by Stacy Finz
Wyatt Lambert’s background check was cleaner than an operating table. As far as Harlee could tell, he’d never so much as had a ticket. His military record may not have been the stuff of best-selling memoirs, but there had been nothing out of the ordinary during his tour of duty.
He owned a house that he’d paid 220,000 dollars for with a 20 percent down payment. It sat on five acres on the other side of town, about two miles from his parents’ house. He and his neighbor shared a legal easement on the driveway.
Darla would be pleased to note that he’d never been married. She might not be so pleased about the fact that he was a registered Republican. But they could work out the politics later. Bigger obstacles than party affiliation had been overcome.
On paper, Wyatt looked perfect.
Harlee was just about to shut down for the day when an email popped up in her in-box. The subject line said Dearling Bros. She thought it might be a new background-check assignment, clicked on the missive, and read.
DEAR MISS ROBERTS,
MY SISTER HAS USED YOUR DATADATE SERVICE AND I MUST SAY I WAS VERY IMPRESSED. I’M THE CO-OWNER OF DEARLING BROS., A PRIVATE INVESTIGATION FIRM WITH OFFICES IN DALLAS, NEW YORK, MIAMI, AND CHICAGO. LATER THIS YEAR, WE PLAN TO OPEN IN THE LOS ANGELES AREA.
I’D BE INTERESTED IN TALKING TO YOU ABOUT A BUSINESS PROPOSAL. IF YOU’RE INTERESTED, LET ME KNOW AND WE’LL SET UP A MEETING.
SIGNED,
BIX DEARLING
Probably a nut job. But Harlee looked up Dearling Bros. just for kicks. Her first search netted pages of information about the private investigation firm and the pair of Texas brothers who owned it. Bix Dearling was no joke. He’d been a Dallas police detective, who’d gone out on his own with the help of his brother, a former Navy SEAL. Together they’d built a private investigations empire, contracting with large law firms as well as doing major consulting work for law enforcement agencies. Why in the world would he be interested in her little one-woman start-up?
May as well hear what he had to say, Harlee thought as she quickly replied to his email. Then she picked up the phone and hit speed dial. “Hey, Connie, it’s Harlee. Is the chief available?”
Connie transferred Harlee to Rhys, who picked up on the third ring. “What’s up?”
“You used to be a Texas cop, right?”
“Houston PD. Why?”
“Do you know Bix Dearling?”
“He’s from Dallas, and no, not personally, only by reputation. What’s going on with Bix?”
“I don’t completely know,” Harlee said. “He sent me an email that he might be interested in doing business—something to do with DataDate. What’s his reputation?”
“Great cop. Entrepreneur extraordinaire. Womanizer. Not necessarily in that order.”
“But he’s on the level?” Harlee asked. In the background she could hear Rhys clicking on his computer.
“He’s definitely on the level. He did some consulting for Houston PD—wowed everyone. You interested in whatever he’s peddling?”
“I don’t know yet.” If it was big money she definitely was interested. “Maybe.”
“Then hear him out. I’ve gotta go, but let me know what happens.”
“Will do,” she said and signed off.
Hmm, Harlee thought. What an interesting turn of events. It would probably wind up being nothing, but it was fun pondering the possibilities. She started to power off and planned to head over to Colin’s place to start dinner, when Bix pinged her back, wanting to set up a meeting. She sent him her phone number, but he insisted that they talk in person. When she explained that she lived in a rural town, four hours from San Francisco, he asked about airports close to Nugget where he could land his corporate jet.
Harlee had no idea about landing strips. But she knew Clay owned a couple of planes and told Bix she’d find out what airport he used. Surreal. Her fledgling business brought in just enough money to carry Harlee, who lived rent-free. It wasn’t exactly Microsoft. Then again, with the resources of a company like Dearling Bros., it could be quite profitable.
She left a message for Emily, asking about local airports, and hiked up the hill to Colin’s house. Max sprung out of his dog door in greeting, jogging in circles around Harlee as if he hadn’t seen her in months.
“Here, boy,” she called, trying to get him to heel before his exuberance caused her to trip over him. “Where’s Colin, Max?”
The dog cocked his head to one side and let out a whimper.
“Hey.” Colin stood at the entryway, one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, his hair wet from a recent shower. Just the sight of him made her insides slam.
“I’ve got some interesting news,” she said, and climbed the porch stairs.
“Tell me in front of the fire. It’s damned cold.” He waited for Max to do his business and whistled for the dog to come inside the house.
“Did you just get home?” She kissed him, inching her hands under his shirt to feel his damp skin.
“About forty minutes ago. I thought we’d do something different tonight,” Colin said.
“What’s that?” They’d already had sex in every room in the house, including the wood shop.
“You go first.” He patted a place next to him on the couch.
She told him about the email she’d gotten from Bix Dearling, how he owned a national private investigation agency and that he wanted to discuss a possible business deal regarding DataDate, in person.
“You think the guy is serious?” Colin asked.
Harlee lifted her hands up. “He wants to fly here all the way from Dallas. What I don’t get is why he doesn’t just steal my idea, do it bigger and better. I presume his company already does background checks. What I do is essentially the same thing, except I’m probably way cheaper.”
“I agree that it sounds a little odd.” He got up, went to the hearth, and pushed a few logs around with a poker, trying to extinguish the flames. “But there’s only one way to find out—listen to what the guy has to say. I can come with you to meet with him if you want.”
“Don’t you think that would look lame, like I’m not leaning in?”
“Leaning in?” Colin looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language.
“You know, the book by Sheryl Sandberg, the chief operating officer of Facebook. It says women need to be more aggressive—become leaders and not let men take all the credit.”
“Whatever.” Colin all but rolled his eyes. “I just don’t like the idea of you meeting some strange dude by yourself. If I go with you, I could, you know, recline. Hell, I could just lie on my back; that way he wouldn’t think I was trying to out lean you.”
Harlee tried to hide her amusement. “I’ll have Bix meet me in a public place.”
“Just don’t give him too much information in case the guy is on a fact-finding mission.”
“Duh,” Harlee said, and kissed him.
“You want to go out to dinner?” He reached around her waist and slid his hands down to cup her butt.
She stopped kissing him and stared. “Like . . . to a restaurant?”
“Today, while installing bathroom fixtures, this plumber told me about this new Italian place in Blairsden. It’s mostly takeout, but has about six tables. I called and made a reservation, thinking we could try. Worse comes to worse, we’ll take the food to go. What do you think?”
“I think this is good. Wow, Colin, you sure you want to do this?”
“What I think, Harlee Roberts, is that you deserve a real date.”
“Colin, we have good dates at home. I have never felt deprived.”
“We should have a real date,” he said softly. “At least once before you leave.”
Before you leave.
He just threw those words around like they were nothing. Like they weren’t even worth a conversation. It shouldn’t hurt like it did, because she had made it crystal clear from the get-go that Nugget was a temporary stopping place until she found another newspaper j
ob. But now her feelings had changed. Couldn’t he see that, or did he just not care?
The restaurant was even smaller than Colin had expected. There were only two other couples in the place. Still, he asked if they could be seated close to the door in case the walls started moving in on him and he had to make a run for it.
Despite its hole-in-the-wall appearance from the outside, inside the place had white linen tablecloths, little candles on every table, and a small stone fireplace in the corner. Classy.
Harlee’s face lit with delight, which made him even more determined to endure the fear that had gripped him ever since he walked in the door. She’d even changed into a dress and high-heeled boots for the outing.
“Colin, this place is perfect.” She took off her coat while he pulled out her chair.
“Yeah, not bad.” He focused on his breathing, slowly inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.
Harlee flipped through the menu. “What are you getting?”
“What looks good to you?” Too busy watching a family of four come through the door, Colin hadn’t so much as glanced at the long list of entrées.
“Want to share the grilled polenta for the antipasto?”
“Sure,” Colin said, trying to regulate his heartbeat while the little restaurant continued to fill up.
“Then I’m going with a salad and the scaloppini.”
“Yeah. I’ll do the same.” Colin undid the top button of his shirt and pulled his sleeves up.
“Wouldn’t you rather have the chicken?” Harlee reached across the table and grabbed his hand, fixing on his tattoo for a second. Sometimes, during sex, she’d trace it with her finger. “We could take it to go, Colin. You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m good,” he said, trying to smile as a trickle of sweat ran down his back. “It’s just hot in here.”
She pinned him with a look. “You seem on the verge of a panic attack.”
Before he could say anything, a waitress came and took their order. Colin got a bottle of Chianti, deciding that a little alcohol might calm his nerves. Plus, he knew Harlee would like it. Their server returned quickly with the wine, poured, and moved on, much to Colin’s relief. Having her hover wasn’t helping the situation.
He clinked his glass to Harlee’s and took a sip. “Good.”
“Ah, Colin. I don’t want you to do this if you’re uncomfortable.”
“Just talk to me and I’ll be fine. Promise.” Two men came in and were seated next to the fireplace. That made ten people, not counting him and Harlee or the staff.
“Okay,” Harlee said. “Tell me about the tattoo on your arm. I’ve never seen anything like it. What’s its significance?”
Colin glanced down at the black dots that peeked out under his rolled-up cuff. That was the last thing he wanted to talk about. “It was a youthful indiscretion.”
“But it must mean something. Why else would you have chosen it?”
Their polenta came, and Colin was thankful for the reprieve. “It looks great,” he told the waitress. He served Harlee a portion, then tried to swallow a bite, but it felt like sawdust in his mouth.
“This is really good,” Harlee said. “As good as anything in San Francisco. So tell me about the tattoo.”
Colin made the mistake of glancing around the room. Nearly every table was full. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, Harlee.” From the look on her face, he knew he’d said it too sharply. “Ah jeez, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, probably noticing the way he used his linen napkin to blot the sheen of sweat that covered his face. “Would you like to go outside and get some air?”
If he went outside, he’d never come back in. “No. I can do this.”
He could tell Harlee wanted to argue, but she bit her tongue. “Have another sip of your wine.”
Colin felt his hand tremble as he lifted the glass to his lips. “If I didn’t tell you before, you look really fantastic tonight. The dress is . . . just wow.” It was blue to match her eyes and mouthwateringly clingy.
“Thank you.” She smiled, but her eyes remained worried.
The salads came and Colin did his best to get a few pieces of lettuce down. One of the original couples got up to leave, taking so long to put on their coats that Colin thought he’d suffocate from having them linger so close.
“The dressing on this salad is fantastic,” Harlee said, clearly trying to make small talk while Colin broke out in a sweat.
Finally the couple left and Colin tried to take solace in the fact that the restaurant now had two fewer people. But then another family—husband, wife, and two little kids—came in and Colin thought he’d hyperventilate. He saw Harlee’s lips moving but couldn’t hear a word she said. Just white noise.
The waitress came to take their salad plates away and the motion of her clearing the table made him nauseous, like he was in the cabin of a rocking boat and couldn’t see the horizon. By the time their entrées came, his chest felt so constricted that he thought he’d pass out from lack of air.
“I can’t do this.” He fished his wallet from his pocket, put it down on the table, and staggered outside.
When Harlee found him fifteen minutes later, he was crouched next to his truck, his head between his knees. “I’m sorry.”
She touched his back and he flinched. “Should I take you somewhere?”
Colin knew she meant the hospital. Hell, probably the psychiatric ward. “No. It’ll be okay in a few minutes. Wait in the truck, it’s cold.”
But she sat in the dirt in her pretty blue dress, looking so achingly beautiful that he wanted to grab on to her and never let her go.
“Colin, it was too much, too soon. Next time we’ll start small, like—”
“Not now, Harlee.” He hadn’t meant to bark at her, but the humiliation was more than a man could take. Thrusting his keys at her, he told her to get inside the cab and turn on the heat.
When he finally pulled himself together, he found her behind the wheel with the seat pulled up enough for her to reach the pedals.
“I’ll drive,” she told him.
“The hell you will.” He motioned for her to climb into the passenger seat, and to her credit she didn’t argue.
They drove in silence with only the sound of the heater humming. Colin would have preferred to open his window and let the frigid air blast his face, but he didn’t want Harlee to catch a chill. A full moon illuminated the winding road; miles of freshly plowed snow berms shimmered white in the light. A big buck danced across the lane, stopping to stare into Colin’s headlights. Good thing he’d been driving slow. He and Harlee watched the animal lift its antlers and leap off into the distance.
Although the food Harlee had carted away from the restaurant in to-go bags filled the front of the truck with tantalizing smells, Colin had no appetite. The meal would likely taste as bitter as his mood. The night had been an absolute disaster and he’d behaved like a goddamned pussy.
A woman like Harlee deserved better than that. She deserved better than him.
He took the turn to Nugget and climbed the steep grade up Grizzly Peak, careful to keep a watch out for more deer, or even bear. The lumbering creatures weren’t hibernating as long as they used to and often roamed the road, looking for food.
At the bottom of Harlee’s driveway, he parked and walked her to the cabin. She unlocked her door and he handed her the to-go sacks.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked.
“Not tonight.”
“Colin,” she called to him as he started to walk away. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being so ridiculously hard on yourself? Come in. Please.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Harlee.” He made a beeline for his truck, but she came after him.
“You should be proud that you tried. That you made it as far as you did.”
Made it as far as he did? From the second they’d arrived at the restaurant he’d been tied up in knots.
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br /> “Leave it alone, Harlee. All I’m asking for is a little distance here. Can you just give me that much, please.”
“No!” she yelled. “I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
She grabbed him by his down jacket. “Because I love you. Can’t you see how much I love you?”
God, he didn’t want her pronouncement of love. He wasn’t the least bit worthy of it.
Anyway, what she thought she felt for him had nothing to do with love. What she felt was pity. And he needed her pity like he needed a hole in the head.
“I’m going,” he said, and turned away, peeling off in his truck.
Chapter 22
Harlee knew it probably hadn’t been the best time to drop the L-word.
For a proud man like Colin, dinner had to have been mortifying. Harlee got that. But she couldn’t help how she felt, and watching him suffer had undone her.
After shoving their leftovers in the refrigerator, she grabbed the phone and plopped down on the couch. Maybe, once he got inside his lonely house, he would change his mind and come back to the cabin.
Ha, who was she kidding? Colin liked lonely. He goddamned loved it. Did he ever think that maybe he was demophobic because it gave him an excuse to avoid civilization?
She halfheartedly sorted through the mail on the coffee table, thinking that she’d spent a lot of time on this sofa giving Colin “space” and “distance.” They’d also made love on the plaid foldout a time or two. She tried to focus on the good times, because for all his faults he was the best man—the best person—she’d ever met. Honest and hardworking. Still, she wondered whether it was finally time to hit up Jerry and move on.
The phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked at caller ID and picked up with a slight smile in her voice. “Hello.”
“I’m sorry,” Colin blurted. Besides remorseful, he sounded sad and embarrassed.