Книга - Two Sisters

Two Sisters
Kay David






“I’d be happy to look into your sister’s disappearance.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, no. Please. That’s not why I told you about it.”

“I know, but I don’t mind. I can check some things Missing Persons might not get around to so fast.” If ever.

“I appreciate it, but…” Rising from the bench, Elizabeth ran a hand over her jacket, as if ensuring that her defensive shell was still in place. “I really can’t ask you to do that.”

John’s curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to push her to find out why she wouldn’t allow herself to accept his offer. “I want to help you. Why won’t you let me?”

She blinked. “April will turn up sooner or later,” she said in a stilted voice. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your offer, but I don’t want to involve you in our personal problems.”

Something in the way she spoke took his curiosity to another level. “You have some personal problems?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Doesn’t everyone?”

He didn’t answer, but let the silence build. Most people felt uncomfortable with silence. He found out all kinds of things when they tried to fill the void. Elizabeth simply stared at him—which told him even more about her….




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Ranging from the deeply emotional to the dark and dangerous, Kay David’s stories frequently take place in one of the many exotic locations where she and Pieter, her husband of twenty-five years, have resided, including the Middle East and South America. Currently, Kay and Pieter have come back home to live with their much-beloved cat, Leroy, on the Gulf Coast of Texas.


Books by Kay David

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

798—THE ENDS OF THE EARTH

823—ARE YOU MY MOMMY?

848—THE MAN FROM HIGH MOUNTAIN




Two Sisters

Kay David





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u3ed51509-b261-56a0-a4b5-72c394970206)

CHAPTER TWO (#u77aa119e-2f35-5098-a31e-276ddd565c9a)

CHAPTER THREE (#u2a9d27fd-0277-5cde-a5ad-0f78ae5320e0)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


“I DANCE AND men pay money to watch.” April Benoit glared at her sister, her expression tight in the growing darkness, her voice tense. “What right do you have to hassle me over this? You, of all people?”

Standing in the living room of her Houston town house, Elizabeth Benoit met April’s angry stare. Their eyes were so similar it was like looking into a mirror. But beyond the physical resemblances, nothing else about them was the same—from the way they thought to the way they dressed. It’d been different in the past; they’d been so connected, they could finish each other’s sentences. Now they were opposites, and Elizabeth often wondered how they could even be sisters, much less identical twins. She spoke quietly, her demeanor calmer than she felt.

“I have that right because I love you and I only want what’s best for you.”

“Well, what’s best for me is eating! And if I don’t work, I don’t eat.” April’s beautiful eyes narrowed. “As I recall, there was a time when you depended on me for that, as well, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t for—”

“Good! Then leave me alone and let me make a living the way I want to.”

Elizabeth said patiently, “There are a lot of ways to make money, April. Dancing isn’t—”

April cut her off. “Gosh, you mean I could be a brain surgeon? All these years, I could have been operating on people and making a bundle, instead of taking my clothes off?” She made a sound of disgust. “Get real, Elizabeth! I wasn’t lucky enough to finish school like you.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. It was hard work, okay? You could have done it, too.” Elizabeth shook her head, exasperation finally edging its way inside her at the turn the conversation was taking. “You could go back to school right now, for God’s sake. There’s plenty of time. You’re still young.”

“Young! Yeah, right.” April rolled her eyes. “Twenty-eight isn’t old?”

“Only dancers think that’s old, but it’s not. And even if it was, it’s never too late for a new start.”

April rose abruptly from the sofa where she’d been sitting and crossed to the window. Her back to Elizabeth, she stared out at the street. It was another hot Texas evening. The summer sun had just fallen below the horizon, but streaks of red and orange still colored the sky.

“You don’t understand,” she said plaintively. “You just don’t understand.”

At her sister’s tone, Elizabeth’s irritation turned to sympathy. She’d been about to turn on a lamp, but instead moved quickly to April’s side and put a hand on her arm. “I do understand, and you know it, but you could get out,” she said. “If you wanted to…”

“I like dancing.” Without meeting Elizabeth’s eyes, April spoke into the night. “I like the money. I like the people…”

“You like the peop—” Elizabeth broke off, shaking her head and dropping her hand. “How can you say that, April? Look at Tracy! You’re her friend—you help her out and do things for her—but she isn’t yours. She’d stab you in the back and never give it a second thought. And Greg! Is he really the kind of man you want to spend your life with?”

“Tracy’s okay, and Greg gave me a job when I needed one. Don’t knock him.”

“Any idiot with eyes in his head would have given you a job. You’re gorgeous! You’re smart! Sweetheart, c’mon! You could be doing anything you want to if you’d just—”

April whirled around, eyes flashing, hands balled into fists. “Goddamn it, Elizabeth, get off my case!” she yelled. “For once just leave me alone, would you?”

Elizabeth stepped back, the room humming with April’s startling fury. “Sweetheart, I’m concerned. I was only—”

“—poking your nose into my business like you have ever since Dad died. I’m not a kid, Elizabeth, and I don’t need somebody taking care of me all the time. I’m not Mom, okay?”

Elizabeth immediately blanked her expression to hide her hurt, but the words cut deeply, painfully. When they were twelve, they’d lost their father—a euphemism Elizabeth hated but used out of habit—and she’d taken care of herself and April and had pulled them through the disaster with their mother that had followed. Not because Elizabeth wanted to but because she’d had to. Their mother, a fragile woman, had depended on her husband so completely that when he died…well, what had happened to him had been less painful by far.

She pointed out none of this.

“I’m sorry,” she said, instead, her voice stiff. “I thought I was helping.”

April paused, then took a deep breath, the line of her jaw tightening. “Well, you aren’t. I’m not perfect like you. And I never will be, so stop trying to make me that way, okay?”

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Perfect? That’s ridiculous. I’m not perfect! And I never meant to make you like me. Is…is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think, but I do know you’ve been trying to run my life for years, and I’m sick and tired of it. I just want to be myself, do things my own way.”

“Being yourself is what you should be, April. I only—”

April held up her hand, her bloodred nails gleaming in the dying light. “Drop it, Elizabeth! Let me make my own mistakes. Leave me alone.”

To Elizabeth it seemed as if a chasm had opened between them even though she hadn’t moved an inch from her stance at the window. She felt it deep down inside and it sent a cold chill skittering down her back. The closeness they’d once shared was gone forever.

IT WAS EARLY DAWN, and the sky was a pearly white tinged with blue and pink. The late-summer moon still hung above the horizon, a cool white disk, barely visible, while at the same time, the sun had begun to peek over the neighbor’s roof. The scent of gardenias lay thick in the humid air, and the manicured emerald lawns, stretching out before him, shimmered with dew.

John Mallory stood in the open door of his town house and looked around, a mug of hot coffee steaming in his hand. He always began the day this way, staring out at the street, soaking in the serenity—wondering just what kind of disaster the hours ahead would bring. As a Houston cop he’d seen just about everything, but some days could still surprise him.

He was about to take another sip of coffee when he caught a sudden movement in his peripheral vision. His gut tightened automatically when he realized who he was seeing. It was his neighbor, Elizabeth Benoit, walking to her car. He knew her name only because he’d seen it on her mailbox. She didn’t speak to him or to anyone else as far as he could tell. She was leaving earlier than usual this morning, her stride hurried yet graceful, her black hair gleaming, her dark eyes already hidden behind sunglasses. She was one of those incredibly beautiful women, like his ex-wife Marsha, who noticed people only when she needed them.

And that was damned seldom.

His phone sounded, and John stepped back into the house, slamming the door behind him. Just as well, he thought, crossing the living room and heading down the hall to the kitchen. He was an idiot for even noticing Elizabeth Benoit. Dazzling women were always trouble, and trouble like that he definitely did not need. A few years before, he had disentangled himself from one such woman—and he still had the scars to prove it.

As if he needed further incentive to remember that, the voice on the other end of the line provided a sharp reminder.

“John. This is Marsha. Look, I only have a minute, but I wanted to catch you before I left for work. I’ve got a problem with this week.”

John deliberately placed his coffee cup into the sink before he answered. His ex-wife didn’t believe in such niceties as saying hello. She was always in a hurry and looking for ways to streamline her life. He couldn’t understand why; what did she do with all that extra time?

“What’s the problem, Marsha?” he asked as pleasantly as he could.

“Lisa has to get her hair trimmed and the only time Luis can do it is Thursday evening, and you know I have to be there. I’m sorry, but you can have her next week as usual.”

John counted to three before he spoke. “Our arrangement is for me to have our daughter every Thursday. You’ll have to take her to the beauty shop some other day.”

“But Luis only had that time open.”

“She’s five years old, Marsha.” Again he waited a beat, looked out the kitchen window at a crow pecking at something on the sidewalk. “She doesn’t need to go to the most expensive hairdresser in town to have her bangs trimmed.”

Her voice turned hostile. “John, if you want to hassle me about something this minor, we can go back to court. I’d be more than happy to accommodate you, and we can work out a few other details, too….”

She droned on and John tuned her out. Marsha hadn’t always been difficult, and once upon a time, they’d really been in love. Somewhere down the line, though, he’d disappointed her and she’d turned bitter. When at last she paused to draw a breath, he broke in, his words clipped and precise so they wouldn’t reveal his desire to reach through the phone and throttle her.

“Marsha, I will be there Thursday at five to pick up our daughter. I will keep her overnight, then I will bring her back Friday morning when I go to work, just as I do every week. Find another time to get her hair cut. Goodbye.”

Marsha was still talking when he hung up the phone.

He headed for his bedroom shaking his head and thought of Elizabeth Benoit once more. She was a gorgeous woman, but if being married to one for six long years hadn’t taught him how dangerous such women were, he was a fool. And the realization that he was generalizing didn’t bother him a bit. Beautiful women were his weakness, and he’d dated enough of them to know what he was talking about.

WHEN ELIZABETH woke up and stumbled outside for the paper, all she knew was that April was gone. After their horrible fight, they’d gone to bed, Elizabeth to her room, April to the guest room Elizabeth always kept ready for her. Elizabeth had tossed and turned for hours, her worry about April keeping her awake. Now April was gone—and so was Elizabeth’s car.

As she stared at the empty spot by the curb where the car had been the night before, she asked herself why she was even surprised. This was typical. April acted as if she were a teenager, totally self-absorbed and interested in nothing beyond her own tiny world. Didn’t she know how much she worried Elizabeth? Elizabeth tried to stem the flow of resentment, but it bubbled over, hot and bitter. Was she doomed to always be the caretaker and April the one who lived life only for herself?

A car drove by and honked. Snatching up the newspaper, Elizabeth stepped back inside and closed the door. A vague feeling of guilt swept over her. Had she been so busy working to get away from the life she and April had shared that she’d neglected April somehow? Remembering April’s angry retorts last night, Elizabeth answered herself immediately. She’d done all she could and more—and look at the thanks she’d got!

Elizabeth dropped the Chronicle on the table in the entry and headed for her bedroom to dress for work, flipping on the stereo as she passed it.

Still seething, she dressed quickly, pinned back her hair and slapped on a minimum of makeup. She needed this extra hassle as much as she needed another headache, and she had plenty of those even without April’s help. She didn’t trust April’s clunker, still parked outside, to get her downtown, so she called the limo company. As she waited, she gulped a cup of instant coffee and punched in the phone number at April’s apartment. After the tenth ring she hung up. Her sister didn’t even have an answering machine.

Elizabeth tried to check her anger, but the emotion only grew. Deep down, she knew why. She was acting out the part she’d always played, just as April was. April would do something foolish, then Elizabeth would get angry and worried. They’d make up, then the dance would begin all over again. They knew their respective roles well, Elizabeth thought, shaking her head in disgust. Too well.

Twenty minutes later she walked into her office, determined to focus on her job. It was what people paid her for. Betty Starnes, her secretary, greeted her as she opened the door.

“Oh, good morning, Elizabeth. Did you have a nice birthday celebration?”

Elizabeth groaned. “Not really.” With as little detail as possible, she explained the situation while Betty nodded in sympathy. She’d been with Elizabeth for years, so she understood completely.

“And you still haven’t heard from her?”

Elizabeth tamped down a knot of anxiety. “Not a word. So, if she calls…”

“I’ll put her through immediately, don’t worry.”

Elizabeth entered her office. As a consulting tax attorney, her practice ran the gamut from financial planning to settling estates. Lately most of her cases had been coming from the federal government. She was fast earning a reputation for being able to uncover the most clever of frauds, and with the government attorneys overworked and underpaid, more and more work was being sent to attorneys like her. Just the previous week she’d received a file involving a woman named Linda Tremont and her brother, Tony Masterson. They owned a family investment firm, and several of the investors had complained to the S.E.C. Mainly elderly people, most felt something was wrong with their accounts, because the only one making any money seemed to be Master-son. When Elizabeth had made the initial call to Masterson’s office, Linda Tremont had answered, explaining that she was in charge of the firm and her brother primarily gathered new accounts. Tremont was cooperating fully and appeared horrified there could be a problem. She was a leader in Houston’s high society, Elizabeth knew. She chaired all the galas and raised incredible amounts of money for the local art scene. How awful to have a brother and business partner who might ruin their family name. From what Elizabeth had seen so far, Anthony Masterson seemed as irresponsible as April.

With a heavy sigh Elizabeth opened the file and began to work.

Hours later, when she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, Elizabeth was shocked to see the time. Almost six! The day had disappeared, and she still hadn’t heard from April. Elizabeth quickly dialed her sister’s number, but just as before, the line rang emptily. Her worry rising once more, she pulled out her address book, looked up the number of the place on Richmond Avenue where April danced, then punched in the number.

“Esquire Club.” The husky female voice that answered on the third ring was one Elizabeth recognized. She’d talked to Tracy on the phone several times, and they’d met once in person. Elizabeth had recognized Tracy’s type immediately, and she’d tried to warn her sister, but as usual April had blown off the advice. Red-haired and curvaceous, Tracy Kensington had been the most popular dancer at the club—until April’s arrival. In that business, the younger the girl, the better the tips, and Tracy was a few years older than April. To make up for that she vied with April for the top spot, the best time, the hottest music. Despite that, April had always been friendly toward her and still was, but Tracy didn’t return the favor. Every time she had a chance, she tried to sabotage April.

“Tracy, this is Elizabeth Benoit, April’s sister. I was wondering if you’ve seen April today?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Tracy replied, her west-Texas drawl replacing some of the sexy purr but not all of it. “Your sister gone missin’?”

“She’s not missing. I just can’t get an answer at her place. She works tonight, doesn’t she?”

“I guess so.”

“What time is she supposed to be there?”

“I’m not sure.”

Elizabeth tried to stifle her irritation. The dancers were all very tight-lipped, not just to people who weren’t part of the life, but among themselves; there wasn’t a lot of sharing. Elizabeth suspected that it was simply a result of the competitiveness of the work, each dancer playing her cards close to her chest so as not to give anyone else an edge. It did not, however, make Elizabeth’s situation less frustrating. She was April’s sister, for God’s sake, not some weirdo stranger.

She kept the annoyance from her voice. “Could I talk to Mr. Lansing, then, please?”

Without replying, the woman dropped the phone and walked away—Elizabeth could hear her high heels clacking on the hard floor at the club. Then she heard Tracy call out, “Greg! You there? Phone call!”

Elizabeth tapped her pen against her desk impatiently. After an interminable wait, Greg Lansing, the manager of the club, picked up the phone and said hello. His voice was as gravelly as Tracy’s, but raspier, the result, Elizabeth was sure, of too many years of booze, cigarettes and shouting over hundred-decibel rock music for hours at a time. They’d never met, but she’d seen him one night when she’d worn glasses and a scarf and sneaked into the club to watch April dance.

Elizabeth could see why April found him attractive. Tall and well built, he had long blond hair and radiated the kind of bad-boy attitude some women found really appealing. Not Elizabeth. She’d met too many men just like him, and she could easily recognize the sleaze beneath the thin veneer of handsomeness.

“Mr. Lansing, this is Elizabeth Benoit. I’m looking for April.”

“Haven’t seen her.” His voice started fading even before he finished speaking. She realized he was about to hang up.

“Wait—wait, Mr. Lansing! Please…”

There was a second’s silence and she thought she’d lost him. Then he said, “What?”

“What time is she due in tonight?”

“I don’t keep track of when the different girls come on.” She heard him pull on a cigarette. “Probably around twelve, one. Something like that.” Above the clink of glasses and laughter, music throbbed in the background. An old Aerosmith hit, the bass rumbling out with a downbeat rhythm.

He was lying, of course. He kept track of everything at the club, down to the last penny and the closing minute. She ignored his prevarication and concentrated on finding out more. “I thought April was more than just one of the girls to you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then his voice went into an even lower-pitched growl. “Your sister’s a nutcase. I’m trying to stay away from her, and if you had any sense, you would, too.”

Elizabeth tensed. “What are you talking about?”

“April’s gettin’ into some bad shit. She don’t watch out, she’s gonna be in some serious trouble.” Again he drew on the cigarette, the sound harsh in her ear. “The kind of trouble that hurts. Permanently.”

Elizabeth’s fingers stilled, her pen clattering to the desk. “What are you saying? What’s going on with April?”

“She’s your sister. Ask her if you wanna know.” He paused and drew yet again on the cigarette, this time even more deeply. As though she were standing in the darkened club beside him, Elizabeth could almost feel the music, almost smell the smoke.

When he spoke, his voice was so full of warning Elizabeth shivered. “But don’t wait too long to ask her, or you might lose your chance.”

SHE WORRIED until she could stand it no longer. Late that night, she gave in and called the police. The woman who took the information was polite, but just barely. They covered the basics—name, address, age—then she asked a few more questions.

“How long has your sister been gone?”

“I saw her last night. She slept at my place, but this morning, when I got up, she had left.”

“Less than twenty-four hours….” The woman spoke as if to herself, obviously filling out some kind of report.

“Does that matter?” Elizabeth asked anxiously. “Does she have to be gone a certain length of time before you’ll start looking?”

“No. That’s just on TV. We’ll start looking immediately if it’s a serious report.”

“And what makes it serious?”

“Suspicious circumstances, primarily. Do you have cause to believe something’s wrong?”

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip.

“Ma’am?”

“I don’t know for sure that anything’s happened to her, but I’m worried. I mean Houston’s a dangerous place, right?”

“But do you have a specific reason to believe she might have been harmed?”

“Well, her boss—he’s an ex-boyfriend—told me she might be getting into serious trouble. He wouldn’t say more.”

“And he is…?”

Elizabeth spelled out Greg Lansing’s name, then in a halting voice, told the woman where he worked.

“He runs the Esquire Club? And your sister works there?”

“What difference does that make?” Elizabeth heard the defensiveness in her voice.

The woman on the other end of the phone hesitated. “Well, it does put a different spin on things, doesn’t it?”

“You mean if she ran an oil company, you’d start looking for her, but since she’s an exotic dancer, you’ll give it a few days first?”

“I mean, Ms. Benoit, some people have more stable lifestyles than others. It’s more significant when they disappear because of that. Has your sister ever done this type of thing before?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly. “About two years ago. She went to the Caribbean for a week without telling me.” With a man she didn’t know. She’d sent Elizabeth a postcard, but then at the end of the week, she’d called Elizabeth collect. Crying and desperate, she said the man had abandoned her. He’d turned out to be different than she’d thought was her only explanation. Elizabeth had sent her money for the fare home, and April had assured her of one thing—she would never disappear that way again. She promised she’d tell Elizabeth if she was leaving town, and she had done so faithfully.

Until now.

Elizabeth tried to explain but she could almost hear the investigator’s mind slam shut.

“Why don’t you give it a few more days, Ms. Benoit? If you haven’t heard from your sister by Tuesday or so, then call us back. That would probably be the best way to handle this.”

Elizabeth thanked the woman and hung up. There was nothing else she could do.




CHAPTER TWO


JOHN STOOD in the breezeway of the town homes Wednesday evening, by the mailboxes, and watched old Mrs. LeBlanc totter away, a polite smile plastered on his face as he asked himself, for the umpteenth time, why he didn’t just move. The place had a few people his age, but most of the residents were ancient tiny women who were constantly trying to fix him up with divorced grandnieces or granddaughters who had five kids. Before he’d come here—after Marsha had gotten the house—he’d lived in an apartment, an anonymous place where no one spoke to anyone. Then his mother had passed away and left him the town house. It’d seemed easier to move in than to sell the place, and it was in a safe neighborhood. He never worried about bringing Lisa over.

There were the little old ladies, though, and women like Elizabeth Benoit to contend with. He took two steps and was tossing the junk mail from his box into the nearest trash container when the woman in question came around the corner.

She had her briefcase in one hand and her purse in the other. Tucked under one arm was a dark blue folder with the words “Benoit Consulting—Personal and Confidential” printed on the outside in silver script. His eyes went to Elizabeth herself. Her dark gold suit, like the black one she’d had on the last time he’d seen her, looked as though it’d been made for her, the jacket hugging her figure—but not too tightly—and the skirt ending at a tantalizing point just above her knees. The color was just right for her, her ivory skin glowing from its reflection, reminding him of his mother’s translucent plates still sitting in the china cabinet in his dining room. Everything about Elizabeth Benoit was polished, perfect and gorgeous—except for the ferocious frown marring her forehead.

Seeing John, she pulled up short. Her frown vanished and was replaced with studied politeness.

Normally he would have nodded, turned on his heel and left, but instead he stood and stared at her. She was the first to break eye contact. John told himself to walk away, but his feet seemed fixed to the sidewalk. She leaned past him and unlocked her mailbox. Her key ring, he noticed, had a Mercedes-Benz symbol on it. She reached inside but her fingers came out empty—she hadn’t even received the junk mail he had. When she straightened, she looked so crushed he spoke without thinking.

“No mail?”

She lifted her gaze, and he was shocked into silence. A smart-aleck reply, a cold shoulder, even a curt go-to-hell wouldn’t have surprised him as much as the sight of her exquisite dark eyes filling with tears.

Before he could react, Mrs. Beetleman from 10D came around the corner. She glanced curiously at Elizabeth, then turned her twenty-thousand-dollar face to John and seemed about to speak. Nodding quickly, John engineered their escape, taking Elizabeth’s elbow and leading her away before the old woman could ask what was wrong.

They crossed to a nearby iron bench, which was shaded by a huge pin oak. Elizabeth Benoit sat down heavily, and John, shielding her from Mrs. Beetleman’s puzzled stare, took the seat beside her, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her. She nodded her thanks and dabbed her eyes.

When she finished, she stared at the square of white cotton for a second, then finally looked up. “I haven’t seen a man with a real handkerchief in his pocket since my father died.”

Her voice was a throaty contralto and it washed over John with a heavy warmth. “I’m a cop,” he said without thinking. “Always gotta be prepared.”

She nodded as if his ridiculous answer made perfect sense. For a moment they sat side by side in the hot twilight. The traffic noise on the side street and the cries of children playing in the neighborhood park kept the moment from the awkwardness of total silence.

Finally he spoke. “Is there something I can do for you? You look upset.”

To his horror, her eyes filled up again. She shook her head, then answered unexpectedly, her voice huskier than before, the words tight and angry. “It’s my sister,” she said. “I can’t find her. I thought she might have at least sent me a postcard.”

“Are you saying she’s missing?”

She nodded. “Yes. She came over to my place for a birthday celebration. Then we…we had an argument and I haven’t seen her since. And I’m really worried.” She looked down at her hands and shook her head, speaking again, this time softly. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” She made a motion as if to get up. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be bothering you…”

He reached out and put his hand on her arm. She seemed startled by the touch and he instantly pulled back, but not before his brain had registered the sensation. Skin so warm and soft it was sinful. “Please…don’t leave. Tell me.”

She hesitated, then after a moment she sank back down to the bench. “I know you’re a policeman. Mrs. Shaftel told me.”

She blinked suddenly, as if she’d given away a secret. And maybe she had, he thought. She’d obviously had a conversation about him with her neighbor. Did that mean she’d been as aware of him as he was of her?

She spoke again, quickly this time. “What kind of cop are you?”

“I’m a detective,” he answered. “Homicide.”

She nodded, almost to herself.

“How old is your sister?” he asked. “Is she a juvenile?”

“No…no.” She shook her head. “She’s my age. We’re twins, identical twins. We turned twenty-eight on Sunday.”

Warning bells sounded in his head. Twenty-eight. What was he thinking? His thirty-seven suddenly seemed ancient. He was surprised she hadn’t called him sir. It always killed him when they did that.

“Twenty-eight,” he repeated. “So she’s an adult. No runaway situation. Maybe she took a trip. Went somewhere for a while and just didn’t say anything to you.”

“She’d tell me first, probably even borrow money from me.” She licked her lips, then pulled her bottom one in between her teeth. “She took my car, too.”

He kept his expression neutral. “You could file a stolen vehicle report.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Her voice was stronger now, more in control. He could see the shell of her usual demeanor coming back into place. “I’ve reported her missing. That’s all I’m going to do. I don’t want her hauled in or anything.”

He shrugged. “Might be the easiest way to find her.”

“No.”

No further explanation, no other words to back it up. Just “no.”

“Does she live with you? I don’t think I’ve seen her around.”

“She has her own apartment at The Pines. On lower Montrose.” She sent him a quick glance, then looked back down at her hands. Lower Montrose was a long way from where they sat—not in miles but in financial terms. It wasn’t the best part of Houston. “She works…over by the Galleria.”

John waited a moment, then spoke again. “Do you think she’s in trouble?”

Her eyes jerked to his, the gaze narrowing. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re awfully worried.”

“Wouldn’t you be if your sister had disappeared?”

For one short moment his muscles in his chest tightened painfully, making it hard to breathe. He didn’t have a sister. Not now. When Beverly had been alive, though, he hadn’t really appreciated her. What he wouldn’t give to have that time back so he could redo it, make it right, so he could love her as Elizabeth obviously loved her sister. He pushed the thought away.

“If I had one, and she was twenty-eight, I’d figure she’s old enough to know what she’s doing.”

Her expression softened. “I should, too, I guess, but April’s not…a responsible twenty-eight.”

“Who is in their twenties? Thirty-something maybe…forty-something probably, but twenty?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

She bristled. “I’m twenty-eight and I’m certainly responsible.”

He sent her a measuring stare and silently agreed. There were shadows in those beautiful dark eyes and a tenseness in her face he hadn’t noticed before. Hell, she’d probably been responsible when she was eight, much less twenty-eight. Why? What demons did she have no one else knew about?

“I can see that,” he said finally. “It’s obvious or you wouldn’t be worried about…” He waited for her to supply the name.

“April,” she said reluctantly. “April Benoit. And I’m Elizabeth.”

“I’m John Mallory.”

With the exchange of names, her attitude shifted and became even more remote. A thick silence grew between them, then she broke it by speaking stiffly. “I’m sorry, Detective Mallory, to dump all this on you. The strain’s getting to me, I guess. Believe me, I usually don’t tell strangers intimate details of my life like this.”

“It’s John,” he said, “and don’t worry about it. I’d be happy to look into it for you.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, no. Please. That’s not why I was telling you.”

“I know that,” he said. “But I don’t mind. It’d be easy for me. I can check some things Missing Persons might not get around to so fast.” If ever.

“I appreciate it, but…” Rising from the bench, she ran a hand over her jacket, a reassuring move as if checking her defensive shell. “I really can’t ask you to do that.”

John stood, too. He was a tall man, an inch over six feet. When he looked in her eyes, they weren’t that far beneath his own. “You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

Her expression closed, but not before he saw a glimpse of how she really felt. She wanted his assistance, wanted it desperately, but for some reason, couldn’t allow herself to accept it.

“No.” Her voice was firm now. “I can’t let you do that.”

His curiosity got the better of him, and he pushed, more than he usually did. “I’m offering you some help. Why don’t you want it?”

She blinked at his bluntness, a sweep of dark lashes falling over her eyes before she looked at him again. “April will turn up sooner or later,” she said in a stilted voice. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your offer, but I don’t want to pull you into our personal problems. I can handle it by myself. I always have.”

Something in the way she spoke took his curiosity to another level, it raised his antennae. His cop antennae. “You have some personal problems?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Doesn’t everyone?”

He didn’t answer, but let the silence build. Most people felt uncomfortable with the quiet. He found out all kinds of interesting things when they started to talk to fill the void. Elizabeth Benoit simply stared at him.

“Then she’s not in any kind of trouble?”

She hesitated only a second, no more. “Not that I’m aware of.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, then she extended her hand. “Thank you for listening to me, Mr. Mallory. I won’t bother you again.”

He took her fingers in his, the touch impersonal, the message clear. “I hope things work out,” he said, his voice equally neutral.

They shook hands, then Elizabeth turned and walked away. John watched her until she disappeared around the corner.

SHE COULDN’T get him out of her mind.

The following morning, as Elizabeth sat at her desk and stared out the window, all she could think about was John Mallory’s offer. God, it’d been hard to turn him down! She’d wanted so badly to accept his help, but it’d been so long since she’d trusted anyone she’d said no without even thinking. He’d looked at her with such sympathy, though, such patience. Something in his gaze had made her want to trust him. Maybe because he’d listened to her story without even blinking. Of course, he was a cop and that did make a difference, she supposed. She shook her head in disbelief. How long had it been since she’d let anyone see her cry? Since she’d cried, period?

Had she lost her mind?

She focused on the traffic outside her window. It was as snarled and tangled as her nerves, but she knew one thing for certain. No one ever got a free ride. No one. People—men, especially—didn’t offer their help without expecting something in return. She’d been on her own, taking care of April and her mother, since she was twelve years old, and if she hadn’t learned that particular lesson, she’d learned nothing at all.

Why did he want to help her, anyway? Was he simply that nice? Was anyone?

Just the previous week she’d seen John and a little girl—his daughter, she presumed—crossing the street out front. He’d had the child’s hand in his, and they were obviously going to the park. Elizabeth had watched them from her living-room window, a lump forming in her throat as she’d remembered holding her own father’s hand. Until his death, she’d thought he’d hung the moon and the stars, as well. Everything he did was perfect. He’d supported them all, Elizabeth, April and their mother, in high style, and he’d seemed to be the most loving, wonderful man on earth. The best father a child could possibly want. A faultless husband, too. Until things had changed.

Her intercom buzzed, and she answered, her eyes focused on the window and the traffic below, her mind focused on her father and the child she’d been.

“Linda Tremont is here.” Betty sounded worried, and Elizabeth tensed. Her secretary was usually unflappable. “She doesn’t have an appointment and I tried to get her to wait, but she’s insisting.” Betty lowered her voice. “She seems quite upset. Can you see her?”

Elizabeth held back a groan. She didn’t want to deal with this now, not with April on her mind, but she couldn’t put it off forever. “Send her in.”

A second later the door opened. As Linda Tremont crossed the carpeted expanse between the door and her mahogany desk, Elizabeth noticed that the woman seemed to have aged ten years since the first time they’d met. Behind the glasses she wore there were puffy circles of worry under her eyes, and her mouth was a thin line of tension. Even her posture was stiff and anxious.

She perched nervously on the edge of one of the pair of wingback chairs in front of the desk. “Have you finished the report yet? I need to know,” she said without preamble. “I heard from another investor this week who’s very worried. Word’s getting out that Tony’s being investigated—”

“Mrs. Tremont—”

“Call me Linda,” she broke in, her voice rising slightly. “I prefer anyone who gives me bad news to at least use my first name.”

Linda looked as if she might shatter, and Elizabeth gazed at her with compassion. She liked her and could certainly understand her worry.

“I haven’t finished my report yet,” Elizabeth said gently. “I’ve done some preliminary work, but I can’t give you any details, and I’m sure you understand why.”

“But you contacted me! Why can’t you tell me more?”

“I had to talk to you in order to obtain your records, and you’ve been very cooperative, which I appreciate. But I can’t get into the facts of the case with you, Linda, I’m sorry. That’s just not how I work.”

“Don’t give me the specifics, then,” she urged. “But please…I need to know for my clients’ sake as much as for my own. Is…is Tony in trouble?”

Elizabeth sipped from a glass of water on her desk, trying to buy time and figure out how to say what Linda needed to hear without giving away too much. She had to be very careful. She chose her words with precision. “Are you familiar with the term churning?”

“Of course I am. That’s when brokers have their clients buy and sell stock just to generate more commissions for themselves.” Her eyes grew large. “Are you saying Tony’s been churning accounts?”

Elizabeth kept quiet. S.E.C. investigations were not secret affairs; they couldn’t be because of their complex nature and the longevity of the task, but Elizabeth had her own set of rules. She’d already said more than she usually did.

Taking Elizabeth’s silence for the answer it was, Linda Tremont removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “How much?” She didn’t look up.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Linda Tremont’s voice went up. “Thousands? Millions? Can’t you give me some idea?”

Elizabeth glanced down at her desk, then up again. “If churning were involved, and I’m not saying it is, then I’d point to the latter figure as more accurate than the former.”

Linda gasped. “My God! I…I can’t believe this!”

Again Elizabeth stayed silent. She liked to be more certain when it came to figures, which her superiors at the S.E.C. appreciated. She’d given them some details about the investigation, but not enough for them to start legal action. Yet. She wanted to be absolutely confident that was necessary, and while she had a strong suspicion it was, for her own peace of mind, she needed just a little more.

The older woman slumped back into the chair, almost shrinking before Elizabeth’s eyes. “I was afraid it wasn’t good, but millions….”

“I’m not finished yet, Linda. Don’t jump to any conclusions before the report is final.”

Linda looked up, her expression so bleak Elizabeth almost couldn’t bear to finish what she was going to say. “When I’m done, the total will be more accurate.”

She suddenly wished she’d skipped that extra cup of coffee. Her stomach felt as if it wanted to rebel.

“What’s he going to do?” Linda Tremont looked even more defenseless and uncertain without her glasses. “He’s my baby brother….”

Elizabeth had met Tony Masterson twice while gathering information. In his early thirties, he had the polished sophisticated look of a man you could trust. She could see how blue-haired ladies would have been happy to hand over their money to him. He’d assured Elizabeth that nothing was wrong, and if any irregularities were found, his underlings would know more about it than he would.

Linda had told Elizabeth a little about him, nervously, during one of their meetings. Almost apologetically she’d explained that he’d played tournament bridge all through college, and when he’d graduated with a business degree, he’d used the contacts of his bridge players and fraternity brothers to lead them and their elderly relatives straight into his family’s financial-planning company, Masterson Investments. Where he’d promptly begun to take advantage of them, Elizabeth had since realized.

“I need to set up another meeting with Tony to go over some points. Is he around?”

Linda’s lips tightened. “He’s in Europe this week, but he’ll be back on Friday. He’s speaking at a conference.” She paused. “Have you contacted the S.E.C.?”

“I haven’t given them a final report since I’m not done yet. Once I finish and send them everything, they’ll start an official investigation and assign one of their own attorneys to go over everything.”

Elizabeth didn’t generally offer advice, but the empathy she felt for Linda Tremont made her want to help. Putting her elbows on the desk, Elizabeth leaned closer. “If I were you, I’d get a good lawyer, Linda. Leo Stevens is excellent. He’s with Baker and Tornago.” The woman on the other side of the desk was so pale she looked as if she might faint. “Would you like me to call him for you?” Elizabeth asked softly. “I’d be happy to introduce you—”

“No!” Linda shook her head, almost violently, then seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped. “I…I’ll call him, myself. I…I appreciate the offer, but I have to take care of this on my own. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

“When will you finish the report?”

“Within the next two weeks. I’ve been working on it mostly at home. I can concentrate better there.”

Linda rose painfully and walked to the door. Then she turned and asked, “Is there any way you could, well, finish it sooner? The longer it goes on, the worse it will be. For everyone.”

Elizabeth hesitated. With April’s disappearance, she couldn’t get her regular work done, much less hurry things up.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t so important.”

“It’s not that,” Elizabeth answered finally. “I…I have some family problems of my own right now that I’m trying to deal with, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry. Nothing too serious, I hope.” Linda stood by the door expectantly, obviously waiting for more.

“My sister’s missing,” Elizabeth said bluntly. “We met for our birthday dinner Sunday, then the next morning she was gone. Along with my car. I haven’t seen her since.”

A disconcerting silence fell between the two women before Linda spoke awkwardly. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have any idea where she might be?”

“Not really. I’ve called the police and reported it. That’s all I can do.”

The expression on Linda’s face shifted. It held something Elizabeth couldn’t read, but whatever it was it contained more than a hint of disapproval. “You called the police?” she echoed.

“Yes, and I filed a missing person’s report. It’s all I can do.”

“Of course. But try not to worry. I’m sure she’ll turn up.” She paused. Then said, “Just let me know about the report as soon as you can.” With that Linda Tremont left, closing the door softly behind her.

Try not to worry? What kind of advice was that? How could you not worry if your sister had disappeared—even if she had done it before.

Elizabeth swung her chair around and looked out the office window, her mind going right back to the subject it’d been on before. John Mallory. Brown eyes, a strong jaw and a tough lean body that looked as though it could hold its own in any battle.

She’d seen him before. When April was visiting one day, she’d asked Elizabeth who the “cowboy” was in the unit at the end. Elizabeth had glanced out her window and recognized his white starched shirt, the snug jeans, the heeled boots. A lot of men in Texas dressed that way—it was almost a uniform—but on John, the clothes looked just right. For some perverse reason, Elizabeth had pretended not to know who April was asking about.

But Elizabeth had known all right, had surprisingly even found herself curious about the tall man in the polished boots. Usually she didn’t notice men. She’d had one serious relationship since she’d left college, but it hadn’t worked out. She’d dated another attorney, Jack Montgomery, for almost six months. He’d wanted a home with a wife who stayed in it, and Elizabeth couldn’t do that. She wasn’t wife and mother material. She’d told him so and he’d never called again.

That was part of the reason she’d turned down John’s help. Slipping up and pouring out her personal problems was one thing—a mistake, sure, but not unrecoverable. Any more contact might lead to something else, though, and she wasn’t interested in that. Not now.

IT WAS AFTER SIX when John pushed open the heavy glass door of the high rise that housed Benoit Consulting. He wasn’t really prepared for it to open, but it did, gliding soundlessly outward. He knew Elizabeth worked late most nights—at home her lights never came on before seven or sometimes eight—but he hadn’t really thought the whole building would be open at this hour. A dark-haired Hispanic woman looked up as he entered. To get past her, an electronic card reader on the wall had to first be satisfied. Apparently there were a lot of private consultants in the complex, sharing facilities.

“May I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

He skipped the badge routine and just smiled. “I’m a friend of Elizabeth Benoit’s, Benoit Consulting. Is she still around by any chance?”

“I’ll check.”

A moment later the receptionist hung up the phone, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but it appears as if Ms. Benoit’s office is closed. No one is answering.” The woman frowned, then snapped her fingers. “She might be in the gym downstairs, working out. Someone will have to buzz you in, but you could try there.”

“Great, thanks.” He turned and left, the plush carpeting swallowing the sound of his footsteps.

As he waited for the elevator, John wondered just what in the hell he was doing there, anyway. When he’d picked up the phone at his desk earlier that day to call information for Elizabeth’s work number, he’d half hoped they wouldn’t have a listing. They did, however, and then he’d called the number to get the address. He didn’t know exactly what she did, but she had the look of someone who would want columns to add up properly. Putting the matter aside, he’d worked a little longer, then headed home for a quick bite, intending to return to the station. Marsha had succeeded in screwing up his time with Lisa, after all, so he’d decided to work all evening and catch up on the mountain of papers hiding his desk. It’d tame his anger a bit. Somewhere between Central and his place, though, he’d aimed the truck west.

And here he was.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened and he walked out. For whatever reason, Elizabeth had made it more than clear she didn’t want his help, even though, he sensed, she really wanted it.

Turning a corner in the basement a few minutes later, John found the gym. He’d been in executive workout clubs before and knew what to expect. White carpet, polished chrome, a juice bar in one corner. There was usually a babe at the front desk who knocked your eyes to the back of your head, too. A man in a navy warm-up suit exited just as John approached, holding the door open for him. John nodded his thanks and entered. Not what he’d expected.

The gym was one large bare room with a concrete floor and mirrors lining the walls. Four or five people were using the various machines and free weights. John’s gaze swept the room until he saw Elizabeth. She was stretched out on a climbing machine, her arms straining high above her head, her legs—her very long legs—pumping beneath her.

He watched her for a moment. She didn’t have on fancy workout gear or two-hundred-dollar running shoes. She wore sneakers that were scuffed and well-worn, an old pair of black shorts and a ragged T-shirt with missing arms, leaving gaping holes. Beneath the cut-outs, he could see the outline of a no-nonsense jogging bra. A faded sweatband was pushed up on her forehead, holding back the straggling strands of hair that had escaped the rubber band at the back.

She was the sexiest woman in the room.

Their gazes collided in the mirror, and he watched her expression go from blank to annoyed. She obviously wasn’t happy to see him. She stepped off the machine, grabbed her towel and crossed to him.

“Detective Mallory. Are you here to see me or did you come to join our club?”

He looked around a bit before meeting her gaze again. He needed the extra time to get his pulse back to where it belonged, preferably somewhere below 150. Beneath those suits she wore, she had a body that matched her legs. He took a deep breath, focused on her eyes and smiled easily.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s not much better than the police gym.”

“The building owner spends his money where it shows—in the offices.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. This gets the job done.”

“I can see that.”

She didn’t react to what he’d said, though he could tell his compliment had registered. Apparently, she didn’t know how to respond. “How did you find me?”

“There was no one in your office. The receptionist told me you might be down here.”

“And how did you know where I worked?”

She was a careful one, that was for sure. He held out his hands palms up—a gesture meant to show no threat. “I’m a cop, remember? It’s my job to find out things.” He smiled. “Actually I noticed the report you had in your hands when we were talking at the mailboxes. It had the name of your company on it.”

She seemed to relax just a fraction, but the watchful air didn’t leave her. She reminded him of a cat that used to hang around the station. Sleek black hair, cagey eyes, a tense body that always looked as if it was about to spring the other way.

For a long moment they looked at each other, then suddenly her wariness changed to fear, her fingers going to her throat. “Oh, God—this isn’t about April, is it? You aren’t here to tell me they found her…her body or anything?”

He felt a rush of empathy and shook his head immediately. “No, no. She hasn’t been found, nothing like that.”

She exhaled and visibly relaxed.

“The reason I’m here is your sister, though.”

The guarded look came back.

“I did a little checking after we spoke—”

“After I told you your help wasn’t necessary?”

He inclined his head, an admission of guilt. “Yes. After that.”

If he expected angry words, he was disappointed. She simply looked at him with a level gaze he couldn’t read. “And?”

He looked directly into her bottomless eyes and said, “I couldn’t help but wonder—why didn’t you tell me your sister’s a stripper?”




CHAPTER THREE


ELIZABETH COULD feel the color start at her throat and work its way upward, until her face flushed a deep hot red.

“I don’t care for that word,” she answered tightly. “She’s a dancer, an exotic dancer. And I don’t see what business it is of yours, one way or the other. I called the police again this morning, and the proper people are working on the case.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You didn’t insult me, but I have a problem with dancers being called strippers. One inaccurate word generally leads to another, and in this case it’s usually hooker.”

“Is she a hooker?”

Elizabeth drew in a sharp disbelieving breath. Without another word, she whirled and headed for the door to the showers, her sneakers slapping angrily on the floor. Before she could reach it, he was standing in front of her. He put a hand on her arm, stopping her.

She looked down at his fingers, then back up at him. “Take your hand off me and please leave. Now.”

“I’m only trying to help you,” he said quietly.

He was wearing the same look of compassion he’d had when he’d met her at the mailboxes, and something inside of her melted. But she reminded herself of her thoughts only a few hours before, and refused to give in. “That’s supposed to help me? Calling my sister a hooker?”

“I didn’t call her that,” he said evenly. “I asked you if she was one. It could play in why she’d disappeared.”

Elizabeth stared at him, her jaw clenched, her hands in two fists at her side. “My sister dances for a living. It isn’t a great business to be in and I wish she’d find another career, but I don’t appreciate your question.”

His deep brown eyes held hers. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I didn’t mean to insult you…or her.”

She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. When he spoke, his voice was even softer than before. The low timbre of it caused a shiver to travel up her arms and down her back. “Look, I may not always be tactful, but if you want to find your sister, I can help. I’m an honest cop and you can trust me.”

“I’ve heard those words before.”

“Not from me, you haven’t.”

She didn’t want to acknowledge it, but something—a quick dash of intuition?—flickered inside her. She told herself she just wanted to believe him, so that’s what was happening, but in his gaze was something awfully close to sincerity.

Would it be so terrible to let him help her?

He read her hesitation. “Why don’t you get dressed? I’ll wait for you, then we’ll hit the deli on the corner and talk. You haven’t eaten dinner, have you?”

“No, but—”

“Get your clothes on,” he said gently but insistently. “I want to talk to you some more and I have to go back to work in an hour. I was on my way home to grab something for dinner and swung by here, instead. I can’t face Central on an empty stomach.” When she didn’t answer, he spoke again, his eyes warming as they narrowed and crinkled at the corners. “C’mon—it’s just a sandwich, not a lifetime commitment.”

She looked into his eyes. “All right,” she said finally. “But it’ll take me a few minutes to get dressed.”

“I can wait. I’m a patient man.”

She turned and went into the locker room. Showering and dressing quickly, she found herself in front of the mirror, taking a little more care than usual with her makeup. When she realized what she was doing, she tossed the tube of mascara into her purse and snapped it shut. Two minutes later she was walking out the door with John at her side. Alarms were going off in her head, but she ignored them.

As they made their way to the tiny deli, dusk was starting to fall and the summer heat hadn’t relented a bit. Traffic was steady, too, and the diesel and gasoline fumes only added to the humidity. Elizabeth was happy to enter the frigid air-conditioning of the restaurant. The place was empty of customers, six forlorn booths lining the wall, three tables on the other side. They took the last booth, and the teenager who came for their order looked as if she’d rather be anywhere but standing by the red-checked tablecloth. She disappeared into the back and returned promptly with the coffee they’d wanted, promising their sandwiches would be ready shortly. As soon as she left, John began to speak, picking up exactly where they’d left off.

“I don’t care what your sister does for a living, and I wasn’t trying to imply anything. The only reason I said what I did about her occupation was that it’s not exactly like being a school teacher. The people who run those clubs are a pretty tough bunch.”

“I know.” Elizabeth sighed. “I’ve been trying to get her to quit.”

“But the money’s good.”

“The money’s great for someone who never finished college and has no other skills. She doesn’t really have another choice right now.”

“Even though you’ve offered to help.”

It wasn’t a question. He said the words as if he knew them to be true. “I have,” she answered, anyway. “I’ve offered to do everything…anything. But April can be stubborn. Even when she was a little kid and we were really close, she wanted to be herself, completely apart from me. She went nuts if Mom tried to dress us alike.”

“That’s understandable.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth frowned. “A lot of twins dress the same.”

“And it always invites comparisons, doesn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Who in their right mind would want to be compared to you?” he said softly.

Over the table, his gaze locked with hers before she quickly looked away, the offhand compliment completely disarming her. She picked up her coffee and took a sip, then said, “When we were younger, we looked exactly alike, but now she’s blond and thinner and—”

“She colors her hair?”

“Yes, perms it, too, and it’s also longer than mine. She wears green contacts, as well.”

“To make the differences even greater?”

Elizabeth answered reluctantly. “I never thought of it that way, but yes, maybe so.”

He nodded and took a swallow of coffee.

“How did you find out?” she asked. “I mean, that April danced?”

“You mentioned her address when we spoke.”

She waited for more. When it didn’t come, she asked, “And? Did you talk to her neighbors or something?”

He smiled then, the corners of his full lips going up and pulling her gaze. Distracting her, even.

“I can’t be giving all my detective secrets away, now can I?” He arched one eyebrow, obviously prepared to say nothing more.

“Have you been to the club where she works?”

“Not yet. I was going to do that tomorrow. Is she still at the Esquire?”

Elizabeth nodded. What John didn’t know, he found out quickly enough, it seemed. “She’s been there about three years. Ever since we moved here.” She paused to gather her thoughts, then spoke quickly before she changed her mind, telling him about the conversation with Greg Lansing.

“What kind of trouble do you think he was talking about?”

“I have no idea.” She caught his look. “And before you ask, April is not into drugs. She won’t even take an aspirin when she has a headache.”

“Did she owe people money?”

Elizabeth laughed, a sound without humor. “Only me. She’s very generous with all her friends. If they need anything, they know they can come to her…and if she doesn’t have it, she usually comes to me.”

“Does she have any enemies?”

Elizabeth spoke reluctantly. “There is this woman…one of the other dancers. Her name is Tracy Kensington. She hates April even though April’s tried to be friends with her. Tracy was the top dancer at the club before April got there. Her tips went way down once the men saw April.”

He nodded without changing his expression, his next question throwing her off completely. “Where’d you say you lived before?”

The voice was still friendly and open, but for the first time, Elizabeth heard an edge beneath all the questions, an edge that reminded her of what he was. A Houston cop.

“Dallas,” she answered cautiously. What could he do with that tidbit of information?

“Did she dance there?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Elizabeth’s mouth turned dry, a lump the size of a baseball lodging in the deepest part of her throat. “At a place called the Yellow Rose.”

“How long was she there?”

“Years. We were going to college in Dallas and that’s when…when she started.”

His gaze narrowed, and she grew warm, the neckline of her blouse suddenly choking her. She tugged at the collar. God, she thought, all he had to do was ask her and she’d tell him. Everything. She closed her eyes for a second, the room spinning behind her lids. Taking a deep breath, she forced her eyes open and tried her best to look normal. The waitress saved the day by appearing with their sandwiches.

He noticed, anyway. “You okay?” he asked as soon as the teenager left.

“I…I’m fine,” she lied. “It’s just that I can’t quite believe April’s still gone. I can’t think about anything but her, yet I have piles of work waiting and a rush job to boot.”

“What exactly do you do up there in that big fancy office?”

Grateful he’d switched the subject, she used her cocktail-party version to explain what she did. He asked all the right questions, though, even seemed interested. She soon found herself telling him about the Masterson case in detail.

John shook his head. “Amazing. Here’s a guy who’s got all the advantages in the world—money, power—and he still feels compelled to go out and rob people. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

She pulled a paper napkin from the container on the table and dabbed her mouth. “Not really. There’s always someone waiting to take advantage of people who can’t take care of themselves.”

They talked for another few minutes, then John called for the bill, which, despite her protests, he insisted on paying. Within minutes of stepping back into the humid Houston air, Elizabeth’s blouse was clinging to her back and a damp curl of hair had wound itself around her neck. While they’d been eating, enormous black thunderclouds had moved in and looked ready to burst any moment. The wind picked up and sent an empty pop can rattling along the gutter.

They hurried to Elizabeth’s office building. When they reached the main door, the rain still hadn’t started. John put a hand on Elizabeth’s arm to stop her from going in. She looked at him expectantly. He was tall enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to see him as he spoke.

“Listen, Elizabeth, I won’t do anything else unless you want me to.” She could read the sincerity in his eyes, hear it in his voice. “Where we take this now is entirely up to you.”

Thunder rumbled above their heads, and Elizabeth felt an echoing sensation in her body. She didn’t know what she should do. “I…I don’t want you to go to any trouble. I’m sure you have enough work of your own, and—”

He interrupted her. “I don’t have time for anything but the truth, so just say what you want to, Elizabeth. You don’t trust me. You can’t figure out why I’d want to help you when we’re basically strangers. Am I right?”

His words forced her to face facts. “Yes,” she said, “I don’t trust you. But it’s not personal. It’s just the way I am. The way I…turned out.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” he answered, surprising her once again. “Women need to be careful these days. Hell, we all need to be careful. Like you said before, there’re a lot of sharks out there.” He paused, then, “But I’m a cop. I like to put the pieces of the puzzle together and make sense of it when it doesn’t look as if there’s any sense left. And I like to help people.” He held his hands out again, a gesture he tended to use frequently, she noted. “That’s it, pure and simple. I don’t have any ulterior motive.”

She looked into his warm brown eyes and didn’t believe a word he said. He did have a motive; everyone had one for everything they did, whether they knew it or not. The only question was if his was good or bad.

“I know you’re worried and I know you want your sister back. I understand that better than you think I do, believe me.” He reached out and touched her arm again briefly, as if to confirm his words. The gesture was warm and somehow reassuring. It scared her, but she believed him. “If you do this on your own, though, you may never find out what happened to her—until her body turns up.”

Elizabeth’s heart clutched. “Do you think she’s dead?”

“I don’t know, but unless I start to look, we may never know.”

Still she hesitated, torn with indecision. Should she trust him and allow herself to be indebted to him? Then she wondered why she was even debating the issue—she’d known the outcome when she’d started answering his questions, hadn’t she? This might finally be one of those things she couldn’t handle on her own. Her brain was screaming, though. Don’t trust him. He can hurt you. You like him too much already.

“If I don’t get involved,” he went on, “Missing Persons will do nothing.” His voice held regret. “I’m sorry, but the reality is they’re not going to get excited about this, Elizabeth. Not for someone in April’s position.”

She studied his face and read the truth, as painful as it was, in his eyes. He was right, she thought, her chest tightening as she remembered the woman she’d reported April’s disappearance to. Tuesday morning, Elizabeth had called her back and requested an official investigation, but she knew that route would bring nothing. The woman had taken the information, then quickly transferred her to the stolen car division. When she’d explained her sister had probably taken her car, they were even less interested than the previous department. And what about her own efforts? In the four days since April had been gone, Elizabeth had called the club, talked to April’s neighbors, her landlord and everyone else she could possibly think of, and they’d been no help at all. She’d even put up posters around the apartment building, but not a single call had come in. Did she have any other choice but depending on this man?

She nodded and said slowly, “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt if you just ask a few questions.”

As soon as the words were out, Elizabeth wanted to take them back. What kind of terrible mistake was she making?

He met her eyes. “I’ll do the best I can, Elizabeth. And you won’t regret letting me help, I promise.”

FRIDAY EVENING John pulled up to the curb and parked his car, staring over the steering wheel at the house where he used to live. The red brick glowed dully in the late-evening light, and he could see the azaleas had just been trimmed. The home was in a nice neighborhood, more expensive than he’d liked, but Marsha had insisted, saying her salary would make up the difference they needed. Now she lived there by herself—her and Lisa. And Marsha’s father gave her all the money she wanted—since John was no longer there to protest.

He’d fully intended to be here yesterday, but Marsha had called him that morning and put Lisa on the line. Her mother hadn’t changed a thing, and she’d been jumping with enthusiasm for her scheduled haircut. He hadn’t had the heart to insist she see him, instead. Dinner in the cafeteria and the bunk bed in his apartment didn’t hold the same appeal as a fancy beauty salon did to a little girl. Gritting his teeth, he’d simply given in to Marsha, deciding on his own to stop by this evening. It’d given him the time to catch Elizabeth at her office, but he hadn’t liked the situation. He wasn’t going to let two weeks pass without seeing his daughter.

His eyes went to the upstairs corner bedroom—Lisa’s room. A small lamp shone in front of the window. It was her Goofy lamp. She loved the damn thing. He’d got it for her last year when they’d taken a trip to Disneyland. For one whole week, he’d had her all to himself, and more than once the thought of never coming back had crossed his mind. He was a cop—he knew how to disappear—and the temptation had been awfully strong to take his daughter, find a quiet little town in California, change his name and start a new life. In the end he’d resisted, of course. Not because he didn’t want to hurt Marsha, not even because it was against the law, but because Lisa deserved better. She had the right to a father and a mother, regardless of how selfish and egocentric the mother happened to be.

He got out of the car and started up the sidewalk, his thoughts turning to the woman he’d had dinner with the night before. He’d put Elizabeth Benoit into the same mold as Marsha, and he hadn’t even known her. Just because the two women were beautiful, he’d assumed Elizabeth was as self-centered as his ex. A stupid premise, he realized now. Still, he’d known other beautiful women who definitely thought the sun revolved around themselves, and to guess Elizabeth was the same hadn’t really been that far out of line.

He’d been wrong, though. Very wrong.

Knocking on the door and waiting for it to open, he thought back to the conversation at the deli. Elizabeth Benoit loved her sister, loved her and wanted her back, no matter what. Despite her innate mistrust, she’d realized she’d needed his help. He wondered once more about the pain he sometimes saw in those eyes. Who had hurt her so badly? Why hadn’t she ever married?

The doorknob turned and John smiled. Lisa always answered it when he was expected. But Lisa wasn’t standing there when the door opened. Marsha was.

She looked surprised to see him, and for a moment, he caught a glimpse of the woman he’d once loved. She really was beautiful. “John! What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Lisa. Since yesterday was out, I wanted to visit with her a bit.”

“John…” She shook her head and said his name with resignation. Unbelievably, just beneath the surface, he heard a hint of sympathy, then decided he was imagining it. “I told you the other day that Lisa had a birthday party to go to this evening. That was why I had to have her hair cut. Weren’t you listening?”

He inhaled deeply and let the air out on a sigh. “Obviously I wasn’t.”

“If you’d pay attention when we have a conversation, these things wouldn’t happen.”

He couldn’t argue with the truth, could he? Especially as he’d been thinking of Elizabeth at the time. “Then I have to wait until next week?”

Her expression softened minutely. “We’re going to Galveston in the morning,” she said. “If you want to come down to the beach house, you could see her there.”

Marsha’s father owned a huge beachfront villa, and every weekend in the summer, the whole family met there. “I don’t have the time. It takes two hours to get there when the traffic’s bad. And I’m on call this weekend.”

Her bitter tone returned with the mention of his job. She’d never liked his being a cop; it didn’t hold enough status, not to mention earn enough money. “Then I guess you’ll just have to wait. And don’t blame it on me, either. You have the option.”

Her changed attitude brought back all the wrong memories, and he responded in a voice less than kind. “All right. But you have her here and ready next Thursday. I don’t like going so long without seeing her.”

She gave him a curt nod, and he walked away, not even bothering to say goodbye. The door slammed behind him before he was even off the porch.

Back in the truck he sat for a moment and fumed. Why go home? He’d just sit there and get madder. He wheeled the vehicle around and headed for the Richmond strip. Within ten minutes he pulled into the parking lot of the Esquire Club.

He found a spot but didn’t get out right away, choosing instead to sit for a moment and check out the setup. He wanted to calm down, too. He couldn’t work when he was this angry. He’d miss things, important details. He took three deep breaths, then looked out the window at the nightclub.

Stuccoed and well lit, it had the appearance of a home on River Oaks Boulevard. Looking exactly like a miniature Tara, the front stretched at least seventy-five feet with white columns going from one end to the other. A series of regularly spaced windows, wide and arched, lined the wall. Behind them, he could see men and women moving about, as if at a party. The setup looked pretty good, but then these joints usually did—in the dark.

Stepping out of his vehicle, John wove his way through the parking lot, his initial impression of wealth reinforced by the cars he passed. The vehicles were mainly European: BMWs and Mercedes, even a few Rolls-Royces. No good ol’ boy pickups here—except for his. Reaching the veranda where scattered groups of men stood, John saw several faces he recognized from the news. Many of the men were smoking cigars, expensive clouds of blue hanging over their heads. Their laughter was full and assured. With a glance he could tell who they were, even the ones he didn’t recognize. They were the high-rollers of Houston. Powerful men. Rich men.

John pushed his way through the crowd and into the club where the smells of expensive perfume and call-name liquor hit him hard. People flowed around him in what looked like the entry hall of an elegant home. From somewhere in the rear came the faint strains of music, but certainly not the overwhelming blast that usually assaulted you when you entered a bar. A discreet sign near the door announced a fifty-dollar cover and a two-drink minimum. Before he could decide which role to take—cop or patron—a young woman approached him. Red sheath, high heels, blond hair.

“Welcome to the Esquire Club,” she said. “How may I direct you this evening?”

It was a novel approach, he’d give them that.

“What do you feel like tonight?” she prompted when he didn’t answer right away. “We have the club divided into different areas depending on your mood. Wild music? Something soothing? A little country or rock and roll?” She smiled seductively, then put her fingertips on his arm. “Name your pleasure, sir. We have them all.”

“I’d like to see Mr. Lansing.” He spoke politely and made no move to pull out his badge. He didn’t have to. For some reason, he felt this one would know the drill.

She blinked, then her expression hardened minutely. “Of course,” she answered, her voice still cordial but now lacking the coquettish tone. “Let me see if he’s in.” She reached for the phone sitting on a nearby desk, but John reached out faster.

Smiling, he stilled her movement. “What do you say we just go to the back? Surprise him?”

“Mr. Lansing doesn’t like surprises.”

“That’s too bad,” John said. “Just take me to his office.”

She hesitated a second, because there was nothing else she could do. With a curt nod she started toward the rear of the club. John followed, but his steps were slower. He took his time, looking into the separate areas as they passed by.

Different music flowed from each one, matched by the decor. The first resembled a gentleman’s study. Padded leather chairs were grouped around square wooden tables, and the air was filled with the same expensive smoke he’d noticed earlier. No doubt imported—and illegal—cigars. He didn’t recognize the music, but it was slow and seductive. A woman in a flowing sheer dress was moving dreamily to it on a small stage near the front of the room. Beneath the gauzy fabric, she wore a G-string and nothing more. Some of the men were watching her, but most were talking among themselves, drinks on the tables before them. There were just as many women in the room as men.

The next room thrummed with rock music, and it had the look he’d come to associate with this kind of club. Low lights, a long bar across one wall. The hazy miasma of smoke smelled cheaper here. The walls were painted black and mirrors lined the area behind the bar. Small round tables dotted the floor, just large enough for two drinks and the high heels of the women who would dance on them. It would look garish and shabby in the daylight hours, but at the moment it oozed a kind of erotic appeal, primarily due to the woman in the center of the stage.

She had the body, she had the moves, she had it all. To say she was sexy didn’t do the word justice—or her, for that matter. She wasn’t wearing much beyond a G-string and heels, and her long red hair flowed over one bare shoulder like silk. She moved in perfect time to the music, an old Santana song he recognized immediately, “Black Magic Woman.” As he stared, she caught his gaze and held it.

John was as red-blooded as the next guy, and he felt his body respond automatically. The woman grinned as if sensing his reaction, then she broke the moment, moving sinuously around the pole to the center of the stage. Putting her back to the glowing column made of neon, she bent over to the floor. The red hair followed in a graceful sweep. John stared a few seconds more, then let his interest dissipate. Up there, she was beautiful and sexy, but something told him that, like the room, she might not fare too well in brighter light.

He turned to leave, the waiting blonde watching him with a jaded expression. As he came toward her, she turned and continued to the back of the club. John followed and they passed three other rooms. Rap music, country, then finally, in the last room, a voluptuous belly dancer accompanied by a sitar.

The blonde stopped in front of a paneled door and knocked. Apparently hearing an answer over the music that John didn’t, she turned the brass handle, then stepped aside to allow John to enter. She pulled the door closed behind him, and the music was silenced. He found himself in front of a massive oak desk, a man built to match sitting in a leather chair behind it. In one meaty hand, he held a cigarette. His eyes were narrow and hard in the smoke that wafted upwards. His long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

John spoke first. “Greg Lansing?”

The man eyed him. “Who wants to know?”

It sounded like a line from a bad movie. John pulled out his badge now, flipped it open, then closed it and stuck it back in his pocket. “Detective John Mallory. H.P.D. Homicide.”

The cold blue eyes flickered once. “What’s the problem, Officer?”

“No problem. Just a few questions about one of your dancers—April Benoit.”

“She dead?”

“What makes you ask that?”

The big man shrugged. “You said homicide. And she’s been missing.”

Without being offered, John took one of the chairs in front of the desk and sat, his jacket opening just enough for Lansing to glimpse his holster. He pulled the lapels closer. “She’s not dead that I know of, but I’m looking into her disappearance.”

“I don’t know anything about it.” The answer was surly and impatient. With a quick stabbing motion, Greg Lansing leaned over and extinguished the cigarette in a chipped crystal ashtray. “Look, I’ve got work to do and even if I didn’t, I’m in the dark about April—”

“Let’s just save each other some trouble here, Mr. Lansing.” John spoke smoothly, no hint of aggression in his voice. “Elizabeth Benoit already told me what you said, and I’m here to find out what kind of trouble April’s in. Just give me the details and I’ll leave.”

“I told the woman all I know.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“I don’t know.”

John shook his head. “Wrong answer.”

Like two alley cats, they glared at each other over the desk—a stalemate, but not really. Lansing didn’t appear to be a fool; he couldn’t be, not if he was running a club as apparently successful as this one. Bars in Houston with good clientele brought in thousands every night. Hell, maybe tens of thousands. Lansing wouldn’t jeopardize his setup by pissing off a cop.

“Tell me,” John prompted.

The door to the office opened unexpectedly. Both men stared. The red-haired dancer John had watched stood on the threshold. His impression had been right, he thought cynically. She was beautiful, but he could see her looks had just started to fade. In a few more years, the gleam in her eyes would be harder and the glow of her skin somewhat dimmer. She’d have to move down the strip to less expensive clubs where the women were older and the drinks cheaper.

For the moment, though, she still looked good. Very good, as a matter of fact. John let his eyes take her all in. Red hair framing a face with high cheekbones and a generous mouth. Short terry-cloth robe allowing a full view of long shapely legs.

Lansing introduced her.

“Detective Mallory, Tracy Kensington. Tracy, this is Detective Mallory. H.P.D.”

Her expression turned stony, giving John another glimpse of her future. Two lines formed on either side of her mouth. “I knew you were a cop. You got the look.”

“Tracy…” Lansing’s voice rose in warning.

She held up both hands, the robe gaping slightly to reveal a patch of perfect skin.

“He’s here about April.”

“Have they found her?” She sounded expectant.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about her disappearance, do you?” John said by way of an answer. “I heard you and Miss Benoit weren’t exactly close.”

“Who told you that?” she asked. Not waiting for him to answer, she spit back, “That sister of hers is—”

“Leave,” Lansing interrupted. “You can close the door on your way out.”

“But I need to talk—”

“Later.”

She sent John one last look, then left, slamming the door.

John turned back to Lansing and raised a single eyebrow.

The manager shrugged his wide shoulders at the unspoken but obvious question. “Professional jealousy, I guess you’d say.”

“How intense?”

Lansing shook his head. “Not that intense. Tracy wouldn’t hurt her. She wouldn’t want to risk breaking a nail.”

“Are you sure?”

Lansing’s eyes grew even colder. “Women are vicious creatures, Detective. I wouldn’t guarantee anything when it comes to them.” He stood up behind the desk. “I hate to be rude, but I’ve got a club to run, so if there’s nothing else…”

John made no move to get up. “Then tell me about April’s trouble and I’ll be on my way.”

“April Benoit’s biggest trouble is April Benoit. She gives everyone here a hard time, from the bar girls to Tracy. She’s got an attitude, that’s the best I can say. A chip on her shoulder.”

“But it didn’t bother you?”

Greg Lansing’s eyes were guarded when they met John’s. “What do you mean?”

“You bailed her out of jail a few months ago. Drunk and disorderly.” John had run her name the day after he’d spoken with Elizabeth. It was how he’d obtained April’s address and place of employment—along with an arrest record Elizabeth obviously didn’t know about.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t anything. The girls were having a party. One of ’em roped some poor sucker into marrying her, so they were celebrating. They got loud and out of hand. No big deal. April didn’t want her sister to know, so I helped her.”

“Tell me more.”

“There’s nothing more to tell.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“She knocked Tracy off her pedestal. What does that say?”

“Did she know how to use it?”

Lansing spoke reluctantly. “She can shine on the clients, if that’s what you’re asking. Every man in the audience thinks she’s dancing just for him—more than one always trying to make the promise real.”

“Anyone in particular? Was she going out with any of the customers?”

“That’s not something we encourage, but the girls don’t always listen. She coulda been.” He came from behind the desk, his fingers beating an impatient rap against the wood. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I really need to get out there. On the floor. We’ve got a convention of computer salesmen coming in at ten.”

John rose slowly. They were almost eye to eye. “You never defined that trouble for me, Mr. Lansing. The trouble you told Elizabeth about.”

Lansing stiffened. “Is this an official investigation?”

“It’s as official as it needs to be.”

“I don’t see a warrant.”

“That’s ’cause I don’t have one.” John smiled amicably. “But you know what? I don’t need one to make your life miserable, do I? I can call the liquor board, the restaurant inspectors, the SOB people.” He waved his hand to the hallway outside. “You know how crazy those sexually oriented businesspeople are. They’d love to see the inside of this place, I’m sure.”





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