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Webster took another puff on his cigar, then ground out the hot tip in the ashtray. He sat forward. The genial expression disappeared from his face, replaced by something hard and ruthless. “You have an impressive record, Sullivan. Both as a police detective and as a private agent. It’s the reason I agreed to meet with you when you called—despite your attitude last week. I want my wife back, and I think you’re the man who can find her for me.”
“For one million dollars.”
“That’s right,” Webster replied.
“That’s a lot of money,” Michael pointed out. “No offense, Webster, but I find it hard to imagine any woman being worth that kind of money.”
“But then you don’t know my wife,” Webster informed him in that smooth, cultured voice that went hand in hand with the man’s thousand-dollar suit, gold cuff links and perfect white teeth. He reached for the photo of an attractive blonde that sat on the credenza and handed it to Michael. “Stunning, isn’t she?”
Michael had noticed the picture when he’d first come into the room. There was no question about what the man had seen in her, Michael concluded. Despite the demure smile and wistful look in her green eyes, everything about Elisabeth Webster screamed ‘hot sex’—from the long blond hair that tumbled past her shoulders, to the figure-hugging black dress that showcased her curves. Michael allowed his gaze to follow the slashing neckline of the dress to an emerald the size of a baby’s fist nestled between her breasts. At his body’s sharp response to the pale, creamy skin, Michael swallowed hard.
He dragged his gaze away from the photograph, warning himself not to forget how another knockout blonde with an innocent smile had impeded his judgment, wrecking four lives in the process. He shoved the framed picture toward Webster. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is,” Webster told him, his eyes going hot as he stared at the photo once more. “And believe me, she’s worth every penny I’m offering and more.”
“And your son?” Michael countered, still irritated by his own reaction to the woman and unable to resist prodding the other man from his lustful musings. Besides, except during their initial phone conversation, Webster hadn’t mentioned his son again. “I assume you want him found, too.”
“Of course,” Webster replied, a trace of annoyance in his voice. “I want you to find both Elisabeth and Timothy.”
Michael was puzzled by the lack of emotion in Webster’s eyes and voice when he spoke of his son. “Tell me what happened on the day she left.”
Webster told him about his wife’s depression after having the baby, her mood swings, the tiff they’d had the day before she’d left, and how she’d laced his morning coffee with a sleeping pill and then had run away. According to Webster, the woman had had an emotional breakdown—one which had caused his sweet, gentle wife to flee her husband and home.
Michael reasoned that chances were, Elisabeth Webster was simply a bored young woman who had grown tired of her rich older husband and had run off. But something about the whole scenario, along with Webster’s story, nagged at him like a pesky mosquito bite. While he might have turned in his badge five years ago, his instincts remained strong. And those instincts were sounding alarm bells now.
Telling himself that it was Webster’s questionable dealings that had set off his sensors, Michael tried to shake off his misgivings. “What about family or friends? Could they be hiding out with them?”
“Elisabeth has no family. Just me. As for friends, my wife has always been somewhat of a loner.”
“You said the other detective had managed to locate her.”
“Yes, about two months ago in a small town in Arkansas.”
“And since then?” Michael asked.
“Nothing. It’s almost as though she’s disappeared from the face of the earth. I’m worried about her. About both of them. It’s the reason I’ve set the reward so high. My wife has led a very sheltered life. She’s not used to dealing with things on her own.”
“You said she took a lot of cash and jewelry with her when she left. How much?” Michael asked.
“Nearly fifty thousand in cash. The jewelry was worth probably ten times that amount.”
Michael whistled through his teeth. If she managed it wisely, that kind of money could keep the missing Mrs. Webster and her son in Happy Meals and modest digs for a long time. “Has any of the jewelry surfaced?”
“No. The truth is, I doubt Elisabeth would even know how to go about selling it. As I said, she’s led a sheltered life and, because of that, she’s far more innocent in the ways of the world than most women her age.”
Michael checked himself from pointing out that while Mrs. Webster may look like a fragile flower, the woman obviously had enough grit to rob her husband’s safe and leave him. But then he knew firsthand how deceptive a beautiful woman with a sob story could be. She’d also had enough savvy to elude his detectives for six months. Either that, or she and her son hadn’t been found for another reason. He lifted his gaze to Webster’s. “You know, there’s always the possibility that no one has seen them for another reason.”
“I’m not naive, Sullivan. I know what you’re suggesting and you’re wrong. Elisabeth is alive. I know it.”
“If she is I’ll find her. And your son,” Michael added firmly.
Webster tipped back his head and laughed. “I’ll say one thing for you, Sullivan. You certainly don’t lack chutzpah.”
“As you said, there’s no need for false modesty.” And there wasn’t, Michael reasoned. Since leaving the police department, he’d earned more than five times his salary as a cop by working as a bounty hunter, a detective, a bodyguard or whatever the occasion called for. Maybe the jobs weren’t all that satisfying or noble, but the money had been good enough to pay his living expenses and provide him with extra cash to help out Janie and the two boys. And a million bucks would enable him to see to it that Janie and the boys’ futures were secure.
“I’m going to need copies of everything you have on them—including the other detective’s reports.”
Webster removed a manila file folder from a drawer in his desk and handed it to Michael. “I think you’ll find everything you need in there. Photographs, fingerprints, background information on Elisabeth and copies of the other reports.”
After quickly skimming the contents, he closed the folder and stood. “I’ll need a retainer.”
“Of course,” Webster told him, and reached inside his top desk drawer. He drew out a black leather checkbook. “I’ll pay you fifty thousand dollars now and the balance when you find Elisabeth and Timothy.”
“You’ll pay me two hundred fifty thousand dollars now and the balance, plus my expenses, when I find your wife and son.”
The smile died on Webster’s lips. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m just going to hand over that kind of money as a retainer.”
“That’s the deal, Webster. Take it or leave it.” Though Michael hadn’t seen the bodyguard move, he sensed the big man come up behind him. Lightning quick, he whirled around, kicked the gun from the bruiser’s hand and sent the other man to his knees howling.
“Why, you son of a—”
“That’s enough, Otto. Leave us alone,” Webster ordered.
“You can count on payback for this, Sullivan,” Otto muttered as he left the room.
When the door closed, Michael asked, “So what’s it going to be, Webster? Do you want me to find your wife and son or not?”
“Why should I believe you won’t just skip town with my money?”
“My word,” Michael said softly. “You said you checked me out. If you did, then you know I never go back on my word.”
Again, all the gentlemanly charm and refinement disappeared. Rage distorted Webster’s urbane expression. There was a coldness, a ruthlessness in Webster’s dark eyes that made Michael feel almost sorry for Elisabeth Webster. He’d seen enough evil in his thirty-three years to recognize it when he saw it. He was looking at evil now. And, in the space of a heartbeat, Michael considered walking away from the job.
Webster scribbled out a check and slid it across the desk. “Here’s your money,” he said, keeping his fingers atop the check until Michael met his gaze. “But there’s a condition that comes with it. If you haven’t found my wife in thirty days, I pay you nothing. You return the retainer and eat your expenses.”
“The last detective had six months,” Michael pointed out.
“But as you pointed out, you’re better. It’s thirty days or nothing.”
“All right,” Michael said.
Webster released the check and sat back in his chair. “Don’t disappoint me, Sullivan. Find my wife and son for me.”
“Don’t worry, I intend to,” Michael assured him, and tucked the check into his coat pocket. “You just get ready to write another check.”
Three
“Lily, your order’s up.”
“Thanks, May,” Lily told the short-order cook who’d slapped down the BLT with extra mayo and fries for table six. Grabbing the order, Lily juggled it, along with the two salads and a sandwich plate, and began weaving her way through the crowded diner.
She dropped off the salads and made her way to table five, where she served a roast beef po’boy, then turned to table six and delivered the BLT order. “Would you like another root beer?” she asked the guy who’d been in every day that week for lunch. He’d told her two days earlier that his name was Joe and that he was working with the construction crew down the block. Lily figured him to be in his mid-twenties. With his blond hair, sun-bronzed skin and a body that sported muscles from hard, physical labor, he’d caught the eye of her co-workers.
“That would be great,” he told her in that odd drawl that sounded like a combination of Old South and Brooklyn, New York. But the smile—the smile was pure southern charm—something she’d discovered these New Orleans boys had in abundance. Since arriving in the city two months ago she had witnessed it again and again.
“Be right back,” she promised, then stopped to take another order before making her way back to the counter. After turning in her new orders, she headed for the fountain where she joined Amber and Gina, the other waitresses at the diner, to load up her drinks.
“I see Brad Pitt’s twin is back,” Amber commented as she lined up her tray with glasses and began filling them with Coke, tea and ice water. “And why am I not surprised that he sat at one of your tables again?”
“I guess mine was the only one open,” Lily suggested.
Amber rolled her eyes. “Lily girl, wake up. Anyone with eyes in their head could see the guy’s got a thing for you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lily said, taken aback by Amber’s comment. “He’s just a boy.”
“Right. And I suppose you’re old enough to be his mother.”
Gina chuckled. “She’s right, you know. That fellow’s got to be at least twenty-five. And if you’re older than that, it’s not by much.”
She wasn’t. She’d turned twenty-five on her last birthday. Yet, she felt a lifetime older. “I guess I just feel older because I’m a widow and I have a child.”
“Aw shoot, honey, I forgot,” Gina said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Lily told her, uncomfortable that her fib had generated sympathy from the other woman.
“Listen, I know how hard it is to lose a man you love. I’ve buried three husbands myself. But, trust me. It gets easier with time. You’ll see.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Lily murmured, eager to end the conversation.
Gina gave her shoulder a pat. “In the meantime, don’t go ruling out Construction Joe over there. At least the guy’s got a job, which is more than I can say for my last husband. Besides, you’re still young. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
But she didn’t feel young, Lily thought as she finished loading her drink orders. Probably because her life had been filled with so many changes in the ten years since her grandmother had died, and she’d gone to live with her mother. Those first two years in Florida had been frightening, living with the stranger who’d given birth to her, trying to fit in at a new school, in a new city. The one bright spot had been Adam. She’d been an awkward, shy girl, but he had treated her like a real person. He’d been sweet and kind to her, listened to the things she had to say. He’d made her feel special. And when her mother had accidentally overdosed on her insulin and died so suddenly, Adam had rescued her. He’d sent her to a Catholic boarding school, and when she’d graduated, he’d made her his wife. A shiver raced down her spine as she thought back on all the little things that had pointed to a sick, dangerous man. How could she have been so blind for so long? And what would have happened to Timmy if she hadn’t gotten him away from Adam when she had?
“Hey, Lily.” Amber nudged her. “Your order’s up.”
Shoving away thoughts of the past, Lily went back to work. She dropped off two more orders, four glasses of tea and brought Joe his root beer. “There you go. How about dessert? We’ve got apple pie, bread pudding and, since it’s Mardi Gras time, king cake.”
“I’ll pass on the dessert but, speaking of Mardi Gras, I was wondering if you might like to catch a parade with me this weekend.”
Oh darn, Lily thought. Amber and Gina had been right. “I’m afraid I can’t. But thanks for asking.”
“Already have plans, huh?”
“Yes,” Lily said, thinking of Timmy.
“Maybe another time when you’re not busy?”
Lily hesitated, not wanting to lead him on, but not wanting to bruise his ego, either. “Actually, another time wouldn’t work, either. I have other commitments that demand most of my time. I’m sorry.”
Joe’s hazel eyes lost some of their spark. He shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, huh? I suppose it was dumb of me to think you wouldn’t already have a guy in your life.”
Regretting that she’d failed to read his interest properly, Lily tried to explain, “I do have a guy in my life. But not the kind you mean. He’s my son. And he takes up just about all of my spare time.”
“You’ve got a kid?” Joe asked, clearly surprised.
“Yes. He just turned three and he’s a bundle of energy.”
“What about his dad?”
Lily immediately wished she hadn’t opened the discussion. “I’m a widow,” she said and, because she couldn’t bring herself to look at him directly after the lie, she began clearing the remains of his lunch from the table. She’d never been very good at lying—something to do with her Catholic-school upbringing most likely—yet for the past six months she’d told more lies than she’d ever dreamed of telling in a lifetime.
“Geez, I’m sorry, Lily. I didn’t realize, I mean you’re so young.”
“It’s all right. You had no way of knowing.”
“Well, maybe you could get a sitter—”
“The truth is, I don’t date,” she told him as she picked up her tray. “But you might want to ask Amber. I think she’d really enjoy going to the parade with you, and the two of you would have a great time.”
Not waiting for a response she turned away, more eager than ever for three o’clock to come so she could end this day and head to Gertie’s to pick up Timmy.
After she’d finished scrubbing down the counters and refilling the napkin holders, Lily stripped off her apron. She retrieved her purse and jacket from the office out back and started toward the table where Amber, Gina, May and Nancy Lee, the owner of the River Bend Diner, were gathered around Ricardo. One of the diner’s regular patrons, Ricardo was known only by the singular name, and was reported to be a maven of fashion. Because he was always impeccably dressed and well groomed, Lily likened him to a young Ricardo Montalban. With his neatly styled black hair, laughing dark eyes and olive skin, he was a favorite among the ladies at the diner who didn’t seem to mind that Ricardo preferred men to women. Probably because Ricardo neither apologized nor flaunted his sexuality, she mused. It was part of who he was. Just as his talent for making a woman beautiful was part of who he was.
“Excuse me,” she said, interrupting the chatter. “Nancy Lee, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to head out.”
“But you haven’t heard what Ricardo’s got planned,” Amber exclaimed. And, with the enthusiasm of a twenty-year-old who lived for the next party, Amber began to explain. “You know that Ricardo here has this really rad store with all kinds of clothes and makeup and stuff, right?”
Lily nodded. She’d heard about the specialty shop that carried exorbitantly priced costumes, wigs and ladies’ apparel.
“Well, he says we can pick out any outfit we want for Mardi Gras Day from his store and he’ll let us have it at half-price. And get this, he’s going to help us do our hair and makeup. Isn’t that major cool?”
“That’s very kind of you,” Lily offered, even though she had no intention of taking the man up on his offer. The month of parades leading up to the big celebration was more than enough for her. She certainly had no intention of dressing up for the city’s big party day. Aside from Mardi Gras sounding a bit wild for her, she couldn’t imagine spending her hard-earned money on a costume that she’d wear once and never use again.
“Lily’s right. That’s real nice of Ricardo,” Nancy Lee said as she shifted the ever-present gum in her mouth. A well-preserved woman in her late-fifties, Nancy Lee eyed her employees. “Just make sure you girls don’t bankrupt me by plying Ricardo here with free food and drinks to show your appreciation.”
“You wound me, Señora Nancy,” Ricardo said in a voice that still held the thick accent of his native Spain. With a hand pressed dramatically to his heart, he continued, “This offer is merely to show my gratitude to you and these ladies for making this foreigner welcome.”
Nancy Lee let out a bawdy laugh. “Ricardo, you faker you. You’re no more a foreigner than I am. Why, you’ve been living here for twenty years that I know of.”
“Ah, but were it not for you and your lovely ladies, I would have returned to Madrid long ago. It is your friendship that keeps me here.”
“Along with all those rich ladies uptown who spend a fortune on the clothes and makeup you sell in that shop of yours,” Nancy Lee added.
“What can I say? I have been blessed with an eye for beauty, and it is a gift that I share with my friends. That I wish to share with you. You need only to tell Ricardo who you wish to be, and I will make it happen.”
Lily listened in amusement as Ricardo went about describing how he would transform each of them in outfits ranging from Britney Spears to dance-hall queens to European royalty. It was like being a little girl and playing dress up—only on a much grander scale than the dress-up games she’d played as a youngster.
“And what about you Señorita Lily? Whom do you wish to be?”
Lily blinked, caught off guard by the question and at becoming the center of attention. “I…I don’t know,” she said.
“You do not have a secret fantasy to be someone else for a day? Perhaps a movie star or a famous figure from the past?”
“No,” she said honestly, because since escaping from Adam six months ago, her total focus had been on erasing any trace of Elisabeth Webster.
“Then perhaps you would like to be Scheherazede, the sultan’s wife, or Princess Jasmine in the tale of Arabian Nights. Or maybe Shakespeare’s Juliet.”
Lily laughed. “No. I don’t think so.”
Ricardo made a frame of his hands and positioned it around her face, as though he saw her as a canvas and was trying to determine what shades of paint he wanted to use. “With your cheekbones, the green eyes and mouth, I could turn you into Faith Hill or perhaps a young Marilyn Monroe.”
“I don’t know about the Marilyn Monroe gig,” Amber chimed in. “But you might be right about the Faith Hill thing. Lily’s got that pale skin and delicate-looking thing going that Faith has.”
Ricardo tipped up her chin and examined her face from several angles. “The hairdresser who’s responsible for this mess should be shot. You should let it grow. But since Mardi Gras is only a few weeks away, we will lighten the color and work with some hairpieces.”
Lily took a step back, smoothed a hand over her hair. She wasn’t about to admit that she was the one responsible for chopping off the long blond hair and dying it the dark honey shade. It had been one of the many steps she’d taken in the past six months to disguise her appearance in order to distance herself from the woman she had been. “Thanks, I’ll think about it,” Lily said, but she had no intention of doing so.
“Very well. You come to Ricardo when you decide.”
“Well, I’ve already decided. I want the Britney Spears look,” Amber declared. “In fact, how about I follow you back to the shop now?”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Gina added. “You want to come with us, Lily? Maybe you’ll see something you like.”
“Thanks, but I can’t,” she said. “I need to pick up my son.”
Assuming a karate stance, Michael faced the two serious-looking Crenshaw boys. “All right, guys, prepare to go down,” he told them and swiped at the air dramatically, making the appropriate hi-ya sounds before he lunged at the two giggling towheads.
Seven-year-old Petey kicked out his leg. His six-year-old brother, Micky, did the same. When Petey kicked out again and his foot came within a few inches of him, Michael pretended to go down. He lay on the carpet unmoving, with his eyes closed, and waited until the two boys came to stand over him.
“Uncle Mike?” Petey nudged him with his toe.
Michael opened his eyes and grabbed them both around the middle. “Gotcha,” he cried out and fell back, pulling the two boys on top of him.
“Say uncle or die,” Petey demanded as they climbed on top of him.
“Uncle,” Michael said, much to their delight.
“All right, boys. It’s time for bed. Let your Uncle Mike up.”
“Aw, Mom,” the boys whined in unison.
“Don’t ‘aw, Mom’ me. Tomorrow’s a school day,” Janie Crenshaw told her sons. Dressed in green cords and a sweater, she stood with her hands on her hips and attempted to appear stern. Michael grinned to himself. With her petite frame and honey-colored hair pulled into a ponytail, Janie looked like a kid herself.
“But Uncle Mike needs us to show him the rest of the new moves we learned in karate so he’ll know how to defend himself against the bad guys. Don’t ’cha, Uncle Mike?” Petey asked hopefully, with the laughing hazel eyes that reminded Michael so much of the boy’s late father.
“Yeah, I do. But I think you guys have given me enough new stuff to work on for now. You can show me the rest the next time I come over.”
“Tomorrow?” Micky asked.
“Gee, partner, I wish I could. But I’m afraid I’ve got this really big case I’m working on and I’m going out of town tomorrow.”
“For how long?” Petey asked.
Michael rubbed at the back of his neck. He loved the kids, and didn’t want to disappoint them. “It could be a couple of weeks, maybe even a month.” The truth was, he didn’t know how long it would take him to pick up Elisabeth Webster’s trail. With a six-month head start, the woman could be just about anywhere by now. But wherever she was, he intended to find her within the thirty days specified so he could collect the rest of that fee from her husband.
“I bet it’s a robbery case like the ones you and my dad used to work on,” Petey offered. “And you’re going to catch the bad guys and lock them up in jail. Then you’ll be a hero just like my dad was.”
Michael felt that hitch in his chest again as he listened to Petey describe what he believed to be the way his father had died. As Pete Crenshaw’s partner and the man indirectly responsible for his death, Michael had felt an obligation to shield the boys from the ugly truth. Unfortunately, he had been too late to shield Janie. She’d already found out about Pete and Giselle.
As long as he lived, Michael would never be able to forgive himself for destroying the Crenshaws’ lives the way he had by introducing a viper like Giselle into their midst. And while Janie had argued with him, threatening to tell the department that it had been Pete who had been guilty of the pillow talk that had led to the botched drug bust and Pete’s death, she had gone along with him in the end. She had allowed him to protect her boys with an edited version of what had happened that night five years ago when their father had been killed. While the boys had been too young to understand at the time, Michael had known that as they grew older they would want to know how their father had died. He owed it to Pete to let his sons believe their father had died a hero. So he stuck to the story he’d given to the Houston Police Department, to Pete’s sons and to his own family. Doing so had cost him a great deal in terms of career, family and friendship. But the way he’d looked at it, he’d paid a much smaller price than Pete had. He was still alive and watching Pete’s boys grow up. Whereas Pete was dead and would never know his sons.