Pink Neon Dreams (5 page)

His
deep brown eyes gazed at her.
  
“Yeah, it
can be,” he said. “I’m part Comanche, Mexican from both sides of the family and
some old-fashioned Southern redneck with a sprinkle of Irish in there
somewhere.
Hell of a mix, huh?”

She
eyed him with the kind of appetite a kid develops in a donut shop. “Looks like
it works, Daniel, besides, my family tree isn’t much less complicated.
 
My mama always called it All-American mutt.”

For
the first time since they met, he laughed with a deep bass sound reminding her
of the drums. “That sounds about right,” he said. “So you’re from Chicago?”

“Born
and raised,” she said. “I grew up in a poor ass neighborhood,
then
lived in a mansion, but now I’m doing things my
way.
 
First time in my life so I hope I don’t
fail.”

“You
won’t,” Daniel said as if he knew her well.
 
She shot him a look to question his statement and he added, “You don’t
seem like the kind of person who gives up easy.”

“True,”
Cecily conceded after a moment. “So what’s for dinner?”

“Whatever
you want,” Daniel said. “You tell me where.”

Chapter Four

Quiet
by nature, taciturn even among his peers, Daniel Padilla found more to say to
the woman he should be investigating, not dating, than he had to anyone in a
long time.
 
His partners bitched about
how little he said and once a newly hired agent pegged him as a mute until the
supervisor reamed her out about her false assumption.
 
His widowed mother gave up trying to coax
more than monosyllables and short sentences from him in their weekly calls, and
none of his neighbors in his Raytown apartment complex knew his name.
 
Daniel kept apart from the world, afraid if
he entered it, he would get burned a second time.
 
One reason he got the current assignment was
the solo nature of the gig.
 
Everyone
knew Daniel savored solitude and preferred his own company.
 
Or they thought they did. They failed to
realize his silence covered his secret—loneliness so deep it lacked a bottom.

With
Cecily riding shotgun beside him, Daniel’s senses shifted into overdrive.
 
Her sweet fragrance invaded his nose, and she
looked so pretty in her dark pink blouse he couldn’t help but sneak
glances.
 
He enjoyed the sound of her
voice, rich and pleasant, and decided he’d draw her out in more conversation
just to hear it.
 
Daniel wondered if her
skin would feel as satiny as it appeared and it took incredible self-control to
resist stroking her arm.
 
He ached to
kiss her wide mouth and hold her shapely body in his arms.

“I
don’t know,” she said in answer to his question. “I’m not picky and every place
will be busy on Saturday night.”

Damn,
he’d never realized but as his eyes focused on the brimming parking lots, the
slow bumper to bumper traffic, he agreed. “So what do you suggest? You probably
know more about Branson than I do.”

Cecily
laughed, a sound infused with audible brown sugar and honey. “I doubt it.
 
I just moved here a month ago.
 
I figured you might be a native or
something.
 
What are you? Are you a
tourist?”

For
a woman suspected of murder, she’d been damned straight.
 
She’d already mentioned she came from
Chicago, had alluded to her humble background and to the wealthier life of
recent years.
 
Now she admitted to
arriving in town a few weeks earlier.
 
I’d think a guilty woman would try to hide
her past, not blurt it out.
 
Trained
to trust his instincts, to know his gut, Daniel thought he believed her
innocence.
 
But he couldn’t deny his
physical attraction or emotional pull, two things powerful enough to skew his
perspective.

“Yeah
I’m a tourist,” he said. “I’m here for some much needed down time, a couple
weeks of vacation.
 
I’ve been here before
though, but it’s been a while back.”

 
Unexpected pain rippled through his
belly.
 
Don’t even think of Mollie.
 
Forget the damn memories. Let the past stay where it belongs, in the
rearview mirror.
 
For one terrible
split second Daniel swore he could see Mollie’s pale, freckled face, her light
brown straight hair, her green eyes reflected in the windshield.
 
Her lips pressed tight together, a frown not
a smile.

 
“Well, we can explore the options together,” Cecily
said.
 
Her words banished the image and
he sighed. “Do you want something fancy or simple?
Steak or
seafood?
Burgers or barbecue?”

Damned
if he knew.
 
Food ceased to matter years
ago.
 
He ate when he grew hungry, drank more
often because it dulled the inner pain and sometimes delivered sleep.
 
But Dan wasn’t picky.
 
He grabbed a bite where and when it was
convenient and even on his rare forays to the supermarket, he tended to pick up
the basics, things he recognized and were on display.

If I tell her I want her, she’ll
freak out and whatever fragile little thing there is between us will die.

 
“Any
of it sounds fine with me,” he said. “What’s your preference?”

“I
like barbecue,” Cecily said. “The restaurant just ahead on the right is pretty
good, but I see a line stretching from the door to the highway so I’ll
pass.
 
I don’t like waiting, much.
 
My feet are tired today.”

He’d
forgotten she got up early to open her shop, neglected to remember she probably
hadn’t stopped for lunch or had time to go pee.
 
She probably wanted to go home,
kick off her shoes, settle down on the couch and vegetate or take a long bubble
bath.
 
So what’s she doing with me?
 
His attraction to Cecily had blinded him to
the fact it was mutual.
 
Damn, she must like me.
His revelation
caught him short.
 
Daniel, long out of
practice with relationships, hadn’t expected it.
 
He hadn’t dealt with his own emotions or
sexual tension yet.
 
If Cecily felt the
same, it complicated things all the more but in a good way.
Or so I hope.

“Would
you rather grab something to go and head home?” he asked. “I’m sure you’re
tired.”

Her
face lit with a smile. “Yeah, I’m worn out, but I don’t really want to go
home.
 
I haven’t done much since I got
here but work on getting my shop open.
  
We can do whatever you want, though.”

No
one could be more out of practice at dating than he was or as rusty at
communicating, but Dan decided he’d give it a try. “Look, if you don’t mind the
drive, we could pick up some fried chicken or something,
then
head over to Rockaway Beach.
 
It’s a lot
quieter over there than here and the lake is nice.
 
There’s a swimming beach, a fishing pier, and
an awesome view of Taneycomo.”

He
half hoped she’d said ‘no’ and
opt
instead for fast
food, but Cecily grinned. “Sounds nice, Daniel.”

“Then
it’s a plan. Is chicken okay or would you rather have something else?”

“Fried
chicken’s one of my favorites,” Cecily said. “I haven’t had any in a long time
- my ex never wanted anything so working class.
 
It sounds delicious.”

 
Her tone sounded regretful but not
bitter.
 
To Daniel’s trained ear, it
didn’t sound like a woman who shot her husband to death at close range, then
entered her former home to make off with a fortune in precious stones and
jewelry.
 
“Then let’s grab chicken and
all the fixings,” he said.

 
Daniel hadn’t expected a rich man’s wife, ex
or not, to crave fried chicken or consent to eating overlooking Lake
Taneycomo.
 
He figured she’d want lobster
and caviar, served in a five star restaurant or at least someplace where they
served meals on real china plates and offered cloth napkins.
 
She’s
not what I expected when I read her file, but then I didn’t plan to find her
attractive, either.

Even
most of the drive-through windows were full so he stopped instead at a local
supermarket.
 
Cecily joined him in a
quick jaunt to the deli section where they bought a bag of fried chicken and
some potato wedges.
 
She picked out two
cream horns from the bakery section and insisted they grab a package of paper
napkins.
 
At the checkouts, Dan grabbed a
bottle of root beer and after a moment’s hesitation, Cecily chose a diet
cola.
 
He paid for it all and they
plunged back onto the Strip. As they headed out of Branson, traffic lessened,
and by the time he turned onto the narrow, winding two-lane road leading to
Rockaway Beach, most of the vehicles they met headed toward the bright lights
of the vacation city.
 
The summer dusk
yielded to night, but the oncoming headlights didn’t bother Daniel although he
noticed Cecily flinched at the brightness.

“Do
the lights bother you?” he asked.

She
shrugged. “They do sometimes when I’m tired.
 
It’s so much darker here than at home.”

“Guess
so. Chicago’s pretty bright.
 
So’s Kansas
City and it’s a bummer because I like to see the stars and can’t.
 
Branson’s not much better, but we should be
able to glimpse a few above the lake.”

“I’d
like that.” Her voice dropped low and she said little as he spun around the
tight bends and roared over the hills.
 
His Ford’s powerful engine ate up the road in a hurry and Daniel hugged
the final curve as they descended into Rockaway Beach.
 
“Have you ever heard much about this place?”
he asked Cecily.

Even
by the dim dash lights, he could see her smile. “Nothing,” she said. “I don’t
think I even heard of it until now.
 
Isn’t there one in New York or something, too?”

“I
think so,” Daniel said. “This one was a hot party spot back in the Roaring
Twenties.
 
City folks came from KC, St.
Louis, even your Chicago to dance, listen to jazz, and drink bootleg
whiskey.
 
I don’t know if it’s true, but
a lot of stories swear Al Capone used to come here.”

“Really?”
she asked.

“We
won’t be able to see it tonight, but there’s a falling down shack across the
lake some locals say was his summer hideaway,” he said.

 
 
“We’re
here.” As he parked in the lot above the swimming beach, Daniel pointed out the
old pavilion where dances were once held.
 
“Some of these resorts and cottages date back to the Twenties, too,” he said.
As far as he could see, the fishing pier loomed empty.
 
All the locals must be holed up at the tiny
town’s single bar or the single pizza place.
 
The tourists who chose to stay in Rockaway must either be over in
Branson or holed up for the night. “I’m hungry—let’s go eat.”

Before
he could play the gentleman and open the car door, Cecily climbed out, her
purse strap laid across her chest bandolier style.
 
She carried the supermarket bags in both
hands.
 
Daniel took one of them. “Let me
help.”

“Thanks.”
She rewarded him with a sweet smile. “Which way are we going?”

“Out there.”
Dan pointed toward the fishing
pier, separated from the beach by a long, narrow dirt walkway reinforced with
rock. “I forgot about it being covered, but we’ll have a great view of the
water.
 
After we eat, we can come back to
the beach to gaze at the stars.”

Cecily
nodded and started across to the pier.
 
He followed.
 
Halfway across, she
lost her footing for a moment and teetered.
 
Although the water wasn’t deep, he didn’t want her to take a tumble so Daniel
rushed forward and caught her with his arm around her waist. “Easy,” he said.
“You don’t want to fall.”

Electricity
ignited when he touched her, a vibrant current almost tangible enough to sting.
He hadn’t intended to do anything but prevent a mishap, but he left his arm in
place as they walked out to the pier in tandem, the slender space wide enough
for two.
 
Cecily leaned into him and Daniel
thought if he didn’t kiss her soon, he’d explode into shattered bits.
 
When they reached the structure, she put down
the bags on the single picnic table and he followed her lead, removing his
arm.
 
Permanent benches flanked the table
and shrunk the space.
 
Cecily turned to
him, her face in shadow and met his gaze.