Start Me Up

by Victoria Dahl

  Before he’d finished speaking, the faint whine of a siren filtered through her closed window. Within seconds, blue flashes of light were bouncing off the side wall of the building across the street. These guys were good. Or the town was just small. Hopefully both.

  The first officer on the scene ignored her entirely. He parked his SUV, unholstered his weapon and started prowling around. When the second vehicle screeched to a halt, Ben jumped out and headed straight for her truck. Lori fought the urge to rush out and throw herself into his arms. Undignified and probably uncalled-for. She rolled down her window instead.

  “What happened?” Ben demanded.

  She explained as quickly as she could, and then everything was moving at a comfortingly fast pace. Ben ushered her out of her truck and into his, speaking what seemed to be gibberish into a little radio at his shoulder. He switched on a spotlight, and then locked her inside. After a quick conference with his officer, the two men split up and disappeared from Lori’s view.

  Secure in Ben’s truck, Lori began to feel a little silly about her fear. Her heartbeat slowed and, as her blood pressure decreased, all the creepiness dissipated from the scene before her, helped along by the unflinching brightness of the spotlight. The garage had been vandalized, that was all. The house looked secure. No doors or windows stood open, as far as she could see. No dead animals nailed to the wall. No stalkers creeping along in the shadows. Just two dented garage doors.

  Well, one dented door and one completely smashed, crooked door.

  “Crap.” That was going to cost a pretty penny. When she got her hands on the asshole who’d done this…Apparently there was a thin line between fear and anger, because Lori felt suddenly furious. She wanted to strangle someone, beat the living daylights out of them. Power rushed into her muscles, signaling the fight part of her instincts. But flight returned with a fury when the door jumped beneath her elbow. Lori screeched.

  “Sorry,” Ben said as he swung it open. “Just me.”

  Once she’d detached her nails from his leather upholstery, Lori jumped down from the truck and rubbed her sweating hands against her skirt. When she remembered she wasn’t wearing panties, she frantically smoothed it back down. Jesus, had she flashed Ben getting into his truck?

  “We didn’t find anyone,” he said, seemingly unfazed by any dirty bits he might have seen. “You said you saw nothing except the damage, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, let’s survey it together, and then I want to walk your house with you. We’ll take some pictures of the vandalism and fill out reports, so I’ll be here for a while.” He flipped out a notebook and his eyes flicked down to her heels. “Were you returning from someplace close?”

  She tensed. “No. Aspen.”

  This time his gaze flicked up to meet hers before he looked back to the paper. “Did you notice any pedestrians on your street, any vehicles you might have passed?”

  “No.”

  “Were you alone?”

  The all-business tone of his voice finally got to her stretched nerves. “Could you drop the cold cop attitude? It’s kind of annoying.”

  He scowled and snapped the notebook closed. “Fine. You look like you were on a date. Were you?”

  “Why? What does that have to do with this?”

  His shrug was decidedly un-cop-like. So was the brief flash of smile. “Nothing. I just want to know what the hell’s going on with you. Lori Love in a dress? The world’s gone mad.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And here’s the truly strange part…Molly hasn’t mentioned a thing about you dating anyone.”

  “Hmm. Can we get back to the crime scene? When are the techs going to arrive?”

  “The techs?” He sputtered, choking on laughter. “It’s just me and old Frank there, sorry. You mentioned boy problems the other day. Care to tell me about that?”

  “Good God, are you going to do your job, or do you just want to gossip?”

  “That’s not gossip. I’m trying to figure out why someone would want to drive a truck into your garage.”

  She blinked. “A truck?”

  “Yeah, but not your tow truck. The headlights have been smashed, but there seems to be no other damage.”

  “The headlights?” she groaned.

  Ben walked her over to the far side of the lot where the tow truck was parked. Sure enough, both headlights had been smashed, as well as the spotlight on the driver’s side door.

  “All deliberate damage, obviously. Do you know who would want to do this to you?”

  “No. I don’t suppose you have any idea how much that door will cost to replace, do you?”

  “Lori, I’m serious. Have you broken it off with someone recently? Turned someone down?”

  “Er…just Aaron.”

  He wrote that down.

  “Seriously, Ben, I don’t think he cares that much.”

  “You never know.” He glanced up. “And Quinn? Are you still dating him?”

  Lori choked on her tongue. Ben just waited patiently until her coughing stopped. “Huh?” she rasped.

  Rubbing his eyes, he sighed. “Come on. Even if I weren’t a trained investigator, I would’ve figured that one out. Molly doesn’t know?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Fine, I’ll call Quinn with any questions.”

  Lori smacked him in the arm before it occurred to her that she could be arrested, then she smacked him again because she was pretty sure he wouldn’t press charges. “Don’t call him!”

  “I won’t call him unless I have to.” He let the threat sink in for a moment. “All right, let’s walk the property and then we’ll go inside and you’ll tell me exactly what you’ve been up to for the past week. It’s possible this was an aborted theft, but my instincts say it was personal, so I don’t want you editing yourself, understand?”

  Lori thought of the alley behind Andalucia and lied her ass off. “You got it, Chief.”

  But it turned out that Ben didn’t need that information anyway. When he left an hour later, he was convinced that if the vandalism had, in fact, been personal, it had something to do with the phone calls Lori had made earlier in the day. Lori wasn’t so sure. Why would a developer do something so petty?

  Ben’s expression told her he didn’t think it was petty at all. “No more phone calls about the land. If someone is trying to intimidate you, it could be the same person who assaulted your father. And why didn’t you tell me about these developers in the first place?”

  “I just thought of it today.”

  “Well, call me next time, not your Realtor.”

  “It seemed like a long shot. It still does. I don’t see why you think this was anything more than a couple of drunk teenagers looking for trouble.”

  Ben scowled. “If you’ve been watching enough cop shows to think we have a tech department, then you should know that cops don’t believe in coincidences. I reopened the investigation into your dad’s assault. You made a few inquiring phone calls, and suddenly your shop looks like the front end of my first car. No more phone calls, understand?”

  Well, she’d been done anyway. “Fine.”

  “Now what else are you hiding?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “Did you find any more information about the sale?”

  Ben nodded. “Your dad bought it at auction. It was foreclosed on just as you suspected. The previous owner was Hector Dillon. Did you know him?”

  “Hector?” Lori frowned. “Actually, I think I did. Didn’t he own the gravel pit? I think my dad bought sand from him for the plows.”

  “Yeah, he owned the gravel pit and had a pretty good-sized ranch he and his brother had inherited from his dad.”

  “The land my dad bought?”

  “Yeah,” Ben said, “That was part of it. The bank broke it up into a few parcels.”

  Could that have made Hector mad enough to come after her dad, just because he’d bought a parcel? “You’re usi
ng the past tense. Is Hector dead?”

  “I don’t think so. But he moved to New Mexico about five years ago. I haven’t tracked him down yet.”

  “You really think he had something to do with my dad’s injury?”

  Ben took off his hat and ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t know. It’s another long shot, but it bears looking at.”

  “Okay.”

  “As for tonight—” his voice lowered “—will you please let me drop you at Molly’s?”

  “No.” She didn’t like being fawned over or taken care of, didn’t like to feel more vulnerable than she really was.

  Ben didn’t approve of her answer, but he left after eyeing her locks with suspicion.

  Lori collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. Crapola, this was going to cost her a bundle. One door could be banged out and made serviceable, but the other was a lost cause. Five of the wheels had popped off and the framework was twisted beyond repair. So they’d be using one bay until insurance came through, and even then…Her deductible was somewhere in the twenty-five-hundred-dollar range.

  “Shit.”

  And the truck lights…those would be out of pocket, too, and she couldn’t afford to wait. As it was, she’d have to refer all of tonight’s calls to Grand Valley. She’d sold the old hook and chain truck a few years ago to pay off some bills and that meant no backup, so tonight’s towing fees were gone.

  She was seriously beginning to regret the new dress she’d bought. Shit, it was probably snagged in the back from being rubbed against cement.

  Gazing longingly at the fridge, picturing the cold beers inside, Lori tugged the throw off the back of the couch and wrapped it around her.

  A full day of work, an evening of dirty sex, and a night of being victimized had all teamed up to exhaust her. She’d figure out what the hell was going on in the morning. Right now she just wanted to curl up and sleep, right here on the couch.

  The phone rang.

  Lori cursed and curled up tighter.

  It trilled again and she realized it was her cell phone ringing from her purse, well within reach. Grudgingly, she reached out and scrounged for the beeping menace. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Lori Love,” Quinn’s voice purred.

  She closed her eyes and wished she were pressed up against him, breathing his skin. “Hey.”

  “How’s it going? Are you in your truck?”

  “Yes.” Weariness made it easier to lie than explain the truth. She’d feel bad about it some other time.

  “I’m calling to check up on you. I hope you don’t mind the obnoxious behavior.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve never had a stalker before.”

  “Great! You’re really racking up the new experiences. But seriously, I’m not just calling to track your movements with the GPS locator I secretly installed on your phone—”

  “Nice.”

  “I’m calling to finagle another date before I go out of town.”

  She smiled and pulled the blanket higher, cocooning herself in warmth. “By finagle, do you mean offer to do me again? Because I’ll take it.”

  “Yes, you will,” he growled, thrusting her body into immediate arousal. God, he was turning into a wicked, dirty boy and she loved it.

  She wondered if she was about to have phone sex with him during her pretend shift in the truck, but Quinn cleared his throat to a more reasonable tone. “But I actually meant something less exciting, unfortunately. I’ve got a business thing on Sunday, a cocktail party that—”

  “Oh, God, no,” she groaned.

  “Come on, it can’t all be trips to Europe and public sex.”

  “Sure it can. This is a sordid affair, remember?”

  “Please? An hour, that’s all. Maybe two.”

  “Sorry. Nope. I wouldn’t have anything to talk to those people about, and I have nothing to wear.”

  “Wear that blue dress. I didn’t get to touch you in it.”

  Lord, he knew how to make her smile. He must have sensed her weakness because he pressed his case.

  “I want you with me, and I have to go. This developer is one of my big clients and we’re right in the middle of—”

  Lori sat up. “Wait. Who?”

  “One of my clients—”

  “You said a developer. Which one?”

  “Er…Anton/Bliss. Why?”

  Anton/Bliss. “Okay,” she said with an abruptness that startled him into silence. A few seconds passed. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

  “Ah, so it’s name dropping that impresses you. Well, if you’re really good I’ll introduce you to James Dubbin, the head of Aspen’s planning commission. Pretty impressive friends, huh?”

  “You’re a dork.”

  “Maybe, but I’m a dork with a hot date for Sunday. So assuming you don’t spot me stalking you before then, I’ll see you on Sunday night. I’ll even pick you up to make it official. Seven-thirty?”

  After agreeing, Lori hung up and jumped from the couch, her exhaustion vanished under the flood of adrenaline. She raced to the computer and sat down to do some serious research on Quinn’s friends.

  “LOOK, MRS. BRIMLEY, I promise your wheel is not about to fall off. You just need new brake pads.” Lori rubbed her forehead and glanced at the clock. Molly had probably arrived at The Bar by now. Mrs. Brimley continued to squawk.

  “Ma’am, surely you’ve had bad brakes before? It’s a totally normal sound, just bring it by in the morning and—Yes, I am a girl, but I’ve been working on cars since I could walk. The only time wheels ever ‘fall off’ is during a serious accident, and—” she cut off the old biddy’s high-pitched squeal “—I really don’t think that bumping the curb at the grocery store qualifies.”

  The squawking turned to grumbling. God, Lori had hated this woman when she’d run the old movie theater and she was quickly remembering why. Lori glanced at the clock again. “Okay, fine. If you really want me to come tow you in the morning, I will. But it’ll be thirty bucks and your insurance will not cover it, I swear. Call me on Monday after seven-thirty, all right? We’ll do it your way.”

  Slamming down the phone, Lori grabbed her keys and darted for the door, glad she’d forgone heels for tonight. Her flip-flops would make faster time on the sidewalk, and they had little fabric roses on them that matched the red polish on her toenails. She actually felt cute tonight, regardless that she’d reverted back to jeans. The jeans were tight, her scarlet tank dipped low, and she knew for a fact there was an extra sway in her hips. All in all, she felt far too cheerful for a woman with her problems.

  After carefully picking her way across the rocky lot, she hopped triumphantly onto the sidewalk and started the short two-block trek to The Bar—otherwise known as T-Bar, since the h in the sign had long ago burned out. The place was run-down and decorated in the same style as Lori’s house, but it was the only game in town, and she and Molly had cavorted there often since Molly’s return to town the year before.

  Up to that point, Lori had only dropped by occasionally, since she hadn’t had a good friend to hang out with. All the women in town had either left after high school and stayed gone, or they’d married young and started families. Strangely enough, the good housewives of Tumble Creek had a marked disinterest in hitting the town with the community’s lesbian mechanic.

  Just as she stepped off the curb to cross the street, a vibration rumbled through Lori’s lower pelvic area, bringing her to an abrupt halt. “Yikes!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her belly. Maybe she should find a better place to keep her cell phone. Or maybe not.

  Assuming it was Molly, Lori flipped open the phone and sprinted across the street. “Hello?”

  “Lori, where were you last night?” For a moment, she couldn’t place the frantic female voice, and the vandalism popped immediately into her head. Was this the person who’d trashed her garage? But then she heard the caller draw a deep breath. “I went to The Bar, but you guys didn’t show!”

  “Helen?”

  “You s
aid you and Molly would be there!”

  “Oh, jeez.” She smacked her forehead and stopped in the street. “Helen, I’m so sorry.” An approaching pickup honked, the male occupants whistling as they eased past. Only one guy didn’t whistle. He was James Webster, nephew of Miles, the town reporter. She’d fired James a few months before because he’d called her a bitch when she wouldn’t advance his pay. His eyes watched her as the truck rolled past, but he didn’t quite glare.

  “How could you leave me alone there?” Helen cried.

  “I’m sorry,” Lori muttered. “I had to cancel, and I totally spaced on calling you. Did you and Juan have an argument?”

  “Well, no…”

  “Regardless, I didn’t mean to leave you just sitting there looking lonely.”

  “Yeah…” Her outrage had faded to a suspicious reticence.

  Lori stopped dead in her tracks. “Helen? Did you sit there looking lonely?”

  “For a little while.”

  “And then?” Raising her eyebrows, she waited for Helen to end the long silence. She waited in vain. “Helen, did you and Juan get back together?”

  “No! No, we did not. But I drank that first beer a little fast. I was nervous, and Juan kept glaring at me. And then…I don’t know what happened. I started drinking screwdrivers and you know how those get to me. And then I was crying and Juan was so nice, and I…I woke up in his bed this morning!”

  “I see.”

  “And then I woke up again in the afternoon, and he was gone, and I think he thinks we’re back together!”

  Lori walked the last few yards to the establishment in question, then leaned up against the wall, trying not to think of the last wall she’d leaned against. “Are you back together?”

  “We can’t be!” Helen shouted. “I’m too old for him!”

  “Mmm-hmm. Funny, it sounds like you were just the right age a few hours ago.”

  “Shut up.”

  She couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her mouth. “Look, Helen, I’m sorry that I forced you to make sweet, sweet love to Juan last night. And this morning.”

  “Oh, cripes.”

  “But I told you before, I think you should give it a chance. You two have obviously got some serious chemistry.”