No Limits (10 page)

“Then there’s the issue of the number of pickups and SUVs in the parish. Assuming the vehicle and the driver were local. And if this is all tied up in the disappearance of Lisa Landry, it’s a fair one to make.”

“A fair what?”

“Assumption.”

“Oh.” She rested her chin in the cradle of her palms, her elbows propped on her knees.

“Are you sure you’re not the one with a jones for crime TV?” She paused, cocked her head, a thoughtful consideration of her own remarks. “Or is that what you do?”

“What I do?” he asked, hedging.

“In New York. Are you NYPD? A federal agent?”

He had no intention of tel
l
ing her what he was. He shook his head as he hunkered down to lock up his toolbox. “Nope. Just making use of my common sense and a dozen years of training on Uncle Sam’s dime.”

“You’re not old enough to be retired military.”

He stood, heaved the toolbox onto the edge of the porch, stayed there facing her. “I’m pretty damn old.”

“How old?”

“Isn’t that one of those questions you’re not supposed to ask? Like weight and shoe size?”

“That’s for women. And it’s weight and bra size. I’ve already figured out your shoe size.”

“You have?”

“From your waders.”

“Those weren’t my waders,
chère
,” he said, laughing out loud when she screwed up her face in what looked like disgust. “You’re just lucky I’m the one who showed up to see you wearing them.”

She shuddered, but then her head came up. “What if this house had belonged to one of them?”

One of them. As in the bastards who if not joyriding and playing dangerous games had purposefully singled out Micky to guarantee her silence. “At Red’s, when you were talking to the judge, was anyone else around? Could anyone have overheard your conversation?”

“There weren’t a lot of people there, no. And with the dancing and the band, the noise level was pretty high. But my back was to the room. For al
l
I know, there could’ve been someone listening from the next booth.”

Something in her expression clicked. She sat up straight. “I met this guy who might know. He pointed out Judge Landry and seemed to think my talking to him was quite a show.”

As a lead, it wasn’t much, but it was more than the nothing he was holding. “This guy. Do you remember his name?”

She smiled. “Oh, yeah. Hard to forget a name like Kingdom Trahan.”

Fourteen

M icky would have thought she’d poured a whole bottle of Veuve Clicquot on Simon’s head. He closed down that coolly, that quickly, as if she’d delivered the cut direct. “Do you know him? Or where we can find him?”

The questions went unanswered as Simon jerked his toolbox off the porch and headed for his truck, his shoulders and biceps full and defined. He lowered the tailgate, slid the metal box in between what looked to be crates of supplies, then slammed the back end shut.

She expected him to stomp past her, pound up the stairs, and lock himself in the bedroom where she’d slept—the only one with a door that closed and windows left unbroken.

But he didn’t. He just turned around and leaned against his truck, his backside on the bumper and his ankles crossed. “Don’t count on him offering any help.”

Hmm. King hadn’t seemed the type not to help. He’d been very helpful, in fact. “So you do know him.”

“I do.”

“And you don’t like him?”

“We…have issues.”

Puh-lease. Who didn’t? “And you think your issues would keep him from helping me.”

“If he knew I was in the picture, yeah. They might.”

Didn’t say a lot for either of them. “Then maybe I don’t tell him that you are.”

Simon didn’t say anything right away, just crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare. He was thinking. Micky had no idea whether he was considering her suggestion, or revisiting whatever memories her mention of King had brought to mind. She decided she wanted to know.

“How do you know him?” she asked at the same time he said, “Tel
l
me what the two of you talked about last night.”

She pressed her lips together. Something was going on here…something personal?

Obviously so, if they had issues. But how deep did those waters run? And what did it mean for her safety?

Would she be better off on her own than caught in the middle of a man-on-man feud?

Or was taking what she could get better than nothing? “When I got to town, I had no luck getting information on where I might find Lisa. If her neighbors were home, they weren’t answering their doors. I stopped at the bar. He helped me.”

“How so?” His question was curt.

Her answer was the same. “I told you. He pointed out Judge Landry. I took it from there.”

“Did you tell him who you were?”

“I introduced myself, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t detail my whole life story.”

“And I’m assuming you told the judge,” he said, the shift in his focus disconcerting. What was he digging for? What did he want to know besides what he was asking? “Of course. I had to explain my connection to Lisa. I didn’t think he’d help me otherwise. Not that he did.” She decided she didn’t like being interrogated. “Why? Does it matter that they know who I am?”

“It might have narrowed down the list of anyone out to get you personally.”

“Might have?” Now she was getting worried.

“The car was a rental. Everyone involved in the case knows who you are.”

Ah, that. “Not really,” she said, wondering what he’d make of her admission.

“How so?”

“The rental records only show who rented the car.”

“And that’s not you?”

“Yes and no. I always fly under my own name, but my executive assistant makes my travel arrangements and often books the rest of my accommodations under hers.” Micky had a duplicate of Jane’s driver’s license—at a quick glance, they looked a lot alike—and additional copies of her credit cards in Jane’s name. “The car was rented to Jane Mitchell. Not Michelina Ferrer.”

Simon pushed away from the truck. “So as far as the authorities know, it’s your assistant who went off that bridge and is missing. Though by now they’ve probably been in contact with her employer—”

And that would be me, Micky thought, afraid she might choke. “God. I need to let Jane know I’m al
l
right.”

She’d been so intent on keeping a low profile after the debacle with her underpants, hoping the press would lose interest—what fun would the story be if they couldn’t track her down and hound her to the ends of the earth?—that she hadn’t thought about the authorities searching for info on the missing Jane Mitchell. Or about Jane panicking when she realized it was Micky they were really looking for.

She needed to call her. She had no cell. “You don’t have a phone, do you? I made it out of the car with my purse since I was al
l
wrapped up in the strap, but everything inside was drenched and is useless.”

“I’m not sure you could pick up a signal this far out anyway—”

She sighed. That’s what she’d been afraid of.

“—but I do have a satellite phone.”

He was halfway to the front of the truck before she registered what he’d said. Once she did, she started to follow, stopped when she remembered that she needed to stay on the porch in the shadows and that she wasn’t wearing any shoes.

It occurred to her again while she waited for him that she
still
knew nothing about this man, who he was, how he happened to show up mere hours after she’d taken refuge in his house, which was obviously abandoned.

Very few people drove around with satellite phones. Very few people needed to access that technology. The few who had reason to…

“You never did tell me.” And she doubted he would now. “Are you some sort of federal agent? Did you move from the military into government work?”

The phone in his hand, Simon looked at her as he powered it on and waited for a signal. “What makes you ask that?”

He knew exactly. He was stalling, avoiding. “Who else would just happen to have a satellite phone handy?”

He gave a careless shrug, the tail of his hair sweeping his neck. “Someone who might need to stay in touch with the civilized world even from the back of beyond?”

Again, with the logic, the evasion that made more sense than her wild imagination.

“Who do you need to be in touch with? A wife and kids?”

He shook his head, fought a smile. “No wife, and no kids that I know of.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” He handed her the phone. “Dial your number.”

She took it, stared frowning at the keypad. “What do I tell her? I mean, besides the fact that I’m all right, how much should I say?”

“Find out if anyone’s contacted her yet about the accident, who it was, and what she told them. Since she’s the one assumed missing, they may have tried family and friends first.”

“Or, like you said, her employer?”

He nodded. “The sheriff ’s department doesn’t have a lot of manpower. They may still be out on their search and rescue and won’t start in on the phones until they’re forced to cal
l
it off for the night.”

He was making a lot of sense—in that logically evasive and aggravating way that he had. She held the phone in both hands, punched the number with both thumbs, brought it up to her ear, and waited.

“You’ve reached Jane Mitchell in the Ferrer office. I’m currently unavailable but will return your ca
l
l as soon as I’m able. Leave all the pertinent info. Ciao.”

“Jane, it’s Micky. I’m fine. I’m in Louisiana. I need to know if anyone has called about you being in an accident here, and what you told them. If you haven’t talked to anyone, don’t. Call it identity theft or whatever.

“Basically, you’re in the dark. I’m out of town visiting a friend. I didn’t tell you who or where.” And that wasn’t even a lie. “I’ll call you later tonight or tomorrow and explain all.”

She disconnected and handed the phone back to Simon. “Was that okay? Will that work?”

“Sounded like a pro.”

“A pro what?” Liar?

“A pro at covering your ass.”

She would’ve laughed if his assessment hadn’t been entirely spot on. Then she wondered if it took one to know one. “Trust me. I’ve got it down to a science.”

He looked at her curiously. “It’s too bad that’s something you’ve had to refine.”

She shrugged. What could she say? It had been her life so long it was second nature.

“It’s my own fault. I was born into the public eye. I just wasn’t ever cut out for it.”

“Charm school didn’t take?” He headed back to the truck, stored the phone.

“Are you kidding? Miss Clare’s Academy for Proper Young Ladies closed its doors rather than let me back in.”

“Back in?” he asked upon his return.

She held up three fingers. “Miss Clare had her own three-strike rule. Unfortunately, Papi and his money insisted the strikes were mistakes easily corrected with a scholarship fund and a fully outfitted computer lab.”

He had settled his back against the porch beam, obviously taking in and enjoying the true story of Michelina Ferrer. “She turned him down?”

What could it hurt to tel
l
him more? He was listening. He seemed interested. A rarity in her experience that told her only sensationalism drew a crowd.

“She did. Apparently she was offered a position as a private tutor to the children of a Saudi prince. Even Ferrer money couldn’t compe
te—though I heard my father tell
ing Greta that the offer hadn’t dropped into her lap. Apparently, Miss Clare had put out word that she was desperate to find work in a single-family environment.”

“As long as that single family wasn’t named Ferrer?”

“Exactly.”

“Who’s Greta?”

“My father’s personal assistant.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Good question. I haven’t seen her since I was ten.”

“Was that before or after Miss Clare’s?”

“Around the same time, and yes, I’m sure my being a charm school dropout is directly related.” Except that had been twenty years ago and she wasn’t behaving much differently now, was she?

Running away instead of staying to face music she didn’t want to hear had nearly gotten her ki
ll
ed. Still, she couldn’t regret what had happened. If she hadn’t come to Louisiana, she never would have known about Lisa, and for all the efforts being made to find her, the other woman might have remained a missing person forever. At least Micky would be able to make sure that never happened.

She looked up, realized that she’d drifted away, realized, too, that Simon had patiently watched her go and waited for her to come back. This being contemplative wasn’t like her at al
l
.