by Robena Grant
“Then they’re fools.” Jack eased off the accelerator and drove beside the white truck. “Maybe back when she was little, that might have been the case. Janelle’s a grown woman now. You see anyone in that truck?”
“Yes, it’s Trigger. Even if Janelle is grown, she’s still my child and we’re still a package deal. Anyway, once a parent always a parent, as the saying goes. And it seems to me, it doesn’t matter how old your children are, you’re always the mom.”
“If you say so,” Jack said. “I have no experience with those matters.” He let the truck pull ahead of them, checked the license plate, and noticed Debbie had already written it down.
He’d almost been a parent once. He’d stepped up to the plate determined to marry the woman, do the honorable thing, although marriage had never been high on his list of things he wanted in life. Then only days before the wedding, he found she’d scammed him. She wasn’t pregnant at all, and never had been. He gripped the steering wheel tight, and clamped down on his jaw. It had been years, yet that memory still pissed him off.
Debbie ratted around in her purse and he glanced over as she pulled out a cell phone. The moment of annoyance dissipated, and he smiled as an unfamiliar burst of warmth flooded through his tired body.
“Want me to call this in to Dave?” she asked.
“Sure.”
He shot another quick look her way. The woman was awesome. They worked well together. Who’d ever think tired, cynical Jack Davis would enjoy having a pretty waif for a sidekick? Who’d imagine him letting anyone in on one of his cases?
A smile hovered around his lips but he coughed hard and looked into the side mirror. The boys would have a field day with this, if they ever found out.
****
Debbie sat at the table in Azul restaurant, and had a good view of the front entrance. It was an elegant dining room, and she wished this was a real date. She hadn’t been on one of those in a long, long time. And the longer she was in the company of her sexy dinner partner, the less she could convince herself that she was only interested in his detective skills.
She didn’t want to be obvious and turn to look behind her, and besides, Jack had relaxed back in his chair and he carefully scanned the room. And it was a delicious treat to watch him watching others. She’d have to trust him to keep her up to speed. There’d been no sign of Trigger so far, at least from the front entrance. In an attempt to get Jack off her mind, she checked her cell phone and saw she had two missed calls from Joe.
“Do you mind?” she asked Jack. “Joe called again. I want to give him the all clear on you.”
“That’s the bruiser in the apron?”
Debbie nodded. “I’ll make it quick. I’ll go outside to make the call.”
“Sure. Tell him I’m a good guy,” he said, and winked.
A few minutes later, after assuring Joe that Jack was a client and a decent guy, she walked back inside. Most of the patrons in the dining room were well dressed. She wished she’d worn clothes she hadn’t worked in. Rachel had put on her new black leather jacket before entering Cliffs, and had insisted Debbie wear it, thank goodness. She pulled it closer to her body, liking the smooth supple feel of the leather. Nobody stared aghast at her blue jeans, so she figured she looked okay, and for once they weren’t stained with splashes of oils and rubbing balms.
“I don’t see him anywhere,” Jack said, when she got back to the table.
Debbie sat, and then took another glance around. “He might be in the bar.”
They probably should have sat outside, but she knew the patio and bar area were both patronized by the gay community in Palm Springs. Plus the swinging tables the bar was famous for—gliders with a table in the middle—didn’t seem like they’d be either Trigger’s or Jack’s thing. She doubted either of the guys appreciated cutesy. Upstairs there was a jazz bar but it didn’t kick off until nine, so they wouldn’t be up there.
“Neither man is in here,” Jack said, turning his frustrated glance her way. He picked up his napkin and about to unfold it, placed it on the table, and pushed his chair back. “Would you mind eating outside? We can’t see the complete patio from in here.”
“Sure that’s fine with me, but—”
“We’ve changed our minds,” Jack said, raising a hand and catching the waiter’s attention. “We’d like patio seating, if it’s no problem.”
“Sure. I’ve got a glider available.”
“Whatever,” Jack said, with a flicker of a frown. “We’ll take it.”
Debbie pulled her lips inward, pressed them tight and stood. This serves him right for not giving me a chance to explain. She almost laughed when Jack saw the glider. His eyes widened. He didn’t say a word, but slid into the seat opposite her. Debbie started to move the seat and it felt good, a slow, gentle sway, like the movement of the loveseat on her grandmother’s porch, the one that she’d loved years ago.
She accepted the menu from the waitress, and smiled over at Jack. “These tables are a novel idea.”
He nodded. After a minute or two, he lifted his eyes from the menu. “You can drink if you like. I’m the designated driver, and I’m sticking with water.” He scanned the patio after the waitress took their drink orders and left. “Is this a gay bar?” he asked, as he turned back to face her.
“Sure. Didn’t I mention that?” Debbie glanced at the gorgeous men gathered in small groups around the bar. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”
He frowned. “Yeah. Cute.”
She had a good view of the main area. Jack had his back to the patio, his view being of the wall where one long seat and four tables faced the bar. The seat was lined with plush royal blue, and cream, canvas pillows. She’d admired that area on her way in, thinking of how cozy it looked and had been about to mention it. It was strange though. She’d known Jack for less than a day and already she felt comfortable with him, and she’d have liked for them to snuggle in those cushions. What a pity it was a fake date.
“See anything? I mean anyone?” Jack asked.
She shook her head. The waitress returned with drinks, and they placed their orders for dinner deciding on two Tapas plates, one of pasta with spinach and artichoke, one of broiled salmon with garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus, and an order of flat goat. The goat was a flatbread with grilled goat cheese and herbs.
Debbie raised her glass of merlot and touched the rim of Jack’s glass of sparkling water. “Cheers.”
“Cheers. Any sign of him?” Jack asked, and took a sip.
“The bar is a huge rectangle and it’s hard to see the back corner. It’s knee deep in guys along this side, but I’ll get up and walk over there in a minute.”
“No, I’ll do that. It might not be safe.”
“Jack,” she said sternly. “It’s not like anyone is going to hit on me. They’re all gay.”
“I guess.”
She drew in a breath and leaned forward. “I’ve got Trigger in my sight. Beyond the bar, furthest corner of the patio, he’s with two other guys.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Yes, I can see heads and shoulders. Ah, one looks…maybe South American…slick dark hair brushed straight back, and he has a tiny wedge of hair under his lower lip. He’s wearing a pink polo shirt and blue jeans—”
“Pink?” Jack said loudly then lowered his voice. “What else?”
“The other guy is also Latino, maybe Mexican. I can’t tell his height for sure, but he’s smaller than the other two. He’s got a very sweet face, nicely groomed, clean shaven. He’s got a neat white short-sleeved silk shirt on, can’t see the pants. They’re taking a table in the corner. He’s hanging a black leather jacket on the back of his chair.”
Debbie stopped speaking when she saw the waitress wending her way toward their glider.
The flat goat arrived first, and they both attacked the food, making murmuring sounds of approval. Debbie realized she’d had two sips of chardonnay in the dolphin room, and two sips of a chocolate martini at Cliff
s and that had been all she’d had since a quick sandwich mid-morning. It was now eight in the evening.
“This is so good,” she said, and took another bite. “Sorry, I’m almost inhaling it.”
“Me, too,” Jack said and took another huge bite.
She sat back as the waitress returned and placed the pasta and salmon plates on the table, and left them with smaller plates so they could sample from both entrees.
“Mmmm,” Jack murmured, and rolled his eyes after devouring a forkful of pasta. “Damn, I’m hungry. This flavor reminds me of a spinach and artichoke dip I used to buy in L.A.”
“See, I knew you were a city slicker.”
“I’ve worked there,” he said, and shrugged. “And remember, I went to school at USC.” He raised his eyebrows, then grinned, ducked his head and continued to eat.
Debbie polished off her food, and then stretched. She bared her teeth. “Any spinach?”
He laughed, and shook his head. “You’re fine.”
“I’m going over to the bar. I’ll pretend I want the score for whatever that game is on the T.V.”
Before he could stop her, she slid off the glider. Seconds later she leaned up against the bar and spoke with the barman, and a couple of the guys grouped around the empty barstools, asking about the game. It seemed nobody wanted to be seated, and the guys were all happy to chat with her although none of them could help her with the score. Not that it mattered. Then she pretended to watch the television, but looked beyond it to the men seated at the back of the patio.
“Gotta go,” she said, and turned to the guys with a smile. “My boyfriend’s waiting.”
Back at the glider, she leaned across the table and stroked Jack’s hand, and stared into the black depths of his eyes. “The man with the beard kept touching the shoulder of the sweet guy,” she said from behind the other hand that half-covered her mouth. “It’s safe for you to turn around and take a look now, or better still, drop your napkin then pick it up so that you’re standing.”
Jack did. “Shit,” he muttered, and sat back down. “They’re all gay.”
“Don’t let your homophobia get to you,” she muttered. “You’re in the wrong place for that.”
She glanced toward the guys at the bar again. They really were gorgeous. They were all casual, but so well dressed. One in particular had movie star good looks and green eyes you could almost drown in, probably contact lenses, but still.
Jack looked over the mass of young men again. “It’s not that.” He pushed the glider, making it swing a little harder, and gave her a sexy grin. This time it wasn’t a lop-sided grin and a dimple winked in both cheeks. “I’d have dressed better, if I’d known.”
Debbie laughed. She lifted her wine glass and took a long sip. “Hang on. Another guy has joined the group. He looks American and…well…what do you know?” She frowned. “I think he’s Trigger’s partner.”
“How can you tell?”
“He stood up, and he kissed him hello, on the mouth.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot sky high.
Debbie gave her head a quick shake to dislodge that memory. She raised her wineglass and peered over the rim, narrowing her eyes. “You know, I find that interesting. Trigg is playing Janelle. He asked her out to dinner. What’s that about?”
“A date for information would be my guess,” Jack said. “That’s why he’s hanging around Cliffs Bar. But what info would Janelle have?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, maybe I’ll ask her to go along.”
“What? You think these guys are in some way connected with the Dumpster murder, right?” Debbie asked, and a cold sweep of fear ran up her back. She was tired of second-guessing. If they were going to solve this murder case they’d better start working together. But she’d be damned if she’d let Jack include Janelle.
“Look, Deb,” Jack said, and spread his hands wide. “I’m not in a position to discuss this, but maybe…”
“I won’t blow your cover,” she said softly, pushing away her flare-up of anger. “As far as I’m concerned you’re a cowboy in town for a couple of weeks. You’re looking to purchase real estate. We met, we’re dating casually—”
“I can’t confide in you.”
Anger welled up inside of her, and she leaned across the table and locked eyes with him. “It’s my child involved here,” she said, keeping her voice low but not hiding her anger. “I won’t have Janelle used as a pawn. If she’s being placed in danger so you can catch this guy, I won’t allow it.”
“She’s not a child, Debbie. She’s a young woman. Janelle can decide for herself.”
Debbie threw down her napkin, and closed her eyes for a second, sparks of red anger fired behind her eyelids. She blinked hard, opened her eyes wide and went to get up. Jack kept the glider moving and she ended up plopping back in the seat. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears. “She’s my only child. She’s my life, she’s…”
“You shouldn’t be so over-protective.” Jack reached over and covered her hand with his.
“What?” She pulled her hand away. “What do you know or care about family?”
“How old were you when you had Janelle?”
Debbie widened her eyes to stop the flow of tears that threatened to fall. “I don’t see what that has got to do with anything.” She folded her arms across her chest and sniffed.
“You have this incredible attachment to her, and…”
“And what?” Debbie asked. Anger rose in her chest again. She blinked hard and leaned across the table, her voice low, her mouth quivering “Are you…are you saying my love for my child is unhealthy?”
He rested an elbow on the table, his hand supporting his jaw and jutted out his closed lips for a second or two. “Maybe overly protective.”
“You know nothing,” she said, and moved to get up. She managed to stand successfully, and grabbed her purse. “You’re obviously an anti-commitment, whatever, kind of guy,” she said, waving one hand about, her voice icy and dismissive. “You don’t know what it is to have a child…or anything about kids and family—”
“Stop,” he said, and grabbed her wrist.
A look of pain crossed his face, and he pulled in a quick breath. She knew nothing about him, yet she’d gone on the attack because he’d made an observation. A warning that she’d crossed a line washed through her. What if he’d lost a child, or worse, a wife and child? She tried to remove her hand from his grasp so she could flounce away, but he gripped it tighter.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice husky. “My comments were uncalled for. Please, sit. Finish your drink and we’ll get out of here.”
He released her hand, and Debbie pulled in a long ragged breath. She looked toward the back of the bar. “The men are finishing dinner. We came here with a purpose and we need to complete whatever that is. We need to discover his contacts. Follow him. Learn who he is, and why his story keeps changing. I’ll go to the ladies room and be right back.”
Surprise flitted over Jack’s features. She started to walk away, turned, and came back to the table. “For what it’s worth, I was fifteen.”
Jack tried to hide his emotions, but she’d seen the widening of his eyes, the flicker of lashes as he looked down at the table.
“Janelle isn’t involved,” he said quietly. “At least not to my knowledge.” He looked up and held her gaze. “But if she was, I’d protect her with my life if necessary.”
Debbie gave him a curt nod. She inhaled deeply, walked into the main dining room, and tried to quash the visual of Jack taking a bullet for Janelle. The soft strains of a melody from the jazz singer upstairs floated down the stairs toward her, and filled her with melancholy.
She held her head high and forced a sense of balance she didn’t feel. Damn moody blues, just what she needed tonight when her own mood had turned as dark as midnight.
Inside the restroom she patted cold water on her face, and reapplied her lipstick, and tried to stop the shaking in her insid
es. Anger welled up again.
Damn him. Who does he think he is, telling me how to run my life, and how to raise my daughter? She stared into the mirror and forced the fear away. If anything happened to Janelle she would never forgive herself. Whoever you are and whatever game you’re playing, Jack Davis, you will not use my daughter as bait.
Her mouth tightened and not liking the visual that glared back at her, she took another slow breath and blew it out. She straightened, shook out her shoulders, and forced a more relaxed smile.
A gleam of determination lit her eyes when she stared at her reflection. She’d send Janelle back to college early, even if she had to buy her a new airline ticket.
With a smile playing on her mouth, and the new plan in mind, she returned to join Jack.
Chapter Seven
Jack had paid the bill and stood near the entrance to the main dining room, waiting for Debbie. The four guys had finished dinner and had called the waiter for their check. He knew they’d be leaving soon. He checked his watch. What the hell is she doing?
He’d never known a woman quite like Debbie. Feminine, petite, she seemed soft and vulnerable, yet when Janelle’s name was mentioned, she’d acted with the fight of a lioness protecting a cub. He’d underestimated her strength. He felt he knew how her mind worked, how she did an assessment of everything he said and then formed an opinion, whether or not he wanted one. Love like she had for her daughter, he’d known only once in his life. He’d have done anything for his mother. Debbie’s willingness to go the extra mile for her daughter reminded him of his younger, less cynical years. For years now he’d had nobody but himself to look out for, other than partners in the field. Like Juan. He knew little about emotion.
He glanced toward the front door and felt a moment of panic. Had she lied to him, and left the restaurant? Had she gone out that door and walked down the strip to hail a cab? He wouldn’t put anything past her.
“Hey, I’m ready to go.”
Hearing her voice, Jack spun around, relief flooding through him, and he slipped an arm across her shoulders. If Debbie had stalked off in a huff, he’d have been miserable. And he might have been tempted to chuck this surveillance and follow her. Maybe even apologize. He’d really let her get under his skin, even let her have her fun with him in thinking he was homophobic. He wasn’t. He believed in live and let live. The fact that he really liked being with her surprised him, but it also warmed him, and he pulled her tighter to his side.