Dead Right. Brenda Novak
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money out of him while painting him as the devil himself, the cause of all Maria’s problems.
Automatically, his eyes cut to a picture of his twelve-year-old daughter. Her photograph rested on one of the empty shelves above the television, and was about the only decoration left in the beach house. Antoinette had stripped the place bare when she moved out more than a year ago.
Maria stared back at him, wearing a somber expression. He imagined the school photographer coaxing her, “Say ‘cheese!’” But she seemed to be thinking, “Get real. What do I have to smile about?”
The desire for a drink slammed into him like one of the waves he could hear churning down the beach. He felt helpless, pinned beneath his craving for the smooth burn of alcohol and the resulting disconnect. He wasn’t asking for a lot. Just one night of escape. Then he’d get back on the wagon. It had never been so bad before. His daughter had never said what she’d said tonight.
Please, leave us alone. You make everything worse…I don’t want to be with you, okay? It’s all your fault!
Wincing as the memory lashed a part of him that was already raw, he reached for his keys and his wallet, both sitting next to his phone. He’d go down to the bar on the corner. If he planned to drink, he had to go somewhere. Sober for six months, he had no alcohol in the house.
But he stopped at the door. Maria’s eyes seemed to be following him, accusing him. You’re just what she says you are. A drunk.
Clenching his jaw, he bowed his head, battling the weakness that threatened to overtake him. He’d beat the craving for booze—if only to prove Antoinette wrong.
Eventually, he forced himself to return to the couch and pick up his guitar. It was all so damned ironic, he thought, trying to gain some perspective on the phone call that had hurt so badly. Alcohol was the only thing that had made it possible to cope with the irritation and dislike he faced on a daily basis in his marriage. And alcohol had caused him to make the one mistake he’d promised himself he’d never make, the mistake that had landed him in their neighbor’s bed and destroyed his marriage.
He strummed through several Nickelback songs, hoping to get lost in the music. His guitar helped him relax. But tonight nothing could release the pent-up frustration. Antoinette had promised he could take Maria to Hawaii next weekend for seven days. He’d been planning on it for two months. And then Maria had called to say she wouldn’t go…
He played a few more chords, but his heart wasn’t in it. His throat and eyes burned, his muscles ached with the effort of subduing his reaction.
Grasping for something, anything, to fill his mind besides the echoing rejection of his daughter, he turned his thoughts to the Southern woman who’d called. What are you looking for…? A person…Who…? My father.
Hunter sighed. Maria didn’t want her father. They lived less than ten miles apart, but she refused to see him. Which pleased Antoinette inordinately, of course. His ex hated him—because he’d never really loved her.
Stop! Think of something else!
Madeline Barker’s voice came to him again. That’s discriminatory.
Setting his guitar aside, he frowned. Mississippi wasn’t exactly high on his list of places to see. But he knew what need was. And he had nothing here, did he? He was stuck in an empty house with only his guitar for company, working night and day so he wouldn’t break down and start drinking again.
His life had become too pathetic for words. He loved California, had lived in Newport Beach nearly all his life, but the steady pounding of the waves twenty yards from his house seemed to whisper, “Maria…Maria…Maria.”
He’d been an idiot to lose her. And he’d been even more of an idiot to place the rope that had hanged him right inside Antoinette’s beautifully manicured fingers. Now she was laughing while she watched him swing…
Maybe it was time to stop the show. He wouldn’t force his daughter to see him; he couldn’t bear the thought of making her any unhappier than she already was. She’d told him she’d be better off if he gave up, walked away. Maybe, for a while, he should. Lord knew he wasn’t doing anyone any good sitting here going out of his mind. And he wasn’t about to vacation in Hawaii by himself. He didn’t need that much time on his hands. If he went, he probably wouldn’t last a day before seeking out the closest pub.
“What the hell,” he muttered and turned on a light so he could see the number Madeline Barker had called him from.
Madeline raised her head and blinked at the shrill ring. Could it be morning? Already?
Her body felt stiff and sore. Squinting at her watch, she realized why. It was only one o’clock. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes, and slumping over her desk had put a crick in her neck.
The phone rang again. She almost dropped the handset but eventually brought it to her ear.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded throaty and low.
“Ms. Barker?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Hunter Solozano.”
She jumped up, then teetered on her feet for a moment. “What do you want, Mr. Solozano?”
“What airport should I use?”
“For…You’re coming? Here?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, but—” nerves made her scalp tingle “—we haven’t discussed any of the logistics.”
“I charge a thousand dollars a day, plus expenses.”
A thousand dollars a day! She clapped a hand over her mouth. But he didn’t pause.
“You said you had no worries about paying me. Is that still true?”
He cost a fortune. Even more than she’d expected. But she wasn’t about to admit she had any doubts. Not after what he’d said to her before. I think it’s the accent. Maybe she lived in the boondocks by his standards, but she was no uneducated, backward hick. “Sure. No problem,” she lied.
“Fine. I’ll need the first five thousand as a retainer.”
She bit her lip. That alone would wipe out her checking account and leave her short on next month’s bills. The paper was a labor of love but hardly a fabulous living. “How long do you think the…investigation will take?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “How committed are you to finding your father?”
She winced at the staggering financial implications. If Mr. Solozano stayed for a month, it’d cost her upward of $20,000. And that was taking weekends off.
But she’d tried everything else. This felt like her only hope. “More committed than I’ve ever been to anything.”
“Fine. I’ll be there on Thursday.”
She gulped. “So soon?”
“You’re in luck. I was planning a vacation that fell through.”
In luck? At one thousand dollars a day, plus expenses? “Um…just to clarify, your expenses would include what exactly? Airfare and hotel?”
“As well as a rental car, meals, any specialized tests we might need to run on the evidence I find, stuff like that.”
“I see.” The list could get long. And with his salary, the incidental expenses would be the least of her problems. But he sounded so confident when he mentioned evidence.
“Will you be making my hotel reservations or shall I?” he asked.
Transferring the phone from one hand to the other, Madeline wiped her palms, which had grown clammy, on her sweatpants. “I was thinking…I mean