Against the Storm - Kat Martin

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think so. I haven’t noticed anything missing.”

       He looked at Trace. “What about you? You got anything to add?”

       Trace explained that he had come over after receiving Maggie’s call. “She was clearly upset. She’s been getting threatening messages left on her car, hang-up calls, that kind of thing.”

       Sandowski returned from his search just then. “I checked the doors and windows. No sign of forced entry. Are you sure your cleaning lady or a friend didn’t leave the statue there? Maybe you just didn’t notice it before you went to bed.”

       Maggie’s pretty lips thinned. “It wasn’t there.”

       Gonzalez wrote something on his notepad. “We’ll take a look around outside before we leave. I suggest you check with friends, see if maybe one of them was playing a joke or something.”

       “It wasn’t a joke,” Maggie said tightly.

       The officers headed for the door. It was obvious they believed she had just overlooked the presence of the porcelain figurine.

       Maggie had said the cops weren’t able to help her. Clearly, they weren’t convinced the threat against her was real. First thing in the morning, Trace would take the figurine down to his office, do a check for prints on it and the notes she’d received.

       “Will you be able to sleep?” he asked once the police were gone.

       “Probably not.” She raked soft red curls back from her face. Sleep-tousled, they teased her cheeks and shoulders. His fingers itched to touch them.

       “You need to get some rest,” he said a little gruffly, thinking that under different circumstances he might have exactly the sleeping pill she needed. As it was, Maggie was his client, his responsibility. He had no intention of trying to seduce her.

       He almost smiled. And he was pretty sure if he tried, his chances of success would be slim to none.

       “I was planning to drive down to the shore tomorrow,” she said, “take some shots for my book. Now…I don’t know. …”

       “That might not be a bad idea,” Trace said before he could stop himself. “Until you walked into my office, I was thinking of heading to Kemah for the weekend. I’ve got a boat docked there.”

       One of her burnished eyebrows went up. “A cowboy who rides a boat instead of a horse?”

       He smiled. “That’s me.”

       “Kemah’s a charming little town. I’ve gotten some great pictures on the boardwalk.”

       “Maybe we could drive down together. My men will be working here all day, installing the security system and changing the locks. You could get away from all that for a while and I could get in a little sailing.”

       And he could take Rex’s place, keep an eye out, see if anyone followed them down.

       Maggie looked at him with a combination of weariness and suspicion.

       “I’ll drive,” he offered. “You can sleep on the way.”

       “And you’ll bring me back tomorrow night?”

       A cautious lady. In her situation that was good. “Unless you decide you’d rather stay and sleep aboard,” he couldn’t resist adding.

       She sliced him a sideways glance. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

       Trace just smiled. “In case you haven’t noticed, it is morning, Maggie.”

      Five

      As soon as he got home, Trace stretched out on the overstuffed sofa in his living room still wearing his jeans and boots. Rowdy curled up on the beige carpet next to the sofa, and both of them fell asleep. Trace slept like a rock till six, then made himself some coffee, loaded his gear in the back of the Jeep and drove down to the office.

       There was a fingerprint kit in the back room. He dusted the notes for prints, but as he had figured, the rough brown paper yielded nothing.

       He held more hope for the little porcelain statuette, but after careful examination and dusting, it appeared the figurine had been wiped clean. Which in itself revealed something about Maggie’s stalker.

       Whoever it was was careful. Very careful. No sign of forced entry. No footprints that Trace had seen. He would bet he could dust the whole condo and no prints would turn up. Since the town house had recently been for sale, it wouldn’t have been difficult for the intruder to get a key. Trace would talk to the Realtors who’d handled the listing and sale, see what might come up.

       His Jeep was loaded and ready. The office wasn’t officially open on weekends, but Ben, Alex and Sol were usually in and out. Annie came in whenever she needed to play catch-up. The alarm system installers worked for JDT Security Systems, the company that handled all the Atlas jobs. Trace phoned Ed Wilcox and got the guys going on what would be an overtime job at Maggie’s.

       By nine he was finished and heading back to the town house. He wanted to interview the residents in the other five units, see if anyone had heard or seen anything last night.

       As he drove toward Broadmoor, he found himself smiling. He was working, sort of, providing a protection detail for his client—not that he planned to charge her for a trip to the shore. But the better part of the bargain was the day he would be spending at sea, sailing with the pretty little redhead on his boat in Galveston Bay.

       Maggie was surprised she had agreed to the trip. But as Trace had said, the security people would be working in the town house all day, and she really needed to take some more pictures. She wanted to finish the coffee-table book and if she got lucky, she could get a few more shots for her show at the Twin Oaks Gallery in a couple weeks.

       After Trace left in the wee hours of the morning, Maggie had returned upstairs and managed to get a couple hours of sleep. But it wasn’t nearly enough. As she dressed in a pair of cropped navy blue pants, a red-striped top and sandals, she yawned, feeling groggy and out of sorts. Coffee helped but not that much. At least the weather was good. Still cool, but no longer cold, the air not too humid.

       Trace returned at ten, his Cherokee loaded with gear. “You ready?” he asked when she opened the door.

       “Just about.” She looked down at the black-and-white dog standing next to him on her doorstep.

       “That’s Rowdy,” he said. “Rowdy, this is Maggie.”

       Her eyes widened when the animal barked.

       “Hi, Rowdy,” she said, because he seemed to demand a greeting. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

       He barked again.

       She bit back a laugh. “I just need to load my camera gear.” She turned to collect the Nikon D3S sitting in its case in the entry. It was equipped with a fantastic Tamron 28-300 lens she had purchased a few weeks back. The new equipment had set her back nearly seven thousand dollars, but in her line of work, it was an essential investment.

       Trace walked past her, gently elbowing her aside when she reached for the bag, and hoisted the strap over one of his wide shoulders.

       “I’m used to carrying my own equipment,” she said.

       “I’m sure you are.” But he kept on walking, hauling the stuff out to his Jeep and loading it into the backseat.

       “I hope you aren’t charging me extra for that,” she grumbled as she carried her yellow canvas swim bag out to the car.

       He grinned, a flash of white in a suntanned face so handsome it made her breath catch. An amazing face, she thought, with those hard, sculpted features and intense, whiskey-brown eyes, so warm and direct they sent a little quiver into her stomach.

       “No extra charge,” he said, sliding her tripod onto the seat. “Not today.”

      

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