by Kara Lennox
When McPhee returned to the limo a few minutes later, Sonya was sitting upright, posture erect, hands folded demurely in her lap, her face a mask of haughty detachment. She’d learned that face from Muffy. It was the one she wore in the fact of any disaster. “Never let anyone see you crying,” Muffy had told a ten-year-old Sonya after her father’s funeral, when she’d inquired why her mother had remained dry-eyed and stern-faced during the service. “If you must cry at all, tears are for when you’re alone.”
Then she realized McPhee was holding out a grande toffee-nut latte from Starbucks—one of her many weaknesses. “I had them make it with whole milk instead of skim, and extra whipped cream,” he said. “You don’t look like you need to lose any more weight.”
The small kindness almost undid her. She wasn’t used to McPhee being kind or sympathetic, not in recent history. Courteous, yes. Always mindful of her needs, always quick to do her bidding. As she took the coffee drink, she glanced over at him. No sign of a smirk. He looked genuinely worried.
“I told Tim to just drive around for a while,” he said. “I want to hear the whole story. I need to know what happened if I’m going to help you keep this thing contained. Now, let’s start from the beginning. How much did he take from you?”
Resigned, she told him what he wanted to know. “Not as much as he took from some of his other victims. I didn’t have a lot of easily accessible cash, just what was in my checking account—about thirty-five thousand dollars. He couldn’t get at my trust fund, which I’m sure was what he was hoping for. But he did take all my jewelry, which was worth a considerable sum.” She’d collected quite a few baubles over the years. Her mother was fond of giving her jewelry for just about any occasion—the larger and more unusual, the better.
Sonya took another sip of the rich, sweet coffee drink. The warmth was welcome, since she was shivering.
“He took three fur coats,” she continued. “A sable, a mink and a fox.” Not that she ever wore them. They were gifts, too, and very impractical, given that it seldom got cold enough for fur in Houston. Besides, fur coats were very un-PC.
“So Marvin was engaged to Brenna and Cindy and you at the same time?”
“Yes. Cindy had a lot of cash from her first husband’s life insurance. Her parents had left her money and property, too, as well as a restaurant, so I’m sure she was quite attractive to Marvin. Brenna is the heiress to a chi-chi department store in Dallas.”
“How did you locate them?”
“I found Brenna’s phone number in the call history of Marvin’s cell phone.”
McPhee arched one eyebrow. “And why were you looking there?”
“I’d started to suspect he had a girlfriend,” she admitted. “All those long absences when he was supposedly traveling on business. Whispered phone calls at odd times. So I snooped. But I didn’t try to contact her until after Marvin left with all my stuff. When I was supposed to be at the spa, I went to see Brenna instead. She had a lead on a third victim, who turned out to be Cindy. She lives in Cottonwood—that’s why we went there. By the time we found her, she’d already lost everything.
“Holy cow. Were there more victims?”
“He was working on a bank teller in Louisiana. Her father owned the bank. He was planning some sort of scam to get access to the bank’s computer system. But we caught up with him before he could actually steal anything from her. Flushed him out. We recovered some of Cindy’s money, but Marvin got away.” She laughed. “He had to run naked down Main Street to get away from us.”
She chanced another look at McPhee and realized she’d surprised him. He was staring at her, slack-jawed. “Let me get this straight,” he said when he’d recovered from the shock. “You went with Brenna and Cindy—those two pretty blondes I met a couple of weeks ago when you went to Dallas—on a manhunt? That’s what you were doing all that time you were out of town? That’s why you were in New Orleans?”
“Yes. Then there was New York.”
“You went to New York?” McPhee asked in a voice that sounded fearful of her answer.
“No, silly. But Brenna did. She and Agent Packer had him cornered at that jewelry show.”
“The one you were helping her get ready for?”
Sonya nodded. “Marvin escaped by jumping down an elevator shaft.” The story had been reported on CNN, and even the Houston Chronicle had run a piece on it. Thankfully, Marvin’s real name hadn’t been mentioned in either story.
“It’s all starting to fit together now,” McPhee said thoughtfully. “But it’s weird. I never thought of you as one of Charlie’s Angels.”
“As I’ve pointed out before,” she said with exaggerated patience, “you don’t know everything about me. What’s more, I intend to continue the hunt for Marvin. He’s getting bolder and greedier. Pretty soon he’s bound to do something really stupid and get himself caught. Or get somebody hurt.”
“It’s too dangerous. You can’t—”
“I can, and I will. Mother’s illness derailed my participation, but once we get her squared away, I’m back in it. Law enforcement isn’t making much of an effort. Marvin didn’t murder anyone or rob a bank, so he’s a low priority.”
“What about Packer?”
“He was the only FBI agent to take the case seriously, but then he got fired, and when he recovered the stolen Picasso they tried to give him his job back, but he refused, and now he’s a private investigator.”
McPhee squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, as if he had a headache. “Stolen Picasso?”
Sonya was pleased to have surprised McPhee. As she recalled how strong she and the other women—“The Blondes,” as the people of Cottonwood had dubbed them—had been together, she felt a surge of power wash through her. The feelings of helplessness and inadequacy that she’d almost succumbed to a few minutes earlier receded. She wasn’t just a spoiled debutante, no matter what McPhee thought. She was smart and capable, and she could accomplish great things when she put her mind to it.
“We think Marvin might have gone to—”
McPhee held up a hand to halt her explanations. “Please, I can’t take any more of this. You’ve thrown my whole universe off balance.”
“Good,” she said with a smile. “You need that, sometimes.”
JOHN-MICHAEL LEANED BACK against the limo’s buttery leather seat, stunned to the core. He’d known Sonya was harboring a secret. He’d tried to put it together a couple of weeks ago, when she’d taken a quick weekend trip to Dallas to help Brenna prepare for a jewelry show. He’d discovered then that she had another new friend, Cindy, from Cottonwood, Texas, and the three of them had behaved the way closely bonded, longtime friends act. He knew there was a story there, but he’d been at a loss. He hadn’t gotten many facts out of Heath Packer, either. The FBI agent had been friendly to John-Michael, and his personal interest in Brenna had been apparent, but he’d volunteered little information as to the nature of the friendship among the three women. By the time John-Michael and Sonya had returned to Houston, he’d been no wiser.
His theory had been that Sonya had a lover. That would have been shocking enough. But to find out she’d been living a clandestine life hunting down a criminal blew him away. He could hardly wrap his mind around it.
Sonya, pensive now after her long, convoluted explanation, took another sip of her latte, leaving a slight whipped-cream mustache. She licked it off.
Not now, John-Michael thought disgustedly. Now was not the time for his sporadic lust for Sonya Patterson to rear its ugly head. He’d been dealing with it for years, and usually all it took was a sharp reminder of exactly who Sonya was—a spoiled, useless little rich girl with nothing more important on her mind than her next manicure appointment—to cool his desire. Physically she might be a pure turn-on, but he’d long ago learned to look beyond a woman’s body to the substance of her. Pretty girls were a dime a dozen, and he had no trouble attracting them. But finding one who was pretty and intelligent and inte
resting—that’s what it took to capture John-Michael’s libido for more than thirty seconds.
Sonya had become suddenly interesting, damn it. Perhaps she had a lot more behind that cool demeanor than she let on. She did have a degree in chemical engineering from Rice University, and graduating from that school was no cakewalk. But frankly, he’d assumed Sonya’s family wealth had bought the degree. Her mother had donated buckets of money to her father’s alma mater. And he’d never seen Sonya study much while she was in college.
This was a helluva time for him to start thinking of her as more than arm candy. He had a future planned, a life apart from the Pattersons. He’d actually been looking forward to moving on. Now, suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.
He forced himself to think about freezing cold waterfalls and cornmeal mush until his jeans were no longer quite so tight. Then he returned to the matter at hand.
“When are you going to tell Muffy?”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “I’m not. Are you kidding? The news would kill her! Dr. Cason said we had to keep her smiling and laughing.”
“You’ll have to tell her at some point. I mean, let’s face it, the groom isn’t going to show up for this wedding.”
Sonya started to chew on one of her nails, then quickly stopped herself. She used to bite her nails as a child, he remembered. It was only when she’d discovered acrylic-sculptured nails that she’d been able to stop.
“I’ll tell her when she’s stronger,” Sonya said. “But not now, not yet. She’s not even out of the hospital. And you can’t tell her, either,” she said, suddenly fierce. “You can’t tell anyone. No one is to know that this wedding isn’t going to take place.”
“Don’t you think people are going to get a little suspicious when they never see the groom-to-be? Isn’t his absence going to be noted?”
“I’ve already told people he travels on business a lot. And he supposedly lives in Boston. Anyway, most men are weddingphobic. They won’t come near the preparations. No one will think it’s odd in the least, believe me.”
“But…you can’t just let your mother keep throwing money at a wedding that won’t ever happen,” John-Michael objected. “Doesn’t it strike you as a bit cruel to lie to her, to keep up the pretense? The farther along you get with this thing, the harder it’s going to be when you have to call it off.”
Damned right it would be hard. And he wasn’t helping. But Muffy could stand to throw away a few bucks a lot more easily than her heart could stand an emotional shock. And somehow Sonya would figure out a way to pay her back. “As soon as her doctor says she’s well enough to handle gruesomely unpleasant news, I’ll tell her. But not before. McPhee, promise me. Not a word.”
“All right, I promise.” What choice did he have? He wasn’t going to be responsible for causing Muffy a second heart attack. But his instincts warned him that the longer they maintained the lie, the messier it was going to get, for all parties concerned.
Chapter Three
It was December, almost a month after Muffy’s heart attack, that she finally came home. Then the real fun began.
Sonya, still feeling guilty for having been away from home and out of touch when Muffy was stricken ill, appointed herself sole guardian of Muffy’s health. That meant learning all of the doctor’s instructions and seeing that they were followed to the letter.
It also meant limiting her mother’s social calendar. Dr. Cason had emphasized that social visits, while pleasant, were tiring. Some activity was desirable, but getting enough rest, so the heart could heal, was essential.
Tootsie proved to be Sonya’s first big challenge. She showed up less than an hour after Muffy’s homecoming.
“She has to rest,” Sonya said, standing squarely in the front doorway, refusing to even allow Tootsie in the house. Tootsie had come to the hospital almost every day, staying hour after hour, gossiping endlessly until the nurses threw her out. Once she got inside the house, there would be no getting rid of her. “And you may not give her those chocolates. Tootsie, what’s the matter with you? She’s had a heart attack! She’s on a restricted diet.”
Tootsie rolled her eyes. “There will be plenty of time for all that dreary cardiac rehab stuff when Muffy’s feeling better,” said Tootsie, herself thin and straight as a fencepost. She’d likely never had to worry about extra pounds and the resulting health concerns. “I went through this with my husband. Now don’t be a brat.” She smiled insincerely. “I won’t stay long.”
Tootsie’s husband had died after his third heart attack. It was tacky to hold Tootsie responsible, but she certainly couldn’t be held up as an expert in cardiac aftercare.
Sonya threw her arm across the doorway. “I’m sorry, Tootsie, but I’m going to have to insist…” Her words trailed off as she realized Tootsie wasn’t listening. She was looking over Sonya’s shoulder and smiling like a cunning cat with a canary on its mind.
Sonya knew who was behind her without looking. Tootsie had always enjoyed ogling John-Michael, not that Sonya could blame her for that.
“Why, John-Michael,” Tootsie purred, “aren’t you looking…fine today. Would you tell your little charge here to let me inside? Muffy will think her best friend has abandoned her if I don’t visit her every single day.”
Sonya gritted her teeth at being referred to as McPhee’s “little charge.”
McPhee put his hand around Sonya’s arm and gently moved it, allowing Tootsie inside. “Mrs. Patterson is with her physical therapist right now, and she asked that she not be disturbed. If you’d care to wait, she’ll be done in a couple of hours.”
Tootsie consulted her diamond Piaget watch. “Oh, I can’t wait. I have an appointment to get the Caddy serviced. I’ll come back later. Would you see that Muffy gets these?” She handed the box of chocolates to McPhee.
“Of course.”
Tootsie turned and headed right back out the door, then paused on the porch to look over her shoulder at Sonya. “Pretty big for your britches, now that you’re getting married to a millionaire, huh?”
Sonya took a step back. She was used to Tootsie’s veiled putdowns, but not overt antagonism.
“Just remember, I knew Muffy for twenty years before you were born. I know what she needs most, and she doesn’t need to be treated like some invalid.”
Astonished, Sonya watched Tootsie climb into her Cadillac. That woman had some nerve. And speaking of nerve…As the Caddy roared off, Sonya turned to see John Michael opening the box of chocolates Tootsie had shoved at him.
“You aren’t giving those to Mother.”
“Of course not. Want one?”
“No, I don’t want one! I can’t believe you just overruled me like that! You moved my arm like it was nothing and let her in.”
“I got rid of her, didn’t I?”
Come to think of it, he had.
“I was using psychology on her,” he explained. “You have to make Tootsie believe she’s the one making the decisions. She hates waiting around, so I knew she wouldn’t when I gave her the option.”
“The physical therapist isn’t really here, is she?”
“She’s scheduled for two o’clock. Are you sure you don’t want a chocolate?”
“You know I do. Why do you even tempt me?” Sonya had a wicked sweet tooth, but she usually didn’t let herself have candy. She had a tendency not to stop once she started.
He popped a chocolate-covered caramel into his mouth. Speaking of temptations, she wished he wouldn’t parade around the house in gym shorts and a snug T-shirt that showed off every muscle. Didn’t he know it was December? No wonder Tootsie had practically drooled.
He held the box out to her. “You don’t exactly need to worry about gaining weight.”
Sonya had dropped some weight. And chocolate was an antioxidant and an antidepressant, she rationalized. Sonya remembered reading that happy news in the books on diet and nutrition Dr. Cason had given her. She reconsidered the chocolate. “Maybe I’ll have just one piece—for th
e therapeutic value, of course.”
“Of course.” He extended the box toward her.
After making a careful inspection of the available candies, she selected one that looked like it had almonds in it. “Almonds are just bursting with Omega-3 fatty acids,” she said, and settled it gently on her tongue. The candy was exquisite. Of course, Tootsie never bought anything that wasn’t first-rate and superexpensive. Sonya chose another, a miniature cherry truffle. Cherries were fruits. That had to be healthy. “Oh, my, these are good.”
McPhee set the box down on a small gilt table in the foyer, which was flanked by two delicate Louis XV chairs. He sat in one, and Sonya automatically sat in the other. No way was she going to let him hog all that chocolate.
“We really should share these,” she said.
“The box has three layers. Plenty for all.”
“Oh, okay.” Sonya picked out a toffee. “I wish I knew how you manipulated Tootsie so easily. If I had told her she couldn’t visit Mother during physical therapy, she’d have just argued me into the ground until she got her way.”
“She’s old-fashioned. She defers to males, even if they’re only servants.”
“I don’t think of you as a ‘servant,’” she said, feeling charitable. Chocolate had that effect on her. “You’re part of the family.” She realized how stupid that sounded almost before the words had left her lips.
McPhee laughed, soft and deep in his throat. The sound vibrated along Sonya’s nerve endings. “Funny, I don’t feel at all like a brother.”
Sonya stuffed another chocolate into her mouth. She didn’t even make a careful selection this time, just grabbed the one closest. He was right, of course. She never would have treated a brother as coldly as she’d treated McPhee over the past ten years. But she never would have had romantic feelings for a brother, either.
Once she’d let the lid off that particular Pandora’s Box, there’d been no going back. It would have been one thing if he’d returned her feelings. But when he’d indicated with crystal clarity that he was not open to romance, her only other choice had been coldness. To get over him, she’d had to convince herself she hated him.
