Once You're Mine

by Barbara Freethy

  That thought made the breath catch in his chest, and he actually stopped walking for a second, wondering again what the hell he was doing.

  It had been hard enough to walk away the first time, and even more difficult the second time, but what about the third? Would there be a third kiss—a third choice to end things or take them further? His body was screaming yes while his brain was yelling no.

  He forced himself to move again. Tonight wasn't a date. He was helping her find answers.

  Most importantly, he was watching over her, making sure she didn't get into trouble, the way Scott had wanted him to do. He was being a good friend, a big brother…he needed to remember that.

  She buzzed him into her apartment and when he got inside, he realized she'd already managed to drag the suitcase and the loose files upstairs. Some of those files were now spread across her kitchen table, while the suitcase had been placed on the floor and opened with the lid propped up against the wall.

  "I would have helped you bring those up," he said.

  "I didn't need you for that," she returned. "Do you want something to drink?"

  "Coffee would be good."

  "I'm already making a pot. It feels like forever since we had breakfast here this morning."

  "A lot has happened in a few hours," he agreed.

  "Shall I order pizza? There's a good place a few blocks away that delivers."

  "Sounds perfect. And I like anything that goes on a pizza, so order what you want."

  "You're easy. At least when it comes to pizza."

  He wasn't quite sure what she meant by that but decided it was more prudent to leave it alone.

  His phone buzzed. "Max," he said, putting the phone on speaker.

  "Is Tori still with you?"

  "She is. I have you on speaker."

  "Great. I just wanted to let you know that Mitch Hedden's fishing boat is still in its slip at the Bayside Marina, and according to the owner of Open Water Fishing Excursions, neither Mitch nor Jim is on any of their trips. In fact, the owner said he knew Mitch and hadn't seen him around the marina in a few weeks."

  "So Mitch is still in the city," he said, uneasiness running through him at that thought.

  "I don't know where he is, but I doubt he's at sea," Max said. "I'm going to see if we can find him."

  "Thanks for keeping us posted," Tori said.

  "Let me know if you hear from him or anyone else."

  "We will," he promised, then ended the call.

  "Well, that's new—I don't know if it's good or bad," she said. "Do you think Joanie lied to us or Mitch lied to Joanie?"

  "I think he lied to her."

  Tori's eyes lit up. "Wait a second. At the yacht club, when Joanie asked me to find Mitch I overheard him on the phone. He said, 'I can't keep lying to her.' Maybe he was talking about Joanie? For a second, I thought maybe he was having an affair, but perhaps it was about something else."

  "Who knows? But I don't think he would have left Joanie behind if he thought someone could get her to talk, so I think he's keeping secrets."

  "But why disappear at all? We were with him last night. He was dancing and talking like normal. What happened between now and then?"

  "The man in the parking lot."

  "Right." She let out a breath. "Okay, so now we need to figure out where they're hiding."

  "You never see a dead end, do you?"

  "A puzzle is like a maze—you hit one end, and you back up and make a different turn and try again. If you're asking me if I ever quit—not so far. And certainly not when it's personal, which this has become."

  He found himself admiring her steadfast determination. "Got it. But Max has more resources than we do, so he might be able to find them faster."

  "I hope he does, but I can still think about where they might be. I spent a lot of time with them over the years. I know where they vacationed, places they used to go in the city. I bet there's a clue in my head somewhere; I just have to find it. Anyway, I'll order the pizza and then we can get started."

  He sat down at the kitchen table while Tori placed their order, thinking about her words. When she got off the phone and sat across from him, he said, "Let's talk about the day of your dad's death."

  "Why?" she asked warily.

  "Because it ties to Mitch and Jim. And because you reminded me awhile ago that the information could be in the details. What do you know about that weekend besides the fact that they went fishing, ran into a storm, and your dad died?"

  "I don't know that I have many more details," she said slowly. "I was twelve when it happened, and after I heard my father had died, I didn't hear much else."

  "Think, Tori," he said, sensing she probably knew more than she thought.

  "Okay, give me a second."

  He waited as she breathed in and out and suddenly realized he'd just asked her to relive what was probably the worst night of her life. "I know it's painful. If you don't want to do this, then—"

  "No, I do," she interrupted. "I'm just gathering my thoughts. Let's see—they left on a Wednesday. I remember that because it was the winter concert, and I was playing the cello that night. My dad hadn't heard me play in a while, because he was working a lot. I was excited for him to be there. But that morning he came into my bedroom before I went to school and said he was going to have to miss it."

  She paused, her brow wrinkling as she retrieved her memories. "He said that Jim had gotten laid off from his job, and he was really upset about it, so Mitch and my father wanted to take him out on the sea, get him away from his problems. He said he hoped I understood how much he valued his friends."

  "You must have been disappointed that he wasn't going to be at your concert."

  "I was. I got really angry with him. I said he shouldn't miss my concert, and he told me that if he didn't have a really good reason, he would be there. I didn't care about Jim's job loss, but my dad just said that someday I'd understand that he was a very loyal person. He asked me to play my solo for him before I went to school so he could hear it. At first, I said no, but he was very persuasive, so I played for him. He told me I was amazing, and that he was really proud of me and that I should never forget that." Her eyes blurred with tears. "That's the last time we spoke. I guess I should be glad that we had that moment."

  "What happened next?"

  "I went to school, and I guess he went to meet Mitch and Jim."

  "When did you hear there was a problem on the trip?"

  "Friday afternoon. I came home from school, and the front door was wide open. I heard my mom crying. I walked into the kitchen, and Joanie was there. So was Elaine, Jim's wife. I think there were some other people around; it felt like the room was crowded, but all I could see was the devastation on my mom's face."

  "Where was Scott?" he asked quietly.

  "Baseball practice. Someone went and got him. I remember him coming into my room later. We didn't talk. We just sat on the floor by my bed." Her chest heaved with emotion. "I didn't believe it. I couldn't grasp the truth of what everyone was saying. My mom came in at some point and hugged us. I don't think any of us slept that night."

  "Maybe we should stop," he said, hating to see the pain in her gaze.

  "I'm okay. It was a long time ago."

  "But now it feels fresh again."

  "Yes," she admitted. "But if it helps me figure anything out, then I should keep going."

  "Were there any other details given about the actual accident? How were they rescued?"

  "They sent out a call for help when the storm first hit. Mitch said they thought they could ride out the waves, but a huge monster wave crashed on the deck and the boat filled with water. Mitch and Jim were on the deck, but my dad was downstairs. He got trapped down there, and by the time the storm was over, and they were able to pull him out, he was dead." She drew in a breath. "Another fishing boat found them and rescued them. Mitch's boat sank to the bottom of the sea."

  "That's enough," he said, seeing her wipe away a tear.


  "I'm fine. I just haven't thought about it in a long time. Jim was crying at the funeral. He told my mom it was all his fault, that he should have forced my dad to come up on the deck. I don’t know if that was just survivor's guilt or if he meant something else by it. But it seemed like Mitch and Jim were destroyed by his death. They watched out for us after that. They were at every other concert I ever played. Ironic, huh?"

  He nodded.

  "Three years later, my mom met Ray. They went out for about a year, and then he moved in and my life changed again. I like him, don't get me wrong, but it was different having him there. It felt like his house. I was glad to leave for college. It wasn't home anymore." She cleared her throat. "So that's the story. Did I say anything that helped?"

  "I don't want to mess up your head, but did it feel in retrospect that your father was saying goodbye to you that morning?"

  She stared back at him, her eyes widening. "You think he knew he was going to die?"

  "Maybe there was something about that fishing trip that was more dangerous than any of you knew. You said Mitch oversaw some of the family's investments. Maybe there was trouble with the finances."

  "If there was, no one said anything. I don't remember my mom mentioning any financial trouble, but I was young."

  "Forget I said anything."

  "No, hang on. You're right. In retrospect, his words that morning now seem a little prophetic."

  "He told you that he wanted you to know how proud he was of you. Was that the kind of thing he would normally say?"

  "I don't know. But how could he know he might not make it back? If he thought Mitch and Jim were dangerous, why would he go with them?"

  "Maybe he didn't know where the danger was coming from."

  "You're suggesting that they killed him."

  "They were the only witnesses to his death. What did the medical examiner's report say? Did it back up drowning as cause of death?"

  "I think so. I don't know that I ever saw it, but no police came around. No one acted like his death was suspicious."

  The apartment buzzer went off, and they both jumped.

  "That has to be the pizza," she said.

  "I'll go down and get it. Lock the door after me and don't open it again until I say it's me. In fact, don't open it unless I say Scott."

  "Why do we need a code word?"

  "Just covering the bases."

  After he left, he heard the bolt slide into place. Then he went down to get the pizza, really hoping he wouldn't find anyone but the delivery guy.

  Fourteen

  Tori leaned against the door, her heart beating way too fast as she waited for Dylan to come back. She felt shaky and unsettled, and those feelings hadn't just come from reliving the day of her father's death, but from the ridiculously crazy idea that his death hadn't been an accident.

  She had nothing to back up that theory, and neither did Dylan. If there had been anything suspicious about her dad's death, someone would have investigated.

  She should probably ask her mother if there had been any questions asked. She certainly hadn't been aware of any discussions like that. She remembered planning the funeral, picking out photos to make a poster of her father's life, the stream of people bringing food by the house, the heavy pall in the air when she walked by her parents' bedroom.

  She remembered that her mom had slept on the couch for almost two weeks, unable to go back into the room she shared with her husband. And she remembered her father's two best friends always being around, bringing her treats, telling her how much her dad had loved her.

  It was unthinkable that Mitch and Jim could have had anything to do with his death. They had to be on the wrong track.

  A knock came at the door, followed by Dylan's voice. "It's me, Tori. Scott says let me in."

  She undid the bolt, happy to see him alone with a large pizza box in his hands. "Glad you made it back."

  "Me, too."

  She followed him over to the table and put some of the file folders on the floor to make room for the food. Then she went into the kitchen, got some plates and napkins and brought them back to the table. "What do you want to drink? I'm thinking about opening a bottle of red wine."

  "I'll share that with you," he said.

  She poured two glasses, then sat down across from him. While he'd opened the box, he hadn't touched the pizza.

  "It looks good," she said.

  "It does. I'm just not that hungry anymore," he said.

  "Me, either. Maybe in a minute," she said, sipping her wine.

  "Look, Tori, I shouldn't have suggested that your father's death was anything but an accident."

  "I don't think you're right about that, but I think it was smart to put it out there. We can't overlook any possibilities. I know I'm going to have to talk to my mom about some of this. I was too young to know what was going on back then. Scott might remember more than me, but I don't know if he was paying attention to anything but the fact that our father was gone."

  "That makes complete sense. And we can put that theory aside for now."

  She saw the guilt in his eyes. "Don't beat yourself up, Dylan. It's nice to not be the only one with somewhat out-there ideas."

  He smiled. "I'm supposed to be the one keeping your feet on the ground not joining you on the ledge."

  "I won't tell anyone." She glanced at the pizza laden with vegetables, and her stomach rumbled. "Okay, I think I can eat now." She slid a large slice onto her plate. Dylan quickly followed.

  "Let's talk about something normal," she suggested, as they ate. "Tell me about your coworkers. Are they all young? Are they all men?"

  "We have an all-male firefighting crew but there are several female paramedics. We have two firefighters in their forties; the rest are about my age."

  "You said you work with your cousin Burke—what about your brother?"

  "Hunter works at a different house. So does Colton, Burke's younger brother."

  "So there are Callaways all over the city," she murmured.

  "Pretty much."

  She finished her slice and grabbed a second one. "Tell me some firehouse stories. I bet you have a lot."

  "I can think of a few."

  "I'm all ears."

  As they ate their way through the pizza, Dylan told her some funny stories about some of their wilder calls that had nothing to do with fire. She was actually surprised at how many things they did that didn't involve flames but rather people stuck in unusual places.

  It was clear that Dylan loved his job and that he had a real fondness for the people he worked with.

  When they finished their pizza, they took their wine over to the couch, silently agreeing to put off their research for a while.

  She had a lot to think about already and she wasn't quite ready for more. Plus, it was just fun to talk to Dylan, to hear about his life, to discuss mutual friends and teachers and neighborhood kids they'd both known. She couldn't remember the last time she'd talked to anyone from her past. It felt good to share the memories.

  When they came to a pause in conversation about an hour later, she realized she was still hungry. "What do you think about some ice cream?"

  "Do you have ice cream?" he asked doubtfully. "I've seen inside your fridge, and there's not much in it."

  She smiled. "I can't deny that, but I do have ice cream. It's my guilty pleasure, and it's always stocked in the freezer."

  "What flavor?"

  "This week it's mocha almond fudge."

  "Sold."

  She went into the kitchen and pulled the ice cream container out of the fridge. "Want it on a cone?"

  "You have cones, too?" he asked, coming into the kitchen behind her.

  "Of course. Sugar or plain?"

  "I'm going all in. I'll take the sugar cone."

  She made him a cone and handed it to him. "Ice cream always makes things better."

  "I would say you're an easy girl to please, but I think that's only where ice cream is concerned."

>   She rolled her eyes at his teasing comment. "I'm not that difficult."

  "That's usually what difficult people say."

  "Well, it's not like you're a pushover, Dylan. You've always gone after what you want, and I know you have strong opinions. How are we so different?"

  "I guess we're not. But there's no way I ask as many questions as you do."

  "I would have agreed with you until today, but now you have as many questions as I do, if not more." They sat down at the kitchen table again to eat their ice cream. Her first lick was perfect. "Heaven," she murmured. "I think this is my new favorite flavor."

  "What was it before?"

  "I had a love affair with pecan praline for a while and before that it was mint chip. I had a brief fling with pistachio almond, but it was a little too nutty for me."

  "Imagine that," he said dryly. "So while you don't have an ex-boyfriend, you do have some exes in the ice cream department."

  "I guess you could say that," she said, amused by the idea. "Some of them are exciting at first—the perfect new adventure—but then there's a lingering aftertaste. Like bubble gum ice cream. It sounded like it might be fun but it definitely wasn't. Who knew ice cream could be a metaphor for love?"

  "Certainly not me. But then being around you, Tori, is usually an eye-opening experience."

  "I'm sure you don't mean that as a compliment, but I'm going to take it that way," she said, finishing her cone, and licking the last drops of cream off her fingers.

  Dylan's gaze darkened as she did that, and suddenly the air between them grew tense.

  He popped the last bite of his cone into his mouth, leaving a slight ice cream moustache over his upper lip. A wave of reckless desire ran through her as she fought the impulse to lean over and lick his lip clean.

  She drew in a deep breath. She'd obviously had too much wine and too much ice cream. They'd both gone to her head. Or maybe it was Dylan who had gone to her head.

  She'd been able to keep her attraction to him at bay with all the surprises that had come their way today, but now the feelings were rushing back in full force.

  Dylan abruptly got to his feet. "It's not going to happen, Tori," he said firmly.