Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [118]
“How do you know?”
“I called around, found out who his agent is, and phoned the guy at home. He wasn’t too happy, but I got the name of the photographer who did the shoot, then gave him a buzz. Our boy Pomeranian was, indeed, in Salt Lake on the day Mary Theresa disappeared.” He yanked open his paper again, but Maggie snatched it from his hands.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “Last night you were dead set against me snooping around, and now you’ve taken up the cause like it’s your new life’s goal.”
“Maybe it is.”
“What’s going on, Walker?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him and wishing she could read his devious and untrustworthy mind.
“A simple case of employing the ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em’ theory. It’s obvious that you’re not going to give this up, so I decided I’d rather work with you than against you. Though I’m sure the police will do a more-than-exemplary job, they seem to think I might have somehow been involved in Mary Theresa’s disappearance. Maybe I should take a more active hand in finding out the truth.” He took a long swallow of coffee, his eyes appraising her over the rim of the cup. She wanted to trust him. And she wanted her sister home again and her child to reach out to her.
If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, she reminded herself, even though it would be so much easier to have Thane on her side rather than harbor all these doubts. Just because she’d received a silent message from her sister—or had she? now she wasn’t certain—she was second-guessing herself, but it didn’t mean that Thane had anything to do with Mary Theresa’s disappearance. So what if the police thought he might be involved; they always looked to family first, especially estranged ex-husbands, didn’t they? And just because he’d shown up in Idaho, on her doorstep, protesting his innocence, didn’t necessarily mean that he had another agenda, a secret ax to grind.
He reached for a scone, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “So what’s on the slate for today, Mary Theresa?”
“Very funny.” She eyed her list. “And the name’s Marquise.”
“I keep forgetting.”
“Try to stay on track,” she teased, knowing that he was sharper than cut glass. “What I need from you is to drive me to the car-rental agency.”
“I thought I’d drive you—”
“We discussed this, Thane. I already ordered the rental. So either take me there, or I’ll call a cab, or have the car delivered. Your choice.”
His smile disappeared. “Not so fast. What if Mary Theresa was kidnapped? What if this is more dangerous than you think? Don’t you think you might be the next target?”
“Why?”
“Who knows? That’s just the point.” He was dead serious. He finished his scone, brushed his hands, and stood, his boot heels making impressions in the thick mauve carpet. “I don’t know what we’re up against here. Do you?”
“No.”
“Then let’s sign up for the ‘better safe than sorry’ plan.”
“I’ll be careful.” He looked about to argue, so she added, “I’m a grown woman, Walker. Lived my life without you for most of my years. I think I’ll be fine. Now, I plan to visit KRKY about the time the show airs, then talk to her secretary, her other ex-husband, and her psychiatrist.”
He scowled, but put whatever argument that was brewing aside. “I’ll check with her attorney, the yard-work people, her trainer, and some of her neighbors and friends.”
“Good. We’ll meet back here tonight.”
“Take my cell phone.”
“I don’t need it.” She wanted his help, but didn’t need to be treated like a baby.
“Unless you want me stuck to you like glue, you’ll take the damned phone.” His eyebrows had slammed together and his expression was suddenly harsh as a Wyoming winter. He wasn’t going to budge.
For once she didn’t argue. They didn’t have much time. Marquise’s program was set to air within the hour, and Maggie was determined to check out the dynamics of KRKY.
After picking up a late-model Ford Taurus, she wheeled into the parking lot of the television station. The studio was located beneath the ground level of a red-brick tower bearing the station’s name. She was greeted by an open-mouthed receptionist,