His gaze fell to his cell phone—charging but shut down to avoid distraction—and he was tempted. Should he check for messages? Texts? No point. Too late to call anyone, and he’d just wonder about the caller’s purpose, which might keep him awake.
He set his alarm, stripped down to his briefs and collapsed into bed. His first class, a two-hour block, was at 9:00 a.m., but he wanted to arrive on campus early enough to scope out the student union bulletin board for anyone looking for roommates. He’d also check online for a place to relocate, but he needed to find something super cheap. Tuition was on his parents’ dime, and they were also footing the bill for books, the cost of which had staggered him. How could he ask them for rent money when he had a free bed right here?
Yeah, he had some savings left from competitions, but not much. He could always sell one of his kite boards. He wouldn’t have much time to surf, and he definitely didn’t want to have to get a part-time job. He’d never had to worry about money before. Hell, maybe it was time.
It still rankled that his dad doubted he could remain disciplined enough to complete his studies. Chip punched his pillow and rolled over. Okay, yeah. Since getting his BA, he’d done nothing but travel the globe, entering competitions and looking for unique places to climb, so maybe Dad had good reason to question his focus. But his wanderings for the past year had made him realize he wanted the life his father and mother had. Being a corporate attorney, although boring, allowed his dad to bring home the good bucks, and that was his goal now.
Could he be as good at the law as he was at chasing an adrenaline high? Chip closed his eyes, feeling himself drift away. Law school was by far the most challenging thing he’d ever attempted.
The screeching of the alarm jolted Chip out of bed. Confused by the noise, he squinted at the digital numbers. It was 8:00 a.m.? No, no. He’d set the wake-up for six. Hadn’t he?
Shit. No time to obsess about that careless mistake. He’d worked too late because of the time he took with his nieces.
Forget about a shower. Chip threw on clothes, tossed his books and cell phone into his pack, and hurried into the living room.
His mother’s voice called after him. “Don’t you want something to eat, Chip?”
“I’m late, Mom.”
“Not even coffee? I have breakfast ready. Your dad and I are—”
“No time.”
Forget breakfast. Forget coffee, horror of horrors. Not a second to spare even for the Starbucks drive-through. He jogged toward his truck, gunned it and peeled away. He’d be lucky if he found a parking space close enough to make class on time, and Professor Nichols always called attention to any student who arrived even one minute late with a biting, sarcastic “Thank you for joining us.” Then the old goat always made a little squiggle—what everyone assumed was a black mark—in his bright red attendance book.
What was this, anyway? Middle school?
Chip banged his hand on the steering wheel. He’d sworn he’d never put himself through that humiliating experience.
Way to go, Chip. You’re proving your dad’s lowball assessment of you is right on.
* * *
AFTER CLASS, CHIP hurried to The Bricks, purchased the largest coffee available and heaved his pack onto an open table. He collapsed onto the cool concrete bench and buried his head in his hands. God, what a morning. He’d made class on time, squeezing into a seat in the last row a second before Professor Nichols entered the room and took the lectern.
He remembered little from the first ten minutes of Nichols’s lecture. It had taken that long for his pulse to moderate from his frantic run across campus.
Chip raised his head and pried the lid off the paper cup. Fragrant steam mushroomed into the air as he waited for the coffee to cool.
Nichols had deliberately called on him to answer the first discussion question, probably because the SOB had witnessed his student’s mad dash to class and felt the need to apply a little torture. Chip shook his head at the memory, took a sip of coffee and burned the roof of his mouth. Awesome.
The rush of adrenaline at being put on the spot in front of the entire class had energized him, though, and he’d managed a fairly coherent answer to the question, even though sweat pooled under his armpits.
Nichols had actually given him a nod, then a sly, almost-approving smile. The room remained silent when the prof asked for anything additional from the class, and the old goat had made a little squiggle in that obnoxious red notebook.
Chip took another sip, bigger this time, and sent a silent thank-you to all the gods in all the universes that he’d stayed up to finish his reading last night. Lesson learned.
Now, man, did he ever need a shower. He had time for a quick trip to the men’s locker room in the gym before his next class, but first this coffee. He sat back, allowing the caffeine to do its job. After class he’d have lunch here, and then all afternoon and into the evening, he’d hunker down in the library. He’d take a break at some point to check out the bulletin board to find a new place to live. When the library closed, he’d grab something for a late dinner on the way home. He nodded. Satisfactory plan.
At least for the day, if not for a life.
Feeling better, Chip reached for one of the protein bars he always kept in his pack. Using his teeth to rip open the package, he took a huge, satisfying bite of peanut butter and chocolate. Breakfast of champions. These protein bars had gotten him through more than one crisis in his life, certainly early-morning competitions.
And what was law school if not another form of competition? One he intended to succeed at.
He pulled out his cell phone and turned it on to check for messages. Frowning at a number he didn’t recognize, he connected to voice mail and listened to a message from—Lana Lettino?
Lana had called him last night? No fricking way.
He listened to the message a second time and wondered how big the grin was that split his face. Well, well. He might stink like a wet dog right now, but things were definitely looking up in The Chipper’s world.
The Chipper? God, would he ever lose that nickname? He was even using it himself now.
He shoved the phone back in his pack, tamping down the impulse to return her call immediately. That would be a tactical blunder. He needed that shower. He needed to be on time for his next class. And he needed to think about what to suggest for their first date.
He shook his head. Lana had called him and asked him on a date. Well, maybe he’d asked first, but she’d called him back. And he hadn’t given her his number, so she’d had to search for it. That meant something, right? Although she could have called his mom. His family’s landline had remained the same since he and Lana had run around the neighborhood together as kids. He’d have to ask Mom about that.
What would Lana like to do? Where would she like to eat? Strange. He didn’t know her at all anymore, but when he thought about it, she was his oldest friend. Although the way she’d looked at Coach’s party had stirred up old feelings that had more to do with lust than friendship.
He grabbed his pack, tossed his trash into the bin and hurried toward the gym, his thoughts still on Lana. Everyone said she didn’t date, that she hadn’t gotten over Danny’s death, but everyone was quite obviously in error.
What was obvious was The Chipper’s good looks and charm had finally won her over.
* * *
TUESDAY AFTERNOON, SEATED at the Coral Bagel for lunch with her squad mate Kelly, Lana glanced up when Dale entered the deli. Wearing a huge shit-eating grin, he hiked up his gun belt and marched toward their usual table.
“What’s with you, pal?” Kelly asked when he’d seated himself next to her. “You look like you just won the lottery.”
Dale spread his arms wide. “When you’ve got it, ladies, you’ve got it.”
Kelly rolled her eyes. “Got what?”
Dale issued
a satisfied sigh. “Charisma.”
After a pull on her tea, Lana asked, “Hot date last night?”
“With your friend Cindy,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “You have my undying thanks.”
“So, you and Cindy hooked up, huh?”
Dale wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah.”
“And now you’re in lo-ove?” Kelly asked, drawing out the last word sarcastically.
Dale shot her a horrified look. “God forbid.”
“Just lust,” Lana muttered. “As usual.”
“You got that right, and I must compliment your cheerleader pal. She is wonderfully—what’s the word? Bendy.”
“Flexible?” Lana suggested.
“Yeah.” Dale released a blissful sigh. “Who knew your little pity party would be the highlight of my week.”
“It wasn’t a pity party,” Lana protested. “It was a murder investigation, the reopening of a cold case.”
“How did that go?” Kelly asked after munching on a fry. “Did you learn anything new?”
“Not anything new at the party,” Lana admitted. “But having all the suspects in one place gave me ideas on how to start fresh.”
“How did you narrow your suspects to the football team?” Dale asked.
“Evidence suggests the murder was personal, and football was all Danny did. Our family always believed that had to be the connection.”
The waitress arrived to deliver Dale’s usual coffee and take his order.
After she’d scurried away, Dale asked, “Do you have a prime suspect?”
“I’m going to start with Chip Peterson,” Lana said without hesitation. “He and Dan had a huge fight that screwed up their friendship. If I figure out what that fight was about, I’ll have my motivation.”
“Chip, yeah. I talked to him,” Dale said. “Seemed like a nice guy—hardly a homicidal maniac. Said he’d known you forever.”
“We grew up in the same neighborhood,” Lana said. “Which makes me well acquainted with how wild he is, his history of reckless behavior.”
“How so?” Kelly asked.
“Crazy extreme-sports stuff. You know, rock climbing, kiteboarding, bungee jumping, anything for an adrenaline rush. And sneaking out at night against his parents’ orders.”
“Ooooh,” Kelly said, rolling her eyes. “Sounds serious.”
Lana took a sip of tea. Kelly had spent her childhood in Florida’s brutal protective-services system. With that background, Kelly wouldn’t consider Chip’s youthful behavior the least bit wild or irresponsible.
“And you know he sneaked out at night how?” Dale asked.
Lana shrugged. “Maybe I met him at the corner once.” Or twice. Or thrice.
“Aha,” Dale said, exchanging a grin with Lana. “So, the truth finally comes out.”
“Our saintly Lana was a wayward child after all,” Kelly said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lana said. “I was ten years old.”
“Well, the dude’s in law school now,” Dale said. “And he seemed damn serious about it.”
“I’m checking out Chip first,” Lana said. “But be forewarned. Your new bendy friend Cindy is on my hit list, too.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Dale said. “She’s got issues about high school.”
“Here you go, officers.” The waitress delivered Dale’s hamburger and fries, as well as all three checks.
Lana leaned forward when the server had moved on. “What kind of issues? Give.”
Dale dumped mayo on his burger, arranged the lettuce and tomato and then plopped the bun on top. “Apparently Cindy still considers herself the queen of the prom.”
“She actually told you she was prom queen?” Lana asked.
“Uh, she might have mentioned it once or twice, yeah. And homecoming queen, and sweetheart of the football team. Or maybe it was wrestling.” He poked a steaming fry at Lana. “Cindy is a damn good wrestler. Of course, because of her command performance Saturday night, I already knew she was captain of the cheerleaders.”
“Jeez. How did you get any sex in around all the talking?” Kelly asked.
“Fortunately I am able to multitask,” Dale said. “Something I understand your filthy-rich hubby is also able to manage, since the tabloids say you’re carrying the billionaire’s alien child.”
Flushing, Kelly shook her head. “God, why do you read that shit?”
Dale shrugged. “Hard to avoid when standing in line at the grocery. By the way, Lana, super job on the cheering.” As an aside to Kelly, he said, “Our Lana was a cheerleader, but, according to Cindy, can’t squeeze into the uniform anymore.”
“Did Cindy mention my brother? They were steadies off and on in high school.”
“Really?” Dale asked. “She didn’t mention that. But she did seem to be a bit weird about your bro.”
“How so?” Lana demanded.
“Just a feeling I got. At the time I wasn’t too interested in discussing her old boyfriends.”
Sitting back, Lana nodded. “I knew it. If I clear Chip, I’m going after her next. I need to reconfirm her alibi.”
“Who broke up with whom?” Kelly asked.
“Usually she broke up with him. She claimed he cheated on her, which I knew wasn’t true.”
“Jealousy,” Kelly said. “Now, there’s an interesting motivation for murder. I’d check that out.”
“From what Cindy did say, Dan was some kind of hotshot quarterback, considered good enough for the pros,” Dale said.
“He completed 80 percent of his passes senior year and was chosen first team high school All American.”
Dale whistled. “Seriously?”
“He got a full-ride scholarship to the University of Miami,” Lana said.
“Quarterback U. That’s special,” Dale said. “I’m impressed.”
“Yeah,” Lana said softly, looking down at her empty plate. “Dan was special.”
She looked up in time to witness Dale and Kelly exchange a look.
“What?” Lana demanded.
Dale held up both hands. “Nothing.”
Kelly pursed her lips, but didn’t reply.
“I know you guys think I’m nuts to pursue this,” Lana said. “But my mother needs to know who killed Dan. She can hardly get out of bed.”
Kelly covered Lana’s hand with hers. “But look how it’s tearing you up even after all these years. Your family needs to let it go.”
Lana jerked her hand away. “He was my brother. Dan’s murder is the main reason I became a cop.”
“And I get that,” Kelly said. “Events in my past drew me to law enforcement, as well.”
“But the thing is, violence is part of the job,” Dale said. “You know a lot of murders remain unsolved—too many.”
“But I’ve looked at the evidence and I’m convinced the original detectives missed something. Maybe with advances in forensics, I can get Danny justice.”
Kelly sighed. “I hope you do. Then maybe you can finally move on.”
Lana looked away from the concern in her friends’ eyes. Move on? That was the theme of the countless grief support groups she’d attended over the years. Oh God, how well she remembered the palpable pain in those meetings. The discussions had helped her, although her mother refused to participate. And somehow Mom always manages to drag me back into the misery.
Once she got promoted to detective, she intended to request assignment to the cold-case squad so she could help others who had lost loved ones to violence.
The dead deserved justice. Mothers deserved some peace.
Her phone clattered on the tabletop, interrupting the awkward silence. Dale laughed when the strains of her ringtone, “Bad Boys,” filtered into the restaurant. Lana grinned at him and checked the readout.
Ch
ip Peterson. A thrill traced her spine. Game on.
“Gotta take this,” she said. Grabbing the phone, she moved away from the table.
“Hey, Chip,” she said. “Thanks for calling me back.”
“Thanks for reaching out,” he said. “I didn’t think you would.”
“Seeing you Saturday night brought back a lot of memories,” she said. “I’d love to get together sometime and catch up. You know, when you have time.”
“What about dinner Saturday night?”
Lana considered. She was on duty until three o’clock, but didn’t dare mention that minor detail to her numero uno suspect. He’d find out eventually, but hopefully not until after she’d questioned him.
“I have to work on Saturday,” she said. “But dinner sounds great.”
“What time?”
“Seven?”
“That’s perfect. I’ll make a reservation at Sea Salt.”
Lana bit her lip. Sea Salt was South Beach’s latest foodie hot spot, trendy and expensive. What if she was wrong about Chip? Hell, his family was well-off. Maybe not like Kelly’s husband, but they did okay. And she could always offer to pay for her half.
“Sounds great. Do you have my address?”
After she gave him her details, he said, “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I’m looking forward to reconnecting,” she said. Really, really looking forward to it.
“Me, too, Lana.”
You just think you are, pal. But we’ll see about that.
Lana terminated the call and moved back to the table. So, it had begun.
She finally had the resources to turn over whatever rock Dan’s murderer had climbed under and send him—or her—straight to hell.
She’d find out soon enough if that killer was Chip Peterson.
CHAPTER FOUR
TEN MINUTES AFTER they’d entered Sea Salt, Chip knew he’d made a bad choice. Oh, no question the restaurant was as stylish as all the reports, decorated in soothing hues of blue and green, including the stunning crystal chandelier in the entrance—supposedly an original from some famous glassmaker. Although crowded on a Saturday night, the noise level was pleasant, the murmur of voices welcoming, not intrusive. Best of all, the practiced host escorted them straight to their reserved table without a wait.
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