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    Through a Dark Mirror
    Through a Dark Mirror
    Through a Dark Mirror
    Ebook269 pages4 hours

    Through a Dark Mirror

    By Linda Wisdom

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    About this ebook

    WHAT SHE SAW:

    Fear. Heiress Dana Madison couldn't explain the disturbing things happening to her—dresses she didn't own appearing in her closet, strangers greeting her on the street. Was she being impersonated? Desperate, she hired a man to watch over her—day and night. P.I. John "Mac" McKenna—tough guy, loner...bodyguard.

    WHAT HE SAW:

    A seemingly innocent beauty who didn't belong in his hard-edged world. The closer Mac got to the mystery that was Dana, the harder it was to keep his professional distance. He had to protect Dana and uncover her secrets—before the heat reflected in her eyes burned them both....

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLinda Wisdom
    Release dateSep 12, 2017
    ISBN9781370204694
    Through a Dark Mirror
    Author

    Linda Wisdom

    Linda Wisdom has published more than 70 novels with 13 million copies sold worldwide including traditional, paranormal, humor, action/adventure romance, and romantic suspense. Her bestselling books have been nominated for Romantic Times awards and the Romance Writers of America Rita Award. She lives with her husband in Murrieta, California.

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      Book preview

      Through a Dark Mirror - Linda Wisdom

      Through a Dark Mirror

      By Linda Wisdom

      SMASHWORDS EDITION

      * * *

      PUBLISHED BY:

      Linda Wisdom on Joyride Books

      Through a Dark Mirror

      Copyright © 20I7 by Linda Wisdom

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

      * * *

      Chapter I

      Women like her never walked into his office. Women like her never requested his services. Hell, women like her never existed in the rundown and murky world he inhabited.

      And here he thought only the fictional Travis McGee and Philip Marlowe met gorgeous women.

      The women who came to him for help were sad, sometimes downtrodden. They were there looking for answers they hoped he could give them, even if the answers weren't the ones they wanted to hear. Their clothing came from thrift stores instead of designer boutiques and their cologne was whatever was on sale. They wouldn't have dreamed of smelling like something that probably cost a couple thousand dollars an ounce or sporting expensive French manicures. In essence, this lady looked as if she could easily afford his fees.

      Things were looking up, and he hadn't even had to take out an ad.

      He figured he'd just sit there and enjoy the ride. And the view.

      You came highly recommended as someone who works discreetly and gets the job done, she explained in her cool, calm voice as she sat in the lone visitor's chair. Her glance around the room told him she couldn't imagine why he came so highly recommended when his office looked as if it had been furnished by picking up whatever he found abandoned on the sidewalk.

      Mac nodded. I do my best. He wanted to sound humble and self-assured. Let the client believe you can do anything, was his rule of thumb. So far, it had worked pretty well.

      He leaned back in his chair with his hands folded over his flat stomach. While she was giving him the once-over, he was doing the same to her.

      He doubted her hair, the rich color of honey, came from a stylist's bag of tricks: styled no-nonsense short, parted on the right side and curved behind her ears. Her cobalt silk sheath dress fit her businesslike demeanor, just as her body language stated loud and clear she wasn't to be toyed with. Eyes that matched her dress faced him squarely. The scent of expensive perfume floated in the air between them. Definitely better than any brand of air freshener he'd ever used to chase away the lingering scent of cheap cigars left by a previous client.

      Her immaculate appearance was a far cry from his more casual dress consisting of jeans and a rumpled white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His dusty brown hair shot with silver was combed by his fingers and long overdue for a haircut. There'd been more important things to do than finding a barber. He'd been up all night on a surveillance. Right now, he wanted nothing more than a few hours of sleep and a hot meal that didn't arrive via a drive-thru window. Trouble was, interviewing a prospective client, who could actually pay, was more important than catching some much-needed shut-eye. Which resulted in his gray-green eyes looking bloodshot. He probably looked like he'd just gotten off a weeklong drunk.

      All he needed was a beat up fedora, snubnose 38 in a shoulder harness and maybe a falcon statue on his multi-scratched fake mahogany desk.

      Dana Madison slowly turned her head as she surveyed the small office. A hint of distaste crossed her face. He had a pretty good idea what she saw. Office was a relative term, since Mac always thought the space had once housed brooms and mops. Luckily, his kind of business didn't require a lot of space. Just room for his desk, a file cabinet and a couple of chairs.

      For a man reputed to be successful in his line of work, you don't like to show it outwardly, do you? Dana Madison commented.

      Mac shrugged. Success isn't always measured by a person's bank account. It's results that count, not what surrounds you to make you look successful. If you want the outer trappings, I can give you the names of a couple of good agencies that have offices in one of those fancy high-rises. They'll trot out all their spy goodies, tell you exactly what you want to hear and gladly take your money. That doesn't mean they can give you what I can. His catlike eyes met hers squarely.

      She didn't even flinch.

      Tell me why you're here, Ms. Madison, he said, when he finally figured she wasn't going to get all huffy over his blatant attempt to unnerve her. Nope. She hadn't gotten up and walked out the door.

      Good thing. Rent was due tomorrow, and he was a little cash poor. Okay, a lot cash poor.

      I'd like you to follow me, she replied. I don't feel I require twenty-four-hour surveillance. Just from, say, six p.m. to eight a.m.

      All right, you want me to follow you, he repeated, just to make sure he got it right. And here he thought he'd heard it all.

      She nodded.

      Any reason why you feel the need to be followed? Mac asked. Protection from an old boyfriend who doesn't understand why you broke off the relationship?

      The reason why is no concern of yours. She coolly put him off. Naturally, I would like a daily written report as to my activities between those hours.

      Everything to do with a case I take on is my concern, Ms. Madison. When someone comes in here and asks me to put a tail on a person, they usually are talking about me following someone else.

      Then there's always a first time, isn't there. She opened her bag that doubled as a briefcase and pulled out a checkbook. What are your fees?

      Mac shook his head. I think we need to get something clear here, Ms. Madison. I don't operate on a need-to-know basis. In my line of work that kind of thinking can get a fella hurt, and I've got to be honest - I'm not into pain.

      In his estimation, her tension level upped a good fifty points. Whatever she was hiding must be a doozy.

      This isn't easy for me, she admitted in a tight voice.

      You're not the first person who's been in a little trouble. He softened a little. He figured the lady wasn't used to not being in charge. She probably preferred to handle things her way. Now she was forced to come to someone else for help. Something must have happened to spook her big-time. The usual scenario was an ex-husband or ex-lover stalking the lady. Either way, a guy could get hurt if he didn't know what could be waiting for him around the corner.

      I'm not in trouble, she hastily denied.

      Dana's tongue appeared, dampening her lower lip. Judging from the death grip she had on her bag, she was not only nervous, she was scared to death of something or someone. The question was what.

      For the past two months I have experienced some strange things, she said slowly, apparently reluctant to disclose any of this. Unexplained things that involve me, yet I have no recollection of them happening. She paused and waited for his nod for her to continue. People I have never met come up to me and claim they know me. Clothing I have never seen before has shown up in my closet. Some mornings I discover that my car's gas tank is almost empty, yet I know I had filled the tank the night before and I hadn't gone anywhere but home after that.

      Mac nodded. Is there any history of sleepwalking in your family? he asked. I knew of one woman who carried on a complete second life while sleepwalking. Any mental disorders you're aware of?

      She shook her head. No, nothing. And I do not have a split personality, if you're going to ask about that next. There has to be a logical explanation for what is happening to me. I need to know what that is.

      Mac silently agreed. But then, his years with the police force told him even the looniest of people could look as normal as ... well as normal as him.

      Logic is nice, but that doesn't mean what's going on is logical. He pulled the yellow legal pad toward him and picked up his pen. He glanced up. First off, how many people have keys to your house?

      She thought for a moment. Myself, my housekeeper, my mother. I keep a spare in my office, but that's in a locked drawer. I believe that's it.

      Were you the original owner? She shook her head.

      When you moved in, did you change the locks? She nodded.

      Any brothers or sisters who might be playing some sick joke on you?

      She shook her head. I'm an only child.

      He wrote on the pad. Do you have an alarm system?

      Dana nodded. I had it installed before I moved in. Our community also has a private security patrol that is very vigilant. Our neighborhood has an almost nonexistent crime rate.

      Maybe that's what they tell you, so they look good. If you think someone's breaking into your house, there's a big need for an alarm. If nothing else, the noise will alert your rent-a-cops, Mac said flatly. I'd like to look your place over first before making my recommendation for one. Also, I might be able to get an idea how someone's breaking in without setting off the alarm. If it is someone else.

      She leaned forward, her face an icy carving. That is what is happening! She opened her purse and pulled out a small paper bag. The name of a well-known jewelry store was written in tasteful script, teal ink on gray paper. She pushed it toward him. I found these yesterday, and I can assure you they are not mine.

      Mac immediately withdrew a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on. He doubted there would be any usable prints after who knows who handling them, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

      Once he'd looked at the contents, he couldn't imagine they conformed with the woman seated across from him.

      It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. Two foil wrapped condoms, a matchbook from a bar across town--one he knew had a fairly wild reputation---a small bottle of perfume and a hotel key card. He laid them out in a row. He picked up the perfume bottle, opened it and sniffed. The scent was heavy, musky - something a woman would wear if she was in heat. He couldn't imagine the woman seated across from him wearing this fragrance.

      None of these ring a bell with you?

      No. Her tone could have turned a heat wave into a blizzard.

      He picked up the hotel key card. The name was stamped on one end. Yeah, this place isn't exactly known for its ambience. More for its hourly rates. I've heard they don't offer room service, either. Unless you're talking about the kind that doesn't exactly come on a linen tablecloth.

      He should turn her down. The lady might be easy on the eyes, but she was also loony tunes. Not something he needed after dealing with Raymond Cutter for the past month. The guy had wanted Mac to follow his wife. There was only one problem. He had never been married. But that didn't stop him from being convinced he was married to the woman in the next apartment. Luckily for the woman, Cutter was harmless, but Mac still didn't waste any time having a talk about the situation with an old buddy at the police department. He also contacted the woman and helped her obtain a restraining order. Last he heard, Raymond Cutter moved out of the state.

      Yeah, even with the rent due to a landlord who didn't believe in a grace period, Mac didn't need a case like this. Of course, he could recommend someone who would come to the same conclusion he had. Except, they'd gladly take her money and probably not even do a proper job.

      Fact was, Mac believed that when a woman asked for help, a man did whatever was necessary to keep her safe. Dana Madison had come to him. That meant it was up to him to find out what was going on.

      He rattled off his fees, he figured she could afford the extra he tacked on and what he required for a retainer.

      All right, Ms. Madison. You have yourself a watchdog. I'll send you reports at the end of each week, he explained. There are some things I'll need right now. I want you to give me your housekeeper's schedule and a list of anyone else who's on your property on a regular basis. I also suggest you keep a log of your mileage. Write it down every time you park the car in your garage and even when you leave it at your office. Keep the mileage log in your purse.

      She looked relieved. Obviously, she hadn't expected him to accept.

      Anything you need, she replied.

      He nodded. As I said, I'll want to go through your house. And your office.

      You have to understand that I must have complete secrecy in this matter. No one can know about this, she insisted. Since the death of my father, my business has taken some nasty hits. He'd been the heart and soul of it, and some of the long-term clients are having trouble shifting their loyalties to me. I'm having to prove to them I can do just as good a job as he did. If word of this got out, I'd be finished.

      Maybe I don't have the fancy office, but I do have my honor. Nothing said between us leaves this room. He squinted at the squiggles he'd made on the notepad. Damn, pretty soon he'd need reading glasses. Not a good image for a tough private investigator. If someone's trying to gaslight you, I'll find out who it is.

      And why, she said. Right now, I'm not sure which is more important. Who or why. But I need to know. She quickly wrote in her checkbook, tore the slip of paper out and handed it to him. She wasted no time in writing out the information he requested. She passed it over, along with her business card on the back of which she'd jotted numbers. This should cover a month. Here are my cell and office numbers.

      Yes, it will. Mac was proud of himself for not whooping with joy at the amount written on the check. His retainer and one month's worth of his daily rate. He was positive this check would clear first time around. Not like other checks he'd banked then had to chase down the client. Don't worry about your office staff. They won't know anything you don't want them to know.

      Dana looked at him squarely. When can you start?

      What was another night without sleep?

      Tonight, he said promptly. But don't bother looking for me. Surveillance doesn't work if the subject is busy looking around for the watcher. From now on, you're to let me know immediately when you find anything else of a questionable nature. Don't touch it or pick it up with your bare hands. Use a handkerchief to pick it up and slide it into a clean envelope. If we're lucky, we'll get some workable fingerprints.

      Of course. She rose to her feet in one fluid motion.

      She held out her hand. Fingers sleek with a French manicure, the skin silky to the touch. A fire opal ring on one finger flashed orange, blue and green at him. Funny. A woman with a no-nonsense image should be wearing pearls to match her cool collected exterior. What was the ring trying to say about her? He'd be curious to find out. Not that he'd try to think of her in any way other than as a client. Getting emotionally involved with a client, no matter how beautiful she was, would be breaking the Eleventh Commandment he'd instituted the day he opened the office.

      Thou shalt not mess with gorgeous clients.

      I'll be in touch in a couple days, he told her. From now on, you don't need to worry about any of this. Go about your business the way you always do. Above all, don't change your routine. You have to act as if nothing has changed.

      She nodded. The uncertainty that flitted across her features before she composed herself was proof she wasn't as in control of herself as she'd like.

      She stood up and offered her hand, which he took. Thank you, she said softly.

      The scent of her perfume still lingered in the air hours after she'd left the small office. Yep, better than Roscoe's cheapass cigars.

      * * *

      Dammit! Dana pounded her steering wheel with the heel of her hand. Anger was something she rarely displayed.

      The last thing she'd wanted to do was hire a private investigator. She didn't want anyone prying into every corner of her life. She knew this man would do just that, citing it was his job. She knew he wouldn't find anything scandalous in her background. It was just that she preferred keeping her life private.

      Why did this have to happen to her?

      There was no answer to that question. But she could clearly remember the day it started. The telephone call from Harold Curtis that distressed her. She hadn't detected even a hint of the warmth she usually associated with the man. During that call, he'd kept a cool distance as he abruptly informed her he would not be renewing his contract with her firm. It took her some time to find out exactly why he was severing a business relationship that had begun with her father more than twenty years ago when her father managed Harold's first building. Now Curtis was going elsewhere because he claimed to have seen her acting very improperly at a downtown hotel. Harold was an upright conservative citizen who refused to tell her exactly what he'd seen because, as he explained, he didn't want to think about what he'd seen. No matter how much she protested that it couldn't have been her, he hadn't budged an inch. In the end, she'd sadly closed his file.

      She realized there was nothing she could say to convince him that it hadn't been her. Further, how could she convince someone he was sadly mistaken when she feared he could be right?

      There had been too many mornings when she'd left for work and discovered her car's gas tank was registering almost empty, when she was positive it had been more than half-full the night before. And there was the morning she found a nightgown casually thrown on the floor of the closet - a nightgown she knew wasn't hers. But it was finding the matchbook in her wastebasket that upset her the most. Especially after she drove past the bar in question. There was no way she would have entered such an establishment.

      That was when she knew it was time to do something about it. She knew most women would have discussed their troubles with their friends. Confessed their worries in hopes one of them would have a solution or at least been willing to listen to her worries. Except, Dana realized she had virtually ignored her few friends since her father's death and then her mother's stroke. She'd buried herself in her work and pushed them away. All she had were acquaintances and business colleagues in whom she wouldn't dream of confiding.

      She was completely on her own as she started making discreet inquiries about private investigators. With each inquiry, John McKenna’s name was brought up with the recommendation that if anyone could solve the problem, he could.

      She hadn't discovered a lot about the man, other than that he was a former police detective. That he'd received many commendations - even if he was known as a cop who didn't mind flaunting authority if it meant getting the job done the right way. All his arrests were done by the book, and woe to any prosecutor who screwed up one of John McKenna's cases.

      You wouldn't know it to look at him just how successful he is in his work. He's too committed to helping people who can't afford his fees and he doesn't seem to care if his rent gets paid or not, one person told her. But I can't think of anyone else I would want on my side.

      No one really knew the complete story as to why he finally left the police force and opened his private investigation office. But everyone who recommended him said they would trust him with their life. She

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