Cold Case, Hot Accomplice. Carla Cassidy
off her as he pulled the car in behind the older Buick and parked. Before he’d shut off the engine, she was out the door and running toward the front porch.
“Roxy,” he called after her, halting her before she could enter the house. Her sister had already been inside, stirring things up. Although there was no reason to believe that anyone nefarious might be in the house, he didn’t want Roxy just bursting through the front door without knowing what might be on the other side.
Even though he believed that nothing bad was going on, he pulled his gun from his holster and motioned for her to get behind him.
“Don’t shoot my aunt,” she said from behind him, and he fought the impulse to turn and stare at her in disbelief. Did she really think him so inept that he might shoot a helpless older woman?
“I don’t intend to shoot anyone,” he said. “I think you’re probably overreacting to all of this.”
“I’m not the one who has a gun in my hand,” she retorted.
Steve gritted his teeth and tried the doorknob, which turned easily beneath his hand. “Did your sister say if the door was locked or unlocked when she arrived?”
“Unlocked,” Roxy replied.
Steve gave the door a good look but saw no indication of forced entry. In the back of his mind he knew he was probably investigating a crime that hadn’t happened, looking for a person who wasn’t really missing.
So what was he doing there? Why had he agreed to this? He thought it might have to do with his physical attraction to Roxy Marcoli and an attempt to ease some of the obvious distaste she held for him.
Not that he really cared what she thought about him. The last thing he would ever want was another crazy woman in his life. Been there, done that, and he still paid the price in a shattered heart that found no respite from pain.
It took him only moments to make sure the house was clear, and after that he and Roxy stood in the kitchen, facing each other. “Her purse is here.” He pointed to the brown oversize bag on the counter next to a set of keys.
“She is constantly forgetting her purse, and she keeps her cell phone inside it,” Roxy replied. Her dark eyes held strain and the barest whisper of fear. “Look, the cakes and pies and muffins are all packaged and ready for delivery.” She pointed to the countertop, where the items were in plastic carrying cases. “She obviously had the intention of bringing those things in first thing this morning just like always. Something terrible has happened to her, and you have to do something about it.”
“Officially I can’t do anything about it.” He saw the flash of irritation that darkened her eyes even more. “Roxy, right now all we have is a grown woman who has been missing for less than three hours. There might have been an emergency with one of her friends. Somebody could have picked her up here, and she forgot her purse or to lock the door after her.”
“So you aren’t going to do anything,” she said flatly.
“I’ve already done what I can at this point.”
She stared at him for a long moment and then headed toward the front door. “You’re obviously a better flirt than you are a detective,” she said, and he winced once again as he heard the front door slam shut.
He followed her back outside, locking the door and pulling it closed behind him. She stood at the side of his car, her arms crossed over her voluptuous breasts and her expression mirroring that of a beast from hell.
She got into the passenger seat as he settled in behind the wheel; the silence in the air was as thick as honey turned to sugar. Unfortunately there was no honey in Roxy Marcoli.
She had a reputation for being a tough woman, both in business and in her personal life. He knew that several police officers had asked her out at various times and had always been cut off at the knees.
While Steve found himself drawn to her on a physical level, he wasn’t looking for a woman in his life, and in any case he was certain that Foxy Roxy would shut him down even more easily than she had others.
“Roxy, I’m sorry I can’t do anything more for you at this point. I suggest you call your aunt’s friends, check in with neighbors and see if they’ve heard from her this morning. I’m sure she’ll show up and there will be a logical explanation for her absence.”
Roxy shook her head. “You don’t understand. You don’t know my aunt Liz. She would never just disappear like this and not get in touch with me or my sisters to let us know what was going on. She’s not that irresponsible. She’s just not that kind of person.”
Steve drove her back toward her place of business. For the rest of the ride she chewed on her nails without acknowledging that he was in the car with her.
As he pulled up in front of the Dollhouse, she got out of the car. “Thanks for nothing,” she said and slammed the door.
Steve watched her as she disappeared into the restaurant. He’d done what he could for her at this moment in time, and he hoped that by the afternoon Liz Marcoli would reappear with apologies for making Roxy worry, and all would be right in the Marcoli world.
The last thing Steve wanted to work on was a missing-persons case. He tried to avoid those whenever possible. He might be a shameless flirt, but he was a damn good detective, and along with his partners, Frank and Jim, his solve rate was enviable.
But missing-persons cases usually ended badly, or didn’t end at all, leaving questions that would forever remain unanswered, leaving behind broken hearts that couldn’t even begin to go through the healing process until they knew what had happened to their loved ones.
Steve knew all about the lack of closure when a person went missing. He understood the questions that nagged, the gnawing need for answers. He tried not to tap into the well of pain inside himself, preferring to keep up a superficial ladies’ man mask to keep people at bay.
How could he work a missing-persons case when he had one in his own life, one that he’d been working for the past two years and couldn’t solve?
Roxy just might be right—he was probably a better flirt than detective when it came to finding somebody who’d gone missing.
Chapter 2
At precisely five o’clock that evening Roxy changed the open sign to Closed and locked the front door. It had been a busy afternoon that had kept her jumping from one dining room to another to assure that all her customers had what they needed.
Throughout the afternoon, whenever there was a lull in business, Roxy had been on the phone, calling her aunt’s friends, the nearest hospitals and her sisters, but nobody had seen or heard from Liz all day.
After locking the restaurant, she raced up the two sets of stairs that led to her private quarters. The second floor was strictly storage and the top floor was her personal sanctuary, but as she opened the door to the large apartment she knew there would be no peace at the moment.
She called her sisters, Marlene and Sheri, and then grabbed her purse and car keys. Hopefully by the time they all arrived at the Wolf Creek police station, Detective Steve Kincaid would be off duty. Somebody had to take her seriously about Liz’s disappearance, and if he wouldn’t, then she’d find somebody who would. There was no way she intended the night to pass without somebody official out looking for Aunt Liz. She didn’t care about some stupid twenty-four-hour rule.
She had to stay calm. Nobody would take her seriously if she lost it.
To the outside world Liz Marcoli was a pleasant, kind woman who excelled at baking and quilting, but to Roxy she was the person who had made order out of chaos, security out of danger. She had saved Roxy’s life and the lives of her sisters, and now Roxy wouldn’t rest until somebody was doing something to find her.
Where could she be? What could have possibly happened to her? Since the age of seven, a day had never gone by that Roxy hadn’t seen or spoken to her