by Laura Wright
Wayne thought about this for a moment, then shrugged. “It’s been a long time since you and your brothers have been back to River Black. It’s almost like we’re meeting again.”
“Okeydoke,” Cole said with a snort, his eyes running over the paperwork in the file in front of him. Meeting again. Shoot. He remembered pale-faced Wayne McCarron getting rejected by a girl in eighth grade and running off crying to the bathroom. Now, he wasn’t going to say anything about that. But this man was taking his host and investigatory partner away tonight . . .
Cole’s thoughts petered out as his gaze caught and held on a photograph at the very back of the file. It was the same photo he and Grace had found in the lifestyle section. Cass on the library steps with the girl in the background.
His heart started pumping, the pressure making his chest ache. Why the hell did Sheriff Hunter have this? What was he looking at? Looking for?
“Hey, Rev,” he started, swiveling in his spot to make some real room for the man to sit. “Take a look at this, will ya? Do you know who this girl is?”
Instead of sitting, though, Wayne came around the back of the couch. He leaned over and pointed to the shot with his middle finger. “That one there? Behind the girl on the steps?”
“Yup.”
He leaned in another few inches. “Looks like Natalie Palmer to me.”
Cole’s gut contracted. “Natalie—”
“Palmer?” came Grace’s voice behind them.
Both men glanced up, forgetting for a moment what they’d just been discussing. Grace was standing there. All ready for a night on the town. Damn. The vet was undeniably a hot chick. Killer petite body, gorgeous face, expressive green eyes, long dark hair that made a man’s fingers itch. But all of that was accentuated by the dress she’d put on. White and tight with little red flowers on it and a front that dipped into the most spectacular cleavage Cole had ever seen.
Wayne had noticed her too, and except for the rigid set of his jaw, was pretty much concealing his drool—as a righteous man of the cloth should, of course.
“What about the photograph?” Grace pressed, coming closer.
“Found it in one of your daddy’s files,” Cole said pointedly.
Her eyes shuttered. She was wondering just what the hell was going on too. And for a moment, Cole hoped the man wasn’t involved in Cass’s disappearance. For his daughter’s sake.
Wayne cleared his throat. “It’s hard to make out her face,” he said, returning to the aged newspaper. “But see that mark running down her leg?”
Grace came over to the couch while Cole leaned in and narrowed his eyes. “What is that?” he asked.
“A scar,” Wayne answered. “She’s had it since she was five. Ran into a glass table and had to have over seventy stitches. She’s become very self-conscious about it.”
“How did you know that?” Cole demanded.
“She is a parishioner, Mr. Cavanaugh.” It was all he said before standing up and addressing Grace. He kept his eyes on hers, didn’t let them slip down to the paradise below her neck.
He was a true gentleman.
A man of God.
And Cole? Well, he was admittedly the devil incarnate—his gaze was taking in every sweet and creamy wave.
“Ready?” Wayne asked her politely.
“Yes.” She glanced down at Cole. Concern warmed her eyes. “Will you be okay?”
He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be taking off, with all they needed to do, with all they needed to talk about. And maybe he’d add in something about him being in a vulnerable, moderately pained state. But he didn’t have the heart. She’d been good to him. Taken care of his pain-in-the-ass ass.
“I’ll be fine,” he said with a nod and a smile.
Something crossed her gaze, shadowed disappointment. But she recovered quickly. “I’ve left you a sandwich and some pasta salad in the fridge if you get hungry.”
“How kind of you, Grace,” Wayne put in.
Yeah, it was kind, Cole agreed. She was a good woman. A good woman who might’ve been born to a very bad man.
“I could call your brothers,” she offered. “Get them to come back and keep you—”
“I’m going to keep working, darlin’. Keep diggin’,” he said. His brow lifted. “Who knows what else I may find.”
She paled at his words, but didn’t say anything.
Cole glanced over at the reverend. “You take care of her, Father. Have her back at ten or you and me . . . we’re going to have words.”
Wayne blanched slightly, but still managed to try and set Cole straight. “I’m not a Father, Mr. Cavanaugh. That’s a Catholic—”
“Don’t worry about it, Wayne,” Grace interrupted with a soft laugh. She slipped her arm through his and led him away from the couch. “He’s just messing with you.”
“What about the curfew?” Wayne asked. “He’s not serious about that, is he?”
Again, she laughed as they headed for the door. “Come on.” Then she glanced back at Cole. “Night.”
His eyes searched hers for something that resembled a Help me get out of this! expression. But there was nothing. She was glad to be with Wayne. And why wouldn’t she be? Sure, Cole considered the man dull as an unsharpened knife, but for someone who wanted a nice quiet life in River Black, he was probably the catch of the century. He clipped her a nod. “Night, Doc.”
She gave him a smile. “Don’t do anything that might put strain on your ankle, okay?”
She didn’t wait for a response. Just turned around and was gone. Out the door and under the protection of the good Father Reverend. And Cole was alone with Belle and a helluva lot of files. He called the dog up onto the couch, then dug in to the box for another stack of potential clues, and most unwelcome memories.
Ten
Grace found Cole and Belle outside in the backyard when she returned home a few hours later. The former was seated at the antique glass-and-white-metal table she’d bought on eBay the year before, blond head bent over a stack of papers, broad shoulders and thickly muscled back exposed, and both feet on the ground. The tabletop was littered with about half a dozen candles, and when she approached and his head came up, those black eyes glittered in the firelight with quick interest.
Grace’s heart skipped a beat or two inside her ribs and she moved his way. The man was terrifyingly sexy, overwhelmingly male. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
He sat back in his chair casually, his eyes moving over her. “Better.”
“Really?”
One pale eyebrow drifted upward. “You sound disappointed.”
“No. Of course I’m not disappointed.” Unbidden, her gaze snaked down his neck to his inked chest, then shot quickly back upward. “Just surprised.”
“I heal fast.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Not saying I’m perfect, mind you—”
“No, please don’t say that,” she uttered dryly.
His lips twitched. “Point is, the ankle is now at eighty percent, and that means I’ll be back to training tomorrow.”
A lump the size of a grapefruit dropped into her gut. It was a strange reaction. One she wasn’t sure she wanted to pick apart. “Well, that’s great.”
Cole was studying her. It always felt like he was studying her. For what, she wasn’t sure. A clue to how she felt around him? Or what she was thinking? Why did he care? Unless what he wanted to ascertain had to do with her father. That made the most sense.
“Are we going to talk about those photographs?” he asked.
Her heart shrank inside her chest. Though she’d been thinking about it all night, she’d been hoping he hadn’t. “I want to say that it’s just a strange coincidence, but I can’t. I can’t say anything until I talk to him.” She gave him a pointed look. “And I’m going to do that. Alone.”
For a second Cole appeared ready to argue that statement, but then he released a heavy breath. His gaze dropped to the box in her hands. “So, whaddya got there?”
She looked down too. “Oh. It’s pizza.”
One brow lifted. “For me?”
She felt the muscles in her face relax, felt a smile tug at her lips. “Maybe.”
“Awww . . . Rev was right about you, Doc. You are sweet.”
Heat surged into her cheeks. “It was nothing. Just in case you didn’t eat your sandwich . . .”
“As a matter of fact,” he said, eyes pinned to hers. “I didn’t eat my sandwich.”
“Well, that’s not very smart, Cole,” she started in, forgetting all about her embarrassment, all about the discussion she was going to have to have with her father. “Making sure you have enough calories is important to your—”
“You know, Doc,” he interrupted, reaching up and taking the pizza box from her hands. He placed it on the table beside him. “You’re going to make someone a great wife.”
Grace’s heart stuttered at his words. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged casually. “You got the caretaking gene, is all I’m sayin’. Not a lot of women have it. Surprising but true.” His gaze searched hers and something dark moved across the twin pools of near black. “I’m thinking the Rev might agree with me.”
Her heart went from stuttering to the muscle freezing up altogether. This was so dangerous. She wasn’t going there with him. Chit chat. Flirtation. Discussing her date with another guy like they were two girlfriends over near empty glasses of wine. Cole Cavanaugh was just her injured houseguest/investigatory work partner.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, ready to flee the scene. “A beer might go nice with the pizza?”
“No, thanks,” he said with just a hint of melancholy. “Can’t drink.”
“Oh, right. Training.” She shrugged, then turned. “Well, I’ll get you a plate and a napkin, then.”
But before she could make her escape, Cole caught her hand and turned her back to face him. Heart slamming inside her chest, she gazed down at him. His expression was no longer relaxed, playful. Instead, he wore a mask of dark curiosity.
“Something wrong?” she asked, trying not to think about how amazing his hand felt against hers. Strong, warm . . .
“He kiss you tonight? The Rev?”
God, this was a bad idea. She blew out a breath. “What a question.”
“Needs an answer.”
“Does it?” She swallowed tightly. “It’s really none of your business. I mean, I don’t ask you who you kiss, now do I?” Fancy Dallas doctor maybe?
“Hey, I’ll tell you. No one.” He gave her a pointed look. “Training.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that,” she said idiotically. “For all of your . . . suffering.”
For a second, he stared at her. Then he started to laugh. Really laugh. It was a rough-edged sound that snaked down her back, giving her a hot shiver.
“Come on now,” he said finally. “Don’t go running off. Sit with me. Watch me eat your leftover pizza.”
“Watch you eat?”
“Yep.”
Her lips twitched without her permission. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Could be.” His eyes glittered with cocky amusement. “I’ve heard I’m a sexy eater. Lots of tongue and teeth.”
She tried to pretend like the breath wasn’t stalled in her lungs. “That might be what’s known as oversharing, Cole.”
He just laughed again. “Come on, Doc. Sit.”
“I should really—”
“What? Go inside and go to bed?”
“Maybe. It’s been a long day.” And at this rate, it was going to be a longer night. What was happening? Here? To them? A week ago she’d wanted to club him over the head. Now her mind was conjuring up all sorts of images that had nothing to do with retribution, and everything to do with her lips on his.
He pulled out the chair beside him. “Don’t make me eat alone. Do that way too often as it is.”
Nice touch. She was pretty sure he was laying it on thick. Making her feel sorry for him. She couldn’t imagine he was ever alone. Not in the woman department, anyway. But even so she caved, sat down in the seat he offered and opened the pizza box.
It was a gorgeous night. So different from the one before. Clear skies. Bright moon. The scent of cool grass on the breeze, Belle’s collar making that jangling sound as she sniffed herself into oblivion over by the pecan tree.
“This looks good,” he remarked, grabbing a slice.
Her gaze shifted to the man beside her. Yes, he did. Too good. Cole Cavanaugh had this way about him . . . this thing that went far beyond his incredible looks and physique. Maybe it stemmed from confidence or a lack of caring what anyone thought of him. Or maybe it was his unwavering drive. Whatever it was, it unnerved her. Threw her world off its carefully constructed axis.
He glanced up then, a second before slipping the slice between his lips. “Pepperoni and black olive. This Rev or you?”
“Does it matter? It’s untouched, I swear.”
“Shit, woman. ’Course it matters.”
“Why?”
He thought for a second, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She laughed. “How many times have you been hit in the head?”
“I think we’ve gone over this. More than you got toes on your feet.”
Her mouth dropped open. She’d meant it as a joke. A comeback for his crazy questions about the pizza. “You’ve been hit in the head more than ten times?”
He shrugged. “Hit, kicked, dropped, slammed.” He took a bite of the pizza and groaned. “Hot damn, I shouldn’t be eating this shit . . . Christ, I sound like a woman.”
She ignored the barb to her sex for the sake of keeping the conversation going. She never regretted pizza. Ever. “What’s the problem?”
“Tastes like fucking heaven,” he explained. “But it doesn’t do a damn thing to build muscle. And don’t get me started on all the salt.”
She gestured at his chest. “You have plenty of muscle. I wouldn’t worry.”
A grin split his features. “Staring at my body, are you, Doc?” he teased.
She snorted, though her insides were humming with an uncomfortable awareness. “Kind of impossible not to. You’re very anti-shirt.”
“I run hot-blooded,” he informed her before finishing off the slice of pizza.
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s true. I think I’m part tiger.”
“Or part dog,” she returned.
Without warning, he leaned in and growled at her.
Shock waves of heat barreled through Grace. She stared at him. He was so close. Less than a foot away. Her breath was coming in shallow, and she wondered if slapping herself might bring back the calm, put-together Dr. Hunter. Or diving into a vat of ice water. She guessed not.
She cleared her throat. “Did you manage to do some more digging?” She hated that she’d asked him that, that she’d brought up the files, and the photograph again. But it was the only thing that might bring back their sanity.
He nodded. “Didn’t find anything else, though. I e-mailed Mac about the picture. Asked her what she knew about Natalie during those years. We’ll see if she has anything to add.”
“Maybe they were friends?” she said, though it came out a whisper. “Natalie and Cass.”
“I don’t think so. I tried not to always be up in my sister’s business, but it wasn’t easy. She was my other half. So I kept a look out. I knew who her friends were.” His brows lowered slightly over dark eyes fringed with pale lashes. “I know you want to talk with your pops on your own, but I say you and me, we pay the baker a little visit tomorrow. Ask her a few questions.”
“The bakery�
�s closed,” she reminded him.
“I know.”
“So you want to go to her house?”
“Yup.”
“I thought you were going back to training.”
“I am. Will be. But I can spare a few hours in the morning. If you can.”
His eyes were eating her up now. There was no other way to describe it. He looked like he wanted to dig around inside her head and consume whatever he found there. Good, bad, right, wrong. It was the strangest thing she’d ever experienced with a man.
“Do you think Deacon and James are going to want to be involved?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “Probably. But I think it’s best if we do this on our own for now. Three Cavanaugh brothers descending on one already anxious woman . . .”
True. That would be pretty intimidating. “You know, it might be hard to get to her,” Grace said. “With what her daddy did, she may not think kindly on any visitors at all.”
Cole’s lips twitched. Not with humor, but with that singular brand of cocky confidence he wore. “You know me, darlin’. I got my ways. When I want something, I go after it.” His eyes dropped to her lips. “By the way, that slice was good. Your soon-to-be husband knows his pizza.”
She nearly choked. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said, watching her closely.
“Wayne is not my soon-to-be husband. He’s not my soon-to-be anything—”
“Did you kiss him?”
“’Course I didn’t kiss him.” Wait. Why was she so vehement about that? She liked Wayne. Wayne was a good man, with solid, real values.
A slow, satisfied smile was Cole’s only response.
Nostrils flared, she shook her head at him. “You’re insane. You know that?”
“I do. But at least I’m not stupid.”
She bristled. “Who are you calling stup—?”
“Don’t get all bent out of shape, Doc. I’m talking about Wayne.”
“Oh, Wayne is not stupid.”
He leaned in, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Sent you home to another man without givin’ you a good, solid kiss good night? Stupid.”
“That’s called being polite, Cole,” she said breathlessly. “Maybe you should try it.”