No Limits by Alison Kent

than the nothing he was holding. “This guy. Do you remember his name?”
    She smiled. “Oh, yeah. Hard to forget a name like Kingdom Trahan.”
    Fourteen
    M icky would have thought she’d poured a whole bottle of Veuve Clicquot on Simon’s head. He closed down that coolly, that quickly, as if she’d delivered the cut direct. “Do you know him? Or where we can find him?”
    The questions went unanswered as Simon jerked his toolbox off the porch and headed for his truck, his shoulders and biceps full and defined. He lowered the tailgate, slid the metal box in between what looked to be crates of supplies, then slammed the back end shut.
    She expected him to stomp past her, pound up the stairs, and lock himself in the bedroom where she’d slept—the only one with a door that closed and windows left unbroken.
    But he didn’t. He just turned around and leaned against his truck, his backside on the bumper and his ankles crossed. “Don’t count on him offering any help.”
    Hmm. King hadn’t seemed the type not to help. He’d been very helpful, in fact. “So you do know him.”
    “I do.”
    “And you don’t like him?”
    “We…have issues.”
    Puh-lease. Who didn’t? “And you think your issues would keep him from helping me.”
    “If he knew I was in the picture, yeah. They might.”
    Didn’t say a lot for either of them. “Then maybe I don’t tell him that you are.”
    Simon didn’t say anything right away, just crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare. He was thinking. Micky had no idea whether he was considering her suggestion, or revisiting whatever memories her mention of King had brought to mind. She decided she wanted to know.
    “How do you know him?” she asked at the same time he said, “Tel l me what the two of you talked about last night.”
    She pressed her lips together. Something was going on here…something personal?
    Obviously so, if they had issues. But how deep did those waters run? And what did it mean for her safety?
    Would she be better off on her own than caught in the middle of a man-on-man feud?
    Or was taking what she could get better than nothing? “When I got to town, I had no luck getting information on where I might find Lisa. If her neighbors were home, they weren’t answering their doors. I stopped at the bar. He helped me.”
    “How so?” His question was curt.
    Her answer was the same. “I told you. He pointed out Judge Landry. I took it from there.”
    “Did you tell him who you were?”
    “I introduced myself, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t detail my whole life story.”
    “And I’m assuming you told the judge,” he said, the shift in his focus disconcerting. What was he digging for? What did he want to know besides what he was asking? “Of course. I had to explain my connection to Lisa. I didn’t think he’d help me otherwise. Not that he did.” She decided she didn’t like being interrogated. “Why? Does it matter that they know who I am?”
    “It might have narrowed down the list of anyone out to get you personally.”
    “Might have?” Now she was getting worried.
    “The car was a rental. Everyone involved in the case knows who you are.”
    Ah, that. “Not really,” she said, wondering what he’d make of her admission.
    “How so?”
    “The rental records only show who rented the car.”
    “And that’s not you?”
    “Yes and no. I always fly under my own name, but my executive assistant makes my travel arrangements and often books the rest of my accommodations under hers.” Micky had a duplicate of Jane’s driver’s license—at a quick glance, they looked a lot alike—and additional copies of her credit cards in Jane’s name. “The car was rented to Jane Mitchell. Not Michelina Ferrer.”
    Simon pushed away from the truck. “So as far as the authorities know, it’s your assistant who went off that bridge and is missing. Though by now they’ve probably been in contact with her employer—”
    And that would be