Back Where She Belongs(23)

“I’ll make more drinks,” she said, jumping up, her heart racing, her cheeks on fire. Despite their earnest, wish-you-well speeches, she wanted something to happen. She thought he did, too. Her hands shook as she dropped in ice, added a splash of vodka and poured in Mountain Dew.

At the last minute, she dumped in more vodka. What the hell, let’s try the high jump.

* * *

“TO US,” TARA SAID, lifting her glass.

“To us,” Dylan repeated. The fading sun turned the drinks into liquid gold in their hands, some magic elixir that would put a spell on them both. Tara’s eyes held that familiar mischievous light that made him want to skip the drinks, the food, the talk and just haul her into his arms.

Despite what they’d said about not going home again, here she was, and he felt it all again, just as big, just as all-consuming.

It didn’t help that she looked so good. She’d become softer and tougher at the same time. Sexier, too, because she was more certain of her appeal, more secure in herself, more sure of what she wanted.

And what did she want right now? Sex?

Damn, he hoped so.

He took a gulp of the drink and had to cough. “This is straight vodka.”

“Pretty close,” she said, coughing, too. “How ’bout we get hammered. For old times’ sake. Escape all this.” She made a circular motion over her head.

That would work. Vodka would fuzz their brains and drown whatever inhibitions remained. It would distract Tara from her troubles and him from his mixed feelings about helping her out.

Go for broke. That was Tara for sure. She took things too far, ready to ride the raft straight over the falls, heedless of the danger. His job had been to stab the oar down to bedrock, anchor them in place before they tumbled to their deaths below.

Yeah, they could get drunk and have sex. It would feel good in a blurry way. But they would be sorry later. He didn’t want to see regret in Tara’s eyes or feel it in his heart, or hear them mumble that they’d been too wasted, that they barely remembered what happened.

He didn’t want that. He doubted she did, either. He knew what she did want—to find out all she could about the car accident—and he had information she would appreciate.

“I talked to Fallon,” he said, putting down his glass.

“You did?” She set hers down, too, and honed in on him, the dare forgotten, as he’d hoped. “What did he say?”

“He’ll write you a report, but it won’t give you more than he already told you. If any pictures got taken they’ve been deleted from what he claims is a, quote, lame-ass camera with next-to-no memory, unquote. The insurance adjuster took the photos he needed and that was all that mattered, according to him. I asked him to send out a detective to photograph the scene and bag the debris.”

“Will he do it?”

“Oh, yeah. If he wants those two new cruisers.”

“You blackmailed him for me?” She grinned.

“Negotiated, I believe, is the proper term.”

“Negotiated, then. You did that for me?”

“I did.” He cleared his throat. “The irritating thing is that he thinks I’m doing this to get back together with you.”

“What an ass.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” What he’d said was get in her pants, though the look on Dylan’s face had scared the guy enough that he’d mumbled an apology and promised to get a detective out there.

“Thanks for doing that, Dylan.”

“I said I would help, didn’t I?”

“I know, but...” But he’d let her down before and she wasn’t convinced he truly had her back. That was Tara.

“Anyway, thanks. It’s more than I would ever get from him. In fact, I kind of blew it again.” She winced.

“What happened?”

“I went to Vito’s to see if any of the waitstaff saw Faye that night, and ran into Jim Crowley, who was there for his niece’s birthday dinner.”

“Not the best setting for an interrogation.”

“I didn’t grill him. I was polite. But he gave me this speech about what a good man Bill Fallon was and that my father wouldn’t want me upsetting my mother by asking questions.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting? Don’t you get it? Fallon got to him. He probably called all the poker guys and told them I’m on a rampage and not to tell me anything. Crowley still hates me over the grocery store protest.”

“I forgot about that. It was about unfair wages, right?”

“Yeah. He was making part-time workers work full-time and not paying them or giving them benefits.”

“It made the paper, I remember.”

“After I broke Fallon’s headlight to get him to arrest me. It was worth it. Those people got paid so little they qualified for food stamps. They had to leave their kids alone late at night to work double shifts. And Crowley cleaned up his act, too, so he wouldn’t get busted for breaking labor laws.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Exactly. Anyway, now that I blew it with the poker guys, I need you to talk to them—find out what really went on with my father that night. Can you ask Crowley? Or one of the other guys?” She listed the names.

“What reason would I have?”

“Curiosity? Checking out what Fallon said? Because you’re the town manager. They’ll tell you. You’re one of them.”

He bristled at the built-in insult she’d delivered. “The poker guys and I are all individuals with separate motivations, beliefs and attitudes, Tara. We’re not all part of some small-town hive mind.”

“I get it, okay? Don’t be so sensitive.”

“If it makes sense to talk to one of them, I will.”

“Good,” she said, as if he’d agreed to do it. “We should talk over the rest of the case.”

“It’s a case now?”

“What would you call it? I put all the clues on a spreadsheet on my iPad so you won’t think I’m a paranoid nut job.”

“No. I’ll think you’re an organized paranoid nut job.”

She went to give him a playful slap, but bumped her drink.

Trying to catch it, Dylan splashed Tara’s shirt.

She gasped from the jolt of cold.

“Sorry,” he said. He grabbed a cloth napkin, sending flatware rattling to the table, and brushed at her chest, aware of her body beneath his fingers, the softness of her breasts. She closed her eyes, caught by the contact.

They were on dangerous ground, so he stopped. “I hope that won’t leave a stain.”

“No big deal. This makes us even. One ruined shirt apiece.”

“You’re too much,” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The minute he decided sex was a bad idea it was all he could think about. He was about to take her hand and pull her toward him when mesquite smoke billowed out in a cloud, accompanied by a roaring sizzle.

“Time to eat,” he said on a sigh, saved by the grill.

He cut up the chicken, brought out the rolls, a pasta salad and some marinated peppers, and they dug in.

“Mmm,” Tara said, swallowing a bite. “Heaven. Moist. Savory. Beerlike. Perfect.” She did everything with such relish. When she licked her fingers he had to look away and think about baseball. “Where’d you get the recipe?”

“Uh, Candee. She made it for me once.” He felt himself blush, remembering the circumstances.

“I thought you said the cookware didn’t include benefits.”

“Just forget it, okay?”

“You two,” she said, shaking her head in amusement.

When they finished eating, she wiped her hands on the napkin. “I’ll go get my iPad so we can go over the clues.”

She started to rise, but he caught her hand. “Wait.”

Tara sat, looking at his hand on hers, then at his face, her eyes gleaming, pupils large. “Yes?” she asked breathlessly. She couldn’t possibly think he was going to yank her into his arms and kiss her, could she? Though the idea sounded damn good to him.

But he’d had a point to make. What was it? Oh. “How about you just talk me through it?” He released her hand.

“Sure,” she said, taking a sharp breath. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s see. Where to start?” She tapped her lip. “How about this? Someone broke into my dad’s desk and stole all his files. I think it might be Joseph.”

“Why?”

“I had to ask him for the car insurance agent’s number and he got defensive about it. He warned me not to do anything that might delay the settlement our attorney will be working out with the insurance company. Bodily injury, lost earnings, pain and suffering. It’ll be millions. He got this gleam in his eye about the money. That made me wonder more about the finances at Wharton.”