by Regan Black
He understood what she meant. The flames were mesmerizing. “When I redid the interior of this house, it was one of my must-haves.”
“This might be the biggest fireplace I’ve ever seen,” she said.
He smiled. “Yeah, it’s possible that I got carried away. I have one in my condo in Vegas but probably half the size. It does the trick, though.”
“Vegas is warm most of the year. Do you still use your fireplace?”
Oddly enough, he’d used it a lot lately, in sort of the same way as they were doing right now. When his issues with Mora Rambeilla were heating up, he hadn’t slept well and many nights he’d gotten up and started a fire. “I had this client,” he said. “That gave me some sleepless nights. I used it a lot then.”
“Tell me about him,” she said.
He got the impression that while the fire was doing its job and crowding out concerns about a drone or some other kind of invisible visitor, there was always a corner of the mind that refused to let it all go. She wanted a story that would be the final push. He didn’t normally talk about work, took seriously the confidential nature of what Wingman Security did. But he suddenly found himself wanting to share. He wouldn’t use last names. “She, not he. My client was a woman. Her name was Mora. And she seemed pretty normal when she initially contacted Wingman Security, requesting protection. She was…something. Early fifties, almost six feet tall and fifty pounds overweight, and, as my mother might have said, a little rough around the edges. My father would have defined her as a bull in a china shop.”
“Mora,” she repeated. “Lovely name.”
“Ten years ago, Mora inherited a plastic fabrication business from her father, who had started it as a one-room shop in the 1950s. She acted as the COO/CEO and according to her, things went pretty well. So well that about five years ago, she was able to hire a group of engineers from a rival company. A couple years go by and suddenly, there are legal issues piling up on her desk—patent infringement, trade secrets violations, confidential disclosures. Every few months, something new. It went on for years. She forwarded them to her lawyer until the death threats recently started arriving.”
“Death threats.”
Despite the heat of the fire, he saw her shiver.
“That’s when she called Wingman Security. We insisted she call the police. Security is in our wheelhouse, but investigating death threats is clearly a matter for law enforcement.”
“And she did that?”
“Well, that should have been my first clue. She seemed a little reluctant to involve the police. I vacillated between thinking that she wasn’t really as concerned as she professed to be about the threats, or that she had some idea of who might be making them and, for some unknown reason, didn’t want to expose the culprits.”
“What did you do?”
“I confronted her.” Pretty damn diplomatically if he had to say so himself. “She said she was concerned but didn’t want the public disclosure that a police report would require.”
“I said we wouldn’t take the assignment if she didn’t report the threats to the police. She agreed and followed through on it. She continued to maintain that she had no idea who was behind the threats but when they were identified, she hoped that they liked prison. I believed her.”
“The legal challenges must have come from the rival company. Were they also responsible for the death threats?”
“The police didn’t think so.”
“Was Mora single or did she have a family?”
“An ex-husband and three kids—twin sons and a daughter—all in their thirties. I wasn’t sure who was the most unhinged of the four, but they were all missing a few screws. A conclusion drawn from multiple interactions more bizarre than the last.”
“Fascinating,” she said. “Give me an example.”
“My role was to ramp up the security at both her business and her residence. I even personally escorted her to some public events. That’s when I encountered her ex. We were at an art auction. It was a charity thing, raising money for the homeless in Vegas. Mora starts to bid on an item. It looks as if she’s going to be the winning bidder when all of a sudden, somebody new enters the bidding. From where I’m at, I can’t see the person but I can tell from Mora’s body language that she’s immediately irritated. Then she tells me it’s her ex-husband. They’d been divorced for about five years.”
“Around the time she starts getting really successful.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Anyway, the back-and-forth bidding goes on for a while and the price is getting pretty high for what I think is a damn ugly picture of some cows huddled around a maple tree.”
She smiled. “Oh, no. Really? Cows?”
He nodded. “When it gets over ten thousand dollars, I actually try to stop Mora. But she’s practically breathing fire by this point.”
“Did she get the painting?”
“He dropped out at $12,900. By now, I’d worked my way around the room and I had a close look at him. He was happy. It was so obvious to me that the ex had simply been running up the bid. He didn’t really want the picture. But he wanted Mora to have to work for it, to have to really open her checkbook. But when I mentioned that later to Mora, she said that I was wrong. I didn’t argue the point because by then, I had figured out that it didn’t matter what his motivation was. All that mattered to Mora was that she’d beaten him.”
“Amazing. Given that at one time, she must have loved him.”
“She was quirky like that. And I have to admit, more than once I considered backing away from the assignment. But I’d developed a fondness for Mora, even though others might have viewed her as difficult to like. Her tongue was sharp and her reactions exaggerated, but I suspected it covered up an insecure, almost shy woman. Her heart was good—she was glad that the homeless would benefit from her purchase. And if she bested her ex in the process, so much the better.”
“But you never thought the ex was behind the threats?”
“I reported the interaction to the police because I wanted to make sure they had the guy on their radar. But they didn’t find anything that led them to believe that he was involved.”
“What about her adult children? Their spouses?”
“None of them were married. The twins both still lived at home with Mora.”
“In their thirties?”
“Yeah. I know. Anyway, both worked in the family business, although I think work might not be the best word. Let’s just say that both spent time in the office. The younger one, Duggar, was in marketing, and Gilly was in product development.”
“Duggar and Gilly. I guess it’s lucky they aren’t serial killers.”
“They were unpredictable. Duggar pulled the fire alarm once at the company.”
“Was there a fire?”
Rico shook his head. “No. And initially he denied that he did it. But Wingman Security had put some hidden cameras in the hallway because it led to Mora’s office and we had him on tape. I showed Mora and we confronted Duggar. Then his story changed, said he’d done it because he wanted to make sure that the employees took alarms seriously and would evacuate quickly.”
“Weird,” she said.
“Very. A manipulative personality. Gilly rarely talked. I tried several times to engage him but it was as if he didn’t understand the social norm of casual conversation. Once he told me about his weekend—he’d been camping in the woods or something like that, but that was about it. He might have worked in product development but I got the idea that he wasn’t even clear about what the company’s products were. The odd thing—I mean, it was all odd—but the unexpected thing was that Duggar seemed to listen to Gilly. It was as if he rarely said anything, so when he did, it must be important and right.”
“What about the daughter?”
“Tributary. Well, at least she lived on her own. But I got the impres
sion that Mora was still supporting her. She was writing a reality television show.”
“About being named Tributary and having Duggar and Gilly for brothers?”
“I have no idea,” he said.
“Did the police finally figure it out?” she asked.
He shook his head. “One day, Mora called me and suddenly ended the assignment. Without explanation. I, of course, pressed for details and all she would say was that it was ‘better this way.’ A check for services rendered arrived by the end of that week, along with a generous ten percent bonus.”
“But you didn’t want to let it go?”
“I went back to the police. All they would say was that they had not identified the source of the threats and there was no reason for Mora to think that the threats had been mitigated.”
“Did you try to contact her again?”
“We’re not in the habit of begging clients to keep us on. She’d made her decision. Maybe my male pride was hurt that she’d so unceremoniously dumped Wingman Security.”
She was quiet for a minute. “I think you could have easily gotten past that—getting dumped. But you’re still worried about her. You don’t want something to happen to her.”
She’d so quickly gotten to the root of the issue. He shrugged. “I don’t. But I’m not sure what I can do about it.” He was quiet for a minute. Then turned to her. “Well, I spilled my guts. Your turn.”
* * *
Was he serious?
Earlier, when he suggested that a drone might be flying overhead, she’d about jumped out of her own skin. Was it somebody looking for her?
Only the knowledge that she was literally snowed in kept her from throwing her stuff in the car, grabbing Hannah and running. Forever. Never stopping.
But flight wasn’t an option. She’d looked out the window when Rico was outside. As far as she could see, it was a blanket of white. She was going nowhere.
So instead, she’d focused on taking deep breaths while he’d been building the fire and by the time it was going, she felt a little calmer. Was actually processing information.
A, there was no way for anyone to know she was at the cabin. Melissa would not have told anyone. She was confident of that.
And B, if she was snowed in, then everybody else was snowed out.
And C, she couldn’t afford to appear freaked out because Rico was too smart—he would read something into her exaggerated reaction and start asking questions that she definitely didn’t want to answer.
She was pretty sure she couldn’t go back to sleep, so sitting in the dark, staring at the fire, seemed like a good solution. She hadn’t counted on company. But his story had been very interesting.
She knew that if something ultimately happened to this Mora, Rico was going to feel terrible. His suggestion, however, that it was her turn, was ridiculous. “Thank you for the tea,” she said, deciding that she was simply going to ignore his suggestion.
“A cup of tea helps everything,” he agreed.
“That sounds like something my grandmother would have said.”
“If I only had a cat and an afghan blanket.”
She could put him in bunny slippers and face cream and he’d still manage to look like a macho guy. He’d been so confident when he’d put on his coat to go outside. He hadn’t looked as if anything scared him.
She envied that. She was practically frightened of her own shadow right now.
“Do you think it’s done snowing?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not if the forecasters are right. This is just a break.”
“Can you imagine it a hundred years ago when they got a snow like this? They would have been so isolated. I’m surprised they didn’t all lose their minds.”
“Some probably did,” he said.
“You’re probably used to it. Since you grew up here,” she added. “Were your parents born and raised here?”
“My mother’s family is from this area. My father is Cuban. He came to the States when he was in his early twenties.”
“I wondered…” She stopped. “I’m sorry, that sounds so rude, almost racist. It’s just that you have such pretty skin and your eyes are so dark.”
“Pretty skin?” he repeated. “If making tea didn’t completely emasculate me, that certainly does.”
It took her a second to realize that he was teasing. “You must use that new cucumber mask?” she asked, her tone as serious as she could make it.
He rolled his very, very dark eyes. “Only on Sundays. How about you? Born and raised in Tennessee?”
She’d told so many lies, she didn’t want to add to the pile. “Indiana,” she said.
“A Hoosier?” he said.
“We take our basketball seriously,” she said.
“I haven’t spent much time in the Midwest,” he said, “but I seem to recall that Indiana can get some snow.”
“Not in October,” she said. “But yes, as a kid, I had my share of snow days.”
“And do you remember what you used to do on those infamous snow days?”
Of course she did. That was when everything was easy between her and Joe. “My brother and I built snow forts. Big ones. Impressive ones. He was two years older.”
“Was?” he repeated.
She nodded. “He…he died not too long ago.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She picked up her tea, took a sip. Swallowed hard to get the hot liquid past the lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered. “We were really close as kids. He always let me tag along, didn’t seem to get embarrassed about having his little sister around like so many boys. But then later…we became estranged,” she said. “And I regret that.” She stared at the fire. “Do you have siblings?”
“I do. A sister. She’s two years older. Kind of bossy.”
That made her smile. “That’s right. Earlier you told Hannah that you had a niece and a nephew. They must be your sister’s children?”
“Yes. Great kids. I may be a little partial, though.”
“As you should be,” she said.
“And your parents?” he asked.
“Dead,” she whispered. And she could not help it; her eyes filled with tears.
She heard him get up, then he was moving his dog out of the way to sit close to her. When his arm came around her and pulled her close, she didn’t resist.
There had been no one to hold her when her parents were dying. She and Joe should have held each other but they’d been on opposite sides of the argument. He’d been the oldest child, it should be his decision, he’d argued. But ultimately, the paperwork had trumped him. Her parents had named her as their power of attorney for health care. Because they thought that she’d understand the medical jargon better. Certainly hadn’t done it to slight Joe.
But he seemed to think so. And he told her that she was wrong. Terribly wrong.
There’d been angry words and ugly glares and definitely no hugs. Not even when it was over. Not at the funerals. Not at the attorney’s office afterward, as they attempted to settle the estate.
“Tell me something about them,” he said.
“They loved to go to the symphony,” she said. “Date night, they’d say. Which I thought was pretty cool since they’d been married for almost thirty-five years. My father was in charge of making the dinner reservations and Mom got to pick where they stopped afterward for dessert.”
“So they loved music. Did they play instruments?”
“My mother didn’t read music but we had a piano and she taught herself how to play—she had a really good ear for it. My dad strummed a guitar and could carry a tune. He always played in the garage.”
“A garage band of one,” Rico said.
“Exactly.”
She should pull away and sit up straight. Maybe even go to bed.
But when he shifted, tucking her in even closer, she didn’t protest. Saw that he had his eyes closed. Decided to follow along. Just for a minute.
CHAPTER 8
He woke up, half sitting and half lying on the couch, his arms full of Laura. She was still asleep, breathing quietly.
The fire had died and he could see slivers of daylight through the spaces in the blinds. Lucky was curled up on a blanket on the other couch and now the dog turned his head to look at Rico. He was acting like it was absolutely normal for Rico to wake up with a pretty blonde draped around him.
Which wasn’t really true. Rico worked hard and played hard, but most of the time, the play was strictly with good friends. He wasn’t like his partner Trey Riker, who’d made dating an art form. But then Trey had met his match in lovely Kellie McGarry, and he now had eyes only for her. They’d gotten married in the summer and it had been a hell of a party. The reception had been at Lavender, the place where Kellie and Trey had met.
Actually, been reintroduced. They’d first met when Kellie was twelve and Trey was eighteen. But then, they brushed past each other, unaware that fate would push them together again.
He looked at Laura. She was a pretty woman and wondered what she’d looked like at twelve. Had she hated the light smattering of freckles on her nose? Had she wished for blue or brown eyes, versus the uncommon color of green that she had?
Probably. But she’d certainly grown into her looks. With her face relaxed in sleep, no sign of the tension that seemed to permanently be there, he could see…yes, he could see a resemblance to Hannah. Through the eyes. They were the same shape. And the chin was the same.
She’d said that she was caring for Hannah while the child’s parents were traveling in Asia. She hadn’t claimed to be related. If she was, why hide that?
He heard the second bedroom door open and knew that peace was about to get interrupted. Sure enough, Hannah, wearing her lion pajamas, ran out to the living room. What was it with kids? Adults needed two cups of coffee before they could barely work up the energy to shower, and kids met the day head-on.
