but I’m working on a missing-person case. You haven’t seen a woman around? Small build. Long black hair. Midtwenties.”
“Nope,” Yancy lied. “What’d she do?”
“Nothing. She’s just missing. Has been since the end of January. Left her car at the bus station in Liberal. Woman matching her description bought a ticket to Santa Fe, but never made it there. Bus driver thinks she must have left the bus somewhere in Texas. He said he had a crowd riding that night and barely remembered her. Once she made the missing persons’ list, we’ve had reports of her buying a SUV in Waco and getting drunk in a bar near Amarillo. That’s what happens when someone puts out a quarter-million-dollar reward. She gets more sightings than aliens do.”
“If it’s illegal to get off the bus, I’m a wanted man, too.” Yancy kept his voice low and even, but it bothered him that someone was offering money for her. It made her sound like an outlaw.
What if the missing woman was his Rabbit? There were lots of small women in their twenties who had dark hair. Hundreds. Thousands in Texas.
The deputy shook his head. “She’s not wanted, just missing. I don’t know much about her except there are a hell of a lot of people looking for her. They’re calling all the places where the bus stops, asking for information. Even got a few big-time private eyes tracking her, I’ve heard.”
“There are dozens of bus stops in Texas.” Yancy wanted to ask more questions, but he knew Rabbit was listening.
Weathers shoved the door open. “That’s why I’m not wasting too much time looking. If I were on that Greyhound route, this town would probably be the last place I’d climb off the bus.”
“Maybe it was dark. The view of the water tower is better then.”
Both men laughed as the deputy moved out into the night. “Don’t work too late, Yancy.”
“I won’t,” he answered. He stood at the door and waved as Weathers backed out. The moon was up and the rain had stopped, leaving a shine on everything. Folks laughed about how plain the land was here in West Texas, how the wind seemed to turn everything to shades of brown, but locals saw the beauty.
Yancy closed the barn door and threw the latch from the inside. Something he’d never done before. “You can come down, Rabbit.” He kept his voice low, knowing that she could hear him.
She looked over the edge. “No ladder?”
“I’ll catch you.”
And he did.
If he held on to her a little too long, a little too tightly, she didn’t complain.
When he set her down, she took her time moving away. She was growing used to him being near and Yancy knew without a doubt that he was growing addicted to her.
They worked in silence for an hour. He had a dozen questions, but he didn’t ask a one. She showed him a way to cut the poles that would become a railing along the staircase. The cuts were all different from each other, shaping the poles at various angles, and at first he thought they were mismatched. Only when she laid them out in a row he saw the pattern flowing like a wave up the stairs.
“It reminds me of the way the wind makes the tall grass dip and flow,” she said then bit her lip as if suddenly unsure of her work. “You can change it if...”
“I love it.” He’d never seen anything like it. The staircase seemed to move and flow as he crossed the room. “I’ll have a work of art in my house thanks to you.”
“We’ve still got a lot of work to go before they’re sanded and stained.”
“How’d you learn to create something so beautiful out of blocks of wood?” The question was out before he thought.
“My dad taught me. I had a playhouse with a staircase like this.”
Yancy smiled, glad he hadn’t upset her with his question. “I had a box in the vacant field next to our apartment once. I called it my hideout, until some homeless guy took it over.”
They both laughed.
When she picked up his coat as if it were now hers, he knew their night was over.
“Sorry about crying,” she said. “And for stealing your coat, which I’ll give back as soon as the nights warm.”
“No problem.” He moved to unlatch the door. “One thing I have to ask, Rabbit. Are you safe when you leave here?”
She nodded. “I stay in the shadows of the trees when I walk. I have a safe hideout to live in with no homeless folks nearby.”
“I hope it’s not made of cardboard.”
Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “It’s not. See you tomorrow night.”
Yancy turned and let their lips touch, making the kiss more than a peck, but just short of passionate.
He felt her tremble again.
Without moving, he whispered against her moist lips, “You’ll always be safe here.”
She moved away, but he saw the truth in her rainy-day blue eyes. She believed him. Maybe she wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe she was more afraid of being close to anyone.
Standing in the open doorway, he watched her disappear into the night. He’d broken a rule tonight. He’d lied to the law and he didn’t care. He’d do it again and again if the lies would keep her safe.
He had no idea why she wanted to step out of her life.
All he knew was that he was glad she’d stepped into his.
Mauve Monday’s indecision
FOR THE NEXT few days, Parker tried to come up with a plan to get to Tori without anyone following her. She worried that her gallery needed her at the helm, but deep down she knew that wasn’t true. She left it often to visit artists and to travel with some of her collection. She went to other gallery shows all over the world. She’d set up the place to run as smoothly without her as when she was there.
Tori needed her. She had to find a way to get to the farm near Crossroads. The talented painter, like many gifted people, needed someone else to help her work through the everyday problems. Parker knew this firsthand—she had lived with an established sculptor her first year out of college who could demand six figures for his work, but couldn’t remember to pay the electricity bill.
They hadn’t worked out as lovers, but he’d given her the direction for her career. She’d loved the business part of the art world. She was fascinated with the details it took to put a show together, with discovering new talent and directing their careers. She sometimes thought of herself as the director and the artists were the actors. They got the spotlight, but deep down, she knew that a little part of their success belonged to her.
This she could do. Organize. Polish. In a way, it was a safe career. She didn’t have to prove her own talent; she simply had to show off others’.
But with the travel and the late nights, she’d never had time or any real desire to develop friendships or keep a lover longer than a season. Now, when she could really use someone she could trust, there was no one to call.
Tori must have felt that way in the airport that night. Parker knew she could be the artist’s friend, only who would be Parker’s friend?
Each night she watched the news. There must not have been much going on, because a few of the stations were doing nightly updates on Victoria Vilanie’s disappearance. They had experts saying it was obviously a kidnapping. They interviewed Victoria’s high school teachers and her first art instructor in college. All said that Tori was shy. One of the anchormen said that Victoria was one of the best young painters in the country and the world