Hatfield and McCoy (8 page)

Once they were all inside and seated and Julie had a cup of steaming black coffee in front of her, she felt better. The brunch buffet featured all sorts of magnificent things to eat, and when Julie returned with her plate, she was surprised to see that McCoy's choice of foods might have been a copy of her own. They had both piled their plates high with peel-and-eat shrimp and marinated artichokes and sweet-and-sour pickles.

“I'm going back for an omelet and red meat later,” McCoy assured her, pulling back her chair. And at that moment, she had to smile.

The meal progressed. Brenda Maitland's children were charming and very well behaved. There was a closeness to their family group that she found herself enjoying.

Maybe the Hatfields had won the feud, but it hadn't done much for her. She was an only child, and her mom had passed away over ten years ago, her dad a year ago last spring. She did have aunts and uncles and cousins, but they had slowly moved toward the big city, Washington, D.C. She saw them as often as she could.

But then, McCoy lived in Washington, she remembered. And he would probably be going back there. Soon.

“Tell us more about Tracy Nicholson,” Brenda said suddenly. “She really wasn't much help to the police after she was found, was she?”

Julie shrugged and glanced at Robert. “Your brother knows more about that than I do. I wasn't there when they questioned her. Tracy had been taken to the hospital immediately, and they questioned her there. I wasn't needed anymore, and there were plenty of people who were.”

“She didn't see anything,” Robert said. “Nothing at all. She couldn't even tell us what kind of car it was.”

“I know,” Julie murmured.

“You know?” McCoy said.

Julie gritted her teeth to hang on to her temper. “When we were at the house, when I was coming down the steps, I saw the ball go into the road. Then I saw the car. But it was—it was in a mist.”

“How convenient,” McCoy said dryly.

Brenda elbowed her brother. “Did you see the man, Julie?
Was
it a man?”

Julie shook her head. “Yes, I think so. I mean, I think it's a man. But no, I didn't see him. He must have been …” She paused, her voice breaking off. She had a sensation of …

“A stocking!” she exclaimed suddenly.

“What?” McCoy demanded.

“That was it!” She stared at him. “He scared Tracy right from the start because his face was so strange. He had a stocking pulled over his face. He wanted to make sure that she didn't see him!”

“But she would have run right away,” Brenda protested.

“No, no,” Julie said excitedly. “She was already in the road, remember? She was smart, but she was scared. And he realized just how smart she was quickly, so he jumped out of the car to take her.”

“But what a dangerous thing to do!” Brenda exclaimed. “For the kidnapper, I mean. Anyone could have seen him. And he wouldn't have looked normal in the least. How recklessly brazen—”

“Brazen and smart, and laughing at the pack of us all the while,” McCoy muttered. “Brenda, somehow this guy walked to the cemetery, dug a hole, planted a box and then a little girl. I have no problem seeing him as brazen or reckless.”

“Well, Julie has just explained to you why Tracy Nicholson can't help you.”

“Why can't she tell me about the car?” he demanded. He stared straight at Julie.

“Tracy doesn't know cars,” Julie said softly. “And there—there was mist around it.”

McCoy sat back. His gaze was an open challenge. “What mist? There was no fog that day. Nothing. Unless a little cloud descended right around the kidnapper's car.”

“No, of course not—”

“Then why can't you tell me about the car?”

Julie sighed. “I can only tell you what Tracy saw. My connection always seems to be with the victim.”

“That's convenient, too,” McCoy commented dryly.

“Excuse him for being so rude,” Brenda said with a long sigh. “He can be such a pest.”

“I've noticed.”

“Maybe he knows that,” Taylor said suddenly.

They all started. The children had been so quiet that Julie had forgotten Taylor and Tammy had been listening. Now they stared at the handsome boy with McCoy's steel-gray eyes.

“What was that, Taylor?” Brenda said to her son.

“I'm talking about the kidnapper. He must know something about the people around here, right? He wanted Uncle Robert to carry the case. And maybe he knew something about Julie.” He stared at his uncle. “He meant to kill the little girl he kidnapped, right? He meant to kill her all along. So why cover his face to Tracy? Unless he knew that Julie was going to be called in, and that she might be seeing him through the little girl's eyes?”

They were all dead silent for the longest time, staring at Taylor in amazement.

His words had made so much sense.

“Well, I'll be darned,” McCoy said softly. “That's great reasoning, Taylor.”

Taylor flushed, pleased. McCoy tousled his hair. “Of course, it's possible, too, that the kidnapper knew that he was running the risk that Tracy might be found before she did run out of air.”

“Maybe,” Julie murmured. Then she suddenly gazed at Brenda, feeling guilty. “And maybe we shouldn't be talking about this all in front of your children—”

“Are you kidding?” Brenda demanded. “I want them to know what happened,
and
what almost happened. That way, they'll watch out for one another, and they'll be doubly careful. It's not the same world we grew up in, Julie. Children have to be aware of the maniacs out there. They have to be. For their own safety.”

“We're very careful, Mom. Aren't we, Taylor?” Tammy demanded.

Taylor nodded. “I'm right about the kidnapper, though. I know it. He's not afraid of his victims seeing him. He's afraid of Julie seeing him.”

A chill streaked along Julie's spine. Was Taylor right?

McCoy groaned. “Not another psychic, please. This is all getting unbearable.”

“You know your uncle doesn't believe in psychics,” Brenda reminded her son gently.

“You don't believe in Julie?” Tammy asked.

“Not a whit,” McCoy replied pleasantly. “Where is the waitress? We could use more coffee.”

“And we could use more milk,” Tammy agreed. “But if you don't believe in Julie, why did you make her come to breakfast?”

Brenda gasped. Julie felt a grin tugging at her lips, then she felt McCoy's eyes on her again.

“Well, she is attractive, isn't she?”

“Beautiful,” Taylor agreed, and then blushed. Julie felt her cheeks growing red. McCoy could be so light and personable one minute, and then come down like lead the next. She could almost like the man, and then …

“The most beautiful charlatan I've ever come across,” he said smoothly.

“Maybe I can entice the waitress to serve the coffee over his head,” Brenda murmured. “Robert—”

Julie had had enough. She was suddenly heedless of Brenda and heedless of the children. She leaned closer to McCoy. “If I'm such a charlatan, how did we find that little girl?” she demanded.

“Luck, maybe,” he replied, his gaze hard. “Perhaps you even noticed him going through town. Maybe you saw someone with a spade heading for the cemetery.”

“I don't even live in town!”

“Maybe a friend mentioned it.”

“But I didn't know it was a cemetery. You're the one who found the cemetery, McCoy!”

“Look, I'm not trying to say that you lie on purpose—Hatfield. But perhaps you build on some sort of suggestion in your mind—”

“I was with that child, and you know it!”

“Well, her parents think so, and that's enough, isn't it? Petty is fooled.” He looked quickly at Brenda. “Joe Silver and I were the ones digging away, covered in dirt, and the Nicholsons just wanted to thank Julie. It's a great life, right?”

“Don't you believe in anything?” Julie exclaimed.

“Oops, here's the waitress!” Brenda said cheerfully. “I think they both need a bath in cold water, but we'll take a little more coffee, please. And milk for the kids. And the check, if you don't mind,” Brenda said.

She kept talking cheerfully, determined to keep up a monologue so Julie and McCoy would both shut up. And they did.

But through the rest of the meal, Julie could feel his eyes on her. And more.

She could feel the heat rising again. It was anger. Really. He was so arrogant, so damned sure of himself.

Was it really anger?

She had become tense. The brush of his napkin over her fingers nearly made her jump a mile. He glanced her way. She stared furiously at him.
Don't you dare call me a charlatan!
she silently yelled at him.

But you are, you have to be …

She gritted her teeth. She was not reading his mind—she didn't read minds. And she wasn't a witch. Still, she could scarcely sit in the restaurant a minute longer. She had to do something.

Touch him.

Her heart was pounding too quickly; she had difficulty breathing: And it seemed that a sizzle of fire danced up and down her spine.

Just when she didn't think she could take another minute, McCoy stood. “I'll just pay up front.”

“I'll leave the tip,” Julie said, leaping up. McCoy might have argued with her. Then she realized that he was in as big a hurry as she was.

But if Brenda was aware of their distress, she gave no sign. When they reached the car she nimbly climbed into the backseat saying, “Robert, drop the kids and me off first, will you? As long as you don't mind, Julie.”

No! Julie wanted to shriek.

She kept her jaw locked. McCoy grunted some kind of an agreement.

As he started the car, he slid his dark glasses on against the bright glare of the spring day. Julie sat silently in her seat, noting the way the wind tousled his hair. She looked straight ahead. She wanted to strangle the man. She had also been tempted to reach out and run her fingers over the rugged line of his cheek.

He pulled off the highway to follow a small, winding pathway up to an old farmhouse. He stopped in front of it. “Well, this is home,” Brenda said, getting out with the children. She paused to stand by Julie's window and shake her hand. “Can you come in?”

“Oh, thank you. But I think I'd best get home myself,” Julie said.

Brenda nodded. “Well, we won't be strangers now. We live close by each other. And I'll even admit defeat in the feud for the McCoys, if we can all be friends now!”

Julie laughed. “I really haven't the faintest idea who won,” she said. “And it was wonderful to meet you.”

The kids told her goodbye and ran around to kiss their uncle goodbye. Then Julie and McCoy were back on the road. Neither of them spoke.

When they neared the lot where her car was parked, Julie spoke at last. Politely. “Thank you for brunch. Your sister is lovely.”

“Thank you,” he said curtly. He came to a stop. He was going to get out to open her door, but Julie moved too quickly.

“I'm fine, thank you. Goodbye, McCoy.”

“Miss Hatfield—”

“Don't you mean, ‘Miss Charlatan,' McCoy?” she asked, her door half open.

“You've known my opinion—”

“Well, then, I'll tell you mine. You, sir, are an ass!”

With that, she slammed his car door shut and hurried to her own vehicle. She smiled grimly—she could hear the thunder of his retort following her.

She ignored it, revved up and quickly swung from the parking lot.

Several minutes later, her smile faded.

He was following her.

Just how mad had she made him? she wondered. And despite herself, she felt a jumping in her heart.

She was almost home. And he was following her still. Right to her house.

Well, she'd wanted to have a fight with him. A real, live fight.

She wanted to vent some frustration. To hit him good.

She just didn't want him to hit back.

And that annoying sizzle of heat was back, racing up and down her spine …

She pulled off the highway, and up the long patch that led to her house. She parked in the big expanse of her front yard, slamming out of the driver's seat to await him.

He braked to a halt right behind her and got out.

“What!” Julie shrieked. “You have to follow me to hand out more abuse! You are an ass, a complete fool, as hardheaded as rock. And you had no right to follow me just to argue that point. You—”

“I followed you, Miss Hatfield, because you left your purse in my car!” he bellowed in return.

“Oh. Oh!”

For a moment Julie just stood there, a column of fury and tension. She strode quickly to where he leaned against his car door, holding her small white leather clutch bag. “Thank you!” she snapped, taking the bag and hurrying to her front door.

He was right behind her. She opened the door, and he followed her in.

“And I'm an ass, am I? You tell me, Miss Hatfield, what happens when this voodoo doesn't work? When you have people believing in you and following your every lead. Only you're leading them down the wrong damned path?”

“I don't go down the wrong path!”

“Well, just what happens if you do?” he demanded heatedly.

He was backing her down the hallway, past the stairs to the rear wall.

Then she was against the wall, and his hands were on her shoulders. His body was nearly touching hers; she could feel his fingers so acutely through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“I don't owe you any answers, McCoy!” she flared. “You're in my house—and I don't remember inviting you in!”

He stopped, suddenly seeming to realize that he'd barged in.

“I'm leaving!”

“Good! Fine!”

“And I won't be back, Miss Hatfield. We've done what we were supposed to do. It's over. I don't have to see you again.”