To Catch a Thief

by Nan Dixon

  “More.” Desperation filled his voice.

  She slid and slipped. They moaned each other’s names. Her gasps matched his. Sweat dewed her skin. “Faster. Sage, please.”

  His thumb and forefinger pinched and abraded her nipple. Everything inside her tensed, prepared. Her movements were frantic. Lights flashed behind her eyes, precursor of another orgasm.

  “I...can’t...” They rolled. The motion ignited the fireworks inside her.

  “Yes!” He lunged deeper, harder. “So good.”

  She clung to him, riding out her ecstasy. Her legs, her arms, her heart, wrapped around him.

  He stiffened. The tendons in his neck strained against his skin. He slammed into her one more time. “Carolina!”

  Heaven. She swore she heard angels singing.

  He collapsed, pinning her to the bed. Their gasps fluttered each other’s hair.

  Echoes of her orgasm fired inside. Her breaths finally slowed.

  He rolled and they lay face-to-face on their sides. “Wow.”

  “Wow,” she repeated. Because sex had never been like this. She couldn’t tell him that. It sounded—pathetic.

  He brushed her hair away from her cheek. “I don’t want to scare you, but that was incredible. Amazing.”

  Her breath caught in her chest. She was falling too far, too fast. She kept it light. “You’re saying that because I gave you a back rub.”

  His fingers tightened on her chin. His green eyes darkened to the color of Georgia pine trees at dusk. “I’m not. I mean it. You mean something to me.”

  Her exhale released a puff of air. “I thought I was being crazy to fall so fast. I didn’t want to scare you away.”

  He hugged her so tight she couldn’t breathe. And she didn’t care. “Thank goodness.”

  She buried her face in his shoulder, not wanting the world to intrude. She didn’t need the covers, he kept her warm and safe. All she needed was him.

  “My headache’s gone.” Sage’s voice was full of wonder. “I mean totally gone.”

  “Really?”

  “This is great!” Sage bounced a kiss on the top of her head. “I should clean up.”

  When he left the bed, the cold and despair of her world returned. Being with Sage hadn’t solved her problems. Her mother was still in the hospital. Her half sisters didn’t know who she was. She’d taken a stupid bird for her mother. Even Sage couldn’t stop the return of reality.

  But for a few shining moments she’d forgotten. And she’d helped Sage’s headache go away. That was enough.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CAROLINA SCANNED HER keycard and then held the restaurant door for Derrick.

  “Thanks.” He hauled in his keg-cleaning equipment.

  “Thank you. The last place I worked, the staff cleaned the lines,” Carolina said. “I’m glad Abby has you come in.”

  “So am I.” He winked.

  Derrick wasn’t flirting. He was just friendly. He loved showing off pictures of his wife and grandkids.

  Abby had asked if she would pick up a few hours of cleaning. Carolina didn’t mind. Another credit card bill had surfaced and she needed the money.

  Grabbing a step stool, she pulled the liquor bottles off the shelves. Humming a Taylor Swift song, she cleaned the mirrors, lights and shelving. She morphed from Taylor into McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dying,” sang a little Janis Joplin and then classic Gershwin as she dusted bottles. It might be mindless work, but she loved making things shine.

  “‘Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long wa-ay from home,’” she belted out, enjoying the acoustics of the empty restaurant. “‘A long wa-ay from home.’”

  Someone clapped, loud and long.

  She jerked. The stool wobbled and she clutched at the shelf.

  “That was gorgeous.” Abby sat at one of the tables, looking like she’d been there a while.

  Carolina pressed on her pounding heart. “I thought I was alone. I mean, other than Derrick.”

  “I’ve been enjoying the show for the last three songs.” Abby moved to the bar and set her arms on the counter, frowning. “You’re good.”

  Carolina touched her burning face. Was Abby upset? “Thank you?”

  “No, I mean you’re really good. When you said you’d sung in Nashville, but came here for a bartending job, I assumed...” Abby flipped her strawberry blond ponytail over her shoulder and choked out a laugh. “That’s what happens when I assume.”

  Carolina couldn’t laugh at the joke. Abby was frowning so hard her eyebrows almost touched.

  Singing wasn’t something to be ashamed of or even something to hide. Carolina straightened her shoulders. If Abby didn’t like people being happy enough in their work to express themselves, that was on her. “Is something wrong?”

  Abby shook her head. “Wrong? Why?”

  “You look...” How could she describe the look on Abby’s face? “Intense? Angry?”

  “Angry?” Her half sister laughed. “I’m thinking.”

  “About?” Carolina sputtered.

  Abby looked around the restaurant. “Do you play piano or an instrument when you sing?”

  What an odd question. “I use an accompanist. Usually piano, but sometimes a small band.”

  Abby’s fingers tapped the bar. “What about those—karaoke machines? Have you sung with those?”

  “A few times.” Not that she liked them. Ella was adept at following Carolina’s lead when she drew out a note or drove a beat. “It’s not my favorite.”

  “Sure, sure. I guess it would be like me cooking on an electric fry pan.” Abby pushed away from the bar and paced the room. “I’ve thought about adding a piano.”

  Where? But Carolina wasn’t going to interrupt Abby.

  “If I pull this table—” Abby pointed at one near the kitchen “—I can put in a baby grand.”

  Carolina ducked under the bar’s pass-through and stood behind the table. There were only sight lines to half the restaurant. “If you’re going to add a piano, I’d put it in that corner.”

  Carolina led Abby across the room to the corner booth.

  “It’s one of my large tables.” Abby grimaced. “Why?”

  Carolina chewed her lip. It wasn’t her responsibility to tell Abby how to run her restaurant. She was a part-time bartender.

  “Don’t go shy on me,” Abby warned.

  Carolina kicked off her shoes and stood at the back of the booth. She held up her hands. “A singer would have sight lines to all the diners, even to some on the second floor. And, if the doors are open, to the patio.”

  Abby chewed her lip. “We could put speakers out there and upstairs.”

  “You’d have to buy quality speakers,” Carolina mused. “There’s nothing worse that buzzing and screeching.”

  Abby’s green gaze held hers. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever played piano and sung.”

  Carolina climbed down and shook her head. “I play, but not that well.”

  Abby snapped her fingers. “Too bad.”

  Carolina laughed.

  “We can work around it.” Abby slapped her hands on her thighs. “What do you think?”

  “About...?”

  “Singing in Southern Comforts? What we’ve been plotting for the last five minutes.”

  Singing? Her heart sped up. “Isn’t that a little—impulsive?”

  “I’ve thought about it before,” Abby said. “I just wasn’t sure where to find the talent. But she’s working under my nose. It would mean a raise. And more tips.”

  More money. It was the answer to her mother’s bills.

  Carolina’s breath stuck in her chest. Singing at Abby’s restaurant. What would Mamá think?

  But Carolina loved singing and she was good. Lord knows, they needed the money. “I’m in.�
�

  * * *

  “LOOK UP. DOWN. Right. Left,” Dr. Shaw instructed.

  Sage could recite the examination. Knew when to stand and perform the sobriety drill.

  Unfortunately, based on his lack of coordination, if he tried to drive and a cop stopped him, he’d be suspected of driving under the influence.

  “Read the bottom line.”

  The letters swam, like he was under water. He squinted. Pain drilled into his head, making his eyes tear. “Um, E...no, D. O...or C?”

  “Let’s try the line above.”

  Sage still couldn’t distinguish the letters. He struggled, but nothing focused.

  “Your vision’s getting better.” The doctor shut off the screen.

  Sage snorted. Right. “Can I get eye drops? Glasses? Something to get back to work.”

  The doctor shook his head. “It won’t help.”

  “But it’s been almost five weeks.” He hated being useless.

  “These things take time.” The doctor looked at his notes. “How are the headaches?”

  If he lied and said they were gone, would Dr. Shaw clear him for work? Although having sex with Carolina had left him pain-free for a night. “Getting better.”

  “How often do you have a headache?”

  He was a Cornell, he had to be honest. “Two or three times a day.”

  The doctor typed into his medical record. “And can you narrow down the causes?”

  “When I read. Bright lights. Exercise. Stress.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’d be less stressed if you’d let me go back to work.”

  The doctor chuckled. “Your boss warned me you’d push hard to return to work. But the facts are clear, you have a concussion and you were shot in the head. It’s better to err on the side of recovery. Give yourself a break.”

  “But I can’t do anything.”

  “Patience.” Dr. Shaw exhaled. “Agent Cornell, you have a physically demanding job. Going back and ending up with another concussion could be fatal.”

  “Fatal?” Had he known this?

  The doctor nodded. “How’s the meditation going?”

  “Boring.” And his brain wouldn’t shut off. “The yoga’s a little more interesting.”

  The doctor looked him in the eyes. He was maybe ten years older than Sage, but his eyes were even older. The doc had done two tours in Afghanistan and earned a Silver Star for the evacuation of a hospital. He was a natural hero. “I know you’re frustrated, but you need to let your brain heal.”

  “Will it?” Sage swallowed. That thought kept him awake at night. Was pain his new normal and he’d draw disability instead of a paycheck? His shoulders sagged. “Will I recover?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Shaw nodded. “If you follow orders.”

  The doc suggested a few more things to keep the headaches at bay and sent him away for another two weeks. Lately, Sage’s life was being parsed out in two-week increments.

  He took the bus to the historic district. Then sat on a Johnson Square bench. He let his head drop into his hands, closing his eyes. The darkness pushed back some of the pounding in his head.

  This couldn’t be the end of his career. He hadn’t turned thirty. He was ashamed he couldn’t live up to his family legacy.

  Why would Carolina want to hang around with a loser like him? She was amazing. She’d given up her career to take care of her mother and she was helping him out. All while her life was out of control.

  Carolina was all that was light and good. And last week, making love had been...incredible. But if he wasn’t an FBI agent, what did he have to offer?

  He was worthless. He had to get better.

  At the carriage house, he started up the stairs. His foot missed a step and he stumbled, clutching the railing so he didn’t fall ass over teacup. His heart pounded and his mouth dried up like the pasture during a drought. Damn it. He couldn’t even climb the stairs.

  The door above him opened and Carolina ran down. “Are you all right?”

  “I slipped.” It wasn’t a lie, but not the full truth. Guilt ate at him. “I was hoping we could grab some lunch.”

  “I’m on my way to the hospital.”

  “We could...eat on the way.” He wanted to be with her. He couldn’t face this idleness crap alone.

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “Great.” He jerked his head to the courtyard and paid for it with a sharp stab in the head. “I’ll wait down here.”

  A crease formed between her eyebrows. “Are you really all right?”

  He wanted to nod but hated the repercussions. “I will be once I kiss you.”

  She sighed and smiled. “I’ll grab my purse.”

  Sage eased down the steps, sinking into the closest chair. When would this get better? He kicked the table and it rattled. His fingers clenched, wanting to tip the damn thing over. Was his anger a result of his concussion and he’d have to deal with rage, too?

  “I’m ready.” Carolina stopped next to the table, looking as bright as a sunbeam.

  He stood and pulled her close, inhaling her light, flowery scent. “I missed you.”

  She cupped his face and brushed a kiss on his lips. “It’s only been two days.”

  “Too long.” He covered her mouth and her tongue tangled with his. With just her touch, his anger dissipated and his headache eased. He needed her so much more than she needed him. Sighing, he set his forehead on hers.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Mmm-hmm.” The ground rocked. He hoped it was the kiss and not the damn vertigo that came and went without warning.

  “I’d love to head back upstairs.” She caught both his hands. “But I need to see my mom.”

  “I know.” And he was a little relieved. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend he was normal. “Where would you like to eat?”

  “Would here be all right?” Her deep blue eyes stared into his.

  “Great.” He held her hand and they headed to the patio. “Since it’s not too hot, do you want to sit outside?”

  “That would be nice.” She gave him a shy smile. “It wouldn’t feel like I’m working. Thanks.”

  And he felt ten feet tall. He squeezed her fingers. There was an unfamiliar redhead at the hostess station. He mimed that they were going to sit on the patio and guided Carolina to a chair shaded by an umbrella. “Does this work?”

  “Perfect.” She sat.

  The hostess came over with menus and silverware. “Welcome to Southern Comforts.”

  “Thanks.” Sage took a seat.

  Carolina stared at the woman, her dark eyebrows forming a line. “Do I know you?”

  The woman laughed. “I’m not sure. I’m Dolley Fitzgerald.”

  Carolina’s hands gripped the edge of the table.

  Sage leaned forward. “Carolina—?”

  “You’re Abby’s sister,” Carolina interrupted.

  “You got it in one.” Dolley tipped her head. “You look familiar, too.”

  “I work as a bartender. For your sister. Part-time.” The words fired out like a semiautomatic rifle.

  “You’re the new singer?” Dolley leaned down at the table.

  Singer? Sage straightened.

  “I... I guess I am.” She bit her lip. “I’m Carolina Castillo.”

  “Great name. Abby was talking about you. No, make that raving about you. I think that’s how she talked me into filling in for the hostess.” Dolley grinned. “I can’t wait to hear you sing.”

  “Thanks.” Carolina nodded. “Did something happen to Karen?”

  “She had an appointment that ran late. And no one knows how to get people to do their bidding like Abby.” Dolley shrugged, making red curls dance around her face. “I should know not to ask her questions in person.”

  “What?” Carolina
asked.

  “Family joke. I’ll let you enjoy your lunch. Your server will be Kylie.” Dolley stared at Carolina, shaking her head. “I’ve got it. You look a little like my cousin—on my dad’s side. Dana Oliver. Are you related?”

  Carolina’s mouth dropped open. “Not that I know of.”

  “I think it’s your eyes.” Dolley shrugged. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  Dolley walked back into the restaurant and Carolina stared after her.

  “What’s wrong?” Sage asked.

  Carolina waved a hand and finally said, “It was...she called me the singer.”

  Sage didn’t believe her. Carolina had gripped the edge of the table like it was a lifeline. “Before that.”

  “Abby heard me singing in the bar while I was cleaning.” Carolina glanced over at the hostess station. “She wants me to sing here.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Sage picked up her hand but had to uncurl her fingers before he could hold it. “But why are you upset?”

  “Upset?”

  “Your hands are clenched. You looked at Dolley like she was a ghost.” He squeezed her fingers, hoping she would confide in him. “What happened?”

  “You’re really observant.” She squeezed his fingers. “What did the doctor say?”

  She was changing the subject. “No improvement.”

  “I’m sorry.” She stroked his cheek.

  Kylie introduced herself, gave them water and recited the lunch specials.

  Carolina discussed lunch options, asking what he was going to have, debating aloud what would be good for lunch.

  And never answered his question.

  His curiosity was piqued. Carolina had looked...scared. That was the right word. He asked, “How’s your mother?”

  “Still having seizures. They haven’t been able to get her medication to stop them.” She twisted one of her curls. “Even small things set her off—getting upset, not liking the food, not liking the nurses.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her tension could be from worrying about her mother. She was under so much stress. And he was selfishly focused on his own problems. He should be helping her. “Would you like to come to my place for dinner tonight?”