Bad to the Bone Read online

  Jessica swore silently. She’d have to be very careful or she’d have the police involved before she was ready. First she had to find that damn book and burn the file. Then the cops could crawl around to their hearts’ content.

  Trying to look unconcerned, she said, “Like you said, it was probably a crank call. Phil seemed perfectly fine when I talked to him.”

  “When was that exactly?”

  “This morning, maybe nine o’clock. He told me something unexpected had come up. He felt bad because he’d promised to spend some time with Iris at the beach house this week and asked me to fill in. I said sure, hopped a plane to Houston and rented a car.”

  “And you’re an old friend of the family, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you got lost on the way to their house?”

  The pregnant pause between question and answer might not have been so bad except for the unfortunately loud chime as the clock struck the half hour. Recovering, Jessica laughed and gave Kincaid a rueful grin. “I get lost on the way to the bathroom, Detective. It’s a little embarrassing.”

  “I see.”

  Jessica gritted her teeth. The man had so many ways to call a person a liar without saying a word. The fact that she was lying didn’t make it any easier to take.

  Kincaid’s attention never wavered from her, but his question was clearly for the butler. “When was the last time you talked to Phil Munro?”

  “Not for a couple of days. But it’s not unusual for Phil to travel unannounced.”

  Kincaid’s eyes narrowed slightly as the man referred to his employer by first name. “Did Munro mention where he was going?”

  “No. But then he never does.”

  “Phil’s in the personal security business,” Jessica added, aware that making Phil’s huge security company sound like a bodyguard service was misleading. But it suited her purposes at the moment. “His clients are very private people. He never talks about them. It might endanger them, you see.”

  Sully sat back and tried to figure out what bothered him most about Miss Jessica Daniels—the glibness of her answers or the total lack of curiosity about the warning. Neither she nor Lincoln, the butler, had asked what kind of danger Phil might be in. Or if Iris was in danger. They weren’t even interested in learning the name of the person who called in the tip.

  Nonchalant behavior always struck him as strange. Most people were armchair detectives, insatiably curious, always ready with a theory and a laundry list of clues. So, either there was no mystery in Phil’s disappearance, or these two already knew the butler did it—so to speak.

  While they both waited patiently for his next question, Kincaid studied the other man. Lincoln was obviously bored, his eyes flat, and he was sitting on the edge of the cushion ready to leave. In contrast Jessica had settled in. Her dark eyes were unreadable, not a flicker of fear or surprise, but he had her complete attention.

  Which meant that she had his.

  The lady pushed all of his buttons—personally and professionally. She was so still—a human statue, with one arm draped along the backs of the cushions and the other across her lap. Sully got the impression she was almost daring him to focus on her instead of the situation, to rattle her. Well, he would, but not until he was damn good and ready.

  When it was time to shake, rattle, and roll Jessica Daniels, there wouldn’t be an audience. And there wouldn’t be a coffee table between them. There wouldn’t even be air between them.

  “Folks, I gotta tell you,” he mused. “It seems a little odd for a man to go off and leave his daughter with no way to reach him. What if she were ill?”

  Lincoln shrugged. “The kid’s never sick. Besides the housekeeper has a limited guardianship of Iris. Rosa’s mother is ill, otherwise she’d be here twenty-four hours a day. Phil trusts her to make emergency decisions.”

  “How long have you been with Munro?”

  “Five years with the company, four months at the house. Now, unless you’ve got more questions, I really need to do a perimeter check. That’s what Phil pays me for—to answer the door, chauffeur the kid around, and keep an eye on the place.”

  Sully nodded permission as Lincoln stood up to leave. They could sit here all night and toss questions around, but it wasn’t going to help. Reasonable answers didn’t overrule gut instinct. His aura might be dark, but his hunches were usually red-hot. Right now he felt heat radiating from beneath the surface of Jessica’s calm facade. She was hiding something.

  Pulling a card out of his wallet, Sully handed it to Jessica. “I’d appreciate a call from Mr. Munro. Could you pass that message along if—”

  “When,” she corrected as she reached for the card. “When I talk to him. It’d be my pleasure, Detective Kincaid.”

  He held on to the card for a half beat, forcing her to look up at him before he let go. “Call me Sully. We don’t stand on ceremony here on the island.”

  “Detective,” she said, emphasizing his title. “I took one look at you and figured that out for myself.” She examined his card again, and slipped it into her pocket as she walked him to the door. “We do appreciate your coming out to check on a crank call, but if there’s nothing else, I’m really tired and I’d like to unpack.”

  Sully stopped beside the hall table and eyed her luggage. “That could take a while.”

  “Not really.” Jessica opened the door and smiled. “I packed light this trip.”

  “Is that a fact?” The first real grin of the night hovered at the corners of his mouth. He could easily develop a real appreciation for the lady.

  “I never lie, Detective.”

  “Is that a fact?” he asked softly.

  “Practically a fact.”

  “I’ll take that as a warning.” He realized that their voices had dropped, and he was beginning to lean forward. Slowly he backed off. “Say good night to Iris for me.”

  “Say it yourself. She’s been listening from the upstairs railing.”

  Sully swung around and caught her still on her knees. As she steadied herself, Iris gave him a look that was clearly an attempt at penance and charm. It worked.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  The grin faded to a troubled frown. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good night, Iris.”

  “Good night.”

  With a last nod at Jessica, Sully started out the door only to stop cold as the significance of a small silk-wrapped rectangle on the cluttered hall table registered. He’d seen the little bundles tied with ribbon too many times that day to be mistaken. That was a deck of tarot cards. Wrapping them in silk was a ritual to keep the deck protected from unwanted psychic energies. He knew; he had asked.

  Sully hated coincidences.

  “Wait a minute.”

  He caught the door to keep it from closing and retraced his steps to the table. Beside the deck was a display of family photos, including one of Iris in a silver frame. An engraved plate below the photograph spelled out her name in ornate letters.

  Iris Evangeline Munro.

  The moment Sully’s hand had caught the door, Jessica’s thanks-for-stopping-by smile melted. She had been so close to getting rid of him! What the hell set him off? She shot a glance at Iris, who slowly came to her feet, staring at the detective with apprehension if not outright fear.

  Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

  Warily Jessica focused her attention on Sully. The cop stared at the table with an intensity that signaled discovery. With another glance at Iris, she suddenly realized that two people in the room knew something important, and she wasn’t one of them. Her gaze raked the table, but she found only a jumble of mail, a little package, and a group of family photos. It was a portrait of Iris that had completely captured Sully’s interest.

  “Is there a problem, Detective?”

  “Sully.” He corrected her without turning. Finally he lifted the heavy silver frame. “Oh, yeah. I think there’s a problem.”

&
nbsp; “And that would be?”

  He handed her the frame as he swung around. “Iris Evangeline Munro.”

  “How clever,” Jessica quipped when she noticed the name plate. “You can read.”

  “Between the lines and everything.” Then he shot a glance up at the landing.

  Jessica followed his gaze, not at all surprised to find that Iris had slipped away. The expression of dread on her face had been unmistakable. The kid hadn’t wasted any time getting out of the line of fire.

  “Look,” Jessica said calmly, “it’s been a long day, and I’m having a little trouble keeping up. So why don’t you tell me what you’re getting at?”

  “It’s real simple. We’ve been had by a four-foot-nothing preteen.” He gave her a speculative look. Those blue eyes were incredibly direct, almost issuing a challenge. Once again she was certain the man didn’t like her or that he blamed her for something. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Or at least I’ve been had. Maybe you knew all along.”

  Her brows drew together. “Just what are you implying?”

  Sully ran a hand through his dark hair, tugging slightly when he got to the back of his neck. “I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you that I’ve been made a fool of. I’ve been chasing my tail all day, trying to locate the individual who called in the tip. The desk sergeant said the person was ab-so-lutely certain Munro was going to be kidnapped. But then … a psychic has to be pretty certain to call the police.”

  “Psychic?” Jessica laughed to cover the frisson of fear that swept through her when he had mentioned kidnapping. Since Iris’s phone call, she’d thought of Phil as being the victim of random violence—mugged and in a hospital maybe, but not kidnapped. The coldness was brief, but it left her hands shaky.

  If Phil had been kidnapped, it was for what he had. Not for the big bank account, but for a little black book. Too many people would sell their souls to control that book, and by extension the team of freelance professionals who did whatever dirty deed the government wanted done. No questions asked.

  She let her laugh die away as she walked casually to the table and put the picture down. Keeping her back to him, she pretended to rearrange the frames and asked, “You’ve been worried about Phil because of a crackpot psychic?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “The thought of Mr. Munro being kidnapped gave my chief nightmares. Besides there’s not much else on Jericho to keep us busy.”

  While she’d been fiddling with the frame, he’d stepped up behind her. So quietly that she started when he spoke. So closely that she wondered if she’d lost her instincts. Two years ago no one could have stolen up behind her, and certainly not in cowboy boots. His presence enveloped her, curling around her like night fog. Making her uncomfortably aware that she held her breath as if refusing to learn his scent would keep her safe.

  Sully lowered his voice. “Phil Munro has a lot of money and a lot of power. That personal security business of his is more like an empire, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Tensing, she swallowed. “But what does any of this have to do with Iris?”

  “Iris Evangeline Munro,” he repeated softly, the words humming against her ear as he leaned closer. Then he reached past her to pluck the cloth-wrapped package from the table. “Until now, I wasn’t sure Madame Evangeline existed.”

  Instantly the significance of the name blazed through her as she stared at Iris’s picture. She shook her head in denial and whirled around. Confronting him was a mistake. Sully hadn’t moved more than a few inches away so she was caught between the table and his body with very little room to maneuver.

  Caught. That’s how she felt. Neatly snared, and for the first time in her life—out of her league.

  The intimacy didn’t seem to affect Sully at all, but Jessica had trouble breathing normally. Men hadn’t been a part of her life for so long, she’d forgotten what it felt like to be so close or to have to look up when she spoke. Sully was one of those men who filled a room even from a distance. This close her rusty hormones couldn’t tell the difference between the adrenaline of danger and the excitement of arousal. Her reaction to Sullivan Kincaid might tempt her to something stupid if she wasn’t very careful.

  She slowed her pulse as she lifted her gaze to his, struck all over again by the intensity he could project. More calmly than she thought possible, she said, “Tell me you aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting about Iris.”

  “She looks so innocent, doesn’t she?” Sully finally stepped back. He untied the ribbon and peeled back the silk to show her a deck of cards. “This is a deck of tarot cards—like psychics and fortune-tellers use. The only slip little Goldilocks made was the question ‘Is something really wrong?’ ” He shook his head. “I missed that the first time. But now I think I’m going to need to talk to Madame Evangeline.”

  “Take a number,” Jessica told him sharply, not certain whether to strangle Iris for calling the police or jump for joy that the kidnapping threat was unfounded. She walked to the bottom of the stairs, glad for the excuse to move away from Sully. “Iris, get down here.”

  She didn’t bother to raise her voice. The kid was still eavesdropping. She’d bet on it. When the blond head poked out of the hallway to the left of the landing, Jessica crooked her finger.

  Slowly Iris inched out onto the landing. The big military boots were gone, and she was barefoot. Fleetingly Jessica wondered if Iris intentionally reinforced the image of a defenseless child. Probably, and it worked because she was swamped with the sudden need to protect Iris from all the unpleasantness, all the bad things in the world.

  Jessica sighed and put her hands on her hips. She was really going to have to get over this maternal thing or Iris would be leading her around by the nose. Turning to Sully, who had come to stand beside her, she found he wasn’t watching Iris. He was watching her. Something in those suspicious cop eyes of his had subtly changed.

  No, not changed. Something had been added. Humor. He was laughing at her.

  “This is not funny,” she whispered.

  “No, it isn’t.” The humor winked out and regret replaced it. Very softly he said, “I’m going to have to take her downtown and explain exactly how serious prank calls are.”

  Jessica’s stomach flipped. The last thing she needed was to have Iris taken down to the police station as some sort of “lesson” for wayward juveniles. She motioned for Iris to come down and wait at the foot of the stairs. Then she dragged Sully into the living room.

  Out of earshot she whispered, “You can’t be serious about taking her to the station for a prank! We don’t even know she did it yet.”

  “That’s what we were fixing to find out before you mauled me. Not that I’m complainin’, you understand, but the tie’s silk.”

  Jessica had one hand locked around his impressive biceps and the other had a death grip on his expensive Looney Tune tie. She was making one mistake after another with this man. Her only excuse was that she was used to having a great deal more information in situations than the skimpy bits and pieces she had at the moment.

  Taking a deep breath, she let go and carefully smoothed the Tasmanian devil tie. A hard washboard of muscles rose and fell beneath her fingers as she reached the tip of his tie. Heat flamed her cheeks as she suddenly realized she’d taken an inordinately long time to perform the simple task. Sully seemed perfectly content to let her make a fool of herself.

  She pulled away and flashed a contrite smile. “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes.”

  “No apology necessary. And just for future reference—” His voice was low, and yet it resonated inside her. “—I don’t consider that a fault.”

  Jessica sucked in a breath as she realized Sully wasn’t referring to women who got carried away in public. Oh, God. She really was out of practice at this. Or Sully wasn’t the kind of man who could be managed. Swallowing, she forced the subject back to safer territory. “Look, Iris is just a little girl. I want to talk to her first. Alone.”

&
nbsp; “Of course, but we can both add two and two. We know the kid did it. You’ve got three minutes, but then it’s my turn.”

  “Of course,” she echoed his easy agreement.

  By then the lie will be ironed out.

  Iris waited for her at the foot of the stairs. She had her father’s serious frown, but the familiar facial expression didn’t disturb Jessica nearly as much as the penetrating gaze. Involuntarily she took a step backward as recognition flooded her. Her sister, Jenny, had looked at people like that, like she could see what was written on their souls.

  Uneasy, Jessica wondered what Iris could see. None of it pretty; in her case beauty was truly no more than skin deep. She was bad to the bone, born that way. Always the bad twin, the one who started all of the trouble, the one who survived.

  The one with blood on her hands.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” The words were colder than she intended, and Iris lowered her gaze to the floor.

  Great. Jessica sighed again.

  Obviously she was going to make mistakes with Iris too. Why the hell had she let herself get talked into this mess? Because she had no choice. With Phil missing, the past threatened her present. But those reasons were only the public truth. Jessica knew exactly why she was here.

  Because she wanted to be the good guy for once.

  Iris had no idea what Jessica really was. The girl thought she was one of her father’s elite bodyguards, one of the chosen few her dad respected. One of the few her dad trusted. Iris had faith in her, and that was the scariest part of the job. Faith was so fragile; she knew. Maybe this time it would be different.

  She looked over her shoulder to make certain that Sully had kept his word about waiting in the living room. “Iris, did you call the police? Did you tell them you were Madame Evangeline?”

  Iris didn’t look up. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why? I told you not to call them, that I’d take care of everything, including calling the police when it was time.”

  Finally the girl looked up, scared but honest enough to confess when cornered. “I’d already talked to them by the time I called you.”