Walk the Line

by J. Kenner

  "Why don't you come back to work here? I don't have a lot of hours available, but we do have one part-time slot to fill."

  Elena almost sagged with relief. She hadn't wanted to seem presumptuous and ask, but she really did need the work.

  But just as she was about to jump all over Tyree's offer, Jenna let out a low sigh from behind Elena. "I'm so sorry," she said, moving to stand by Brent. "I hired someone this morning."

  Tyree's brow furrowed. "We haven't even posted the position yet."

  Jenna waved his words away with a curt, "She'd called me last week. I know her. It was one of those things. Anyway," she continued, rushing on, "just because there's nothing here doesn't mean you're out of luck. After all, you need a babysitter, right?" As she spoke, she nudged Brent with her shoulder. "Didn't that new girl you'd hired just quit? And now that you have to work weekends, it makes sense. Don't you think so, Elena?"

  Her heart did a back-flip at the prospect, and her head immediately cringed. Honestly, what was she thinking? Work for Brent? Close quarters? Late nights? His house? His daughter?

  Granted he'd hardly ever be there, but even so, that was a recipe for disaster. Or, at least, for embarrassing herself.

  She had to say no.

  "I really could use you," Brent said, his casual words conjuring all sorts of delicious images.

  "Oh," Elena said, not even sure if he could hear her over the wild pounding of her heart. "In that case, yes."

  Chapter Two

  "He said he could use you? My, my, my." Selma Herrington sat cross-legged on Elena's living room floor, her choppy, ever-changing hair tipped with pink today. She grinned as she shot a glance toward Hannah Donovan, a local attorney who was dating Matthew Herrington, Selma's brother.

  "As a babysitter," Elena said, feeling her cheeks warm.

  "But you want more, right?" Hannah asked. "I mean, you've been attracted to Brent since day one."

  A quick jolt of panic shot through Elena, because that was a fact she'd been working hard to keep hidden from the man herself. She'd told no one but Selma, and only then in a weak moment in the back room of The Fix when they'd been talking about life and men and movies while Selma restocked the whiskey.

  Elena and Selma had hit it off quickly. Elena had been new in town, The Fix her only real home base. Selma owned a whiskey distillery, and as one of the bar's suppliers, she'd been a steady figure in The Fix from the day Elena had walked through the doors.

  They'd started out as casual acquaintances then worked their way up to friends. Not hard with Selma, who was quirky enough to be interesting and genuine enough to be likable.

  Now, however, Elena was reviewing that assessment, and she shot her friend a WTF glance. Immediately, Selma raised her hands in defense. "I didn't say a word until she asked."

  Elena's attention went to Hannah, who looked a little sheepish. "I've seen you looking at Brent the same way I looked at Matthew before he looked back." Her smile suggested all kinds of intimate secrets. "I guess I just hoped."

  "Oh, God. Was I really that obvious?"

  "Only to another woman," Selma said. "Seriously, Brent's clueless. But maybe that's part of the problem," she added with a trill to her voice.

  "There is no problem," Elena said firmly.

  "Oh, please. You aren't banging him. That sounds like a problem."

  "Selma!"

  "Just saying what we're all thinking."

  "I'm not interested in him that way. Or," she added before either of the woman could challenge that statement, "I'm not naive enough to think that he's interested in me. And even if he were, it's so not going to happen."

  "Why not?" Hannah said. "If you're interested and he's interested..." She trailed off with a shrug, her tone suggesting all sorts of naughty things.

  "Because I'm still in grad school, and he's a divorced father. He has a life. I have a tuition bill. He's worried about Faith's college fund, and I haven't even begun my career."

  Hannah and Selma exchanged glances. "All legitimate concerns," Selma said. "All surmountable."

  Elena shook her head in exasperation. "You guys are impossible. Are we getting food or not?"

  They'd made plans for a Saturday morning breakfast earlier in the week, intending to meet at Elena's place and then head out to one of Austin's many Tex-Mex dives for migas. But they'd gotten sidetracked by Elena's love life, or lack thereof. Now, her stomach was complaining as much as her libido was.

  Hannah looked at her watch. "We're never going to find a place without a line. What have you got in the apartment? Wanna just stay in and cook?"

  "Sure," Elena said, rising. Back in California, she hadn't been much of a cook. But once she moved here, she started hanging out at her dad's house and cooking with him and Eli, her half-brother. "Actually, I think I have everything for migas." A mix of scrambled eggs, onions, tomatoes, Serrano peppers, sour cream, and tortilla chips, the Tex-Mex breakfast was a favorite. "I have salsa and tortillas, too. All we're missing is the atmosphere."

  "And someone to wait on us," Hannah pointed out.

  "Who cares, as long as we still get the migas?" Selma said. "Besides, I'm much more generous where Mimosas are concerned. Do you have champagne?" she added as an afterthought. "And orange juice for that matter."

  "Strangely, I do."

  "Your kitchen is better stocked than mine," Selma said. "Easton and I both hate grocery shopping. We have take-out containers and whiskey. Lots of whiskey."

  "Ours is mostly fruit and protein," Hannah said. "I love your brother," she added to Selma, "but the guy eats too well. Although he does have a weakness for Mrs. Johnson's donuts."

  "Well, who doesn't?" Selma added.

  An Austin favorite since the forties, Mrs. Johnson's Bakery had some of the best donuts Elena had ever tasted. Seriously, California had the beach, but Austin had a hell of a lot going for it. Including her family. And Brent.

  "Come on," she said, heading toward the kitchen. "You guys can sit at the bar and we can continue this while I cook. Or we could change topics?" she added, but without much hope.

  "The hell with that," Selma said as she followed. "I want all the details of today. You're going when? And what time is he coming home?"

  Elena frowned as she pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge. "I'm going over to his place at four. I think he'll be back home around three in the morning. And why does that matter?"

  "You'll see him coming and going," Selma said.

  "And you can ask Faith about him," Hannah added.

  Elena paused on the way back to the fridge to gape at her friend. "I am not hitting up a five-year-old for information on the guy I'm crushing on."

  Hanna and Selma exchanged significant glances. "At least she's admitting the crush," Hannah said.

  "I never denied it. You guys are just pulling my chain now."

  "Maybe a little," Hannah admitted.

  "Well, stop it. I'm already stressed out enough simply from the idea of working that close to him."

  "Except he won't be there," Selma pointed out. "Well, he'll be there at night when he comes home, and who knows where that might lead?"

  She broke into a laugh, and Elena could only shake her head. "You're both terrible friends," she said.

  "Nah, you love us," Selma said.

  "Actually, I wonder if that's what Jenna was thinking."

  Elena turned toward Hannah with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

  "Well, you know how she likes to play matchmaker. And she had to know that Brent would be coming home late. Maybe even wanting a drink before he goes to sleep. Oh, the possibilities..."

  Elena frowned as she put an entire stick of butter into the skillet and turned the heat on low. "No way. Besides, why would she? You said I'm not that obvious, and Brent's not even interested."

  Selma started humming under her breath as Elena diced the onion and peppers. "Maybe he is. If anyone would know, Jenna and Reece would. They're total besties."

  Just the though
t caused butterflies to do aerial acrobatics in Elena's stomach. "I'm going to burn the butter. Give it a rest, you two." She cast a stern look in both their directions, then used the edge of the knife to slide the onions and peppers into the hot, liquid butter. The mixture sizzled, and she breathed in the enticing aroma as she used a wooden spoon to stir the mix.

  "What's going on with Easton and your parents?" she asked Hannah, mostly to change the subject. "And Selma, can you grate the cheese?"

  Hannah scrunched up her nose as Selma moved around the bar. "They finally turned the money over to me."

  "That's fantastic," Selma said, looking up from where she was rummaging in the fridge. "Matthew didn't tell me. The jerk. And, I'm sorry. I know they're your parents, but my brother is the nicest, most awesome guy in the world--except when he's being a jerk, and you and I are the only ones allowed to think that. And your parents are such total--"

  "Selma." Elena cut her friend off with a sharp word as she cracked the twelfth egg into a bowl, then gave the onions another quick stir.

  Elena totally agreed that Hannah's mom and stepfather had been vile in the way they'd treated her. Years ago, her birth father had died, earmarking a significant chunk of money for Hannah. But her mom remarried, and Hannah's stepfather later refused to give her the money. Elena didn't know the whole story, but she did know that it came to a head when Hannah fell in love with Matthew Herrington, a high school dropout who had made a success of himself by opening and running a series of popular gyms in the Austin area.

  That kind of success wasn't good enough for Hannah's stepfather. Or, apparently, her mom.

  "Easton threatened to sue," Hannah said, referring to Selma's fiance and Hannah's law partner. "Of course, I have no case. My real dad named my mom as the beneficiary and only said he wanted it to go to me in some notes he left her. But since my stepfather is so concerned about his reputation in the business world, he caved. We agreed not to sue or talk to the media. He handed over the funds."

  "And you and your mom?" Elena asked. She stirred the eggs, then signaled for Selma to bring over the cheese when she was done.

  Hannah shrugged. "My family's here." She shot Selma a quick smile, then broadened it when she looked to Elena. "Matthew and you two and everybody at The Fix. And Shelby and my other friends from my old job." She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "It's all good."

  "And now you have the money for the law firm, right?" Elena asked. She remembered one night over drinks where Hannah had said that she wanted to use the money her dad left her to help finance the law firm that she and Easton recently opened.

  "Still debating," Hannah said. "That was the original plan, but now the money just seems icky. I've got it in a money market until I decide. But that's definitely up there on the list. Of course, so are a vacation to Australia and some home renovations. So I guess we'll see."

  "Well, it's a good problem to have." Elena hesitated, but then focused on adding the cheese to the eggs as she asked, "And you and your mom?"

  "Yeah, right now I'd have to say that there is no me and my mom. But I'm okay with that. Not every problem gets solved and wrapped up with a silver bow. But I know that I have the money my dad wanted me to have. And that makes me happy."

  "Good." Elena flashed what she hoped was a supportive smile. "It should." But even though she meant what she said, she couldn't shake the sense of shock and awe.

  Because the truth was, Elena couldn't imagine defying her parents in the way that Hannah had. She was damn proud of her friend, true, but what if the dispute had been between her and Tyree?

  She'd only just gotten to know her dad; could she close the door on their relationship like Hannah had with her mom?

  She didn't know. And as she took the eggs off the heat, she damn sure hoped that she never had to find out.

  Chapter Three

  "Right there," Brent said, tapping the pause button on his tablet's video player. "Do you see how he tilts his head up at the end? Right after he's finished spraying? The camera's not in the right place, but if I could enhance the video, I might be able to pull a few facial details."

  Detective Landon Ware leaned forward, peering at the screen. "I doubt it."

  Brent sighed, then sat back in the hard, plastic chair. Police departments tended not to splurge on furnishings, and the chairs in the break room were no exception. "Honestly, I doubt it, too," Brent said with a small shrug for his friend. "But I'm running out of options."

  Landon nodded. "I get it. But man, you need to let it go."

  In theory, Brent couldn't argue with that. In practice, he and Landon both knew he wasn't going to back down. They'd worked together before Brent had turned in his badge and taken up the mantle of head of security for The Fix on Sixth. They'd suffered through boring stakeouts and explosive raids. They'd shared beers and swapped life stories. And over the years, they'd become good friends. Which, of course, was why Brent had hauled himself to the police department's downtown station on a Saturday morning in September.

  "It was probably just teens being assholes," Landon said, as if that would magically make Brent back off.

  "Not teens." Brent thought of the vulgar graffiti that had covered almost the entire eastern exterior wall. "Not unless they were goaded on by adults."

  "You sound certain."

  "This wasn't the first incident."

  Landon's brows rose with interest. "Yeah? Tyree hasn't mentioned a thing." The detective was engaged to Taylor D'Angelo, who worked as the stage manager for the Man of the Month contest. As a result, Landon had been spending even more time at the bar. Which meant he was hearing more of the gossip.

  "I asked him not to. I don't want word spreading that he's disturbed by it. Or that he's investigating it."

  "What's happened?"

  "In addition to the tagging, a couple of broken window and some structural damage to a couple of the support columns. That one could have been bad if we hadn't caught it in time." As the head of security for The Fix, Brent's job ran the gamut from making sure all the employees had the proper ID and their references checked out, to investigating and pursuing any incidents against the property or its employees. And there'd been more incidents in the past month than he'd seen in all his years at The Fix. Whatever was going on, he was determined to find the perp and shut it down.

  The corners of Landon's mouth curved into a frown. "What happened with the support?"

  "Spencer noticed it."

  "Was it part of the remodel they're doing for the show?" Brooke Hamlin and Spencer Dean were the stars of a real estate themed reality show that centered around a remodel of The Fix--with a little bit of sex appeal thrown in by virtue of the Man of the Month calendar guy contests that The Business Plan included in the show.

  Brent shook his head. "The major structural work took place months ago. But Spencer's sharp. He saw the damage and realized it was vandalism. But the cameras were running, so that's not what he said. He told Tyree and me the full score later when the cameramen weren't around. And he offered to fix it for free."

  "The broken windows ... was that how the perp got in?"

  "Found some denim threads on the glass. So it looks that way."

  Landon studied him from across the interview table. "You have a theory."

  "I think someone wants the property. And I think I know who."

  "Make the place too much trouble, and figure Tyree will sell to rid himself of an albatross? I get it. So who's doing it?"

  "Well, I've narrowed the list down substantially. But if I want to make progress with any kind of speed, I need to figure out who's in that sweatshirt."

  In truth, he was certain that the perp was someone from Bodacious, a competing bar, the owners of which had made no secret that they would be thrilled if Tyree disappeared so they could acquire The Fix's prime real estate.

  "Fair enough. But like I said, there's no tech here that's gonna make that picture any clearer. I know it's been almost six years since you quit the force, but you k
now that as well as I do."

  "I do," Brent admitted. "I was hoping you could pull some of the feed from the neighboring properties. And from that ATM across the street."

  Landon exhaled slowly. "Come on, Brent. I need probable cause for that."

  "Not if you have consent. Ask them. Remind them that the taggers could get their property next."

  "Couldn't you do that?"

  "I could. But I'm only security. You do it--even if you're asking for consent--and someone's going to think the cops are interested. And if I'm paying attention to folks' reactions to your poking around, I may realize who that is."

  Landon shook his head, chuckling. "Fair enough. I'll have a few conversations. Meanwhile, why don't you get a few more cameras installed?"

  Brent cocked his head as he looked at his friend. "Don't you think I've already put that in motion? They're coming late afternoon. Figured since I was going to be there anyway I may as well make some progress."

  "Makes sense." Landon stood and started for the door, then paused, turning back to Brent. "I thought you were cutting down on weekend hours."

  "I was. But I lost two of my guys recently. I'm covering shifts until I make some new hires. It's fine," he said, waving away whatever Landon had been about to say. "Sucks for Faith, but it's only temporary."

  "Jenna covering babysitting duties for you?"

  "Got someone else this time. I was going to ask her, but Reece mentioned in passing that they're in the middle of decorating the nursery. I didn't want to eat into her free time."

  "Well, it sounds like you've got it under control. The kid stuff and the work stuff."

  "It's what I do." He'd been juggling single parenthood since Olivia had walked out on him the day that Faith was born. She'd been twenty-four when they'd married, and though he'd been a few years older, neither of them had truly understood what love was. From the moment she'd gotten pregnant, she'd pulled away from him. Hell, maybe that had started from the moment he'd slipped a ring on her finger.

  Whatever had been brewing inside her had come to a head the night Faith was born. She snapped. She walked. And a few days later she filed for divorce, which had been fine with Brent. He could have forgiven a lot of things, but not walking out on their child.