Deception (10 page)

They both ordered burgers with a cone of fries to share, while Dylan added a beer and Mia stuck with iced tea. He tapped her glass with a fork. “No margaritas tonight?”

Shaking her head, she dumped a packet of artificial sweetener into her tea. “I figure if I hadn’t been tipsy last night, I never would’ve opened the door to…what’s-his-name.”

“Rocco.”

“Yeah, Rocco. Especially once he told me his name was Rocco.”

“I have another name for you—Peter. Have you gotten word that he’s left town yet?”

“He wouldn’t tell me, would he?”

“Maybe his tax troubles will be enough to keep him busy and out of your hair.”

“My exact thought when I reported him to the IRS.”

Dylan studied Mia’s beautiful face with one abrasion and one scratch on her chin as he sipped his beer through the foam. “I wouldn’t want to be your enemy.”

“That—” she shook her napkin into her lap as the waitress delivered their burgers in baskets “—would never happen.”

“Whew. Not that I don’t always pay my taxes.”

“I have ways of finding out.” She squeezed a stream of ketchup onto a plate and swept a French fry through the glop.

“Speaking of investigations, sort of. Do you still have those postcards Marissa sent you from around the globe?”

The fingers pinching the fry froze halfway to her mouth and a drop of ketchup dribbled on the table. “I have them with me. Do you want to see them?”

“Yeah, since Matt’s too busy getting his job back with the LAPD, I can at least look into it.” He sliced his burger in half and stuffed an onion back inside the bun. “Drop them off at the station.”

Chewing, she crumpled the napkin against her mouth. “I have them with me, on me, in my bag.”

He raised his brows. She carried the postcards with her? She must really have a guilt complex about her twin. If those emails she’d been so secretive about concerned Marissa, maybe Mia would confide in him about them now that he’d volunteered to look into her sister’s disappearance.

Mia scrubbed her hands with the napkin and dipped into the big bag she’d been slinging along with her ever since her purse got scorched in the wreck. She waved a handful of cards under his nose before dropping them on top of the tablecloth.

“Don’t get grease on them.”

He wiped his own hands and picked up the first card by the corner. A pretty coastal scene with
Cote-d’Azur
in yellow scrawl in the corner. He flipped it over.
Hey, Mimi. All is well. Enjoying life with Raoul on the French Riviera. Hope you don’t mind that I stole him.

“That’s the first one I received.” She tapped the rest of the pile. “They’re in order.”

Dylan drew his brows over his nose. With all the social networking sites, email and text messaging, he didn’t realize people even sent postcards from abroad anymore. Of course, these started a while ago, when Marissa first took off.

“When did you get the last one?”

“Last summer.” Mia shuffled to the bottom of the pile and slid out a card from Spain. The message on the back was as innocuous and generic as the first, more so.

“Have you gotten one every summer since she took off?”

“Just about. Sh-she missed a few summers.”

“Never any return addresses or hotel names? Is she still with Raoul?”

Mia shrugged. “Nothing. It’s as if she doesn’t want me to find her, or…”

“Or you believe Kylie Grant.” He stacked the cards in a neat pile. “Who would be sending these cards and why?”

She sat forward and planted her elbows on the table. “Maybe it’s Raoul. Maybe he killed her and he’s living off her money.”

Dylan eyed Mia’s knife balanced across her plate, dripping bloodred ketchup. “Was Raoul that kind of guy?”

“You’re asking me?” She slurped a noisy gulp of tea through her straw. “I didn’t know Peter was the type of guy to stick pins in dolls. What do I know about men?”

If she didn’t know she was turning him on even sitting here talking about murder and mayhem with a dribble of ketchup at the corner of her luscious mouth, she knew nothing.

Leaving her question for another time, he dabbed his fingertip at the ketchup on her face. “If your New York cronies could see you now.”

Her eyes glazed over for a second, and then she dropped her sloppy burger in the basket. “This is serious, Dylan.”

“Mia St. Regis. How the hell are you?”

Mia’s eyes widened as they stared past Dylan’s shoulder, and he twisted his head to the side to see the owner of the booming voice.

Charlie Vega, one of the biggest contractors in Coral Cove, descended on their table, his face split into a wide grin. “Hey, Chief.”

“Charlie.” Dylan shook his hand, but Mia looked like a zombie had just approached them.

Charlie extended his beefy hand to Mia, and she placed her slightly trembling fingers in his paw. “H-hello, Charlie.”

“I hope you’re here to make some sense of Columbella House. Keep Vega Construction in mind whether you’re going to restore it or tear it down and rebuild.” He winked.

“I will, yeah, absolutely.”

Charlie’s brow creased but he nodded. “Okay, then. Wife’s waiting for me outside. See you around, Chief. Great to see a St. Regis twin in town.”

Charlie shouldered his way through the clutch of people hovering around the hostess stand, while Mia sat stiffly in her chair, not turning around.

“What was that all about?” He tilted his chin toward the front door. “Do you have a problem with Charlie Vega?”

“Charlie? N-no.”

“You could’ve fooled me. Charlie noticed, too.”

She pushed her basket to the middle of the table. “That’s because Charlie probably doesn’t realize that I know.”

“Know what?” Dylan gripped the edge of the table. Mia had returned to town loaded with bombshells. He didn’t know what to expect from her next.

She glanced over her shoulder as if expecting Charlie to be listening in. Then she cupped a hand around her mouth and whispered, “He slept with Marissa.”

Dylan’s fingers slipped from the table and he dropped back in his seat. “Is that all? Marissa slept with a lot of guys.”

“Not you.” Her eyes widened and her face paled. “Not you?”

Throwing his head back, he laughed at the ceiling. “God, no.”

She sniffed. “Not good enough for you.”

“Which is it?” He lifted one eyebrow. “You hope I didn’t sleep with your sister, and then you’re offended I didn’t want to?”

“You could’ve just said no without the wild laughter.”

“Excuse my wild laughter. It’s just that Marissa shared all your good looks and none of your wit and charm.”

“Apparently, she didn’t share my deviousness either.” She held up her hand at his protest. “Back to Charlie. Don’t forget, he has a good ten years on us. He slept with Marissa when she was only sixteen, and he was probably close to twenty-six.”

“That’s creepy when you put it that way.”

“That’s statutory rape, no matter how willing she was at the time.”

“Do you want me to arrest him now?”

“Don’t be silly. Just creeps me out to see him.”

“That’s a long time ago now. I don’t think he’s running around seducing teenage girls anymore.”

“Hope not.” She patted the front pocket of her jeans. “Message.”

She pulled out her cell phone and frowned at the display, biting her lip.

“What is it?”

“Peter.”

Dylan set his jaw. He’d had about enough of this guy. “I hope he’s sending that message from an airplane.”

“Nope.” She dropped the phone in the middle of the table. “He’s at Columbella.”

“You’re kidding. Does he intend to squat there until you sign it over to him?”

“He wants me to meet him there.”

“No way.”

“He said he has some information that might change my mind.”

“Forget it, Mia.”

“What if you and your—” her gaze dropped to the gun bag clipped around his waist “—weapon come with me?”

He waved to the waitress. “Is there anything he can tell you at this point to make you change your mind?”

“No, but if he has some information, possibly about Marissa, I want to hear it.”

“He doesn’t have anything. He’s playing you.” Dylan asked the waitress for the check, and she slapped it down on the table.

Mia grabbed it first. “Peter knows I’ve been looking for my sister. Maybe he’s been holding on to the information.”

“Maybe he’s desperate.”

“Then I need to know that, too.” She dropped some bills on the table and anchored them with the ketchup bottle. “Come with me, Chief.”

“I sure as hell am not going to let you go out there by yourself.”

“What are we waiting for?” She punched a response into her phone and pushed back from the table.

Ten minutes later and against his better judgment, Dylan wheeled his truck on to the Coast Highway, Mia buzzing with excitement next to him.

“Before Peter got antagonistic, he was helping me find Marissa. Who knows? Maybe he turned up something and kept it to himself as ammunition.”

Clamping a hand on her bouncing knee, he said, “Peter just wants another crack at you. That’s all. But he’s going to have to try to get through me first.”

The idea of Peter getting through Dylan or around Dylan or over Dylan brought a smile to her lips. She just wanted to see the look on Peter’s face when she showed up with her own personal lawman.

Dylan aimed his truck toward the Coral Cove Drive exit. As they rumbled down the street, his headlights picked out a car on the lookout point. Peter could’ve easily parked there and walked to the front of the house where he wanted to meet her.

Dylan parked his truck. “You really want to do this?”

“Of course. Do you have a flashlight?”

“In the trunk, but I’ll leave my headlights on, too.” Their glow illuminated the overgrown yard in the front. “I don’t see him.”

“Maybe he’s taking in the lovely view before he goes home.” Mia scrambled out of the trunk and hopped to the ground.

Dylan emerged from the trunk, gripping a flashlight. “Casellas?”

“Shh. I wanted to spring you on him.”

“You’re not springing anything on anybody. The guy is dangerous.”

Their footsteps crunched on the sidewalk as they crossed to the front gate of Columbella. Dylan swept the beam of his flashlight across the tangled shrubbery and tracked across the porch. Empty.

“Peter?” Mia pushed open the front gate, which creaked with rust and sand. “I’m here with Chief Reese. Tell me what you got.”

Her only answer came from the waves beating against the rocks below.

“Maybe he’s still in his car?”

They walked back up the sidewalk toward the lookout point where a car sat in darkness. A chill snaked up Mia’s spine and she tucked in closer to Dylan as he approached the car.

Dylan leaned forward, cupping a hand over his eyes as he peered into the car window.

Mia hooked a finger in his belt loop. “See anything?”

“Bags in the backseat.”

“That’s a good sign.”

Dylan straightened up and scanned the lookout area. “Where is he?”

“Maybe he’s waiting inside the house.”

“Didn’t the text message ask you to meet him out front?”

“It did.” Mia fished in the pocket of her sweater for the phone and reread Peter’s message.

“Call him.” Dylan scuffed to the front of the car where it pointed toward the ocean and unzipped his gun bag. “I don’t like this.”

“Y-you think it’s an ambush?” She fumbled with the buttons on her phone.

“Something’s not right.”

“Maybe he saw you coming and got scared off.” She held the phone away from her ear. “It’s ringing.”

Dylan cocked his head. “Listen.”

Amid the waves crashing on the rocks and the hollow boom from the tunnel carved into those rocks, came the tinny sound of a ringing phone.

Mia spun around toward the car. “Is it in his car?”

“No.” Dylan took two steps closer to the low metal barrier around the edge of the overlook. He squatted to his haunches, his brows colliding over his nose. “Dial again.”

With a shaky finger, Mia punched the button to redial. The phone rang again, the ocean breeze snatching the sound so that it seemed to surround her.

Dylan dropped to his knees, skimming the light from his flashlight along the ledge of rock over the barrier. His arm shot out. “It’s there, just below the ledge on the rocks. I can see the light from it.”

He flattened to his belly and army-crawled toward the edge.

The knots that had been forming in Mia’s stomach the minute she heard Peter’s disembodied phone ringing, cinched tighter. “Be careful.”

Dylan scooted forward another few inches and then swore.

Clutching her sweater around her trembling body, Mia shuffled to the edge of the precipice. “What is it, Dylan?”

Her gaze followed the beam of his light as it tripped down the vicious rocks. White foam rushed in and swirled around the rocks and something else…a body.

Chapter Eight

The fist Mia shoved into her mouth couldn’t stop the scream barreling up her throat. She swayed forward and Dylan caught her around the waist.

“Call 911. I’m heading down there.”

She fumbled for her phone. “I’m coming with you.”

While she babbled on the phone, Dylan grabbed her hand and pulled her along the road to the other side of the house and the path that led down to the beach.

Shoving the phone in her pocket, she panted, trying to force air into her lungs. “They’re on their way.”

They hit the sandy beach, and Mia kicked off her sandals to keep up with Dylan striding toward the cave. They’d have to skirt the cave near the water to get to the other side where the body lay.

Peter? Was it Peter?

Dylan balanced a foot on the first rock. “Stay here and wait for the emergency response team.”

“I told them exactly where…” She flapped her arms. “They don’t need me to guide them, and I don’t want to stand on this beach alone.”

“Okay, follow me.” He grabbed her hand again and hopped from rock to rock around the cave, pulling her along with him as the spray from the waves dampened their clothing.

They reached the other side and headed for the body crumpled on the rocks.