Against the Storm1 (12 page)

“Talked, huh? That’s all you did?”

“For the moment.” She told Roxy about the break-in and the figurine, and generally filled her in.

“Listen, I’ll come back early if you need me.”

“I’m fine, really. I’ve got an alarm system now and Trace seems to know what he’s doing.”

“I’m here for you, you know. If something happens, you call me.”

Maggie smiled. She could always count on Roxanne. “I will, I promise. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Roxy laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m practically a fixture on Fifth Avenue. I do love New York.”

Maggie grinned as she ended the call. Feeling better after the conversation, she wandered a bit with her camera, took a couple of seascapes she thought might
have potential. She was smiling when she returned to her car.

The smile slid away at the sight of the brown scrap of paper stuck beneath the windshield wiper. The lunch she’d just eaten went sour and nausea rolled through her stomach. Her heart was pounding. Her hand shook as she reached for the note, carefully pulled it from under the rubber blade.

Sweet God, how had he found her? She’d been so careful, so sure she hadn’t been followed. She glanced wildly around the Lunch Shack parking lot, but saw only a brown-and-black dog sniffing for garbage and a Hispanic couple with two young children walking toward the food order window.

Her Nikon D3S hung from a strap around her neck. Lifting the camera with trembling hands, she fought to steady the big 28-300 Tamron lens, and began clicking shots of each car parked in the area, including the license plates. The effort was probably futile—undoubtedly, the man had left the note and driven away, as he had done before—but maybe not.

Maybe he was still somewhere nearby, watching her, waiting for her to leave. Her skin prickled. She told herself maybe this time she would get lucky and get a photo of his tag.

As soon as she finished shooting, she slipped the strap off her neck and packed the camera away, climbed into the little SUV and dug her cell phone out of her purse. She brought up Trace’s number, then realized
she had used the last of her battery power talking to Roxanne.

“Dammit…” Tossing the phone onto the seat beside her, she started the engine. Trace had very specifically told her not to go out without letting him know, but she was used to being on her own and there was only so much time she could spend indoors. She wondered if he would lose his precious self-control and let his temper show.

She might have smiled if the situation had been different. She would enjoy another glimpse of the man beneath the iron control, the hot-tempered male he worked so hard to hide.

But as she pulled onto Highway 45, she wasn’t thinking of the angry man she’d be facing when she got back to the city. Instead, all the way back to Houston, she kept glancing in the mirror, searching for the man who was ruining her life.

C
ursing beneath his breath, Trace hung up the phone in his office. Maggie hadn’t called, and she wasn’t answering her cell phone. Ashley had spoken to her, given her his message, but still Maggie hadn’t bothered to call.

Shoving back his chair, he got up from his desk and paced to the front of the office to stare out the window, as he had done a dozen times already today.

“You’re gonna wear out the carpet,” Annie said, peering at him over the top of the little half-glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Dammit, the woman is nothing but trouble.”

“According to you, they all are.”

He shot a dark glance her way but the receptionist ignored it.

“She’s a photographer, right?” Annie shifted in the chair behind her desk. “She’s got a show coming up. That’s what you said. The woman has work to do.”

“Yeah, well, this guy is a real weirdo. So far we have no idea who he is or what he might be capable of doing.”

“Then I guess you’re convinced he’s real.”

“What?” Trace turned to face her.

“It wasn’t that long ago you dropped the case because you thought she was making the whole thing up.”

“That’s not exactly the way it was. I thought she wasn’t being completely honest with me, and she wasn’t.”

Annie scoffed. “Women are allowed to keep a few secrets, honey. It’s a rule.”

His mouth edged up but he refused to smile. “I’ll be in my office, doing my damnedest to work.” He started in that direction, trying to get his mind off Maggie, who was probably enjoying the day while he stewed and fretted.

“If I remember, she was driving a little red SUV the day she came to the office to hire you.”

He stopped and turned. “That’s right. Why?”

“She just pulled into the lot.”

Trace felt a sweep of relief. Striding to the door, he took a calming breath as he stepped outside and spotted Maggie getting out of her car, looking sexy as hell with her fiery hair a little windblown and her cheeks slightly flushed. He tried not to remember the way she tasted, tried not to think of that kiss, willed himself not to get hard.

But as she approached him, the look on her face sent his worry spiking up again.

“Dammit, where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling your cell for hours.”

“I needed to take some pictures. I thought maybe Galveston. I drove down this morning.” She was wearing jeans and sneakers and a simple white shirt. How that outfit could possibly arouse him, he couldn’t imagine, but it did.

He drew on his self-control. “That where you went?”

She nodded.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I know I should have. But I knew you’d be mad. I needed to get out of the house. I had work to do, so that’s what I did.” She held out a piece of rough brown paper. “Unfortunately, I found this on my windshield after I stopped for lunch.”

Trace’s stomach knotted. “Dammit, Maggie.” He took the note from her hand, read the words and softly cursed. “Did you get a look at him?”

“No, but I took pictures of all the cars parked in the area, including their license numbers.”

“Good thinking. Maybe something will turn up.”

“The thing is, I was really careful, Trace. I watched every car behind me until I was miles out of town. If he followed me, I should have seen him. I don’t know how I could have missed him.”

“It isn’t always that easy to spot a tail.”

“I just…I’m telling you, I was careful. I can’t figure out how he did it.”

Maggie was no fool. If she had been that observant… An alarm went off in his head. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He headed inside, went into the equipment room and picked up a handheld bug detector, which was small, but one of the best on the market. Returning to the parking lot, he went over the car front to back. As he neared the trunk, the red light began to flash, and he heard the warning sound of the beeper.

Cursing softly, he reached beneath the rear bumper and pulled off a little round circle of plastic with a shiny metal center.

He held it up. “This is how he found you—GPS tracking device.”

“He bugged my car?” Maggie gasped. “Oh, my God!”

Trace looked at the piece of plastic in his hand. “Pretty sophisticated. It’s motion sensitive. Only goes on when the car is moving. Saves the battery.” He dropped the bug in his pocket. “This guy’s not your usual nutcase, Maggie. This joker’s got a brain. We need to check your house.”

Her head jerked up. “My house? Oh, God, you don’t…don’t think he’s put something like this in my condo?”

“If he had a key, he could have hidden a microphone somewhere inside before you moved in. Or on the day he went to the open house—assuming that was him.”

“He…he couldn’t have hidden a camera, could he? I mean, I would have noticed—wouldn’t I?”

Trace didn’t want to think about the bastard taking lewd pictures of Maggie. “Depends on the size of the device and how well it’s hidden.”

She shivered. “He could have been watching me for weeks.”

Trace made no reply. They wouldn’t know until they searched the condo. “I’ll get my gear and follow you back to your house.”

Maggie nodded, but her face was pale.

Trace returned to the equipment room for an even more powerful detector, one that could pick up video as well as GPS, audio and phone transmitters. Maggie was waiting in her car when he climbed into the Jeep, and they pulled out of the lot together.

At the condo, Ashley opened the door. “You’re supposed to call Trace,” she said. “He sounded pretty pissed.”

Maggie flashed a sugary smile at him over her
shoulder. “Trace is a man of iron control. He never gets pissed. Do you, Trace?”

He grunted as he carried his equipment into the house. “If anyone can make it happen, darlin’, it’s you.”

Maggie smiled as if that somehow pleased her.

Women.
He would never figure them out.

Maggie sat nervously on the sofa next to Ashley as Trace made his way methodically through the house with the equipment he had brought, a little silver box the size of a laptop computer. Terrified of what her stalker might have seen, she insisted he start upstairs.

“Nothing in your bedroom or bath,” he called down to her. “No cameras, no listening devices.”

She felt a rush of relief. “Thank God.”

“I can’t believe this,” Ashley muttered. “Bugging your car? The guy’s got some nerve.” Dressed in a pair of khaki shorts that showed a long stretch of leg, and a pink midriff top, her short curls a little messy, she glowed with a vibrancy that had been missing when she had first arrived. Maggie felt good about that.

Trace checked the upstairs hall, began to scan her studio. When she heard the beeping sound, Maggie’s stomach clenched. Jumping up from the sofa, she rushed for the stairs.

“Where is it?”

“Top of the closet door. With the door shut it’s almost invisible. Even with it open, the thing is really hard to see.” Trace showed her the tiny camera, then dragged a plastic bag out of the hip pocket of his jeans and slid the device inside.

“You think he could have left prints?” Maggie asked.

“I doubt it. But it’s always worth a look.” He headed downstairs, swept the guest bedroom using earbuds to
hear the beeping, since the baby was asleep, then the guest bathroom and powder room. Finding nothing, he headed into the living room, and finally checked the kitchen.

He was almost finished when the beeping began again. Maggie’s stomach sank. “Where?”

“Behind the decorative trim over the sink.” He pointed upward. “Lens looks out through the ornamental holes in the design.”

Maggie walked over to where Trace was pulling down the second tiny camera. “Why would he put them in the studio and kitchen instead of the bedroom?”

Trace slid the camera into the bag, his dark brows drawing together. He shook his head. “I don’t think he wanted to interfere with your privacy. His notes sound old-fashioned, almost gallant. ‘Dearest Maggie. Precious Maggie.’ The song he played comes from
The Prince and The Maiden,
which is set during a more chivalrous time. Maybe that’s the way he thinks of himself.”

“Like some knight in shining armor?” She rolled her eyes. “Give me a break.”

“Could be.”

“That’s creepy,” Ashley said as she walked into the kitchen.

Trace’s jaw hardened. “Yeah.”

A sharp knock sounded at the door and a jolt of adrenaline shot through Maggie. She set a hand over her pounding heart and started for the entry, but Trace was already there. He looked through the keyhole, then pulled open the door.

“Jason. What the hell are you doing here?”

The man who walked in was over six feet tall, young and blond and extremely good-looking.

“You went to Emily’s,” he said hotly. “She wouldn’t tell me what you wanted, but she’s totally freaked out. I want to know what the hell you said to her.”

Trace closed the door. “You need to take it easy.”

“I’m not taking it easy. My father is dead. I don’t believe he killed himself. I don’t think you do, either. I want to know what the hell is going on.”

Trace released a slow breath. “You’re right. You deserve to know the truth. I should have followed my gut and told you last week. If you’ll calm down, we can talk about it right now.”

Maggie sensed that some of the fight went out of him. For the first time he seemed to realize the scene he was causing in someone else’s home.

“Sorry,” he said.

Trace turned. “Maggie, this is Jason Sommerset, Hewitt’s son. Jason, this is Maggie O’Connell and her sister, Ashley.”

Jason nodded at Maggie. “Nice to meet you.” He was dressed in perfectly tailored tan slacks, a short-sleeved burgundy sweater and a pair of expensive Italian loafers. He turned to Ashley and opened his mouth to greet her, but no words came out. She was just that pretty.

“Nice to meet you, Jason,” she said with a smile, which gave him time to find his voice.

“You, too, Ashley.”

“How’d you know where to find me?” Trace asked.

“Annie told me. I kind of pressured her into it.”

Trace chuckled. “Nobody pressures Annie. She probably figured you had a right to know what was happening.” He tipped his head toward the door. “We can talk outside.” He spoke to Maggie. “Excuse us a minute, will you?”

“The patio’s nice and private. There are chairs out there. I’ll bring you a glass of iced tea.”

Jason was still staring at Ashley. They had the same crystal-blue eyes, which at the moment were locked together as if they were in combat and the first to look away would lose the war.

Trace clamped the younger man on the shoulder. “Come on, son. I should have listened to my instincts and told you the truth from the start.”

Trace’s words broke the spell and Jason’s gaze swung back to him. “It’s about damned time,” he said.

The men walked out to the patio through the sliding glass door in the living room, and Ashley’s gaze followed.

“So who is he?” she asked with an elaborate show of nonchalance that spoke louder than words.

“Jason’s father was the late Hewitt Sommerset, founder of Sommerset Industries.”

“Jason said something about his father…that he didn’t believe he killed himself. Does Trace think he was murdered?”

“That’s what he’s trying to find out.”

Through the glass door, they watched as Trace and Jason sat down around the umbrella table Maggie had purchased after moving into the house.

“Good-looking guy, huh?” Maggie said, keeping an eye on her sister.

Ashley shrugged. “I know all about good-looking men. Most of them aren’t worth the powder to blow them up.”

Maggie laughed. “There have to be a few good ones out there.” Her gaze went to Trace, sitting on her patio as if he belonged there. If he was half the man he seemed, he was definitely a white-hat guy.

“I guess so,” Ashley said halfheartedly.

“Jason seems nice enough.”

“They all do,” she said drily.

Maggie didn’t pursue the topic. Clearly, her sister’s experience with “Ziggy” was enough to sour her on men. At least for the moment.

Walking into the kitchen, Maggie took out two glasses and filled them with ice. She leaned into the fridge for a pitcher of tea, filled the glasses and set them on a tray. As she started for the patio, she noticed Ashley looking through the glass doors at Jason.

More than once, she saw Jason glancing back.

Jason fisted a hand on the patio table. “You’re telling me that my brother-in-law—my sister’s husband—may have murdered my father.”

“We don’t know that. We know he was embezzling money. We know he was stashing it away in an offshore account. We know there’s a chance your father confronted him. The rest is only conjecture.”

“Parker was out that night, not home like he said. Emily told you that.”

“That’s what she said.”

Jason shot up from the chair. “That bastard killed my father. I know it.”

Trace stood up across from him. “You don’t know anything—not for sure. And until you do, you have to hang on to that temper of yours. If you don’t, you’ll only make things worse.”

“I’ll kill him, I swear it.”

“That’s just great. You’ll go to jail for the rest of your life—exactly what your dad would have wanted. That attitude of yours is the reason I didn’t tell you in the first place.”

Jason sank back down in his chair. His head tipped forward and he ran his fingers through the golden hair at his temples. Finally, he straightened. “I guess you’re right.”

“You guess?”

“Okay, you’re right.”

“That’s more like it. If you’re going to be the head of the family—and run Sommerset Industries—you’re going to have to man up, make some tough decisions. This is one of them.”

The sliding door opened just then and Maggie walked out carrying a pitcher and glasses. The sun flashed on her fiery hair and the muscles across Trace’s belly clenched. She put the tray on the table and set a glass of tea in front of each of them.

“Thank you,” Jason said.

She smiled. “It looked like it was getting a little heated out here.”

Jason flushed at the innuendo. Trace figured the heat he was feeling had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with how badly he wanted to take the woman in front of him to bed. She turned and went back inside, and he watched the way her jeans cupped her sweet little ass. For an instant, he wished he could turn himself into a piece of denim.