by Jamie Denton
Because I got it off a headstone.
Her words had him sitting back and staring at the computer screen again. If she’d gotten the name off a headstone as she’d claimed, then what she’d said about her father made no sense. Even if she’d changed her name to escape a shady past, then how was it possible her “new” persona still shared the same last name as her father?
A slow grin spread across his mouth. Two and two had just equaled five.
If Maggie LaRue was the name of a dead woman, then James LaRue, couldn’t be her father. So, if she wasn’t Maggie LaRue, exactly who was the woman who’d stolen his heart?
Ben set a plate with a corned beef sandwich on rye and a heaping serving of potato salad on the desk next to the keyboard. “If the mountain doesn’t come to what’s-his-name.”
Cale scratched the back of his head and looked up at his brother. “Excuse me?”
Ben inclined his head toward the plate of food. “Your order,” he said, handing him an icy-cold can of soda. “Fitz was about to claim it.”
“Thanks.” Cale popped open the top of the can and took a long drink.
Using his foot for balance, Ben sat on the edge of the desk and leaned forward, bracing his forearm on his thigh. “What’s got you so distracted?”
“Nothing is making sense,” Cale said, openly frustrated. “I haven’t been able to find a single shred of evidence on any of the stuff Maggie’s told me about herself.”
Ben frowned. “You don’t trust her?”
“No, that’s not it.” The facts were such a tangled mess, he wasn’t sure where to begin.
“Then what is it?” Ben pushed.
Cale set the soda on the desk and glanced around the day room before giving Ben his full attention. “I don’t think anything she’s told me about herself is true,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“She’s been lying to you?”
Cale shook his head. “No. She’s not lying,” he clarified. “I think she really believes what she’s been telling me, but I’m starting to doubt the memories are real.”
More laughter erupted from the kitchen, but Cale ignored it and quietly told Ben what he’d learned, or rather what he hadn’t been able to confirm. He finished by explaining how even the agency Maggie claimed to work for—S.E.C.S.—as far as he could tell, was also nonexistent.
Ben stared down at the worn carpet and remained thoughtful.
“Any brilliant ideas?” Cale asked, hopeful. “I’m not sure what else to do other than wait for her memory to return.”
Ben lifted his head and looked at him, his eyes filled with his usual concern. “Waiting is all you can do since pushing her to remember is out of the question.”
Cale let out a long frustrated breath. Obviously, he and Ben thought a lot alike.
“You know,” Ben said as he slid off the edge of the desk and stood, “it’s not your job to save her.”
Well, on some subjects anyway.
Cale didn’t agree, not when she had no one else to turn to. She needed him. “I have to do something.”
Instead of fighting with Cale or spewing a lengthy lecture he wouldn’t listen to anyway, Ben surprised him by shrugging his shoulders and walking away.
Alone again, Cale bent over the keyboard and started typing a new string of connected phrases into the appropriate box of the search engine.
His hands stilled over the keyboard.
He swallowed hard, then typed again, paying close attention to the repetitive clicking sound as he typed.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.
He abandoned the search engine and called up the notepad, then began typing random sentences. His speed left a little to be desired compared to the way Maggie’s fingers flew over the keyboard each evening when she wrote down her dreams and visions, hoping for clarity. But the rhythmic clicking she’d described the night he’d suggested they try word association to help stir her memory was of her fingers on the keys of a computer.
I could swear I’ve read this one already.
He straightened and shook his head, not sure whether to trust his instincts. No way, he thought. The idea settling in his mind was simply too far out there to be real. Obviously his imagination was becoming as creative as Maggie’s.
Still, he couldn’t shake the thought from his mind, or the hope from his heart. He reached for his cell phone and punched in the speed dial code for his aunt’s bookstore.
Within seconds, Maggie’s voice was on the other end. Damn. In his excitement at his possible discovery, he’d forgotten she was working today. “Hey there,” he said, aiming for a neutral tone. He wasn’t about to say anything to her until he confirmed his suspicions.
Her sweet laughter washed over him. “Hey there, yourself,” she said. “I was just thinking about you.”
The husky undertone of her voice set off a series of sparks guaranteed to coax his libido into a blazing inferno. “I think I’m afraid to ask why.”
She made a low purring sound that heated his blood.
“Are we about to have phone sex?” he teased. “Because I should warn you, I’m not alone.”
She laughed again, making him smile. “The thought is tempting, but no. I was going to call and tell you not to pick me up tonight. Debbie’s giving me the afternoon off, and Tilly and I are going shopping. She wants a new dress for a hot date tomorrow night.”
Apparently his friend had agreed to go out with Scorch. For Scorch’s sake, he hoped the guy didn’t hurt Tilly.
“And what do you want?” He knew her wants as well as his own, which did nothing to cool his rising temperature.
“Hmm,” she murmured in a low sexy voice. “If I told you now, we could both get into trouble.”
He chuckled softly. Lord, the woman excited him beyond belief. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, imagining all sorts of wicked scenarios they could explore together. “Actually, I called to talk to Debbie. Is she there?”
“She’s in the back. Just a minute.”
For every second that ticked by while he waited for his aunt to pick up the line, his anticipation climbed a notch. What if he was right? What was he supposed to do then?
“Cale!” Debbie came on the line, saving him from searching for the answers to his own questions. “What a lovely surprise.”
“I need you to look something up for me,” he quickly told his aunt. “Can you spare a minute?”
“Sure,” she said. He didn’t miss the curiosity in her voice. “Just tell me what you need.”
“Do you have any Adam Lawrence novels on hand?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m unpacking his newest release as we speak. Why?”
“I need to know who owns the copyright.”
“Hold on a minute.”
He closed his eyes and waited.
Debbie came back on the line. “ADH, Inc.”
He opened his eyes and shoved his hand through his hair. “Damn. Do you know where to get information on corporation filings? I’ve got a hunch about something and I want to check it out.”
Debbie hesitated for a moment. “The Secretary of State’s office,” she said eventually. “Cale? Does this have something to do with Maggie?”
“It might,” he confessed. “Don’t say anything to her, though. I’d rather wait until I have proof.”
Once Debbie agreed, Cale disconnected the call, anxious to begin his next search. He started with the California office of the Secretary of State, astounded by the information available via the Internet. Working his way across the map, he narrowed his search by selecting only those states with major metropolitan areas. If he turned up nothing, then he’d search his way back through every state in the union if necessary.
On his third option, he hit pay dirt. Listed as a corporation within the state of New York was ADH, Inc. His heart began a slow, heavy beat in his chest. All he had to do was click on the link for agent of service of process and he just might discover the information necessary to set Maggie free
from a confused past that he’d bet didn’t even exist in the first place.
He scrolled over to the link and clicked the button on the mouse. The Web page listing the agent for service of process appeared on the monitor. He let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as he read the name on the screen.
ADH, Inc., otherwise known as best-selling spy thriller novelist, Adam Lawrence, was the pen name for Amanda Darnell Hayes of Manhattan.
“SO, ARE YOU sleeping with Cale?”
Maggie nearly tripped as she returned the pale yellow cotton jumper to the sale rack. With her hand wrapped firmly around the metal bar to steady herself, she slowly turned to face Tilly. “I’m not sure how to answer that question.”
Tilly laughed knowingly. “I think you just did.”
Heat crept up Maggie’s neck and burned her cheeks.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Tilly chided gently. “I grew up with Cale, remember? Besides, you make him happy.”
Then why couldn’t he tell her that himself? All week long, they’d spent every possible moment together, and not once had he told her what she knew was in his heart. He constantly showed her in a variety of ways, from the mint chocolate chip ice cream he’d brought home from work last night to helping her wash her hair because the cast kept her from doing a good job of it herself. He’d even taken her shopping for more clothes so she could have something other than blue jeans to wear to work. But he hadn’t said he loved her, and she was beginning to believe him incapable of saying the words her heart longed to hear.
“Where is Tom taking you?” Maggie asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Behind her, Tilly searched another rack of sale items. They’d been to three stores already and nothing had caught her eye. “Dinner and the theater,” she said. “What do you think?”
Relieved Tilly had taken the hint, Maggie turned and examined the simple but elegant dress with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves that Tilly held up in front of her. The flirty hem reached about three inches above Tilly’s knee.
“I think red is definitely your color.” With Tilly’s dark sable hair and rich chocolate eyes, the color was absolutely stunning. “I always have to go with black,” Maggie said with a touch of envy.
Tilly walked around the circular rack to the mirror-covered column. “Not too sexy?” She slipped the hanger over her head and held the dress against her body. “I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”
“Here’s a black one that’s nice. But I thought this was a hot date.”
Tilly examined the dress Maggie held, then wrinkled her nose. “I think I like the red one.”
“Then red it is,” Maggie agreed and returned the black dress to the rack.
Tilly’s hand clutched her shoulder suddenly, making her jump. “Maggie? Do you realize what you just said a minute ago.”
“Then red it is,” Maggie repeated with a shrug.
Tilly leaned closer. “No,” she said in a hushed tone. “You said that you always have to go with black.”
“It’s not a great mystery,” Maggie said with a laugh. “How many redheads do you see actually wearing red?”
“Okay,” Tilly agreed sheepishly. “But I deserve credit for paying attention.”
Once Tilly had tried on the dress and realized it was perfect, she paid for it then insisted on making a quick stop at the lingerie shop before they left the mall, claiming she needed red lingerie to wear under her new dress.
“The only impression you’re going to make is a lasting one,” Maggie said as they entered the shop. Lingerie had been the one thing she hadn’t looked for on her trip to the mall with Cale. Regardless of how silly it was, she just hadn’t been comfortable shopping for lacy, feminine undergarments with a man around, especially one who was temporarily footing the bill.
Lace demi bras, thongs and boy-short panties in nearly every color imaginable covered neat round tables spread throughout the store. Headless, armless, legless mannequins were perched atop tables sporting water, push-up and full-figure bras.
Maggie might not care much for the plain white cotton undergarments she’d been wearing, but the pearl thong she spied was a bit much. Still, thanks to her first paycheck from the bookstore, she had a few extra dollars and couldn’t wait to indulge herself with something sleek and sexy…and one-hundred percent guaranteed to drive Cale to his knees.
Maggie nudged Tilly. “Over there.”
Tilly dropped the electric-blue satin thong back on the display table. “Heart-attack city, here he comes.” She wiggled her eyebrows, then laughed as she led the way through the tables and racks to a corner display splashed in vibrant shades of red.
Maggie fingered a silk camisole artfully displayed, wondering if it came in black, or perhaps a soft shade of cream. As she smoothed her hand over a red chemise with a lace inset designed to reveal cleavage and a whole lot more, she spied a red satin garter belt. “What do you say?” she asked Tilly, indicating her find. “Is it you?”
Tilly giggled despite the hesitation in her eyes. “Not really. But since you’re predicting a lasting impression…”
Tilly disappeared into the dressing room after making a few selections from the display, the garter belt included, leaving Maggie to meander through the shop alone. Conscious of her budget, she approached a mirrored wall in the back of the store in search of sale items. Instead she found a rainbow of silk scarves arranged with bottles of edible body lotions in a variety of exotic flavors. She couldn’t help wondering if Cale would prefer coconut cream or white chocolate raspberry.
A bright pink heart-shaped box beside the lotions displayed neatly placed lace, satin and silk handkerchiefs. She trailed her fingers over the mixed textures of fabric, then slipped a red hankie from the box and brought it to her cheek. She breathed in deeply, but there was no soft, lingering aroma of her mother’s vanilla-scented perfume.
Her legs trembled and she fought for breath.
Blindly, she reached for the display counter to steady herself.
Her ears buzzed.
Her vision blurred.
Her heart raced.
Her mind flooded with memories.
She’d been twelve when she’d lost her mother to a long battle with breast cancer. The day of the funeral, her heartbroken father had instructed the housekeeper to pack up his wife’s things. She remembered the awful ache in her chest when she’d gone into her mother’s dressing room afterward only to find there was nothing left. All the memories had been packed up and donated to charity in a matter of hours. Everything except the single, monogrammed red silk handkerchief she’d found caught in the drawer of her mother’s bureau. A beautiful, delicate script V in the corner above the lace edging. A V for Virginia Adams Hayes.
“Maggie?”
Tilly’s voice barely penetrated the memories lashing out at her. The lonely years spent at the English boarding school her stepmother had insisted she attend. The arguments with her father when she’d walked away from an Ivy League education to attend a small liberal arts college in upstate New York. The secretarial job she’d hated but suffered through while she sold her first few novels. The ache caused by her father’s initial disappointment when he’d discovered she hadn’t been toiling away on the Great American Novel or the next landmark work of literary fiction destined for a Nobel, but on spy thrillers with mass-market appeal.
She felt someone take her arm and lead her to the pink velvet settee near the changing rooms.
Tilly pushed her down, then crouched in front of her. “Maggie? What’s wrong?”
She blinked several times before she looked at Tilly. “Mandy,” she said. Her throat felt as dry as dust.
Tilly frowned. “Excuse me?”
She cleared her throat. “Actually, it’s Amanda. The only person that ever calls me Mandy is Ella, my father’s housekeeper.”
“Oh, my God. You remember,” Tilly said in whispered awe.
“Everything,” she admitted. “My apartment
in New York. The reason I was in that warehouse two weeks ago. All of it.”
Tilly gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes still filled with concern.
“I will be. I think I’m in shock right now.” She laughed, but the sound was more brittle than humorous.
“No doubt.”
“Would you mind taking me home?”
Tilly eyed her suspiciously. “We should probably get you over to the hospital. I know you were kidding about the shock, but it’s not an unrealistic response, considering.”
“No.” At her abrupt response, the sales clerk glanced curiously in their direction. Amanda would’ve stood, but her legs were still trembling. “I need to see Cale.” She lowered her voice. “He has to know.”
Tilly didn’t look convinced. She pulled a bottle of water from the tote slung over her shoulder and handed it her. “Drink this, then we’ll leave.”
Amanda took the bottle and drank deeply. “Go pay for your stuff. I’ll wait here.”
By the time Tilly returned, the trembling had stopped. Even the ringing in her ears had diminished to a dull thrum.
“I have to know,” Tilly said, hovering cautiously as they left the lingerie shop. “Who is Maggie LaRue?”
Amanda cringed with embarrassment. The grin she gave Tilly was weak at best. “She’s the main character of my next book.”
14
ADRENALINE pumped through Cale’s veins as he and Brady walked through the door of the small house located in one of Santa Monica’s oldest residential districts. They were met by the distinct odors of mothballs and lemon furniture wax and, God help them…death.
“She’s in there.” A woman in her mid-forties with red-rimmed eyes and a crumpled tissue in her hands pointed toward the hallway. “My father’s with her.”
Cale knew the way and took off down the hallway toward the master bedroom. The call had come in ten minutes after his shift was supposed to have ended. Since he’d recognized the address as one of their most frequent flyers, Sheila Eames, an eighty-seven-year-old lung cancer patient, he and Brady had taken the call rather than sending in the next team of paramedics on duty.
