by Peggy Webb
He went back to his desk and sat down. Pulling out a pad of paper, he began to jot down notes. He wrote an exact description of his client, right down to the estimated price tag of the diamonds on her wrist and finger. Suddenly a part of their conversation replayed itself. “Give me a ballpark figure.... Driving is cheaper than flying.” For somebody with all the trappings of wealth, she'd certainly been concerned with money.
With his notes in hand, he picked up the phone and dialed. What he'd told Martha Ann O'Grady about not working with contracts was absolutely true. He'd discovered that it was useless to ask for addresses and phone numbers, since most people seeking his help gave him false information anyway. If he wanted to know the truth about his clients, he had to find out for himself.
“Records,” the voice at the other end of the line said.
Rick smiled. “Clinton, Rick McGill here. I need a favor.”
“You always do, buddy. Shoot.”
“What have you got on a Lucky O'Grady?”
Rick heard the sounds of the computer in the background. As Clinton began to talk, Rick began to smile.
By the time he'd hung up, he was laughing. Rolling his pencil idly between his fingers, he said aloud, “I do believe there's more to you than meets the eye, Mrs. Lucky O'Grady.”
Chapter Two
“Well, how did it go?”
Evelyn turned toward Martha Ann as the rented limousine carried them down Broadway, past the courthouse, past the old Lyric Theater, past city hall. The powerful car engine hummed, and the efficient air-conditioning cooled the two women.
“Rick McGill took the case. We leave for Las Vegas in the morning.”
Evelyn flung her arms around her sister. “How can I ever thank you.”
“By smiling.”
Evelyn leaned back in the seat, snuffled loudly, took her handkerchief out of her purse, and blew her nose, then gave Martha Ann a watery smile.
“How's that?”
“That's more like it. And I intend to see that you do nothing but smile from now on. When I bring that husband of yours home, he'll turn into the finest family man in northeast Mississippi.”
“How much is it going to cost you, Martha Ann?”
“Don't worry about that.”
“But I do. You're not rich, and Lord knows, I don't have any money. I hear these private investigators don't come cheap.”
“I have some money saved.”
“But is it enough?”
Martha Ann gave her sister an impish grin. “I know how to turn it into a fortune.”
“Martha Ann! You're not planning on gambling.”
“I practically put myself through college doing it. I can do it again.”
“Lord, but that was nearly twenty years ago.”
“Don't say it. You make me feel old.”
“I’ll pay you back, Martha Ann. Every penny. I promise.”
“You will not.”
“Yes, I will. I can't let you do this otherwise.”
“I'm doing it because I love you... and I owe you, Evelyn.”
“Don't start that again.”
“I feel responsible.”
“You couldn't help that I fell in love with Lucky.”
“Yes, but I introduced you. I knew he was a gambler; I even suspected he had a problem. And yet I introduced that scoundrel to my baby sister.”
“It was because I begged and pleaded. It was 'Lucky this and Lucky that.' Every time you came home from that school where the two of you taught, you had another exciting story to tell about Lucky. Living out on the desert in that drab little house, watching Mom try to hang on to that little ranch after Dad died, I thought Lucky O'Grady was the most exciting man in the whole wide world.” She sniffed and blew her nose again. “I still do. Oh, Lord, I love him, Martha Ann.”
She leaned her head on her sister's shoulder and began to sob.
Martha Ann wrapped her arms around Evelyn and crooned to her as if she were a baby. “Go ahead and cry. Let it all come out. I'll bring him home. I promise.”
It took twenty minutes to get from Tupelo to Pontotoc to drop off Eveyn, and another hour for Martha Ann to get back home to Fulton. She paid the limousine driver, then got into her own reliable Honda Civic and returned the rented diamonds and the borrowed clothes.
When she got back to her own modest house within walking distance of Itawamba Community College where she taught, she began to pack. She had no idea what sort of things she would need on her trip, but she believed in being prepared. She put in jeans and cool cotton blouses and sturdy walking shoes and a sweater. Even in the summertime she knew how cool the desert could be at night. After all, she'd grown up there.
Next she packed her slinky black silk skirt and three brightly colored silk blouses—fire engine red, shocking purple, and neon blue. They weren't all that fancy, but the beading she'd stitched onto the shoulders gave them a little pizzazz. Men didn't usually know that much about clothes. She figured her homemade frocks looked good enough to fool Rick McGill.
She was determined to keep up her charade of being a wealthy married woman looking for her husband. She didn't want Rick to get scared that she couldn't pay the bills and then back out. And she certainly didn't want to fall for a man whose background might include gambling and no telling what else.
She thought of the way he had looked when he'd caught her by the shoulders. Powerful. She'd felt the power oozing from his body. It was safer to keep pretending to be Mrs. Lucky O'Grady. Anyhow, she was enjoying her role. It added a little spice to her life.
Last of all she packed her rosary. She had been born a Methodist, but had taken the Catholic faith when she'd married Marcus Grimes. She guessed if Marcus hadn't been caught embezzling and sent to prison, she'd still be married to him, going to early mass and praying for forgiveness for staying married to a man she didn't love.
The Rileys were like that. They never gave up. Of course, Fate had carried Marcus off to jail, and she'd gotten her divorce and moved to Mississippi and become an Episcopalian. There was something so wonderfully liberating about being an Episcopalian. Still, in a pinch she counted on her rosary. And heaven knew, she'd need it the next day.
She was scared to death of flying.
o0o
Rick McGill was waiting for her in front of his office. Unfortunately, he didn't look a bit less attractive than he had the day before. As a matter of fact, he looked even better. There was something about a man in a flight jacket that was exceedingly sexy.
Evelyn, sitting beside her in the limousine, let out a long low whistle. “Is that him, Martha Ann? My gosh, he looks like a blond Clark Gable.” Evelyn leaned over her sister to get a better view. “No wonder you picked him out.”
“I didn't pick him out for his looks, Evelyn. I researched his background and selected him because he's supposed to be good. Quit gawking.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a handful of bills. “This will pay for the limousine. I'll be in touch as soon as I can.”
“Would you just look at those legs of his? You're liable to come back from Vegas with more than Lucky.”
“Not if I can help it.” Martha Ann turned to glance out the window at Rick McGill. He did look handsome in the early morning sun. She rolled her eyes heavenward. Lord, did you have to make him so delicious looking? Turning back to Evelyn, she gave her a quick hug. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.”
Martha Ann composed her face into just the right blend of aloofness and mystery and allowed the hired driver to help her from the car. He got her bags and delivered her to the sidewalk, where Rick was waiting.
“I'm glad to see you wore something sensible today.” He assessed her with a boldness that made her believe he was seeing through her jeans and shirt, all the way to her black lace panties.
“Is that good morning, Mr. McGill?” Gracious, how his dark eyes danced when he looked at a woman. She managed a disgusted sniff, which was probably the best acting job she'd ever done. What she real
ly wanted to do was drool and swoon. “If it is, your manners leave a lot to be desired.”
“If you want formality and manners, you've come to the wrong place.” He grinned at her. By George, she was good. He planned to enjoy this case to the hilt, starting right now. Reaching out, he patted her bottom. “Pick up your gear, sweetheart. It's time to get going.”
He watched with amusement as she jumped out of his reach and feigned outrage. Picking up her suitcase, she glared at him. On her, the expression looked cute.
“You're certainly no gentleman. Rick McGill.”
“No, I'm not, and I don't intend to be. Remember that.”
“Yesterday you said you didn't fool around with married women.”
“I've changed my mind.”
“Have you no scruples?”
“No. Do you?”
“Of course.”
Moving with the ease of a predator who was sure of his quarry, he took her suitcase and dropped it onto the sidewalk, then pulled her into his arms. He tipped her face up with one finger.
“Let's see how many scruples you have, Mrs. Lucky O'Grady.”
Her mouth was as soft and lush as he knew it would be. He took his time kissing her, waiting out the initial resistance, stoking the fires he knew were there. They weren't long in coming. He felt the heat and sizzle of her all the way through his flight jacket. When Martha Ann Riley heated up, she did it with style. That long, lithe body sort of melted into his, and those delicious lips moved in magical ways.
He was going to enjoy this case, all right. If he lived through it. The enterprising beauty in his arms had already lied about her name, her wealth, and her marital status. What else was she lying about? As her mouth continued to move under his, he knew that finding out was going to be one of the most exciting things he'd done in a long, long time. And probably one of the most dangerous too. Just being in the same corner of the earth with a woman who kissed the way she did was dangerous.
Rick McGill loved danger. He courted it a moment longer before letting her go; then he pulled back and smiled down at her.
“Just as I thought,” he said.
“What?”
“This lady is not a lady after all.”
The beauty mark above her lip looked fetching on her flushed face. He saw no reason to resist bending over to kiss it. So he didn't.
“Stop doing that,” she said.
“When you stop liking it, I will.” Grinning, he patted her bottom again. Then he picked up his suitcase and started toward the red Corvette parked beside the curb. “Let's go, sweetheart. I can tell you need that husband of yours.”
What she needed was to have her head examined, Martha Ann thought as she picked up her own bag and followed him. Only her great loyalty to her sister kept her from turning around and going back to Fulton.
She watched as he tossed their bags into his car. She'd lied to herself, of course. It wasn't her great loyalty that drove her on: It was Fate. Here was an unscrupulous man who admitted that he was no gentleman and who'd proven it by kissing a married woman. Well, she wasn't really married, but that didn't count. Rick McGill was cut from the same cloth as Marcus Grimes and Bradley Lomax, the con man she'd dated last year. Dangerous men, all of them.
And she was fascinated.
o0o
Rick McGill drove his Corvette the way he did everything else, with reckless abandon. They whizzed through the streets of Tupelo so fast, Martha Ann didn't have much thinking time. It was just as well.
She'd already spent a night worrying about going up in a plane. All that time she should have been worrying about being alone with Rick McGill, wife chaser. And she couldn't pretend to herself that she hadn't liked that kiss. She had. Too much. Maybe she should tell him she was pregnant.
She just about resolved to add that lie to her charade when they arrived at the airport. The plane was every bit as bad as she had thought it would be. Sitting on the tarmac it looked too fragile to carry a flea across the country, let alone a scared woman and her unscrupulous companion.
“There she is.” Rick gallantly opened her door and helped her from the car. His latent good manners hardly registered with her. “Isn't she a beauty?”
“I don't care if she's beautiful or not. What I want to know is will she stay in the air?”
His gaze swung from the plane to her. “You're not afraid, are you?”
“Who? Me?” She tossed her hair and jutted out her chin. “I'm not afraid of the devil.”
His suppressed his grin. Her face was pale, and her blue eyes were wide with fright. He secretly admired the way she lied. “I didn't think so. Let's go.”
Martha Ann climbed bravely into the cockpit and glanced out the window. The ground was still down there where it was supposed to be, and she wasn't doing anything to disgrace herself, like hyperventilating. But she'd packed a paper bag in her purse just in case.
She knew her fear of flying was ridiculous. And it was all Bud Jones's fault. Bud had been her college sweetheart, a good-looking ne'er-do-well whose passion had been stunt flying. One sunny day in April he'd persuaded Martha Ann to go up in his plane and witness his stunts firsthand. It hadn't taken much persuasion. In those days, flying hadn't bothered her, nor had anything else for that matter. She'd try anything.
She'd enjoyed having an up-close view of Bud doing his loops and rolls and dives. But suddenly the plane had stalled and gone into a spin. The earth had come toward them at a terrifying rate. All she'd thought of was how the choir would sound singing “Amazing Grace” at her funeral.
Bud had gotten them out of the spin somehow. But she'd never gone up in another plane. Until now.
She shut her eyes as the airplane engine roared to life.
“We're cleared for takeoff, Martha Ann. Here we go.”
With her eyes still shut, she reached out blindly, clasped his arm, and nodded. She was obviously with a nut. Anybody who could be that cheerful when facing his own death had to be crazy.
Rick glanced down at the hand clutching his sleeve. The fingers were long and slim and tapered, the nails polished a pearly pink. He imagined how that hand would look on his bare chest, like a beautiful rose petal. He could hardly wait.
“Comfortable?” he shouted.
“Ummmhmmm.”
He patted her hand, but she didn't even notice.
“Let me know if you need anything. Food, water, bathroom. I can set this baby down on a dime.”
“I sincerely hope you don't have to.”
He looked at her face. It was pale but gorgeous. The eyelashes were long and sooty, fanning down on cheeks he knew were soft as a soap bubble. Why was she so afraid of flying? Of course, it was best not to worry about her fears. All he wanted to do was to find her sister's husband, collect his fee, and have a whale of a good time along the way. And from the small taste he'd had of Martha Ann Riley, she would certainly provide some first-class entertainment.
He chuckled as he thought of how easily he'd discovered her charade. It seemed that Lucky O'Grady wasn't that lucky after all. He'd been in enough gambling scrapes to be listed in the police computer. Nothing serious, just fines and plenty of aggravation for his family—Evelyn Riley O'Grady, his wife, five feet two, light brown hair, twenty-seven, owner of O'Grady's Dress Shop in Pontotoc; and his wife's sister, Martha Ann Riley, Ph.D., divorced, thirty-seven, five feet nine, hair as dark as a raven's wing, eyes the color of the sky at high noon, history professor at Itawamba Community College. The computer hadn't had all that about the raven hair and sky-blue eyes. He'd added those details himself.
His gaze raked over her body. There were plenty of other details he planned to add. But that would have to wait until they landed.
He turned his attention back to flying.
“Look, there's the Mississippi River,” he said.
“Do I have to?”
“You're missing some beautiful sights.”
“I can survive without seeing the world from ten thousand feet in the air
.”
“We're higher than that.”
“Don't tell me. I don't want to know.”
Martha Ann didn't know how she survived as far as Dallas, but she did. She even began to relax after they were on the ground again and having what Rick called a snack. He ordered a sixteen-ounce rib eye steak, rare, but she didn't complain. She'd willingly pay for champagne and caviar if that's what it took to keep him content until he got her safely on the ground in Las Vegas.
Back in the plane, she assumed her vigil with her eyes shut. Sometime later, when he remarked that they were flying over the Grand Canyon, she reached into her purse and felt for her rosary. Her lips began to move.
“What are you doing?” Rick asked.
“Saying my hail Marys.”
“You're Catholic?”
“When the occasion calls for it.” She prayed from the Grand Canyon all the way to Lake Mead.
“Hoover Dam,” Rick shouted.
“I don't want to know.”
The desert stretched below them, wild and vast and beautiful. It was the kind of scene that made Rick aware of his own mortality. The rocks below them were millions of years old. What was the life of a man compared to the life of a mountain? His petty strivings seemed insignificant compared to the magnificent grandeur of the land.
Suddenly, alarm rang through Rick's senses. Something was not right. The sounds and smells of the plane were out of kilter. He saw the plume of smoke at the same time he smelled the acrid scent of burning. His left engine was on fire. He shut off the fuel to that engine and scanned the ground below for a landing spot.
“Hang tight, Martha Ann. We're going in for an emergency landing.”
Her eyes snapped open. “What?”
“Plane's on fire.”
Her throat constricted, and her chest grew tight.
For an awful moment she thought she was going to faint. Then she looked at the man beside her. Rick McGill was as cool and in command as if he were strolling through the park on a Sunday afternoon. The sight of him miraculously calmed her down. For the first time since they'd begun the flight, she felt normal.
