Twice Kissed (2 page)

Did what?

Who knew? It was nothing. Had to be. She couldn’t let her wild imagination get the better of her. Just because Maggie wrote mysteries for a living and had delved into true-crime stories, didn’t mean she had to believe something horrible had happened to her sister.

With one eye on the clock, Maggie pulled out a serving bowl of stew she’d made earlier in the week, dumped the contents into a saucepan, and switched on the stove. She sliced bread, topped it with cheese, intending to broil the open-faced sandwiches as soon as Becca had put Jasper away for the night.

As the seconds ticked by, Maggie told herself not to worry, turned on a couple of lights, unloaded the dishwasher, and ignored her computer, which had been waiting for her all day, the monitor glowing with a screen saver of cartoon characters. The idea of working on any kind of story at the moment was about as appealing as day-old oatmeal.

She’d tackle chapter six after dinner.

No sign of Becca.

Don’t be a worrywart. She’ll be back.
Sighing, she shut the door, snapped her hair into a ponytail and, as the cabin grew darker, flipped on a lamp near the front door.

Her thoughts crept down a forbidden path, a crooked trail that still led to Thane Walker. She hadn’t seen him in years but imagined he was just as sexy and irreverent as ever, a lone-cowboy type complete with a Wyoming swagger and enough lines in his face to add an edge of severity to already-harsh features. The kind of man to avoid. The kind of man who attracted trouble. The only man who had ever been able to make Maggie’s blood run hot with only one cynical glance.

“Forget it,” she told herself. She must’ve imagined the whole scene in the barn. She’d only thought she’d heard Mary Theresa’s “voice” because it had been so long, so many silent months without a word from her twin. She walked to the fireplace and plucked an old framed photo from the mantel. It had been taken nearly ten years earlier, when Mary Theresa, who had reinvented herself as simply Marquise, à la Cher or Madonna, was about to launch her own Denver-based talk show. The two sisters stood back to back, identical twins except that they were mirror images. Mary Theresa was left-handed, Maggie used her right; one side of Mary’s mouth lifted more than the other, the opposite was true of her sister. One of Mary Theresa’s pinkies turned inward—the right. On Maggie, it was the left.

Maggie felt a smile tease her lips as she ran a finger over the faded snapshot. She and Mary Theresa both had auburn hair that curled wildly, but Mary Theresa’s had been highlighted with gold and framed her face in soft layers while Maggie’s had been scraped back into her ever-functional ponytail. Mary Theresa had worn a short, shimmering black dress, a designer original, complemented with a strand of pearls, black hose and three-inch heels. She’d been on her way to a party with some once-upon-a-time celebrities.

At that same frozen moment in time Maggie had worn sneakers, jeans, and a flannel shirt with a tail that flapped in the wind and had balanced three-year-old Becca on one outthrust hip. With the snow-shrouded Rocky Mountains as a backdrop, the two sisters braced themselves on each other, then swiveled their heads to grin into the camera. Bright I-can-take-on-the-world smiles, rosy cheeks, a smattering of freckles and green eyes that snapped with fire had stared into the lens.

It seemed like ages ago.

A lifetime.

She set the photo on the mantel, where it had been, between pictures of all stages of Becca’s life as well as her own, then glanced outside. The evening was gathering fast, stars visible through the thin layer of clouds.

“Come on, Becca,” she worried aloud as she snapped on the exterior light and stepped onto the front porch. Silently she hoped for some sign of Jasper galloping toward the barn. But there was no sound of hoofbeats, no glimpse of a gray horse appearing over the slight rise of the field. Instead she heard a breath of wind sighing through the dry leaves that still clung to the trees and the clatter of a train rolling on far-off tracks. Again the howl of a coyote on some nearby hill.

Her gaze scoured the distance.

An answering soulful cry, lonely and echoing, reverberated across the land and put Maggie’s teeth on edge. Leaning one hip against the porch rail, she tried to find the sense of calm, of well-being that she’d been looking for when she’d leased this place at the first of the year.

Everything’s fine; you’re just letting your overactive imagination get the better of you. If you were smart, Maggie-girl, you’d use this to your advantage, go inside, pour yourself a cup of coffee and start writing. You’ve got a deadline in your not-too-distant future.

Nervously she fidgeted with the wedding ring that she still wore on her hand. It was a joke really, something she’d have to give up, but couldn’t quite. Not yet.

She’d reached for the door when she heard it—the muted rumble of an engine that got louder, then the crunch of gravel being flattened by heavy tires. Turning, she spied twin beams flashing through the night, the beacons broken by the trunks of trees as they passed, headlights from a truck that rolled to a stop not far from the barn. Black, slightly battered, sporting a canopy, the truck was unfamiliar.

A solitary man was behind the wheel—a man she thought she recognized.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

It couldn’t be. Or could it? Was her mind playing tricks on her? All the saliva in her throat disappeared.

The driver cut the engine and opened the door. “Maggie?”

She’d know that voice anywhere, even after more than a dozen years.

Thane Walker, big as life, stepped out of the cab.

Her throat turned to sand, and her stupid heart jolted.

“Well, well, well,” she said, forcing the words past lips that were numb. As he slammed the door of his truck, she told herself that the accelerated beat of her heart was way out of line.

He started toward the porch.

Looking every bit like the devil he was.

The memory of Mary Theresa’s “voice” haunted her again.
It was Thane. He did this to me.
Maggie swallowed hard. She gripped the porch rail with nervous fingers and told herself she wasn’t going to be taken in by him. Never again.

His slow Western saunter had disappeared, replaced by purposeful strides that ate up the gravel-strewn lot that separated the house from the barn. With a countenance as harsh as the windswept Wyoming plains he’d once called home, his features were grim and set, his jaw clenched, his eyes, even in the darkness, drilling into hers.

“Thane,” she said, not bothering with a smile as he stepped into the small circle of light cast by the porch light. “Will wonders never cease?” Somehow she hoped to cover up the fact that she was shell-shocked, that her heart was racing, and a dozen questions blitzed through her mind. “You know, Walker, you’re about the last person I expected to ever darken my door.”

He didn’t crack a smile. “Guess you’re still sharpening your tongue, eh, Maggie?”

“Always,” she lied.

His lips flattened over his teeth for just a second. “So that’s how it’s gonna be? We’re gonna trade insults?” After all these years, he still had the ability to make her feel like a fool. “Right now I don’t have the time, the energy, or the desire.”

“Neither do I.”

“Well, that’s a start.”

“What’re you doing here?”

The intensity of the man didn’t let up one iota. He hesitated just a second. “I need your help.”

“My help?” she repeated, not trusting him as far as she could throw him. He was trouble. She’d learned that painful fact a long time ago; the last person she wanted in her life in any way, shape, or form. “I can’t imagine why.” Already shaking her head, she forced herself to stay calm. Just because she thought she’d heard Mary Theresa’s “voice” was no reason to panic. But the fact that he was here had to be more than simple coincidence. Didn’t it? Besides, she wasn’t one to believe in coincidence. Folding her arms over her chest, she met his narrowed gaze with her own. “You know, Thane, you’ve got a helluva lot of nerve. After everything that happened between you and Mary Theresa, I can’t imagine why I would ever consider helping you.”

“Because, if I remember right, that’s the kind of person you are. Even after what happened.”

She stiffened, felt a jab of undeserved guilt, and refused to rise to the bait. Some things were better left dead and buried. She forced a cold smile. “Maybe you’d better explain.”

“It’s Mary Theresa.”

Her heart nearly stopped, though she’d expected as much.

“I don’t know how to say this but to do it straight out,” he admitted, rubbing his hand over a jaw that was in dire need of a shave. “Brace yourself.”

“Oh, God—”

“She’s missing, Maggie. Been gone at least three days. No one knows where she is, but…” He glanced away toward the shadowy hills, then took a deep breath. “It looks bad.”

“How bad?” She held on to the rail of the porch for support, felt the slivers in the tips of her fingers that she hadn’t bothered working out yet.

“Real bad. I thought she might be here.”

“No.” Her stomach twisted.

“I’m surprised the police haven’t called you yet.”

She felt the breath of something cold and sinister against the back of her neck. “You know Mary Theresa,” Maggie heard herself saying, denial running circles in her mind. “This could just be one of her stunts. It’s not like she hasn’t run away before.”

A shadow flickered in his gaze. “This time she doesn’t have a husband to run from.”

“For the love of God, Thane, listen to you. Mary Theresa is fine. She’s just…hiding.”

“But not here? Not with you?”

“No—”

He looked tired. Weary. As if he hadn’t slept in days. As if he really believed that this time Mary Theresa had gotten herself into thick, dire trouble.

“There’s more,” he said and his tone of voice—so flat and guarded—told her to beware.

“More?”

“The police and that television station she works for don’t think that she just ran off. At least they’re considering other possibilities.”

Dread sliced into her soul.

“They suspect that she’s been kidnapped or worse.”

A soft cry erupted from her throat. “No—”

He held her gaze with eyes that were, in the gathering darkness, a dangerous shade of midnight blue. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

“Look, Thane, I don’t want to hear this. It’s nonsense. It…it just can’t be. Mary Theresa is fine. She’s in Denver and—”

“I was there. At her place. She wasn’t there. Hadn’t been for days. Thursday she stormed off the set, then Friday she didn’t show up for work and missed a meeting with her new agent.”

“New agent?” Maggie repeated. “She’s not with Merle?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard the news. Merle Lafayette’s out. Ambrose King is in.”

“But she was with Merle for years…”

“Until she fired her about six months ago. King made her promises. Anyway, she stood him up.”

“She could just be out of town. You know how she is.”

His teeth clenched and a muscle worked in the corner of his jaw. “The police will be calling.”

“Oh, God.” She shook her head. “No,” she said with new determination. “You’re wrong. Something’s going on, sure, but—”

“Why would I lie?”

The question stopped her cold. She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed.

“Why would I drive all this way just to tell you a lie?”

Her head thundered as night descended. She felt detached and alone, as if she were watching a drama that she was a part of. “I—I don’t know. You’ve lied before.”

“Not about this.”

“No, but—”

He grabbed her hand, held it in a strong grip that squeezed hard. “I didn’t come here to freak you out, Maggie. But I thought you’d want to know, to hear it from me face-to-face. So just hear me out.”

He looked so beleaguered she half-believed him, and then the pain began in earnest, the agony of what he was saying plunged deep into her soul. Tears burned in her eyes. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“And, believe me, I don’t want to say it, but Maggie, you’ve got to listen. There’s a detective with the Denver police who thinks that she…” His voice trailed off to be replaced by the sounds of a calf bawling for his mother.

“What?”

His lips turned down at the corners. “That she might be dead.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus, no—” This was all happening too fast; Maggie was getting too much information, too much horrible information, too quickly. Her guts turned sour, and she thought she might be sick. “Why? What would lead him to believe…” She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat.

“I don’t know. They haven’t found her body, at least not that I know of, but they keep searching.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t believe you, Thane. This is all too crazy. Mary Theresa is alive, dammit! If something had happened to her, I would know.” She hooked a thumb at her chest and jerked it in the direction of her heart. “I would feel it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but I would.”