by Linda Howard
“I’m working,” Jaclyn said coolly.
The kid, and he couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two, didn’t take the hint. He moved in closer, invading her personal space with the smell of fresh beer and stale breath. Oh, good lord, she just caught a flash of rotten teeth. He shouldn’t smile. He really shouldn’t smile. Jaclyn took a step away. Swear to God, if he touched her she’d flatten him. She’d had just about all she could take in the past two days, and if he was the one who pushed her over the edge she wouldn’t hesitate to push back, not this time.
Yeah, that would look good, when she was suspected of murdering Carrie Edwards. Some things, though, were just worth the price you had to pay.
“Let me give you a ride home, sweet thing.”
She gave the mullet-head a quick but decisive “not interested,” and turned away.
Her job here was done, thank God. If she could just make it to her car unmolested, she still had the Bulldog wedding—which would probably come complete with the ring-bearer wearing a football helmet, thanks to Eric—to get through, but Diedra would be there to help. Tomorrow was going to be a very long day, and eventually she needed to get home, to lie down in her bed and pull the cover over her head. Just as she was about to say good-bye to the woman who’d hired her, the door to the restaurant opened. The bride’s mother snapped in her grating smoker’s voice, “This is a private party. Can’t you read the ‘closed’ sign, moron?”
Everyone turned, and Jaclyn’s eyes widened with horror as she recognized the tall, muscled man whose piercing gaze swept the interior of the barbecue joint. Eric gave the mother of the bride an icy stare as he flashed his badge. “That’s Detective Moron.”
The entire room went silent. For the first time all night, you could’ve heard a pin drop. Then the bride’s mother said, in a resigned voice. “Sorry about the moron bit. Come on in.” The “I guess” was unspoken.
A couple of the guests looked truly alarmed, and Jaclyn wondered how many of them thought the cop was here for them. Probably on just about any other night, they’d have been right, but tonight they were safe. Detective Wilder had come for her.
She stalked toward him, chin high, eyes flashing. This was twice he’d interrupted her while she was working. Once was one time too many, and twice was enraging.
“I have a couple more questions,” he said as she came close. Behind her the party resumed, though the guests were more subdued than before and several pairs of eyes were focused on the newcomer. That was a two-way street. Eric didn’t look directly at her, but kept his gaze on the room behind her.
“It can’t wait?” she asked in a tight voice only he could hear.
“No, I need to talk to you tonight.” He glanced around the room, smirked, and said, “Nice work, by the way. I particularly like the Christmas lights. Jazzes things up.”
“Bite me.”
His gaze switched to her face, narrowed with sharp focus. “Any time, sweetheart,” he said. “Anywhere.”
She went white and fell back a step. No. After switching himself off like a lightbulb when all she’d needed had been a quiet reassurance that he believed her, he wasn’t switching himself on again and expecting her to do a moth act. “You don’t get to say things like that to me,” she said coldly. “Not now. Not anymore.” Though she had started it by telling him to bite her, and now she had to apologize to him yet again. This was becoming such a habit she was going to start running in the opposite direction as soon as she saw him—either that or write up a blanket apology, print out a bunch of copies, and simply give him one every time she put her foot in her mouth.
Before she could get the words out, though, his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
Her mind went blank, and her lips parted but nothing came out. Before she could recover he smirked again, and nodded in the direction of the minister. “Why aren’t you wearing your special wedding planner do-rag?”
The urge to apologize was swamped by the urge to dump the remains of a big tray of banana pudding on his head. After humiliating herself with her own lack of control the night before, she clamped down on the vivid thought with every ounce of willpower she had. She refused, absolutely refused, to let him drive her insane. She’d be sane if it killed her. “I’m saving it for tomorrow,” Jaclyn ground out. Excuses and explanations crowded her throat as if they had actual, physical presence. She wanted to tell him how much worse this wedding would have been if she hadn’t been hired, she wanted to run through the whole horrible litany about the barn and the plastic flowers and Brad Paisley’s tick song, but no way in hell was she going to explain anything to Eric Wilder.
She pulled her shoulders back and gave him a flat, unwavering stare. “Ask your questions, and make it snappy. I have another appointment, and I have to be there within the hour. What do you want to know?”
“I thought we could go over Wednesday afternoon again, see if you remember anything else about the man you saw or if you remembered anything Carrie might’ve said that—”
“Give it up, Detective,” she said curtly. “I’ve told you everything I remember. How many times are we going to go through this?”
“As many as it takes.” He looked at her hard, without any sign of the humor he’d displayed a moment earlier.
“Can’t this wait until—”
“Officer,” the minister called, and they both turned to the massive, mustachioed man who stood behind the bar. “How about a beer and some hot wings?”
Eric didn’t correct the minister, didn’t tell him that he was a detective and not an officer, to this crowd that wouldn’t make any difference: a cop was a cop. “No beer, thanks, but I’d love some wings and maybe a tall glass of sweet tea.” He moved past Jaclyn, heading toward the bar.
“You got it,” the big man said. “We’ve got brownies, too. If you’d been a little earlier you coulda had some banana pudding, but it’s about all gone.”
There went her plan to brain him with the banana pudding. Jaclyn spun around and followed Eric to the bar. She was so indignant she felt as if she were caught in some Victorian melodrama. She wanted to point at him and demand How dare you! in her most outraged voice. What in hell was he doing? This was her world, her job, her life, and he was following her around as if he expected to catch her in the middle of some terrorist act. This wasn’t good for business. Once could be explained away as an aberration, but twice? What if he showed up again tomorrow? Word would get around that something weird was going on at Premier, and people to whom that mattered would start looking at other event-planning businesses.
As soon as he was away from the door, a couple who weren’t anywhere close to being finished with their large plates of food whispered a quick good-bye to the others at their table and slipped out the door as surreptitiously as possible, given that they were the first to leave. Another guy quietly got up and left. Mullet-head wasn’t far behind them; he couldn’t get out of Porky’s fast enough. She’d known these people were different from her usual clientele, but what on earth had she gotten herself into?
“How many left?” Eric asked as soon as she appeared beside him.
“Four.”
He grunted. “I was expecting it to be five.”
She knew she shouldn’t be drawn in. She knew she should answer his questions and leave as fast as she could. But curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “Who’s the fifth one?”
Casually he looked over his shoulder, located the person he was talking about. “The woman with her tits hanging out of the red halter.”
Oh, good God. It was the bride.
She hadn’t recovered from that shock when he patted the stool next to him. “Come on, sit with me and we’ll talk.”
Abruptly she’d had enough. She had to get out of here, and if he didn’t like it, then tough. She pointed to a sign behind the bar that proudly read:
Kiss my butt.
Jaclyn turned her back on him and walked to a table where the only th
ree women in the room who hadn’t gone out of their way to show off their boobs sat, huddled together as if they were surrounded by aliens who might attack at any moment. The older woman looked so completely miserable Eric could only conclude her son was the groom. Looking around, he could even spot the guy, who was half-looped but still lacked that doper look he’d recognize in his sleep.
Lucky for them he wasn’t working vice. He didn’t care who was carrying pot or who had outstanding warrants. He’d have to act if one of them had a rolling meth lab sitting in the parking lot—in fact, he’d carefully sniffed the air before coming in—but other than that he’d give them a pass. They weren’t his target tonight.
No, his target stood out like a diamond sitting in a bowl of rocks. Jaclyn had class, beauty, and balls. Other women might’ve cried or fallen apart, but she’d kept her cool. Sort of. Her walk killed him: sexy and slow and enticing. That sharp navy blue business suit clung in the right places, nipping in at the waist to show her trim figure, while the skirt ended just above the knee and gave him a good look at those legs. The glare she sent his way cut through him, but not in the way she intended.
After saying a few words to the three horrified ladies, she smiled at them and left the restaurant without looking back. Eric slid off his stool and followed her; no one was sorry to see him go, and no one noted aloud that he’d only taken two bites of a wing and one sip of tea. His feelings were almost hurt because no one said good-bye.
In the parking lot, he easily caught up with Jaclyn; her legs were long, but the snug skirt and high heels kept her from walking as fast as she’d like.
“I really do need to talk to you,” he said as she reached her Jag.
“If you want to question me again, call my lawyer.”
“Dammit, Jaclyn, listen to me,” he said sharply, irritation flashing to life.
“That’s Ms. Wilde to you,” she snapped as she opened her car door and tossed her purse into the passenger seat. She got in the car, but before she had a chance to close the door he grabbed the top of it, held it.
“The man you saw, the gray-haired one,” he began. “Do you—”
She gave him a disbelieving look that he could read even in the not-very-well-lit parking lot. “What do I have to say to get this through your head?” she asked incredulously. “I didn’t pay attention to his face, and I can’t identify his car beyond saying it was a silver sedan. I’m not a car person. I can tell you for sure it wasn’t a truck or an SUV, and that’s about it. The color might’ve been more of a champagne but I’m pretty sure it was just silver. Beyond that, I don’t know. When I left Carrie—alive—I was flustered, I was angry, and I wasn’t trying to memorize strangers in the parking lot. Are we through now? I have a job I’m trying to do, if you’ll just get out of my way!” She jerked the car door closed, and he had to move his hand or get it crushed.
Without glancing at him again, she started the engine and almost, but not quite, spun her wheels on the gravel as she sped out of the parking lot. Probably she’d wanted to.
Well, that conversation had gone pretty much as he’d imagined it would. But even though he hadn’t found out anything useful, he had taken the first step back to an intimate footing with her. Pissed her off, too. The connection was still there, though. Even when she was mad as hell, even though she fought not to show it, the connection was there.
He watched her taillights until they were out of sight, wondering if he should follow her to the wedding, but what was the point? A wedding wasn’t like this circus of a rehearsal dinner; she’d be busy, and very unhappy to see him yet again. Better to give her a little bit of space tonight, let her cool down and do some thinking. He wasn’t just using the man she’d seen as an excuse; sometimes people remembered more than they thought they did, they just needed to think about it, let the details surface. She had to have seen more than she’d just said.
Tomorrow was plenty of time to make contact again. Maybe by then she wouldn’t look as if she wanted to take a swing at him.
Chapter Twenty
MAYBE IT WAS ONLY BECAUSE SHE WAS COMPARING IT to the scene at Porky’s BBQ, but the Bulldog wedding not only went off without a hitch, but it was remarkably charming. And thank God she’d had it to keep her mind occupied, otherwise she’d be at home, fuming over her last run-in with Eric, unable to sleep or eat or even concentrate on HGTV. Being busy was good. Being too busy to think was even better.
The guests had enjoyed the less-than-traditional theme, and everyone had gotten a laugh when the ring-bearer had walked solemnly down the aisle in his little tux and football helmet. It had to be good karma, to be in the presence of so many happy people. Jaclyn figured she was due some good karma, because lately bad karma had been jumping all over her.
The church was a large one, with several buildings other than the sanctuary, one of which housed a large reception facility. Instead of getting in their cars and driving to another location the guests had been able to simply walk, which had greatly simplified matters. The weather had cooperated, too; the humidity had backed off a little so the night air was actually comfortable, and a light breeze was blowing. A sliver of moon lit the sky, and a few small clouds were visible scudding along, backlit by the silver glow.
The entire event had been beautiful, everything had met the customer’s specifications, and there had been no crises to be averted. All things considered, the night had been a success, at least professionally. On a personal level, Jaclyn had no idea where she was or what she was supposed to be feeling. Too much had happened in the past four days, beginning with the insanity of sleeping with Eric just hours after meeting him. She had been bombarded with emotions from every point of the scale, from ecstasy to rage, with fear, sadness, resentment, and even guilt thrown into the mix. She could no longer make sense of things; all she was doing was holding on, getting through each moment and hoping her mental equilibrium would return once this hellish week was past.
By midnight, the bride and groom were off, and most of the guests were gone. Because Diedra had arrived so early, she’d snagged a good parking space in the church lot; they walked out together, then said their tired good nights as Diedra stopped at her car. Jaclyn wasn’t so lucky. She’d had to find a parking space on the street, across four lanes and half a block down. A couple of late-leaving guests were also walking across the street so she wasn’t alone, though their car was parked about thirty yards before hers. She said good-bye to them, too, and they congratulated her on how well everything had gone. She thanked them and continued on her way, her heels clicking against the pavement.
The upper-middle-class neighborhood in a nice part of Atlanta was quiet this time of night; the big trees lining the street created deep shadows and a sense of lushness. Someone nearby had a flower garden, and the sweet, rich fragrance drifted Jaclyn’s way, making her wish she could put in a small patio garden even though she knew she didn’t have time to tend it. In the distance she heard car doors slam, and people laugh. It had been a good night. Amend that: the last part of the night had been good.
She unlocked the Jag and got in, then took a deep breath as she mentally checked off the tasks that had been completed during the long day. They were over the hump. Three weddings down, three to go. Her mother and Peach were probably wrapping up the Pink wedding about now, too. When she got home she’d call to see if everything had gone well with the Family Drama rehearsal as well as the Pink wedding, but there hadn’t been any phone calls tonight so she knew there hadn’t been any real disasters. Glitches, maybe; disasters, no. That was something.
The big wedding on Sunday would be an all-day affair for Premier, but at least it was the only thing they had. After that was over, they’d have a breather, a few precious days to rest and regroup. She might even take Monday off. Since she and Madelyn had started Premier she’d never just not gone in to work. She’d taken one weeklong vacation—three years ago—and she’d stayed home sick a couple of times when she wasn’t needed, but other than that sh
e’d always been there. After the week she’d had, she deserved a little break.
She started the engine and put the transmission in gear, but kept her foot on the brake as she looked over her shoulder to check for oncoming traffic.
Good thing she did, because a car pulled away from the curb behind her, back close to the intersection, and barreled down the street, wobbling a bit between the lanes. Jaclyn automatically tensed, keeping an eye on the speeding car as she waited for it to pass. The way the car was jerkily swerving, the driver was probably drunk. She hoped the drunk driver hadn’t come from the reception; there had been some drinkers, of course, but none of them had made asses of themselves. No one else had been walking ahead of her and the couple who had crossed the street with her, but the driver could have come out earlier and been sitting in the car for a few minutes, maybe hoping to sober up a little, maybe fumbling for keys.
Thank God she hadn’t pulled out into the street yet; if the idiot could just get past without sideswiping her, she’d be good to go. But as she watched the car in her rearview mirror, sideswiping began to seem increasingly possible. The other car seemed to be aiming right for her. The distance was covered in just a couple of seconds but the time seemed to stretch painfully long. She gripped the steering wheel to brace herself, closed her eyes, and prayed.
The car pulled alongside; it didn’t come to a complete stop, simply slowed with a jerk that barked the tires a little. Jaclyn opened her eyes and jerked her head around, but even with the streetlights shining the driver was kind of a dark blob. What she did see was the light reflecting off something metallic that was pointing toward her. There was a split second of incredulity before she recognized the metallic thing for what it was: a gun.
There was a loud crack and the window beside her head literally exploded, sending kernels of shattered safety glass raining over her. A concussion of hot air seemed to slap her in the face. Instinctively she ducked and threw herself to the side, across the center console. Another shot boomed, the sound much louder now with the window broken out. Again she felt hot air slapping at her, and she pressed her face hard into the smooth leather of the seat as if that would keep a bullet from hitting her. She could hear screams, and dimly realized that she was the one screaming.