Dead Between the Lines (8 page)

I briefly considered mentioning the murder to Jake, but I was sick of thinking about it, since it had been constantly on my mind since Chief Kincaid showed me the body. I’d tell Jake sometime before he took me home, but for right now I wanted a break and a few hours of fun.

During the ride, I was happy that Jake had to focus on his driving. I could relax and look at him. His striking blue eyes were fringed with dense black lashes and wisps of dark hair curled against the V of his open shirt. He had an air of authority, as if he were used to receiving instant compliance to any order he issued. And although he’d never get obedience from me, it was a comfort to be with someone to whom others acquiesced. Someone who wouldn’t take any shit from anyone and didn’t care what people thought of him.

“So Boone is okay now that the murder charge is behind him?” Jake pulled the pickup into the Golden Dragon’s parking lot.

“He’s getting there.” I unfastened my seat belt and prepared to exit the truck, wishing I had a parachute for the descent. “Spending time in jail took its toll on him.” I blew out a breath. “I suppose it will have changed my father, too.”

“Tony told me your dad’s been cleared but is taking parole so he can get out of prison sooner.” Jake came around to my side of the pickup and helped me to the ground. “Are you good with that?”

“Yeah. Although I’d rather he didn’t have to go through life with a criminal record.” When we’d met, I had told Jake about how my father’s conviction had affected my adolescence. “But I feel guilty for not believing in him and for resenting him all these years, so I don’t feel I can say anything to him about it.” I sighed. “Gran never doubted him for a minute. Hell, even the chief of police thought he was innocent. But his own daughter didn’t have faith in him.”

“It’s tough to trust someone you think has let you down.” Jake took my hand. “You can’t blame yourself for having resented him.”

“Maybe.” It was hard to think with Jake’s thumb drawing circles on the sensitive skin of my wrist. “I’ll just have to try to make it up to Dad when he gets home.”

“Don’t go overboard.” Jake opened the restaurant door for me.

“As if,” I sniffed. “You never talk about your folks. Why is that?”

“We’re not close.” Jake’s voice was even, but a crease had formed between his eyebrows. “I generally see them about once a year, and that’s usually too much.”

“For them or you?” I was curious about Jake’s ability to have a relationship.

He was saved from answering, as the hostess, a stunning Asian woman in her early twenties, glided toward us and asked, “How many, please?”

“Two,” Jake answered, then added, “And we’d like a quiet booth.”

She glanced at me, a puzzled look in her eyes, then smiled and said in a melodic soprano, “Ah, now I remember. You were here with Dr. Underwood. Would you like his table? He’s not expected tonight.”

Shit!
Caught in another lie. I just couldn’t get a break. Maybe it was time to be a little more truthful. Nah. That would be too easy.

“Sounds good.” Jake shot me a look that promised we’d talk about this later.

Once we were seated and the hostess left, in a rush to distract him, I said, “Tell me about the case you’ve been on this past month. Did you catch the guy before he killed the witness?” Jake had been undercover trying to locate a cartel boss who had skipped bail.

“We got him a few of days ago.” Jake studied the menu. “He was about fifty yards from the Mexican border.”

“He sounded like a real bad guy.”

“Yeah, but in terms of pure evil, he doesn’t even rank in the top ten.” Jake’s expression darkened.

“Oh?” I was curious about Jake’s life as a marshal. “Who heads that list?”

“The psychos are the worst.” Jake’s jaw tightened. “And the serial killers, like the Doll Maker.” I opened my mouth to ask for details, and Jake cut me off. “Believe me, you don’t want to know more.”

“Okay.” I sort of did, but I’d wait for another time. Instead, I asked, “What happened to the cartel boss?”

“I escorted him back to jail, then came straight here.” He put the leatherette menu down and looked at me. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch for so long.”

“I understand.” I took a sip of water, wanting to ask how many days he’d be in Shadow Bend, but unsure how to broach the subject. “It’s your job. It’s not as if you have time to make calls and drop in for a visit when you’re out catching the bad guys.”

He didn’t respond, and it was a relief when the waitress appeared to take our drink order. Jake asked for a Tsingtao, and I went for a lychee martini. After she walked away, the silence was starting to grow uncomfortable when I spotted a familiar figure hurtling toward me.

I was about to warn Jake that we had company—he had his back to our approaching visitor—when the whirlwind trilled, “Dev, you’re just the person I wanted to see.”

Winnie Todd’s frizzy gray curls bounced as she charged up to our table. She and her daughter, Zizi, were members of the Blood, Sweat, and Shears sewing group that met at my store on Wednesday nights. Winnie was the original flower child, and she still dressed the part. Tonight she had on bell-bottoms, a fringed suede vest, and a flowered scarf tied around her forehead. Winnie was one of a kind, and I loved that she never allowed the Shadow Bend Peer-Pressure Posse to make her conform and blend in.

“Tell me about the murder at the dime store,” Winnie demanded, breathless from her mad dash across the restaurant. “Zizi said the dead guy acted like a real dickweed at the book club.”

Zizi had been so quiet during the meeting that I had almost forgotten she had been there. Come to think about it, it was strange that she hadn’t been more vocal. Zizi was a social work graduate student and usually extremely outspoken if women were being dissed.

“There’s not really—” I started to deny any knowledge of the murder.

But Winnie caught sight of Jake and cut me off. “Ah, I see the hot U.S. Marshal is back in town. How delicious. Is he edging out our gallant doctor in the competition for your affections?”

There was no way to answer that question, so I ignored it and said, “Jake, this is Winnie Todd, a friend of mine from the sewing group.”

They exchanged greetings, and then Jake asked, “What murder?”

“Last night, a man named Lance Quistgaard was found dead
behind
my store, not inside it.” I emphasized the word while staring at Winnie.

“Did you know him?” Jake’s law-enforcement antenna had clearly been engaged.

“Earlier that evening, he’d been the guest speaker at the local book club that met there.” I summarized the event for Jake, with Winnie avidly taking in every syllable I uttered. I ended with, “So, no, I didn’t
know him
know him, but I had met him.”

“I heard that he was a poet,” Winnie commented. “Poets are very passionate men, and passionate men make enemies. I knew a lot of them when I lived in Haight-Ashbury.” She had left Shadow Bend to live in San Francisco during the midsixties, and had returned, sans husband, in the late eighties to have Zizi, her only child.

“Well, I’m sure the police will sort it out,” I assured Winnie.

“But with the murder being
behind
your store, don’t you think you should help them?” Winnie fiddled with the silver peace symbol hanging from a leather thong around her neck.

“No.” Actually, I sort of did, but it really wasn’t any of my business.

“You figured out who killed Dr. Underwood’s fiancée, and you cleared Boone’s name when he was arrested.”

I saw a gleam in Winnie’s eye and could almost hear a click.
Oh-oh.
A figurative lightbulb must have just gone on over Winnie’s head. “That was pure luck.” All I needed was Winnie with an idea.

“You seem to have a knack for detective work.” Winnie ignored my attempt to dismiss my previous investigative success. “Zizi and I could help.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll leave this one to Chief Kincaid.” I looked over her shoulder. A group of sixty-something women was beckoning her. “I think your friends are trying to tell you that your food’s arrived.” I pointed to a lady waving a large red hat with a purple plume.

“Yikes! I hate cold moo goo gai pan.” Winnie leaned in and hugged me. “Got to go. But call me if you need a Watson for your Sherlock.” Before she let go of my neck, she whispered in my ear, “By the way, keep both guys. I always did.”

After Winnie walked away, the waitress served our drinks and took our appetizer order for hot and sour soup and pot stickers.

Once we were alone again, Jake said, “Tell me more about the murder.”

“Why?” I took a sip of my martini. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Because I know you’re holding something back.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Humor me.”

Figuring Jake was one of the few people in Shadow Bend who could keep his mouth shut, I told him everything I knew about the case.

When I finished, he said, “So, you withheld information from the police?”

“Not withheld so much as deferred revealing it until a more convenient time.” Hey, I’d told the chief—eventually. And shouldn’t the cops have figured it out without my help? After all, they were the so-called experts. “Anyway, what kind of evidence can they really expect to get from my store? Anything they find could have gotten there during legitimate business hours. There’s no way to sort that stuff out, is there?”

“There isn’t a way to time-stamp fingerprints or trace, so it’s highly unlikely the crime-scene techs will come up with anything,” Jake admitted, then frowned. “But back to someone hiding in your store. How did they manage that?”

“As I said, both Quistgaard and Addie Campbell stormed out of the meeting.” I chewed my thumbnail. “Although I didn’t like the idea of them wandering around my store unsupervised, I was mobbed and couldn’t follow them right away.” I shrugged. “I figured all they had to do was turn the knob on the dead bolt to let themselves out, and at least one of them did that, because the door was unlocked when I was finally able to break away and check.”

“What I don’t like is that someone was in your store and you weren’t aware that they were there.” Jake stared into my eyes. “You do realize that once everyone left, you were alone with a killer.”

C
HAPTER 8

A
s when I’d previously eaten at the Golden Dragon, the food was wonderful and so was the company. I had a good time talking to Jake. I loved his wicked sense of humor, and his stories about being undercover were riveting. For my part of the conversation, I brought him up to speed about what had been happening in my life since I’d last seen him, and how I’d helped figure out who had really killed the woman that Boone had been accused of murdering.

We lingered over dessert, but finally our server brought us the check with two fortune cookies on top of the ticket. Jake tossed me one of the cellophane-wrapped clairvoyant confections before reaching for his wallet. I momentarily considered offering to pay half, but decided against it. Jake wasn’t the kind of guy who’d be okay with going Dutch treat on what he considered a date.

As he laid money for the bill on the little plastic tray, I opened my cookie and read aloud, “‘The current year will bring you much happiness.’” I tucked the little slip of paper in my purse. “I hope that means my father’s homecoming will go smoothly.” I wondered how Dad would get along with Jake and Noah. Would he like them or feel threatened by the men in my life?

“Just take it slow,” Jake advised, then handed the cash to the server, who had returned to pick up the check, and told her to keep the change.

Once she thanked him and left us alone, Jake cracked open his cookie. His face was expressionless as he read, “‘You will take a chance in the near future, and, if you have faith, win.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I slid out of the booth and when Jake joined me, I asked him, “Are you planning a trip to the casino boats?”

“Nope.” Jake’s palm on my lower back guided me to the exit. “The only gambling I do is part of my job.”

“You mean because you put your life on the line every time you go after a bad guy.” I preferred not to think of that aspect of his profession. Another reason I was hesitant about getting too serious about him.

His answer was a twitch of his shoulders. When we got to his pickup, he opened the passenger door and said, “Here, let me help you up.”

“Thanks.” His hands on my waist sent a shiver of awareness sizzling though me.

Apparently, Jake felt it, too, because instead of lifting me into the truck’s cab, he pulled me toward him and, his voice thick, rasped, “It’s been so long since I had my arms around you.”

“Yes.” Something about his expression made my mouth go dry. I had to clear my throat in order to continue. “It has.”

He cradled my cheek in his palm and murmured, “You know, all those nights lying in some cheap hotel room, waiting for morning, I kept thinking about how soft your skin was and trying to convince myself that it couldn’t be as silky as I remembered.”

I tried to inhale, but his mouth was so near, I could barely draw enough breath to ask, “And is it the way you remembered?”

He gathered me closer, pressing me against his hard length, making me hotter than chocolate fondue. The callused feel of his fingers as he slid them down the neckline of my cami made me gasp. And when he moved his hand to my breast, a delicious shudder ran down my spine.

What was it about this man that made my body commandeer the decision-making process from my head? How did he sweep away all my good intentions? We needed to talk about Noah, but I couldn’t seem to find the strength to stop him as he placed his lips on mine.

The hunger of his kiss shattered what little self-control I had retained. I was overwhelmed with sensation as erotic images flashed through my mind—images of Jake and me on a king-size bed. I tried to remind myself that he’d be returning to St. Louis and that I was only a convenient stopover while he visited his uncle. But the primitive part of my brain urged me on.

While I was rallying all the reasons I should stop him, I slid my hands over his rock-solid pecs, then around his neck, and finally tunneled them through his hair. He grunted his approval and deepened the kiss, licking into my mouth as he pressed me against the side of the truck. His heat created an ache inside my soul and I pulled him even closer. I worked his shirttail loose from his pants, burrowed under the crisp cotton until I reached his broad shoulders, then scraped my nails down his back. I loved the feel of his firm muscles under my fingertips.

I knew this evening probably wouldn’t end well, especially when I told him that I intended to keep seeing both him and Noah until I was sure which man I loved. But Jake drew me like those dark chocolate curls that decorate a French silk pie. I always told myself not to gobble them down, but I never listened to my own good advice.

My rational side was losing the battle against my craving, and his hands were fumbling with the button on my jeans, when a chorus of voices heading in our direction grabbed my attention. It took us both a long moment to put the brakes on our lust, but it finally penetrated our sexual haze that we were seconds from becoming the
show
part of
dinner and a show
.

With a groan, Jake pulled up my cami, adjusted my jacket, and tucked in his shirt. An instant later, a group of ladies rounded the aisle, heading toward a silver Lincoln MKX.

Before I could scramble into Jake’s truck and hide, a familiar voice purred, “Devereaux, my dear, what a surprise to see you here. Noah told me he had tickets for you and him to attend a concert tonight.”

Shit! Shit! Shit!
Nadine Underwood, aka a cross between a cockroach and Satan, walked over to me with a smirk on her face. I hadn’t noticed Noah’s mother in the restaurant, and evidently she hadn’t spotted me there, either. If only Jake and I hadn’t gotten distracted, I could have made a clean getaway. Now I had to pretend to be pleasant or at least civil.

Pasting a social smile on my lips, I tried to sound nonchalant. “Hi, Nadine. You must have misunderstood. Noah and I are having brunch tomorrow.” Knowing how much she disliked me and how upset she was that I’d been seeing her son, I added, “But thanks for your concern.”

“I see.” Nadine may have been a beauty at one time, but years of tanning and vitriol had taken their toll, and the wrinkles around her mouth became even more pronounced when she gloated, “He must be taking someone else tonight.”

“That must be it.” I kept my tone unperturbed but felt a flicker of jealousy, which was totally unfair since I had just been in heavy-duty lip-lock with Jake. “Well, we were just leaving, so . . .” I trailed off, hoping she’d get the hint and skitter away like the insect she resembled.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Is that why you’re in a hurry to go?” Nadine’s expression brightened; she was clearly cheered at the thought. “You seem out of breath.”

“Everything’s fine,” I lied. Nothing like running into the mother of the other man in your life to douse your desire. “Jake has an early morning. He’s helping out on his uncle’s ranch,” I improvised.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” Jake turned on the charm. “I’m Jake Del Vecchio, Tony’s grandnephew. And you must be Dr. Underwood’s mother.”

“Yes, I am.” Nadine extended her hand. “Do you know my son?”

“We’ve met.”

When Jake didn’t elaborate, she drew her Magic Marker–drawn eyebrows together. She was used to people fawning over her and her son, and, apparently, Jake’s indifference upset her. Pursing her mouth, she turned her attention back to me. “Devereaux, I hear that you’ve managed to get involved in yet another murder. What is it with you and crime?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I put a steel edge in my voice.

“The body found at your store.” Her tone oozed condescension. “Surely you can’t be so distracted by this pretty boy you’re with that you’ve forgotten the poor man who was killed inches from your door last night. Even you can’t be that self-centered and coldhearted.”

“Pretty boy?” Jake chuckled faintly and tapped my arm. “Seriously?”

I shot him an amused glance, then said to Nadine, “Of course I haven’t forgotten about the victim, but I hardly consider myself involved. The investigation is in the police’s capable hands.”

“I don’t know about that.” Nadine’s eyes gleamed with malice. “They’ll certainly have their hands full with all the suspects.”

“What do you mean?” I had no idea what she was talking about, unless somehow she had heard about the ruckus during the book-club meeting and was referring to the club members who’d argued with the victim.

“Didn’t you know?” Nadine’s expression reminded me of Banshee after a particularly successful attack on my ankles. “Lance Quistgaard was the man who wrote ‘The Bend’s Buzz.’ He’d ticked off half the town.”

“The Bend’s Buzz” was the gossip column in our local newspaper. The writer’s identity was a huge secret, so how had Nadine found out that it was Lance? Or had everyone known except me?

“You’re sure?” I asked. “How do you know Quistgaard wrote the column?”

“Grant Edwyn is a good friend of mine.” Nadine bared her teeth in what I assumed was her attempt at a smile. “When his paper started featuring that awful column, I demanded to know who was behind it and threatened to sue if I was ever mentioned.”

“Of course you did,” I muttered. “Well, don’t let us keep you, Nadine. I’m sure your friends would like to leave.”

“Certainly.” Nadine smiled serenely. “There’s no excuse for being inconsiderate of one’s friends, is there?” She turned to go, then added over her shoulder, “I’ll tell Noah you
both
said hello. He’ll be so glad to know you weren’t spending Saturday night alone and missing him.”

After releasing her stream of venom, Nadine slithered away. When she rejoined her cronies, I couldn’t hear what she said, but they all tittered like a flock of magpies before piling inside the Lincoln.

Jake and I exchanged a mutual sigh of relief; then he helped me up into the truck and we got the hell out of Dodge before someone else wanted to comment on our being together. This was why I hated going out in a small town—no privacy, and everyone felt they had the right to share their opinion about your date, whether it was asked for or not.

I was silent, my thoughts whirring too fast for me to focus on just one. I wasn’t ready to think about what Nadine had interrupted, and I didn’t want to consider how she’d twist the situation when she reported it to her son.

Apparently, Jake had decided to ignore our make-out session, too, because we were halfway to my house before he said, “I almost feel sorry for Underwood. Having a mother like that can’t be fun.”

“He’s been better at standing up to her lately.” I thought about the conversation Noah and I had had when we’d started seeing each other again. Noah had assured me that he’d issued an ultimatum to Nadine. If she did anything to upset me or tried to take any action against my family, my friends, or me, he would sever all ties with her. Although she’d promised to be good, I suspected she hadn’t actually surrendered and had instead taken the battle underground.

“Really?” Jake’s tone was skeptical. “That’s a big change for such a mama’s boy.”

“Maybe.” I had doubts myself. “I know it can’t be easy for him.”

In the past, I had never quite understood why Nadine disliked my family and me so much, but now that I knew about her history with my father, it made more sense. It also made it less likely that Noah would be able to keep her need for revenge under control.

“Which should be a point in my favor.” Jake’s tone was casual. “My uncle loves you and would be happy to see us together.”

“True,” I agreed, turning in my seat so I could gauge his expression. I realized this was the opening I had been waiting for. “Now that you mention it, I’d like to discuss the situation with you.”

“Oh.” Jake tensed, then pulled the pickup over to the side of the road, cut the motor, and looked at me. “What situation is that?”

“All of them.” I closed my eyes, trying to decide which to bring up first.

“Let’s start with you and me.” He unfastened his seat belt, flipped up the center console, and scooted over so that his thigh pressed against mine. “I think we have a pretty good thing going.”

“When you’re here.” I stared straight ahead, not allowing myself to be captivated by the enthralling scent of what I was coming to think of as Eau de Jake—a mixture of lime, saddle soap, and sexy man. “Now that you’re back working as a marshal, you’re gone for weeks at a time. That doesn’t seem like such a good thing.”

“You know, Tony’s been talking to me about managing the ranch for him.” Jake’s casual tone was contradicted by the rigid way he held his body. “If I did that, I’d be around all the time.”

“Are you going to take him up on his offer?” I felt an ember of hope start to ignite in my heart.

“How about you and Frat Boy?” Jake asked, ignoring my question.

“He and I have a lot of history,” I said carefully. “And I admit there’s still a spark between us.” I met Jake’s stare and immediately was sorry that I had. The intensity in his dark blue eyes made me swallow, and for a millisecond, my mind went totally blank.

“From what you’ve told me, that history isn’t good.” Jake moved closer.

“Some of it is; some of it isn’t.” I studied Jake’s face. The only sign that he was upset was the tensing of his jaw. But a sadness hung over him, and my conscience ached for having put it there. “Noah explained his reason for breaking up with me when we were in high school, and I’ve forgiven him. We’ve made a fresh start.”

“As friends?” Jake’s hands were fisted. “That’s what you told me a few weeks ago.” His massive chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he’d been running up hill. “Has something changed?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I wanted to be honest with Jake, but I hadn’t figured this whole thing out myself. “Noah and I are still just friends, but maybe there could be more if I let it.”

“Don’t let it.” Jake stroked my chin with his thumb. “He’s too analytical, too inflexible, too insular. He’s not right for you.”

“Probably not,” I admitted, thinking that Jake had pretty much described me as well as Noah. Maybe the two of us being so much alike would become a problem. “But I’ll never know if I don’t give him a chance.”

“Underwood had his chance thirteen years ago and he blew it.” Jake twined his fingers in my curls. “How about you give me mine?”