Sleeping Beauty (12 page)

"And two sisters—one older, one younger. Darcy is the oldest. She's a sergeant with the Denver Police. Tony gave up horses for pizza. He and his wife run a restaurant in Chicago where they serve fancy pizzas and pasta. Maggie's the baby of the family. She's a hotshot attorney and lives in New York City."

"So you're pretty well scattered across the country."

"We don't manage to get together all that often," Neill said. "But we keep in touch by phone and, for the last couple of years, we usually manage to connect over the holidays."

"It sounds like you're close," Anne said, feeling a twinge of envy.

"I guess we are. Maybe that's one result of moving so often. Or maybe that's what made it easy to move. It might be a new town, but we always had each other."

"I've never lived anywhere but here," Anne commented, looking at the familiar street and trying to imagine what it looked like to someone who'd spent time in so many different places. ''I've never even traveled anywhere else, unless you count a trip to Disney World amusement park when I was eight." She sighed. "I used to think it would be such fun to see the world."

Neill slanted her a questioning look, wondering what was behind the wistful tone. ''Last I looked, the world was still out there, and you're not exactly tottering on the edge of the grave. There's still time to see at least some of it."

"I... Yes, I suppose I could," she said after a moment, and Neill wondered why the idea should seem so startling.

He drew her to a halt and answered her look of inquiry by nodding at the building behind her. "The bank." And then told himself it was ridiculous to feel flattered by her obvious surprise.

"I had a nice time," she said.

"What are you doing for dinner Friday?" he asked, tightening his hand on hers when she started to pull away.

''Dinner?" Anne felt a pleasant little flutter in the vicinity of her heart. He wanted to see her again. "I...oh, I can't. Actually, I have a...a prior commitment."

What she had was a date with Frank Miller, and, while she'd never been particularly excited by the idea, she found herself suddenly annoyed with poor Frank for asking her out, which was not only illogical but unfair.

"I want to see you again," Neill said and, for an instant Anne teetered on the edge of telling him she would break her date. He was only here for a little while, her heart whispered. But it would be unfair to Frank, who had never been anything but kind to her, and maybe it would be better—safer— if she didn't see Neill for a day or two. Her emotions were already tangled where he was concerned.

''There's a movie at the Roxy Saturday night," she suggested.

"They actually play movies in that old place?" Neill asked in surprise. He'd seen the old movie house but assumed it was long closed down.

"Dorothy rans it every other Saturday. She shows old movies."

"Wizard of Oz?' he asked, cocking one brow.

"Every year at Easter and Christmas!" she said solemnly, but with a tuck in her cheek that made Neill want to pull her into his arms and kiss her right there in front of God and half of Loving, Indiana.

Anne must have read something of his thoughts, because her breath caught and her big gray eyes widened. Neill tugged her a heartbeat closer, halfway to forgetting everything but the need to taste her again.

"Anne!"

The sound of her name jolted her out of the sensual haze that had begun to drift through her mind. Anne turned to see her brother standing just a few feet away, looking at her with both surprise and questions in his eyes. She felt herself flush as she pulled her hand from Neill's and was immediately annoyed with herself for the quick surge of guilt that washed over her. Even more annoyed with Jack for standing there looking as if the sight of his sister holding hands with an attractive man was worthy of inclusion in Ripley's. Never mind that this was the first time she'd done such a thing. Did he have to look so astonished?

Neill eyed the other man with barely veiled hostility. Was this Anne's "other commitment?" The local law enforcement? There was no denying he was attractive, if you liked the tall, fair-haired Greek god sort, and some women were ridiculously susceptible when it came to uniforms.

"Jack. I didn't see you there," Anne said, striving for casual and coming up with something closer to guilty.

"So I gathered." Jack's tone was dry as he closed the gap between them. He glanced at his sister, his eyes lingering a moment on her mouth before he shifted his attention to the man with her.

Neill wasn't fooled by the look of mild inquiry in the other man's eyes. He shifted unconsciously, balancing his weight evenly, wondering what the penalty might be for hitting an officer of the law if he threw the first punch.

"Neill, this is my brother, Jack," Anne said, unaware of the subtle masculine byplay going on over her head. "Jack, this is Neill Devlin."

Brother? It was only when he felt it loosen that Neill became aware of the solid knot of jealousy that had lodged in his gut.

"The guy with the motorcycle?'' Jack asked, remembering the conversation at his parents' house.

Anne remembered it, too, and rushed into speech before her brother could say something indiscreet. The last thing she wanted was for Neill to find out that Lisa had dubbed him the Hunk.

"David's working on the motorcycle, or waiting for a part so he can work on it," she said hastily. "Neill and I were...umm...we just..."

"Had a picnic," Neill finished for her, wondering why she was suddenly so nervous. True, older brothers could be a pain in the butt when it came to their sister's boyfriends. God knew, he'd gone out of his way to make Maggie's life a living hell when they were younger. She was over thirty now, and he still preferred not to think too closely about the fact that his baby sister actually had a love life.

"Nice day for a picnic," Jack said mildly.

Anne nodded, all out of clever conversational gambits. She was aware of Neill looking from her to Jack and wondered what he was thinking. It shouldn't be awkward, she thought angrily. There was nothing for her to feel awkward about. She was twenty-five years old, self-supporting, single and uncommitted, and there was no reason on earth for this niggling feeling that she'd committed some sort of crime.

Sensing her distress, even if he couldn't pin down the reason for it, Neill decided that the best thing he could do would be to leave the two of them to say whatever it was that they were so obviously not saying in his presence.

"I've got...things to do," he said. He brushed his fingertips lightly over Anne's cheek. "I'll see you Saturday?" She nodded jerkily, and, with a nod in the other man's direction, he left them.

"Saturday?" Jack asked as soon as Neill was out of earshot

There was nothing challenging in the soft question, but Anne's chin rose a notch as she looked at him. "We're going to the movies."

He nodded slowly, his eyes skimming from her to Neill's receding figure and then back again. There were questions in his eyes, but all he said was, "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do," she said firmly, wishing she felt half as sure as she sounded.

Whoever had said that the only certain things in life were death and taxes hadn't known Frank Miller. When it came to predictability, he made death and taxes look like roulette wheels.

He drove a sedate black sedan, which he washed every Sunday morning. He got his hair cut the first Thursday of every month, went grocery shopping every Tuesday and always came to a fall stop at every stop sign. He'd been born and raised in Loving, and had attended the same high school as Anne, where he'd played solid, if unspectacular, football before going on to college, where he'd earned solid, if unspectacular, grades. He'd returned to his hometown after college, become a sheriff's deputy and had settled immediately into the rut he'd remained in for the last ten years.

Sitting across the table from him at Barney's Bar and Grill, Loving's one concession to fine dining, Anne watched him cut his steak into neat pieces and reminded herself that he had many good qualities. He was a good-looking man, in a square-jawed, Dick Tracy kind of way, with neatly combed dark hair, worn short but not too short, and dark eyes that rarely seemed to change expression. He was solid and responsible. She was willing to bet that he never misplaced a bill or forgot to water a houseplant. He was always on time, he never failed to remember his mother's birthday, and he probably helped little old ladies across the street, even when he wasn't on duty. He was kind, considerate and... deadly dull.

"I think this is a better steak than the one I got last week," he commented, chewing thoughtfully. "How's your chicken?"

"It's very good." Anne cut a sliver off her herbed chicken breast, put it in her mouth and tried to look as if she would actually taste it.

"You must have pretty well worked your way through the menu." Frank's smile held a touch of indulgence.

"Umm." Anne settled on a noncommittal noise as the best response. Every other Friday night, Frank brought her here for dinner. They arrived promptly at seven. He ordered the porterhouse, well done, with a baked potato, one pat of butter, no sour cream, and steamed vegetables. He drank a single glass of red wine with dinner and a single cup of coffee afterward. After a month, Anne had been able to recite the order by heart; after two months, she suggested maybe he would like to try something new. But he simply smiled and shook his head.

"I know what I like, and I've never seen much point in change purely for the sake of change."

He obviously didn't see the point in change for the sake of variety, either, Anne thought, taking another bite of chicken. He seemed to think the fact that she ordered something different every week was a harmless eccentricity. She viewed it as a sanity saver. Working her way through the menu was the most entertaining thing about her dates with Frank. Shamed by the sheer bitchiness of the thought, Anne forced herself to focus on her companion. He really was a nice man, she reminded herself. It wasn't his fault that, somehow, over the last few days, "nice'' no longer seemed quite enough.

For the next half hour she made an effort to keep her attention focused on the man sitting across the table from her. And it was an effort. Conversation had never been Frank's strong suit. She'd always known that, but now, after meeting Neill, the contrast between the two men was painful. It wasn't fair to compare then, she reminded herself as she struggled to look interested in Frank's story of a prowler call that had turned up nothing more interesting than a stray dog. But how could she avoid comparing the two men? If Neill told the same story, he would find the humor in it, make her laugh over the idea of grown men creeping through the bushes in search of a nonexistent bad guy. Frank's dry recitation was about as interesting as the official report he'd filed on the incident.

Annoyed with herself for not being able to put Neill out of her mind, Anne pinned a bright, interested look on her face and smiled as he finished the story. "Was Mr. Koshnitzki embarrassed when you told him it was his own dog?"

"I don't think so." Frank seemed surprised by the suggestion. "He couldn't have known it wasn't a prowler, and I'd certainly rather he called us than try to deal with it on his own."

"Don't you ever get tired of Loving?" Anne asked impulsively. "Don't you wonder what it would be like to live somewhere else, or what it would be like to be a cop in a town that actually has prowlers and crimes more serious than shoplifting?"

Frank had just picked up his wine glass, but he stopped, the glass suspended in midair, his dark eyes widening in surprise as he looked at her. For Frank, it was a strong expression, and Anne waited to see what might follow. But, after a moment, he shook his head slightly, took a sip of his wine and set the glass down.

"I'm a little too old to be looking for excitement."

Well, I'm not, Anne thought, only to feel the quick little spurt of resentment vanish as quickly as it had come as Frank continued.

"Besides, you, of all people, should know that violent crime doesn't confine itself to the city." It was said in his usual, calm way, but the reminder sent a chill through her.

Yes, she did know that violence could strike anywhere, destroying lives without warning, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake.

"No, it doesn't, does it?" she murmured, lowering her eyes to her plate.

"Anne." There was an unaccustomed note of urgency in Frank's voice, but, before he could continue. Jack and Lisa were stopping by their table, smiling and exchanging greetings.

"I thought the two of you might be here," Lisa said. "I was pretty sure it was Luanne's last week." Her tone was bland, her eyes sharp with friendly teasing as she looked at Anne.

"We're just finishing up," Frank said, rising politely. "But you're welcome to join us for a nightcap."

"We were just leaving," Jack said. ''Better to have a nightcap at home."

Something in his voice had Anne looking at him, remembering what Lisa had said about his drinking. His eyes seemed a little too bright, not quite focused. He wasn't swaying, but something in the way he rested his hand on the back of a chair made her wonder if it was there for balance. Or was she just imagining it because Lisa had put the thought in her head?