Deceiver Page 4

  I sigh. Best be glad I’ve raised a nice, responsible young man who obviously loves me very much. “Okay, son. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  I hang up and crawl out of the car, shaking my head. It’s like I’ve already had the third degree, and I haven’t even started talking to the cop yet.

  Walking in, I scour the room for Detective Cole. I’ve never actually been inside Darling’s before, and I’m shocked by the enormity of the place. An old country song, “There Was a Time,” blasts from unseen speakers overhead, and a strange desire to don a cowboy hat and a pair of shit-kickers hits me.

  It’s not long before I see a hot man waving at me from the back of the room. I head in that direction, secretly glad that he got there first. I don’t want to look too anxious, even though I did speed all the way here.

  “Hey there.” He stands, smiling, and pulls out my chair. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  He’s wearing a pair of faded denim jeans and a button-up shirt, along with a well-used pair of Tony Lamas. I’m no detective, but his attire, and his choice of saloons, lead me to believe we’re talking cowboy here.

  “Hi. Me, too,” I reply, trying not to pant. His bright blue eyes have me sex-ma-tised, and I can’t seem to look away.

  He’s even taller and better-looking than I remembered. Billie’s warning flashes in my head. She’s right. It’s probably not a good idea to date a detective right now. Fuck that. In fact, I have an almost overwhelming urge to fling myself at this man. Somehow, I manage to remain calm and sit down nonchalantly and twist my fingers in my lap.

  “Thank you,” I say as he pushes my seat to the table.

  “I ordered you a glass of wine already. I hope white is okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. My favorite.”

  I smile, immediately wondering why I didn’t just tell him the truth. I’ve hated white wine ever since I got sick on it that time in college. Now, here we are, our first date, and I’ve already lied to him before we even have a chance to start talking.

  This is not a date. I take a sip of the wine, trying to keep my hand from shaking, and I’m pleased to find that it actually tastes pretty good. He sits across from me, working on a beer.

  “So, you said you remembered something?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” See? Not a date. Straight to business. “I almost feel silly even bringing it up.”

  He smiles at me, and my panties, holy or not, are getting moist.

  “Well, don’t. I asked you to call if you remembered anything at all. Honestly, I was thrilled that you did.”

  You were? My face is heating up again. “Well, I was looking at my son’s dirty shoes as I left the house earlier this evening, and it made me remember something. When Mr. Stratford came in, he had all this white, ashy stuff all over his boots. I noticed because it was like he left a big trail of it through the ER where he walked.”

  “White, ashy stuff?”

  “Yeah. Turns out, it was cement. Or, that’s what he said, anyway. I told him I’d get some booties for him to slip on over his shoes because he was making a mess. He said he’d been using it to anchor the fence posts.”

  “Strange. I don’t remember seeing any fence posts set in cement when I was there.”

  “Well, it’s not uncommon. We didn’t do it, but I know people who did. It all depends on the type of soil you have.”

  He looks thoughtful for a moment and then takes a drink of his beer. “Actually, I think we might need another look around Mr. Stratford’s property now.”

  “Really?” So, maybe I was right, then? Maybe this is exactly what he needed to break his case.

  “Yeah. Thinking back on the first time we went over there, he had a beautiful, fresh sidewalk stretching from his front door all the way to the driveway. I really didn’t give it too much thought until now.”

  I stare at him, horrified. “You mean, you think he… you think she…?”

  It’s too awful a thought to even finish the sentence.

  He nods, his expression grim. “I hope not. I really do. It’s more than a little personal for me. It hits home. I’ve lost sleep over this case, and I’ve prayed we would find her, that she would just turn up one day after running off with some boy or something. From everything I’ve seen, it’s just not likely that she would just up and leave. Straight-A honor student, active in the church youth group, a cheerleader over at the middle school…she seemed to be a well-adjusted, happy young lady. It’s just a damn shame.”

  I take a sip of my wine, my mind running in different directions at all once. Why is this personal for him? What would I have done if something like that had happened to Josh? I can’t even imagine. It’s too terrible to contemplate.

  “So, what will you do now?”

  “Now?” He finishes off his beer and thumps the bottle back down on the table. “Now, I get a warrant, and I go back and take a closer look at Mr. Stratford’s sidewalk.”

  He raises his hand to get the young waitress’ attention. She smiles at him with hope lighting her eyes and nods as if I’m invisible.

  I frown, sure that I’ll be invisible to him in a minute, too, as soon as he realizes little Miley Cyrus over there is seriously crushing on him. No doubt he can have his pick of young ladies. Just look at him. Gorgeous. I don’t know why this surprises me.

  “You look really beautiful tonight.”

  What? My head pops up, our eyes laser-locked, and I’m certain that I’ve misunderstood him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. What?”

  He smiles as he reaches over and takes my hand in his, his fingers tickling my arm lightly with his other hand. “I said you look beautiful tonight. I mean, with all your clothes on the right way and your hair fixed so nice and all.”

  I blink at him.

  “Here you are, cowboy.” The pretty, young waitress is pulling out all the stops now. She picks up his empty bottle and places a fresh beer on a napkin in front of him.

  “Thanks.” His eyes never leave me, and his hand still rests on mine.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  Like coffee, tea or me? She stands there beside him, her perky breasts pushed against her T-shirt and her camel toe poking through her short-shorts.

  He glances up at her. “No. That’s all. Thank you,” he says dismissively as he turns his full attention back to me.

  She seems a little surprised by his lack of interest and cuts her eyes to me, as if noticing me for the first time. When she stalks away, I almost laugh.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He sits up straight in his chair, releasing my hand, and picks up his beer.

  “Oh. You didn’t.” Of course he did. I really don’t know what to say. I do normally wear my clothes right-side out, and I do usually comb my hair when I go out in public. “I just… no one’s said anything like that to me in a long time.”

  “I find that hard to believe. I’d be saying it all the time if I had half a chance.”

  “I bet you say that to all your prospective witnesses.”

  “Only the really pretty ones.”

  I laugh.

  “Let me take you to dinner,” he says, looking hopeful and almost sincere.

  “Now?” I blurt.

  “No.” He chuckles. “Not now. Later. Some place nice. A real date.”

  I pick up my glass and take a sip, glancing around nervously. What is wrong with me? This hot, piece of delicious stud cake has just asked me out, and I’m acting like a skittish twit.

  “I think I’d like that,” I finally manage to say.

  “Good, because I’m really not usually this forward.” He tips his beer to his lips, drinking half of it in one giant gulp. “I just get a feeling about you.”

  Me, too. It’s called advanced sexual longing.

  “I don’t meet a lot of nice people in my line of work,” he explains.

  “Well, apparently, I don’t, either.” I roll my eyes. “I would never have guessed that about Mr. Stratford, not in a million year
s.”

  “That’s the thing about these psychos. On the surface, they look so normal. Then, you see some of the things they do, things you wouldn’t have thought anyone would be capable of.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I could do what you do, day in and day out.”

  “It’s tough some days, but I know someone has to do it. So I try to man-up and do what needs to be done.”

  “What led you to Mr. Stratford as a suspect? I mean, initially.”

  “I interviewed the girl’s teachers at her school and found out that her class had gone on a field trip over to his farm for 4-H a couple of months ago. So, I followed up. I mean, I didn’t really suspect him at that point, but I didn’t have any other leads.” He shrugs, pausing. “While I was interviewing him, he just started acting strange, really nervous, punchy almost. When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you get a feel for these kinds of things.”

  Good to know.

  “Anyway, when I was leaving, I found a little pocketknife at the edge of the yard. Honestly, I don’t know how I even saw it. It looked like it had been there for a while and was almost completely pressed into the ground. I picked it up, and as it turned out, there was a minuscule amount of blood still on it near the bottom of the shaft. I took it with me when I left. Her parents confirmed that it was hers, but unfortunately, there wasn’t enough blood left on it to get a clean analysis.”

  “It’s proof, though. Right? You found her knife with blood on it, and it was at his house. Yes?”

  He smiles, seemingly entertained by my naivety. “He could just say she dropped it there during the field trip. No one disputes that she was there. Besides, I didn’t even have a warrant. I was just there to talk to him. So, we may not have been able to use it in court even if I had been able to get a good DNA sample. Still, if I can find more evidence, I could maybe find a way to introduce it.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I slap my hand on the table. “He did it. If you know he did it, you should be able to do whatever you need to do to find that girl. We should be able to go over there right now and tear the place apart looking for her.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, unfortunately. You have to have reasonable cause to search someone or their property. I didn’t have that before.”

  “And now?”

  “I believe I do now. Yes. I think I can get a warrant, especially with the information you just gave me.”

  “So, then, it was useful? What I remembered, I mean.” I smile proudly.

  He grins. “You have no idea.”

  “Good.” I dig my phone out of my purse and check the time.

  “It’s late,” he says, finishing off his beer. “Let me walk you to your car.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  We stand, and he drops some cash on the table. Then, with an air of confidence, he rests his hand in the middle my lower back, leading me toward the door. The heat from his palm sends a high velocity zing straight to my girly bits.

  We walk across the parking lot in silence and then stand awkwardly beside my car.

  “Well, I’m glad I called you now,” I say, referring to the useful information I had shared.

  “Oh, so am I,” he replies, referring to something totally different, apparently. He pulls me to him, pinning me against my car door with his hips and holding me captive with his steely blue eyes.

  Holy shit! I can barely breathe.

  “I want to see you again,” he whispers softly in my ear.

  I nod, because I’m suddenly mute and don’t trust my lips at this point.

  He nips at my earlobe, gently grazing my neck with his teeth while his hot breath sends shivers down my spine. Then, he presses his lips to mine, his tongue skimming along the seam of my mouth, gently demanding entry.

  Fuck it. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him to me as I suck and nip at his soft, full lips. In a reciprocating gesture, I flex my hips against him and twist my fingers in his thick, dark hair. He groans with pleasure as I drag my fingers down his neck and across the hard, corded muscles on his back. Then, tightening his grip around my waist, he crushes me into him, pressing his tongue against mine, circling and massaging, exploring. His massive erection is digging into my stomach. Whoa! Suddenly, I regret not having that sex talk with myself.

  He breaks away, his breath heavy and labored as he rests his forehead against mine. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he says apologetically.

  “Actually, I think it was me,” I confess, breathless, my chest heaving.

  “In that case, I’m glad you did.” He grins. “When can I see you again?”

  I try to remember what shift I work tomorrow. “I’m ten to six tomorrow, but I’m off on Tuesday.”

  “Tomorrow,” he says without hesitation. “I don’t think I can wait until Tuesday.”

  Honestly, I’m not sure if I can, either. And, who are we kidding? Screw dinner. The only thing I’m hungry for is him! “Okay. Tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight. Is that too late?”

  I smile and shake my head. “No. That’s perfect.”

  He strokes my hair and gives me a soft, promising kiss. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  He opens my door, and I fall into the driver’s seat.

  “See you tomorrow.” I fasten my seat belt, and he closes the door, gracing me with a sexy goodbye wink.

  I start the car and watch as he walks away. His jeans hang loosely from his hips and accent a nice, firm butt leading up to a wide, muscular back. I shake my head, trying to clear the sex fog that’s settled on my brain.

  He opens the door of a big, black pickup and disappears inside. I sigh and grab my phone to text Josh. “On my way.”

  I toss the phone on the seat beside me, smiling, as I pull out and head for home on the I-30 and Cloud Nine Interstates.

  Chapter Five

  I glance at the clock in the nurses’ station for about the hundredth time today.

  “You got a hot date tonight? Are we keeping you from something more important, like washing your hair or watching Ellen?”

  Huh? I look up and see Nurse Hatchet standing in front of me with her dreaded clipboard.

  Oh, crap. “Um… No. I just didn’t want to be late for my rounds.”

  Yes, as a matter of fact, I do have a hot date tonight, you horrible old hag who looks like she just crawled out from the depths of the River Styx to terrorize all the good people here on this earthly realm. I smile sweetly, grabbing my patient charts and standing to leave.

  She looks at me skeptically and then scribbles something I can’t see onto her clipboard.

  “Don’t forget Room 309 is a diabetic.”

  “Got it,” I reply, tapping my charts as I walk away.

  “And Room 312 is allergic to Penicillin.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Got that, too.” I wave over my shoulder as I continue down the hall.

  Sheesh. That woman is a freaking nightmare. I just need to get through one more round, and then I can leave. With any hope, the Hound of Baskervilles will be gone when I get back. She’s notorious for making up last minute things for you to do as soon as it’s time for you to leave. Of course, it always takes about an hour to complete, and I really want to slip in a quick shower before Dan shows up.

  I pause at the first room, glancing down at my chart, carefully reading through all the notes so I don’t miss anything. I pat my pocket to make sure I have Mr. Donovan’s morphine. Am I ready for him? I take a deep breath. Yes, I’m good.

  I slap on my brightest smile and push open the door. “How we doing, Mr. Donovan?”

  The old man opens his eyes and turns his head slowly toward me. “Well, I just got done performing The Nutcracker, and I’m exhausted now.”

  “Oh, man. If I’d just been a few minutes earlier. I’ve been dying to see that.”

  “Yeah? And here I am, just dying.”

  It’s true. Mr. Donovan is in the final stages of liver cancer. All we can do for him is
try to make him comfortable, a task that is getting harder and harder with each passing day.

  “Oh, I bet you dance right out of here next week,” I reply, knowing full well that he won’t.

  He smiles as I lift his frail arm, my fingers pressing on the paper-thin flesh of his wrist as I check his pulse. It’s not nearly as strong as I would like for it to be. I jot it down in his charts, and then I reach for my stethoscope, rubbing it against my hand to warm it up.

  “I’m just going to take a quick listen,” I tell him as I place the stethoscope on his bony, sunken chest.

  “I don’t understand why you guys keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?” I listen to his breathing as he rambles.

  “Honey, I’m dying. It doesn’t matter if my heart is still beating right now or not. You’ll know when it stops. So why waste your time checking it every few hours?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t have anything better to do. Besides, you’re too ornery to die, Mr. Donovan, and right now, I’m more concerned about your breathing than I am your heart. Are you having any discomfort?”

  He shakes his head. “Why aren’t you married, Nurse Putnam?”

  His questions surprises me, and I scoff. “Well, I was. Now, I’m divorced.”

  “That’s a shame.” He shakes his head. “Everyone is divorced these days. In my day, when you got married, it was for life.”

  I smile as I prepare to inject the morphine into his I.V.

  “And that’s why we had so many suicides back then,” he adds, snarky as ever.

  I burst out laughing. “Well, I think I might have leaned more toward homicide.”

  Oh, shit. Why did I say that?

  “Oh, we had some of those, too, believe me. But, not me and my Ann. We were lucky.”

  “I bet she was beautiful.” I squeeze the plunger and watch the medication trickle through the I.V. line.

  “No. Not really.”

  I blink at him, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “I just mean she was ugly,” he says simply.

  “Well.” I giggle. “I’m sure she was beautiful in your eyes.”

  “No. She was ugly to me, too, but had the best heart of any woman I’ve ever met. Loyal to a fault, and could cook the best pecan pie you ever tasted.”