Controlling Interest (24 page)

Natalie's stomach surged. Was that the source of the heat in Matt's eyes yesterday? He'd wanted to see if he could make her another notch in his belt?

“Okay, whatever.” She knew in her head there weren't any perfect men. But she couldn't help being disappointed when they proved it.

“So how's your Urdu coming along?” he said, apparently trying to tease his way past the awkward silence.

“Let's put it this way. They're not going to hire me at the U.N. But I have run across Zach's name a couple of times before that entry in English. Look.”

Matt glanced at her. “No,
you
look. I'll drive.”

She turned a couple of pages. “Here it is again. And again. And — ” She gasped. “Matt! There's a last name with it this time. I totally missed it before. Carothers — the guy's name is Zach Carothers!”

Matt swerved the car to the side of the road, nearly hitting a mailbox. “No way! Let me see.” He jammed the gear shift to park and grabbed the notebook.

“Right there under that bunch of squiggles. See?” Natalie leaned over to point.

Matt stared at the words under her finger for a moment, then looked up at her, reluctant admiration in his expression. “I'd given up on finding this guy. Natalie Tubberville, you're stubborn as a mule, but you're a genius.” He held out a hand for her to slap. “Way to go!”

She smiled at him, ridiculously pleased. “So now what do we do?”

“We go on to Helena and try to catch Yasmine. But on the way I'm calling Cole McGaughan. He'll have contacts to help us figure out who Carothers is. Someone attached to the embassy, probably an American serviceman or diplomat . . .” Matt put the car back in gear and pulled onto the highway. “If we can reach him, we'll have a big key to what Yasmine's up to.”

“There's the boat!” Matt wheeled the car into the entrance to the riverboat landing. “Are your shoes on? We're going to jump out and run.”

Natalie leaned forward, squinting against the bright morning sun. “Matt! They've pulled up the gangplank! Hurry!”

Road construction had slowed traffic down to a crawl as they crossed the Helena Bridge, Matt muttering under his breath all the way. It was now three minutes past eleven.

He glanced at her in frustration. Despite his reassurances, if they hadn't drawn Felschow's attention by running that yellow light outside Tunica, they wouldn't be in this fix. Natalie had been quiet since his dumb remark about women being trophies. He should've known she wouldn't understand. What good did it ever do to explain yourself to a woman? The safest course would've been to keep his mouth shut and fall back on charm.

Now he was going to look like an idiot again if he didn't figure out a way to get around the traffic. They couldn't miss that boat.

Ignoring the parking spaces — which were all full anyway — he slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt beside the pier. Before it had even stopped rolling, Natalie jumped out.

Matt set the brake and yanked out the keys. He tore off after Natalie. She was right. The boat was chugging out into the river. He and Natalie pelted down the boardwalk pier jutting ten yards out into the water.

“Wait!” Natalie screamed. “Hold up! We need to talk to — ” She tripped and fell, landing heavily on her knees.

Matt ran another step or two. He stopped. There was no way they were going to catch the boat. It was already twenty yards out from the pier and slugging back out into the brown-black Mississippi. A row of tourists leaning against the deck railing waved at him.

He turned and walked back to Natalie.

She was sitting on the pier with her head down. “I knew I should've worn my tennis shoes. I fell, and I made Bradley mad, and Daddy was late getting the bail, and the traffic on the bridge was probably my fault too.” She looked up at Matt and swiped a hand under red, teary eyes.

“Oh, for cripes sake.” He couldn't help smiling. Talk about drama queens. He stepped behind her and grabbed her under the armpits, boosting her to her feet.

“Ouch!” She bent to dab at the blood seeping through two big rips in the knees of her jeans. She sighed. “These are my favorite jeans. They cost nearly a hundred dollars.”

“Forget the denim.” He crouched in front of her. “Let me see.”

“But we missed the boat. Ouch!” she said again, flinching as he lifted one leg of her jeans.

Her shin and calf were smooth as pale silk. Swallowing, he gently cupped the back of her knee and examined the injury. It was about two inches square, more like a big strawberry than a cut. There were wood splinters jammed into the raw, reddened flesh. “I need some tweezers and antibiotic ointment. And a gauze pad and tape. We'd better find a pharmacy.”

“But what about — ow! Be careful! — Yasmine?”

Matt got to his feet. “We'll catch up to her in Vicksburg.” He slid his arm around Natalie's narrow waist. “Put your arm over my shoulder. We'll take it slow. Let's get you back to the car.”

Natalie hobbled a couple of steps on her own, then sighed. “Oh, okay.” She gave him a tentative look as she hooked her arm around his neck.

Snugged together side-by-side, Matt took most of her weight. She was so light he could have carried her. But maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Her feminine, summery scent was a little bit distracting.

They crept down the pier toward the car, silent, morose. Natalie sniffed now and then. He didn't know if she was more upset by losing sight of Yasmine or her tumble.

He squeezed her waist. “Cheer up. We'll catch up to her tonight.”

She gasped a little.

“I'm sorry — want me to slow down?” He paused and looked down at her.

She looked away. “I'm okay.” Her hand on his shoulder moved, and he could feel every imprint of her fingers through his shirt. “Never mind.” They started walking again, and she chewed the side of her lip. “I guess I
am
trouble,” she said on a sigh.

“Nah.” He smiled. “Anybody ever call you that before me?”

“All the time, in middle school. ‘Natalie Trouble-ville.' ”

“Okay, then on behalf of every adolescent male in America, I apologize.”

She laughed, and he felt better. So they'd have to extend the trip a little. Vicksburg was another four hours or so south by car. The boat would take a day. If they were lucky they'd have time to locate Zach Carothers. But this time they'd start early, take no chances on jealous deputy sheriffs or backed-up traffic.

Suddenly, inexplicably happy, he swooped to pick Natalie up, ignoring her squeak of surprise. “Come on, lady. Let's take care of those skinned knees and head south. We have a missing bride to find.”

Natalie sprang for lunch at Chamoun's Rest Haven Restaurant — locally nicknamed the Khan on 61 — outside Clarksdale, Mississippi. The city limits sign proclaimed Clarksdale a county seat home to a little more than twenty-thousand souls. She and Matt chose a window booth so they could keep an eye on the Miata. Outside the window, the flat, dusty Delta stretched for miles to the east, with only a few trees and a water tower to block the skyline. Behind them the late lunch crowd was a mixture of local farmers and professionals, blues enthusiasts in town for the museums and juke joints, and passersby like themselves in the mood for eclectic cuisine. The menu advertised Lebanese, Italian, and American fare. On the cash register, a stuffed camel toy sprawled under a sign that admonished, “No hookah smoking before 3:00 p.m.”

“How are your knees feeling?” Matt took a big bite of kibbe and cabbage.

“Not too bad.” Natalie busied herself twirling spaghetti around her fork. Truthfully, her knees still ached. She also wasn't going to mention the very carnal feelings that had sneaked up on her since he'd carried her to the car. Feet dangling, arms around his neck for balance, she'd been all too aware of the strong arms wrapped around her back and thighs. She knew she ought to keep a distance, and there had been an increasing amount of touching going on lately. She gingerly flexed one stinging knee. She was probably going to be black and blue for weeks. “Where'd you learn to do such a neat bandage?”

Matt washed down his food with sweet iced tea. “I played baseball all the way through high school, and I was a trainer for the football team.”

“I played baseball too.”

“You mean softball? So did my sisters.”

“No, hardball. Little League.”

He did a double take. “No kidding! I wouldn't have thought . . .”

“You wouldn't have thought I have an athletic bone in my body.” She shrugged. “I stank at fielding, but I was a great pitcher.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “Coach used to tell me to get the ball across the plate and jump out of the way.”

“Little League's competitive where I grew up. We lived way out in the sticks, and there wasn't much else to do. I would've had a college scholarship, but I blew out my shoulder in one of the last games.”

“It felt pretty solid to me.” The words were out before she thought. “I mean — ”

Matt grinned. “And you just made my day.” He teasingly flexed a bicep. “Always wanted to do that and never had an excuse.”

To Natalie's relief, Matt's cell phone rang. He released her gaze and flipped the phone open. His expression clouded. “Mr. Haq. How are you?”

“Put him on speaker,” Natalie whispered. “I want to hear.”

Matt nodded. “Mr. Haq, I've got Ms. Tubberville with me. Is it okay if we put you on speakerphone?”

Haq's thick accent came through the phone. “Good afternoon, Miss Tubberville. I hope you are well.”

“I'm good. Well, actually I've been better. But thanks for asking.”

“I wish to obtain an update on the search for my fiancé. Please advise.”

Wincing, Matt met Natalie's eyes. “We were just about to call you. We, uh . . . had a little traffic problem and missed her.”

“You missed her? How can this be?”

Natalie leaned back as their blue-haired waitress plopped two slices of coconut meringue pie on the table, along with a handwritten ticket. “Y'all have a nice day and come back to see us,” she said and shuffled off to the kitchen.

Natalie dug into her dessert as Matt shoved aside his uneaten lunch and frowned at the pie. “I told her I wanted lemon.”

“Yasmine brought you a lemon?” demanded Haq. “What is this stupidity?”

“No, not Yasmine.” Matt grimaced at Natalie, who was laughing. “Natalie and I are in a diner in Clarksdale, Mississippi. We thought we'd catch her getting off the riverboat in Helena, but like I said, there was a delay. So we're going on to the next stop, which is Vicksburg.”

“Why is she still on a riverboat, when she should be in Memphis? I do not understand this at all.”

“I don't know, Haq. You tell me.” Matt sounded a tad confrontational.

Natalie cautioned him with a look. “Look, Mr. Haq,” she said, “I know you're worried. We are too. But at least on the boat she'll have food and a place to stay.”

“How do you know she didn't get off the boat in Helena?”

Natalie frowned. “That's a good — ” Matt chopped a hand across his throat. “I mean, there's no reason to think she did. We'll update you when we get to Vicksburg.”

“I would appreciate that very much.” Haq's tone softened. “Yasmine is unfamiliar with American ways and, I am sure, has no idea where she is going. As you say, I fear for her safety.”

Maybe he wasn't as bad as Yasmine had made it sound. Natalie ignored the skeptical slant of Matt's eyebrows. “The cruise takes a whole day to get to Vicksburg,” she said, “so don't look for us to call before this time tomorrow. Please be patient. Okay?”

Haq grunted. “I suppose I must. Good day.” The connection ended.

Matt closed the phone. “What a jerk.”

“Maybe he's worried about the woman he loves.”

“He doesn't love her. He doesn't even know her.”