Don't Mess With Texas (36 page)

She shifted closer. “But all of them are willing to take a polygraph test. They’re innocent. I don’t know why the cops are doing this—the waiter told the cops that the man’s wife admitted she was going to kill him. What else do they need?”

The right person
, Dallas thought. Another customer came in and she stepped away.

Dallas got up and went to peek into the kitchen, hoping to see where the soups were located.

“You looking for something?” someone behind the stove asked as Dallas poked his head through the doorway.

“Bathrooms?” he lied, his gaze shifting around.

“To the left of the entrance.”

“Thanks.” Before he turned he saw two big soup warmers on this side of the kitchen, along with a stack
of soup bowls. So anyone in the kitchen had access to the soup.

He went back to his table where a Coke now waited on him. The hostess looked over from her post as if she’d wondered where he’d gone. He smiled and, after glancing at her empty front doorway, she started over.

“How many people do you have working here on one shift?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Maybe twenty waitstaff. Two hostesses at night, and two bartenders on weekends. I think there’re ten cooks and prep people in the back.”

“Has anyone quit lately?”

“No… wait, there was that weird busboy.”

“When did he quit?”

“All I know is he didn’t show up yesterday.”

The day after Jack was killed
.

“I had to clean tables during rush hour,” she said.

“Any chance you remember that busboy’s name?”

She grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a sticky note. “His girlfriend called today and wanted me to ask the manager when she could pick up his check.”

He looked at the note. It had the girlfriend’s name and the busboy’s. More customers walked in. “Can I keep this?”

“Sure.” She glanced at the waiting patrons. “And in case you need to ask more questions… or anything else.” She snatched his pen and wrote her telephone number on his pad.

“Thank you.” He pulled out his wallet. “For the drink?”

“It’s on the house.” She looked at the two twenties he placed in her hand.

“Nah. Keep the change for helping me.”

“I’d rather you call me.” She brushed her hand over his.

“As tempting as that is…” His eyebrow arched up. “You should keep the money.”

Dallas hadn’t gotten out of the restaurant before he’d dialed Tyler and given him the names to run down. Then he took off to pick up lunch. On the way, he found himself remembering this morning with Nikki and he smiled the whole way.

“I can’t go lower,” Nikki told Margo Preston with Preston Interior Designer as she added a shadow under the tree of her painting in process. Nikki had started the painting of two young boys fishing by a pond two weeks ago, but for some reason the boys now reminded her of Dallas and Tony. Was she subconsciously putting Dallas into her painting? Why? Because subconsciously she knew she’d have the picture longer than she’d have him?

“I’m offering you a twenty percent discount.”
I’m not asking you for forever
. Dallas’s words played in her head.

Nikki’s cell phone rang, followed by her store phone. With the brush in her hand and a customer underfoot, she let both go to voice mail. Fridays were her busiest day, she didn’t normally attempt to paint, but today she’d longed to lose herself on the canvas—to forget. She eyed the face of the littlest boy and confirmed her suspicion.

“Fine,” Margo said. “I’ll take it.”

Setting her brush on the easel, Nikki felt the thrill of making her third sale for the day—Nana’s cable was safe—even if the reason downright depressed Nikki. Who knew that being suspected of a murder made you a cause célèbre?

Her first customer had actually brought in the newspaper article for her to read—“Local Downtown Artist Person of Interest in Murder of Ex-Husband.” The newspaper had run an old picture of her standing outside the front of her store when she’d first opened the gallery. Nikki was tempted to tell everyone the sale wasn’t dependent on the guilty verdict.

As Nikki rang up Margo’s purchase, her cell phone rang again. She ignored it.

“I need to hurry,” Margo said. “Can you have it ready to pick up this afternoon?”

“I’m closing at five,” Nikki told her.

The door to the gallery swished open and Dallas—an unhappy Dallas—stormed inside. Every nerve ending in her body jumped up and down with glee.

“You stopped answering your phone,” he said, stopping just inside the door.

Nikki shot him a don’t-be-rude look and tried to ignore the racing of her heart and hormones. “I’ve been busy.”

Margo leaned in. “Is he the reason you’re closing early? If so, I don’t blame you.”

Handing her the receipt, Nikki smiled. When Margo walked out of the shop, Nikki found Dallas studying her unfinished painting.

He looked up. “I was worried.”

“I told you if I’m busy I don’t answer my phone.”

“It didn’t stop me from being concerned.” He gazed back at the painting and she feared he’d recognized her version of his younger self in her work. “You’re really good.”

“You’re an art critic as well as a PI?”

“No, but I know what I like… when I see it.” His gaze
shifted and he moved toward her—slow, sauntered steps, like a lion about to pounce on his prey. She was the prey and, in spite of the wisdom of doing otherwise, she wasn’t running. She pressed her hands on the counter, wanting him to touch her, and afraid that he would.

He moved behind the counter and, glancing back at the door as if to make sure no one had walked in, he slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her against him. His lips found hers in a soft kiss that quickly went hot. His tongue slipped between her lips, and Nikki felt her nipples tighten against him when she recalled their morning rendezvous.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, pulling his head up but holding her against him. “Did you think about this morning?” His knee shifted ever so slightly between her legs. Instantly, the tightness in her breasts spread lower, which she suspected was his intent.

“Yes.” She didn’t lie. “But…” She put her hand on his chest to hold him off. Immediately she recalled touching him there this morning without a shirt. Then she recalled touching him without his pants, and she didn’t have what it took to push him away.

Nikki wasn’t what you’d call experienced. With fewer sexual partners than she had fingers on one hand, and two of them ending without… satisfaction, she wasn’t exactly up on proper after-first-time-sex behavior—especially after the awesome sexual partner jumped in the shower and left her in his bed with only half a chocolate doughnut. Oh, he’d apologized profusely, both for leaving and eating the doughnut, and promised to make it up to her later. Some of the promises had included very explicit language of what he planned to do to her when he saw her
next. Her cheeks warmed as she realized this was the next time. Surely, he didn’t plan on…

“You know what I want?” he whispered.

“Not here,” she said without thinking.

He grinned. “I was talking about lunch. I brought it—it’s in the car.”

Ten minutes later, they sat on the sofa in her office eating while Nikki kept one ear tuned to customers entering the store.

“Wow, that’s you, isn’t it?”

“What’s me?”

He pointed to the plaster-of-paris bust in the corner. “I recognize those breasts.”

“It was an art class I taught. Everyone did… self-portraits.”

“Why is it hidden in here?”

She laughed. “It’s not art, it’s just—”

“It’s beautiful. It belongs out there.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. O’Connor.” She looked at her sandwich.

“You okay with turkey and cheese?” he asked. “I called to ask what you’d like, but someone wouldn’t answer her phone.”

“It’s great. Thank you.”

He rested his hand on her knee, sending a current of warmth up her leg.

“I sold three paintings today,” she said, trying to chase away the memory of his hand moving up her pajama leg.

“I’m not surprised. You’re good.”

“Being a person of interest in a murder helps, too.” She was going for humor, but fell short. “Imagine how many I’ll sell if I’m actually arrested.”

He frowned. “You saw the paper?”

“Yeah.” She looked at the sandwich, her appetite vanishing as she remembered what else she’d seen in the paper. Jack’s obituary. Tonight was the viewing at the funeral home. Nikki debated the wisdom of going. Would it enrage Jack’s parents? If she didn’t go, would it appear to be an admission of guilt?

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You shouldn’t read it.”

“I’ll bet you read it when it was you.”

“Then learn from my mistakes.” He leaned in to kiss her.

She pulled back, not wanting to start things. “Speaking of mistakes…”

The heat in his eyes faded into a frown. “I’m sorry I had to leave like that this morning. There’s this kid being accused—”

“I didn’t mean that.” She rolled her sandwich back up in its wrapper. The paper crackled in the silence.

He stared at her as if trying to figure something out. “I usually take more time.” He ran a finger over her lips. “I promise tonight you won’t have any complaints.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “I didn’t mean that, either.”

“Then what’s a mistake?”

“I meant the kissing… here.” That was what she meant, but the word “mistake” brought up other things. She glanced away.

“You know you’re not any better at lying than I am.”

She looked at him and the words just came out. “I’m just scared, Dallas. My life’s a mess.”

“And I’m trying to help you.”

But what about when this is over? What happens when I get used to you being there?

She dug deep for a way to say some of what she wanted to say without sounding like a psycho. “But you’ve done more than you should have. My staying at your place is too much.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“I know but… now that I’ve made some money, I can get a hotel room.”

“Why?”

“I’m not saying we couldn’t… see each other, but—”

“Someone may be trying to kill you, Nikki.”

She cut him a get-real look. “I’ve been here all day and not one assault.”

“I still don’t like the idea of a hotel.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t you seen the news?” His brow tightened. “Hotels have bedbugs.”

O
H, FRIGGIN’ HELL
. As soon as he’d said it, Dallas wished he could take it back. Now he was resorting to using bedbugs, too.

“Bedbugs?” She looked at him as if he was crazy.

Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he was just crazy about her. No, he was crazy because he could feel her building barriers between them. Even to him, his feelings didn’t make sense. By God, he didn’t want her trying to be too clingy, but the idea of her putting up the barriers sure as hell didn’t feel right.

He wiped a hand over his face. “Was the sex that bad? Because I could swear you enjoyed…”

She blushed again. “I did. We’re just moving so fast.”

“Okay, it’s happening fast, and maybe it’s a little scary, but…”
But what?
He searched for the right words, and was hit by the sudden realization of the truth. “But I like scary right now.” Or at least he liked it a hell of lot better than he liked the idea of her pulling away. “Can’t we just take this one day at time and see where it leads? Can’t we just enjoy… this?”

There it was again. His one-day-at-a-time motto. But now it had another meaning. He was no longer scared of where it was leading—he was scared of it not leading anywhere.

She stiffened. “I didn’t mean to imply that I expected forever, Dallas.”

Caught up in his own thoughts, he tried to comprehend what she was saying. “What? You’re losing me, here.”

“This morning you said you weren’t asking for forever and I’m saying I don’t expect it. But I don’t want to be hurt again like Jack hurt me.”

He frowned. “You think I’d purposely hurt you?”

“Jack didn’t do it on purpose. But—”

And Serena hadn’t meant it, either. Bullshit!
“So he accidentally screwed your hired help? What? Got a hard-on and just slipped and fell inside her?” Her eyes widened at his crudeness and, yeah, he knew he was being crude.

“He just…”

“What? His mama dressed him funny and that led to him cheating on you?”

“No, but… He’s dead and I wasn’t nice to him before he died.”

“Dead or alive, I’m sick of people making excuses for people who go around doing others wrong. He cheated on you, Nikki. You didn’t deserve that. Were you cheating on him?”

“No.” She appeared insulted. “Look… this isn’t about Jack. What I’m trying to say is that when you find yourself getting bored with me—”