Sinclair Connection - Hot On His Trail Part 13

"She's been here!" Clint shouted from the kitchen. "That G.o.dawful tuna ca.s.serole she makes is in the fridge." Shea withheld an outraged gasp. G.o.dawful! She'd always thought Clint liked her tuna ca.s.serole!

Booted footsteps pounded up the stairs. Shea held her breath. She listened as doors were opened, as one brother-Boone, by the sound of the step-searched the bedroom. When he reached Carol's room he let loose a snort of disgust, then a string of foul language. Prominent in his monologue was the forbidden word he had learned at age eleven and used regularly ever since, much to the dismay of their very straitlaced parents.

Boone ran down the stairs, Clint left the kitchen and Dean's more civilized step echoed softly from the parlor. Judging by the sounds below, they met in the dining room.

Clint spoke first, his voice low and ominous. "Martha Reeves is in the ca.s.sette player. She's been doo-wopping for this guy."

"Big deal," Boone spat. "Only one bed has been slept in, and I found these in the garbage can."

Shea closed her eyes.

"Condom wrappers," Dean said in a deceptively low voice.

"d.a.m.n bed's still warm," Boone growled. "The place reeks of-of..." He grunted instead of finishing his sentence.

"Taggert's a dead man," Clint drawled in a low voice. For a second all was quiet, then Dean took command, as he always did. "We're going to look in every closet, under every bed, in the garage, the attic ... and if we don't find anything we wait."

Shea had the urge to borrow Boone's favorite word, but she knew if the boys' voices carried so well through the old house, so would hers.

"If Mom had told us sooner that Aunt Irene and Uncle Henry were in California, we could've been here days ago," Clint drawled. "No wonder no one else has heard from her!"

Shea squeezed Nick's hand as the boys began their search. Doors were thrown open, furniture moved roughly aside, curses muttered at every turn. When the upstairs hallway closet was thrown open, Shea held her breath, waiting for whoever was searching there to shove the dresses aside and find the hidden door.

And would any one of them think to move aside the huge tapestry that hung on the wall in the dining room? That wall hanging hid the ground floor entrance to the old servants' stairwell.

Finally, a voice shouted from the dining room. Clint. "Dean?"

"What?"

It was Dean at the closet, dammit. If any of the brothers would think to shove the clothes aside and check for a hidden door, it would be her oldest brother.

"There's an old lady here, and she has a gun," Clint said. "She's pointing it at my ... well, I'd like to have chil dren, one day."

Maude!

Dean closed the closet door and ran down the stairs, his step lighter than Boone's had been.

"Ma'am," he said in his most polite voice. "I'm Dep uty U.S. Marshal Dean Sinclair and this is my brother. Would you kindly lower that weapon?"

"Show me some ID," Maude demanded.

All was silent as Dean apparently complied.

"The man in the garage, the one with the long hair like a girl, is he your brother, too?" Maude asked brightly. "All three of the Sinclair boys? My goodness. If you three would visit your aunt and uncle more often, I wouldn't be likely to mistake you for burglars."

About that time, Boone reentered the house. "Nothing!" he shouted. "No sign of the truck, just Uncle Henry's Caddy."

"You boys probably don't remember me. I'm Irene and Henry's neighbor, Maude Wilton. Would you like some pie? I have blueberry pie at the house."

"No thank you, ma'am," Dean said calmly. "We're looking for our sister, Shea. Have you seen her?"

"Of course!" Maude said cheerfully. "Such a sweet girl."

Shea closed her eyes and sighed. Beside her she heard Nick sigh, as well, and he squeezed her hand.

"Let's see, it was three summers ago ... or was it four? Susan was home and so was-"

"This week," Boone snapped impatiently. "Have you seen her this week."

"I saw her on the news," Maude said innocently. "I do hope she's all right. I imagine she will be. That girl always had gumption."

"Someone's been here," Clint said accusingly. "Someone's been ... sleeping here."

Even from her dark hiding place Shea heard the foil crinkle as someone, Boone most likely, offered the condom wrappers for Maude's inspection.

Maude sighed deeply. "You boys have found me out. I have a gentleman friend, and my sister, Abigail, does not approve. Irene asked me to water her plants and keep an eye on the place, so I decided..." there was a meaningful pause. "Well, you see, my gentleman friend has these new blue pills, quite the wonder, and we were rather anxious to give them a whirl."

One of the boys cleared his throat.

Maude was not deterred. "Oh, I have no need of birth control, but in this day and age a girl can't be too careful. Why, for all I know my gentleman friend is using those blue pills all over town."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wilton, that'll be all," Dean said, dismissal in his crisp voice.

"How about some lemon squares?" Maude asked, still undeterred. "I've been cooking for my gentleman friend, you see, but I'm afraid I made too much!"

"You didn't by chance make a tuna ca.s.serole, did you?"

"Yes," she practically squealed. "Would you like a plate?"

"No," all three boys answered quickly.

Shea felt another rush of indignation. See if she ever cooked for them again!

Maude finally left, unwillingly escorted, from the sound of it. Shea could hear her brothers sigh and groan as the kitchen door closed behind her.

"Maybe they weren't here, after all," Dean said, sounding defeated.

"And maybe we missed them," Boone snapped. "Dammit, I don't like this."

"Let's go," Clint said, "before the old lady comes back and tells us more about her love life. Yikes!"

Shea held her breath as the boys left the house, one after another, and the kitchen door closed again. With a bang this time. She exhaled slowly, and Nick rose to his feet.

"Just a minute," she whispered, not trusting her brothers to leave right away.

Sure enough, the kitchen door opened and a booted step sounded on the linoleum floor. Boone or Clint, then.

"I must've dropped it in here somewhere," Clint called loudly. "Hang on, I'll be right out."

He walked slowly into the dining room and came to a dead stop. All was silent for a few long seconds, and then he began to speak.

"Shea Lyn, I know you're in here somewhere," he said, his voice warm and kind and inviting. "Don't you know better than to hide from me? Your favorite brother?"

He shuffled his feet. Ha! She'd seen him use this tactic on women a hundred times. The only thing missing was the "aw shucks."

"Dean is pretty mad right now and so is Boone, but you know I would never let them hurt you. Come on out and we'll take them on together. You and me, just like the old days when our big brothers ran us ragged."

She squeezed Nick's hand. Clint was too good at this. She was tempted, really, truly tempted.

"Please," he said. "We've been worried sick."

In the silence that followed, Shea felt tears burn her eyes. For all their faults, she loved her brothers and they loved her. She had never intended to hurt them.

And then Clint muttered a vile curse word and stomped into the kitchen. "It didn't work," he yelled as he stepped outside. "I guess she's really not here."

The engine of Dean's Oldsmobile fired up, and a few seconds later gravel churned noisily again.

And Nick tugged her to her feet.

"Now I'm certain I should be more afraid of your brothers than of the authorities." He pulled her against his chest. "How did you turn out to be so sweet, growing up with that?"

"I'm not always sweet," she whispered.

"You coulda fooled me."

* * * His life was still a royal mess he might never get straightened out. So why did he feel so much better than he had yesterday? Not just better physically but deep down, in places he'd rather not explore. More whole. More content.

He packed what little he had into a duffel bag Shea had borrowed from her aunt's closet, tossing his belongings in carelessly. What he had didn't come close to filling the small bag. Shea had half filled a duffel bag of her own, with what she'd borrowed from Lenny's late wife's closet and a few things from her cousins' drawers.

Somewhere in there was that third condom. He had to let Shea go, had to make certain she was not a part of this when it fell apart. But he surely would like to get the chance to use that last condom.

As he walked down the stairs for the last time he heard her voice, soft and low, sweet and arousing as if every breath washed over his skin. When he stepped into the kitchen doorway he saw her, standing against the counter with her back to him. For the trip she'd confiscated something a little more proper from her cousin's closet. A pair of navy blue pants and a white knit top with a touch of lace around the neckline. She'd even found a pair of strappy white sandals in her aunt's closet.

The pants hugged her hips, and the knit top accentuated her fine curves.

"No," she whispered loudly into the borrowed cell phone. "Mark, I'm fine, I swear."

She tapped her toes nervously as she listened to Mark's response.

"This is the story of a lifetime. I'm not about to let it get away from me, no matter what you have to say about the matter."

Nick's smile faded. The story of a lifetime. He'd heard that from Shea before, but he'd begun to think he meant more to her than a story. He'd been sure of it, for a while.

"Mark," she said, exasperated. "I'll see you in a few days. For now I'm sticking to Taggert like glue."

Nick got a sick feeling in his stomach, low and acute. All of a sudden what had happened last night made perfect sense. He starts to talk about leaving, and she comes to him with three condoms and a come-hither smile that would do in any man.

Did she think that if she slept with him he'd be reluctant to let her go? Was this her way of making sure she saw her d.a.m.ned story through to the end?

She turned around, saw him there and smiled. As if nothing had changed, as if she wasn't every bit as manipulative as her brothers.

"I gotta go, Mark," she said, cutting her cameraman off and hitting the end b.u.t.ton while the sounds of the young man's voice still echoed desperately from the phone.

She placed the cell phone on the counter. "Nothing new," she said. "Boone hasn't done anything but look for me, and Grace has kinda hit a wall."

"It was nice of her to do what she did," Nick said as Shea walked toward him with that d.a.m.ned smile on her face. "Thank her for me."

"You can thank her yourself," Shea said as she placed her arms around his neck. "When this is all over and you meet Grace and her husband."

He couldn't believe her gall. She acted as if nothing had changed. He had made an absolute fool of himself, and she was smiling like the cat who ate the canary. He could almost see the yellow feathers sticking from her mouth.

But she didn't have to know he was a complete idiot. He could keep that information to himself.

He gave her a quick, pa.s.sionless kiss. "Give me the keys to the truck and I'll pull it around." He offered his hand, palm up, for the keys. Shea wouldn't know for a few minutes that she'd just gotten herself a goodbye kiss.

She wasn't at all suspicious as she headed for the purse on the counter, removing the keys to Lenny's truck. Confident, wasn't she?

Before she could hand the keys to him, a sharp knock sounded on the kitchen door. A gray head appeared; eyes lively and laughing peered in. Shea admitted the very pleased Maude, who cast them each a bright smile.

"Were you in the servants' stairwell?" she asked.

"Yes," Shea said. "You were brilliant."

And a little scary. Nick decided to keep that opinion to himself. He approached Shea, bag in hand. "We have to get out of here. Give me those keys and I'll pull the truck around."

Shea was in the process of obeying when Maude s.n.a.t.c.hed the keys from her hand. "Are you daft?" she snapped, bringing the keys to her chest. "The coppers will be looking for that truck." She reached into her handbag. "That's why I'm here. You can take my car!" She seemed delighted with the plan.

Shea glanced up at him. "It might be a good idea," she said softly. "Everyone is looking for Lenny's truck, and it won't do either of us any good to steal a car at this point."

He couldn't argue with her, because she was right.

They gathered their bags, made sure all the lights were off, and locked the door behind them. Shea returned the spare key to its hiding place beneath the flower pot.

They walked toward Maude's house, the old lady in front, Nick bringing up the rear. What on earth would he be traveling in? A pink Cadillac? A powder blue Lincoln? Some thirty-year-old monstrosity?

A brown paper bag sat on the driveway outside the garage. "I packed you two a snack." The bag Maude lifted looked heavy enough to contain a snack for a regiment of starving soldiers. She had to hold it with both hands. Shea took the brown paper bag and Maude opened the garage door.

Sure enough, the vehicle before him was a whale of a car, and, heaven forbid, it was the most awful shade of green...

And then he noticed that Maude was pointing to the car beside and slightly behind her own green one. "My brother Louis pa.s.sed away a few years back, and he left me his car. Bless his soul, he loved that car and I didn't have the heart to sell it. I have it serviced regularly, so you shouldn't have any problem with it."

Nick's eyes were riveted to his getaway car, a 1969, midnight-blue Z28 Camaro.

"I think it's older than Lenny's truck," Shea whispered as Maude walked toward the car.

"Bite your tongue," Nick said with the proper respect. "This is a fine car."

"If you say so," she said skeptically.