Missing, Presumed Dead MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD by CHRISTIANE FRANCE Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com Missing, Presumed Dead An Amber Quill Press Book This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com http://www.AmberHeat.com http://www.AmberAllure.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2011 by Christiane France ISBN 978-1-61124-182-2 Cover Art © 2011 Trace Edward Zaber Published in the United States of America Also by Christiane France Blues In The Night Chance Encounter The Club At Cool Harbor The Cop And The Drifter Crossing The Line Double Delicious Fast Forward French Twist The Gallery On Main Street I'm Sorry The Impossible Dream Independence Day I & II It Happened In Las Vegas It Takes Three Les Hommes, Vols. I & II Like A Moth To The Flame Love Matters Oh, George On Days Like These Once Upon A Secret Paris Heat Reincarnation Some Place Only We Know Strangers In The Night A Taste Of Honey This Time For Keeps Wishing On The Moon Dedication For Roy and The Boys.   MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD   I'd given the cats their late-night treats, set the security alarm, and was on my way to bed when I heard a knock at the back door. Living at the beach on the outskirts of town, I rarely got unexpected visitors. I figured it was my one and only neighbor, Charlie, looking for a little company under the pretext of being in desperate need of a cup of sugar. I was about to turn off the alarm when I remembered Charlie was working tonight. And I'd long ago learned assuming anything is one of the fastest ways to get yourself in a pack of trouble. I glanced out the kitchen window, surprised to see my brother, Vance, standing on the patio in the company of another guy I've never seen before. Both of them were dressed for success in artfully ripped designer jeans and golf shirts with fancy logos. They were also wearing wraparound shades, despite the fact it had been dark for hours, and I noticed Vance had a briefcase in his right hand. Vance, like the other members of my immediate family, is "something important" in the movie biz, which explains the trendy clothes. It doesn't explain what he's doing here. He's never before left his plush Hollywood playpen to pay me a visit, so why now? What in hell could be so important he'd drive all the way up the coast to Amethyst Cove in the middle of the night to see me? I know for sure it's not a problem with my parents or any of my other siblings. My baby sister, who still lives at home, called less than an hour ago to invite me to her latest engagement party. If anything were wrong, she'd have said. I turned off the alarm and opened the door. "Hi, bro. This is nice. Unexpected, but nice." "Can we come in?" Without waiting for an answer, Vance pushed past me into the kitchen and dropped his briefcase on the table. He turned to face me. "We have a problem. A big problem. And, with you being an ex-cop and a licensed PI, I figure you should be able to help us." Okay, so no nice, polite touches such as Hi, Long time no see, or even How are you, but I can live with that, especially as my brother appears to have more important things on his mind. I look pointedly at his companion and back to him. "We?" "Sorry. This is Timothy Fensham. Tim, my brother, Greg Stewartson." "Hi, Tim." The guy gave me a vaguely questioning look and a half smile as he held out his hand, and I felt a quick jolt of sexual attraction. "Greg." Sun-streaked blond hair, sexy blue eyes, nice firm body, tight butt, and-- I instructed my mind to stop right there as we shook hands, and Vance added, "Tim's sister is Petra Lianne." "Who?" Vance expelled his breath in a soft whoosh and aimed a despairing glance in my direction. "Petra is one of the newer faces in Hollywood, but already she's getting herself noticed. She's had minor roles in a couple of movies, one of which resulted in her being nominated for an important award. I realize, living up here in the backwoods, I can't expect you to know all that." Actually, the name had struck a chord in my memory. I conjured up a fuzzy image of elfin features, a skeletal figure, and long dark hair. "Isn't she the unknown who was nominated for best actress and then got arrested for punching out another nominee the same night?" "It was best supporting actress. It was hair pulling, not punching. And the arrest was an ill-advised publicity stunt by one of her public relations people that got out of hand." Vance's voice was tight with tension as he continued, "After the lawyers convinced the police to drop the charges, and Petra was released from jail, I thought that was the end of it. It wasn't. Instead of returning to the studio the next day so one of our people could make the appropriate noises and ensure her image was still intact, she took off without a word. No phone call, no note, nothing. I can't believe she would do something so irresponsible and unforgiveable. She made me look like a fool." I know Vance lives in a world where reality is just a word and problems are not tolerated. Even so, I was tempted to tell him to get over himself and get to the point so I could go to bed. I'd had a hard day and I was tired. But then a slightly clearer image of the elfin face came to mind and I recalled a TV newsflash about the disappearance of a young movie star who was last seen here in Amethyst Cove. A follow-up item in the local paper next day said her car was found parked on a street near the marina, but there was no evidence of foul play and no reason to even suspect it. Mention was made of the award nomination, the fracas between her and a fellow nominee, and the star's subsequent arrest. There was also a quotation from someone identified as a close friend to the effect it was believed Petra Lianne had gone into temporary seclusion to avoid the media frenzy. "How long's she been gone?" "A little over a month." "One month and three days to be precise," Tim put in. "I'm assuming you've filed a missing person's report with the police?" "Of course, I filed a report." Vance rolled his eyes. "I'm not a complete idiot. I contacted them as soon as I knew for sure she was missing." "When was that exactly?" "About ten days after she was released from jail." "Was there a reason you waited so long?" "I figured she needed a little time alone to get over the incident." "And?" I knew from the guilty look on Vance's face he was hiding something. "If you must know, I picked her up from the jail and took her back to my place, where we proceeded to have a huge fight. She wanted to quit and move far away. She said she felt like a thing in a cage, not a person, and she wanted a real life. That everyone pushed too hard. They all expected too much, and she'd had enough." "What did she mean by a real life?" "I have no idea. I doubt she did either. She was just upset and taking it out on me." With Vance, it's always all about him, so I'm not surprised he'd think that. "That's all she said?" "She said no one gave a damn whether she lived or died. Everyone she knew was a user and that included me. I tried to calm her down by saying it wasn't true, that I loved her and she had a lot friends and a brother who loved her, too. But she was on a roll by then. She laughed in my face and said when it came to users, I'm the worst of the lot. I was an inconsiderate bastard who didn't understand the meaning of life, love and the pursuit of happiness." He hesitated, frowning. "Oh yes, and she said something about getting weird phone calls, but everyone in this business gets those." "Did she say what the calls were about?" "If she did, I don't remember. As I said, we all get them. I told her to change her number and have the calls filtered through an answering service." "And then she said?" "Our people had already done all that. But instead of it making her feel better, she still got jumpy and scared whenever the phone rang. She said she'd tried therapy and meditation, but nothing helped. She felt like a criminal on the run, constantly looking over her shoulder. Frankly, by then, I'd had enough of her insecurities. I told her she obviously doesn't have what it takes to become a really successful actress, so she might as well give it up and find herself something less stressful. I suggested she find a job as a waitress or a secretary." "Nice. I'm sure that went over well. And she said?" "She told me to go fuck myself. Then she aimed a crystal vase at my head. Thank God, she missed. Otherwise, I'd probably be dead. And she slammed the door on her way out." "Was this normal behavior for her?" "She's a prima donna with a temper. What can I say?" Vance shrugged, treated Tim to an apologetic glance and gave me a small smile. "I assumed she was blowing off a little steam after being arrested, which was understandable, and in a couple of days she'd be back." "Big difference between two days and ten," I observed. "True, but I thought she was waiting for me to call and beg her to come back the way I had on a couple of other occasions. But there was no way. I'd done nothing wrong. I decided to give her enough time to work things out for herself, and when she did, I figured she'd call me." "Except it didn't happen." "No. At the time, I had other, more important, things to deal with, like a big budget movie with serious problems. When almost two weeks went by with no word, I started to worry. I made a few calls, but she wasn't at her apartment, and no one at the studio had seen her since her arrest. "That's when I called Tim. He's her only family and he lives in San Francisco. I thought perhaps she'd gone up there. He hadn't heard from her, so I checked with everyone I could think of--her agent, her publicist, her personal assistant, and all her closest friends. I couldn't find anyone who'd heard from her since her release from jail. No one had the slightest idea where she might be." "Did you think she'd been kidnapped?" Vance nodded. "My first thought. What else? That's why Tim came down to L.A., and we went to see the cops." He began to pace back and forth. "But they said if she'd been kidnapped, there would have been a ransom demand in that length of time." "Did you tell them the two of you had a fight?" "It was more of a spat than a fight. But yes, I told them." "What did they say?" "Not much. They reminded me she's an adult and, unless I had evidence of foul play, there was nothing they could do. They said they could put out an APB on her car, and if they heard anything, they'd be in touch. In the meantime, if she returned home, which they seemed to think she would eventually, they said we should call and let them know." "Like they said, she's an adult. If she wants to take off for a while, she can." "I know that, and so does Tim." Vance stopped pacing and rubbed at his eyes. "But she has a job with commitments. I don't understand why she's behaving so irresponsibly. From what her agent told me, she's blown a couple of important auditions she won't get a second crack at, a TV interview that was scheduled to go nationwide, and then there was a high profile commercial she was supposed to do. If she was planning on committing career-suicide, I'd say she's done one terrific job." "Have you heard anything from the cops since you filed the report?" He nodded. "About three days later, I got a call from the police here in Amethyst Cove. They found the car, but no sign of Petra. There was nothing in the vehicle to indicate what might have happened to her or where she may have gone. All we know is that she parked the damn thing on a street somewhere near the marina, locked it and walked away. The cops checked every hotel, motel and rooming house in town and along the coast highway, but nada there, too." The house lights suddenly flickered, died, and came back on. "How do they know it was Petra who parked the car? Did someone see her?" "I gave the L.A. police a copy of this when I filed the report." Vance opened his briefcase and handed me an eight-by-ten, full-length publicity shot. "It's recent. Taken less than a month ago. After the police here found the car, I gave them a copy, too. When they showed it around the immediate area, a waiter from one of the nearby restaurants recognized her right away. He told the officer he was outside having a smoke break when he saw what he described as 'this gorgeous babe' park the vehicle, get out, make sure the doors were locked, and then walk up the street toward the center of town. He even described the clothes she was wearing--the same outfit she had on when she got out of jail. There was no mistake." "Did he remember the date?" "Yeah. Late afternoon the same day she was released from jail. She must have driven straight up here after she left my place." "Why? Does she know someone who lives here?" "She may, but I'm not sure." "If she does, think there's a chance she's hiding out with them until the fuss over her arrest dies down?" "No way," Tim said with a sad but resigned expression I would have preferred not to notice. If I'm to do a good job, it's essential I keep my mind focused on the problem and my relationship with the client impersonal. Already I'm having difficulty with both. "Vance didn't call and apologize. Maybe she wants him to sweat a little." "She has a temper, but it doesn't last. Either way, she's been gone too long." The look on Tim's face made him appear so damn vulnerable, I wanted to hug him. I wanted to tell him everything would be okay, even though I didn't have the first clue whether it would or not, or even what was going on. I had no idea if his sister was alive, dead, or just temporarily misplaced. She might even be involved in another clever publicity stunt for all I knew. I'd seen enough of it growing up to know any type of publicity was supposed to be good. "Has she ever done this before?" "Not that I'm aware of, but I can't be one hundred percent sure. We weren't raised together." Tim shrugged and shook his head. "Our parents split when she was a baby, and I was ten. She stayed with our mom in L.A., and I went to live with my dad in 'Frisco. We did the visitation thing on holidays and during school vacations and we've made an effort to keep in touch since our parents died. But we're not very close. I won't say I know every last little thing about her because I don't." When you come from a show biz family like mine, you know celebrities have a habit of pulling the "now-you-see-'em, now-you-don't" trick. It's usually a short-term thing like rehab or some kind of medical or cosmetic procedure, and before you know it, they're back in circulation. Sometimes though, as happened in the case of my maternal grandmother, they go out one day and don't ever come back. I glanced at my brother. "How long have you known Petra?" "A little more than a year, I guess." Something about the brittle quality of his voice and the worried expression on his face confirmed my gut feeling he was still holding back what might possibly be useful information. "And?" He snuck a quick glance at Tim, then returned his attention to me. "And I thought the two of us had something special going on. Apparently, I was wrong." "As in a casting couch quickie or were you an item?" Vance gave me a nasty look. "Don't be crude, Greg. I asked Petra to move in with me." "And?" "She promised to think about it. And before you ask, I've come to realize I don't know her any better than Tim does. All I can say is she's good at her craft, but she's a very private person when it comes to her feelings and the personal side of her life. Except for what happened at the awards ceremony, which I've already said was pre-arranged, during all the time I've known her, she's never done anything to put herself in the public spotlight." "Did any of your publicity people stop to consider how she'd react to being arrested and held overnight? For a first-timer, it can be a pretty traumatic experience. Maybe she needed time out to chill." "After she was booked, she spoke to one of our lawyers and told him she was fine." "I see." I scratched my head, wondering what they expected from me and, at the same time, hoping it wasn't going to be a toe-to-toe battle with Chief Fox by telling him to get his finger out. Foxy doesn't like me any more than I like him, and that's part of the reason I quit the force. Still, we've always been civil to one another and, if I expect to continue in business, I need to keep it that way. "So...one of you want to cut to the chase?" "We're hoping you can succeed where the police have failed," Tim said. "And we're hoping you can do it on the basis of some new information I've been given," Vance added. "Sorry, guys. I can't interfere in an open police case." "We understand that, and you won't have to. Case is closed," Vance said with a sigh. "Our calls weren't being returned, so we decided to pay the cops here a visit." "Who did you see?" "I asked for the officer in charge of the case, but he wasn't available so we got to see the chief. We told him we had new information. One of Petra's friends called me yesterday. She said a while back Petra was involved with an off-duty cop she met at a party. The friend thought the affair was over, until a mutual friend mentioned hearing where Petra was last seen and where her car was found. The cop is with the Amethyst Cove P.D., so she figures they must be back on. She couldn't remember his name, but thought it began with an F. Maybe something like Frank or Fred." Detective Frank Bunson? The chief's blue-eyed boy, and the town's number one womanizing, backstabbing prick. "Did you know she was seeing someone else?" I asked Vance. He looked down at the floor. "I thought she might be. I'd heard rumors." "Did you ask her?" "No." The lights flickered and died, again. After about five seconds, they came back on again. "What's with the electricity?" Vance asked, looking a little annoyed, like he needed someone to blame and figured it was my fault. "Is it always like this?" "The power company's working on the lines. They sent out a notice warning about possible interruptions. It's been going on and off like that all day. Anyway, what did Chief Fox have to say about your new information?" "That he doesn't have a Fred. They have a Frank, but it couldn't be him because he's married and comes from a family with a high regard for moral values." I was tempted to set the record straight by saying Frank was twice-divorced, both times for physical and mental cruelty. His only family was his fat pig of a brother, who had the reputation of being able to supply anything at the drop of a hat from a line of top-grade coke to a high class Vegas-style hooker, or even fake documents for anyone who had a need. As for moral values, I'm afraid Frank got missed when they were handing those out. "I hope that wasn't his reason for closing the case." Foxy could be pretty weird when he chose, but this would be a new low even for him. Tim shook his head. "There were other reasons, such as not being able to find a single lead to follow, no activity on her cell or any of her credit cards since the day the witness saw her parking her car, but we already knew all that. Then he said he'd been about to call us because he was in possession of what he believes to be conclusive evidence Petra went for a swim and got swept out to sea. "He said it's not the first time similar accidents have happened in this area. He went on about high waves and a strong undertow, how people should pay more attention, and never swim alone plus a whole lot of other stuff. I was trying to get my head around the idea of Petra being dead, so I'm afraid I wasn't listening properly. I don't care what evidence he has, I don't believe she is. Dead, that is. It's just not possible." "What's his evidence?" "A pair of expensive designer sandals that look exactly like the ones Petra is wearing in the photo Vance gave him, along with a designer change purse containing a few bucks and her driver's license. He said a woman found them this morning, lodged between the rocks at the far end of the beach. They were all crusted with salt and the leather was distorted from being soaked in seawater, so I could see they'd been there for quite a while." "What about her clothes?" Tim sighed. "No idea. The witness who saw her park her car said she was wearing a white sundress, but it wasn't found with the sandals. The chief figures it could have been stolen, blown away by the wind, or washed out on the tide." "Sounds like he has all the answers," I murmured. "He said they've done everything possible, but given what they know and the total lack of anything further, he has no choice but to cold-case the file as 'Missing, Presumed Dead.' If any new evidence comes to light, they can always reopen it.'" As an ex-cop, I wasn't about to argue with what sounded to me like hard evidence, but I had to wonder if my good old buddy Frank was somehow involved. If so, was there a chance Foxy could be covering up for him? Or was I allowing my dislike of Foxy to color my thinking by jumping to conclusions about Frank being involved? Frank was far from the only cop on the local P.D. with a reputation for chasing women. I looked over at Vance, who was now leaning his fashionably skinny, six-foot frame against the kitchen counter. Then back at Tim who was a little heavier, but with him, the extra weight was distributed in all the right places. I mentally licked my lips, then warned myself not to get distracted by the speculative looks Tim kept sending my way, the sexy curve of his ass or the intriguing pout of his bottom lip. We both know who we are, and while it's not illegal to be gay, crushing on a potential client would be both stupid and counter-productive. If I'm to take the case, I need a clear head. "So, in spite of everything the chief said, you guys don't believe she's dead?" "I don't know what to believe," Tim admitted with a sigh. Vance pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. "Everything the chief said sounded possible. Even so, I don't know what to believe, either. I didn't think a person could just vanish into thin air quite that easily. The chief said it happens more often than most people realize." I had a feeling this was going to be a long night, so I suggested my visitors adjourn to the living room while I brewed a pot of coffee. When it was ready, I put everything on a tray and joined them. Vance was stretched out on the sofa, while Tim had turfed Albert and George, my two black-and-white Persian cats, from their favorite spot and taken possession of my recliner. The cats were now sitting on the ottoman, giving Tim evil looks. Tim and my brother looked exhausted, ready to fall asleep, and for a second, I wondered if I should just turn out the light and pick things up again in the morning. Then Vance opened his eyes. "That coffee smells good." "It's Kona. Help yourselves to milk and sugar," I invited, as I pushed Vance's feet off the sofa and sat down beside him. I couldn't argue with the chief's decision to close the case, or what he said about people vanishing without a trace. It happened. Sometimes accidentally, sometimes by design. And from what little Vance and Tim had told me, I didn't know enough to have any feelings either way. I waited while Vance and Tim fixed their coffee, then I asked, "What exactly do you want me to do that hasn't already been done?" "Just find her," Vance said, struggling to control a yawn and stand up, but failing on both counts. "I'm so fucking exhausted I can't think straight, and I have an important appointment with some money people in a few hours. I have to get back, but will it be okay if Tim stays here with you? Just for tonight, of course. From the size of this place, it looks like you have lots of room." I do have lots of room. Four bedrooms, in fact. But I wanted to catch up on some badly needed sleep, not spend the entire night salivating over what I couldn't have. Since I couldn't suggest Tim go find himself a motel, I smiled and said, "Sure. He's welcome to stay if he wants. There's a bed made up." "Good. He knows everything I know, so whatever questions you have, you can ask him." I could see Vance was in no condition to tackle the hazards of either the Coast Highway or the freeway alone, so I got all brotherly and said, "I trust you're not driving yourself?" "No way." He grinned, then ruffled my hair, making me feel like an over-protective parent. "Don't worry, kid. I have a car and a driver, and Tim has his own vehicle." He quickly finished his coffee, succeeded in getting to his feet on the next attempt, and headed for the door. "Keep me posted, okay?" After watching from the front window as the taillights of my brother's limo disappeared from view, I fetched a notepad and pen from the kitchen and poured myself more coffee. There are a few things I still prefer doing the old fashioned way and one of them is making handwritten notes. "Have the cops released your sister's car?" "They had no reason to keep it, so I called the rental company and they said they'll collect it." "I don't suppose the chief happened to mention the name of the woman who found your sister's stuff?" I asked, looking straight at Tim. "He may have. I don't remember." He ran the tip of his tongue along his upper lip, and I forced myself to look away. I figured the action was involuntary rather than deliberate, but it affected me in ways I didn't want to think about. I don't get a lot of action in my line of work, so I tend to over-react when I see something I want. "In that case, you need to call him tomorrow. Say you'd like her name so you can send her a thank you note." "Why would we bother with her? She doesn't know anything." "Because..." I sighed. Dealing with people who take everything at face value and think the world is full of Boy Scouts and model citizens doing their civic duty is not only difficult, it makes me wonder what planet they're from. "It all sounds a little too pat for me. What happened to Petra's cell and her credit cards? They weren't in the car, and if she left them with her other stuff at the beach and they were stolen, why haven't they been used? And why didn't the thief take the change purse, too? Sounds to me like a deliberate plant." "The chief didn't mention anything like that." "He wouldn't, not without the evidence to back it up. And since he doesn't have a single shred of anything usable, he can't go wasting department funds chasing rainbows. He has to tell it like it is. I guarantee what he thinks is a whole different story." Tim straightened up in his chair and jutted out his chin. "You can't possibly know that for sure. The chief was very open and helpful when he talked with us. If he thought Petra's stuff had been planted, he would have said." Oh, joy! Just what I need--a client who's as innocent as a lamb, stubborn as a mule, and looks delicious enough to eat. "You're right. I don't know for one hundred percent sure what he thinks, but I can make an educated guess. As a professional investigator, it's my job, something I do all the time. In fact, before we go any further, we need to get something straight." "And that is?" "If you want me to find out what happened to your sister, we do it my way. If you want to argue or second guess me at every turn, you're on your own." "I'm not allowed to give an opinion?" "No." I wasn't sure why I was being such a miserable hard-ass. I'm not usually like this, so I figure it's either a subconscious effort to punish him for being so damn attractive, or a deliberate attempt to rid myself of a very real temptation. "No?" The look on his face was an interesting mixture of indignation and shock. I have no idea what the dude does for a living, but whatever it is, I get the impression he's the one who does all the telling. "But surely, since I'm the one paying your fee, I should be entitled to voice an opinion now and again. Especially if I feel it would be helpful." I captured his gaze and held on tight. "The only thing I need from you will be answers to any questions I might have. If you're not comfortable with that and want to tell me how to do my job, then you'll have to find yourself another PI." "Vance said you're the best. If anyone can find out what's happened to Petra, it's you." His words were followed by a smile and another speculative look that gave the impression he was trying to cruise me, but not, I suspected, for the best of reasons. I hardened my heart to the flirtatious look as well as the flattery. "As you said, you're the one paying the bill, so it's up to you who you hire to do the work." The way he stuck out his bottom lip when things weren't going his way drove me nuts. It filled my head with weird ideas, like how great that hot mouth with those full lips might feel wrapped around my cock. I shifted to ease the sudden tightness of my pants. He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath and said, "Oh, all right. I want you to find my sister, not waste time by engaging in a pissing contest. So, ask away, and I'll do my best to answer." I leaned back and put my feet on the coffee table. "Basically, there are three ways a person can vanish without a trace. They meet with the kind of freak accident the chief figures happened here. They're the victim of foul play, meaning she was either kidnapped or murdered. Or she arranged her own disappearance. You don't believe it was a swimming accident, so I need you to tell me why?" "Because..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I guess it's because she's so cautious about everything in her life, everything she says and everything she does. She never gives you a quick yes or no answer on anything. It's always let me think about it and get back to you. There's no way she'd do a spur-of-the-moment thing like take off her clothes at a public beach and go for a dip in the ocean. What if she was recognized? What if someone took her picture and put it on the 'Net? It could mess with her professional image, and there's no way she'd risk that. It's completely out of character." "Wasn't the hair tugging routine spur-of-the-moment?" "I'm told that's how stunts are meant to look." "And how do we know it didn't give her a taste for another impromptu adventure?" I wondered aloud. "We don't," Tim snapped, a touch of ice in his voice. "I may not know her well, but well enough to know it would be completely out of character. Any coffee left in that pot?" "If there is, it'll be cold. I can make more if you want, or there's beer or a soda." "A cold beer sounds great." After fetching two cans of my favorite brew and handing one to Tim, I said, "So what about possibility number two? Did she have any enemies, disgruntled ex-husbands, boyfriends or anyone else who might want to do her harm?" "Not that Vance or I know about. And I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt her or kidnap her either. She's not rich or famous enough for that. But supposing she was kidnapped, we'd know about it by now, surely?" "One would think so." I decided against scaring the hell out of the guy by reminding him women get kidnapped for reasons other than money. For one thing, I have no reason to suspect anything along those lines. I might if her car had been abandoned in an out of the way spot, but there was a witness who saw her park it on the street and walk away. "So we're left with the only other option," I said. "She arranged her own disappearance." Tim frowned. "Why would she do that?" "From what Vance said about the fight they had, there could be any number of reasons. She could have just been venting, and she could have meant every word she said. The movie business is tough. She may have reached a point where she could no longer cope. Or she had a problem she couldn't or wouldn't deal with." "Such as? It would have to be something pretty big." "Not necessarily. Could be that PR stunt and getting arrested, which Vance says she was fine with, upset her more than anyone realized. Maybe Vance was pressuring her to move in with him. If she isn't interested in him that way, or there's someone else in her life, what if she couldn't face telling him? People run away from what they see as insurmountable problems every day of the week. There's nothing unusual about it." "You think it's what Petra did? She solved her problems by disappearing down a rabbit hole?" "You have a better idea?" "Vance said she wanted to quit. She could be hiding out for a few days while she figures out what she wants to do." "She could, if it was just a few days. It's not. From what you and Vance said, it's been over a month." "I know. If it was something simple, she'd be back by now." "Okay, so you don't believe she drowned, and as far as anyone knows, she had no enemies. So let's assume what she told Vance about wanting to quit is true. Going by what we know to this point, I'd say she doesn't want to be found. And if she's as cautious and private as you and Vance say she is, then she left nothing to chance. Disappearing isn't quite as easy as it may sound. It takes a lot of careful planning, and it wouldn't be the first time a cleverly placed red herring was used to throw any followers off the scent." Tim finished his beer and put the empty can on the table. "You figure the purse and sandals were intended as a red herring?" "I wouldn't discount it." "If you're right, what chance do we have of finding her?" he asked, a trace of panic in his voice. "We have no leads and no idea where she may have gone. All we can do is walk around in circles and hope we stumble on something." "That's where you're wrong, bro," I chastised gently. "No one's perfect. They always manage to leave a loose thread if you have the patience to look for it. Ours could be the woman who found Petra's things on the beach. We have to find her and have a chat." "What for?" Tim slapped a hand against his thigh in a gesture of impatience. "She can't tell us anything." "And you know this how?" He threw up hands. "Okay, I don't. It just doesn't seem too likely." "Maybe you're right, and all she knows is what she told the police. But we won't know for sure until we find her, and that's our number one priority. First thing tomorrow, I need you to call the chief and get her name." "Can't you call him?" I wasn't about to explain why that was a bad idea or that it would be a total waste of my time, so I said, "It's better coming from you. Petra is your sister, ergo you're the one who wants to thank the lady for finding her stuff." "When I get the name, you'll go talk to her?" "No, you'll have to do that, too. I don't want the cops thinking I used you to trick information out of them. It would be bad for business. I also need to find the witness they said works in the area and saw your sister park her car." "You think he knows more than he told the cops?" "I have no idea. That's why it pays to double check everything." I swallowed a yawn. "I don't know about you, but I need sleep. So, if there's anything you want from your car, you better go get it now." While Tim went outside to fetch his overnight bag, I collected the used mugs and empty beer cans, put them on the tray and took the tray out to the kitchen. When he returned, I locked the back door, but didn't bother resetting the alarm. If he decided to go back outside for whatever reason, I didn't want the damn thing going off and waking me up. "If you want to come with me, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping. There's an extra blanket in the closet if you're cold, and there are soap and towels in the ensuite. If you need anything else, I'm in the room across from you." We'd made it halfway down the hall leading to the bedrooms when the lights went off, yet again. Tim cannoned into my back, almost knocking me over. "Sorry about that. I hate the dark." He gave a shaky laugh. "Always have. Scares the living crap out of me. Makes me jumpy as hell. Clumsy, too." Oh, yeah? I've seen more than a few clever moves over the years, but when it came to making the best of an opportunity, this guy was beyond good. Believable, almost. He cuddled closer, presumably to prove his point, then wrapped his arms around my body, and I felt his hot breath tickling my neck. "I hope you don't mind me hanging onto you like this." Mind? Why should I mind? The power's never off for more than a minute, two at the very most, so I had no reason to worry about things getting out of hand. "It's okay. You'll be fine." Whether I would be fine was a whole different story. His heat, his scent, the way his hard cock was pressing against my crack was such a turn-on, I figured I might as well enjoy the thrill while it lasted. All I had to do was relax...one, two, three, four. Any second now there would be light. Five, six, seven, eight, nine... By the time I got to ten, my imagination had taken off and I didn't care if the damn lights never ever came on again. He was nibbling my ears and stroking my dick, and it didn't take genius mentality to know where things were headed. But what the hell? Maybe he really was afraid of the dark rather than an opportunist, and if something we both wanted kept his mind off his fears where was the harm? Just when things started to get really hot, the lights flashed on and off a couple of times, then came back on to stay. He relaxed his hold and gave another shaky laugh. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to get quite so carried away. I guess what they say about fear being a powerful aphrodisiac is true." Oh, sure! The guy is edging in on forty and this is the first time he's discovered the connection? I don't think so. I may live in a small town, but he has to know us small-towners are not that naive. "You think?" "Not really, no." He visibly relaxed and treated to me to a soft, sexy chuckle that raised everything on my body, including my hopes, as he reached out and stroked a finger down my cheek. "You could have pushed me away." "True. I could also have screamed rape. Problem is living out here with my nearest neighbor working nights, I doubt anyone would have heard." "Would you have wanted them to hear?" "Not particularly." I smiled. This was California where tall, good-looking, blond-haired, surfer-dudes are a dime a dozen. But there was nothing stereotypical about Tim. For one thing, he was much older than your average surfer dude, and while most surfers are just good looks and muscles, this guy had all that plus charisma to spare. His blond, sun-streaked hair looked natural, and his deep blue eyes were a turn-on all by themselves. "You sure about that?" "About as sure as I can be." The wanting was there on both sides. It was so damn obvious what was about to happen, and I needed to put a stop to it, now. This was where I was supposed to force a laugh, shuffle my feet to cover any embarrassment, and get back to showing Tim to his room. Except I knew I couldn't do any of that. My rule of not mixing business with pleasure was about to get broken, and there was nothing I could do about it. At least, nothing I wanted to do. "That's what I thought." He took a step closer, linked his hands behind my head and reeled me in like a fish, making it clear he was the one in charge. "Now, put your arms around me." His lips tasted sweet as honey against mine, and, as I did his bidding, I opened my mouth to his searching tongue. I loved the masterful way he held and kissed me. The way he sent the blood rushing through my veins and setting my nerve endings on fire. This was a guy who knew what he was doing. Everything about the kiss was deep, yet unhurried, and so all-consuming it was as if he intended taking possession of my soul as well as my body. He grasped my ass cheeks and rubbed himself against my aroused cock. I shivered in anticipation, barely able to breathe while I wondered if I could stay the course. The kiss ended, and his hands moved under my shirt, finding and pinching my nipples so hard I gritted my teeth against the incredible rush of pleasure and pain. Then his mouth took over, licking the sensitive nubs while he undid my jeans and pushed them down over my hips. I wasn't wearing underwear to impede his progress, and I registered his soft groan of delight as my dick sprang free, begging for his attention. He slid his tongue slowly down my body before he grasped my shaft in both hands and licked the tip. I shivered again and threaded my fingers through his hair, silently begging him to get down to business. At the very last minute, just as he was about to take me into his mouth, cold reality intruded, and I held him back. This was one rule I couldn't mess with. "You have a condom?" "You think we need one?" "That's not the point. I don't take chances with anyone, so if you don't, I keep a supply in the bathroom." "It's okay. I do." He reached in the back pocket of his pants and pulled out his wallet. After taking out a familiar silver-colored package, he waved it under my nose and ripped it open with his teeth. "You always this careful?" "Always. You?" "I always try to be." He took the rubber from the package and fitted it over my arousal. "Don't worry. The test results I got about a week ago were all negative, and I've had no action since they were taken." Once the condom was in place and his lips were wrapped around my cock, I forgot about business and gave myself over to the exquisite pleasure of his mouth loving me. I closed my eyes, shutting out everything but the here and the now. He started off by licking my dick from root to tip and squeezing my balls, pushing me to the edge and quickly retreating. When he began sucking me, hard, I knew the slow, leisurely foreplay was over. This was the real thing, baby. When he grasped my hips and drew me farther into his heat, I filled my lungs with air and began to fuck his mouth. It felt so good, so right, and he synced his movements with mine until we were rocking it out together, stroke for stroke. I was on the edge of coming, and it was great, like flying down the mountain on jet-powered skis. Everything was so fucking perfect, unlike anything I'd experienced in what I knew was way too long. I wanted to hold onto the feeling just a little bit longer. Another minute, or even a few seconds. But as always happens, the wild trip was over much too fast. I came back to earth with a thud, feeling a little bit stupid and a whole lot embarrassed about behaving like a kid with an overabundance of hormones. After I pulled up my pants, he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. "Hey, you mad at me?" "No point." I disentangled myself from his embrace and stepped back. "It was as much my fault as yours. But if we're going to have a business relationship, it can't happen again." "Why? Is it against the rules?" "You could say that. You've hired me to find your sister and the job comes first. Is that understood?" "Yes, it's understood." He sighed, looking a tad embarrassed. "Whether you believe me or not, finding Petra is my number one priority. I'm worried sick about her and that's the truth. I swear." I wanted to believe him, but after what just happened between us, I wasn't sure I was buying. On the other hand, fear and frustration were powerful emotions. "Good. Keep thinking like that and we'll be fine." "I genuinely am scared of the dark. It wasn't an act or a trick." Whatever I might have expected him to say to excuse his behavior, it wasn't that. "You're kidding, right?" "I wish I was. It's something I've had to contend with all my life, and hours of therapy haven't helped. The doctors figure it relates to an incident from my childhood. Something I don't remember because I've buried it deep in my psyche. All I know is when the light went out, the fear took over and, like always, I panicked. I just needed to grab onto another human being." "And I happened to be available?" He reached out to touch me, only to quickly withdraw his hand before making contact. "Yes, but if we weren't already attracted to one another, it would have been a simple comfort thing and nothing more. The sex would not have happened." Rather than deny something I knew to be true, I continued along the hall, opened the door of the spare room and switched on the light. "Get some sleep. You're going to need it. Tomorrow promises to be a busy day." * * * * I was bone-tired, but with a new case to think about, I felt edgy and restless. Sleep was impossible. My mind kept bouncing to and fro between Tim, what we'd done and the best way to prevent a second occurrence, and trying to decide if Chief Fox would risk his job by covering for Frank Bunson. Vance would hit the roof for sure if I cut Tim loose by telling him to find himself another PI firm. I couldn't ask Ian Coulter, my partner in Amethyst Cove Security & Investigations, to take him on. For one thing, Ian was currently working a difficult case involving computer fraud that required his attention twenty-four-seven. For another, Ian would demand to know why. If I told him, he'd laugh his head off, and I didn't see anything funny about the situation. Ian would also point out that we needed the money, and I had nothing else to do that was so pressing it couldn't be put off for a day or two. Meaning the easiest, most sensible solution for me, as far as Tim was concerned, was to pull out all the stops and find his sister ASAP, which brought me back to the chief. I wouldn't put anything past Foxy. Not if it was something he wanted to do and figured he could get away with. Even so, I couldn't wrap my head around any young woman with as much going for her as Petra Lianne falling for a piece of shit like Frank. The friend who'd called Vance had said Petra met an Amethyst Cove cop at a party and they'd had an affair. Frank was a certified womanizer and self-professed stud, but I knew enough about the guy to be sure he didn't have the right kind of connections to get invited to any kind of Hollywood party. He wasn't young, cool or hip enough to crash one, and if he wanted to moonlight at something, he'd do it here in the Cove, not in L.A. He was good looking in a mature kind of way, and the local women seemed to find him sexy...women around his age of about forty-five or older. Whoever Tim's sister was hooked up with, I was as certain as I could be without actual proof that it wasn't Frank. I mentally flipped through the younger members of the Amethyst Cove P.D. After discarding most of them as unlikely, at least for now, I stopped at former high school basketball star, Federico Lopez. A couple of weeks ago I was in The Riptide, a favorite cop bar located near the marina. Federico was there, too, and I happened to overhear him telling the guy he was with how he and his good buddy, Shooter Schultz, had been spending their off-duty hours in L.A., apparently having a great time and earning themselves a few extra bucks, if what he'd said was to be believed. I hadn't bothered trying to figure out if they were moonlighting as wait staff, security, or escorts. Now, I found myself belatedly wishing I had. The Hollywood parties he'd bragged about attending sounded pretty upscale to me--the kind where I knew, from personal experience, it was possible to meet every kind of celebrity from the has-beens to the in-crowd, and even the latest new faces. Federico and Shooter were both good-looking single guys, somewhere in their late twenties, who knew how to dress, and drove cool cars. Even more important, from the way Federico spoke, they knew their way around the Hollywood scene, which made them far more likely candidates for Petra's mystery man than Frank. If Petra had a thing with one of the cops with Amethyst Cove P.D., then it had to be one of them. They were the only viable possibilities. As to which one...Vance said Petra's friend thought the man's name began with an F. Did that mean it was Federico? Or had Vance only thought she said F when she'd actually said S, and Petra's boyfriend was, in fact, Shooter? I've confused those two letters a few times myself while talking on the phone, so I know it's easy enough to do. I made a mental note to have Calista Perry, our office manager, chief research assistant and Girl Friday, find out where they lived and what shifts they were working. Once I had that information, I could do a little snooping and see where it led. Calista was great when it came to getting information. She was also the best thing that could happen to a couple of ex-cops who were long on investigative skills and short on all the other stuff that makes a business successful. When Ian and I quit the force and opened Amethyst Cove Security & Investigations, one of the first things we did was post an ad on the Net, inviting applications for a general assistant... someone who could take care of the office, do the books, and knew about skip tracing. We added a proviso that we were just starting out and couldn't afford to pay much. Calista replied to the ad the same day it appeared by saying she had degrees in law and business management, wanted an interesting job more than she needed money, and was available for an interview at our convenience. The west coast has a reputation for attracting the seriously different. Nothing surprises us, so Ian and I took it in stride when Calista arrived for the interview wearing a skirt, blouse and sensible pumps, circa WWII, no makeup or jewelry, hair in a ponytail, and riding a bicycle. However, within minutes of meeting her, we both got the feeling the old fashioned, upright, uptight demeanor was all an act. She was smart, sharp as a tack, and we hired her on the spot. A decision neither of us have regretted for a single second because she's all that and more. Calista is sweet and friendly with everyone, which fools most people most of the time, and that makes her our secret weapon. When she wants something, be it someone's address or phone number, payment of an overdue account, or anything else, watch out. The lady has all the instincts of a barracuda. * * * * I eventually managed to get a little sleep. The reason I knew this was because one minute the room was still dark; the next the sun was peeking through the blinds. And if I had any doubt about the time, Albert and George were sitting on my chest, demanding to be fed, and the digital clock on the nightstand showed I was running late. I showered, shaved, threw on a pair of old jeans and headed for the kitchen. I noticed Tim's door was closed and, as the house was quiet, I figured he was still sleeping, until a movement on the patio caught my eye. He was up, dressed and leaning on the railing separating my property from the beach. A half empty glass of OJ was clutched in his right hand, and he was either staring at the waves and a couple of kids who were trying to catch one or gazing into space. I fed the cats and Bunny, the flop-eared rescue rabbit Calista recently sicced on me. She said the poor critter was in desperate need of a large helping of TLC, and I was the only person she knew who had enough space for his cage. I waited until all three boys were busy chowing down, then I put water and coffee grounds in the machine, switched it on, and opened the patio door. "Coffee will be ready in a couple of minutes. What do you want for breakfast?" "Whatever you have." He turned in my direction, the sun glinting off his blond hair and the flirty, toothpaste smile rocking my world a whole lot more than I expected. Temptation beckoned. I was up, I was hard, and I just knew he was, too. I wanted to say he could have me first, then move on to eggs or cereal, but by sheer force of will, I restrained myself. Getting it on with a client was beyond stupid. Start concentrating on the client instead of the job and I'd screw up and have to forfeit the fee. I needed to get out more, relax more, and yes, get laid more often than I have lately. Perhaps then, I could keep my mind on the job and away from Tim's soft lips and clever mouth, and my own very vivid memories of last night. "Breakfast is the most important meal of my day, so I'm having eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast. You want the same or something lighter?" "I'll have the same. It sounds good." As Tim followed me inside the house, I remembered my duties as a host and asked if he slept okay. "Not really." "That's too bad." I turned on a burner on the stove, opened the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. "Was the bed uncomfortable?" "The bed was fine. I just couldn't sleep. Too wound up, I guess." "Worrying about your sister?" "That, too." He raised his eyebrows and gave me a long, almost resentful look. A look I figured I was supposed to understand but didn't. "You mean you have other--" I put down the eggs before I dropped them. Oh, shit! Of course! No wonder he was looking at me like that. He had every right to feel pissed off and deprived. I'd done all the taking last night and hadn't given his needs a second's thought. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. You should have said something." "I would have, if you hadn't been so bent out of shape about keeping things businesslike. I know, I could have easily solved the problem by indulging in a little emergency DIY, but that's for kids. I decided I'd rather wait. I like the idea of you owing me one." I laughed, figuring he was joking. "Me owe you one? That's funny." "It's not at all funny; it's only fair. You had me so frustrated and stressed out, I couldn't sleep." "Like you said, you didn't have to suffer." "Sure, I did. You got me in that condition. I think it's only right you fix the problem. Agreed?" "Well, in that case..." Any guilt I was feeling disappeared in a rush of adrenalin. The same brand as when he'd sandbagged me last night after the power went out. The guy had nerve and confidence to spare, along with a raw sexiness that got under my skin and made me itch in places I couldn't scratch right now. I grinned and cocked one eyebrow. "Okay, so I owe you. But it'll have to wait until I find out what happened to your sister." "I understand that." He smiled and ran his tongue along his upper lip in what I was beginning to realize was an unconscious habit. Regardless, it was erotic, unsettling. It made me want to forget what I said about not mixing business and pleasure and make good on the IOU right then and there. "And I agree, finding Petra comes first. No question." "It may take a few days." "I know that, too. So, while you're making breakfast, I'll find my cell and give the chief a call. See if he'll let me have the name of the woman who found Petra's things on the beach." While Tim made his call, I set about cooking breakfast. I'd finished and was about to let him know it was ready when he came into the kitchen, looking a tad irritated. "Wouldn't he give it to you?" "I got it just fine. No problem there. I spoke with the officer in charge of the case, and he gave me everything...name, phone number and address." "Just like that?" Tim grinned. "I said I wanted to thank her, and felt it would be more polite to do so in person." "And he bought it?" "Guess so. Anyway, I called the number he gave me to find out when it would be convenient, but her phone's not in service. I even dialed again to make sure I hadn't messed up the first time." "Maybe she didn't pay her bill. Maybe the cops screwed up when they wrote down the number. What's her name? We can always check the phone book." "Mary Smith. The officer said she gave her address as the trailer at the end of Bennett Road. If you ask me, all of it is phony--the phone number, the name, and the address, too. I guess you were right and it was a plant." "Maybe it was, but Mary's real enough and so is her address. She's a well-known character around the Cove, a beachcomber in the real sense of the word. She spends most of her time at the beach, collecting whatever gets washed up or people leave behind. Could be Petra left her stuff on the beach and Mary was the first to see it. It could also be someone put it there for Mary to find, knowing she'd take it to the cops." "How could they be sure someone like that wouldn't keep it for herself?" "Someone like what?" I found Tim's assumption offensive, but managed to divide the food I'd cooked between the two plates without dropping any on the floor. "Mary's not a bag lady or a street person, if that's what you're thinking. She's an intelligent, well-educated woman, somewhere in her late thirties, who's chosen to live a very simple life. I have no idea why, and I don't know anyone who does. But whenever Mary finds something she figures someone lost rather than threw away, like your sister's things, for example, she always takes it to the cops." "And the whole town knows this?" "I'd say it's fairly common knowledge." I hesitated. I couldn't speak for the whole town, but for sure everyone in the Amethyst Cove P.D., from the chief on down, knew Mary was as honest as the day was long. And suppose one of them used the knowledge for personal reasons? Like helping Petra orchestrate her own disappearance or covering up a crime by making it look like an accident. I handed Tim one of the filled plates. "Let's eat before it gets cold." * * * * After I dressed for the day in my regular outfit of khaki cotton pants and a black golf shirt, I called Calista. I asked her to check out Lopez and Schultz' home addresses plus their current work schedules, then decided the most logical next step was to find Mary. Amethyst Cove is a small town where word gets around, fast. Meaning I had to take Tim with me so he could make good on the excuse he'd given the cops for wanting her address. I wanted to be there with him so I could get the scoop on her find, firsthand. With Tim beside me in the passenger seat, I drove my SUV straight downtown and parked on one of the side streets close to the public beach. It was a typical California day, hot, sunny, with the surf rolling in and screaming seagulls ducking and diving in their endless search for food. I didn't anticipate a problem finding Mary and, sure enough, as we crossed the street, I saw her wandering along the smooth, sandy beach, halfway between the street and the water's edge. With a collection of plastic bags in one hand and a garden-hoe-style object in the other, she was busy trolling for whatever treasures she could find. I'd never seen her anything but barefooted, and today's eclectic collection of garments included a pair of camouflage cargo pants, a man's blue terry bathrobe and a battered straw hat. "Hey, Mary," I greeted her. "This is my friend, Tim. He's come to thank you for finding his sister's sandals and purse and turning them in at the police station." "And also to give you a little present for your kindness," Tim added, trying unsuccessfully to push a bill into her hand. "Glad to be of help, but I didn't exactly find them," she said backing away out of Tim's reach. "A guy came by yesterday and told me there were things caught in the rocks. That I should go take a look in case there was anything I could use." "And when you saw what it was, you decided to take it to the cops," I prompted. Mary shot me what I can only describe as a disparaging look. "I went to the cops because I figured I was being played. I knew right away it was either him or someone else who'd just put them there. And I know that for an absolute fact." Hah, so I'd guessed correctly. "How do you know, Mary?" "For one thing, I'm not stupid. I can always smell a rat. For another, there's nothing wrong with my eyes. I check those rocks each and every time the tide's going out, so I know if it leaves anything behind. I'd checked about twenty minutes or so before he came along, and there was nothing there save a couple of dead fish and a plastic bottle. "When I went back, the sandals and the change purse were tucked between two small rocks, trying to make out like they'd been there for weeks. There's just no way that's possible. I'm not the only one who checks to see what the tide's brought in. Even if I'd missed them, and that's not too likely, someone else would have found them for sure." "So you assumed they were put there for you to find because whoever did it knew you'd take them to the cops," I said, voicing my thoughts out loud. "Exactly. But I didn't assume anything. As soon as I saw them, I knew it was a set up. It was all just a little too slick and staged. When I told the officer what I thought, he looked at me like I was crazy and said there was no way I could know they were deliberately dumped. Unless, of course, I saw the person do it, which I didn't." "This guy who said for you to check the rocks...what did he look like?" "Young and very good looking." She shrugged. "I'd say he's somewhere in his early twenties. Dark hair with blond streaks and cut very short. Tall, a few inches over six feet, and a nice body. Two silver earrings in his left ear, tats on both arms, and he was wearing tailored capris and one of those T-shirts with advertising on it. The only reason I noticed all that was because he was so handsome and so overdressed for the beach, he stood out like a beacon. The clothes were nice quality and looked new. I think it was a uniform of some kind." "What color were the capris?" "Dark. Either black or a very dark navy. The shirt was white with green writing and a logo showing a surfer riding a wave?" "Sounds like the new uniform the staff at The Riptide is wearing." Mary laughed. "I wouldn't know. I've never been there. Sorry, boys. I wish I could be of more help, but that's it. I don't know the guy's name and I have no idea if he was just being nice to me, or if he was playing some kind of game." As she made to move on, Tim said, "Please, I'd really like to give you something for your trouble." She stopped abruptly and turned around, then took off her hat and looked up at him with a puzzled frown. "Why? I only did what any decent person would do. And I certainly don't want to be rewarded for it. I'm not a beggar. I don't want your money and I don't need handouts. I'm quite capable of taking care of my needs myself, thank you." With that said, she crammed the straw hat back on her tousled dark blonde curls and continued on down the beach, the bathrobe tie trailing behind her like a long, fuzzy, blue tail. "What did you make of that?" Tim wanted to know as we headed back to my vehicle. "Do you think there's a chance he's the same guy who told the cops he saw Petra park her car and walk away?" I'd been wondering about the same thing myself. If he was, it was one helluva coincidence for him to have witnessed Petra's arrival in town and then, three weeks later, find evidence to suggest she drowned. Whether he had a hand in Petra's disappearance or simply knew more than what he told the cops, I knew it was an avenue that required exploring. "Maybe. Maybe not. I won't know until I find him and hear what he has to say." "And just how do you think you're going do that?" Tim demanded in a bossy tone that got right under my skin. "You don't know his name, and all the cops told us was he works at one of the restaurants near the marina. They didn't specify which one. And even supposing he did plant Petra's things for Mary to find, do you honestly think he's going to stick around and admit it to you or anyone else? If he has any sense, he's long gone by now." I stopped abruptly, reminded myself Tim was a client and plastered a smile on my unwilling features. "I thought we agreed you were going to let me do my job without any interference." He reddened and kicked at something buried in the sand. "We did, and I'm sorry. But I feel so fucking helpless. If that witness who says he saw her told the truth, the only thing we know for sure is that Petra came here to Amethyst Cove, parked her car and walked away. The chief figures she went swimming and got washed out to sea. Mary believes Petra's stuff was deliberately put on the rocks for her to find, presumably because someone wants us to believe the drowning story. "Who is this mysterious someone? The person who murdered her? Or the one who has her locked away in his basement? Hell, for all we know, a space ship swooped down and sucked her up. How can you possibly hope to find her when you have absolutely nothing to go on?" "The same way every other PI does when he takes a case where there are no leads. The cops, too, for that matter." Tim looked so frustrated and upset I put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a brief, but reassuring hug. If he thought I was sending him mixed messages, I guess I was in a way. "I just have to keep digging until I find something to follow up on." "You mean like on TV where the cops go through a process of elimination by asking a bunch of endless questions and double checking the answers?" "Yeah, something like that. Except those dudes make it look easy." Tim relaxed enough to smile. "You're saying it's not?" "Not unless you get lucky...and that doesn't happen too often." "Too bad we don't all come equipped with locator chips like the ones we put in our pets. It would make life a whole lot easier." "You think?" I found the idea beyond scary. "What about people who don't want to be found?" "Just a thought," Tim said with a sigh. "So where do we go from here? Is there anything I can do to help?" "Not that I can think of." "I'm not good at sitting around twiddling my thumbs." "You don't have to be. I'll drive you back to my place so you can collect your car, then it's up to you what you do. If you have a job you want to get back to, we can keep in touch by phone." "I don't. I can't concentrate on work as long as my sister is missing, so I've taken a temporary leave of absence. Petra's not just my sister; she's all the family I have left. I need to be here, even if I can't actually do anything to help find her." He gave vent to his frustration by dealing the buried object in the sand a couple more kicks. "I won't get in your way. I promise. I'll pick up my stuff from your place and check into one of the local hotels." I knew the only way to find Petra was by keeping my mind focused on the job. That meant avoiding any type of major distraction, such as Tim's sexy ass grabbing my attention every time I turned around. Problem was out of sight wasn't necessarily out of mind. It would be just as big a distraction if I thought about him all on his lonesome in a hotel room. I'd be wondering what he was doing and if he was alone, or if-- "You don't have to bother with a hotel. You're welcome to stay on at my place. I have plenty of room." A look of what I interpreted as relief suddenly appeared on his face and just as quickly vanished. "You sure? I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble." "I'm quite sure. Don't worry about it." * * * * I took Tim back to the beach house, told him Mi casa es su casa, to make himself comfortable and gave him a key. I then returned to the SUV and checked my voice mail. Among the messages was one from Calista. She said both Lopez and Schultz were currently working the day shift, and at the end of the message gave me their last known home addresses. I was at the point where I needed an hour or two of quiet time to have an in-depth think about the possible reasons for Petra's disappearance I'd given Tim and consider all the angles. Given what we knew, or rather didn't, what was the most likely to have happened? What was the most unlikely? Rather than go to the office where quiet time was a rare commodity, I drove up the Coast Highway a few miles and parked at a secluded spot between an outcropping of rocks, where I had a panoramic view of the ocean. I rolled down the window and pushed back my seat. Up here, the heat of the sun was tempered by a cooling breeze. The ocean below was an unending expanse of dark green peppered with white foam thrown up by the waves, and the surfers were out in full force. I watched a guy catch a big wave and ride it almost to the shore. When he lost it, purely out of habit I waited for him to reappear and swim to safety, then I leaned back and closed my eyes. Tim didn't believe his sister would risk her budding career by taking off her clothes and going for a spur-of-the-moment swim. But what if she had? What if she tucked her sandals and purse out of sight either under or between the rocks, went for a dip, and for some reason never returned to claim them? Since then the rocks had somehow moved, revealing their existence, and, in the process, provided ample evidence for Foxy to close the case. As conclusions went in the case of any missing person where there was nothing in the way of leads or evidence to suggest otherwise, it was the most likely. I would have done the same thing. Swimming accidents happened all the time, and rock-solid didn't exactly apply to the scattering of rocks along a beach like the one here at the Cove. Between people climbing up and over them, the incessant pounding of the surf, and the tides shifting the sand in which they sat, they were under constant attack. Then there were the earth tremors experienced from time to time due to the San Andreas Fault Line. With so many different forces at play, it would be a miracle if some of the rocks didn't occasionally move or get dislodged and expose what they'd previously kept hidden. It was all so logical and made such perfect sense, if I hadn't heard what Mary had to say, I'd have bought the drowning theory and told Tim to go home. As it was, I was coming to a few new conclusions of my own. For starters, the witness who saw Petra park her car, and the young guy at the beach who pointed Mary in the direction of Petra's things had to be one and the same. Anything else was too much of a coincidence. As Mary said, it was all a little too slick and staged. And, going by her description of what he was wearing, it sounded as if the guy worked at The Riptide. Much as I wanted to find him and have a nice little heart-to-heart, as an ex-cop, I knew to take a step back and assess the situation first. People with something to hide said whatever popped into their heads, and I didn't intend to get jerked around with a bunch of half-truths or outright lies. Before confronting him, it would help if I could at least to try and figure out what in hell was going on and why. Why everything pointed to Petra having died by drowning. And why three weeks had elapsed between finding her car and finding her sandals and purse. Was it possible the cops had it right? She'd drowned, but her things hadn't come to light until Mother Nature took a hand by moving the rocks around? Or had they been put there more recently by the person who helped her disappear? Someone who knew enough about the area to figure the cops would assume it to be the reason for the delay? If Petra was in trouble and the witness was involved, the witness would have played dumb when the cops showed her photo around. No way would he admit to having seen her. So, why did he admit to it? Was it because he was a regular guy, doing his civic duty by reporting what he'd seen? Or was there some other reason? Such as did he actually see her do what he said or did someone ask him to pretend he had? Three weeks would have given the sandals and purse more than enough time soaking in seawater to support the drowning theory. But again, did the witness find them accidentally and point Mary in their direction out of the goodness of his heart? Or did he put them there deliberately and make sure she was the one who found them? Was it done because Petra wanted everyone to believe she was dead? Or was that what someone else wanted everyone to believe? If so, to what end? A life insurance scam? Was her life being threatened? Or was she already dead and someone was trying to make it appear accidental? I didn't have any of the answers, or even a single suspicion, and the police had given up. After Mary told them she believed the items were dumped, they should have followed it up. They should have found the guy and rattled his cage. That hadn't happened, and I wondered why. Was it because they didn't believe Mary or was there some other reason? With Foxy and Frank Bunson up for any and every dirty deal they could find, anything was possible. My partner, Ian, had good reason to be scared stiff of them. I wasn't exactly scared, but I knew enough to stay out of their line of vision. I had one small lead. The witness appeared to be playing a game of being all things to all people. If that meant her friend on the force arranged Petra's disappearance and he was pulling the strings, I needed to watch my back. There was also the tiniest outside chance just one guy was the victim of one big, fat coincidence--first, by witnessing Petra's arrival in town and then, by pure chance, finding her stuff hidden in the rocks three weeks later. I couldn't ignore it, but I wasn't buying that version on the grounds it pushed coincidence way too far. If it was the same guy on both occasions, there was an even better chance he was either paid off or persuaded to cooperate. I felt a quick rush of adrenalin. The same feeling I always get when I know I'm on the right track... Petra's only connection to Amethyst Cove was a cop she met at a party. And The Riptide was the local cops' favorite hangout. All I had to do was find out if the witness was employed at The Riptide and whether her boyfriend was Lopez or Schultz. Whichever one it was, it would then be fair to assume he'd done the paying off or the persuading and was involved in Petra's disappearance up to his neck. If I was wrong and it turned out to be two different guys who worked at two other restaurants, I was back at square one. The same applied if I was wrong about Lopez and Schultz. Their frequent trips to L.A. made them the most likely candidates, but it didn't follow they were guilty. If I was wrong, then I was wrong. But with everything fitting together so neatly, I couldn't see how that was possible. One slight adjustment in my game plan and I'd be all set. I took out my cell and speed-dialed the office. At the last second, I changed my mind and hit end before the call connected. According to the dashboard clock, it was two minutes past noon. Instead of leaning on Calista's contact at the local P.D. to give us the name of the witness, I decided to pay a visit to The Riptide. The bar-restaurant was located in the downtown area of the Cove. It was always busy at lunchtime and the service relatively slow. The perfect time for me to look, listen and learn without being obvious. Provided the witness worked there and hadn't taken the day off or skipped town as Tim had suggested. Thanks to Mary's detailed description, I didn't figure recognition would be a problem. First though, I wanted to find out if he was friendly with any of the cops. If so, which cops and just how friendly? Did he treat them like any other customers or did he treat them special, like friends? Or was he nervous or afraid when he's serving them? Maybe a little too subservient or even downright scared? I also wanted to know how they behaved toward him. Body language should be able to tell me most if not all of that. If I pick up on anything I feel worth pursuing, then I can arrange for a tail and see where it leads. I quickly straightened up my seat and closed the window. After restarting the engine, I reversed out of the parking space onto the Coast Highway and headed back toward town. * * * * The Riptide's limited parking was full, and rather than risk a ticket by leaving the SUV on the street, I decided to play it safe by going over to the lot at the marina and walking the couple of blocks back. I'd almost made it to the restaurant when I noticed Tim waiting outside. Dressed in skintight blue jeans with a white tee to emphasize his tan and dark glasses perched atop his blond hair, I felt the same jolt of sexual attraction as when my brother first introduced us. A feeling that made me wish I could put the case on hold and suggest we go back to the beach house and pick up where we left off last night. "I was beginning to think either I'd guessed wrong or I'd missed you," he said by way of greeting. "And before you get the wrong idea, I'm not interfering. I swear." "Okay, then what are you doing here?" "I need to tell you something important before you go in there." He glanced at the entrance to The Riptide, then quickly around the immediate area, as if he expected a surprise attack. "Is there somewhere we can go for a chat?" I wasn't sure if he was nervous about something or merely excited. Either way, he was acting very jumpy. "You can't tell me here?" "No. I'd rather go somewhere we won't be overheard." "There's a bar in the next block and a coffee shop, too. Take your pick." "Either one is fine." The coffee shop came first. It was one of those dark, intimate places specializing in exotic brews with prices to match. I left Tim to get the coffee while I found us a table for two in the back. He brought me what smelled like my favorite dark roast, but I waited for him to sit down, before I said, "What's going on? Did Petra turn up? Did you get a ransom demand? What?" "No, nothing like that. What happened was pure happenstance." "Oh, yeah." I felt my nastiest suspicions click into high gear. "I thought we agreed--" "We did. Will you let me explain? Please?" The smile that accompanied the request made me hard in all the right places, and again I wished I could forget about business for an hour or two. Since I couldn't do that with a good conscience, I took a deep breath, and said, "Sure. Go ahead." "When I got back to your place, I realized I was out of shampoo and a few other things. I needed to find a drugstore. I was also running low on gas. After I filled up, I asked the guy on duty for directions to the nearest drugstore. He said to keep going until I came to Pacific Avenue and then hang a left. That it was in the first block. It's just a small, hole-in-the-wall kind of place, and I found it with no trouble. I was wandering around, picking up stuff, when you'll never guess who walked in." I don't do guessing games. "Who?" "The guy Mary described, the one who told her where to find Petra's stuff." My nerves tightened. If Tim had somehow screwed things up by alerting the guy... "You sure?" "Positive. He fit the description she gave us in every respect." "Did you speak to him?" "No!" Tim gave me what I suspect was intended as a hostile glare. "Give me credit for having a little sense. I overheard him talking to the clerk. He was being so... I'm not even sure how to describe it: rude, unkind, insulting. I know a lot of teenagers talk to each other like that these days, but it doesn't make it right. I was surprised she didn't throw him out or at least tell him to back off. When I paid for my stuff, I asked her what his problem was and why all the attitude. She said, and this is a direct quote, 'Because Kevin Hallsby's cousin is a cop, and he thinks that entitles him to say, do and take whatever he wants.' "I asked what that meant exactly, and she said he's always pressuring her to have sex with him. Other times, he walks in the store, takes whatever he fancies and says, 'Catch you later'--which she says he never does--on the way out. I asked who makes up for the loss, and she looked at me, made a face, and said, 'I'll give you one guess?' Can you believe it?" I'd stopped being surprised by people and what they're capable of doing to one another years ago. Especially if they believe themselves to be bulletproof. "Was anyone else in the store?" "Just the three of us. From the way he swaggered in and out like he owned the world, I doubt he even noticed I was there." "Did you ask why she puts up with it?" "I did." He sighed as he reached under the table and laid a hand on my thigh. "She seems to think she has no choice. She's a single parent, and she's convinced one word from Kevin to the right people and she'll lose her job and her kid. She said it happened to a friend of hers and she thinks Kevin was responsible, so now she's scared. From what she said, I got the impression throwing his weight around turns him on." "He wouldn't be the first." Tim's hand was burning through the fabric of my pants. There wasn't enough room for me to move my leg, and anyway his touch felt so good. Much too good for me to tell him to stop. But then he captured my gaze and the next thing I knew, he was seducing me with those big blue eyes. His hand moved up my leg, touched my cock lightly and retreated. I held my breath, waiting for him to do it again, praying he would. Instead, the bastard removed his hand and upped the pressure by taking a sip of coffee and running the tip of his tongue slowly around his mouth. I swear, if he'd asked me to get down on my knees then and there, public place or not, I'd have done it. No question. I gulped down a mouthful of hot coffee. My dick ached and my head swam with the promise I saw in Tim's eyes. How was I supposed to concentrate and figure out what had happened to his sister when all I want to do is go somewhere private where we could fuck one another senseless? I want to wrap my lips around his cock. I want to taste him. I want to squeeze his nuts and feel him react. But most of all I want to bury my aching shaft in his delectable ass, ride him until he screams for mercy, and then ride him some more. My hand trembled with suppressed need. I put down the mug before I spilled the contents. "Does it help?" "Does what help?" Hell, I couldn't even think straight with him looking at me like that. No way could I concentrate. "Knowing the guy's name and finding out he has cop connections. After everything I saw and heard, I came to the conclusion he's one arrogant little bastard. I certainly wouldn't put anything past him." "What exactly did he say?" I asked, playing for time to get my scrambled thoughts realigned. "Did he threaten her in some way?" "No. I'd call it sexual harassment. He made snide remarks about her body, wanted her to guess the size of his penis, then suggested she should lock the door for a few minutes so they could go in back of the store for a quickie. When she didn't reply, he told her to lighten up. Then he laughed and tried to make out he was joking." "Did she happen to mention the cousin's name?" "No, and I didn't ask. I was afraid if I came across as curious, she'd clam up. This way, I can always go back and ask if Mr. Personality's been in recently and perhaps she'll tell me more." And perhaps she's already wishing she kept her mouth shut in the first place. Maybe the kid was a harmless jerk who needed his ass kicked. And maybe he was flying high on the assumption being related to a cop gave him magical powers. As I discovered while I was on the force, stuff like that happens all the time here in the Cove, and probably everywhere else, too. Whether it's a cop applying the pressure or someone like Kevin, who figures he's connected, they always pick on the weak and the vulnerable. Anyone they know who'll go along with whatever they want because they can't fight back for whatever reason or simply lack the balls. From what Tim said, it sounded to me like the clerk was upset and shooting her mouth off to anyone who'd listen. If it was just stupid teenager stuff, he'd get bored or she'd wise up and smack him. If it was more, and this guy Kevin had something on her and found out she'd been complaining about him, good luck. He could step things up a notch and make her miserable life even more so. And, as long as Foxy remained chief of police, there was nothing she could do about it other than leave town. The chief thrived on any kind of intimidation shit. "If you need anything else while you're here, I suggest you find a different drugstore." Tim frowned. "Why's that?" "The one you're talking about is just a few steps from The Riptide. Whatever's going on, we don't want Kevin walking in and catching the two of you chatting about him." "What could he do to me?" "To you, nothing. To her, it depends what he has on her and if he has the kind of pull she seems to think. If he does, she could lose her kid and her job. By the time he's finished, she could even find herself living on the street." Tim laughed and shook his head. "You're kidding, right? He'd need proof to strip her down to the bone like that. The authorities wouldn't just take his word." "In a perfect world, no. In this one, it depends on several things. If she has a record, or she's been in trouble with child welfare before, or the dad's fighting her for custody, anything's possible. What if he knows something about her she doesn't want getting out?" "You think?" "I have no idea." "Me, either. I didn't think about possible alternatives. I simply thought he was harassing her for the heck of it." "Maybe he was. And maybe she has a wild imagination. She's heard stories and who knows what she thinks? The thing is, if he knows she's scared of him, he could be using the knowledge to get free stuff." "That would make him one very sick little fuck. But I hear what you're saying--whatever it is, mind my own business and stay out of it." I smiled, resisted the urge to reach under the table and do a little touching of my own, and drank the remains of my almost cold coffee. "Right. You only heard her side of the story. For all we know, she did something to seriously piss him off, and what you observed was payback." "Lots of possibilities, huh?" "Always. Lots of different angles, too. It's what makes my job so interesting." "You never said, but does knowing the boy's name help with your investigation?" "Knowing his name and getting confirmation he's related to a cop is very helpful. So, I thank you for that. I don't know of anyone on the force with the last name of Hallsby, but once I figure out who the cousin is and how the two of them fit into your sister's disappearance, I might just get somewhere." "What's your next step?" I grinned as I pushed back my chair and got to my feet. "I have this sudden yen for shrimp tostados with avocado. And it so happens The Riptide makes the best in town." "I don't suppose you'll let me join you." "Sorry, I can't. It's a business thing." Tim's disappointment was so believable, so heartrending, I admit I was I was more than a little tempted. With Petra missing for over a month, it wasn't likely to change anything if I put the job on hold for a couple of hours. Still, I couldn't allow myself to do that. It wasn't only unprofessional; in Tim's case, it could all too easily become a habit. "I'll see you later at the house." "What time will that be?" he asked, a wistful note to his voice as he followed me out of the coffee shop and onto the sidewalk. "No idea. In this job, there are no set hours. I have to play things however they come." "You want me to feed the cats?" "If you think they need feeding, sure. I know they'll appreciate it. There's a bag of kibble under the sink and a stack of canned food. I usually give them a little of each." * * * * As always, the beer in The Riptide was ice-cold and the tostados total perfection. The tortilla shells were crisp, the diced tomatoes and guacamole garden fresh, and the shrimps extra spicy and meltingly tender. I even had a table with a clear view of the bar, which was great because the cops always sit at the bar. My server, who I estimated to be on the shady side of eighteen, asked politely if there was anything else he could bring me, and I reminded him I'd also ordered a side of plain, sliced avocado. "You want dressing on that, sir?" "No thanks." The words were barely out of my mouth when Kevin--the tats, the silver earrings and the hair were a dead giveaway--came out from the kitchen and went behind the bar. I watched him serve customers, wipe glasses and return them to the overhead slots, then move down the bar, where he rested his arms on the counter and proceed to yak it up with a guy in the dark blue uniform of the Amethyst Cove P.D. Just then, the server returned with the avocado and completely blocked my view of Kevin and the cop. "Something wrong with the tostados, sir?" I glanced up at the guy. "No. They're great. Why do you ask?" "You're not eating." "I'm thinking." "I see. But they must be cold by now. Would you like to have them reheated?" For some reason, the spicy hot guacamole did not excite my taste buds the way it usually did. I gritted my teeth, wishing he'd just go. "No. It's all good. Thank you." "In that case, sir, I'll leave you to enjoy your lunch." To my relief, the server took off and my view of the bar was restored. Except there was nothing to see. Both Kevin and the cop had vanished. Damn, shit, carry nine, and great jumping jackanapes, as my English grandpa used to say when he got upset. Swallowing my frustration along with the rest of the cold tostados, I ignored the avocado, since it was already turning brown, and pushed the plates aside. To this day I have no idea what my grandpa's two favorite expressions mean, but as I kid I used to love following the old guy around while repeating them over and over until he threatened to "clip my ear" if I didn't stop. I thought he meant with scissors. Later I learned it was the English equivalent of giving me a smack upside the head. I finished my beer, then remembered something Vance had said about Petra receiving weird calls. As a kid growing up around the Hollywood scene, I know life in the spotlight is not the dream existence most people imagine. It's up one day, down the next, often cruel, always uncertain, and only the tough survive. Celebrities get phone calls from wackos, weirdos, jealous rivals, obsessed fans, concerned citizens and everything in between. Most of such calls are made from disposable cells or public phones, which makes them untraceable, and, like Vance, I would probably have dismissed the ones Petra received as part of doing business. Unless, of course, it amounted to more than a single call from one individual...such as repeated calls, notes, letters, packages, attempts at personal contact in the street or elsewhere. If it had gone that far, it would be difficult if not impossible to hide. Petra didn't live in a vacuum. Unless things had changed from when I worked in Hollywood, the studio would have provided her with a personal assistant, a publicist, a security advisor--a whole a team of people who were paid to protect her and manage her life. Anything like that they'd have been on in a flash and it would have been stopped. Hell, even Vance would have known about it. So what had happened? What was so bad she felt compelled to fake her own death? In the absence of anything to the contrary, I was fast coming to the conclusion Vance was right and she couldn't take the stress. Either that or she'd taken the crank calls seriously and decided her life was in danger, The server brought me my check. I glanced at the total, handed him a couple of bills, and since Kevin hadn't returned, I decided to leave. Outside the restaurant, I hesitated and looked around on the off-chance Kevin was taking a smoke break. He wasn't. I wondered where he was...over at the drugstore harassing the clerk again, still in the restaurant, or had he finished his shift and left? I couldn't go back inside to check without being obvious. But restaurant staff often work split shifts, so I'd have to come back later this evening. As I headed over to the marina to collect the SUV, something began tugging at my brain that I couldn't get a handle on. One of those tricky, elusive thoughts you know will answer all the questions if only you can figure out what it is. By the time I reached my vehicle, I had it. Kevin! If I was right, and both Petra's and the drugstore clerk's fears turned out to be nothing more than the groundless products of their own overactive imaginations, what in hell was Kevin doing in the middle of it all? Assuming everything I'd been told or suspected was true, he'd helped fake Petra's death and he had the clerk scared out of her mind. If there was a connection, I couldn't imagine what it might be, other than coincidence. It couldn't be anything else but coincidence. There were no other similarities between the two cases. Even so, it didn't stop me from wondering... What if? Kevin was a good looking guy. What if his cousin moonlighted in L.A. along with Lopez and Schultz? What if they'd taken Kevin with them and he'd passed himself off as a cop? And what if it was Kevin who Petra was having the affair with? Tim said he was ten years older than Petra. I estimated Tim was close to forty, so that put her a little under thirty, while Kevin looked to be in his early to mid-twenties. Kevin was also exceptionally handsome with a good physique, the type who would have no trouble attracting women. If they were involved and the affair was serious, it would make perfect sense for her to tell him her problems and solicit his assistance in helping her vanish. I unlocked the SUV and got in, then speed dialed the office. Calista answered, "Amethyst Cove Security and Investigations." "Hi, Calista. It's me, Greg." "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?" I sighed, a long, drawn out sigh of desperation. "Please, Calista, can you quit calling me sir?" "No, sir, I'm afraid not. You and Mr. Coulter own this company. As an employee, I must show respect." I grinned at myself in the rearview mirror. "I see. So you believe familiarity breeds contempt, huh?" I said, going down what had become a familiar and well-trodden path. "Exactly, sir. Calling you by your first name would be disrespectful and most improper. Now, is there anything else?" "Yes, ma'am. I need you to check on a dude by the name of Kevin Hallsby. He works at The Riptide, and I understand he has a cousin who's a cop. I'd like Kevin's home address and whatever else you can dig up." Calista spelled out the last name to be sure she had it right. "How soon do you need this information, sir?" "Five minutes ago, Miss Perry. I'll wait for your call." I checked the dashboard clock. Calista's ability to come up with accurate information at the drop of a hat was amazing. Her turnaround time of ten to thirty minutes on small stuff like this, depending on any roadblocks she encountered, even more so. Ian and I sometimes wondered how a newcomer to the Cove could find out things with such speed, but she could, and we weren't about to question her methods. In less than fifteen minutes Calista was back to me. "I have what you need, sir." I pulled out my notebook and clicked my ballpoint into operational mode. "Okay, give it to me." "Kevin Hallsby is twenty-five and a bartender at The Riptide. He lives with his cousin, Fraser Shortt, two ts. Fraser is thirty and was an officer with the police department here in town for a little over a year. About two months ago, he quit." Oh, fuck! Just what I needed. Another first name starting with F! "He goes by Fraser?" "It would seem so. Kevin and Fraser currently reside at their grandmother's former home, 25 Esteban, a small side street tucked away between the park and the warehouse district. Fraser's father and Kevin's mother are brother and sister." "Anything else?" I asked, knowing she always keeps a little something back. "Fraser's parents are divorced. His father remarried and moved to Vegas, and his mother is now married to a farmer and lives in Gilroy." "What about Kevin's folks?" "Kevin was raised by his grandmother. When she died, he inherited the house and whatever else she owned. His mother was killed in a traffic accident shortly after Kevin was born. There's no mention of a father." "Either one have financial problems?" "No, sir. There was a small mortgage on the house when the grandmother passed three years ago that has since been paid off. Fraser has received a few late notices from credit card companies. Nothing recent, though. He's still carrying largish balances on a couple of them, but the payments are up to date." "Fraser likes to spend money?" "It would appear so, sir. Clothes, mostly. I think he moved in with Kevin to save on expenses because it coincides with the dates of the late payment notices. As of now, they both appear to be financially healthy." "Has Kevin ever been in trouble with the law?" Calista treated my listening ear to one of her ladylike Boston giggles. "Funny you should ask, sir. There are a few reports of the lovely Kevin using his charm in place of legal tender. It's all small stuff, though, a burger here, a soft drink there. " "Anyone file an official complaint?" "Not that I could find. But reading between the lines, I have a feeling, completely unsubstantiated, of course, that if Kevin doesn't get what Kevin wants, he's not above giving his victim's arm a twist." Bingo! The drugstore clerk, for example? "That's all? No marriages, divorces, or current romantic relationships for either of them?" "No, sir. They both seem to like the ladies, but nothing serious. Fraser worked for a security company before he joined the force and continued to do so part-time whenever they needed extra help." "Here in the Cove?" "No. It's one of those big firms out of L.A. who operate statewide." "So they would probably send him all over. Is he back there now full-time?" "I don't know. Do you want me to dig deeper and find out?" "That would be good. Thanks, Calista." "My pleasure, sir." After ending the call, I reached in the back seat for the Stetson Ian gave me for my last birthday. It was supposedly worn by a famous actor in an equally famous movie. I didn't care about the hat's history. It was old and battered, a perfect fit, and I loved the way it made me feel--mysterious and omnipotent. It also helped me do my best thinking. I put it on, tilted it forward so the brim shielded my eyes from the afternoon sun, and thought about what I'd just learned from Calista. Kevin sounded like one of those brash individuals who barreled their way through life without a thought for what's right or wrong, as long as they came out on top. And if Kevin had to mess with the truth on occasion by exaggerating or stretching it, I doubt it bothered him overly much. As for cousin Fraser, fashionista, fashion whore, or whatever name clothing addicts currently went by, a second job with his old employer while still on the force would have paid for his indulgences. It would also have taken him to lots of interesting places, perhaps even one-on-one situations, where he would meet lots of interesting people such as Petra Lianne. So...suppose she started the affair with Fraser while he was still a cop. She told him she'd had enough of being a celebrity, or was scared for her life or whatever, and figured the only way out was for her to disappear, permanently. If she was as desperate as Vance made her sound and as super cautious as Tim said, she wouldn't have risked ruining her plan by jumping on the first plane or train leaving town. She'd have done everything within her power to ensure she'd never be found. The best way I knew of a person doing that was by pretending to be dead. And with Fraser and Kevin's help, she'd almost pulled it off. I wondered if she was hiding somewhere in the area, but if she was, it would defeat the whole purpose of the exercise. Once she put her plan into motion, she'd have kept right on going. I took off my Stetson, put it on the passenger seat and called Calista. "Amethyst Cove Security and Investigations. How may I help you?" "If Fraser has another job, I'd like to know where and what his hours are." "He's currently working as a bouncer at a place called Bourbonna. It's a new dance club somewhere here in the downtown area. He starts at five and finishes at whatever time they close." "Okay. By the way, I forgot to ask. Any idea why Fraser quit the force?" "From what my source told me, it seems he and Chief Fox didn't get along." Since that could mean almost anything, I thanked Calista, checked my watch against the dashboard clock, and terminated the call. If the stars were correctly aligned and Lady Luck was on my side, Fraser should be at home, getting ready for work, and Kevin would be there, too, filling in time between shifts. I started the SUV's engine and drove out of the lot. * * * * Kevin's house on Esteban was at least fifty years old, part of the post-WWII building boom, but, like all the other adjacent properties, appeared to be well cared for. There were two late model vehicles in the driveway, giving the impression both residents were at home. I parked farther along the street and walked back, still undecided on my best approach. I wasn't worried about Kevin, but as an ex-cop, a security officer, and now a bouncer, Fraser could be a pussycat or a problem. After a short, internal debate, I decided to show my ID, say I'd been hired to find Petra and let them do the talking. As I approached the front door, I could hear music playing and water running. I rang the bell. After about a ten-second wait, a smiling Kevin opened the door. Barefoot and wearing jogging pants, he gave the impression of having just stepped out of the shower. "Can I help you?" "Are you Kevin Hallsby?" The smile changed to a frown. "Who wants to know?" I showed him my ID. "I'm with Amethyst Cove Security and Investigations. We've been hired by the brother of Petra Lianne to trace her present whereabouts. We know she was last seen here in town, and I understand you're the person who saw her." His mouth tightened and his body tensed and, for an instant, I thought he would shut the door in my face. But then he regained control, released his death grip on the door, and said, "So? I saw her, so what? I told the cops everything I know." "Really? A few weeks later, I believe you found some of her possessions. But instead of taking them to the cops, you got someone else to do it. Want to tell me why?" His shocked expression was all the confirmation I needed. "I have no idea where you got your information, but I don't have to tell you a fucking thing. So just piss off. Okay?" "Hey! What's going on here?" Before Kevin could slam the door and bolt, which I figured was his intention, another man appeared behind him, blocking his way. The newcomer, who I guessed to be Fraser and looked like an older version of Kevin, glared at me over Kevin's shoulder. "Who are you?" "Greg Stewartson, private investigator." I held up my ID. "He's here asking questions about Petra," Kevin said, immediately giving the game away, and also saving me the bother of explaining a second time. Fraser reached around Kevin and opened the door wide. "In that case, you'd better come in." "We don't have to tell this guy a thing," Kevin said, standing his ground. "He's not a cop." Fraser rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Kev, and let the man in. We knew this might happen. We told her that." "But she said it wouldn't." Fraser edged past Kevin and offered me his hand. "Fraser Shortt. I'm Kevin's cousin." At Fraser's invitation, I followed the pair down a short hallway to a large combined living room/kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable," Fraser said, indicating a long sofa and a couple of easy chairs. "I just made coffee if you're interested." Kevin chose one of the chairs, and I sat down on the sofa. "Thanks. Black will be fine." After Fraser finished serving the coffee, an awkward silence took over. Then Fraser broke it by saying, "I'm not sure where to begin." "I assume Petra is alive." Fraser nodded. "Absolutely." "I also assume you helped make it look like she went for a swim and drowned." "Actually, that was Kev's idea. I thought it was overkill." "Okay, so why don't you tell me what happened?" Fraser hesitated for a long moment and then he said, "I was working security at a Hollywood party the first time I met Petra. She was still an aspiring actress at the time. Then we met again in a club about a week later and ended up spending the night together and almost every night after until she got her big break." "And she dropped you?" "Not exactly. She got busy with her career, and I'd taken a job with the police force up here. I'd say that we drifted apart is a more accurate description. We still had feelings for one another, and we still saw one another from time to time. But then she got involved with that producer or whatever he is." "Vance Stewartson?" "You know him?" I shrugged. "He's my brother." He sipped his coffee and put the mug on a side table. "That so? Well, I think she realized hooking up with him was a mistake right from the start. She thought she wanted what he could do for her, but she couldn't handle the speed with which everything was starting to happen." "Sounds like she was overwhelmed," I said, voicing my thoughts aloud. "She should have told him to slow down." "She tried, but he wouldn't listen. He kept pushing her to do things she didn't want to do, and when he asked her to move in with him, she decided she'd had enough. That's when she called me. She said there was no way; she didn't like him enough to live with him. He was too demanding, too controlling, and he never listened to a thing she said." I laughed. "Sounds like my brother. What about these weird phones she told him about? Did they happen or what?" "I don't know for sure. She told me she was getting them. The phone rang and either no one was there or she could hear someone breathing. She also believed she was being stalked. She said people whispered things to her in elevators, and any time she went out, she kept seeing the same guy each time she turned around. She told her people and she also told Vance. Apparently, they had security check everything, but they came up dry." "You've worked for a security company and you've been a cop, so what do you think?" "I won't say Petra could have been imagining things because I know some stalkers are exceedingly clever. What I think is she got in over her head. She couldn't take the pressure. I knew she'd wanted out for quite some time. She kept saying tomorrow, tomorrow, but she never did anything about it. Then she got arrested over a stupid publicity stunt, had a big fight with Vance, and that was it. She drove up here, said she needed to disappear, and would I help." "And you said yes." "No way!" He shook his head. "I said she needed to think about the people she'd be hurting. She insisted there was no one. Her only family was a brother she hardly knew and almost never saw. Everyone else in her life amounted to nothing more than a bunch of users who wouldn't even notice she'd gone. She wanted to go somewhere and start a new life. She'd stack grocery store shelves, work in a fast food place, whatever it took." "So how..." I looked from Kevin to Fraser and back to Kevin. I had a feeling Kevin was the more adventurous of the pair. "It was me who came up with the plan, okay?" Kevin admitted, albeit reluctantly. "I saw a movie on TV where a woman wanted to escape from her abusive husband. She made it look like she'd drowned at sea. In her case, it worked. He never found her." I returned my attention to Fraser. "You knew about this?" "I knew and I tried talking her out of it. But her mind was made up. She reminded me she's an adult, free to make her own choices, and if I didn't like what she was doing, it was my problem not hers." "And then she left?" "Not right then. She waited until Kev and I were asleep. But before we went to bed that night, I told her if anyone figured out we'd had a hand in her disappearance and came around asking questions, I'd have to tell them what I knew. She said fine, but not to hold my breath because it would never happen." In one way, I admired Petra for having the guts to tell Hollywood to get lost and to reinvent herself. Then I remembered my grandmother and the weeks and months of wondering and worrying my family went through before she was officially declared, missing, presumed dead. For Tim's sake, I hoped, given time, she would come to her senses and contact him. As for Vance...my brother could take care of himself. "Did Petra give any hint as to what her plans might be?" Fraser's smile was a tad wistful. "She said she'd always wanted to walk across America from the Pacific to the Atlantic and stop and visit all the places in between. I offered to go with her, but she said no, the trip would be one of personal discovery. When she reached New York, she'd know what she wanted and where she wanted to go from there." "Sounds like a pretty dangerous plan. Impractical, too." "That's what we told her," Kevin said, looking a little sad. "She said if she was a man, she'd give it try. Since she wasn't, she'd take the bus." "Have you heard from her?" "Once," Fraser admitted. "To let me know she was okay. She knew I'd be worried after she took off without saying goodbye. I asked her to keep in touch, and she promised she would. I also told her to call her brother, and she said she'd think about it." "Anything else?" I pressed. "I traced the call to the bus station in Flagstaff. We haven't heard from her since." "How long since the call?" "Almost a month." I spared a glance for the mug of now-cold coffee and got to my feet. "As you say, Petra's an adult. If she wants to take a bus trip to New York, then I guess it's her business. If it's okay with you, though, I'll have her brother call and give you his phone number. Then if she calls again, you can let him know." "Sure, fine with me," Fraser said as the pair of them followed me out of the room and down the hallway. "I doubt she will," Kevin said as we reached the door. "She said she intended to make sure no one ever found her, and I know she meant it." With no way of knowing if Petra did mean what she said, or if the day would arrive when she had a change of heart, I returned to the SUV and started the engine. The only problem I had now was deciding what to tell Tim. The whole truth and leave him to waste his life on false hope if Kevin was right? Or go for a slightly edited version, and let Tim be surprised if Kevin was wrong and Petra called? Reminding myself I was being paid to seek out and deliver the truth, not adjust it, I released the brake and headed for home. * * * * I found Tim asleep on the sofa. Albert was curled up on his chest. George was tucked into his side. George opened one eye and gave me a self-satisfied, who-in-hell-needs-you cat smile. Hmm! So much for his loyalty to he who provides him with all the comforts of life. Still, they all looked so comfortable and cozy, I crept out of the room and headed for the kitchen. I don't know if Tim heard me come in, or if George read my thoughts and decided to pay attention as to which side his and Albert's cookies were buttered. Whatever! I'd barely opened the refrigerator door and reached for a beer when all three appeared in the doorway, Tim rubbing his eyes and the two cats licking their well-fed chops. "How did things go? Any progress?" Tim asked. "Here, catch." I tossed him the beer and reached for another. "Let's go out on the deck and I'll tell you." When I was through, he didn't say anything for a while. Then he said, "Have you told Vance?" "No. I'm not sure who the client is here, you or Vance, so I figured you should do that." "How do you think he'll take it?" A month was a long time in the candy floss world of stardom. Knowing my brother, I had a feeling he'd already moved on. "Hard to say. If he makes a fuss, just say it's her life to do with however she decides." "Which is true. I just wish we were closer. That I'd spent more time with her and gotten to know her better while I had the chance." "That could still happen." "I doubt it. I'm her brother and I love her. I hope she calls, and if she needs anything, I'll be there. But..." I knew what Tim was thinking, but couldn't actually say. The only bond between them was blood. No shared childhood memories or experiences, and without being able to sit down and play the old "Do you remember when" game, they were virtual strangers. While Tim went inside to call Vance, I sipped my beer and relaxed. It was early evening now. The sun was still hot, but a soft ocean breeze caressed my overheated body and filled my head with thoughts of a refreshing shower and cool, crisp sheets. It also reminded me of the IOU I'd given Tim, and I wondered if he remembered, too. I closed my eyes, ran a hand down my belly and touched my rapidly hardening shaft. It felt so incredibly fucking good I just rode the wave. But the wave was bigger than I expected. It demanded so much more than a scratch. With Tim in the house, and likely to be there for a while, and my deck totally private, I opened my pants and gave in to temptation. Every muscle in my body tensed as I slid my fingers slowly down the entire length from root to tip and back. I hesitated for a few seconds, holding onto the thrill of anticipation by pitting my control against the desire to give in and shoot my load. I stroked myself again, but before I reached the tip, another hand wrapped around my fingers and put a stop to my fun. I opened my eyes and looked straight up into Tim's baby blues. He was straddling the lounger and giving me the same hungry look I get from Albert and George when they're desperate to eat. "That was quick," I said. "Was Vance out?" "No, he was busy." I caught my breath as Tim's fingers picked up where mine left off, his movements a little slower, but firmer and more insistent. It took every scrap of self-control I possessed to hang tough. "You didn't speak to him?" "We spoke. For about three minutes. Barely long enough for me to give him a condensed version of what you've discovered." I focused on a stray strand of blond hair on Tim's forehead. "And he said?" "Petra's an adult. If she wants to ruin her life, it's her business. Since I'm her next of kin, I asked if he could arrange to have her stuff sent to me for safekeeping. He said, sure no problem, he'd have someone see to it, but I'd have to excuse him because he was in the middle of an important meeting." So I was right. Vance had moved on. "And that was it?" "That was it. Now..." Tim smiled, reached in his back pocket for his wallet, and sat down on the edge of the lounger. After taking out a condom and removing it from the foil package, he rolled it down over my cock. His actions confused me. "I thought I was the one who owed you." "You do." He reached for my hand. "But not out here. It'll be better if we take it inside." Holding onto my pants with my free hand, I let him lead me through the kitchen and down the hallway to what real estate salespeople refer to as the family bathroom. The shower in here is much bigger than those in the ensuites, so I knew exactly what he had in mind. Tim shucked off his clothes and turned on the shower. "You going to strip and make good on your promise or just stand there?" I shot him a cheeky grin and hitched up my pants before they fell down completely. "I haven't quite decided. I'm still thinking." "Really?" I felt my control start to slip a little as he did that sexy thing with his tongue and his upper lip. "You need a little help with that?" "I guess it wouldn't do any harm." He narrowed his gaze and began stroking his own very impressive hard-on. Then he turned the shower down to a trickle and reached for me. Grasping my shoulders lightly, he used his tongue to open my very willing mouth and plunder what he found inside. He tasted of beer, the coffee we'd had earlier, and something that was essentially Tim. I ran a finger down his crack and pressed it hard against his hole. "This what you want, babe?" I asked as his lips moved down my neck, licking and nibbling their way to only he knew where. "You have lube in here?" I sucked in a breath as he bit my shoulder. Hard enough, I suspected, to leave a mark. "I think there's some in the shower caddy. That's if it hasn't dried up or gone bad." He chuckled. "You trying to tell me something here?" "Yeah, I'm desperate." He opened the container of lube and sniffed the contents. "It smells okay. Think we should risk it?" "Here give me that." I stepped inside the shower cubicle and grabbed the lube, which I'd actually bought quite recently, and slathered some on my aching penis. "Now, if you'll assume the position..." But he already had. His legs were spread slightly apart, his body bent forward with the palms of his hands pressed flat against the shower walls, and his delectable butt ready and waiting for my attention. I squirted a shot of lube in his hole and followed it with my finger. The muscle loosened almost immediately, so I added a second finger and then a third. He groaned, pleading for me to hurry it up. I obliged by parting his butt cheeks and inserting the head of my cock. As I pushed in, I wrapped my arms around his body. I pulled out, then pushed in again and did a little biting of my own as I took possession of his stiffie. He bucked against me, but I held the position, stroking and squeezing, while I listened to his soft moans and groans of pleasure. When I knew he was almost there, I let him finish it himself, while I concentrated on my own enjoyment. I was a gnat's breath from coming myself. I began upping my strokes. I withdrew and pushed back in, waiting for the incredible rush I was always a little afraid wouldn't happen. But then it did. It started slowly, the feeling gradually increasing until I was hanging on the very edge of the world, waiting for the explosion. Then it happened. I wanted to hold onto the moment, make the feeling last, but that never happened. Before I could stop it, it melted away, leaving me feeling drained, but this time unexpectedly content and satisfied, too. While I continued to hold Tim, I wondered what it would be like if I had someone permanent in my life. A special someone to come home to after a hard day at the office, or a really bad day, or even a spectacularly good day. The moment passed. I released Tim and brushed the thought away. Relationships took time, commitment, and a ton of TLC. For now, Albert, George and Bunny were all the family I needed. They never asked to borrow money or the car, and I didn't have to worry about them finding someone they liked better. Did that make me scared of commitment? Maybe, but I preferred to think of myself as cautious I turned the spray on full. I scrubbed Tim's back, and he scrubbed mine. The temptation to linger was there, all it needed was a tiny nudge, but I decided to save it for later. "You hungry?" I asked Tim as I reached for a towel. He raised one eyebrow. "For more of what we just enjoyed? You said you have a thing about getting it on with clients." "I meant, regular food, as in dinner somewhere. As for me mixing business with pleasure..." I sighed and ran a finger down his damp chest. "I don't. Petra is your sister, but she was also Vance's significant other, or so he thought when he brought you here and asked me to find her. So I guess, technically speaking, since he did the asking, that makes him the client rather than you." Tim grinned and grabbed my finger. "I see. In other words you're going to salve your conscience by sticking Vance with the bill?" "You don't think I should?" * * * * There's this wonderful little French restaurant a short walk along the beach from where I live, so I took Tim there. It's owned and operated by Anton and his wife, Marthe, who wanted something to do when they gave up working for one of the big hotel chains and decided to retire to the Cove. When I say "little," Le Pastis is more accurately described as miniscule. Six tables for four that can be separated into twelve tables for two. Never more than two entrees on the menu, and tonight I see there's one of my favorites--cassoulet, a concoction of lamb, preserved duck, sausage, white beans and tomatoes, along with a dozen other ingredients, depending on availability. The ocean-side of the restaurant is all sliding glass doors that can be left open or closed, depending on the weather. Tonight the doors were open, and the white candles in their glass holders flickered in the light sea breeze. After introducing Tim and going through the kissy-huggy routine with which the owners always greet their regular guests, Anton seated us at a table for two and gave us a handwritten copy of the menu. I ordered the cassoulet, and Tim the filet mignon. I also ordered a bottle of my favorite Rhone red, Gigondas. The wine looks innocent enough, a deep, dark red that goes down smooth as cream, but with an alcohol content of twelve and one-half percent, it packs one helluva punch. We finished the bottle and we made it back to my place. I remember locking the door. I also remember the two of us kissing, and me falling down on my bed with Tim on top of me. After that, it's mostly a blur. We cuddled for a bit and there was some pretty urgent touching and stroking. Then I roused sometime later to find my dick halfway down Tim's throat and me on the edge of the sweetest orgasm I'd had since our time in the shower. I guess I went back to sleep after that because the next time I opened my eyes, the room was full of sunlight and I was alone in the bed. I made my way to the kitchen, but Tim wasn't there. I checked the deck and the driveway, but Tim and his vehicle were both gone. On the counter, I found a note from Tim that said to call him if I was ever in San Francisco and a business card for Timothy R. Fensham, Chief Research Chemist, followed by the name of one of the big oil companies. There was also a check made out to me with the amount left blank. I noticed he'd made coffee and fed the two cats and the rabbit before leaving, and I decided it was too bad he didn't live closer. On the other hand... I picked up the check, tore it into tiny pieces and dropped it in the trash. Perhaps it was just as well he didn't. Christiane France Christiane truly believes that love makes the world go round, so she likes stories with both happy and bittersweet endings. Christiane has been writing romance for the past twenty years and lives near Niagara Falls with her husband and The Boys--two black and white Persian cats. * * * * Don't miss Blues In The Night, by Christiane France, available at AmberAllure.com!   To celebrate their reunion after a six-month work-related separation, Alain and his partner James have planned to meet up for the perfect dream vacation. When James calls with what Alain expects to be details of his arrival time at the first stop on their itinerary, James says he won't be joining him. He's met someone new, the temporary assignment has turned into a permanent job, and sorry, but their relationship is over. Alain leaves the hotel, hoping the sights and sounds of the city will help distract him from the shock of James' desertion, maybe stop him from trying to figure out ways of changing the unchangeable. As evening turns to night, he continues walking, up one street and down the next until music drifting up from a basement nightclub catches his attention. The singer's voice is distinctive, different, and it sounds like Kenny Dumaine, a man Alain met in his hometown a couple of years ago. Kenny doesn't remember him at first. But Alain is drinking heavily, and when he mentions what sounds like a romance gone wrong, Kenny recalls the circumstances of their first meeting. Alain had helped him out of a bad spot, and now it looks like he needs the favor returned. Kenny was attracted to Alain first time around, and although things never turned physical, that hasn't changed. As an entertainer, always on the move, he's learned to keep things casual. His last performance is the following night, and the next day he'll be gone. Where's the harm in offering an old acquaintance a little badly needed TLC? Amber Quill Press, LLC The Gold Standard in Publishing Quality Books In Both Print And Electronic Formats Erotica Horror Romance Fantasy Mainstream Young Adult Science Fiction Suspense/Thriller Action/Adventure Non-Fiction Paranormal Historical Western Mystery GLBT Buy Direct And Save http://www.AmberQuill.com http://www.AmberHeat.com http://www.AmberAllure.com