Blue Twilight. Maggie Shayne
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at her. “What color are they usually?”
“Blue,” she said. “You telling me you never noticed the color of Stormy’s eyes?”
“It’s not the kind of thing I notice. So shoot me.”
“You’re a cop. You notice everything.”
“Ex-cop,” he corrected.
Max flattened a palm over her eyes. “What color are mine?”
They were green, he thought. Huge, sparkling green eyes like a pair of emeralds in the sunlight. Aloud, he said, “I haven’t got a clue.”
She lowered her hand, looking partly hurt and partly skeptical.
“So you’re saying Storm’s eyes changed color?”
“It was more than just the color, Lou. It was like—like they weren’t even her eyes.” She rubbed her outer arms as if she were suddenly cold.
“You wanna know what I think?”
“Of course I do.”
He nodded. “Good, because I was going to tell you, anyway. I think you’re overly worried about her. And you’re overwhelmed with this move, the new business, the new house.”
“In a good way, though.”
“Doesn’t matter. Max, it was only a few months ago you found out your birth mother was a reformed prostitute and that you had a twin sister. You located Morgan, only to learn she was terminally ill and apparently being stalked—by a freakin’ vampire, of all things. Then you found out the vamp was the good guy, after damn near getting him killed.”
Max shrugged and averted her eyes. “So shoot me for thinking undead meant evil. It seemed like a logical assumption. Besides, it all worked out okay. He changed her. She won’t die now. Ever.”
“Still and all,” Lou said. “You’ve barely had time to digest all that. You’re suddenly unsure about everything you ever believed. What’s real and what’s not. The lines that used to be clear are all blurry in your mind.”
Max looked at him intently. “That’s pretty good.”
“I know it is. Don’t think I haven’t been going through a lot of the same stuff, Max. But here’s the thing. With all that fueling it, your imagination is bound to be stuck in high gear. Even more so than usual.” She sent him a smirk but he kept on talking. “So Stormy—after damn near dying on you a few months ago—goes off the road, scares the hell out of you, and you rush back there, your emotions heightened to the breaking point, and the sun hits her eyes in a certain way, and bam! There you have it.”
She tilted her head. Her copper-red curls brushed past her shoulder on one side, fell behind her neck on the other. He tried not to notice, and noticed, anyway. “You really think that’s all it is?” she asked.
“I really do.”
Max sighed, nodding slowly. “I suppose you could be right.”
He almost gaped in surprise, until she added, “But I doubt it.”
Yep, that was the reaction he’d expected. The two of them were so opposite it was predictable. “I suppose you have a theory of your own?”
“I’m working on one.”
“And I suppose it’s something flaky.”
“By flaky you mean …?”
“Paranormal. Supernatural. Otherworldly. Extra—”
“Yeah, something flaky.”
He sighed, disliking the way this conversation was going. Now that one of her far-fetched theories had been proved correct, there would be no talking her down from the next one. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Then don’t. It’s still in development.” She shrugged, dropping the subject. “I’m really sorry I made you miss your fishing trip.”
“No you’re not.” Hell, he wasn’t, either. He would rather spend time with Max, far-fetched theories and outrageous flirting and all, than in a boat with a fishing pole. But he would be damned if he’d admit it. It would only encourage her.
“You’re right, I’m not.”
At least she was honest. For the most part, though he had no doubt she was even now plotting ways to get him to stay longer than he intended.
Stormy came in then, a suitcase in each hand. “Isn’t this the best place in the universe?” She dropped the cases inside the door. “Are the phones turned on yet? We’re supposed to call my parents when we arrive.”
“I haven’t checked,” Max said. Then the two of them headed across the great room and through the double doors off the right of it, into the office.
Lou watched them go. Watched Max, mostly. The girl was hell on wheels. If he thought for one minute her constant flirting was a sign of serious interest he would …
He would what? he asked himself. He wouldn’t do anything but brush her off as gently as possible and head for home. He liked Max too much to subject her to a relationship with him. He was hell on women, and he knew it. A miserable failure at that sort of thing. Every woman he’d dated in the past decade had dumped him in short order, most of them accusing him of being about as emotional and romantic as a dying trout. Then again, he hadn’t really tried with any of them. Hadn’t ever tried since his divorce.
He hadn’t wanted to. He still didn’t. And Max deserved better.
Sighing, Lou followed them into the office. It was pretty much as Morgan had left it, furnished in her elegant style. A computer was already set up on the antique mahogany desk. Stormy was replacing the telephone receiver on its hook when he came in. “Got a dial tone. Phones are up and running.” Then she frowned at the telephone’s base. “Hey, the message light is blinking. Think we got a customer already?”
“No way, not yet,” Max said. “We haven’t even unpacked.”
“Maybe all those flyers announcing our grand opening are already paying off.” Stormy hit the Play button and sank into a chair to listen. The voice that came from the answering machine was male, and her eyes widened a little when she heard it.
“Max, Storm, it’s Jason. Jason Beck. I know it’s been a long time, and now I’m only calling because I need your help. I feel like a jerk, but—look, something’s going on—I think my sister’s missing.”
Stormy shot Max a horrified look.
“There’s something wrong,” Jason’s voice went on. “She was on a trip with her best friend. Spring break, her senior year. I got this odd phone call. Really broken up—bad connection. But I know she’s in trouble. There’s just—there’s something off about this whole thing. I need you guys. So call me back. Uh, the cell phone won’t work out here, but I have a motel room. Call me, okay?” He gave the number. There was a distinct clicking sound as Jason hung up, and then another. The machine beeped to signal the end of the message.
“Jason Beck—hell, I remember him,” Lou said. “Third part of the gang of three, wasn’t he?”
Max nodded. “He moved away, went to law school. What time did he leave that message?” she asked Stormy.
Stormy looked at the machine. “At 7:10 p.m. Less than an hour ago.”
“Play it again,” Lou said.
“Lou?” Max must have seen something in his eyes, because she leaned closer to look into them. “What is it? What are you—”
“Just play it once more.”
Stormy hit the Play button, and they listened to their old friend’s worried voice. When the message ended, Lou said, “Did you hear that? That extra clicking sound?”
Max