Little Girl Lost. Shirlee McCoy

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СКАЧАТЬ Instead, hard fingers gripped her arm, pulling her upright. “Whoa! Careful.”

      “Thanks.” Portia looked up into clear blue eyes and a face as cold and implacable as Maine in the winter. She didn’t know what she’d been hoping for—compassion? Softness? Some sign that he wasn’t here to destroy her family? It wasn’t there. All she saw was determination and what looked like anger burning beneath his cool gaze.

      “No problem.” He stepped back, putting distance between them, though he watched her intently, as if waiting for her to stumble again. She hoped she’d disappoint him, but the skates twisted as she took an unsteady step toward the bench.

      He grabbed her arm again. “Keep it up and you’ll break your ankle.”

      “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

      He stared into her eyes for a moment, then smiled, the slow upward curve of his lips causing her heart to stall and start up again.

      “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

      “Because you’ve seen how graceful I am?”

      “Let me help you, Portia.” Rissa grabbed her hand, squeezing twice, the silent communication they’d perfected as children and still used on occasion. What are you doing?

      What was she doing? Her family might be in serious trouble, the business her grandfather had worked so hard for in for more of the bad publicity it had garnered a few weeks ago when Howard Blanchard had crashed his sister’s sixtieth birthday party. The girls’ grandfather and family patriarch, he’d once been the pillar of the community. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, his wild accusations and incoherent ramblings had made him tabloid news. The gossip was finally dying down. Portia wanted to keep it that way. Which was why she should not be joking with a man determined to dig up more trouble for her family.

      She shot a look at her twin, shrugged her shoulder in response to her questioning look and hurried over to the bench, trying her best to ignore the detective as she fought with the laces on her skates. Unfortunately, he was hard to ignore, his intense stare making her fingers fumble on the laces.

      Exasperated, she met his gaze. “You’re welcome to head back to the house if I’m taking too long, Detective.”

      “I’ve got plenty of time.” A half smile eased some of the intensity from his face, and Portia found herself studying the craggy planes and deep hollows of his cheeks, the dark stubble on his chin and the fine lines that fanned out from his eyes. The dim light couldn’t hide his rough-edged good looks. He’d be an interesting subject to paint. Or better yet, to capture in charcoal.

      He raised an eyebrow and she dropped her gaze, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. She could sense his impatience, the impatience of her sisters who hovered at edge of the woods. By the time she finally managed to remove her skates and pull on her mukluks, her heart was pounding with anxiety, her stomach twisting with nerves. Murder. Just the word filled her with dread.

      “Are we ready?” Rissa grabbed the skates from the place where Portia had dropped them. “I’m freezing.”

      “Me, too.” Portia stood, started to follow her retreating sister and was pulled up short by a tug on her skirt. A jagged piece of wood had caught the silky material and she leaned down to free it as icy wind blasted across the clearing, knifing through the clothes she’d layered herself in. She shivered, tugged at the cloth.

      “Let me help.” The masculine voice sounded so close to her ear that Portia jumped, turning to face the detective who stood just inches away. His eyes were even bluer than she’d thought, his hair a short, spiky golden-brown that looked as if it would be soft to the touch.

      That she would even think such a thing had Portia stepping back, dropping her eyes away from his knowing gaze. “I thought you’d gone on ahead.”

      “And leave you out here by yourself?”

      “It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been out here alone.”

      “But it may be the first time you’ve been out here alone while a murderer wanders free.” He leaned forward and peered at her skirt. “Why don’t you let me do that for you?”

      “Thanks, Detective, but I think I can handle it. And I really am okay out here alone.” At least she always had been before. As a child, she’d often wandered the grounds of Blanchard Manor long after the sun had set, but the deepening twilight and dark woods suddenly seemed sinister and foreign.

      “Everyone around here calls me Mick.” As he spoke, he brushed her hands away from the material and worked it free.

      “Mick, then. Thanks for the help. Again.”

      “No problem. Again. Come on. Let’s catch up to your sisters.” He offered his hand, his eyes hard to read in the fading light.

      She hesitated and then linked her wool-covered fingers with his leather-covered ones. It was a bad idea. Holding hands with a man was high on her list of things she shouldn’t ever do again. Hadn’t that been how her relationship with Tad had started—a brush of his fingers against hers as they’d chatted about Jasmine’s progress in the art class Portia was teaching? The next thing she knew, they were strolling through her arts-and-crafts store laughing about something she couldn’t even recall.

      “Relax. I don’t bite.” His voice broke into her thoughts, the hint of laughter in it a surprise.

      “Maybe not, but you are investigating my family and that makes me uncomfortable.”

      “Why? Do you have something to hide?” The laughter was still there, though Portia sensed an intensity to the words, a stillness to the man that let her know he was weighing her comments and responses.

      “No.”

      “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides, I’m investigating a murder, not your family.”

      “Yet, you’re here. You must think there’s some connection.”

      “Not yet. That’s what I’m trying to determine.” He ushered her onto the path that led through the trees.

      “I can tell you the answer to that right now. Investigating my family is a waste of time. No one in it would commit murder.”

      “And I can tell you that half the people I interview say the same thing. A good majority of them are wrong.”

      What could she say to that? That she trusted her sisters, her aunt? Her father? That she’d never been betrayed, or lied to, or discovered that someone she believed in didn’t deserve her confidence? She had. It was a lesson she’d learned hard and well and had no intention of repeating, but that wasn’t something Mick needed to know.

      The sound of branches breaking up ahead saved Portia from saying anything at all. Mick’s hand tightened on hers and he pulled her off the path and into the deep shadows of the trees.

      “What—?”

      “Shhh. Let’s see who it is before we make our presence known.” He whispered the words, his lips close to her ear, his breath warm against her cheek. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the coiled strength. Another branch snapped and Portia jerked, bumping against Mick, her heart thrumming a rapid beat. His СКАЧАТЬ