Keeping Christmas Part 3

"Good morning, Rebecca." Carl was older than his brother Beauregard, about the same size but nothing like her father in nature. Carl was quiet and less driven. A whole lot less driven.

"Is Daddy here?" She couldn't help being confused. It wasn't like Carl to stop by unless there was a family dinner of some kind going on.

"I just stopped in to see Oliver," Carl said as she descended the stairs.

"Oh." Rebecca couldn't imagine what Carl would want to see her husband about. Both were employed by Bonner Unlimited, but it was no secret that neither had anything to do there.

And she knew that Carl had never approved of Oliver. She remembered when she'd announced her engagement to Oliver. Carl had taken her aside and asked her if she was sure this was what she wanted.

She'd been angry with her uncle that day and had brought up the fact that he wasn't one to give advice on relations.h.i.+ps given that he'd never married.

"The woman I wanted was in love with someone else," was all he'd said. "I couldn't bring myself to settle for anyone else."

"Oliver is the man I want," she'd snapped.

"I just want you to be happy." He'd kissed her on the cheek and left her feeling terrible because she'd been unkind to her favorite uncle. But also, she realized now, because he'd been right to question her choice.

"Rebecca?"

She blinked.

Carl had stopped in the hallway and was studying her. "Is everything all right?"

She forced herself to smile. "Fine."

He nodded. "You have a good day, okay?" he said pleasantly as he smiled, then continued down the hall to the den.

She watched him open the den door without knocking and step in, closing it behind him. He wasn't smiling, she noticed, when he closed the door. Did this have something to do with Daddy going to Montana? Was Uncle Carl who her husband had been talking to last night on the phone?

No, she thought. More than likely he'd been on the phone with the one person who resented Daddy even more than Oliver-her father's cousin, Ace Bonner. Ace, who was Daddy's age, had recently gotten out of prison.

Daddy being Daddy, he had given Ace a job at Bonner Unlimited. She got so sick of her father feeling guilty for having so much money. He wore it like a chip on his shoulder. No matter how arrogant he came off, Beauregard Bonner didn't feel he measured up, and she hated that about him.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard raised voices, startling her. Carl never raised his voice. What had Oliver done now? Something that Carl was upset about. Let it have something to do with Bonner Unlimited, she thought. Just like Dixie being in Montana. Just don't let it have anything to do with me. Just don't let it have anything to do with me.

Rebecca had enough problems. But as she headed for the kitchen, desperately needing coffee, she couldn't shake the feeling that her world was on the verge of crumbling around her.

She found the nanny in the kitchen with the children. Amy was pounding on the high-chair tray, splas.h.i.+ng milk everywhere. Tanya was yelling for the nanny, Ingrid, to do something about Amy. And Linsey was on her cell phone talking to her best friend Miranda.

"I'm going out," Rebecca called to Ingrid, trying to escape before the nanny took the spoon away from Amy. As Rebecca hustled back upstairs, she shut off Amy's shrieks only after reaching her bedroom and closing the door. When the house was built, she'd had extra insulation put around their bedroom for privacy. At least that's what she told the builders.

She hadn't wanted her sleep disturbed by the children waking up in the middle of the night. That's what she had a nanny for. A light sleeper, she had to have the room a certain temperature and complete darkness. And she had the money to get exactly what she wanted.

As she climbed into the shower, she thought about her lunch date with her best friend Samantha "Pookie" Westbrook. Pookie was everything Rebecca had always wanted to be. The daughter of a well-known Houston old-money family with an impeccable reputation and the grace and charm of Texas royalty.

Imagining as she often did what her life would have been like if she'd been the Westbrook's daughter instead of Pookie, kept Rebecca from worrying about what Oliver and Uncle Carl had been arguing about in the den.

AFTER ORDERING his breakfast, Chance stepped outside to see if he could get cell phone service. It was always iffy in the mountains. He'd never been able to get a signal at the cabin, which was just fine with him.

He dug his cell out, cursing the d.a.m.ned thing, and on impulse, first tried the cell phone number again that had been on the Caller ID at his office. He got voice mail again and again didn't leave a message. Then he dialed the number Bonner had left for him.

"h.e.l.lo?" Beauregard Bonner boomed.

"It's Chance. Any word from Dixie?" He'd been holding his breath, hoping Dixie had found her way home. Or at least there'd been some contact.

"Nothing," Bonner said. "I just flew into Houston and was going to find my other daughter."

Chance thought about telling Bonner to say h.e.l.lo to Rebecca, but instantly came to his senses. "Do you have a cell phone number for Dixie?"

"No. I'm sure she has one. I tried to get the number, but couldn't."

Chance smiled to himself, hearing the frustration in Bonner's voice. Even Beauregard Bonner didn't get everything he wanted.

"I'll let you know when I come up with something," Chance said and snapped the phone shut.

Back in the cafe, he kept an eye on the four-way stop, hoping he was right about Dixie. Of course, that brought up the question of why she was zigzagging across the state, why she was headed his way in the first place. If she even was.

All he could guess was that Dixie Bonner liked to play games-just like her father.

As Chance waited for his breakfast, he dumped the contents of the manila envelope Beauregard Bonner had given him out onto the table. Last night he'd looked at the credit card report, convinced like the police and FBI that Dixie was anything but the victim of a kidnapping.

Disgusted, he hadn't even bothered to see what else Bonner had provided him. But this morning, as the contents of the envelope spilled onto the table, a photograph fell out and he recalled that Bonner had said all he had was an older photo of Dixie.

It was a three-by-five, shot by a professional in a studio, and appeared to be Dixie Bonner's high school graduation photo.

Strange, Bonner didn't have a more recent photo of his youngest daughter. Not a snapshot taken at some birthday party, Christmas or family get-together. Chance wondered if that didn't say a lot about the Bonners and what had been going on with that family since he'd left Texas.

He stared at the young woman in the photo. Pixielike, her hair was cropped short and dyed a glaring hot pink. At the center of thick black eyeliner were two twinkling blue eyes that radiated a mischief he remembered only too well. Dixie had always been cute. The cheekbones were high and maybe her best feature. Her lips were full and turned up in a devilish grin. A h.e.l.lion. Just as her father had described her.

Chance chuckled to himself thinking Dixie probably was Beauregard Bonner's comeuppance. Maybe there was justice on earth after all.

"REBECCA? Rebecca. Rebecca."

Rebecca Bonner blinked.

"You haven't heard a word I've said," Pookie snapped irritably. They were having lunch at Rebecca's favorite restaurant. She'd hoped that lunch with her friend would improve her mood. So far it had been having the opposite effect.

"What is going on with you today?" Pookie demanded.

Rebecca shook her head, realizing this had been a mistake. She should have gone shopping instead, bought something outrageously expensive and skipped lunch. "I think I might be coming down with something."

Pookie did an eye-roll. "What is really bothering you? Is it the kids?"

It wasn't the kids. Not that Rebecca had really wanted children in the first place. It was just something you did. Like the big house, the expensive car, the clothes and the husband.

She'd had a nanny from even before she brought Linsey home from the hospital. She gave the kids little thought except when they were screaming like this morning and she had so much on her mind.

"It's not the kids."

Pookie lifted one perfectly shaped brow. "What's the b.a.s.t.a.r.d done now?"

"It's not Oliver, either." She sipped her strawberry daiquiri.

"Of course it is."

"Have you heard something? something?" Rebecca asked, her heart starting to pound. Pookie often knew things almost before they happened. That was one reason Rebecca had called her for lunch today. If there was a rumor going around, Rebecca wanted to be the first to hear about it and make sure it got nipped in the bud quickly.

"I haven't heard a thing." Pookie held up three fingers. As if she was ever a Girl Scout. "And I can't believe I wouldn't have heard."

Rebecca was counting on that. "You'd tell me at once if you did."

"Of course." Pookie looked worried. "Why, have you heard something about Adam?" Adam was her friend's husband. A balding, pot-bellied, thirtysomething attorney at a top agency in the city who kept Pookie in a style even better than she'd been accustomed to-which said a lot given that Pookie was born to Houston society.

"Come on, what's going on with you?" Pookie asked, leaning toward her, grinning. "Give. Who is he?"

Rebecca shook her head and tried to wave away Pookie's protests. Pookie would be surprised if Rebecca told her that she hadn't been with a man other than her husband in months. Her friend went through a lot of men and thought everyone else did, too.

"Come on. You and I have never kept secrets."

Rebecca thought how naive Pookie was. Everyone Everyone kept secrets. Even from their best friends if they were smart. kept secrets. Even from their best friends if they were smart.

"I told you about my pilates instructor." Pookie pretended to pout.

"There isn't anyone, anyone," she said, feeling even worse. Not even Oliver. Except for that one night. He'd acted so strangely that night. She brushed the memory away, hating to remember his attempts at lovemaking. They'd never made love that she could recall. Intimacy at their house was more like a corporate takeover.

"Oliver's been acting...strange," Rebecca confided, seeing no harm in the obvious.

Pookie lifted a brow as if to ask how she could tell. "Well, if it isn't another woman..."

"He's involved in some kind of deal at work. I'm sure that's all it is. He has this thing about winning." That, she knew, was his form of o.r.g.a.s.mic release. He had never seemed that interested in s.e.x. Or maybe it was just her he wasn't interested in.

Pookie narrowed her eyes, studying her. "There isn't a man? Come on, I saw that look in your eye."

Rebecca groaned, knowing her friend would keep after her until she gave her something. "I was thinking about Chance Walker," she said, and braced herself for her friend's reaction.

WHEN HIS FOOD arrived-his usual-a slab of bone-in ham, two eggs over easy, hash browns and whole-wheat toast with blackberry jam, Chance placed the picture next to his plate, studying it periodically as he ate.

If he was right and the photograph was taken eleven years ago, who knew how much Dixie Bonner had changed. She was probably more outrageous than ever.

He shook his head as he thought about the kid he'd known. Would he even recognize her now?

"Girlfriend?" the waitress asked, moving for a better look at the photo.

"Not hardly. Actually, it's a case I'm working on. Any chance you've seen her? She'd be eleven years older than when this was taken."

Lydia, an older, stocky woman, shook her head. "Sorry. And believe me I would have remembered the hair if it was still that color."

"I have a feeling this one has tried it all," he said, looking at Dixie's photo.

"You sound like you know her."

"Used to, when she was twelve," he said with an amused shake of his head. "She was h.e.l.l on wheels back then. I just a.s.sumed she would grow up and be more like her sister."

Lydia raised a brow.

"I dated her older sister." It surprised him the regret he heard in his voice. Not that he hadn't married Rebecca. Just that things had ended so badly.

"First love?"

"I guess it was. She went away to college back east and met someone..." Someone more appropriate. "I hear she has three kids now and her husband is a hotshot attorney in Houston."

Lydia put a hand on his shoulder. "Honey, something tells me you are better off without her."

Chance laughed. "I have no doubt about that."

"Want the rest of that ham wrapped up for Beauregard?" she asked as she cleared his table.

"Please." He put everything back in the manila envelope, including Dixie's picture, finished his coffee and took the envelope and foil-wrapped ham out to the pickup.

Beauregard devoured the ham in one bite and waited for more as Chance started the pickup. "Sorry, bud, that's it until dinner."

Taking out the map of Montana, he stared at the jagged line he'd drawn on it last night as he'd traced Dixie Bonner's route.

Dixie hadn't come to him, so that meant he'd have to go to her. If he was right, there was a definite pattern to her movements. She was headed his way. All he could figure was that she didn't want anyone to know it.

Chance found that pretty humorous since someone obviously knew and had gone to some trouble to break into his office to take his answering machine tape. He wondered what message she'd left and why it was important to whoever was apparently looking for her.

He planned to ask her when he saw her.

There was also the remote possibility that she really had been kidnapped, that the kidnapper had foolishly left eight messages on his machine. But that brought up the question of why call him? Also, what kidnapper would leave eight messages on his machine?

He figured no matter what was going on, Dixie wouldn't have left her location or where she was headed on his answering machine. And neither would her kidnappers.

Chance swore and headed down the lake and eventually into town, figuring she should be here today if she continued her traveling pattern. The day was brilliant, the sky a deep blue, the mountains glistening white, the sun blinding overhead.

He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a light-colored panel van pull out behind him.