Breakpoint (15 page)

“Right.” She fought the color rising in her cheeks. Julianne wasn’t used to getting compliments about anything other than her work. She especially wasn’t comfortable getting them from this man. “Like that Texas good-old-boy charm is in your DNA?”

“Actually, whatever charm I may have was probably a learned behavior, which was what I was getting to when we got offtrack. . . .

“Getting back to the topic of pixilated, in order to prove he wasn’t like all those other greedy and grasping city folks, Mr. Deeds promises the farmer that he’ll give farms to families if they agree to work the land for several years. Needless to say, there are a bunch of city slickers, including a scheming lawyer and lots of moochers, who aren’t about to let him give away all those bucks, so they try to have Deeds declared mentally incompetent so they can get his power of attorney and control the fortune.”

“Wow, now there’s a surprising plot twist I could’ve never seen coming.”

“You’re not only brainy as all get-out, you’ve also got a smart mouth.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself as much as he was enjoying just being here, sitting on the grass, enjoying the sunset, the music, the perfume of the tropical flowers, and the company. “I like that about you.”

“And I like people who just cut to the bottom line.”

“I’m Irish. We’re storytellers.”

“You’re adopted. You’ve no idea what you are.” The moment she’d said it, she looked stricken. Her hand actually went up to cover her mouth, too late to keep the words from escaping. “God. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I grew up—well, at least from age twelve—with talkers. Guess that made me one, too.”

“Still, it was horribly rude of me to say.”

He laughed. “Darlin’, believe me, after all my years in the military, that doesn’t even register on the rude meter.

“But, trying to wrap things up and get to the bottom line, during his sanity hearing, depressed by the betrayal of the woman he’d loved, appropriately named Babe, who’d lied to him about who and what she was so she could write snarky stories about him, he refuses to defend himself. Things are looking really bleak when these eccentric elderly sisters are called in to testify that Deeds is pixilated.

“That pretty much looks like the nail in the poor guy’s coffin, until it’s explained that ‘pixilated’ means the pixies have gotten him. Which, being a whip-smart attorney yourself, you probably can see isn’t exactly a prosecutorial offense.”

“I’d never try to use it,” she agreed.

“It gets better when the sisters admit that everyone in Mandrake Falls, except, natch, themselves, suffers from the same affliction.”

“Thus the accusation crumbles.”

“Got it in one. So, about then is when Babe convinces Longfellow that she truly loves him. Which pulls him out of his depression, since he now has a reason for living, and one by one, he punches holes in the bad guys’ case.”

“Yay, him.”

“Yay, indeed. Then he punches the bad guy in the face, which is when the judge declares him to be ‘the sanest man in the courtroom.’ ”

“And they all—Deeds, Babe, and all those salt-of-the-earth, hardworking farmers who feed our nation, live happily ever after,” she said.

“Gotta believe that,” he agreed. “It really is a great flick. A lot better than the Adam Sandler remake. And getting back to my original point, maybe I’ve fallen under the power of some ancient Hawaiian pixies, but I wanted you to know that sure, some of my riff is an act.

“The truth is that I was dumped by my mother in the garbage right after I was born. Then, although the police found her, I spent twelve years bouncing around from home to home in the Texas Social Services agency because, even though she was sent to prison for child abandonment and never took me to live with her after she got out, she’d always refused to sign the paper allowing me to be adopted.

“Finally, she hooked up with some guy who didn’t want kids, some social worker pushed like hell, and the next thing I knew, I was a free agent.”

“After having spent those twelve years doing your best to charm people into keeping you.”

Her tone was flat, and maybe it was just the reflected light from the glow of the setting sun, but he thought he saw suspicious moisture shimmering in her gaze.

“You
are
a quick study.”

“Like you said, I’m smart. Plus, you mentioned that your charm was partly acquired,” she reminded him.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

He ran a hand over his hair, surprised yet again at exactly how much he’d opened up to her. He’d managed to stick to just the facts during the interrogation. But there was something about their situation. . . .

Hell, maybe he
was
pixilated.

“They had this segment on local TV—‘Wednesday’s Child’—where they featured an orphan, hoping people would call in wanting to give the kid a test shot. Sorta like the way the local pound would bring on stray dogs for adoption.”

“I’ve seen it,” she said. “They had the same type of program in Virginia Beach when my family was posted there.”

“Well, there was this couple: Daniel and Angie O’Halloran, who saw my segment, and, although it admittedly doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, they told me, that first day they met me in person at a barbecue at a bash in the park the foster parent folks had set up as a getting-to-know-each-other deal, that although they’d come to terms with the fact that they weren’t able to have children, the moment they saw me on television, they realized God had just answered their prayers a little later by giving them me.”

“Oh, hell.” She began digging into the leather bag. “Dammit, now you did it. You made me cry.” The tears he’d thought he’d seen threatening escaped to trail down her cheeks.

He took the tissue she’d retrieved and began lightly dabbing the tears away. “I didn’t tell you that story to make you cry,” he said gently. “And I definitely didn’t tell you it to make you feel sorry for me, because if you ever met them, you’d know that I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.”

“That’s nice.” She sniffled.

“It’s the truth. Which is my point. Okay, yeah, maybe there are times when I fall into knee-jerk habits. And I’d be lying if I said that I don’t enjoy complimenting women, because usually it makes both of us feel good. And, to my mind, feeling good beats the hell out of the alternative.

“But here’s the deal, Juls. The one thing you can always count on is that I’ll never lie to you. And I won’t hold anything back. We’re a team. Like the Two Musketeers. And if that pilot was killed, we’re damn well going to find the son of a bitch who did it and feed his balls to the fuckin’ sharks.”

She surprised him by smiling at that. A wet, wobbly smile, but it was still damn appealing.

“Roger that, O’Halloran.”

The firefighters were leaving. People were drifting back to the lodge.

“Guess we’d better get back to work,” he suggested, standing up.

“I guess so.” As he held a hand out to her, Dallas liked that she sounded no more eager than he. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For sharing something so personal.”

“Just part of that getting-to-know-you deal,” he said. “I’ll admit to an ulterior motive. Once we know each other’s secrets and solve the crime, then we can get on with our tropical R and R.”

“The flaw in that reasoning is that I don’t have any secrets.”

She did not, Dallas noted with satisfaction, argue the vacation part of his statement.

“Trust me, Juls.” He put his arm loosely around her shoulders as they began walking back across the lush green lawn. “Everyone has secrets. And being honest again, I’m damn sure looking forward to discovering yours.”

They’d just reached her room when Dallas stopped, literally smacked his forehead, and said, “Shit.”

Julianne had heard him frustrated. She’d heard him annoyed. But she’d never heard the underlying anger that one word managed to convey.

“What’s the matter?”

“There wasn’t any smoke.”

“We’ve been over that. It was probably a false alarm.”

“Seems to have been. But why?”

“Why what?” Comprehension suddenly dawned. “Surely you don’t think—”

“I think I could get used to living here,” he said as they walked into the combination kitchen/living room/ bedroom. “Sunshine, surf, beautiful women, tropical drinks. What’s not to love?”

“What, indeed?” she asked, as he touched his fingers to his mouth, cautioning her to play along with his sudden change in topic. “Though, having lived here for a couple years when I was a kid, I can tell you that constant summer can get boring.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” He’d taken a small device about the size of a BlackBerry out of his computer bag and begun walking around the room. “But I gotta tell you, darlin’, the idea of rubbing coconut oil all over you while we’re lying on some private spun-sugar beach is more than a little appealing.”

“Is that all you think of? Sex?”

“Of course not.There have been those who’ve told me I’m a flat-out genius when it comes to multitasking.”

He picked up the phone, shook his head, put the receiver back down again. “For instance, I think a lot about the economy.” He checked out one of the table lamps. “Sex.” The other table lamp. “Why people feel the need to go to war against each other.” He crouched down and swept his arm beneath the bed. “Sex.”

He leaned back on his heels, studying the uninspired, dreadfully clichéd watercolor painting of Waikiki Beach with Diamond Head in the background. “The basic concept of good versus evil.” He lifted the frame off the wall. “Sex.”

She watched as he turned the painting over. “How long the
Minnow
was actually out on that so-called three-hour tour, and whether Ginger and Mary Ann ever indulged in a threesome with the professor.”

“That’s not only typically sexist male thinking, it’s disgusting.”

“I take that to mean you’re a one-man-at-a-time female.”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s okay.” He pointed at a small black device, no more than half an inch square, stuck to the back of the frame. “I have the feeling that you’re more than enough woman for any man all by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting to find out.”

“Like I told you, I’m better at holding my breath than most guys.” Although she had expected him to take the listening device off the frame, he hung the picture back up on the wall. “Actually, I’m better at a lot of things than most guys. And, while I’m not one to blow my own horn, I’ve been told that pleasing a member of the female persuasion fits into that category.”

“And he’s modest, too,” Julianne said dryly. Although she had a feeling it might be true.

“It’s not bragging if it’s true,” he said, unknowingly echoing her thoughts. “You know, it’s stupid to be here in paradise and spend our only evening on the island stuck in these transient quarters.”

“We’re supposed to be working.” Not only was it what she figured he’d intended her to say, for the sake of whoever might be listening, but she actually meant it.

“What’s to do?” he asked. “Look, it’s a real shame what happened to that pilot, but the fact of the matter is, suicide happens in the military. Even more so these past years, with multiple deployments. The entire case, from what I read of it, looks pretty much like a slam dunk. So, we fly out to the ship—”

“Boat.”

“Boat,” he corrected, flashing her a good-old-boy grin. “Back up the doc’s finding, and bingo, case is solved, and you and I can get ourselves in some vacation time.”

“I don’t know—”

“Just a drive,” he coaxed. “Along the coast. Or maybe a walk down to the beach that Marine’s wife told us about. We can stroll on the sand, let the surf wash over our feet, and watch the sunset.”

“Then you’ll be waiting up a very long time, since this beach offers a sunrise view.”

Although the beach walk sounded too romantic for comfort, Julianne understood that he wanted to get her out of the lodge.

“Staying up all night with you works for me.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’d make a very good attorney?” she asked on a long sigh that was not entirely feigned.

He laughed. A bold, rich, deep laugh that nearly had her toes curling in her pumps. “I think you just insulted me. But that’s okay, Juls. Fortunately for both of us, I’m hot enough for you to overlook the fact that you’re a lawyer. So, think you could round us up a car?”

“Given that everyone’s apparently been instructed to cooperate with our investigation, I believe that’s possible.”

“Terrific.” He scooped up both their bags. “Let’s go.”

“She was a distraction, wasn’t she?” Julianne asked ten minutes later, as they drove away from the base. “To keep us from going back to our room so someone could install that listening device.”

“As much as I hate to admit that she wasn’t blown away by my manly charms, yeah, I think she just might have been,” Dallas agreed as he looked up into the rearview mirror.

Night was falling, and as dusk settled over the cliff that offered a spectacular view of the ocean, headlights were turning on.

“How could they get past the firefighters? And why?”

“Good questions. Maybe one of the firefighters placed the bug. Or maybe someone in a command position at the base got by them by playing the rank card.

“As for why, my guess, bolstered by the fact that I strongly doubt that bug was put in our room by some sex pervert who gets off on listening to people doing the horizontal boogie, would be that it has something to do with our case. Which would in turn suggest that the dead pilot might not have killed herself.”

“Or she
did
kill herself,” Julianne mused. “And someone’s trying to cover up the reason.”

“Good possibility.” He slanted her an admiring glance. “I guess that’s why you’re the investigator. And I’m the nerd.”