Not a Moment Too Soon. Linda O. Johnston
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how things turn out. And if there’s anything I can do—”
“There is,” Hunter interrupted. “Let me read your story.”
“Hunter, I’m not sure you—”
He didn’t let her speak. “You asked what you can do. Well, that’s the only thing you can do. Let me read it, Shauna. If it’s as you’ve always said, something that comes to you from the emotions of the participants, maybe it’ll have something to help me find my daughter. Let me see it now, so I can get on my way to L.A.”
Chapter 2
Shauna had argued with him, of course. Hunter, expecting it, hadn’t budged. He’d won. His mother had understood and said she’d had a bridge game planned with friends that evening. Not that she’d play, but at least she wouldn’t be by herself. She had encouraged them both to leave.
Hunter was so antsy to get on his way to L.A. that he ground his teeth together in frustration. Still he followed Shauna, in his rental car, along the streets of Oasis toward her home.
In the old days, he had enjoyed arguing with her. Shouts had led to surrender. Surrender had led to—
Damn. This was the present. His daughter’s life was in danger. That, and only that, was his focus.
Shauna had even tried to convince him that, for his own good, he should just trust her. She’d told him she’d written the damned story and had given him the only possible clue in it. Wasn’t that enough?
Hardly. She might be a professional shrink now—his mother had let that slip a few years ago—but he was the professional investigator. Shauna might have overlooked something that could lead to his daughter.
Except…others on the force had believed wholeheartedly in Shauna’s stories when Hunter was with the Phoenix Police Department. And sometimes even he couldn’t discount them entirely.
But Andee was all right. She had to be.
Hunter pounded one fist on the steering wheel of his rented sedan, then twisted it to follow Shauna’s little blue sports model down a street on the outskirts of town. She turned into a driveway, and he pulled in behind her.
Nice house. One story, not very big, but pretty. It was the obligatory Arizona earth-tone color, but brighter in shade than customary, almost red, like rich clay.
The garage door opened automatically, and Shauna pulled in. He parked outside and grabbed his cell phone for one more call.
“Simon? What’s happening?” Simon Wells, a Rolls-Royce of a British import, was Hunter’s second-in-command at Strahm Solutions, his P.I. agency. Hunter had called him first thing when he’d learned about Andee, got him started doing all the things he’d do himself if he was in L.A. His complete trust in Simon was the only reason he’d been able to convince himself to indulge in this delay.
“Nothing new yet,” Simon replied in his unabashedly English accent. “Soon, though. Banger’s on his way.” Strahm Solutions had developed an excellent working relationship with Los Angeles Police Detective Arthur Banner, whose nickname, perversely, was “Banger.” Straitlaced and all cop, he was the furthest thing imaginable from a gangbanger, though his nickname was also used to refer to those street toughs.
“He’s from LAPD’s West Bureau,” Hunter pointed out. “You sure he can deal with this? Margo’s place is in Sunland. That’s Valley Bureau. Foothill Division, I think.”
“You know Banger. He’ll figure it out. He understands this is high priority and low profile, so he’s called one of the best FBI agents he knows. A rare one who’s discreet. So far, the press hasn’t gotten wind of what’s happened. Where are you?”
Hunter told him. “I’ll be here for another hour or so, then grab a flight back to L.A.” A thousand instructions slammed through his head, but he left them there. Simon was smart. He worked well with minimal direction, and the others on Hunter’s staff at Strahm Solutions knew to listen to him.
“Good. I’ll let you know if I learn anything more in the meantime.”
“Thanks.” Pushing the flap down on his cell phone to hang up, Hunter looked toward the garage. Shauna had exited her car and stood beside a door that opened into the house. Slender and poised and utterly sexy, she was watching him. Warily. As if she expected him to pounce on her the moment they got inside.
Didn’t he just wish…?
Instead, he got out of the car, cursing himself silently for still wanting her. Cursing her. For looking so good. For inciting ideas inside him that he had no business feeling.
She stirred him still, as no woman had. Not even Margo. He wanted Shauna.
Was there some other way that Shauna had really known something had happened to Andee? So much about her stories had always seemed true, too much to be coincidental. Yet he’d always prided himself on being a realist, had never wanted to buy in to the idea.
Yeah? Well, if he hadn’t bought in to it, why was he here, when what he really wanted was to be home, looking for his daughter?
He closed the car door and hurried toward Shauna. He’d accused her earlier of having something to do with the kidnapping. That had just been his anxiety lashing out, and they’d all known it. Apologies didn’t come easily to him, but he’d owed it to her.
Years ago, though, he wouldn’t have put such a terrible hoax past her, not if it would have gotten him to admit that she had the power to write stories, out of the blue, that came true. She’d always been upset when he didn’t believe her.
And maybe if he had been more accepting, he’d still be living here in Oasis, his job with the Phoenix Police Department intact.
“Were you talking to someone in L.A.?” she asked when he drew near her. Her scent was much as he remembered it. Something too soft to be exotic, too spicy to be sweet and feminine. But very appealing. It suited the mystery of her.
“Yes,” he said. “My assistant, Simon. He’s with my ex-wife, trying to get better information. So far, there’s nothing of use.” He let his tone turn scornful. “Your story’s as likely to tell me something helpful as Margo is.”
Shauna’s eyes blazed, but only for an instant. Saying nothing, she led him inside.
They entered the house through her kitchen. It was a lot smaller than his mother’s. A lot more like a small, homey forest. Shauna had plants everywhere—on her tiny kitchen table, along her gold-tile counters, even on top of the refrigerator. A few had flowers. Most were simply large and leafy and green. The place smelled more like a garden than a kitchen.
“Sit down there.” Shauna pointed to a chair beside her table. “I’ll get you more coffee and…Hunter, I have to warn you again. I don’t think you should read the story.”
“Yeah, I got that. Is it because Andee’s father is described in it as an ugly old goat who doesn’t believe in magical stories that come true?”
She leveled her gaze on his. This time, what he read in her wide brown eyes, the tilt of her head that allowed her long, blond hair to cascade to one side, wasn’t hurt or anger. It was pity.
Damn. Now that hurt. He had never wanted Shauna’s sympathy before. He sure as hell didn’t want it now. Yet the expression again reminded him of the past, of what they had shared.
And not just that he’d thought he’d loved her.
The passion between them had been phenomenal. The thought of it once more sent his blood coursing, as if a flood-gate had been opened. Sure, he could imagine himself making love to Shauna again. Hell, yes. She was every bit as beautiful and desirable as she’d been then.
But the sympathy in her eyes brought him back abruptly to why he was here.
She thought she knew the ending to Andee’s story, and it made her feel sorry for him.
He