Parker And The Gypsy

Storm’s eyes narrowed. “So the young lady has already been to see you.” It was more of a statement than a question, but Mike was hardly paying attention.

He still couldn’t fathom the connection. Sara and Storm? It was like trying to imagine an angel chatting with the devil over a friendly cup of tea.

“You know Sara Holyfield?” he demanded in utter disbelief.

Storm merely raised his brows. “Let’s just say I know of her.”

“You surprise me, Storm. I thought hardheaded businessmen like you confined your money dealings to this world. What’ve you been trying to do, find a way to take it with you?”

When Storm’s brow furrowed in confusion, Mike took a keen pleasure in needling him. “Looks like your sources are holding out on you. Didn’t they tell you? Sara’s a selfprofessed psychic. Some kind of a medium.” Mike dropped his voice to an exaggerated spooky hush. “The lady deals in ghosts, Storm.”

For a moment Storm looked taken aback, then irritated. “That particular aspect of Miss Holyfield’s life doesn’t interest me. It’s her reason for calling upon you that concerns me. She came to ask you to take on a missing-persons case, didn’t she? To search for a man named...John Patrick.”

“What if she did? What’s it to you?”

“Simply this.” Storm’s reply was soft and chilling. “I don’t want him found.”

Mike stared at him, astonished. As though he feared he had been too brusque, Storm hurried on. “I don’t know what induced this Miss Holyfield to meddle in this affair, but I assure you she has gotten in over her head.”

So she had, if Sara was inadvertently doing something to trample on the mighty Storm’s toes. Oh, angel, what have you stumbled into here? Mike wondered. Though he maintained his nonchalant pose, all his detecting instincts went on full alert.

“If you know something that would be to my client’s benefit, I think you’d better tell me, Storm,” Mike said, shoving to the back of his mind the fact that he had thrown Sara out of his office and told her to go get herself a good shrink.

“All your client needs to know is that her quest to find John Patrick should be dropped. You should advise her to do so, and if she refuses to listen, you’d do well to back off from this case yourself, Mr. Parker.”

“Is that some kind of a threat, Storm?”

“Consider it an offer. I would be prepared to triple your usual rates if you could persuade Miss Holyfield to abandon this foolish search.”

“And what makes you think you can buy me like a cheap suit?”

Storm’s insolent green eyes raked over Mike, from his scuffed sneakers to his T-shirt “Because, my dear Mr. Parker, I could probably calculate your entire net worth to the nearest penny. And I fear the sum would likely be in pennies.”

Mike had been told that he was worth nothing in far more blunt ways but none had ever stung worse than Storm’s elegant way of expressing it.

He told Storm what to do with himself in a short but pithy terms and reached for the door handle, only to curse in frustration. He’d forgotten he was virtually a prisoner in Storm’s little luxury-bound den on wheels.

“I’m sorry if my lack of tact offends you, Mr. Parker. Despite your dislike of me, I bear you no ill will,” Storm said, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “I admire your talents and feel they are completely wasted trying to run some two-bit detective agency. I told you that years ago when I first tried to hire you to run security for my casino.”

“Well, maybe you should have spent more time trying to tempt me and less time tempting my wife,” Mike snarled. “I wasn’t interested in working for you then, Storm. And I’m not now. So I suggest you unlock this damned door before I find my own way out of here, like smashing that fancy little computer of yours through one of the windows.”

His angry gaze collided with Storm’s and held for a moment. Then Storm’s heavy lids drifted down, veiling his eyes. Reaching to his side, he depressed a button and the door lock clicked open.

Mike shoved the door open and thrust himself out of the car, but before he even had time to straighten, Storm’s silky voice echoed from the cavernous recesses of the limo.

“Parker, one last word of caution. You’d be wise to forget about taking on this case.”

“I’ve never been noted for my wisdom. Have a nice day, Mr. Storm.” Mike slammed the door closed and stalked off down the sidewalk without looking back. He charged upstream through a pack of stupid tourists who didn’t seem to know that if they wanted to find the boardwalk, they had to head toward the ocean, not away from it.

Crossing against the light, Mike was nearly grazed by a honking taxi and its cursing driver, but he continued blindly on for several more blocks before he managed to cool down.

When he finally paused to draw breath, he was more irritated with himself than Storm. Irritated that even after all this time, he’d still let the guy get to him.

“What a morning,” he muttered. First the queen of the gypsies and now the casino king, the two of them bizarrely connected by a ghost and a missing chump named John Patrick. It was like stumbling into the plot of an old mystery movie after you’d missed the whole first reel.

But it wasn’t his mystery, Mike reminded himself. Then why had he allowed Storm to believe he’d taken on Sara as a client? The answer was simple. For the first time since he’d met the guy, the smooth-polished Mr. Storm had actually seemed capable of breaking into a sweat like any ordinary Joe. Whether he was alive or dead, this John Patrick person obviously posed some sort of threat to Storm, which meant he had something to hide—a fact that didn’t surprise Mike at all.

Nobody pulled down the kind of millions and deals that Storm had and did it completely honestly. That was a bitter truth Mike had learned long ago from watching the antics of his own father. The only difference between Storm and Mike’s old man, was that Storm appeared to be the better gambler.

But maybe his luck was about to run out. Mike’s mouth set into a grim line. He’d owed Storm one for a very long time, and not just because of that business with Darcy. Even more because Mike had an innate dislike of all cheats and con men. And behind that Ivy League manner and prominent Philadelphia family background, Mike had always had a gut feeling that Xavier Storm would prove to be the biggest fraud of all.

The more he thought about it, the more nosing around into this Patrick business began to appeal to Mike.

Are you sure that’s what’s appealing to you? his inner voice tormented. Or the excuse to see a certain big-eyed, curly-haired angel of a blonde again?

“No way!” Mike blurted out so loud that he startled several teenagers passing by. But despite his denial, he was once again overpowered by that feeling of Sara melting in his arms.

He was quick to shut it down with a vehement shake of his head. Despite the sizzling kiss they’d shared, he didn’t want to be anywhere near a woman who read tea leaves, who might want to try reading him. If he decided to go looking for John Patrick, he’d do it on his own, Mike resolved. “I can do just fine without the psychic services of Miss Sara Holyfield.”

Long after Mike Parker had slammed his way out of the back seat, the black limo continued to idle at the curbside. His shoulders slumped, Xavier Storm leaned forward, bracing his head upon his hands in a display of weariness he never allowed anyone else to see.

Waiting for some instructions from his employer, Storm’s driver eventually became concerned and lowered the tinted glass himself. Twisting around in his seat, Mr. George glanced anxiously back at Storm. “You okay, boss? You get that business with Parker all taken care of?”

With a long sigh, Storm straightened. “No, I handled the situation rather badly. I fear I overplayed my hand, Mr. George.”

A mistake Xavier Storm rarely made, but his usual icy calm had been badly shaken ever since he’d stumbled across the advertisement in the papers and realized that someone was looking for John Patrick. Why? After all these years? When he’d recovered from his initial shock, he initiated a few careful inquiries after the person who’d placed the ad, only to discover the situation had already grown worse.

Only yesterday morning, Miss Holyfield had cheerfully informed the newspaper she was discontinuing her ad in favor of a more direct approach. She was off to Atlantic City to hire herself a famous investigator, Mr. Michael Parker.

Storm’s mouth twitched into a grim smile that held little humor. “Of all the detectives in New Jersey, why did that foolish girl have to drag Parker into this?” he murmured.

“I dunno, boss.” Mr. George’s deep-set eyes darkened with concern. “But what are you going to do? If Parker and the Holyfield girl succeed in finding the truth about John Patrick...” the chauffeur trailed off.

“If they succeed, Mr. George?” Storm’s face set in taut lines, his voice assuming its customary dangerous purr. “Well, we will simply have to make certain that they don’t.”

Three

Mike guided his lipstick red Mustang convertible down the shaded streets of Aurora Falls. It was definitely a one-fast-food-joint type of little burg with Yuppie pretensions. Even the quickie mart sported a blasted pink-and-white awning.

As he turned the corner onto a street that looked suspiciously like one he’d already been down, his radio speaker blared out the sound of the Eagles warning him to take it easy. Probably way too loud for Dullsville, so Mike leaned over and switched the cassette tape off.

He brushed aside a bead of sweat trickling down his brow. The afternoon sun baked down through the open top of the convertible, making Mike curse his choice of apparel—dress blue jeans, his best T-shirt topped off with a navy sports jacket. Mike Parker, P.I. in his professional mode. Ready, perhaps, to make a better impression on Miss Sara Holyfield.

No way! Mike scowled his denial, quick and sharp, that his spiffed-up appearance had anything to do with Sara.

Oh, yeah? a voice inside him taunted. And so who’s the close shave, the freshly trimmed hair and the liberal dose of Mr. Manly cologne supposed to be for? The ghost?

Mike was beginning to find his inner voice damned annoying, especially when it was right. Okay, maybe he had given a thought or two to Sara when he’d spent that extra five minutes in front of the mirror this morning. If he wanted the woman’s cooperation, he had a few fences to mend with her after the way he’d treated her yesterday. Making a pass at her, flinging out sarcastic insults, chucking her out of his office.