Michael's House (Reunion: Hannah, Michael & Kate #2)

by Pat Warren

  Most of all, he wondered what Fallon saw the many times he caught her studying him. He could tell that she was attracted; that she wanted him, as he wanted her. They’d proved that they were sexually well suited. But lately, in her eyes, he saw more. Too much more.

  one was beginning to care in a way that hinted at thoughts of permanence, and he couldn’t allow that. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had no intention of getting involved again with the end result being marriage.

  There were people, Michael was convinced, who weren’t intended to marry. He was one and probably Jonathan was, too. If Jonathan’s wife had lived longer, probably their marriage would have foundered because of his devotion to his work. Michael was equally devoted to his. Men like that made lousy husbands. Fallon deserved better. He would study her carefully, watch for signs and, if it came to that, he would have to find a way to explain how he felt before it was too late.

  But not today. Today and tonight and hopefully tomorrow, they could just lie back, listen to the rain and enjoy each other. He’d already called Opal and Donovan and, thankfully, things were under control back at the house. He hadn’t taken time off to just do nothing since they’d moved into the new building five years ago. He shouldn’t feel guilty over a couple of days.

  He and Fallon hadn’t been alone, really alone, in too long. He wanted to hold her, to feel her heart beating next to his, to make love to her until they were both too exhausted to move. He wanted to explore all the ways he knew to pleasure her. The shower had probably relaxed her, chasing away the anxiety of the near accident. She’d been stressed-out for too long, between dealing with her parents and handling the search for Laurie. She needed R and R as badly as he.

  He wouldn’t bring up anything too distracting or disturbing, Michael decided. The truth was, he didn’t want her taking off without him, as she’d done the day he’d been at the hospital with Wendy. He didn’t want her to get angry with him and leave, either. He wanted her in his life, but not necessarily as a wife. But would that be enough for a woman like Fallon?

  He knew nothing of her past loves, and she surely must have had some. Deliberately, he hadn’t told her about his and guessed that she’d intentionally kept her own secrets. The thought of her with another man didn’t sit well with him, and his reaction surprised him. He’d never been the jealous sort. But then, he’d never before wanted a woman as much as he wanted Fallon. He was painfully aware of the dichotomy of being unwilling to plan a serious future with her while being unable to stand the thought of her with someone else.

  The bathroom door opened and Fallon stepped into the room in a cloud of steam, dressed in clean jeans and a cotton sweater. It was definitely cooler up here in the mountains. He watched her toss the clothes she’d been wearing earlier into her suitcase before coming over to check his ankle.

  “How does it feel now?” Fallon asked.

  “Better. Where’d you learn about treating sprains?”

  “In college, actually.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “I dated a premed student. He taught me about the R-I-C-E method. Rest, ice, compression and elevation.”

  Michael found himself wondering what else the premed student had taught her, but decided not to ask. Never ask a question if you fear the answer, someone had once told him.

  Fallon removed the ice bag from his ankle. “I think that’s enough cold treatment. Mrs. Perkins gave me an elastic bandage to wrap it with.” She went to the dresser and got the bandage, then went to work. “Let me know if this is too tight. I don’t want to cut off your circulation.”

  Feet are very sensitive, Michael discovered as she wound the bandage over and around, her hands gentle. He wanted those hands on other parts of his body—up higher, with a bolder touch. And he wanted his hands on her, seeking, exploring, enjoying.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Fallon said. “I want to make a couple of calls. I’ve got Raymond Tompkins’s card. I’m going to call his office and see if he’s back in Colorado.”

  “What are you going to ask him? Something like, Mr. Tompkins, when you were in California, did you happen to poke a hole in the brake line of Michael Redfield’s van?”

  She sent him a withering look as she fastened the end of the bandage with a metal clip. “Hardly. I have lots of questions.” Carefully, she placed his foot back onto the thick pillows.

  Michael sighed. Perhaps he should just get this over with. “Why don’t you get the number and let me try?” He reached for the phone on the bedside table and placed it on the bed.

  Slightly annoyed, she went to get the card. “Do you think a man will get further than a woman? Is that it?”

  “Not necessarily. I think I’ve had more experience questioning evasive people than you.”

  Reluctantly, she handed him Raymond’s card. Using his phone credit card, he put through the call. A man answered on the third ring.

  “Tompkins Agency.” The voice sounded middle-aged, nasal, impatient.

  “Is this Raymond Tompkins, the private investigator?” Michael asked.

  “Yes. How can I help you?”

  First things first. “Do you have a client by the name of Roy Gifford?”

  “Never heard of him. Who are you?”

  Michael introduced himself and explained that he operated a home for runaway teens in San Diego. “Have you been in California recently searching for a young girl by the name of Laurie McKenzie?”

  “No.” The man sounded irritated. “Who gave you my name?”

  Wincing as he shifted his ankle, Michael sat up. This was one he hadn’t considered. “A man has been passing out your cards around San Diego saying he was sent by Roy Gifford to find his runaway daughter. And you say you have no knowledge of either?”

  “Right. My cards are easy enough to get, I suppose. I hand them out to clients and prospective clients.” The man’s curiosity overrode his reluctance. “What does this guy look like?”

  “Tall, in his forties, with dark hair and a full beard. He favors Western clothes and drives a big, older Cadillac.”

  There was a pause, then finally Tompkins spoke. “I’m five foot seven with gray hair, weigh about 145 and I’m fifty-two. I drive a Toyota. I don’t know who the man you describe is, but I’m not pleased to hear he’s impersonating me. I’ve been a licensed private investigator in Colorado Springs at this location for over twenty years. I specialize in insurance fraud, not missing persons.”

  An idea struck Michael. “Do you ever do any work for the IRS?”

  “I handled a couple of cases for them locally a while back. As I mentioned, suspected insurance fraud.” His voice wasn’t quite so unfriendly. “Sorry I can’t help you more.”

  “Thanks for trying.” Slowly, Michael hung up and filled Fallon in on the part of the conversation she hadn’t heard.

  Fallon was clearly puzzled. And getting angry. “Roy told me he’d hired Raymond Tompkins, a local investigator with a good reputation. He must have heard about him through his job. Yet Tompkins never heard of Roy.”

  “So, if Tompkins isn’t his name, then who is our tall, bearded impersonator in the fancy Western duds driving a big, old Cadillac?”

  “Good question. I think it’s time I called my dear stepfather again.”

  “I agree. But first, let’s call the number on the back of that card, the motel where this bearded guy asked both Sherlock and Rollie to call if they saw Laurie.”

  Fallon turned over the card and read him the number.

  It took less than five minutes to learn that an R. Tompkins had checked out of his room last night, paying his charges in cash. The description Michael requested revealed that the man who’d occupied Room 8 was tall, bearded and usually wore jeans and a bolo tie. He drove an older-model white Cadillac. Michael asked if they’d made note of the license number and the clerk read it off to him. California plates.

  For the second time, Michael hung up the phone with a perplexed expression on his face as he relayed the gist of his conversation to Fall
on.

  “I can’t imagine that there’d be two men named Raymond Tompkins involved here,” Fallon said, thinking out loud. “That leaves us exactly where we were before—nowhere.”

  Michael was thoughtful. “If he checked out last night, he could have driven to the house, hung around and waited until Jonathan left and the lights were out before tampering with the van. If, in fact, it was him.” He decided to tell her the rest, about seeing a fast-moving Cadillac pass them on Interstate 5 with a bearded man behind the wheel.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “What for? To worry you more? Besides, do you know how many Cadillacs travel along Interstate 5 daily? I didn’t make the connection until a while ago. We still don’t know whether or not it’s a coincidence. I didn’t check the license plate, but a lot of Californians have beards.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  That made two of them. “I’m going to check on this license-plate number,” he said, phoning Information for the number. The call took ten minutes. He hung up with a frown. “The number’s no longer in use. Tompkins gave the Motel 6 clerk a phony number.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Fallon reached for the phone. “I’m calling Roy.” She glanced at her watch and saw that it was one o’clock. Roy often ate lunch at home even on weekdays—another of his penny-pinching ways. Impatiently, she put through the call, and was disappointed when her mother answered the phone sounding oddly cheery. “Mom, it’s Fallon.”

  “Oh, yes, Fallon. Did you locate Laurie?” The worried tone was back.

  “Not yet. Is Roy there?”

  “No, dear, he’s not. He took Danny out to lunch.” There was a definite upbeat sound in Jane Gifford’s voice again. “He’s home for a few days and, oh, Fallon, you ought to see him. He’s so handsome in that uniform. They shaved off all his curly hair, but even that looks good on Danny. We’ve been having such a good time showing him off to all our neighbors. Danny’s really disappointed that you can’t be here.”

  “Yes, well, as you know, I’m here looking for Laurie, your daughter.” That was mean and Fallon immediately felt ashamed. But damn it all, did they have to strut Danny around like some returning hero when Laurie could be in major trouble?

  Jane sniffled. “I haven’t forgotten, Fallon. You know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for us. When we told Danny that Laurie still isn’t back, he was stunned. Have you had any leads, any at all?”

  “I’m working on a couple. Mom, I need to talk with Roy. When will he be back?”

  “I’m not sure. He said something about taking Danny in to his office after lunch to meet some people. And then tonight, we’re having a backyard barbecue with some of the neighbors coming over. I’m making the potato salad right now. I do wish you could be here.”

  “Yes, so do I.” So she could take Roy aside and ask him what in hell was going on. “Maybe I’ll try to catch Roy at his office later. Would you give me his number, please?”

  Jane recited the number from memory, then paused. “Fallon, what do you want to talk with Roy about?”

  “About the private investigator he hired.”

  “Oh. I believe Roy mentioned that he talked with Mr. Tompkins and told him to return home.”

  Fallon felt a wave of exasperation. She hadn’t realized until this whole thing began how little Jane knew about all that Roy did. “Have you ever met this man, Mom?”

  “Why, no. But Roy speaks very highly of him.”

  Which meant absolutely zero. “All right, Mom. When you see Roy, tell him I need to talk with him.”

  “Fallon?” Jane said, somewhat timidly. “Please be careful.”

  Suddenly alert, Fallon frowned. “Why would you say that?”

  “Well, because I’m sure you’re having to deal with all sorts of people while you’re searching for Laurie. I mean, Roy says that people who run those houses for teenage runaways are just in it for the money, that they don’t care a bit about the kids. He says that some of them are drug addicts and sex offenders and worse. I pray every night that Laurie isn’t involved with those...those seedy individuals.”

  Fallon felt bone weary. It was becoming increasingly clear that her mother didn’t live in the real world, but rather in one Roy had created for her, and that she was totally blinded by his influence. Fallon had been gone from home so long that she hadn’t truly realized this. Jane Gifford had handed over more than her freedom to her second husband; she’d given him carte blanche on what to think and how to perceive the world. “I’ll be careful. I’ll call again when I know something more.” After their goodbyes, Fallon hung up.

  This time, it was her turn to tell Michael the other side of the phone conversation as she flopped onto the bed alongside him. “It’s difficult for my mother to concentrate on anything else when the heir apparent is on the scene.” She heard annoyance in her voice and irritation, but not jealousy and certainly not envy. Her mother’s and Roy’s devotion to Danny wasn’t really Danny’s fault. He couldn’t help the way they fawned over him as if he were still a cute towhead toddling around flashing his dimpled smile. Still, Fallon couldn’t help resenting Danny on Laurie’s behalf.

  What angered her was her mother allowing Danny’s visit to overshadow her concern for Laurie. Dammit, Laurie was her own flesh and blood, out there somewhere, possibly in need, probably lonely and lost. And her mother was making potato salad and planning a barbecue for her husband’s son.

  Mindful of his wrapped ankle, Michael turned onto his side and reached to trail two fingers along the silkiness of Fallon’s cheek. “You’re upset, naturally. It’s always been like that, hasn’t it, Danny getting the lion’s share of love and attention in that house?”

  She brushed back her hair as she turned toward him. “Yes, but I hadn’t realized things were quite so lopsided until this whole thing happened. I wonder if that’s why Laurie left—because she knew she’d always be second best.”

  There was more, Michael was certain. But right now, his concern was Fallon. “Tell me what you want to do—continue looking for your sister as soon as the van’s fixed or go to Colorado to confront your stepfather and maybe get some answers out of him. Either way, I’ll go with you, if you want me along. But it’s your call.”

  Tenderness welled up inside Fallon, almost overflowing with the tears she tried not to shed. Michael Redfield was a busy, committed man with many people counting on him, yet he’d delegated responsibility to others so he could help her. He’d spent nearly every waking hour since she’d arrived planning and organizing the search, using his experience and knowledge, questioning people, tracking down leads. And here he was with a van someone had probably tampered with and a painful ankle, all because of her.

  But still, he told her it was her call and he would go along with whatever she chose to do.

  She reached to bury her fingers in his thick blond hair. Fallon wasn’t certain how it had happened, or even when, but she felt a rush of love for him. How clear it was, now that she’d thought it through.

  Once before, she’d shared his bed, both of them filled with frantic passion. Now, she would share it with tenderness and a love she knew instinctively she couldn’t confess. Michael loved many but had no room in his heart for one special love. He’d made his views on love and marriage quite clear when they’d discussed Tim’s wedding plans. Michael wanted no commitments, believing he could be married only to his work. She couldn’t change that, just as she couldn’t change her feelings for him.

  With that in mind, she let her touch turn into a caress. “You’re so good to me. Why?”

  He smiled and the dimples she loved shifted into deep grooves. “’Cause you have eyes greener than any emerald I’ve ever seen and skin so soft I can’t seem to stop touching it.” His gaze roamed over her face as he shifted closer, slipping his hand down to cup her chin. “And your mouth. Lord, what a mouth. Wonderfully soft and feminine—yet, I know how wild those lips can get, how crazy they make me, how c
leverly they arouse me.”

  Fallon closed her eyes briefly, feeling a pleasure she knew would end in heartbreak. Something was better than nothing, she reminded herself.

  Michael touched his lips to hers, lightly, playfully. Then he placed a kiss, first to one corner of her mouth, then to the other. Her sigh drifted out between her parted lips, lazy yet tantalizing, her breath as sweet as any honey he’d tasted.

  “Why Mr. Redfield, are you trying to seduce me?” she asked, her voice smoky with the beginnings of passion.

  “Damn right, I am.” His fingers caressed the satin of her throat, the back of her neck, then traced the contours of her ear before his lips followed the trail. He breathed into her ear and felt a shiver take her as her hands bunched in the cotton of his shirt. “How’m I doing?” he whispered.

  “Mmm, but you don’t have to work at seduction. Not with me, never with me.” Her hands tightened, clutching his arms. “Make love with me, Michael. I need you today. Badly.”

  He could feel heat throbbing throughout his body. “No more than I need you.” He shifted to kiss her again as he gathered her to him.

  The night they’d spent making love, Fallon reflected, had been wildly exciting, both of them trembling with repressed passion from the days they’d spent wanting one another, until they’d all but torn their clothes off in their haste to be skin to skin. But things had shifted between them since then with all they’d been through together, changing their outlook, deepening their feelings.

  His kiss was poignantly tender, sweetly gentle, deliciously stirring. Her heart overflowed with feeling as she returned his kiss, and she felt tears gather in her eyes. He seemed to sense the change and drew back to gaze at her, to study her. Afraid he might notice the love she felt almost brimming over, she dropped her eyes, slipped her arms around him and pressed her head to his chest.

  Fragile. Michael was overwhelmed by how fragile she was, her body slender and delicate. But more important, he realized how fragile were her newly awakened feelings. Passion. It was only passion he’d seen in her eyes, he decided. We have nowhere to go, she’d told him once, and he’d agreed. No demands on one another, except here, together in bed. Losing control here was acceptable, even desirable. But not elsewhere.