“Thanks for walking me home, Jerrod.” Jill stopped in front of her rental.
“Are you doing okay with this set up?” He nodded toward the house. What a lame way to ask to go in. Seriously crazy of him.
“It’s nice. Not large. I use the second bedroom for a study.”
He caught a slight blush hitting her cheeks. Was that because of her mention of the bedroom? Certainly had sent his mind in interesting directions.
“I’m lucky to have found this property.” She glanced everywhere but at him. “If it weren’t late, I’d ask you to come in. Karen thought I was crazy to settle on the first thing I saw, but I knew.”
Her words tumbled over themselves. Could she be nervous?
She turned to open the door but dropped her keys. Jerrod bent to retrieve them. He held them out. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her bottom lip and captured his imagination. One kiss would satisfy his curiosity, and he’d be done with this almost obsession.
He put the keys in her hand but didn’t let go. With the other, he cupped her chin, turning it up at the same time he leaned toward her. If she made the least move to push him away, he’d stop, but she didn’t.
His lips found hers in the porch light. A soft gasp opened her mouth to him, and Jerrod slid his tongue in to find hers and begin that timeless dual. His stomach quivered, blood rushed to lower areas of his body. The intensity of the heat they generated made him jerk away to stare into her chocolate browns, in which, not only surprise, but passion flared.
“Jerrod.”
“Jill.” They both spoke at the same time.
He didn’t apologize for what he’d done. He wasn’t sorry and couldn’t promise not
to kiss her again, given the opportunity. Besides, it had been mutual.
“I, uh...” Jill stammered.
Apparently, she couldn’t figure out quite what to say either.
“Here, let me.” He retrieved the keys and opened the door. “Good night, Jill. Lock up.” He pressed the keys in her hands.
She nodded, closed the door, and the lock clicked.
Jerrod spun on his heel.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.”
Chapter Six
SATURDAY, AUGUST 25
Jill was over the moon, a grin permanently plastered across her face. Both Ellen and Ethan had arranged their schedules to come up to Woodstock to celebrate her birthday.
The big Five-O.
Karen tried to talk Jill into having a “to do,” but she resisted. Neither Gary nor Michelle could come, but both sent flowers, and Michelle included a gift certificate for a massage at the athletic center in town. Jill looked forward to the experience. Massages had been a regular part of her routine in Fort Worth, but they weren’t something she made time for anymore. The store kept her busy.
Ellen planned to stay a couple of days. Ethan had to get back to Virginia, where he was heavily into counter-terrorist training. Her daughter arrived Thursday, the twenty-third, and Ethan came in the afternoon before her birthday.
In their family, the birthday person always chose the place to eat. Despite the many wonderful restaurants in town, for a special supper, and with her kids here this one was, Jill preferred the Woodstock Inn.
They’d finished their meal and had coffee in front of them. “This has been a delightful evening. It means a lot to me you both came.” Jill squeezed a hand of each of her children.
“Mom, isn’t that Anne Phillips leading a group this direction?”
“Well, yes, it is.”
“Even though it’s been a while, I recognize Karen and Tim, but who are the other two people with them?” Her daughter craned her neck.
“The man with the beard is Anne’s son Jerrod, and the younger man is his son Don. The gray-haired woman is Sally, my assistant.”
“Jill Barlow, didn’t you think we’d want to celebrate with you? My dear, certain birthdays demand we pay special attention. This one does.” Anne leaned down, hugged Jill’s neck and straightened. “How wonderful your children got here.”
She turned to Ellen. “Good to see you again, dear. And you must be Ethan.” Anne extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I appreciate your service to our country.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.” Ethan had stood when she stopped at their table.
Anne made the rest of the introductions. “Now, you’re all coming to my house, because you can’t have a birthday without cake.”
Laughing, Jill relented. Everyone gathered in Anne’s kitchen. It was wonderful how they got along and had things to talk about. Pride at getting to show off the twins filled her soul. Clearly, they were the best thing she’d ever done.
She bypassed Jerrod, whom she’d avoided since the July Fourth debacle. She pushed away thoughts of their kiss and the way his whiskers tickled her skin. Every time the crazy moment jumped into her mind, her cheeks heated. She didn’t want to have to explain her reaction to anyone, least of all him, so she kept her distance. He did the same. Clearly, that night must’ve been an aberration of sorts on both their parts.
Jill walked home from Anne’s with Ellen and Ethan. He carried the left-over cake Anne had insisted they take. Jill’s laughter tumbled out when her children horsed around fighting over the dessert. Turning fifty hadn’t been the disaster she’d anticipated. Having her father and George with them, of course, would’ve made everything perfect. Since that was impossible, the night had been more than she’d hoped.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 31
Jerrod had a lot on his mind. He’d avoided being alone with Jill. But he couldn’t seem to stop his mind from drifting back to “the kiss.” He’d been wrong to imagine one kiss would take care of the odd yearning he had for the woman. It hadn’t. He could no longer pretend he wasn’t attracted to the blonde woman from Texas.
In the kitchen, he poured himself a shot of whiskey. What the hell was the matter with him anyway? He’d broken off a years-long deal he had with a lawyer in New Hampshire. Sex with no strings. A perfect situation for two people with incredibly busy lives. No time to work on a relationship. While she was younger than he was, she didn’t want kids, a complication they certainly didn’t need. It had worked fine the way things had been. Until Jill Barlow arrived.
He’d changed since the night he kissed Jill. His fingers closed around the glass. He downed the drink. The burn flowed right down to his gut. He roamed through the house, while pictures of her filled his mind.
When she’d turned on her heel right after she slapped him.
When she’d stood up to him threatening to sue if he repeated to anyone his accusation she was a murderer.
When they’d run into each other in the hall at his mother’s during the Fourth of July holiday.
His groin had clutched. Heat ignited within. The need to kiss her built. When he’d taken her home later that night, when he could no longer pretend a flame didn’t burn, he’d given in to desire.
What was more incredible? Apparently, the fire smoldered within her, too, and she hadn’t ignored it either.
What was he going to do now? Did he expect to get something hot and heavy going with Jill anytime soon? Not likely. She’d been a widow all of two years. Yeah, she’d kissed him back, but she sure hadn’t made any effort to be alone with him since. He hadn’t tried to see her either.
They hadn’t had an opportunity to talk about whatever this was between them. Maybe that was what he needed to do. Find a way to spend quality time alone with Ms. Barlow.
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5
Mike Riley scanned the report he’d received on Jill Barlow’s credit card. Woodstock, Vermont. She’d driven across country in her car, stopping three nights along the way. He pulled up his notes from her husband’s murder. Sure enough, she’d gone to New England about six months after his death and stayed for a week.
She must’ve enjoyed her visit a lot to return. She’d already been there longer than before. Did she plan to remain? Maybe since he knew where she was now, he could get something els
e from her accountant. Mike picked up the phone, and Myers’ secretary put the call through.
“Mr. Myers, this is Detective Mike Riley. Do you have any time for me this afternoon?”
“Uh, yeah. But Detective, if you’re still trying to find out where Ms. Barlow is, I can’t help you.”
“No, Mr. Myers. I’m not calling about that. How about one-thirty?”
Myers expelled a long breath of air, apparently resigning himself to the meeting.
“Sure, that’ll be fine. I’ll see you then.”
Mike would convince the accountant to tell him why Jill had gone to Woodstock and what her long-term plans were. Promptly at one-thirty, he opened the door to Gary Myers’ office in a small building on the west side of town. An attractive, slender young woman looked up from a reception area.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I’m Detective Riley and have an appointment to see Mr. Myers.”
“Yes, of course. Have a seat, Detective. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Mike didn’t sit. He walked over to the large windows with a view out onto I-30 and Camp Bowie Boulevard. Lots of cars passing by, but no traffic sounds made it through the walls of the well-made building bearing Myers’ name on the outside. Obviously, the accountant did all right.
“Detective, he’ll see you now.”
He followed the secretary down a hall. She pushed open a dark wood-grained door. “Mr. Myers, Detective Riley is here.”
The large man came around from behind his desk with his hand outstretched. Myers wore a dress shirt, but had the sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened. His suit jacket hung on a coat rack in the corner.
“Thanks, Missy,” Myers said.
She went out and closed the door.
“Detective.” Myers gestured Mike to one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“Appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.” Mike sat. The accountant settled himself in his large desk chair, rocking back and forth.
“I trust you’re not going to ask me again where Ms. Barlow is,” Myers’ tone emphasized his determination not to share that information.
“No, I’m not going to ask that.”
“Well, great.”
“Because the last place I’ve traced her to is Woodstock, Vermont.”
Myers’ chair came forward, and he jerked to a stop. He propped his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “Why do you think that?”
The man wasn’t a good bluffer. “I checked out her credit card use.”
“Maybe she was traveling through.”
“Perhaps. If I don’t pick up anything else, I’ll contact the authorities there to see if they can tell me anything.”
“Listen, Detective, wherever she is, Ms. Barlow doesn’t want her location to get out to the public.”
“And is that somehow connected to her husband and father’s deaths?”
“Now see here.” Myers stood, stretching to his over six-foot height.
Mike’s adrenalin kicked in, but years of experience allowed him to stay calm. Myers was too smart to attack a homicide detective in his office.
“Are you implying she was involved in those murders?” Myers voice rose. “Because if you are,” He raised his hand and pointed toward the door. “You can march out of here this minute. Don’t come back. I thought we got that idea squashed.”
“She’s lucky to have such a good friend.” Mike leaned forward but kept his pitch low, the one he used with overwrought witnesses. “And no, I’m not, nor do I believe she was involved. So, you can calm down.”
Myers seemed to consider for a moment. He sat but didn’t lean back or relax.
“I’ve got to weigh the possibility the murders and the break-in at Ms. Barlow’s house are related. Has she mentioned that her father left anything with her?”
“Not to me. Look, Detective, I’m sorry if I got out of line. I’ve been the family’s accountant taking care of tax returns and managing their property for years. Our families have been friends forever.”
“I get it, Mr. Myers”
“Tell me more about what you’re thinking.”
“The way things were torn up in her house, it looked like someone was searching for a particular item. Not one of the appliances or electronics was touched. No paintings.”
“That’s true.” Myers squinted. Was he picturing the chaos they’d found?
“When Ms. Barlow’s husband was killed, we considered his father-in-law’s legislative work to see if we could get a clue to a motive for the shooting.” Mike shook his head. “Frankly, while we had suspicions, we never found any definitive proof to conclude Representative Stevens was the target.”
“Now you’ve pointed it out, I can see how you’d think the burglars were searching for something specific.” Myers paused and tapped fingers on the top of the large desk. “To answer your question, no. Ms. Barlow hasn’t indicated to me the Senator left her anything special.” Myers frowned as if he were studying all the possible angles. His fingers tapped faster.
“If this is connected to the Senator’s work, it will have to do with gambling. When that bill passes, and eventually it will, some folks will come into a whole pile of money. If there was a piece of legislation Bill Stevens would’ve gladly given his life to defeat, it had to do with keeping casino gambling out of Texas.” Myers rested his elbows on his desk. “I’m speculating here, Detective, but if Bill knew anything to block passage for the foreseeable future, that’d be pretty powerful stuff.”
“And provides a significant reason to stop him. If Ms. Barlow has information on that order, then she’s in a dangerous position. I’d hate to see harm come to her. Losing her husband and father the way she did should be more than her share of trouble.”
“If I talk with her, Detective.” Myers seemed determined to stick with the story that he didn’t know where Barlow was. “I’ll ask her if she has anything from her father.”
Satisfied, Mike rose. “I’d appreciate it, Myers. I don’t want to frighten her, but I’d rather she be scared and prepared than ignorant and dead.”
Chapter Seven
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 27
Mitch Phillips shoved his cards across the table at the black jack dealer before taking a belt of whiskey. The glass in his hand shook. The fire rushed down his throat but didn’t give him the lift he’d counted on.
God, he’d hit a shitty run of luck. Down three hundred grand, and not a chance in hell of covering his debt. He glanced up. Two muscled men headed his way. Should he try to get out? He knew the Golden Tables well, his favorite Las Vegas casino, including a few of the back exits, but how would he leave town? He’d hocked his plane ticket days ago, but afterwards, he went up a hundred grand.
Why didn’t he walk then? Because his luck had been running. He’d been certain this time he’d make enough, he’d never have to depend on his mother or brother again. He’d stayed in the game. Bad decision.
While he’d considered his options, the goons reached him. They looked like linebackers. His gut churned at the image of busted kneecaps.
“Mr. Phillips, come with us, please” The guttural tones in sharp contrast to the expensive looking silk suits. The “please” an afterthought.
As if he had any choice. He downed the last of his bourbon. “Sure.” He got up, and they escorted him, one on either side. Not touching, but he got the point. The din from the casino penetrated his awareness. Never guess it was three in the morning. The jangle of the slot machines gushing money out for those lucky few. The constant clang of coins poured into the flashing monsters by suckers sure they’d be the next big winner.
The men led him into a section of the complex Mitch didn’t recognize. Sweat began to pool under his arms. Maybe he needed to worry more, but he’d been in this position before. They’d always given him time to come up with the dough. His welcome committee shoved him into a room. The door closed behind him with the two goons on either side. Mitch recognized the lone man behind the
desk. Slicked back dark hair. Italian suit and matching shoes. He’d stand out in a crowd anywhere. Mitch waited to speak.
“How’re you doing, Phillips?” Cranston’s heavy New Jersey accent raised hairs on the back of Mitch’s neck, reminding him of characters in mobster movies.
“Okay.” Hard to talk. Spit had dried up in his mouth.
“Sit down.” Cranston indicated a place in front of him. “I hear you’ve had a run of rotten luck.”
“Yeah, but you know me, Mr. Cranston.” Mitch slid into the chair. “I’m good for it, just not right at this minute, but I’ve always covered my debts.”
“You’re right. You always have in the past. But I hear your brother cut you off, and he’s encouraged your mother to do the same. How do you plan to pay us this time?”
Mitch swallowed with difficulty over the large knot suddenly filling his throat.
“I know you’re an honorable man and would want to, but with what?” The steel in Cranston’s voice sent chills down Mitch’s spine.
Damn, how could he know about Jerrod? “Yeah, my brother’s a hard ass, but I can get around my mother. Give me a couple of days to get home, talk to her, and I’ll have your money.” His hand trembled with the effort not to wipe the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.
“Well, Mr. Phillips, your luck may have changed, because we’re gonna waive your loss this time.”
Shit. What was going on here? They never did that. He’d expected to get the crap beaten out of him whether they let him go home or not. They’d figure his smashed-up body would be a convincing factor with his mom. “Waive the three hundred grand?” His voice cracked.
“Yeah, we need you to do us a small favor. When you do, we’ll forgive the debt you owe, and you’ll be welcome again in our casinos.”
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