THE CELL PHONE WAS CHILLY against Lucas’s ear. Camped on one of the isolated sites on his ranch, he’d hoped the peace of the land and the beauty of the stars would finally lull him to sleep. Deep down, though, he’d had a sense that trouble would come a-calling.
His sixth sense had often saved him from a mouthful of knuckles—or worse, a bullet. He’d been teased by the other marshals, who accused him of consulting psychics and having a hotline to the Jamaican television personality who’d made great claims about her abilities to predict the future.
Lucas, like most of his fellow law enforcement officials, was skeptical about psychic abilities, but he had absolute faith in his gut.
When the cell phone rang, Tazer, his little blue heeler, began to growl. The phone and the dog’s reaction to it made the hair on the back of Lucas’s neck prickle.
This was not good news.
When he realized it was Eleanor, he was relieved and surprised. Until he heard her first statement.
“When was this?” he asked. He began to kick dirt over his campfire.
“Earlier this evening.”
“Damn.” He wasn’t a man who cursed, but this was terrible. He’d been a fool. The redheaded photographer at Lorry’s wedding had played him like a fine fiddle. He’d taken her film, and she hadn’t even threatened a lawsuit. And now he knew why. The film and memory card he’d taken and destroyed had, in all probability, been blank.
“I’ve got to find Lorry,” he said. She and Charles had gone on a honeymoon, and then they were moving, beginning that new life she’d risked everything to have. Though he felt as if Lorry were the little sister he’d never had, he’d let her go without any questions, knowing he’d see her at Antonio’s final appeal. The fewer people who knew where she was, the less the danger of the Maxims ever finding her.
“You find that photographer,” Eleanor said. “Find her, get the film or whatever, and put an end to this. If she’s showing that picture anywhere else, we have to stop it.”
“I’ll book a flight to New York and call Bride Magazine in the morning. I’ll make her editor tell me how to get in touch with her.”
“No need. Michelle Sieck’s work is in Marco’s Gallery in SoHo.”
“How did you happen to watch that particular newscast?” Lucas asked. It was lucky Eleanor had seen it, but what were the odds?
“Familiar made sure I saw it. I told you, he’s a detective. And a darn good one.”
Lucas didn’t have time to argue with Eleanor about a cat’s ability to sleuth out pertinent information. He found it odd, though, that a woman of such high intelligence could believe such a load of poppycock.
MICHELLE BURIED HER FACE in her hands as the news story continued to spill across the screen. The whole business with the Confederate picture had been a comedy of errors. And the bottom line was, she should never have printed it.
Surely, though, nothing truly awful could happen because of the mistake at the gallery. If only the media hadn’t covered the event. If only she hadn’t put her hand up to block the cameras. She knew better, but she’d acted on impulse. The wrong impulse. She stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.
Around her the celebration of her highly successful exhibit continued unabated. Kevin—her oldest friend in the city—and Marco were proposing toasts. A dozen friends were at the bar to show their support. This should have been a moment of elation. Instead, she was worried sick.
“Michelle, what are you doing here by yourself?”
Kevin Long was a fashion photographer who worked for the biggest names in the industry. His blond hair, a halo of curls, made him look angelic.
“Too much emotion.” She twirled the stem of her wineglass. “I needed a moment to gather my wits. It’s been hectic.”
“Hectic and successful. You should be dancing on the tables, but instead, you’re acting like you’ve just lost your best friend.” He put his arm around her and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry your parents didn’t show.”
She’d been so absorbed in the picture fiasco that she’d failed to even acknowledge the hurt generated by her parents. They’d wanted her to become a doctor. They felt photography was a hobby, not a career. In their generally disapproving way, they’d simply refused to acknowledge any success she had in her chosen field. Friends like Kevin and Marco were her support system.
“I didn’t expect them to come.” She forced a wry smile. “It’s okay. They love me. They just don’t understand me.”
“You’d think they would be proud.”
“Maybe they are, in their own way. They’re just more stubborn than proud. But your folks came, and they’re like my second parents. That was plenty good enough for me.”
“Mom and Dad view you like a daughter, Michelle. You know that. In fact, if it came to a choice between the two of us…they’d pick you.”
Her laughter wasn’t forced. Kevin was an outrageous liar, and he always made her feel better. “Let’s join the party.” Marco was still proposing toasts, and if she didn’t get in there and break it up, no one would be able to stand long enough to flag a taxi home.
As she turned to go back inside, she noticed a long black car parked at the curb, motor running. No one had gotten in or out of it. It was almost as if someone was in the car waiting…for what? A prickle of goose bumps ran up her neck. She shook her head. She’d watched way too many movies.
THE AUSTIN AIRPORT WAS quiet, and Lucas put his booted feet on his overnight bag, tipped his hat over his face and decided to catch forty winks. He’d gotten a ticket on a late-night flight to Dallas, where he’d take a midnight special to New York. He’d be at Michelle Sieck’s door before the rooster sang in the morning.
As he sought sleep, he tried to steer his thoughts away from Lorry and where she might be—or who might be tracking her right this minute.
The truth was, if the Maxim family connections in New York had seen the story on the photo exhibit, Michelle could be in as much danger as Lorry.
He’d almost drifted off when he had a terrible image of Michelle in the hands of Robert Maxim, Antonio’s younger brother. Word on the street was that Robert was more brutal, more sadistic than Antonio had ever thought to be.
The image was so disturbing that Lucas gave up on resting. He went to the concession stand, where a lone Latino woman was reading a magazine behind the counter. She smiled at his request and made a fresh pot of coffee for him.
When he had his large black coffee, he went back to his seat, pulled a notepad out of his pocket and began to make notes.
Antonio Maxim had been sentenced to life in prison on a charge of first-degree murder. The Maxim family ran an underground white slavery ring, luring young Texas girls to the big city with a promise of modeling and acting careers, only to hook them on drugs and turn them out on the streets.
The life expectancy for such a girl was eight years. If they weren’t rescued, many of them died of diseases borne of the drugs that kept them numbed to life. More than a few ended up as suicides. Some were murdered because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Lucas’s brother, Harry, had been sent undercover from the Dallas Police Department up to New York to get evidence on the Maxim family. He’d done just that, but someone had blown his cover.
Harry had been standing on the corner of a busy intersection in broad daylight when a black Mercedes had pulled up in front of him. In one of the boldest killings in the city in recent years, Antonio had stepped out of the car long enough to shoot Harry point-blank in the heart and head. He’d died within seconds.
Lucas knew the fine details of the murder because of Lorry Kennedy’s courage. Known at that time as Betty Sewell, she’d been in the vicinity by happenstance—a dance audition—and her thoughts had been on many things other than her physical surroundings. At the trial that resulted in Antonio’s conviction for murder, Lorry testified that she’d come around the corner just in time to see Antonio step from the car, shove the gun in Harry’s chest and p
ull the trigger. Antonio was smiling when he did it.
Survival instincts had kicked in, and Lorry had dropped her bag and run for her life. She’d escaped, but three days later, Antonio and his men had found her. Antonio had given the order to cut her throat, and his men were in the process of doing just that when Lucas had arrived. He’d killed three of Antonio’s men on the spot and gotten Lorry to a hospital.
The doctors hadn’t been certain Lorry would live, but she had. And she was hopping mad. She made certain that Antonio went to prison for the rest of his life.
Now the last hurdle was his appeal. If something happened to Lorry, then the case against Antonio would be extremely weak. Antonio knew that, as did his brother, Robert. And Robert would do whatever it took to get his big brother out of prison.
Whatever it took.
Killing Lorry. Killing Michelle Sieck. Whatever it took.
Lucas swallowed the rest of his coffee and stood. He could see the plane outside the window. Soon he’d board. Then he’d find that photographer. She’d endangered Lorry and herself.
The Maxims wouldn’t care what Michelle knew or didn’t know. If there was even the slimmest chance that she could lead them to Lorry, they’d dig it out of her by any means necessary.
Chapter Four
Michelle awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. She’d had only two glasses of champagne, so the throbbing behind her eyes must be tension-related. The events of yesterday had caught up with her in a physical way.
She rolled over and snatched a pillow to cover her head. It was just after six, a time meant for sleep.
The hard knock at her door didn’t register until it came for the second time, a series of poundings that said someone meant business.
Thinking that it might be something to do with Marco and the gallery, she grabbed her old chenille robe and went to the door.
“Hold your horses. I’m coming!” She was grumpy and she didn’t care. She cracked the door on the chain and felt as if she’d stepped into someone else’s life. The tall man from the Confederate wedding was standing outside her apartment. Except he was wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a Stetson—exactly as she’d imagined him.
“Michelle Sieck,” he said in a voice like someone on Law and Order. “I’m Lucas West. Please open the door. Now.”
“Why are you here?”
“I could tell you a pack of lies and get in the door, but I’m going to give it to you straight because a woman’s life may be on the line. The woman in that wedding picture you took is a federally protected witness. You’ve blown her cover and endangered her life. Now your life may also be in danger. Open the door so we can begin to make this right.”
Michelle slowly undid the latch. She stepped back, moving zombielike to the kitchen. “I need some coffee,” she said.
“There’s no time.” Lucas scanned the room and walked to the windows. After he checked the street, he lowered the blinds and pulled the curtains shut.
“I’m dying from a headache. I need caffeine.”
“We’ll get some at the airport.”
She tried to focus on what he was saying, but things were moving too fast. “The airport?”
He wheeled on her then, the anger she’d seen clearly in his gray eyes and terse expression no longer under control. “Lorry Kennedy’s life could be at stake. Likely Charles’s, too. Because of you. Because you did exactly what you wanted to do with a photograph that never should have been taken.”
Michelle stumbled backward from the onslaught of his harsh words. Once she regained her balance, though, she stepped into his face.
“I didn’t intend to show that photograph. The movers picked it up by mistake. As soon as I saw it, I had it removed.”
“And you think that makes it okay?” Lucas glared at her.
She lifted her chin and looked into his flinty eyes. “It doesn’t make it okay, but it doesn’t make me a worthless liar, either. It was an accident.”
“So if Robert Maxim finds Lorry and kills her, we can just mark it down as an accidental death.”
Her head was throbbing so hard, she thought she might throw up. Preferably on his boots. She hated to have her nose rubbed in a mistake. Her parents were masters at this behavior and had shoved every tiny misstep back in her face. Until she’d found the grit to move to New York and follow her dream.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said through clenched teeth. “All I’m saying is that this didn’t happen because I didn’t care.” She held up her hands. Why was she trying to explain this to a cowboy?
“Pack a bag. I’ve got to get you out of here. If I can find you, so can the Maxims.”
“I’m not going anywhere, and you aren’t going to panic me into doing something insane, like get on a plane with a man I don’t know at all and who may himself be a psycho killer.”
Lucas laughed, but it wasn’t from amusement. “That scar on Lorry’s neck?”
He watched her like a hawk, waiting for the moment to pounce. She wanted to squirm, but she wouldn’t allow herself. “I saw the scar.”
“Antonio Maxim ordered his men to cut her throat and throw her in the river so she couldn’t testify against him. He’ll do worse to you, because he’ll want information.”
His words were having an effect, though she would die before she let him see it. “And what did this Antonio Maxim do that was so awful?”
Lucas glanced down, but only for a split second. When he locked eyes with Michelle again, he looked madder than ever. “He killed my brother, an undercover cop, and he’s responsible for hundreds of young girls ending up as prostitutes and drug addicts. Is that bad enough for you?”
She found a chair with her hand and slowly lowered her body into it. Murder, forced prostitution, drugs. She wasn’t an innocent. She knew the city had a million layers, and at the bottom there was a lot of pain and suffering.
Never had she expected to find it on her doorstep, though.
“Is Lorry okay?”
“My friend has been trying to find her since that newscast aired last night. As of this morning, both she and Charles have vanished.”
Michelle felt as if someone had kicked her in the gut. “Vanished as in left by their own choice, or vanished as in someone took them?”
“I won’t be able to tell until I look. That’s why you’re packing a bag and we’re going to Mobile, Alabama. As much as I’d like to put you in a safe house, I can’t. I’m Lorry’s best chance at survival, and you’re going with me.”
Michelle was about to protest when she heard the strangest sound.
“What’s that?” She rose slowly. It sounded as if someone was scratching wood.
She started toward the door, but Lucas pulled her back and stepped in front of her. He moved with grace and authority.
His hand went to his side, and she knew instinctively that he was reaching for a weapon. Whatever he’d done in his past, he was used to carrying a firearm. But his hand came back empty. For once, she would have been glad to see some kind of gun in someone’s hand.
The scratching came again.
When Lucas looked out the peephole of her door, he muttered under his breath.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“There’s no one there.”
Yet the scratching came once more.
Lucas opened the door slowly. They both looked down at the black cat, which stared back up at them.
“Is that the cat from the wedding and from the gallery?” Michelle asked. Along with her pounding head, she was now suffering from hallucinations.
“I’ll be…a five-toed Texas longhorn.” Lucas stepped back, and the cat entered the room with an air of royalty.
“How does he get around town?” Michelle asked.
“Danged if I know,” Lucas answered. “But he does. Eleanor swears he’s a private investigator. He gets calls from all around the world.”
Pressing her hands to her temples, Michelle headed to the small kitchen. She put on the po
t for coffee. The man ordering her around her own apartment could just wait until she got a jolt of caffeine in her system. She couldn’t deal with murderers, dead brothers, witness protection and cats who solved mysteries without some coffee. Something much stronger might even be better.
INSTEAD OF ARGUING, LUCAS yielded on the coffee. Time was short, but it would do no good to bully Michelle. He’d seen her distress, and he knew it was real. She’d never intended for any of the events that had taken place to occur. He sure knew what that felt like.
While Michelle brewed the coffee, he called Eleanor and told her Familiar had shown up.
“I told you,” Eleanor said. “Let him help you, Lucas. He has a gift.”
“I’m finding this a bit hard to swallow.”
She laughed. “It’s tough on the U.S. marshal ego to rely on a cat, but he will help, if you let him. He’s fond of Lorry, and he’s got a thing for that photographer. Familiar has excellent taste in women. He picked me out to be his owner.”
Lucas couldn’t help but smile. It was an intrguing concept—that the cat had an interest in Michelle. But he had shown up at the gallery and now at her apartment. No. It was too crazy to concede.
“When we leave, I’ll call you, and you can come and pick him up.”
“Okay.”
He hung up and went to the kitchen, where he laid out the travel plans for Michelle. Her color was better as she sipped the strong black coffee. His cup remained untouched. He was already jittery. Too much adrenaline and too little sleep.
“We’ll take the eleven o’clock flight south. I’ve already booked us seats.”
“I’m not going.” Michelle’s hazel eyes dared him to contradict her.
He was happy to oblige. “You are. I’ve already told you that it’s dangerous to stay here. They know you saw Lorry. They’re going to be looking for you, and when they catch you, it won’t do any good to say you don’t know her. You photographed her wedding. They will hurt you.”
Familiar Vows Page 3
