Bad Girls Don't (11 page)

Cole grinned and shrugged. “Hey, it’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.”

And Nathan sure wasn’t a dreamer. Not anymore. Never again.

 

 

A little after nine that night, Skye opened her apartment door to find Nathan standing there. “We have to talk,” he said.

He was wearing the same jeans and T-shirt he’d had on at Cosmic Comics earlier. No outrageous sayings on this man’s chest. Plain navy blue cotton covered his muscular upper torso. She remembered grabbing his T-shirt last night and kissing him as if they were in a mosh pit together. “I thought we weren’t going to discuss that kiss.”

“We’re not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To talk to you.”

“About?”

“About that winning lottery ticket.”

“Oh. I told you about it earlier.”

“No, you just told me you were buying the Tivoli Theater. You didn’t tell me how you planned on doing that.”

“Oh? So how did you find out? Did Owen tell you?”

“Yes. So did his nephew Milton.”

“Milton,” Skye repeated slowly. The little weasel. “Right. So you’re here to interrogate me. Or handcuff me again.” She shoved her wrists at him.

“I’m not going to handcuff you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured.

“Can’t we just talk?”

“On the record, I’m assuming.”

“Right. Just talking like two adults.”

“One of whom is an authority freak.”

“That must be you.”

Skye did a double take. The cop had a sense of humor? When had that happened?

“I was talking about
you
,” she said.

“I’m not an authority freak.”

“Neither am I.”

“Good. Another thing we have in common. That list is getting longer every day.”

“Did you talk to Owen about the winning ticket?” Skye asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you already know the facts.”

“I’d like to hear them from you, as well.” He pulled a small notebook from his back pocket.

“To see if our stories match, is that it?”

“Just tell me what happened.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I asked you to.”

“That kind of logic never worked for me.”

“No surprise there,” Nathan muttered.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning you’re not logical.”

“I am totally logical. Just not by your definition of logic.”

“There’s only one definition of logic. It’s in the dictionary.”

“No, there are many definitions, and they are determined by each person’s life view.”

“Right.”

“Could you sound a little more sarcastic?”

“Hey, I’m not into that New Age kind of stuff.”

“Like logic, you mean?”

“Logic has nothing to do with New Age beliefs.”

“You being an expert and all on New Age beliefs.”

“We’ve gotten off the subject here. Back to that lottery ticket—”

“No, I want to hear more about your barbaric views on this subject.”

“On lottery tickets?”

“On”—she used hand quotes—“New Age stuff.”

“Look, I’m just a guy from Nebraska trying to do my job—”

“That “Aw shucks, ma’am” routine is not going to work with me, so don’t even try it.”

“It’s not a routine.”

“Puh-lease. I’ve seen you in kick-butt mode. I’ve kissed you. You’re not just a guy from Nebraska.”

“I’m not?”

“No. And you already know that damn well, so you sure don’t need my telling you.”

Nathan wasn’t sure what he knew “damn well” anymore. Not when he was around Skye. And he hated that. Hated being at a disadvantage. Hated being anything but rock solid.

He could feel small fissures forming in the shell he’d carefully constructed these past years. Not acceptable.

“Do you need me to be kick-ass before you’ll answer my question?” Nathan demanded.

“Which question was that?” Skye countered. “What, exactly, is Milton accusing me of?”

“Why don’t you just tell me your side of the story?”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

She gave him a look.

Nathan sighed. “Why are you so determined to make things difficult?”

“Me? It’s you who is making life difficult. I’ll bet you never meditate, right?”

“Right.”

“I can tell.”

“I’m glad.”

“You shouldn’t be. You’ll live longer if you meditate. It’s a great stress reliever.”

“Maybe I don’t want to live longer.”

“Ah.”>

Now her expression turned speculative, as if he were a puzzle she was intent on figuring out. Well, good luck with that. Because there was no way in hell he was going to let her get to know him well enough to do that. He couldn’t figure himself out, so there was no way a flaky belly dancer who could kiss like an angel—a Victoria’s Secret angel—could decipher him.

She was smart enough not to ask him why he didn’t want to live longer. Not that he would have told her.

She was wearing black shorts that showed off her great legs and a cropped tie-dyed T-shirt that showed off her midriff and naval ring.

“You need a drink,” she suddenly announced, then yanked him inside.

He felt as if he’d stepped inside a circus trailer. Color was splashed everywhere—the walls, the rugs, the mounds of pillows scattered all over. Reds, oranges, yellows.

Not that the place was cluttered. On the contrary. Not much furniture, but what was there was memorable.

He recognized the round red couch and worn orange recliner as rejects from the Sisters of the Poor Charity Thrift Shop. And he was pretty sure that his buddy Cole had sold that ugly brass floor lamp at his last garage sale for a buck.

“Here.” She handed him a mug filled with liquid.

He sniffed it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Arsenic tea.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s organic green tea.”

“I don’t drink tea.”

“You only drink that thick, dark sludge at the police station that you call coffee, huh?”

“Black, no sugar, no milk.”

“Right. Because you’re a guy from Nebraska. A hunky side of beef from the cornfields.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hunky?”

“Who wears tighty-whities. Am I right?”

Nathan mentally counted to ten. He could practically feel the steam pouring out of his ears. Normally, he was a very controlled guy, but she had an uncanny way of getting to him.

“Come on. You can tell me,” she coaxed.

“No.” His jaw was clenched so tightly he could barely speak. “I can’t.”

“You’re not blushing, are you?”

He narrowed his eyes and put his war face on. “Enough of this. Is it your claim that Owen gave you the winning lottery ticket?”

“It’s not a claim, it’s the truth.”

“Fine.” He slapped the notebook shut. “If you don’t want to cooperate with this investigation, I’ll note that in my report.”

“You do that.” She took a sip of the tea she’d poured for him. “What report is that? The one on me? It must be getting pretty thick by now.”

“And that pleases you, doesn’t it?”

She shrugged and took another sip.

The tea left her lips damp and made him want to kiss her again. Her gaze caught his. The air between them radiated sex.

“Back off, mean man!” a voice barked.

It took Nathan a second to realize that the person with the pipes of a Paris Island Marine Corps drill instructor was none other than Skye’s half-pint daughter. She bared her teeth at him. The kid, not Skye.

“It’s okay.” Skye smoothed her daughter’s hair back, inadvertently tilting the little girl’s tiara even more. “I thought you were sleeping.”

What kind of mom had their kid sleeping in a tiara and a tutu with tights?

“I heard voices.”

“Want some tea?” Skye offered her mug to the little girl, who drank while eyeing him suspiciously. She handed the tea back to her mother before ordering, “Make him go away.”

“I was just leaving,” Nathan muttered. He never muttered. Until he’d met Skye.

“My name is Toni and I don’t want you bullying my mommy,” Toni told him, hands on her tiny hips. “You do that again and she’ll turn you into a toad. She’s got a spinning wheel just like Sleeping Beauty. Sleeping Beauty wasn’t just a princess. She had a business empire. Tell him, Mommy.”

“I don’t think he wants to hear a fairy-tale.”

“Is he a troll?”

“No.” Skye shook her head. “He’s an authority figure.”

“We don’t like those, right?”

Skye nodded. “We question their authority, yes.”

Nathan couldn’t let that one pass. “That’s a nice lesson to teach a kid.”

“Toni and I learn from each other.”

“So, how does that work? You learn tantrums from her and she learns bad behavior from you?”

“Don’t insult my kid.” Skye’s face reflected her anger.

Toni jumped up and down in excitement, the tiara flying right off her head. “Get him, Mommy. Get him! Turn him into a toad!”

“He’s already a toad,” Skye said.

Toni paused to stare at him. “No, he’s not. Toads look like mean frogs. He still looks like a mean man. I bite,” Toni warned Nathan.

“So do I,” he growled right back at her.

Great. Now he was in a pissing contest with a little kid. Real mature. Real professional.

He had to get out of there. Before making an even bigger idiot of himself than he’d already done.

As Nathan slammed the door on his way out, he heard the sexy mother and her undisciplined kid giggling. At him. The supposed authority figure. Too bad the only thing he seemed to be an authority on lately was losing control. That had to stop.

 

 

“Did you arrest her?” Milton was waiting at the sheriff ’s station early the next morning, pouncing on him the instant Nathan entered the front door.

“No.” Nathan hadn’t gotten much sleep last night and he wasn’t in the best of moods by a long shot. He should have used the employees’ back entrance, but he hadn’t been thinking straight.

“You didn’t arrest her?” Milton was furious. “Why not?”

“Because she didn’t commit a crime.”

“She stole that lottery ticket!”

“Not according to Owen. It was his ticket. He could do what he wanted with it. And he wanted to give it to her. In fact, he alleges that she bought the ticket in the first place as a gift for him.”

Milton trailed Nathan into his office, ignoring protests by Celeste. “And you believed that?”

“Why would your uncle lie?”

“To protect her.”

Nathan sank into his office chair and waved the fluttering Celeste away, his look intended to reassure her that he could handle this himself. “Please close the door on your way out, Celeste.”

She slammed it.

Great. Now he’d have to soothe her ruffled feathers. Later. One drama at a time. “What’s your interest in all this, Milton?”

“I’m just trying to protect my uncle, that’s all.”

The door opened and Owen joined them, waved in by a militant-looking Celeste. She didn’t approve of guests entering his office without her first announcing them, so she said, “Owen Dunback to see you, Sheriff.”

“Thanks, Celeste, I can handle this. If you’d just close the door again, please?”

She didn’t slam it quite so hard this time.

Owen faced his nephew. “What are you doing, Milton?”

“As I just told the sheriff, I’m just trying to protect you.”

“By telling people I’m getting senile? Or by besmirching Skye’s reputation?”

“Her reputation was bad before I said anything,” Milton said stiffly. “Before she even came here.”

Owen glared at his nephew. “Just give it up, Milton. I’m warning you, I don’t want you spreading these vicious rumors about Skye. Or about me, for that matter. I’m no more senile than you are. In fact, I’d wager I’ve got my act together more than you do. I’m not the one who still sleeps with a night-light.”

Milton’s expression instantly turned defensive. “My parents scarred me for life when they took me to see
Poltergeist
.”

“Get over it,” Owen retorted. “And get over the idea that any of my money is coming your way. Or your wife Robin’s way. It’s not going to happen.”

“Since my parents’ deaths, we’re your only next of kin.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Now stop wasting the sheriff ’s valuable time with this nonsense.”

Milton’s face turned beet red before he pivoted, yanked open the door, and marched out, reminding Nathan of a pissed-off rooster.

“I’d like a word with you,” Owen said to Nathan.

Nathan nodded toward the still-open office door.

Owen closed it and then sat down. “Did you speak to Skye about this situation?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“She wasn’t real cooperative.”

“Why should she be? You were as good as accusing her of lying and stealing. Despite the fact that I’d already given you all the relevant information, you insisted on going to see her. I told you it wasn’t a good idea. Young people.” Owen shook his head. “They just don’t listen.”

“Did Skye come complaining to you after my visit?”

Owen stared at him in astonishment. “Are you kidding? You don’t think Skye is capable of fighting her own battles?”

“Her kid bites.”

“I know. Did she get you?”

“No.” Nathan shifted some papers on his desk. “Where’s the little girl’s dad?”

“I don’t know. Skye never talks about him. Why did you want to know?”

“Because she seems to be raising her kid without much discipline.”

“I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” Owen warned him. “Skye is very touchy about the subject of her daughter.”