Twice Kissed (39 page)

“What do you want first?” Hannah asked as she slipped into Henderson’s tiny office. He’d just returned from the site of the accident and was tired as hell. This case was going to drive him into early retirement, back to Camel straights, or both. Right then, he didn’t really give a damn. “The bad news or the good news?”

“Didn’t know there was any good.” Henderson reached for his baseball. “Let’s have the bad.”

“Guess who’s lined up to be the next guest on
Denver AM?”

He gave the ball a quick toss, caught the damned thing, then, only slightly calmer, set it back in its holder. “Okay, I’ll bite—who?”

“Wade Pomeranian.” She offered him a cat-who-just-swallowed-the-canary grin.

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. It isn’t a secret that he’s wanted to be on the show for a long time. He even stormed down to the station one day and fought with Marquise about it in front of witnesses, including Craig Beaumont.”

“So now he gets his shot.”

“Yep. And here’s the kicker. Beaumont and the executive producer were opposed to Pomeranian being on the show, didn’t like his connection with Marquise. Even when they had a fashion show last spring and Wade could have modeled men’s clothing, Craig Beaumont put the kibosh on the idea. Nixed Pomeranian specifically, but now that Marquise is missing…
voilà,
Beaumont and the executive producer have changed their collective tune.”

“Now they want Wade.”

“To interview him as a friend of Marquise’s.”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

“Ron Bishop insists that they’re helping locate Marquise, as opposed to exploiting the situation.”

“Maybe they are.”

“Maybe. Anyway, they’re not stopping with Pomeranian. The producer wants other people who know her as well; they’re dedicating at least one segment to her and going to remind the viewers that there’s a reward for information that leads to finding her.”

Henderson leaned back in his chair. “So who else are they inviting to be Beaumont’s guest?”

“First of all, they’ve approached Maggie. Want her to dress and act like Marquise.”

“Shit. Don’t tell me they want the ex-husbands, too.”

“Possibly. But who knows if they’ll agree.”

Henderson shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“Maybe it’ll help.”

He couldn’t disagree, and at this point he was frustrated. No lead to the whereabouts of the missing celebrity, no body, no ransom note, nothing but a suicide letter that might or might not be fake. Another woman was dead, and the sister and ex-husband were running around trying to do Henderson’s job for him. The press was on his neck and the D.A. was demanding answers. Reed Henderson thought the clues leading to Marquise were drying up faster than the Colorado River on its way to L.A. He’d kill for a cigarette.

“There’s more.”

“Pile it on.” He motioned with his fingers, encouraging her to tell him everything.

“It looks like Marquise’s Jeep wasn’t involved in a single car accident after all. We just got some reports back and the boys who checked out the accident scene think another vehicle was involved. Hit-and-run. Black paint on the back fender of the Jeep seems to indicate that it was forced off the road.”

Henderson’s back stiffened and his pulse elevated a bit, the same way it used to when he hunted and caught a glimpse of a buck in the undergrowth.

“Walker’s got a black pickup,” he thought aloud, mentally clicking off the possibilities. His mind was already spinning ahead. This was unexpected news, that Marquise’s rig might’ve been forced off the road. A whole new twist. A clue that might break the damned case wide open.

“Walker’s truck doesn’t have any damage. We already checked. It was at the site today.”

“Damn.”

“You really hate the guy, don’t you?”

“I just don’t trust him,” Henderson admitted. “He’s got his own agenda. Lying. Nothin’ I hate worse than a liar.”

“And nothin’ you like better than nailing one to the cross.”

“Amen.” He managed a thin smile. “What else do you have?”

“Not a lot more. We’ll know the make and model once the paint tests are finished and some of the glass is analyzed to see if there was damage to the other car’s headlights.”

“We can only hope.”

“You’re sick, Detective.”

“Just practical. We could use a break. Solve the case and get the DA and the press off our asses.” Henderson reached into his drawer for a pack of gum, but came up dry. Back teeth grinding together, he spun in his chair and thought. Hard. “So was it a case of someone losing control, hitting the Jeep and then, scared, taking off? Or—”

“Was it intentional?” Hannah asked. “I guess that’s what we have to find out.” She walked into the room and leaned her hips against his desk. “This case gets more interesting all the time, doesn’t it?”

“If you say so.” Henderson clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “So, if that’s the bad news, what’s the good?”

Hannah’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “You wanted to talk to Jane Stanton, the next-door neighbor who overheard the fight between Marquise and Thane Walker.”

“I called over there and she was still out of town.”

“Well, the good news is that the daughter’s recovering from her skiing injury and Jane’s back.” Wilkins had the audacity to wink at him.

Henderson was out of his chair like a rocket and reaching for his jacket. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Tucked under the eaves of a remodeled turn-of-the-century manor that had been converted to individual business suites, Marquise’s psychiatrist’s office was lit by soft lamps that glowed in the coming night. Dr. Michelle Kelly welcomed Thane and Maggie into the cozy room, smiled, offered herbal tea, and asked them to sit on a long leather couch reserved for her patients. Decorated to put people at ease and make them comfortable, so that even the most reticent patient would speak freely, the corner room smelled faintly of incense and herbs. Surrounded by ferns and jade plants growing profusely in glazed ceramic pots, an unlit fireplace graced one corner. Shelves of books lined the walls.
Definitely designed to inspire confidence,
Thane thought sarcastically.

Not much older than thirty, slight and thoughtful, the doctor studied Thane with inquisitive golden brown eyes magnified by thick glasses. Though her manner was meant to put people at ease, Thane decided the tiny woman dressed in layered sweaters, long skirts, and heavy sandals didn’t miss much.

Of course she was interested in them. Thane could only guess what self-serving and twisted lies Mary Theresa had told her shrink about her sister and ex-husband. Dr. Kelly, if she wanted to, could probably write volumes on Marquise’s personality and mental state.

However, she had one major flaw. As far as Thane could tell, despite Dr. Kelly’s stellar reputation, she had been unable to propel his ex-wife to better mental health even though Mary Theresa had been her patient for three and a half years.

But then Mary Theresa was the head case to end all head cases.

Maggie asked questions, and Dr. Kelly skillfully dodged most of them. “I’d love to tell you more,” Michelle Kelly explained as she sat in a rocking chair and sipped the foul-smelling tea, “but because of patient-client confidentiality, I really can’t.”

“Do you think Mary Theresa is suicidal?” Maggie asked.

“She suffers from depression. Sometimes it’s worse than others, but…no…I wouldn’t classify your sister as suicidal.” She set her tea down on a tiny table near her chair, removed her glasses, and carefully polished the lenses with the corner of her cardigan sweater.

Obviously, Maggie was relieved and about to end the conversation, but Thane had questions of his own. “Did Marquise ever mention to you that she had the ability to talk to people through mental telepathy?”

Maggie stiffened, and the psychiatrist stopped rubbing her glasses. “You mean without speaking?”

“Right. I’m talking about the ability to throw her voice to someone else.”

Dr. Kelly’s smooth brow furrowed. “No. I don’t think so. And I would remember it if she did, I’m sure. Why?”

“Just something she’d said to me once, a long time ago,” he lied, seeing Maggie turn ghost-white from the corner of his eye. “It probably doesn’t mean anything. She was always rambling on. Just something I remembered.”

Slipping her wire-rims onto her nose, Dr. Kelly asked, “Did you ever see or hear of her doing this?”

“Never. But then she was always saying something outrageous,” he admitted, ending the interview and surviving Maggie’s silent treatment for the half hour it took to return to the hotel.

“I can’t believe you brought up the telepathy thing,” she finally exploded, once they were alone in the hotel room again. She threw her purse and bag on the couch and turned on him. Anger flashed in her eyes, and she planted her fists firmly on her hips. “I told you that in confidence.”

“Don’t you want to find your sister?”

“Of course—I do. You know it!”

“Then we’d better use every means possible, don’t you think?”

“I don’t see how this helps.”

“Everything helps.”

“I’m not sure. Besides, you’re not being honest with me.”

He felt his neck muscles stiffen. “I’m not?”

“No. There’s something you haven’t told me. Something to do with Marquise. You neglected to mention that she’d stayed in your house for three days not too long ago. You never mentioned that you and she still saw each other fairly regularly, and you’re holding back. Now, what is it, Walker?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the look she sent him warned him not to try and con her. “Respect me enough to be honest, Thane. Considering the circumstances, I think you owe it to me.”

He thought for a long, hard second. How much could he trust Maggie? How would she react to the truth? Hell, he never wanted to tell her this. But it was bound to come out sooner or later. Slowly he unbuttoned his jacket, reached into the inside pocket, and took out his crumpled pack of cigarettes along with a battered book of matches.

“I thought you quit smoking.”

“I did.” He shook out the last filter tip and lit up quickly, drawing in a deep lungful of smoke, then took off his jacket and tossed it over hers on the chair. Crumpling the empty pack of Marlboros, he walked to the fireplace. “Okay,” he said, wondering if he was about to make the worst mistake of his life. He felt the unaccustomed rush of nicotine and watched as she mentally steeled herself.

“You’re still in love with my sister,” she whispered so faintly he barely heard the words. Her face was ashen, her eyes haunted, agony evidenced in her expression.

“Oh, no, Maggie. It’s not as simple as that.” He plowed stiff fingers through his hair and took another deep drag.

“Then what?”

“It’s that the last time I saw Mary Theresa she dropped a bomb on me.”

“What kind of bomb?” Maggie asked.

It’s now or never,
he thought angrily as he stared down at the tortured face of the only woman he’d ever loved. “Mary Theresa told me that she and I have a son.”

“What?” Maggie felt her face drain of color. Her legs wobbled and she dropped onto the arm of the couch. This was a lie. It had to be. If Mary Theresa had ever had a baby, she would have said something. Wouldn’t she? “No…wait a minute—”

“That’s right. He’s a teenager now. Conceived before we broke up; a boy I didn’t know existed until the last time I saw her.”

“But Mary Theresa wouldn’t have kept this from me. From you.” Her throat was dry, her palms itched.

“No? Come on, Maggie. This is Mary Theresa…Marquise we’re talking about.” His lips compressed with nearly twenty years of raw emotion, nearly two decades of deception. “You know she’s lied to us both.” His eyes found hers and she saw the naked pain—the torment he’d dealt with for years.

“And that’s what your fight was about?” she guessed, feeling sick inside. The expression of pure hell on Thane’s face convinced her that he wasn’t lying, wasn’t making this up just to gain some kind of misguided sympathy. His mouth was tight, his eyes dark and narrowed on the fireplace, but she was certain he didn’t see the marble facade; Thane’s view was turned inward to a murky nightmare only he could see.

“Sixteen years,” he said as the cigarette burned forgotten between his fingers. “Sixteen years of my boy’s life. Lost.” His eyes found Maggie’s again. Guilt, hurt, and a quiet, seething rage burned deep in his gaze.

Maggie shuddered knowing in an instant that she was going to hear something she’d rather not, a deep secret that Thane had kept hidden to the world.

“You don’t know much about me.”

“I think I know enough—”

“No, Maggie. You don’t understand. I grew up in a small town in Wyoming with an old man who drank too much and, when he wasn’t screwing other women, beat up on my mother. Fine guy, hard worker when he was sober; a mean son of a bitch when he drank, which he did a lot.

“I can’t tell you how many times Mom would have to drive into town and pull him out of a tavern, and when she did, she was repaid with a fist to her face.” Thane’s eyes turned black. “But she always forgave him. Because of me. She didn’t even have an eighth grade education; couldn’t afford to leave the bastard, because of me and my brother.”

“Brother?” she repeated, her voice so soft she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

“He’s dead. Car wreck. Had the same problem with alcohol Pa did.” Thane’s nostrils flared and one hand curled into a fist that was so tight it shook. “I swore that when I had a kid of my own, I would do it right. Nothing, and I mean nothing would stop me from being the best damned father on this planet. I’d raise him the way he was supposed to be brought up, knowing a father’s love, a mother’s nurturing, a parent’s sacrifice, but I didn’t get the chance. Mary Theresa made sure of that.”

“Dear God,” Maggie said, her heart bleeding for the pain this man had borne, the secrets that had ripped at his soul, the demons that tortured his brain. He sucked hard one last time on his filter tip, then squashed it in a planter. Smoke curled out of his nostrils and mouth.

Dropping her head into her hands she tried to think, to remember a time her sister could have hidden the fact that she was pregnant with Thane’s child. “So that’s why you married her. The first time when she was pregnant.”

He didn’t reply. His jaw slid to one side and he stared at her as if he would never stop.

“And now you have…she has…a son.” Maggie shivered inside. “And she never told you?”

“Not a word. Until that last fight and that, Maggie, is why I threatened to kill her.”

Tears burned behind Maggie’s eyes and she rubbed her arms, trying to keep the chill of betrayal at bay. “Why? Why would Mary Theresa do this…keep something like this from you?”

“Because it would interfere with her career! For Christ’s sake, Maggie,” he said, advancing on her. “Haven’t you learned anything about your sister? Don’t you know how low she’d sink, how many people she’d manipulate just to further her damned career?”

“But…but I would have known about it. She would have told
me.”

“Like the way she told you that she had seduced your lover?”

The words cut cruelly, bringing back old, raw wounds that had never quite healed. “Don’t,” she ordered. Marquise was missing, could possibly be dead, she couldn’t,
wouldn’t
think these horrid, sick thoughts—

“Give it up, Mag Pie,” he said as if reading her thoughts. His voice was so low it startled her and her head snapped up.

“Marquise was pregnant seventeen years ago, Maggie. You were in college—you didn’t see her. She managed to stay away from anyone who knew her during the last months when her condition was undeniable.”

Denial swam through her head. “I—I think she would have confided in me. She wouldn’t have kept something as big, as important, as a pregnancy a secret,” Maggie said, but even as the words passed her lips she knew she was kidding herself. What did she know about her chameleon of a sister—Mary Theresa who had turned into Marquise? Didn’t she have a past history of deception? In the past few days Maggie had learned so many devastating facts about the woman who was her twin, the sister with whom she shared so many physical characteristics and yet from whom she seemed to have an opposite soul.

“As I said, the last time I saw her, the night I wanted to strangle her, she threw it in my face that she’d had our boy, given him up for adoption, and that I’d spent all of his life not knowing one damned thing about him.”

“So you haven’t met him?”

“Haven’t found him yet.”

“Then how do you know he exists?” She could hardly trust her own voice. “If Mary Theresa is such a liar, how do you know?”

“I hired a private detective. He found the birth records at a small private hospital in Southern California, not far from the Mexican border. Now he’s tracking down the adoptive parents. I expect to hear from him anytime.” His smile twisted without a trace of humor. “He’s got some leads.”

“So your interest in finding Mary Theresa is for more than clearing your name,” she said, finally understanding why Thane seemed so totally and irrevocably tied to her sister. “You want her to help you find your son.”

“Obviously now that I know she wasn’t lying, yes. I have questions for her; questions only she can answer.”

“So do I.” Maggie considered the past week, the hours of being alone with Thane, the days spent driving in the truck, or searching for clues in Denver, or the few precious minutes of making love to him. All that time she’d fought her feelings, telling herself that she wouldn’t let herself fall for him again, that she wouldn’t allow him to walk all over her, that she was smarter than she was when she was seventeen and she wouldn’t let any man, Thane Walker in particular, use her.

Because of Mary Theresa.

Because of the betrayal.

Because, deep in her heart, she’d never really let go of him.

It looked like she’d been wrong about so many things. So very wrong. But she couldn’t trust Thane, for even though he’d bared his soul, he’d revealed the all-too-painful truth that he’d searched out Maggie, that he’d spent time with her, that he’d seduced her, as always, for his own purposes. Because of Mary Theresa and their son. His life was and would forever be entwined with her sister’s. Just as it had always been. Before they had been lovers. Now, Maggie thought, aching inside, Thane and M.T. had a son together, shared a life.

Help me. Maggie, please. It was Thane. He did this to me. Maggie, please. Don’t let him get away with it.
Mary Theresa’s painful plea echoed through Maggie’s memory. She plucked at a piece of lint on the back of the couch. “Why…why would Mary Theresa have sent me, the message?” she asked. “The one I heard in the barn?”

His glance was filled with skepticism. “I don’t know that she did. The psychiatrist said that Marquise had never mentioned it.”

“That’s a lot different than saying it didn’t exist. Just because Mary Theresa didn’t confide in her.”

“She was Marquise’s shrink. Why wouldn’t she tell her?”

“Why didn’t she tell me about the baby?” Maggie shot back. “Look, Thane, I can’t explain it, all right? But it happened.” She stood and felt her spine straighten until she was meeting his cloudy gaze with her own. “And it’s true.” She angled up her chin with renewed determination. “I’m sorry about you not knowing your son. Really. And…and I wish things were different.”
Oh, God, Thane, if you only knew, had any inkling about how much I loved you.
“But I can’t change anything. I would if I could, but I can’t. So now I’ve got to concentrate on finding Mary Theresa.” She struggled to keep her voice steady.

“Believe me, no one wants that more than I do,” he said, and she couldn’t help that little snag of disappointment that tore at her heart. For as much as she’d never stopped loving him, the same could be said of his feelings for his ex-wife. Though he denied it vehemently, she couldn’t trust herself to believe him. Wouldn’t. He’d lied too much already, kept far too many secrets. He started to reach for her, but dropped his hands when she slid away from him and refused to give in to the urge to fall victim to him all over again.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“To tell you the truth, Thane, I don’t know what to believe,” she said. “I…I just don’t want to be confused any longer and I can’t afford to make another mistake.”

“Another one?”

“With you.” Clearing her throat, she walked across the room. “Now, if I remember right, we’ve got things to do.”
Even though I would love nothing more than to melt into your arms.
Setting her jaw against such wayward thoughts, she added, “Let’s start with Renee Nielsen.” With fresh intent, she strode to the table where she noticed the message light was blinking furiously on the phone. “First I want to see if Becca called.” She dialed the message center and scribbled down the recorded missives.

The first call was from Tess O’Shaughnessy, the executive producer of
Denver AM,
asking Maggie to be a part of a program dedicated to Marquise; the second was from Craig Beaumont, reiterating the request. The third was from Howard Bailey, who asked Thane to call back.

Maggie handed Thane the message and their fingers touched briefly. In that instant Maggie felt the connection she’d always had with him, the same tiny spark of electricity that hadn’t dulled despite the years, despite the lies, despite the dark cloud of betrayal that had been with them both. She thought he might kiss her, wanted desperately to feel his lips pressed intimately against hers, silently begged that what they shared wouldn’t be destroyed.

And yet she couldn’t forget that he still loved Mary Theresa. No matter how hard he denied it, the connection that existed between him and his ex-wife was far stronger than the tenuous link between them. “I want to go over Marquise’s diary again—I have this feeling I’m missing something, that there was a reference to Renee.”

The phone rang again and Maggie snagged the receiver, half-expecting to hear from her daughter. Instead, it was Detective Henderson.

Maggie froze. Her gaze locked with Thane’s.

“Sorry for calling so late, but I thought you’d want to know,” he said, and Maggie experienced the cold fingers of dread crawling up her spine. Her hand clenched the receiver in a death grip. “It’s about your sister.”

“What?”

“Well, we’re starting to think that your sister’s Jeep might have been forced off the road.”

“What do you mean?” she whispered, questions rushing through her head. “Are you saying someone intentionally tried to kill Mary Theresa?”

What the hell was Henderson insinuating?

“Don’t know for sure. Could be. Could have just been an accident or road rage or, yes, it could be someone who wanted to harm either your sister or Renee Nielsen.”

“Dear God.” Maggie’s soul turned to ice.

“As I said, it might have been a hit-and-run accident where the driver had panicked—”

“But that’s unlikely.”

“Or a goddamned coincidence.”

Maggie’s voice sounded far away even to her own ears. “Come on, Detective. Neither you nor I believe in coincidence. The most likely scenario is that someone tried to kill my sister.” He offered more platitudes, and she hung up more scared than she’d ever been in her life.

“Tell me,” Thane demanded.

She briefed him on the conversation. “I guess you were right.” Her eyes met his and locked.

“Damn!” He grabbed hold of her arm. “I knew this was going to be dangerous. Son of a bitch! Son of a goddamned—”

“Hey, slow down.” She pulled away from him, nearly falling backward when he unexpectedly let go.

“We need to leave.”

“And go where?” she demanded.

“Out of Denver. I never should have brought you here.” Furious with himself he let fly a blue streak.

“And where will we go? Think about it, Thane. We’ve got to find Mary Theresa. Now more than ever. Her life is probably in danger!”

“I know, Mag Pie, and that means yours is as well.” He snatched her wrist, dragged her into the bathroom and forced her to look in the full-length mirror. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re in danger. If someone
is
trying to kill your sister and even went so far as to kill Renee, thinking she might be Marquise, what do you think will happen when he gets a good look at you, huh?” She stared into her own haunted eyes and swallowed hard. It was true. She and Marquise had been mistaken for each other all their lives. Her gaze met Thane’s in the mirror and in his steely blue eyes she saw fear, pure and primal.