Bad Girls Don't (10 page)

“To see why you called me and hung up.”

“I was just returning your original call.”

“You took your sweet time.”

His sarcastic comment irked her. “What do you want?” “I haven’t heard from our daughter Julia in eleven days now. When was the last time she called you?”

“Uhm . . . I don’t know.” Angel frowned in concentration. “A couple of days ago?”

“Meaning what? Two days? Five days? Three weeks? What?”

“You know I don’t pay attention to time the way you do.”

“How about our daughter? Do you pay attention to her?”

“Of course I do! And how dare you insinuate otherwise.”

“How dare you not even know how long it’s been since you’ve talked to Julia,” he shot back.

“She’s a grown woman.”

“So?”

“So she can take care of herself. She’s the practical one in the family. And she has Luke. The last time I spoke to her, she sounded fine.”

“I left a message on her cell phone’s voicemail telling her to call me.”

“Ordering her, most likely. Julia doesn’t respond well to orders.”

“She must have gotten that from you,” Adam retorted.

“Yeah, right. Like you’re the obedient type. You don’t respond well to orders either.”

“True enough. I suppose you’ve heard that I’m separated from my latest wife.”

“Really?” Angel wasn’t about to admit she’d heard anything. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s always sad when things don’t work out.”

“Were you sad when things didn’t work out with us?”

His question stunned her. “That was decades ago.”

“Answer the question.”

“No.”

“No, you weren’t sad?”

“No, I’m not answering the question.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“The same way that you figured it was none of my business that I had a daughter?”

“I already explained about that . . .”

“Your brief and incoherent explanation can’t make up for all those years I’ve missed.”

“If you’re trying to guilt-trip me, you’re not going to succeed.”

“Because you have no conscience?”

“You’re a fine one to talk about conscience! You’re in the business of putting other people out of business, of taking away their jobs!”

“I’m in the business of making money.”

“No matter what the cost?”

His voice changed. Deepened. “I’m not the monster you’ve made me out to be. Let me prove it to you.”

“What do you mean?” What was he up to?

“Have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?”

“You eat, right?”

“I’m a vegetarian.”

“Do you eat fish? We could go to a seafood place I know here in Philadelphia and talk about Julia. She told me you’ve got a photo album of her as a baby.”

“It’s more like a scrapbook and it covers her entire childhood, not just when she was a baby.”

“I’d love to see that.”

Angel was about to say she’d mail it to him, but realized she didn’t trust Adam to return it.

“Help me understand why you didn’t tell me about Julia earlier.” His voice became husky, entreating her.

Help me.
Man, was Angel a sucker for those words. That was the only reason she reluctantly agreed to meet Adam. That and the fact that a new yarn store had recently opened in Philadelphia. She’d been wanting to visit it. This just gave her an excuse to do so.

The deed done, she hung up.

She was really getting too old to be playing these kind of games. She was having hot flashes and memory lapses. Soy and black cohosh were her friends, working together to maintain her hormonal balance. So why weren’t the damn supplements doing their job? Sometimes she just got so aggravated.

Angel’s face burned as she picked up a Seventh Generation catalogue and fanned herself to cool off.

The thing was, most of the time Angel didn’t feel all that old. She still felt like the girl who’d met Adam in that ethics class at UCLA. She even looked a little like her still. Sort of.

So what was going on that she was worrying about her age all of a sudden?

She thought about Adam and their making a date for dinner. No, not a date. A meeting. Like a business meeting. Not that she was into business meetings, but he sure was.

That’s how she’d view it. As for how to tell Tyler about it . . . she’d figure that part out later.

 

 

Nathan paused after entering Nick’s Tavern, wondering if the place had always looked so . . . tacky. The minimal lighting was no doubt meant to keep patrons in the dark, literally, so they wouldn’t notice certain things. Like the linoleum floor curling at the edges. Or the dinginess of the decades-old wood paneling with the hole still in it from a fight he’d been called upon to break up over six months ago.

The scary thing was that Nick’s Tavern was the best bar in town.

Not that Nathan was into fancy stuff. All he really needed was to meet up with his buddy Cole . . . and order a beer.

“Hey, I heard you had an exciting day the other day,” Cole said as he lifted a bottle of Budweiser in his buddy’s direction.

“Not really.” Nathan paused to order a Heineken.

“No? So, protestors staging a sit-in outside the police station is normal?”

“I didn’t say it was a
normal
day. Just not an exciting one.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Because Skye Wright creates excitement wherever she goes.”

“Which isn’t a good thing.”

“Depends. I heard she got to you.”

“I need to get a new assistant,” Nathan muttered. “Celeste talks too much.”

“No one else would take the job.”

“She still talks too much.”

“Hey, she was just bringing her beagle to me for his shots. We chatted a few minutes.”

“About me.”

“Your name came up a time or two. Is it true you handcuffed her?”

“Celeste? No. I might be tempted to gag her, though.”

“I meant Skye. Did you handcuff Skye?”

“Only as a precautionary measure. I didn’t want her hurting herself.”

“Did she have a weapon? Other than her belly-dancing costume, I mean?”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about her belly-dancing costume?”

“That she looks damn good in it.”

“And you know this how?”

“And you care why?”

Nathan refused to answer. “You know what this town needs? Less gossip and more good take-out.”

“You’re saying that Nick’s microwaved nachos aren’t up to your usual culinary standards?”

“I’m saying that it’s a good thing I’ve got a cast-iron stomach.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the Skye episode when I stopped by your office the other day?”

“There was nothing to tell.”

“Yeah, right.”

Nathan hadn’t heard anything in town today about any supposed change of Skye’s good fortune that would allow her to purchase the Tivoli Theater. Since she’d been dancing down the street in happiness when she’d run into him last night, you’d think she’d have spread the word all over the entire state by now.

Why hadn’t she? What was she up to now? Had she just been yanking his chain? Pulling some scam?

Great. She’d sauntered her way right back into his brain. Here he thought he’d been doing so well keeping her locked out . . .

But that kiss was hard to ignore. Not impossible to wipe out, just stubborn and totally memorable. Like her.

Nathan finished the rest of his Heineken and ordered another, noting as he did so that the green bottle matched the color of Skye’s eyes.

Dammit, there she was again. Couldn’t a guy get a beer without having to deal with an aggravating, hip-twitching woman who’d probably inspired the saying, “When Mr. Happy gets hard, a man’s brain goes soft”?

His brain had to be soft to allow her entry again and again.

Kissing her had definitely made Mr. Happy get hard.

Even now, just thinking about her made his body react.

Shifting in his seat, Nathan deliberately focused on another subject. This time he asked Cole the questions. He preferred things that way. “Were you aware that your aunt, Sister Mary, knows how to slip out of handcuffs?”

“Yeah. She taught me when I was a kid.”

“And your other aunt, Mrs. Crumpler, was a participant in the sit-in.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Some family you’ve got there.”

“Yeah,” Cole said fondly. “Hey, yours is some family too.”

“They don’t do sit-ins.”

“Your older sister is a doctor with Doctors without Borders, working in Africa. And your other sister is a teacher in Alaska someplace.”

“Homer. Homer, Alaska.”

Cole looked up from the pile of empty peanut shells he’d neatly stacked. “And your mom makes the best Florentine cookies on the planet.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“In her spare time, when she’s not working as a nurse at the local hospital. And your dad is no slouch. What is this, his thirtieth year with the Nebraska State Police?”

“Yeah. He’ll be retiring soon.”

“A rock-solid family.”

“Right.”

Cole frowned. “So where did they go wrong with you?”

Nathan smiled for the first time that night. “They must have gotten the wrong baby at the hospital.”

“Nah, that excuse isn’t gonna wash. Your mom’s a nurse. She’d noticed something like that. Besides, you’ve got your dad’s Roman nose and your mom’s stubborn streak.”

“And you’ve got your aunt’s nagging streak.”

“Which aunt might that be?”

“Sister Mary.”

“Ah . . .” Cole nodded knowingly. “So she got on your case, did she?”

“They called her down to the station with the news that I might be torturing someone.”

“Well, you do drive Celeste crazy sometimes when you skip meals.”

“I meant a prisoner.”

“You had a prisoner?”

“Well, not a prisoner per se . . .”

“So who did Sister Mary think you were torturing?” Cole held up one hand. “No, let me guess. The belly-dancing Skye?”

“Affirmative.”

“Oh, man, I wish I’d been there to see that.”

“See what?”

“Sister Mary torturing you. Trying to pull the truth out of you. She’s a nun. You’re a lapsed Catholic. She’s got that guilt thing going for her big-time.”

“I was immune.”

“Right. Sure you were.” Cole nodded but looked like he didn’t believe a word. “How about the belly dancer? Were you immune to her, too?”

“Totally.”

“Did you know that your upper lip twitches when you lie?”

If Nathan’s upper lip was twitching, it was because of the memory of Skye seductively nibbling on it.

“Did you know that I can’t hear a word you say?” Nathan said.

“I heard that you start going deaf after you turn thirty.”

“You’re only a few years younger than I am.”

“Chronologically.”

“Right. Mentally you’re, what . . . twelve?”

Cole threw a handful of peanut shells at him.

“You throw like a girl, you know that?” Nathan ducked as another handful of shells flew his way.

“Okay, that’s it.” Cole stood and smacked his hands palm down on the rickety table. “You. Me. In front of the dartboard. Now.”

“Sheriff, thank God I found you!”

Nathan was instantly on his feet, facing the newcomer—Owen Dunback’s slick nephew, Milton.

“You’ve got to arrest her immediately,” Milton demanded breathlessly.

“Slow down. Arrest who?”

“That sleazy slut who tricked my uncle out of a million dollars!”

Chapter Six

“A
name, Milton.” Nathan’s voice was firm. “I need a name.”

“Who do you think I’m talking about? How many sleazy sluts are there in town seducing my poor uncle?”

Nathan was not impressed with his outburst. “A name.”

“Skye Wright. She’s embezzled money from him.”

“That’s a serious charge.”

“I realize that.”

“What makes you think she embezzled money?”

“Because she has a winning lottery ticket worth a million dollars.”

Nathan certainly remembered his earlier conversation with Skye about buying the Tivoli Theater. He thought maybe she’d concocted the story. Apparently not, if what Milton was telling him was true.

“And you know this how?” Nathan asked.

“My uncle told me. He gave her the ticket.”

“That’s not embezzlement. That’s generosity.”

“That’s not generosity, that’s senility!” Milton shoved his hand through his thinning brown hair. He wore it combed over, as if that would hide his shiny scalp.

“If he
gave
her the ticket—”

“He didn’t know what he was doing!”

“Is Owen saying he wants the ticket back?”

“
I’m
saying that.”

“It’s not
your
ticket,” Nathan pointed out.

“It’s not hers, either.”

“It is if Owen gave it to her.”

“Think about it, Sheriff. What sane man would give a female like her a million dollars? Unless it was for services provided.” Milton’s eyes lit up. “Can’t you arrest her for that? For prostitution.”

“Calm down.” Nathan belatedly realized the entire bar crowd was ignoring the baseball game on the TV and was instead listening to them.

“I will not calm down!” Milton’s voice rose as if to prove that point.

“Then let’s go to the station to discuss this matter.”

Milton nodded. “Good idea.”

Behind his back, Cole rolled his eyes.

“Later, buddy.” Nathan told him.

“I would have beaten you at darts anyway.”

“Dreamer.”