скачать книгу бесплатно
Tawny dropped her hand onto his head and rubbed his silky brown hair. Her message was unmistakable. Spencer wasn’t going to bed until the actress was ready. For some reason Tawny was hostile to Annie. She’d yet to figure out why the normally bouncy actress went all snake eyes on her.
Annie shifted in the comfortable armchair and glanced about the room. A floral rug anchored the space beneath a bank of windows that allowed a study of the bricked patio with its still-blooming containers of verbena and begonias. Comfortable, slipcovered furniture scattered the room, with built-in bookcases taking up a whole wall. The room was feminine without being nauseating, and Annie liked it better than any other room she’d seen in the colossal house.
A huge portrait of the Dufrene boys dominated the space over the fireplace, tripping her thoughts back to the man who’d rattled her today. Nate Dufrene had suspected she was not really a nanny. Almost blew her cover. Thank goodness Ace had the IT guy build her a real-estate site in Nevada. Hopefully, if someone went looking, they’d see Annie Perez as a failed chica real-estate agent desperate to make rent. Outside of the fake career, that’s pretty much what she was anyway. Well, half chica.
But then again, most “someones” weren’t detectives with prying chocolate eyes and a nose for truth. If Nate poked around too much, he’d discover she’d never sold a house in her life.
She studied the portrait. Nate’s dark hair had been clipped short and his expression was a mixture of boredom and tolerance. He’d not been happy about sitting still in button-up clothes next to his younger brothers. It was fairly obvious.
“Those are my sons,” Picou said, catching Annie staring at the portrait. “Nate is the tall one. The others are Abram and Darby.”
Annie smiled politely. “All nice-looking boys.”
“Aren’t they? Yet I can’t seem to collect any daughters-in-law, which is a shame. I’d love to have a grandson like Spencer someday.”
“Like me?” Spencer asked, scrambling to his feet, abandoning the puzzle pieces. He preened and gave the older woman the same dimpled smile his father had been delivering since his Tiger Beat magazine days. Killer.
Picou’s eyes widened. Yep. Got her.
The older woman wore a patterned blue caftan, replete with a girlish bow pinned on the side of her platinum hair. It looked utterly ridiculous, but yet, somehow fitting for the matriarch of the Dufrene clan. “Just like you…or a girl might be nice.”
“A girl? Girls are dumb. They like purses and stuff.” Spencer delivered a disgusted look.
Annie glanced back at the young Nate and recalled how the older Nate made her feel. Not just apprehensive, but interested. He’d grown into a long, tall, sexy drink of water, his youthful cheeks melting into a lean jaw and whiskered chin. Bright eyes fading to weary. Hair curling just behind his ears. Broad shoulders tapering to square, masculine hands. Yes, the man was on her radar, damn it.
Why couldn’t her rational mind control her irrational desires?
It was not like her to feel so attracted to a cop. Or, rather, someone so similar to her. She’d always liked the shy guys, the ones who seemed bumblingly inept, with sweet smiles and simple outlooks on life. Seth had fit the bill.
Nate Dufrene did not. He felt dangerous. Not biddable. Not sweet and complacent—more like intense, deep water with a strong current.
Annie had a job to do and the farther she stayed away from Nate Dufrene, the better. She didn’t need him hanging around, chipping away her façade, tempting her with his haunted eyes. Something about him compelled her to draw near when she needed to pull back—especially since she still had to split an astronomical mortgage on a condo with the last mistake she’d made. And that note was due at the end of the month.
She caught Picou regarding her with a thoughtful expression. Annie pulled her gaze away from both the portrait and Picou. The glint in the woman’s eye made her squirm. Not going to happen, lady. Annie wasn’t barking up that particular tree.
“Time for bed, Spencer.” This from Tawny.
Finally.
Annie rose from the chair and held out her hand. Spencer took it, rubbing his eyes with the other hand while yawning. Once again something warm stole across her heart. He reached up for her to pick him up, so she did, enjoying his arms curling around her neck. He looked back at his mom and Picou. “Mom, Annie’s not in trouble, is she? She told me I could see the gators, but I didn’t wanna wait.”
Annie froze, her back to Tawny and Picou.
“Of course not, birdie. And I’ll take you to see the gators, okay?”
“’Kay,” Spencer murmured, stifling a yawn.
“Good night, birdie. Love you,” Tawny called as Annie walked to the door. “And goodnight to you, too, Amy.”
Annie bit off a retort.
Tawny had gotten that one in on purpose.
CHAPTER FOUR
NATE LEANED BACK AGAINST the supple leather of his desk chair, his heavy sigh interrupting the silence of his office. He’d been through the files for the third time that week, looking for anything that might grab him, might stand out enough to follow, but there was nothing. Dead end in every direction.
He grabbed the files and bagged evidence and carefully placed them back into the cardboard box, setting it on the short filing cabinet. His office needed organizing. In fact, his whole house could use a good cleaning. His housekeeper, Gloria, cleaned the toilets and changed the sheets once a week, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of the cold-case boxes lining the wood floor of the living room.
Damn it. Radrica Moore’s killer would go unpunished.
He shoved the lid onto the box. Then he hesitated. He didn’t want to give up. Wouldn’t be fair to Radrica. To her mother, who still mourned the death of the thirteen-year-old honor student. He pulled off the lid and propped it against the box, staring into the contents.
There was very little physical evidence in the case. The body of the African American girl had been found in stagnant water of the flooded timberland just off the Mississippi River, badly decomposed. The cause of death had been inconclusive, though the coroner found evidence of possible defensive wounds. The Rapides sheriff’s department classified it as a homicide, but had nothing else to go on.
Nate padded into his kitchen, opened the fridge and surveyed the contents: six pack of Abita, leftover barbecue from the Wing Shack and a package of luncheon meat he didn’t remember buying. He grabbed an Abita and shut the door.
As he cracked open the beer, he shifted his thoughts from the cold case lying dead in his office to the incident at Beau Soleil that afternoon. Even though the boy had been found safe and sound, something bothered him about the whole deal.
Annie Perez.
Maybe that’s who had him at attention.
And not in a way he welcomed.
When he’d reached the reunion between the “missing” Spencer and his over-the-top mother, he noticed how easily Annie faded into the background—purposely, it seemed.
She’d skirted the gathering, melding herself into a quiet statue on the perimeter, but her eyes had been searching the group of people gathered as if weighing some unseen force.
But maybe that’s who she was. Cautious, still and serious. Nothing wrong with being quiet, even if intensity flowed out of every pore of the woman.
Desire snaked into his belly.
Exactly what he didn’t need. He lifted the bottle and took a swig, swiping a hand across his mouth. It had been a while since he’d dated. Maybe too long. He’d been busy this past summer with more requests for help on cold cases than he could handle. The state budget had police and sheriff departments cut to the bone, and word had gotten out about his talent with homicide cases that had no pulse. His consulting jobs were freebies, and sometimes when things were slow, Blaine gave him leeway. Not that it really mattered. He didn’t work them for the money anyway. He worked them for the satisfaction of getting what he’d never have—completion.
He walked back to his office and stared at the database open on the computer screen. The Annie Perez he’d met earlier today hadn’t been a real-estate agent in California. Didn’t mean she hadn’t been one someplace else, which was why he reserved judgment on the woman and stopped poking around looking for info on her. He had no real reason to check her out—she’d done nothing wrong. Still, something told him it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get to know her a little better.
The only thing he couldn’t figure out was whether his interest was strictly professional. He really didn’t want to think about it being anything more. He was good at hunches; bad at lying to himself.
* * *
WHEN ANNIE WOKE UP the following morning, she felt as if she’d been run over and left for dead. Spencer had ended up in her bed at some point. She’d forgotten when. Some vague notion of 2:24 a.m., muttering “climb in” and then spending the rest of the night being kicked by a mule.
She rolled over and looked at the mule sleeping peacefully on his back, mouth slack, brown hair sticking up like Billy Idol and jammies riding up over a plump little tummy.
Little devil should be on a soccer team.
She yawned in the bleary light escaping into the room through the heavy brocade drapes over the long windows. Had to be around 6:00 a.m. Her internal alarm clock woke her whether she needed to sleep longer or not. Leftover habit from high school when getting up had rested squarely on her shoulders.
She slipped out of bed, brushed her teeth, pulled on shorts and running shoes. Spencer would likely sleep until seven-thirty or so. Plenty of time for a quick exploratory run. She’d head out to the highway and get a lay of the land and be back before Spencer demanded his Fruity O’s. But first she needed to let someone know she was leaving. After yesterday afternoon, she wanted the boy to be covered.
She nearly ran into Carter Keene in the kitchen.
“Up early,” he said, dumping creamer into his coffee. He glanced at her briefly before picking up a spoon. “Have you checked on Spencer?”
“He’s in my bed still asleep. Are you the only one up?”
“Yep. I need to get this movie in the can as soon as possible. The studio has another one lined up. Filming in Maine starts in December, so time is of the essence. We’re already behind.”
He looked around as if on a covert operation. She looked around, too, wondering why he overdramatized everything. Then she remembered. He was a director. Hazard of the job.
“So have you made any progress?” he whispered.
Carter hadn’t talked to Ace in over a week, so the report was left to her. “We’ve done background checks on several of the investors of the Goliath movie, but haven’t found anyone indicating a desire to harm you. Mad at you? Yeah. Enough to do something to Spencer or Tawny? No.”
He nodded, his gorgeous blond hair catching the weak sunlight, causing a sort of halo to frame his pretty-boy face. And Annie knew from the rumors surrounding Keene that he was far from angelic. “What about Rudy Griffin?”
“Ace has one of his best guys working on his current whereabouts. From what we’ve learned, Rudy was on location in Oregon when the first note appeared. Right now, we’re not sure where he is.” Rudy was a stuntman who’d been injured on the set of Goliath, a big-budget movie that not only had a lion’s share of production problems, but also tanked at the box office. Carter Keene had earned plenty of disgruntled non-fans on that one, but none more so than the stuntman who accused Keene’s production company of unsafe and substandard practices. His burned arm had inflamed his need to bad-mouth and threaten Carter.
Carter shook his head. “It has to be him. When I found that note, I knew he’d gone off his rocker.”
Annie nodded. “Rudy Griffin made threats, but lots of people make threats. Doesn’t mean they’ll carry through with them. This could be a random crackpot, and we may never find out who sent the notes.”
“But they feel so ominous…and personal.”
“They do. But we may be grasping at straws. Ace will be in touch if there is nothing more we can do. And by the way, I appreciate you not blowing my cover yesterday, Mr. Keene. It’s best I stay hidden for now.”
“Call me Carter, Annie.”
“I’d rather not.” Hadn’t Tawny reminded her of her place yesterday?
Annie could see he liked to call the shots, but he shrugged. “Whatever’s best.”
She nodded, headed toward the back door of the kitchen and peeked out the glass door of the mudroom. Sunlight streamed through the coal-black trunks of the live oaks, throwing golden confetti on the grass beneath. Perfect morning for a run.
Spencer.
Damn. She’d forgotten to ask Carter to send Brick to babysit the door to her bedroom. She turned back around to reenter the kitchen and heard a scream come from the other side of the door.
“Spencer’s not in his bed! He’s gone!” It was Tawny’s voice.
Annie intended to push through the kitchen door and tell Tawny the child was safe in her bed, but Carter beat her to it.
“Hell, Tawny, he’s asleep in the nanny’s bed. Don’t you bother thinking before you start carrying on? You need to try processing something in that brain up there before opening your mouth.”
Tawny closed her mouth and her eyes narrowed. “You’ve always enjoyed my brains, if I recall. Open mouth, too.”
Neither of them saw Annie at the door and for a moment, she felt like an interloper, but didn’t move. Maybe understanding the couple’s relationship would help her with the case. She’d not spent much time with Carter or Tawny.
“Oh, and you’re good at it, aren’t you, sweetheart? That’s what Mick’s been saying.” Carter’s voice held sneer, disdain and hurt.
Whoa. Carter thought Tawny was messing around with the lead on the production, the wickedly debauched Mick Manners, who was playing the deranged killer in Magic Man.
“Oh, you’re listening to someone other than yourself? You’re telling me the great and mighty director actually realizes there are other people in the world besides himself?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tawny shrugged. “You figure it out ’cause I got better things to do. By the way, after we wrap, I’m taking Spencer up to Mama’s for a visit.”
Carter snorted. “Why? So he can learn how to shuck corn and make crystal meth?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m going to teach him.” Her voice sounded venomous and offended. She took a steadying breath. “I promised Mama I’d bring him. She’s been stressed about Teri leaving Braden with her and going off with some guy from Georgia, so I thought I’d go up and make her feel better. She’s having to take care of Braden all by herself.”
“You haven’t sent any more money to Teri, have you? That won’t help her.”
Tawny put her hands on her hips. “You know very well I cut her off after the Fourth of July incident. I’m just paying for some stuff for Braden. That’s it.”
Annie felt a pang of sadness for Tawny—nothing like family putting their hooks in and looking for a free ride. She took a step back, holding the door with the flat of her hand, letting it close slowly so she remained unseen. But her not-so-stealthy action caught Tawny’s eye. The actress raced across the room and pulled the door back before Annie could escape. “What the hell are you doing? Hiding?”
Her words were accusing. Jealous. Oh, no.
“I’m going for a run, but I forgot to ask Mr. Keene if Brick could keep an eye on Spencer.”
Tawny’s hair was knotted and there were circles under her eyes. She gave Annie a disdainful lip curl then looked back at Carter. Her gaze held a question. “Maybe you better do your job and take care of my son before you pursue other activities.”
Ouch. The woman thought she’d caught them in flagrante.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Carter said from where he’d sunk on the old-fashioned banquette in the breakfast nook, but Annie didn’t miss the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He liked her jealousy. “Annie passed through to let me know Spencer was safe in bed so no one would worry. That’s all.”
Annie stood stock-still, knowing she made for an easy target. She looked at Tawny, refusing to duck her chin or make any excuse. “Mrs. Keene, I’ll check on Spencer again before I go, but I’d like to go for a quick run before starting his day.”
Carter nodded. “Of course, that’s fine. I’ll tell Brick to keep an eye on him.”
Tawny echoed with “Fine.”
Carter refocused on his wife. “Be on location at eight o’clock sharp. Oh, and call Linda so she can work some makeup magic. The camera picks up every line and wrinkle, and we’ve got night scenes, long day coming up.”
Annie pushed through the kitchen door but not before she caught the pain in the actress’s eyes. Tawny was a prima donna extraordinaire, but Annie didn’t like seeing the hurtful words the couple threw at one another, not when she’d seen the photographs scattered around the Hollywood Hills mansion of two people truly in love. Happy, laughing, loving couples were hard to find amid celebrity. Tawny and Carter Keene seemed to have had it.
At one time.
Annie decided to peek in on Spencer again. He still slept, and Brick already skulked in the hall, so she slipped out the side door and set off down the drive, the gravel crunching beneath her running shoes, the air already heavy with moisture. Sweat sluiced down her body before she hit the highway. By the time she’d gone a mile, her breathing was ragged and her legs heavy. Louisiana in September might kill her.
She rounded a curve, intending to do another mile even if she ended up with a toe tag, and nearly crashed into Tawny’s former roommate and current best friend, Jane McEvoy.
“Annie,” Jane breathed, leaning over and grasping her knees while gulping in deep breaths.
Annie stopped and mopped sweat out of her eyes, surprised the woman had remembered her name. They’d only met once. “Morning, Ms. McEvoy.”
