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Authors: Kay Hooper
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affiliations? A criminal record?”
“I don’t know, dammit.” Marc hesitated, then said, “Look, there’s just something…off center. I’ve dealt with enough witnesses to know when somebody is hiding something—and she is. She seems very reluctant to discuss her background, for one thing. And when I doubted something she’d said, she went into a deep freeze so fast I nearly got frostbitten.”
“Sounds like an interesting lady.”
Warningly, Marc said, “I don’t want you coming out here, Tucker.”
“You’re hurting my feelings. Why not?”
“Because you’re predatory.”
“I resent that.”
“I imagine you might, but it’s the truth. The last time I introduced you to a lady, she broke a date with me to accompany you to the racetrack.”
“My fatal charm. She was wrong for you anyway. Come to think of it, she was wrong for me too.”
Their mostly good-natured competition over women had been going on since junior high, and though there had been one actual fight that Marc could remember, the contest generally ended with the amicable concession of one or the other. To date, the honors were fairly equally divided between them.
Marc was a bit surprised at himself now to realize that he definitely did
not
want Tucker anywhere near Josie.
FOUR
T UCKER WAS SURPRISED as well—and thoughtful.
“So you want the lady all to yourself, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.” Before Marc could retort, Tucker went on cheerfully. “Okay, give me her particulars. Name, age, height and coloring, measurements, her car’s tag number, if you know it. Stuff like that.”
“Her name’s Josie Douglas; I have no idea if Josie is short for Josephine, and I don’t know if that’s her first or her middle name. She’s twenty-eight. About five-foot-five and very slender. Red hair, violet eyes.”
“Violet?” Tucker asked in surprise.
“Yeah.”
“Unusual. Measurements?”
“Forget it, Tucker.”
“Well, can’t blame a man for trying.” Tucker laughed. “Did you happen to get a look at her car tag?”
Marc, who had an almost uncanny memory for numbers, rattled off the tag number of Josie’s van and described the vehicle. “I don’t know much more,” he said. “She says she’s an elementary teacher taking a year off to try and write.”
“That sounds like
I’d
have more in common with her than—”
“Forget it, Tucker.”
“I was just making an observation.”
“I know what you were just doing. Forget it. If you show up out here, I’ll tell Josie you’re an ex-felon I helped put away years ago.”
“You’re a defense attorney.”
“In order to get my client off, I found out and was able to prove you’d done it.”
“Done what?”
Exasperated, Marc said, “I’ll think of something dire. And I’ll make her believe it.”
“Ummm. I suppose you would, at that.”
“Can we get back to the point, please?”
“Sure we can. You were telling me what you knew about Josie. She’s taken a year off to try and write, and…?”
“And she used to live and teach in D.C., although I don’t know if she was born there. Father died about ten years ago, mother left about five years before that. No siblings. Oh, and she went to Wellesley.”
“The spaghetti must have worked a little,” Tucker noted dryly, “since you do know a few things about her.”
Marc ignored the comment. “How long do you think it’ll take you to find out anything?”
“Oh, hell, at least a few days. Maybe even a week or two. Thanks to one of my hacker friends, I can tap into a few data banks most people don’t have access to, but even with the computer it’s going to take a little time, Marc.”
“Will you call me as soon as you have something?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Tucker.”
“Don’t thank me yet—I might not be able to find out any more than you already know. But I’ll try. And if you don’t mind a bit of advice from an old friend—or even if you do—you might
“I don’t know, dammit.” Marc hesitated, then said, “Look, there’s just something…off center. I’ve dealt with enough witnesses to know when somebody is hiding something—and she is. She seems very reluctant to discuss her background, for one thing. And when I doubted something she’d said, she went into a deep freeze so fast I nearly got frostbitten.”
“Sounds like an interesting lady.”
Warningly, Marc said, “I don’t want you coming out here, Tucker.”
“You’re hurting my feelings. Why not?”
“Because you’re predatory.”
“I resent that.”
“I imagine you might, but it’s the truth. The last time I introduced you to a lady, she broke a date with me to accompany you to the racetrack.”
“My fatal charm. She was wrong for you anyway. Come to think of it, she was wrong for me too.”
Their mostly good-natured competition over women had been going on since junior high, and though there had been one actual fight that Marc could remember, the contest generally ended with the amicable concession of one or the other. To date, the honors were fairly equally divided between them.
Marc was a bit surprised at himself now to realize that he definitely did
not
want Tucker anywhere near Josie.
FOUR
T UCKER WAS SURPRISED as well—and thoughtful.
“So you want the lady all to yourself, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.” Before Marc could retort, Tucker went on cheerfully. “Okay, give me her particulars. Name, age, height and coloring, measurements, her car’s tag number, if you know it. Stuff like that.”
“Her name’s Josie Douglas; I have no idea if Josie is short for Josephine, and I don’t know if that’s her first or her middle name. She’s twenty-eight. About five-foot-five and very slender. Red hair, violet eyes.”
“Violet?” Tucker asked in surprise.
“Yeah.”
“Unusual. Measurements?”
“Forget it, Tucker.”
“Well, can’t blame a man for trying.” Tucker laughed. “Did you happen to get a look at her car tag?”
Marc, who had an almost uncanny memory for numbers, rattled off the tag number of Josie’s van and described the vehicle. “I don’t know much more,” he said. “She says she’s an elementary teacher taking a year off to try and write.”
“That sounds like
I’d
have more in common with her than—”
“Forget it, Tucker.”
“I was just making an observation.”
“I know what you were just doing. Forget it. If you show up out here, I’ll tell Josie you’re an ex-felon I helped put away years ago.”
“You’re a defense attorney.”
“In order to get my client off, I found out and was able to prove you’d done it.”
“Done what?”
Exasperated, Marc said, “I’ll think of something dire. And I’ll make her believe it.”
“Ummm. I suppose you would, at that.”
“Can we get back to the point, please?”
“Sure we can. You were telling me what you knew about Josie. She’s taken a year off to try and write, and…?”
“And she used to live and teach in D.C., although I don’t know if she was born there. Father died about ten years ago, mother left about five years before that. No siblings. Oh, and she went to Wellesley.”
“The spaghetti must have worked a little,” Tucker noted dryly, “since you do know a few things about her.”
Marc ignored the comment. “How long do you think it’ll take you to find out anything?”
“Oh, hell, at least a few days. Maybe even a week or two. Thanks to one of my hacker friends, I can tap into a few data banks most people don’t have access to, but even with the computer it’s going to take a little time, Marc.”
“Will you call me as soon as you have something?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Tucker.”
“Don’t thank me yet—I might not be able to find out any more than you already know. But I’ll try. And if you don’t mind a bit of advice from an old friend—or even if you do—you might
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