Scratchgravel Road (Josie Gray Mysteries #2)(67)
Josie drove home, then fed Chester and gave him fresh water. He wandered into the living room and curled up on his rug. She took a hot shower, and in the bright light of the bathroom, looked over her body carefully for any bumps or blisters or sores. She knew she was being paranoid. She had read enough about radiation on the Internet to know that second-or thirdhand exposure was most likely not dangerous, but the worry nagged at her. After all, it was enough of a concern that the CDC was flying a technician to Texas the next morning.
She changed into a pair of ancient Levis and a soft pink T-shirt. When she was ready, she loaded Chester in the back of her jeep. He lay down on the backseat with his head on his paws. His eyes were closed before she made it back around to the driver’s side, like a baby conditioned to sleep as soon as the buckle clicks on the car seat.
Dillon lived north of town in a small, trendy subdivision. His neighbors were primarily young to middle-aged career couples with at least one of the partners making a weekly commute to a larger city. Two of the houses were second homes for couples who spent winters in West Texas and summers up north. Dillon enjoyed the neighborhood and the eclectic mix of people and participated in the occasional block pitch-in. He could small talk and charm at a dinner party with ease, and Josie enjoyed people-watching while he carried the conversation. The opposites attract rule had worked well for her through the years, and was especially true with Dillon.
She pulled up his paved driveway and stopped in front of the garage. The house was a limestone-and-glass structure with long sloping sides and expansive windows. Even his sleek, stylish home, with its neutral colors, contrasted sharply with the warm colors of her little adobe in the foothills.
She knocked once and opened the front door. The air was cool and smelled like clean linen. Eggshell white walls and minimal gray trim were used throughout the house. The focus was the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and dining room that faced a landscaped garden Dillon had designed and planted. Smiling and breathing deeply, she felt the serenity of the space settle around her. She gave Chester his bone and he lay down in front of the couch, not even making it all the way to the kitchen to visit Dillon. She marveled at the dog’s laziness.
Josie walked through the living room and found Dillon whistling along to classical music that filled the kitchen. His head was bent over a cutting board where he appeared to be slicing cabbage into thin strips. He looked up and smiled when she entered, then laid his hands on the cutting board and gave his full attention to her. She had encountered very few people in life who ever gave their full attention to anyone.
She crossed the kitchen and stretched up to kiss him lightly on the lips.
“You taste like Merlot,” she said.
“You taste delicious.”
She patted him on the back end. Dillon turned the music down and told her to dip the cabbage into the sauce in a bowl behind the cutting board. She dipped, and moaned at the taste.
“That’s amazing. Sweet and tangy and creamy. Just a little heat. Where did you come up with this?”
He winked. “You set the table. We’re almost ready.”
“Hmm. What else?” she asked, scanning the kitchen.
“Apple sage pork chops. Wine in the fridge. French bread in the oven.”
“You are the best,” she said.
Dillon washed and dried his hands on a dish towel, then came over and wrapped one arm behind her back, and slowly ran the tip of his finger under each of her eyes. He leaned his face next to her ear and whispered, “You need sleep.”
She shivered and smiled as he turned his head into her neck, running goose bumps up her spine.
“Maybe you can feed me and then tuck me into bed for the night.”
Dillon trailed kisses from her neck, along her jawline, and finally to her lips. Her knees were weak before he finally pulled away and whispered, “My chops are burning.”
She followed him outside where he opened the grill and poked a meat thermometer into the thick chops.
“How’s Teresa? Think she learned a lesson?” he asked.
Josie looked doubtful. “I don’t know. For a while, maybe. She’s a tough kid with a lot of anger.”
Dillon took the pork chops off the grill and they walked back inside. Josie pulled plates and glasses out of the cabinets, set the table, and poured wine as Dillon cleaned off the countertops and talked about his work and his ongoing frustration with government bureaucracy.
“It used to be red tape. Now it’s policy written in such overwrought language you have to hire an attorney to interpret,” he said.
Once they were seated, the dinner conversation eventually turned to Josie’s work and Dillon’s investigation into Beacon Pathways.
“You didn’t need me. Sauly was right on it. Everything is out in the open. Much of what they do with small towns like Artemis is an image game. They portray themselves one way publicly to disguise the bigger picture. It’s all completely legal and companies do it all the time.”
“Give me an example,” she said.
Dillon spooned sautéed apples over his pork chops and cut more French bread as he talked. “It’s like the large companies with plants overseas. They pay their workers paltry sums so we get cheap clothing. They portray themselves as companies taking care of the little guy, but the true little guy gets screwed in the sweatshop. Or the companies who climb into bed with quasi-terrorist groups because it’s the only way they can get to the bananas, or the coffee beans, or the spices they want.”