Forever Mine (12 page)

In less than a second, his facial muscles tightened. He recapped his bottle and shoved it back into the holder. He fired the motor and pulled out of the parking slot.

A moment of regret nagged at her for digging into his personal life. In doing so, she’d tapped a rich vein, but something told her today was no time to pick at it.

A sideways glance brought her gaze to the front of his T-shirt where it draped over hard pectoral muscles. BRING IT ON. She wondered if he ever thought along those lines while he sat in her bedroom and she slept in the adjoining room. She swallowed her breath, and her heart did a tiny jig. How weird since she wasn’t one of the probable women attracted to him.

Really. Not the least bit.

Chapter Eleven

Allie bent over her sewing machine. She’d marked the spaces, with designer chalk, where she’d place the buttonholes for the wool suit, a required competition element. Until Sutter called her name, she wasn’t aware he had come downstairs.

“You’d better answer the phone.” With a hand under her elbow, he almost lifted her off the chair.

“What?” With her focus was so anchored, she hadn’t heard the ring as often happened when she blocked everything from her mind other than the task at hand.

“Your phone is ringing.” Finally, the intensity in his tone totally shattered her concentration.

“Oh.” For the past several hours everything, especially the possibility that Jimmy and Dave would call again, had been banished to an unreachable place. It took another moment before she realized the ring came from the phone in the back room.

“It’s my private line,” she said. “I told you the only calls on it are from family and close friends. The number’s unlisted. It can’t be…them.”

“I need to make sure. Let’s go.”

“Okay.” She put down the jacket and the chalk, thankful she hadn’t begun cutting into the fabric. Any mistake, no matter how small, could add another load to her already mounting stress.

Sutter led the way into the back room and activated the phone’s speaker.

Allie snatched up the receiver. Dave couldn’t possibly have gotten hold of this number. Could he? Today, with the latest technology, smart, savvy people could find out almost anything. Hackers abounded. Sutter had described Dave as clever. Maybe his abilities had a farther reach than anyone suspected.

She pressed the instrument to her ear, hoped it was only her mother reminding her about the anniversary party on Saturday night. She’d expected a call earlier in the week. Instead, Michaela’s “Hi Allie,” came over the line followed by, “Sorry to disturb you. I promise not to keep you long. Do you have a couple minutes?”

Allie expelled a relieved breath.

“Sure. What’s on your mind?” She walked over to the window and brushed aside a corner of the curtain Sutter had insisted she hang to cover the glass. The narrow opening guided her view to a robin perched on the back fence. It seemed a normal day with nothing frightening happening. So far.

“I got confirmation from three hotels in Cabo: the El Mariachi, Sun and Surf Resort and The Trade Winds,” Michaela said. “They’ll all within our price range, have two rooms available that face the sea and offer a free, full breakfast. We just have to narrow it down to one hotel. I thought I’d check with you first before I call Jen and Sarah. What do you think? From their Internet sites, all three resorts look great.”

Allie had no time to check out vacation spots. “Why don’t you and the others decide? I’ll go along with whatever choice you make.”

Money toward the trip was a pre-birthday gift from her mother and stepfather, which Allie would add to what she’d put aside. Without the birthday gift, Allie would spend the week at home wondering what her friends were doing. Then again, the euphoria she’d experience if she did well at the upcoming semi-finals would more than make up for losing out on the trip.

“Okay. I’ll reserve airline seats and then contact the hotel. Are you sure you’ll be up for a long flight the morning after the semi-finals?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll be the first one at the airport.”

The robin took flight. Allie followed its path to a bottlebrush tree in her neighbor’s yard. It reminded her she hadn’t set out a fresh supply of bird seed in the holder she’d hung from a branch of her lemon tree. She’d probably need Sutter’s permission. Or maybe she could get him to do it for her.

“It’ll be good for you to decompress at the beach. You must be exhausted. You’re probably pretty stressed right now.”

Allie rolled her eyes. “You have no idea.”

“You’ll ace the competition, and I’m not just saying you’ll win a spot at the finals because we’re friends. You have proven talent.”

“Fingers crossed.” Allie entwined her index and middle finger and gave them a quick shake.

“Okay,” Michaela said. “I’ll give Sarah and Jen a buzz and call you back after everything’s firmed up.”

Allie replaced the receiver and almost backed up into Sutter. She hadn’t realized he was still in the room. “That was a private conversation.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping.” He held his yellow pad and pen down at his side. “Whether the call is from a family member or a friend, I have to make sure you’re careful about what you say.”

Obviously, the reference was to Dave. “Trust me, that psycho’s name will never enter into any of my conversations.” A grimace crimped the edges of her mouth.

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to slip up.”

“The last thing I’d ever do is spook other people.”

He nodded, tapped his leg with the pad, but didn’t seem anxious to return upstairs.

She couldn’t blame him. By the time he left at midnight, his body must be as stiff as a two-by-four. She didn’t spend nearly as much time in her sewing chair as he did in his chair upstairs, and it often took her a good ten minutes or more to get the kinks out of her stiff muscles.

“In a week or so, you’ll hit the beach,” he said. “You can forget all about how your life was upended. A strong hunch tells me the men will be caught before you leave on vacation.”

“A hunch. Do you get those often?”

“All the time, when I’m working on a case.”

“What’s your accuracy rate?”

Without a moment’s hesitation he said, “I run close to ninety, ninety-five percent.”

“That close?” Her eyebrows inched up her forehead.

“Uh-huh.”

“And in my case?”

“I’d say close enough to pretty much guarantee we’ll close this thing down soon.”

Whether his hunches were infallible or not, his confidence boosted her spirits. She believed his boast was born of experience and not ego. She’d met too many men who were consumed by their own importance not to be able to tell the difference. It was evident in the way they carried themselves, starting with the telltale swagger, which made her grind her teeth. She saw none of the annoying posture in Sutter. Also, he seemed to have mellowed a bit. Or maybe she was more used to him. Anyway, that’s how it appeared to her, and she had no complaint.

More so, lately, he sparked her curiosity, and, wanting to know more about him made her want to tap into the reserve he used to shield himself from divulging anything personal. The day they jogged on Ocean Beach, he’d very adroitly avoided answering her few questions. She found it easier to talk to Detective Thompson, even though their conversations were limited. She knew he lived in the Inner Sunset, not far from her home. He had a Disneyland vacation planned for himself and his family when this duty ended. Since she couldn’t put Sutter together with Minnie Mouse, she assumed, if he had any getaway plans, they’d be of a considerably more rugged nature.

“So, if this feeling of yours pans out,” she said, “is there a vacation in your immediate future?”

He shook his head.

“Doesn’t the police department owe you some compensation for the time you’ll have spent here on duty?”

He shrugged, as if racking up twelve hours straight on police work barely tapped into his energy.

She refused to let the head shake and shrug put her off. “What do you do to relieve tension?”

He thought for a moment. “Not much, I guess.”

“Oh, the spare time thing, as in you don’t have much of it.” Or so he’d claimed.

“Yeah.” He made a soft hum deep in his throat. “The other day I promised my dad I’d take him fishing. After this thing with Dave shuts down, we’ll head up to the lake for a couple days. It’s been awhile. He enjoys fishing but not enough to go on his own.”

Allie jumped at the small inroad she’d made. “My dad enjoys the sport, too.”

“Does he live in San Francisco?”

She laughed. “No, he’s become country all the way. He lives up north, close to the Oregon border, in Yreka. He publishes a small independent newspaper and writes magazine articles, mostly about the outdoors: fishing, hiking, mountain climbing. Aside from the newspaper, those are his passions. He does a lot of outdoor stuff. I used to spend summers with him until I began to study fashion in earnest.”

Starting in her junior year of high school, she’d worked summers for Eleanor Grassley, whose women’s fashion line bore the label Ellie G. Allie had gladly hauled bolts of cloth, steamed garments, sewn on buttons and performed dozens of menial tasks. She’d also learned a lot about how to run a successful fashion business and deal with manufacturers.

“I don’t get up there to visit him as often as I should,” she said. “He’s happy. He’s made a good life for himself.”

“You should think about spending time with your dad after you return from Cabo. If necessary,” Sutter suggested.

The implication was clear.
Dave
. In an instant, her relaxed mood faltered. She gulped a deep breath and expelled it through clenched teeth.

Sutter’s eyes flashed his concern.

“I’m okay,” she said, although her comfort level always plunged after any such reference.

He flipped the pad closed.

At the moment, returning to her sewing held little compulsion. Other than her one lunch at the Beach Chalet, she’d had no social contact for the past week. Family and friends knew enough to limit calls during the run-up to the semi-finals. Her only other outlet was the brief time she spent with Sutter. Or the few minutes with Detective Thompson, although he rarely came downstairs during his shift.

“So when you manage to squeeze in a couple hours,” she asked, “what else interests you?”

He shrugged and shook his head.

“That’s it? Fishing?”

“Yeah, with all the overtime I put in, I often don’t have extra time.”

“The overtime must wreak havoc on your social life.” She’d pried and failed once before after their jog on the beach. Maybe this time he’d open up to her.

At first her probing didn’t seem to annoy him. But as had happened in the past, his eyes turned dark. The last question seemed to have triggered an unpleasant memory. He tucked the yellow pad under his arm, a signal he was about to bolt.

“I have no time for a social life. If anything changes there, I’ll let you know.” His tone was flat. “Right now I’d better head back upstairs.” He turned and left the room.

Allie’s body compressed, as if she’d shrunk an inch. Ouch. He sure was prickly. Then again, maybe her questions had become too personal. Possibly, some woman had burned him pretty badly. If so, there must be a long line of women hankering to rehabilitate him.

Fortunately, she was not one of them.

Chapter Twelve

The roadhouse on the outskirts of town was surrounded on three sides by tall pines and stood a dozen or so yards off a poorly lit road. FIDDLESTICKS. A hand-printed sign in the window promised free snacks and dollar well drinks every Friday from four to seven. A clear glass globe, a haven for dead bugs, shed dim light above a featureless black wooden door. Cars, most of them jalopies, some with crude body work or jury-rigged bumpers or high-riding axles, shared the parking area with motorcycles and dust-encrusted pickup trucks.

He came out of the night and into the yellow-and-orange glare spreading from the neon beer and liquor advertisements anchored behind a long bar. The worn mahogany fronted a ceiling-high wall of liquor bottles. Bulbs embedded in a half-dozen old, wagon wheel ceiling fixtures shed the same vivid hues. Those, along with a series of mounted deer heads most of them showing haphazard patterns of mange, created what passed for a rustic ambience.

The TV mounted above one end of the bar blared out a baseball game and vied for the attention of the patrons hunkered down on high wooden stools or standing three deep behind. Voices raised above the announcer’s spiel offered coarse coaching advice to the player on the screen. Sooty sheets of smoke, from countless cigarettes, draped the room like a dingy curtain.

Happy hour. The optimum time to troll.

Steering clear of the crowded bar, he settled at the only empty table across the room. One chipped side abutted a scarred faux-wood wall. His jeans and open neck pale lime dress shirt still had its right-off-the-rack luster in contrast to the worn denim and tees affected by the other patrons. His hunting-ground preferences usually ran toward a more sedate venue, considering he might have to invest a minimum of two hours before getting down to business. However, these days, he couldn’t be too picky.

A waitress, squeezed into black stretch pants and a black T-shirt imprinted with the Harley Davidson logo, and who was probably just old enough to legally buy and serve drinks, approached him. Lank, blonde hair hung to her shoulders. With the plump fingers of one hand, she gathered up the four dirty glasses left by the previous patrons. With the other, she swiped a wet rag across the wooden table top darkened by years of smoke and spilled liquor.

“What’ll you have?” Her tone bored, she barely made eye contact with him.

He wanted to say, “Not you, you stupid cow,” but kept it polite. “You can bring me a gin and tonic. Beefeater’s if it’s served here.”

“Yeah, we stock Beefeater’s even though there ain’t much call for a high-end brand.” She glanced down at him. A smile pulled at her puffy face like maybe she hoped he’d stick with the expensive stuff and leave a big tip. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”