to greet him. "It's a restaurant kitchen."
Bret moved past her to the table where Flo was sitting. "And this must be the amazing Flo. Yvette told me a lot about you."
Flo took his hand. "Well, all she said about you was that you and your twin were the best looking best men she'd ever seen. Identical, too."
Bret fingered the jagged scar on his neck. "Easy to tell us apart these days," he said.
"Must have been a terrible accident," Flo prodded.
"Work-related."
As Bret was obviously not going to go into any more detail, Milly stepped in. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"Thanks, but I had something before I left home."