When she ordered a salad, he insisted she add French fries on the side.
“They’re the best you’ve ever eaten,” he reassured her.
“I’ll hold you to that evaluation.”
While they sipped their drinks—hers water and his a glass of southern-style sweet tea—and waited for their food, Bobby relaxed into the overstuffed vinyl booth seat and watched the people in the café. The atmosphere was a cross between a 1940’s diner and small town Renaissance restaurants she’d seen cropping up in suburbs throughout the state. Only the people here greeted everyone like they actually knew and cared about each other.
“Different from Cincinnati, isn’t it?”
She blinked and focused on Gage only to find him studying her with a quiet intensity. “I was just thinking how comfortable and peaceful it all seems. People saying hello just because you come inside. A real sense of community.”
Before he could reply a redheaded woman dressed in pale-green scrubs approached their table.
“Hey, Gage.”
“Afternoon, Emma.” He stood and hugged the woman then scooted to the side.
A pang of jealousy knifed through Bobby as she watched him greet the woman with ease and affection, which was stupid. Of course there were other women in his life. Besides, she had no reason to think of him as anything other than a colleague on a case, even if he had nearly kissed the stuffing out of her.
He returned to his seat and grinned at her. “Bobby, this is my cousin, Emma Preston. Emma, Bobby Roberts. Want to join us?”
“Glad to meet you, Bobby.” Emma shook her hand before sitting on the edge of Gage’s seat. “I’m only staying until our food is ready. Clint is knee-deep in physicals today. Summer baseball starts this week for both the pony league and the industrial teams. So we’re having lunch at the clinic. I told him I wasn’t hungry, yet, but he insisted I get us all something to eat.”
“Aren’t pregnant women supposed to eat regularly?” Gage asked.
Emma laughed. “Yes, but my husband seems to think if I’m not eating there is something wrong. That’s what I get for marrying the town doctor.”
“Is this your first?” Bobby asked.
“Oh, no. I had twins seven years ago. But this baby is my husband’s first, and he’s turned into a complete worrywart.”
“I’m going to tell him you said that.” Gage grinned at his cousin as he teased her.
Bobby swallowed hard. When he grinned like that he looked less like the Neanderthal thug who’d trussed her up and put her in a cell yesterday, and more like the small-town hero she’d read and dreamed about in books over the years.
She really was pathetic. Not since she dated the nose tackle on the football team back in high school had she had this much testosterone in her presence. She was succumbing to it like a woman with PMS on a shopping spree in the chocolate store. The more time she spent with Gage, the more she found to indulge.
The waitress brought their food. “Your order will be ready in a few minutes, Em.”
“Thanks, Rachel. Can you toss in some gingersnaps for the boys? You know how much they love your mama’s cookies.”
“Sure thing, Em.” Rachel handed the check slip to Gage. “Mama said she expects you to buy pie, so I added two slices on the tab.”
Gage didn’t argue, just slipped the check far out of Bobby’s reach.
The man’s take-charge attitude aggravated her. She should insist they split the bill. Technically, this would be the first meal a man had bought her in months. And since it wasn’t a date, not paying her own way felt odd.
“So, what brings you to Westen, Bobby?” Emma asked, snatching one of the fries from Gage’s plate.
“I’m here to…” she started to explain.
“…fill in for Ruby and fix the filing system,” Gage finished staring directly at her, daring her to contradict him.
What game was he playing? Even though she didn’t wish to announce her case to the town, he had no reason to keep his cousin from knowing the truth behind her visit.
Emma looked from her cousin to Bobby and back again. “Oh, really? That was quick, wasn’t it?”
Gage grinned. “Yep, I had a need, and Bobby just fell right into the position.”
Heat filled Bobby’s cheeks at the double meaning behind his words, knowing he referred to how they met. Luckily, Rachel waved from the cash register at that exact moment preventing Emma from asking for any more details.
“Food’s ready. Gotta go,” Emma said taking one more fry. “Nice to meet you, Bobby. Good luck with the filing. Maybe you can get this lug to bring you to dinner some night.”
“She seems happy.” Bobby watched Emma wave to almost everyone in the room as she left.
“Em’s had a hard life. I’m glad she’s finally found someone to take care of her.” Gage took a big bite out of his burger.
“Is that why you lied to her about me? To protect her?”
Gage winked at her. “I didn’t lie.”
Bobby stared at him a moment. “You gave her the impression you’d hired me.”
“No. I told her you were filling in for Ruby and working on the filing system. Seems to me, that’s exactly what you were doing before we came to lunch.”
She swallowed the bite of salad in her mouth and pointed her fork at him. “I know, but that’s only because you threat—”
He reached across the table and put his finger to her lips. Leaning close, he whispered. “Look around. See everyone is watching us and half the people in here are listening to every word we say. We’ll talk about your case after lunch. Right now we’re nothing more than a man and a woman enjoying a lunch date. Got it?”
She nodded, trying not to think about how his finger rubbed across her lips as if he were caressing her. It was all a show for their audience.
He winked at her. “Now smile at me like you do when you smile at Cleetus.”
She happily obliged him.
***
An hour later, they sat in his truck parked beneath a budding old oak tree, far from the town’s prying eyes. The rain promised by the spring storm clouds tapped gently on the truck’s hood and windows. The world outside dressed in a cool misty gray made the truck cab’s inside seem cozy and secluded. On their laps sat plastic boxes with a slice of pie in each. Cherry for her, apple for him.
“So tell me why you’re investigating the lien on Gilbert Byrd’s old place.” Gage scooped a bite of pie between his lips.
The man was way too distracting. Bobby focused on eating her own pie and staring out the front window a moment before beginning her tale.
“A client came to my sister with this request to look into his uncle’s estate. The problem was Mr. Byrd’s nephew believed he’d be inheriting the house and land, which he intended to sell for a profit. He was quite surprised when the executor of the estate, a lawyer here in Westen, informed him the local bank had a lien on the estate that had to be paid off before the estate could be settled or he could inherit the land.”
“There’s nothing unusual about that. People die with outstanding loans all the time.”
“True. And I know for a fact Chloe told her client the exact same thing.” Bobby scooped up another cherry with her fork and licked it into her mouth.
“Why the big investigation?”
“Because the nephew swears his uncle has never trusted banks, didn’t have a bank account of any kind, and hated them so much he’d never stepped foot inside of one. His uncle blamed the banks for his father’s death during the depression.”
“That should be easy enough to check. Like I said before, we’ll just go visit Harley Evans over at the bank. You’ll have the answers you need in no time.” He forked up the last bite of his pie and ate it. He licked his lips as if he’d settled the matter the way he’s just devoured his desert.
“Are you in that much of a hurry to get rid of me?” she asked, only half teasing.
“Oh, I didn’t say I wanted you to leave.”
> Gage’s voice deepened and Bobby glanced at him sideways. He’d gone completely still. He watched her with such intensity she shivered. So this was what it was like to have a man’s undivided attention.
Suddenly the cool spring air blowing in through the truck’s vents wasn’t enough to stop the heat between them. What she needed was an arctic burst straight from a blast chiller.
“Come here.” He slipped his hand behind her neck and nudged her closer.
The fierce look in his eye and the pressure of his hand on her neck drew her to him. She parted her lips, darting her tongue out to lick them.
“Wait,” he commanded and stopped her within inches of his lips. He reached forward with his other hand and ran a finger over the corner of her mouth. “Got it.”
Mesmerized, she watched as he pulled his finger away. A dollop of cherry pie filling clung to the tip. His gaze locked on hers, he slowly brought it to his lips and licked the sweet treat off. “Delicious.”
Her heart jumped two beats then remembered its job.
The pressure on her neck increased again. This time he didn’t stop until his lips were on hers. He tasted like molten cherry pie. Hot. Sweet. Dangerous.
His grip on her neck tightened. He pulled her in closer until she was pressed flush against his chest, his lips demanding in their claiming of hers. She opened her mouth under his assault and he slipped his tongue inside. His hand gripped her hair, holding her still as he devoured her.
She cupped his face in her hand, the skin scratchy from tiny whiskers poking through. She ran her fingers back and forth over them, leaning in closer. More. She wanted…no, needed more.
He eased the grip on her hair and the pressure on her lips. Slowly he withdrew. She whimpered, a needy puppy sound, trying to recapture his lips with hers. He refused her, resting his forehead against hers. She opened her eyes and stared at him through her own passion-induced haze. His pupils were so dilated with such need she barely saw the deep green rim of his irises.
“Damn, woman. Is it always going to be like that when we kiss?”
His words and their implication of repeated efforts sent shivers of delight through her. In all her life she’d never had this affect on a man, or he on her, not even the chemistry TA in college she’d considered marrying.
Gage scooted back into the driver’s seat.
When had he vacated it?
He started the engine then sat staring out the window at the slow swish of the windshield wipers. He gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles blanched white. Bobby wiggled back into her seat, setting the empty pie containers between them.
“To answer your question,” he said after a moment, his voice sounding strained and thick with emotion. “I don’t want to get rid of you. In fact, I have plans for you.”
“Like filing?” She tried to lighten the mood. Things just felt too serious, too intense.
Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, he turned to stare at her. Slowly he smiled, sending her pulse back into overdrive. “Yeah, filing.”
He turned the car and headed back to town.
“Where are we going now?”
“To see Harley Evans over at the bank about your case.”
“Oh, I just remembered! He isn’t there. They told me he called in sick today.”
“Harley called in sick?” Gage stared at her. “You’re sure?”
“If he’s the loan officer, then yes. The blonde lady said he called in sick today.”
“That’s odd.”
“Why?”
“Harley Evans has never missed a day of work in thirty years.”
“You’re sure?”
Gage nodded once. “He just received the award for it last week. It was in the newspaper.”
Bobby laughed. “I guess he deserves one.”
“He might, but his job at the bank is the center of his life.”
Bobby shook her head, a little bewildered. “I don’t think I’d ever get used to living in a small town. People know your every move.”
“Yep. It’s one of the things I love and hate about it. And one of the reasons I can’t wait to get back to the city. People know your name and care about you. People also know your routines and if you do anything unusual everyone gossips about it.” He turned left at the red light and headed east of town.
“Just the same, let’s go check up on Harley. That way we can get back to some serious work.” He grinned at her once more. “Like filing.”
Chapter Seven
By the time they pulled up in front of Harley’s house the rain had stopped. The two-story Victorian sat on a side street nestled on a half-acre lawn among other houses all built about the same time. A flagstone path led through the neatly trimmed lawn, edged with purple and yellow flowers, to the front entrance. Hanging pots of white flowers and standing pots full of red ones decorated the wraparound front porch. A large American flag hung from the flag holder mounted on the side of the house. Two white Adirondack rockers sat off to the side where the owner could sit out on a warm summer evening and visit with their neighbors. The picture-perfect, peaceful, mid-western home.
Gage knocked on the front door. No one answered, so he knocked again. “Harley? It’s Gage Justice.”
Bobby wandered across the porch to the front window.
Gage opened the screen door and knocked a third time, this time directly on the front door. “Harley. You in there?”
“Gage?” A slight tremor laced Bobby’s voice.
“What?” he asked peering at her through the screen.
She continued to look inside. “Is Harley Evans an older man with white hair, glasses and a little on the small side?”
“Yes.” A frisson of dread slithered up Gage’s spine.
Bobby had grown very still and pale as she stared in the front window. “Then you better come see this.”
He stepped to her side and pressed his face against the front window’s glass. A man lay sprawled facedown on his floor, glasses off-kilter on his face, a pool of blood beneath him. His chalk-white skin and open, sightless eyes pronounced his death. “Shit. That’s Harley.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
For the first time since he’d met her yesterday, Bobby sounded nervous, almost scared. Gage grasped her by both elbows to keep her from falling to her knees. “Sit here,” he said as he led her to one of the rockers.
Once she was seated, he pulled her head toward her knees. “Keep your head down. Inhale slowly.”
She followed his instructions without arguing, which in itself spoke to how shaken she was. “I’ve…I’ve never seen a…a dead body before.”
“It’s a shock, I know.” He pulled her collar away from her neck, kneading her shoulders and neck with his hands. “The first one gets to everyone.”
“You’re used to this?”
“When I was undercover in Columbus, I saw more than my fair share of dead bodies. Some in the line of duty, others, well, in the drug scene you see way too many overdose victims.” He felt her relaxing beneath his hands. He bent sideways and peeked at her. The color had returned to her lips. “Feeling better?”
“Uh huh. As long as you keep doing that.”
He kissed her on the nape of her neck. “As much as I’d love to spend the hour massaging you, I need to get inside to see what happened to Harley. If you think you’ll be okay.”
She straightened in the chair. “I’m fine now. What do you need me to do?”
The woman had grit, he’d give her that. “You don’t need to do anything. Sit here and I’ll go inside.”
She looked up, a determined set to her jaw. “No. I’m a private investigator now. I need to help.”
The last thing he needed was her mucking up a potential crime scene. Yet, he wouldn’t even be here checking on Harley this early if she hadn’t been investigating something that was probably little more than a banking error.
“Okay. First I need a pen and paper.” He flipped open his cell phone while she fetc
hed both items from the big black bag she carried. He dialed the station. “Cleetus. I need the number for the county Crime Scene division.” Bobby jotted the numbers down as he said them aloud.
“Okay. Got it.”
“You got something you need help with, Sheriff?” Cleetus asked.
“No. We’re over at Harley Evans’ place and he’s dead. I don’t know if it’s an accident or something else, yet. Send Daniel out here. For now you’re on overtime at the station and see if you can get Wes or Mike in for the day, too. Send one of them to the bank and find out if Harley actually called in sick today.”
He started to hang up then had another idea. “Cleetus?”
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“Until we know exactly what happened out here, our official comment is “no comment”. And Ms. Roberts is simply helping at the office, no mention of her PI status. That’s to everyone, the paper, the town council, even the Baptist Ladies Association. Got it?”
A soft snort came from Bobby. She was certainly getting a lesson about small-town politics today.
Satisfied with Cleetus’ part in the process, he dialed the county CS division and walked over to his truck. When Frank Watson answered, he gave him the details and address. Behind the front seat, Gage grabbed two pairs of powder-free latex gloves from the small box he kept there.
“Okay,” he said, pocketing his cell phone once more. “Raise your right hand.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re going inside, you’re going in official, as my deputy. You’ll do what I say, and no one can question your presence in a potential crime scene.”
“Oh, okay.” She raised her hand, her eyes narrowed. “You’re not doing this just so I’ll have to obey you as my superior, are you?”
“I could get so lucky.”
He swore her into duty. Then he opened the screen door once more. “Let’s take a look inside.”
“Aren’t we supposed to wait for the CSI people?”
“We’re not going to remove or disturb anything. Frank won’t be here for the better part of half an hour. I just want a better look from the inside.” He handed her two gloves. “Put these on.”
Close To The Edge (Westen #2) Page 10