Always Look Twice (25 page)

Mark saw her gaze go to her parents’ wall of photos while she listened to Kincannon’s response. ‘‘Wow. Stupid of him.’’ A smile played across Annabelle’s mouth as she added, ‘‘I’d pay money for copies of those, Noah.’’

‘‘Copies of what?’’ Mark asked once she’d ended the call, laughing.

‘‘Nude photos.’’

He frowned. ‘‘Of his parents?’’

‘‘No, stupid.’’ She rolled her eyes. ‘‘Of Noah.’’

He shot her a look. He knew she’d been teasing, and figured out the photos must be baby pics, but he still didn’t like it. Grumpy, he returned his attention to the photograph of the dead woman. Tracking down Kurtz wouldn’t be enough. ‘‘Who were you?’’ he murmured.

‘‘And what was her connection to the Fixers?’’ Annabelle added.

‘‘We had better find out.’’ Mark tossed the photo on Frank Monroe’s desk and took a seat at the computer, prepared to get to work with the information they had. ‘‘That’s the only way we will ever be safe.’’

Four days later Annabelle carried a laundry basket full of wet sheets out to the clothesline behind the farmhouse and went to work hanging them to dry. Though tossing them into the dryer was easier, she agreed with her mother’s belief that sheets dried by sunshine and fresh air made the best beds. Besides, to Annabelle, climbing into a bed made with line-dried sheets meant home.

She knew her father would feel that way, too. A fever had delayed Frank Monroe’s homecoming, but earlier this morning Adam had called with the news that doctor had okayed an afternoon discharge. Lynn Monroe joyously canceled her daily trip to the hospital to spruce up the house for the special event and prepare a celebration meal in her brand-new kitchen.

Annabelle grabbed a clothespin from the bag, then fixed one end of a blue-and-beige-striped pillowcase to the line. After days of dividing her time between the hospital and the investigation, doing mundane, mindless chores provided a welcome break.

She’d spent her hours at St. Joe’s running interference with visitors, which served to remind her of how much neighbors and friends liked and respected her family. The support for the Monroes had been both overwhelming and eye-opening for Annabelle. For the first time in years—actually, for the first time ever— the idea of Kansas living began to appeal to her.

Maybe she should reconsider her decision to live in Hawaii. Maybe it was time to come home to Kansas. The divorce made it easier to look her parents in the eyes again, since she no longer kept her marriage secret from them. She had made a mistake by eloping with Mark, true, but she’d cleaned it up afterward. Confessing the truth at this late stage would do more harm than good.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

She bent over to grab another sheet from the basket and heard a wolf whistle from the direction of a pickup truck where Tag helped the flooring contractors load the last of their scraps into its bed. Annabelle paused to blow him a theatrical kiss.

Having Tag around the farm in addition to Mark had proved to be an added blessing because he deflected family attention away from her ex. Tag went out of his way to be friendly and charming, while Mark remained friendly but reserved. As a result and despite Aunt Polly’s sharp eyes and loud mouth, they had managed to keep her family in the dark about her and Mark’s history. If anything, her mother and sisters were trying to play matchmakers with her and Tag.

She could tell Mark liked that about as much as he liked Paulo Giambelli’s continuing calls. He had been downright cranky when her mother suggested he switch guard-duty positions with Tag today so that Tag could spend more time with her.

Annabelle heard the slam of the pickup’s tailgate, then the crank of the engine. That meant they were done with the kitchen and Mom could count on cooking for Daddy tonight.

‘‘Good,’’ she murmured aloud, speaking around a clothespin. Maybe positive results on the home front would trend over into the investigation, where progress had slowed to a crawl.

Since the bloodbath in Florida, Ron Kurtz appeared to have dropped off the face of the earth. The Gallery Girl remained unidentified. Her prints had come back clean and the identification she’d used to secure a rental car proved false. Last night during a meeting around her mother’s dining room table, Annabelle, Mark, and Tag, together with Noah on the speakerphone, had hammered out a plan on what to do next.

They still had missing Fixers to find. Mark had the Callahans looking for Parsons. Tomorrow after her father’s return home simplified security arrangements here in Kansas, Tag would head for Sundine’s place in Boston. Once he stashed his parents somewhere out of reach, Noah was off to Europe to take a hard look at Dennis Nelson’s death. Colonel Warren had taken charge of tracking down the identity of Gallery Girl.

Annabelle and Mark would concentrate on Kurtz and unless he showed up on the radar in the next day or so, they figured the best way to find him was to lure the man to them. Once her family was settled and safe, Annabelle and Mark planned to set themselves up as bait. They’d stayed up late last night working the phones, their connections, and the computer looking for the perfect spot to spring their trap.

‘‘Annabelle?’’ Lynn Monroe’s voice called. ‘‘Are you almost done there?’’

She glanced into the laundry basket, then went up on her tiptoes and peered over the clothesline to spy her mother standing on the back porch, her eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘‘I have two more pillowcases to hang, Mom. Is everything okay?’’

‘‘Everything is wonderful. Come into the kitchen when you’re done, would you?’’

‘‘Sure.’’ Annabelle made quick work of her task, then hurried inside where her mother was belting out a Rodgers and Hammerstein show tune into a wooden spoon. ‘‘Mom?’’

Lynn flung her arms wide and said, ‘‘Look, darlin’. Isn’t this the most beautiful kitchen you’ve ever seen? Why, if I’d known I’d get this out of the deal, I’d have blown the place up myself years ago.’’

‘‘Mom!’’ Annabelle protested with a giggle.

Lynn winked and said, ‘‘Sit down and keep me company, Annabelle, while I break out my new pots and pans.’’

‘‘You got new pans, too?’’

‘‘I sure did. Look.’’ Lynn slid open a deep drawer beneath the Thermador cooktop and pulled out a frying pan. Reverently, she said, ‘‘It’s All-Clad.’’

‘‘Oh, wow.’’ Annabelle was suitably impressed. Leave it to Callahan to supply the best.

‘‘I know it probably seems silly to you, but having a kitchen like this with granite counters and Thermador appliances and two sinks and hot water on demand . . . it’s a real dream come true. Me walking into this kitchen is like Lissa being offered the keys to the New York City Library along with all the time in the world to read, or your daddy being turned loose in the John Deere dealership with a fairy godmother on his shoulder. It would be like you getting a . . . a . . . what’s the most superior gun on the market? One you’ve always wanted and would never buy for yourself?’’

Annabelle knew her mother didn’t mean to hurt her. Nevertheless, her words punched her like a roundhouse to the stomach. A gun? Her mother thought the thing that would please her most would be a gun?

She felt her throat go tight, and pressure built at the back of her eyes. From out of nowhere came words she never meant to say, especially not to her mother. ‘‘I want a Mountain Buggy jogging stroller.’’

Lynn Monroe slowly lowered her frying pan. ‘‘Annabelle? Are you pregnant?’’

She had to force the word past the lump in her throat. ‘‘No. No, Mama, I’m not.’’

Her period had started right on time three days ago. She’d told herself to cheer the fact that she and Mark dodged that particular bullet. Honestly. She didn’t want her child to go through life wondering if she was an ‘‘accident.’’

‘‘Does this have something to do with your sister’s news? I know that Amy thinks she’s keeping her pregnancy secret, but I figured it out a week ago.’’

Annabelle had to be careful with her words here. She didn’t want to confirm or deny her sister’s condition. That was Amy’s prerogative. Instead she said simply, ‘‘I’m not married.’’

Her mother leaned against her new black granite countertop, folded her arms, and raised her eyebrows. ‘‘And what does that have to do with anything?’’

Annabelle wanted to curl up in a little ball, but instead she squared her shoulders. ‘‘You know about the promise I made when I was sixteen. It was a vow and I took it seriously.’’

‘‘I know that, dear. It gave me quite a bit of comfort as you were growing up, I have to tell you. You were always the most strong-minded thing. You made a decision and you stuck to it come hell or high water. That’s why when you came to us and told us you had decided to join the military, I told your father not to bother arguing with you, even though the idea scared us both to death. But I knew you’d be successful at it. You are successful at everything.’’

‘‘No, I’m not, Mama.’’ The truth about her marriage hovered on the tip of her tongue, but Annabelle bit the words back.

Her mother continued as if she hadn’t heard her. ‘‘But, Annabelle, you aren’t sixteen anymore and I am no fool. You might have waited until marriage if you’d married young, but at your age . . .’’ Lynn Monroe shrugged.

‘‘Now, babies are something different. I admit to being old-fashioned in that respect in that I do think it’s best for everyone involved to wait for marriage before having children. But, darling, if you are pregnant and afraid to tell us, you needn’t be. It’s not like you’re sixteen anymore.’’

‘‘I’m not pregnant, either, Mom! I told you that.’’

‘‘Then what’s wrong? What is it you are afraid to tell me? Don’t say ‘Nothing,’ because I’ve known since I saw you in the hospital that something was eating at you.’’

‘‘Of course something was eating at me! Daddy almost died in an explosion an enemy of mine set!’’

Lynn dismissed that with a wave of her hand. ‘‘No, it’s something personal. What is it, honey? You can tell me. Is it something to do with Tag?’’

Annabelle began pacing the brand-new slate tile floor. ‘‘What are you planning for supper, Mom? Can I help? Do you want me to peel potatoes or something?’’

‘‘I want you to spit out your secret, Annabelle Diane. Why did you say you wanted a luxury baby stroller if you’re not expecting a baby?’’

Annabelle halted midstride and declared, ‘‘I’m not pregnant, Mama. I’m divorced!’’

The wooden spoon slipped from Lynn Monroe’s fingers and clattered against the floor. ‘‘What did you say?’’

Annabelle grabbed her head in her hands. Oh, for crying out loud. Could this have gone any worse? Why did she have to go and open her mouth now? Right in the middle of her mother’s new kitchen?

‘‘Annabelle?’’

At that, the words came pouring out. ‘‘Oh, Mama. We were at a wedding in Las Vegas and I just . . . I just . . . I just wanted him so bad and the chapel was right there and . . . oh, Mama. I fell in love with him. Truly, madly, deeply in love. And I wanted the house and the nursery and the Mountain Buggy stroller, but he didn’t. He doesn’t. So why can’t I quit loving him? Why can’t I quit wanting him? What’s wrong with me?’’

‘‘Oh, Anna. My poor darling Anna.’’ Lynn crossed to her daughter and wrapped her arms around her. ‘‘You know, it’s a measure of my love for you that I’m willing to hold off the scolding you have coming over this. A secret marriage . . . for goodness’ sake. What’s the matter with Tag? I need to give that boy a piece of my mind.’’

‘‘It’s not Tag, Mama. It’s Mark. I was married to Mark Callahan.’’

Lynn Monroe sighed. ‘‘Mountain Buggy strollers and haunted-eyed Texans. Leave it to you to choose the ones that cost the most. The stroller will break the bank . . . but the man, he’ll break your heart.’’

‘‘He already has, Mama. He already has.’’

Her mother clicked her tongue, then stepped back. ‘‘Sit down, dear. Let me pour us both a drink and you can tell me all about it.’’

Annabelle expected her mother to pull the jar of iced tea from the refrigerator. Instead, she went straight to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of single-malt scotch. She poured two fingers into two glasses and carried them to the table.

Annabelle laughed. ‘‘Mom, I love you.’’

Chapter Twelve

Ron Kurtz pulled his car into the parking lot of Six Flags Over Texas and followed the line of vehicles to a row of empty slots. The park was open on weekends this time of year and the beautiful weather had brought the fun seekers out in force. Since Kurtz had some time to kill, he figured he would join them.

He found a parking space and cut the engine of the sweet Caddy he’d picked up in Orlando. Ordinarily, he’d have purchased something sportier, but with a long drive to Texas in front of him, he’d decided to give a luxury sedan a try. He’d made a good decision. It was a damn shame that he’d have to abandon this ride for the next leg of his journey.

Brazos Bend, Texas. Podunk town, Texas.

End of the Line, Texas.

He chuckled as he double-checked that his weapons remained stored out of sight, then exited the car. Strolling toward the front gate, he stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled the theme from
Jaws
. Damn, but revenge made a man happy. If he’d known just how much he would enjoy the work, he would have indulged his desires a long time ago.

Kurtz bought his ticket, grabbed a park map, and headed inside, looking forward to a day riding roller coasters. He’d heard this park had some great coasters and that’s why he’d decided to stop. Except for killing, nothing offered up an adrenaline rush like topping the hill of a particularly long drop on a fast ride.

He loved the rush. He had come to crave it. What was the term for it? Adrenaline addict? No, adrenaline junkie. That’s it. That’s him. He believed in only natural highs.

Kurtz kept his body fit and his mind sharp. He didn’t do drugs. Didn’t drink alcohol. He ran five miles a day and spent an hour on the gun range five days a week. He worked crossword puzzles in the evening.