Hands On (13 page)

His gaze went involuntarily to Cassie. She watched the couple from the edge of her chair, her heart on her sleeve.

She was a rookie. She'd learn not to become emotionally involved.

After another ten minutes of listening to Harvey and Zelda beat a dead horse, Bask stood and hugged both of them. Dalton snorted. If Bask tried hugging him, he'd need a plastic surgeon real quick.

“You did great,” he said in that smooth oily voice of his. “Did you notice how your tones changed toward the end?” He looked out at the group. “Did you all hear it?” Kathy was the only one who nodded. “It means you're starting to learn to refine your communication, be more respectful of the other person. You did a fine job.” He motioned for them to reclaim their seats in the audience.

They'd gone first, no telling who'd be called up next. Dalton hunched down and avoided eye contact with Bask.

“Let's see.” Bask's gaze scanned the group. “How about if we hear from Dalton and Cassie next?”

“Shit.”

Cassie shot him a disapproving look as she left her chair. No one else apparently heard him. He pushed himself up, preferring a root canal to what he was about to go through.

As he approached the appointed chair, Bask gave him an encouraging smile that Dalton wanted to smash off his face.

They sat down and faced each other just as Zelda and Harvey had done. Cassie seemed nervous, too. Or maybe it was an act. She amazed him with her poise and wit under pressure.

Someone had noticed Cassie's shirt being inside out right away that afternoon, and they both took some good-natured ribbing all the way back to the house. He had to admit, she was good. Sometimes it was the little details that made or broke a case.

“Who would like to start?” Bask asked when neither of them uttered a word.

Cassie moistened her lips but didn't volunteer.

Dalton cleared his throat. “I think Cassie should go first since the last time I left abruptly without giving her a chance.”

She narrowed her gaze just enough for him to get the hint. She was going to strangle him later.

“Cassie.” Bask gestured to her and then reclaimed his seat off to the right.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, and then stared
blankly for a moment. “Let's see…” She took another deep breath and then froze.

“Maybe I can help you out here,” Bask said, his voice calm, soothing…annoying as hell. “Why don't you start where Dalton left off?”

Dalton groaned. “I thought that subject had been put to rest.”

“Cassie hasn't had her chance at rebuttal, if you will.” Bask clasped his hands together and sat back. “Cassie, go ahead.”

Dalton sank down and hunched his shoulders, and stared at his outstretched legs. Shit. At least he wouldn't forget what the story was.

“Dalton? I think it would be better if you looked at me.”

Slowly he lifted his gaze. She looked serious. Too serious. She'd better damn well better remember this was playacting.

“I'm glad we're starting at this point. I have to admit, what you said yesterday has been bothering me.”

She wanted eye contact? She got it. He stared intensely into her eyes, trying to get the warning across. Anything she said was not really supposed to be about him. He silently willed her to stick with their act.

“Marriage is a partnership,” she said, “at least that's the way I see it. The way I want my marriage to work. It's not solely up to you to provide for me, or our eventual family. We need to do it together.”

She blinked, and then stared down at her hands. “I'm not just a hood ornament, incapable of being anything except decoration.”

“Cassie, keep eye contact with Dalton,” Bask said quietly.

She stiffened but lifted her chin. The earnestness in her eyes made Dalton's chest tighten. “It's not about money or ego or anything else,” she said softly. “It's about two people respecting and trusting each other enough to share the responsibility of making a marriage work, the responsibility of earning and managing money in order to raise a family. It's being a shoulder to lean on or cry on when the road gets rocky.”

After an uncomfortable silence, Dalton said, “Easier said than done.”

“Trite but true.” Cassie lips curved a little. “Sometimes it's really hard to push bias and ego aside. But when you do, the bond strengthens. We become a team. And when the next crisis or disagreement arises, it's easier to overcome.”

“You're doing great, really terrific,” Bask said, “but try to get specific, Cassie, so Dalton fully understands how this all pertains to him.”

“I'm sure he knows what I'm talking about,” she mumbled.

“Come on, Cassie, don't backpedal now,” Bask urged, his voice becoming more hypnotic. “You're making progress. I can see it on Dalton's face.”

Right.
Dalton bit back a remark and consoled himself with the satisfying thought of arresting Bask's ass. If they couldn't dig up anything to give a prosecutor soon, they could at least put him behind bars for passing himself off as a marriage counselor without a license, while they dug deeper.

He just hoped Cassie remembered that this therapy stuff was bullshit, that what she was saying didn't apply to him. He watched anxiety build in her eyes as she mentally prepared herself for the next round.

“I don't want to be in competition with your job, whether it be charity work or managing our portfolio.”

Good girl.
He relaxed.

“Nor do I want your job to compete against me. There are times when a deadline or a project will keep you busy for hours, maybe even days, or a week. I understand. The same applies to me. I may not be able to give you the attention you want all the time. But that doesn't mean the connection is gone. It doesn't mean I won't be waiting for you with open arms. You can be a good husband, and eventually father, and still be a good breadwinner, too.”

Dalton stared at her with mistrust. He knew she'd checked him out, but had she somehow gotten into his personal file? Nah, it wouldn't matter. This kind of stuff wasn't in there. But how could she hit so close to home?

“You're still not being specific, Cassie,” Bask admonished.

Dalton stood. “This is bullshit,” he said and in a replay of the last session, headed for the door

But unlike yesterday, Simone burst into tears and ran out ahead of him.

D
ALTON TRIED
Frank's cell phone number. Four-fifteen. The old buzzard was probably taking a break at Mario's coffee and doughnut shop. Dalton hoped so. It would be easier for Frank to talk about anything he might have found outside of the office.

As the phone rang, Dalton's thoughts went back to Cassie and the therapy session. Some cooling off time away from her had cleared his head some and he realized now that she couldn't have known she'd hit on his and Linda's main problem.

Cassie might have guessed from the last session or from parts of their private conversations, but the earnestness in her eyes made him think her words were more from the heart, possibly from her own experience.

“Frank here.”

He adjusted the phone to his mouth. “It's me. Find out anything?”

“Other than the fact that Higgins is so pissed at you he's probably arranging to transfer you to Outer Mongolia?”

“Screw Higgins.” Dalton rubbed his tired eyes. “What did you find out?”

“Simone Harding has a list of aliases a mile long. She's been Adele Manning, Sandra Lockhart, Danielle Fleming, Morgan Sanders… Any of these sound familiar?”

“Not off hand. Any arrests?”

“Two, both times for fraud, but no convictions.”

“What about Grant Harding?”

“Not a thing on him.”

That didn't mean anything, but somehow Dalton wasn't surprised. He doubted there was any relationship between Grant and Simone. Grant had probably been hired to pose as her husband, and it was possible that he didn't know about Bask's scam.

Hell, it was possible Bask didn't even know about Simone.

She could have her own private agenda, her own scam in the works. No, it was that hint of familiarity the evening Bask had called her out of the dining room that had gotten Dalton thinking. “Have Bask and Simone ever been linked together?”

“Funny you should ask. Simone was last seen in Wichita, Kansas. Same place your boy, Bask, was taken in for questioning two years ago.”

“Makes sense,” Dalton muttered, and then listened while Frank filled him in on a few more items of interest.

Now that they knew Simone was involved somehow, Dalton figured she would be the better person to lean on. The heavy drinking could be an act, but he didn't think so. She seemed to always be sober, yet no
one consumed as much alcohol as she did and not get sloshed. Yep, she was ripe for the picking.

“Thanks, Frank. I owe you one.”

“One?” Frank chuckled. “You owe me more than one, pal.”

“Yeah, you're right.”

“Hey, aren't you gonna ask why you're in the doghouse with Higgins?”

“Shit, when am I not in the doghouse with him?”

“Yeah, but it's different this time.” Frank's voice got serious. “You haven't checked in for almost a week, and he's been alternating between worried and furious.”

“He's worried about me? Wait while I wipe a tear.”

Frank laughed. “You know it wouldn't look good if he lost a man right before election time.”

“So he's really going to run for office?”

“Looks like it.”

Dalton shook his head. Part of him wished the guy got elected so he'd get off his back, and the other part missed the pain in the ass already.

They'd worked together a long time. While Dalton had liked staying out in the field, Hector had higher aspirations. He'd been promoted rather quickly, and with each promotion he'd changed, became more ambitious. “I assume he asked if you heard from me?”

“Yeah…wait a minute.” Frank pulled away from the phone and said, “Honey, a little more coffee here.”

Yep, he was at Mario's, all right. Some things never
changed. Dalton smiled. Including Frank's political incorrectness.

“Okay,” Frank said into the receiver. “I told him I hadn't talked to you since last week.”

“Good. I don't want you in the middle.”

“Why haven't you checked in?”

“I left a message.”

“A week ago. On his voice mail when you knew he wouldn't be in.”

“So?”

“I hate to say it, kid, but it looks like you're purposely trying to piss him off.”

“He stuck me with this friggin' nothing case. If he doesn't like the way I'm working it, he can pull me off.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, realization hit him like a two-by-four.

If Higgins had known Dalton had planned to go undercover, he
would
have pulled him off, and sent someone else. Higgins didn't really want Dalton wasting his time on this kind of case. He'd only wanted to exact punishment, make an example out of him.

“He can't pull you off if he doesn't hear from you.”

Exactly.
Dalton briefly closed his eyes and muttered a pithy four-letter word. This was about Cassie, and wanting to work with her. Hell, wanting to do more than work with her. He knew better. Dammit.

“Dalton?”

“I'm here.”

“Just check in. You don't even have to tell him where you are.”

“Yeah, you're probably right.”

Frank sighed. “That sounded a lot like Marie's ‘yes, dear.' I still think you should call.”

“Thanks, Frank. When I get back I'm taking you and Marie to dinner.”

“If you aren't standing in the unemployment line instead.”

“Hell, I need a vacation, anyway.”

“Right.”

“See ya.”

Dalton stood at the payphone, drumming his fingers on the ratty phonebook stored beneath the phone. In spite of their recent differences, Higgins probably was worried.

“Shit!”

He picked up the receiver again and punched in the number to the bureau. Purposely he didn't call Higgins's private line. When the operator answered, he asked for Higgins's assistant. And left a message.

 

“L
ET'S TAKE A WALK
.” Dalton steered Cassie to the French doors as soon as dinner was over.

Cassie glanced over her shoulder. “It's such a nice evening, someone else is bound to have the same idea.”

“Nah, they're all tired from their hike this morning.”

She hoped so. She was dying to talk to him and would have preferred the privacy of their room. But she followed him out onto the patio, and the scent of roses and gardenias immediately surrounded them. A
couple of rakes leaned against a post, which meant the gardener hadn't left yet.

“Let's head toward the pool,” Dalton said, and surprised her by taking her hand.

She inhaled deeply. “These roses are awesome. I'm really going to have to talk to Mr. Hamada.”

“You were serious about that?”

“Of course. I love to garden.”

“Yeah, that's right. You said something about that in the car.”

“You look skeptical.”

“I don't know. I just didn't see you as the type.”

She frowned. Surely he didn't think she was afraid to get her hands dirty. “I'm not sure how to take that.”

“I see you more as a career woman, not someone tinkering around the house or yard, or fooling with girlie things.”

“Oh.” She smiled, liking that answer.

He gave her a double take, and smiled along with her. “What's that sassy grin for?”

“I don't usually get that response. Most people expect someone who looks like me to do girlie things.”

He made a face as if he found that hard to believe. “Not people who know you.”

She nodded wryly. “My father for one, and my mother to some degree. My brother, too, which really disappoints me because he's too young to have such a crummy attitude, and of course, my old boss was a member of the idiot society.”

“Chet?”

She nodded, surprised he remembered Chet's name.
“I had a couple of old boyfriends like that, too, but I got rid of them fast.”

He chuckled. “I bet you did.” He lapsed into a thoughtful silence until they got to the pool deck. “Your parents are the ones who surprise me. Obviously I don't know them but I'd think they'd want you to strive for your full potential.”

“One would think.” She let go of his hand and sat on one of the lounge chairs, not sure she wanted to have this conversation. Her parents' lack of support in her career choice was a sore issue for her.

“You went to Texas A&M, not a scrub school. Did they encourage you to go?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but only for my pageant portfolios.”

God, she hoped she didn't regret supplying that information.

He sat beside her instead of on his own chair. “As in beauty pageants?”

She nodded already deep in regret.

“I can't picture it. I mean, you're certainly beautiful enough, I bet you won more than your share of competitions, but it just doesn't seem like you.”

“Really?”

“Don't take it wrong or anything.”

Laughing, she threw her arms around his neck. “Trust me, I am not taking this wrong,” she said, and kissed him. Catching him off guard, he fell backward against the reclining chair back, pulling her with him. What was meant to be a for-show kiss quickly escalated. His warm chocolate-scented breath mixed with
hers, and she let her weight rest against him, reveling in his instant arousal.

He framed her face with his hands and pushed her hair off her face, showering her with kisses. “God, you smell good.”

“Wake up. It's garlic. The same thing you had for dinner,” she joked, hoping to lighten the mood. She took a quick look around. Mostly to get her heart rate under control. “You're supposed to tell me about what you found out from your friend.”

“Oh, hell, how am I supposed to remember right now?”

She looked down into his eyes, so full of humor and intelligence, and she knew that as impossible as it seemed, she'd fallen for him. She used the tip of her finger to trace the outline of his lips. “What happened to business before pleasure?”

“That's a bunch of bullshit.” His lips curved and then he sucked her finger into his mouth.

“Hey, knock it off.”

He bit down gently, just enough to get her revved.

She retaliated with a strategic little shimmy, making him groan.

“Ah, so the gloves are off, huh?” He grabbed her wrists and held them over her head.

“Dalton, let me go.” She used a horrified voice, but then lost ground by laughing when he used his chin to tickle her neck.

“Not until you tell me you're crazy about me.”

“In this lifetime?” She took an unsteady breath. She was acting like a rookie. “Not.”

Dalton's grin vanished and he jerked his head up. “Did you hear something?”

“No.” She sat up and stared into the semidarkness, neither of them speaking for nearly a minute.

He sat up, as well. “Could have been a cat or a bird.”

“Or Mr. Hamada.”

“It's getting too dark for him to still be working.”

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself, thinking about how someone could have been watching them.

Dalton got up first and extended a hand. “Let's go inside.”

She let him pull her up and then take her hand. He led her through the portion of the path that was a tad overgrown, and then brought her beside him, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

She liked the way they fit, the way he touched her without crowding her, how he had a kind of protective, chivalrous streak. She'd never admit it to him. They were professional, equals, and she wanted desperately to be taken seriously. Anyway, he'd deny it. He'd probably start second-guessing his actions, not wanting to appear soft.

Snuggled against him, she whispered, “Tell me about your childhood.”

“Why?”

“I want to know about you.”

“We've been in each other's face for three days. I think you're starting to get to know me.”

“That's not fair. I told you about my parents and the beauty pageants.”

He sighed. “Can we talk about this later so we aren't overheard? We're supposed to know all this stuff about each other. We're married, remember?”

She didn't say anything. He was right except she got the feeling he was putting her off. Finally, she said, “Just one thing and I promise to shut up.”

“Right.” One side of his mouth lifted. “What?”

“Did you have an awful childhood?”

He drew his head back. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you don't want to talk about it, and if that's the case, that's fine, I understand, but I really want to know.”

“You couldn't be further off the mark. Very normal. Both parents in the house—Dad worked, and Mom stayed at home. My brother and I were raised with a strong hand and even stronger work ethic. So, no, you don't have to call a shrink for me.”

“I'd guessed you had a good upbringing. You're very courteous and—”

“I thought you were going to shut up.”

She jabbed him with her elbow. “Did I say courteous?”

He grunted on impact. “You know we could keep walking, maybe down the driveway. It's open and we can talk.”

“It's also getting too dark.” Disappointment pricked her. “It sounds like you're trying to avoid me again.”

“Not true. I just want to hurry and get the business part out of the way.”

“Oh.”

He stopped and picked a rose. There was a mass of the blooms, so she didn't protest. He didn't give it to her as she expected him to, but took it into the house with them.

A light was on in the kitchen and the usual dim lamp shone in the parlor, but the house was quiet, the downstairs apparently deserted.

Silently they went up to their room and Dalton locked the door behind them. Cassie's pulse picked up speed when he turned to look at her.

He held up the pinkish-melon-colored rose, stared at it for a second and then his gaze went back to her. “This is the exact color of your lips.”