Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(83)

Being the local, Tessa drove. Wyatt resumed his easy sprawl in the passenger’s seat, except this time, he was scowling.

“You don’t look happy,” Tessa ventured at last, threading her way from Storrow Drive to Route 2 toward Lexington, Massachusetts.

“I’m disgruntled.”

“Personally or professionally?”

“Professionally. I don’t have a personal life to get disgruntled about.”

“Really?”

“I like carpentry, making things with my hands. Other than that, I work a lot. No wife, no kids, no girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

He turned, regarding her steadily. “You? How does the life of a corporate investigator compare with your days as a state trooper?”

“Better hours, better pay,” she said.

“But do you love it?”

It took her a bit to answer. “I like it,” she said at last. “For my daughter’s sake, that’s enough.”

She could feel him watching her from the passenger’s seat. Not speaking. Not scrutinizing. Just…being.

She found herself saying: “You haven’t asked me about my husband.”

“Your business, not mine.”

“Two years ago,” she heard herself continue, “Brian was shot dead, and my daughter went missing. I confessed to shooting him, but was also charged with killing my own kid.”

“Your daughter’s alive. You said so.”

“I found her. Some of my methods didn’t necessarily…color inside the legal lines. I won’t ever be welcomed in law enforcement again. But I have my daughter back and that’s what matters most.”

“You know,” he drawled slowly, “now that you mention it, that case rings a bell.”

She stiffened, steeling herself for the inevitable comments on her shooting skills, or even a crack on how her husband must’ve deserved it.

Instead, he asked: “How’s your daughter holding up?”

“She told me to look for the Denbe family in cold, dark places. Also, to bring cookies and carry my gun.”

“Smart kid.”

She found herself nodding. And thinking that she liked Wyatt Foster. Liked him a lot.

“You ever been married?” she asked.

“Yep. Total train wreck. But I’ve got nothing against domestic life. And between you, me and the lamppost, I like kids. It’s one of those things guys can’t really say, though. Comes out sounding creepy. Which, given how much I respect your skills, is not the impression I’m trying to make.”

“I don’t date much.” This must be what happened when you went too long without adult company, she decided. First attentive listener and it was like she had diarrhea of the mouth. She continued: “My focus is my daughter, creating a safe, stable home environment for her. She deserves that much.”

“Ah, hence the scraped-back hair—”

“That’s the second comment I’ve received in two days! What is it about my hair?”

“You’re too young to look that old,” Wyatt said matter-of-factly. “Besides, it doesn’t work for me. I see something pulled back that tight, mostly, I get curious how it might look down. You know, preferably after a nice dinner, followed by a couple glasses of wine, that sort of thing.”

Tessa was no longer watching the road. She was staring at the man sitting in her passenger’s seat, and she was pretty sure she was blushing. Blushing, for heaven’s sake.

“But I imagine you don’t date on the job,” he continued now, voice still perfectly even.

“Exactly,” she managed, and returned her eyes to the road.

They fell back into silence.

“So,” she drawled after another few minutes. “You’re disgruntled.”

“Yes. The kidnappers are exposing themselves. They’re making phone calls, buying local newspapers and most likely getting supplies to treat a woman in the midst of pretty serious withdrawal. And yet, we still can’t get a bead on them. It’s pissing me off.”

“We don’t have a description,” Tessa pointed out. “It’s hard to make headway without a tangible description of the suspects to circulate. I mean, what can local law enforcement do right now? Ask local gas stations if any strangers bought a newspaper today? At this rate, we should feel disgruntled. We’re still skirting the perimeters of the crime. We haven’t reached the heart of the matter.”

“I called my office,” Wyatt said. “Got them working with the local wireless providers to identify chunks of real estate that don’t receive adequate cell coverage. Sounds like that will eliminate a great deal of the White Mountain National Forest. ’Course, most of the real estate in question is high altitude or deep country…not exactly accessible for hiding hostages anyway.”

“Process of elimination is still something; a no that helps lead to yes.”

“Forest rangers have been making progress, too, visiting campgrounds and trailheads. At this rate, we may work ourselves down to a mere fifth of the state left to search by tomorrow.”

“See, smaller haystack. Well done.”

Wyatt stopped scowling, grinned instead. “I like you,” he said. “Hairdo aside, I’m going to ask you out one day. But not today. Today, we’re going to focus on the Denbe family.”