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Clay had cut off three cars in fewer than three seconds.
“Not yet.” Clay wove his way through the traffic and began driving in random circles.
He was a good driver, his motions controlled and precise, the car moving smoothly, almost effortlessly through traffic. But there was tension radiating from the corners of his eyes as he glanced in his rearview mirrors.
Joslyn kept an eye out behind them, also, and her heartbeat continued to gallop in her chest as she waited to see if the white Taurus or some other car would suddenly appear. But after several miles, she never saw the same car twice.
Clay finally nodded. “I think we did lose them.”
“How did they find us? Why are they following us?” She didn’t like not knowing. “Are you sure they followed us from her workplace?”
“They could have followed us from her house and we just didn’t see them,” Clay said. “Although I don’t like the thought that they were watching us the entire time.”
“I don’t, either.” It made her feel vulnerable, right when she had been working so hard to get back control in her life.
Clay’s mouth grew hard. “Maybe they were the ones who rigged her house to explode and they were waiting to see who would show up.”
For a moment, he looked so much like her ex-boyfriend that Joslyn had to look away. Tomas had hated being trapped by other men, and it had brought out an ugly side of him. He’d had many ugly sides.
She took a deep breath. That chapter in her life was over. Tomas was in jail. She was safe. She had been doing everything in her power to make sure she stayed safe.
Except that it hadn’t saved her from walking into this situation. “If they did rig her house to explode, they either wanted to kill her or anyone after her.”
“I don’t think anyone would expend manpower to watch an empty house for weeks, just to make sure the explosion killed someone looking for Fiona,” Clay said. “If they were staking out the house, it’s because they want to find Fiona, dead or alive.”
“So Fiona might be alive. On the run.”
“Let’s hope so. But if those men weren’t staking out the house already, it could mean they followed one of us to Fiona’s house.”
Joslyn thought back to what she’d had to do to find Fiona’s address. Had her digging around alerted someone that she was after Fiona? But who? What in the world had Fiona gotten into? “Did you have any idea Fiona was in serious trouble like this?” Joslyn asked.
He shook his head slowly. “I hadn’t talked to her in years. I didn’t even know where she’d gone after she left Chicago. I tried to find her but then...”
He’d gone to prison. Joslyn wondered why Fiona hadn’t reached out to him, especially when it seemed that he still loved her. Fiona hadn’t indicated there had been any bad blood or grudges between them, so why hadn’t she wanted to see her brother again?
“I didn’t know, either,” Joslyn said. “Fiona was just like any other girl when I knew her in Los Angeles, going to classes, hanging out with friends. Except...” She thought back. “She seemed a little sad sometimes, but I knew her mother had died and she didn’t like to talk about her father. I thought she just missed her mom.”
“She and Mom were close,” Clay said quietly.
“I still can’t get over the job she got here in Phoenix. She was qualified for a position that paid so much more.”
“She must have gotten into some kind of trouble, something that made her need to take a different job than she normally would have.”
“She didn’t have many friends at her workplace, so maybe the answer isn’t in her job, but in what she did outside her job.” Which meant that if she did visit the museum here, as she had done in Los Angeles and Chicago, they might find something about what she’d been involved in. A standard tactic for skip tracers was to find out as much about the person as possible to figure out where they’d go.
The Kevin Tran Museum of Art and Art History was a beautiful sandstone building that rose out of the desert like a castle, surrounded by artfully arranged rock formations and different types of cacti. As they paid the entrance fee, Joslyn grabbed a pamphlet about becoming a season pass holder or a museum patron.
“If I’m right, Fiona would have gotten at least a season pass for the museum. She had a season ticket for one of the museums in Los Angeles that she enjoyed going to. She got invited to private showings and a few art galas.”
“She had a season pass for one of the museums in Chicago, too,” Clay said. “She took me to an art opening once. I had to wear a suit.” He grinned, suddenly. “She told me I looked like a bouncer.” But then something, some memory, made the light dim from his eyes and his smile. Joslyn had to stop herself from asking him what had made him so sad.
She consulted the pamphlet and saw that the patron services department was in charge of handling business with season pass holders. “This way.” There were signs pointing the way to the patron services office.
They passed through several galleries. Some had ethnic themes, such as one long room with art from several premier Chinese American artists who had first settled in Phoenix at the turn of the century, and another room with huge murals of Native American art. One gallery housed a display of sculptures that looked like they were made from desert rocks of various colors.
“This is a museum Fiona would love,” Clay said as they crossed a room where Native American woven blankets hung from the walls. “She always talked about how art can tell you all about different cultures and periods of history.”
“I have to admit I didn’t always see it,” Joslyn said. “But then again, when Fiona went with me to a concert, she didn’t go into raptures about the musical nuances the way I did.”
“What kind of concerts?”
Out of habit, Joslyn hesitated before answering. “Mostly classical music. Fiona was my only friend who’d go to concerts with me and not fall asleep in the middle.”
“I like classic rock, myself. But I’ve been known to listen to some instrumental movie scores, too.”
She blinked at him, then laughed. “The classic rock I would have guessed.”
His smile was open and charming. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
It would be so easy to fall for that charm. But then again, Tomas had been charming, too, at first.
They arrived at a door marked “Patron Services” and went inside. A woman sat behind a desk with horn-rimmed glasses and smiled at them. “May I help you?” Her name plaque read Ruby Padalecki.
Joslyn gave her one of her new business cards. “I’m an investigator with the O’Neill Agency. We’re looking into the disappearance of a young woman who might have been a season pass holder with the museum, Fiona Crowley.”
Ruby’s mouth grew pinched. “I’m afraid I can’t give any information about our museum patrons.”
“We’re just worried about her,” Clay said. “I’m her brother.”
The woman looked at him with her brow furrowed. “Oh, my, you look exactly like...” She swallowed and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, but I could lose my job.”
“No, we don’t want you to do anything to jeopardize that,” Joslyn said quickly.
Clay held his hands up. “We’re just museum patrons chatting with you, okay? We’re not after any confidential information that might get you in trouble.”
Ruby relaxed and smiled. “Okay, sure.”
He looked harmless, approachable. She envied the easy way he could engage with Ruby. Joslyn always felt awkward socially. It was the