by Joanna Wayne
Of course, she looked like Queen of the Zombies with her botched hair and bruised face. So obviously, this was not about sex for Durk.
“I have the perfect solution,” Durk said.
“So do I,” Meghan countered. “It’s called a hotel. I’m a successful private investigator. I must have money somewhere. I’ll just have to track down information on what bank I use and what credit cards I have. And I should at least check out the damage to my condo. And see when Ben’s funeral will be held.”
“I wish you would hear and see yourself, Meghan. You’re already exhibiting symptoms of nervousness and guaranteeing stress.” Dr. Levy turned to Durk. “What is your perfect solution?”
“Meghan can stay at the Bent Pine Ranch. She can have a private suite with a computer for her research and plenty of time and space to relax. I’ll hire a nurse to oversee her recovery.”
A nurse following her around every second. She’d go nuts.
But the idea of a private suite didn’t sound half bad—except… “Who else lives on the ranch? You said your whole family lives there. Are you sure you’d have room?”
“It’s a very big house.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. She’d read and seen pictures of the house and ranch online last night. It was a working ranch with a huge sprawling home that had sheltered generations of Lamberts.
Several thousand head of cattle grazed the acres and acres of fenced pasture land. Their stables housed quarter horses, Appaloosas and Tennessee walkers. And the ranch had endless hiking and riding trails along Beaver Creek and Indian Ridge.
“I know Carolina Lambert quite well,” Dr. Levy said. “If you agree to spend a week at the Bent Pine Ranch, I’ll feel comfortable releasing you from the hospital.”
And in spite of what she claimed, Meghan did still need Durk’s help, at least until she could drive again.
“Okay, Durk. I haven’t the faintest idea why you’re choosing to get involved in this, but if you get approval from your family, I’ll stay at the ranch for a week—as long as we can stop by my condo and pick up some of my things on the way out of town.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just stop at Neiman Marcus?”
“I’m certain. Crossing the police barrier to enter my own condo doesn’t bother me in the least.”
“Then we have a deal.”
Dr. Levy gave her dismissal instructions, including how to tend the head wound and when to come back and have the staples removed.
She opted to borrow Durk’s trench-style raincoat until she could choose something to wear from her own closet. When they were ready to leave, she wrapped herself in it and cinched it tightly since she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath.
Durk waited with her for the wheelchair the nurse insisted she ride in to Durk’s car—hospital rules. It was as good a time as any to get a few things off her mind.
“Why did you let me go on believing you were a simple cowboy, Durk?”
“You never said you thought I was simple. I would have called you on that. But I am a cowboy.”
“You’re a businessman. I bet you haven’t touched a cow in years, much less branded one.”
“You’d be wrong on both counts. I help out on the ranch every chance I get. It helps keep me sane, and I love working alongside my brothers. I think of myself as every bit a cowboy as they are.”
“Why?”
“Because being a cowboy is more than branding a steer or stamping through cow patties. It’s a creed that affects every aspect of our lives.”
“What kind of creed?”
“The unspoken rules we live by. A cowboy does what has to be done and he does it well. He’s a man of his word. If he makes a promise he keeps it. He’s respectful of women. He has a passion for wide-open spaces. Though he didn’t teach it as a list of rules, Dad made sure that my brothers and I understood them. Mom made sure we lived them until they were as much a part of us as breathing.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As serious as I get.”
“Is that creed why you’re standing by me now?”
“I don’t know why I’m here, Meghan. I honestly don’t know. But right now this is what I have to do and this is where I want to be.”
That was reason enough for now.
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Durk parked his Jaguar in the parking garage attached to Meghan’s condo complex. As she stepped out and onto the pavement, anxiety pitted in her stomach and sent an icy blast through her veins.
Durk put a hand on the small of her back. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“No, but I have to go through with it.”
“Somehow I knew you would.”
Chapter Ten
Durk followed Meghan onto the elevator. He could tell she was nervous but it didn’t keep her from noticing every security camera they’d passed and commenting on the key card entrance to every door.
When the elevator doors closed, she reached out to the keypad and punched five. The move surprised him.
“Strange that you don’t remember the complex, but you just punched the button for the fifth floor.”
She looked puzzled. “What number should I have punched?”
“Five. I just didn’t expect you to know that.”
He was starting to wonder if Smart could be right about her faking the amnesia so that she could go after the killer herself. Blurring the lines between her job and the police’s had always been her modus operandi.
Meghan stepped to the back of the elevator. “I guess punching the number is ingrained like using a computer or doing the other everyday things I do without thinking.”
That was one explanation. When they exited the elevator, he stood back, watching to see which direction she chose. She started walking toward her condo at a brisk pace, then stopped as if she’d forgotten something.
She turned back to him. “Where do I go from here?”
“Keep walking. It’s the last door on the right.”
She slowed and waited on him to fall in step with her. “How is it you came to keep a key to the parking garage entrance and my condo when we broke up?”
“You never asked for them back.”
“And I didn’t change the lock. Apparently I trusted you. Then again, your family owns half of Dallas, so it wasn’t like you’d sneak in and steal my silver.”
“I don’t recall you having any silver. Now had I been into ladies’ shoes…”
“Great. I have shoes. I can shed these horrid slippers you bought me.”
“The woman in the hospital gift shop said they were all the rage.”
“For six-year-olds.”
“That’s why real men don’t buy women’s shoes.”
The lightness was all staged and not working. Meghan’s muscles visibly tensed and her pace slowed to a crawl as they neared the end of the hallway.
“The police tape is gone,” she said as they reached her door.
“Thoughtful of Smart,” Durk said. “Now you won’t even be breaking the law when you open your own door.”
“It wasn’t the detective’s idea.”
Durk spun around at the voice. An attractive young woman in a dark blue fitted suit stood in the doorway just across the hall. A dog almost as tall as she was strained to break away from her fingers that clutched his studded collar.
“Settle down, Bitsy. These are our new neighbors.” Bitsy continued to strain to break free.
“My husband is the mayor’s brother,” the woman explained. “He had his brother pull a few strings. We’re having my whole family down from Memphis for Thanksgiving. They’re arriving tomorrow and, let’s face it, the tape made this look like we’d moved into a ghetto.”
“So you’re new here?” Meghan asked.
“Yes. Sara Cunningham. And you have to be Meghan Sinclair.”
“The bruises and bandages wouldn’t let me deny it if I wanted to. This is Durk,” she said, nodding his way.
“Are you two married or…”
“We’re friends,” Meghan answered.
“I’d heard you were single and that you were a famous P.I. Our neighbor, Bill, said he was the one who came to your rescue when you were attacked.”
“Yes, and I haven’t had a chance to thank him.”
“As soon as I heard, it changed my mind about wanting to live here, but we’d already signed the paperwork. So, here we are.”
“I wouldn’t worry about the attack,” Meghan said. “I’m sure it wasn’t random.”
“That’s what your brother said.”
Durk had already unlocked the door and his hand was on the doorknob. He let go of it and stepped back into the hall. “Did you say you’d talked to Meghan’s brother?”
“Yes. He was here yesterday morning, really early, before my husband went to work. He was super friendly and it was sweet how concerned he was about you, Meghan. My brother was never that caring.”
Confusion shadowed Meghan’s face. “Are you certain he said he was my brother?”
“Absolutely. He said he was here to pick up some things you needed in the hospital. He must have brought them to you.”
“No, I don’t think—”
“It could have been your brother,” Durk interrupted, keeping his voice steady and his tone nonchalant. He needed to keep Sara talking. One inkling on her part that she’d talked to the killer and she’d clam up before he could blink.
“I can tell for sure if it was him or not,” Durk bragged. “What did he look like?”
“He was nice-looking. Tall, but maybe not quite as tall as you. Light brown hair. Not heavyset but not thin, either. Kind of average. I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
“That sounds like him,” Meghan agreed, quickly picking up on Durk’s motives. “I was kind of out of it yesterday. I’m sure I saw him and just don’t remember it. Did he stay long at the condo?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see what time he got here. I just saw him leave. He had some files you needed.”
That explained his visit.
“Was he dressed for the office,” Durk asked, “or was he wearing those grungy jeans he wears on his day off?”
“He didn’t look grungy.” She put a finger to her cheek as if she were trying to remember. “He looked good. Muscular. Nice personality, well-spoken. But he’s scared of dogs. You should have seen how upset he was when Bitsy jumped up to give him a kiss.” A phone rang inside Sara’s condo.
“Sorry,” Sara said. “That’s probably the furniture store with my dining room table. We’ll need it for Thanksgiving Day. I have to buzz them up. Nice to meet both of you, and I hope you get better soon, Meghan.”
She disappeared inside her own condo before Durk could question her more. But he figured he’d already gotten as much out of the new neighbor as she knew.
The attacker had been here before Durk yesterday. His return had been risky, so he must have been desperate to retrieve specific files.
“I don’t have a brother, do I?” Meghan asked.
“Not that I’ve ever heard you mention.”
“So it had to be Ben’s killer that Sara met.”
“That would be my theory.”
Durk couldn’t help but note that since he’d told Meghan about Ben, her concern had totally shifted from the attack on her to his murder. And this was when she had no memory of him.
“The killer’s nervy,” she said. “And overly confident. That would suggest he’s either gotten away with murder before or he thinks he’s smarter than me or the police.”
Her P.I. skills were kicking in. That worried him. He knew firsthand what she was like when she was on someone’s trail. Only this time her reasoning and body might not be up to the task. He had to get her out of Dallas and down to the ranch where he could protect her from the killer and herself.
“There’s no proof as yet that your attacker killed Ben,” he reminded her.
“But there are valid reasons to suspect it.”
Meghan pushed open the door and stepped into her condo.
He worried that the sight of the chaos on top of everything else might push her over the edge. Instead he heard the voice of the Meghan of old.
“Somebody’s head is going to roll for this.”
“I warned you that the place was a mess.”
“This is more than a mess. It’s a train wreck.” Meghan stooped and picked up a piece of the shattered glass from the broken lamp. She turned it over several times in her hand before finally dropping it back to the floor to glisten among the other gem-like shards.
She trailed her hand through a buildup of fingerprint dust and then stared at the back wall. “And that must be my blood.” She touched the edge of her bandage with the tips of her fingers. “You’d think if I were such a hotshot P.I. I’d know how to defend myself.”
“You’re alive,” Durk said. “You must have done something right.”
“I screamed for help and had the good fortune to have a neighbor who was willing to come to my rescue. Good thing I was attacked before the weekend. I might have ruined Sara’s party.” Her voice broke as the forced bravado wore thin.
Impulsively, Durk slipped his arms around her waist. The touch instantly fanned the flames of desire he’d been trying so desperately to ignore.
He let his arms drop back to his side and stepped away from her. “Do you want to call Detective Smart and tell him your brother stopped by for a visit?”
“Not yet. He’s already indicated he doesn’t want me to do his job for him.”
“And he’s right. You need to let him handle this investigation. Getting your strength and memory back is enough for you to deal with right now.”
“Right,” she said without a hint of conviction.
She turned slowly, studying the mess from every angle. “There’s a silver clutch on the coffee table, open, obviously already examined by the cops and maybe my attacker, as well.”
“I doubt the attacker got the chance once your neighbor showed up.”
Meghan dropped to the couch and went through the small bag’s contents. A tube of bright red lipstick, a mirrored compact, a tissue and two twenty dollar bills. Her spirits fell. “No phone. No car keys. No scribbled name or phone numbers.”
“The phone and keys could still be around here somewhere.” Durk took out his cell phone and called her number from memory. The phone rang six times before a computerized voice said the connection could not be made at this time. He repeated the message for Meghan.
Her hands flew up in frustration. “The murdering slime has my phone.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Reasonable conclusions.”
“I can’t argue that, except we’re not even sure at this point that I called your number. You could have changed to a new number in the last two years. But I do think we should call Smart,” Durk said. “If your phone is in the perp’s possession, the cops should be able to use it to track him down.”
“I’m sure Smart is already on that,” Meghan said. “In the meantime, the murderous rat’s probably already stolen any information I had stored on the phone.”
“Knowing you, your phone is the latest and smartest available and enhanced to guarantee your info is secure.”
“I’ll still have it disconnected.”
“First, we should make certain that was your current number and that the phone isn’t here.”
“If it were here, I would have heard it ring.”
“Not if the battery has run down. Shall we start the search in your home office?”
“I have a home office?”
“You have a desk and shelves upon shelves of true crime books.”
“Lead the way. Wait. Is that a dead cat under that chair by the window?”
Durk dropped to his knees and rescued a wig in a shade of blond previously unknown to mankind. He tossed it to her. “You’ve just embarrassed every cat in the world.”
M
eghan held it up in front of her. “Was I a P.I. and a hooker?”
“Now you’re insulting hookers.”
She set the floozy wig on the chair. It was time for real work to begin.
* * *
ONE LOOK AT THE open drawers of the desk and the files that had been rifled and left askew and Meghan knew their quest was futile. The killer had come back and taken everything that could have possibly tied him to the crimes.
She bit back tears of frustration as the nagging headache set in again. Even though nothing looked familiar to her, she felt violated. It was her condo, after all. This was the space that should be her haven.
Instead it had been contaminated and turned into just another disjointed faction of her perplexing existence.
Durk was the only constant in her life, and even he was temporary. They’d had their go at a relationship and failed, a relationship she couldn’t even remember.
She studied the pictures on the wall, nighttime scenes of Dallas area landmarks. Cowboys Stadium. Reunion Tower. The John F. Kennedy Memorial. All more familiar to her than her own home.
Durk looked up from the files he was perusing. “Here’s a recent copy of your phone bill. You do have the same number you had when we were dating.”
“Good. Give me the bill. Now I can at least talk to the company and request a printout of all the calls made to and from my phone for the last month.”
Durk handed her the bill and his cell phone.
After being transferred to three different representatives, she finally got the definitive answer. And now she was really ready to boil.
“That didn’t seem to go well,” Durk said.
“They can’t provide me with a printout because the DPD has blocked the account. The police are now the only ones with access to the records.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll find a way to get a list. Do you still have Smart’s business card?”
She reached into the trench coat pocket. “I do. Why?”
“I’m giving him a call to see what’s going on with your phone. If he has it, it’s possible he also has your laptop.”
“Put it on speaker,” she said. “We’ll make it a conference call.”
