Maggie Shayne - Blue Twilight

“You can’t be sure that’s what that extra click was,” Max said.

He nodded, conceding that. “Can’t be sure it wasn’t, either.”

She shrugged. “I can be sure of one thing, though.”

“Yeah? What’s that, Nancy Drew?”

She met his eyes and smiled the most triumphant, smug little smile he’d ever seen her wear. “You’re planning to come with us.”

He couldn’t even argue with her. Instead, he sighed and lowered his head.

“I need more pizza,” Maxie said. She walked out of the office, a little bounce to her step on her way to the kitchen, where they’d left the extra slices in a box on the island.

Lou watched her go and tried to quell the little voice that told him it was a mistake to give in to her yet again. But there was an even bigger feeling, one that was far more important. It sat like a brick in the pit of his stomach, and it told him that something very bad was waiting for Mad Maxie Stuart in Endover.

Lou didn’t follow Max to the kitchen right away. He didn’t like the way Stormy looked: pale, shaky, shielding her eyes with a hand, as if the light of the computer monitor was too bright to bear.

Except for the kitchen, every other room in the place was cluttered with still-packed boxes and crates. Not this one, though. It was huge, fireplace on the far wall, French doors with the small patio just beyond, overlooking the rolling lawn all the way to the cliffs and the sea far below. It held two desks, though they’d all been gathered around one. The second one faced it from the opposite side of the fireplace. Its surface was still empty. No computer, no phone.

On the wall was a large oil painting of Max’s twin sister, Morgan, and her beloved Dante. She wore a scrap of gossamer with thin straps, and sat in a fur-covered chair with her legs folded beneath her. He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. Lou got lost while staring at the portrait for just a moment. Morgan’s facial structure, her deep-set green eyes, coppery-red hair and her smile—so much like Maxie’s. And yet she was pale, had been even before the change. Skin like porcelain. Hair straight and sleek. A body so waif-thin he wondered if she actually cast a shadow. Not that she would be spending any time in the sun from now on. She was frail. A hothouse orchid. Max was a wild rose. Tough, thorny, strong.

“Hard to believe they’re twins, isn’t it? I can’t think of two women more different,” Stormy said, looking over his shoulder.

“I was thinking the same.” He dragged his gaze from the portrait to Stormy. “You all right?”

“I’ll be fine. I just … I hate waiting.”

“You’re exhausted. Why don’t you get some sleep? Give yourself a break.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I will.” She hit the keys that would shut down the computer, then slid out of her chair as the machine whirred and clicked and finally went dark. “So I take it you’re staying over?”

“Max isn’t giving me much choice.” He drew a breath, sighed deep and long. “My bag still in your car?”

“Nope. I brought it in.” She reached under the desk and hauled out the black satchel. “Are you mad?”

“Hell, what’s to be mad about? Even smuggling my bag couldn’t force me to stick around with you two if I didn’t want to.” He shook his head. “Max thinks she’s playing me, but I’m only here because I want to be.”

“She’d sure love to hear that.”

“No way. I’m not giving her any more ammo to fire at my head.”

“I’ve got news for you, Lou. It’s not your head she’s firing at.” She studied him, tilted her head to one side. “How do you feel about her, anyway?”

“How do I … feel about her?” He shrugged, averting his eyes. “I like her. I’ve always liked her.”

“As a friend?”

He shrugged. “More like a guardian.” Stormy’s eyebrows shot up so high he thought he must have shocked her, so he tried to explain. “I always feel as if she needs looking after, you know? She tends to just charge headlong, straight into trouble, without thinking first.”

“So you see yourself as her … protector.”

“That’s one way to put it. Sure.”

“Like a big brother,” Stormy said.

“More like an uncle. I’m too old to be her brother.”

Stormy put a hand on his shoulder. “Lou, she doesn’t want you to be her uncle. You do realize that, don’t you?”

He frowned at her. “Oh, come on. You’re not telling me you take all her teasing and flirting seriously, are you?”

“Don’t you?”

“Not on your life. She’s half my age.”

“Twenty-six is not half of forty-four.”

“Close enough.”

“That’s bullshit. What’s the real issue here, Lou?”

He met her eyes, then had to avert his because she was probing a little too deeply. “This is getting kind of personal, Stormy. If you don’t mind …”

“Nope. Don’t mind a bit. I’m going up to bed, but I’m setting my alarm. I want us to get an early start.” She picked up his bag and swung it into his chest. “And just in case you didn’t notice, Lou, there’s room in this office for another desk. Hell, that spot over there almost looks bare without one. Don’t you think?”

He looked where she was looking, at a large, vacant section of the room. “You’ll find something to put there.”

“Or some one . ‘Night, Lou.”

“Good night.”

She left. Lou didn’t waste a hell of a lot of time wondering where she got her crazy ideas. Instead, he wandered through the vast house, crossing the dramatic formal dining room, heading all the way to the kitchen in the rear of the mansion. Maxie was sitting on a stool at the pink marble island, scarfing down a slice of cold pizza. For a second he marveled that anyone could look as good as she did while chewing. And then he stared a little longer, mentally contrasting her with her wisp of a sister. Where Morgan was whisper-thin, Max was curvy. He didn’t often allow himself to think about her breasts, but they were nice ones. Full, rounded, bouncy. Her waist was little, and the curve of her hips just right. She had a round backside that filled out a pair of jeans in the nicest possible way. Her skin was pink, and her hair thick and riotously curly.

Her attitude matched her looks. She was feisty, impulsive, fun-loving, restless.

Stormy was right. Two women couldn’t be more different.

She turned and caught him looking, swallowed her latest mouthful and sent him a smile.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll check the locks before I go up, make sure the place is all buttoned up. Thought I’d say good night.”

She eyed the bag in his hand. “So you meant what you said to Jason on the phone? You’re sticking with us for this one?”

“Looks like.”

“I’m so glad.” She hooked her foot around the stool next to her own and pulled it out. “Sit. You want a piece?”

“No thanks, I’ve had enough pizza.”

“Who said I was talking about pizza?” She sent him her trademark smile, full of mischief and danger.

He sighed, nodded. “Fine. I’ll sit. I need to talk to you, anyway.”

“‘Bout what?” she asked.

He sighed as he lowered himself onto the stool. “The truth is, kid, I want to go with you to Endover. I like working with you, and I’m scared shitless to think what kind of trouble you might get yourself into without me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your faith in me is overwhelming.”

He lowered his head, searching for the right words. “The thing is, while I like working with you and I want to watch out for you, I don’t like some of the things you do.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “You don’t?”