Skin Heat (30 page)

He had to be remembering the last time he’d come home to such a scene. The sheriff had been delivering the unpleasant news that they had found Luke’s car . . . but no sign of him at all. Her father seemed to take comfort in the fact that Neva was sitting there, safe and sound. Not gone.

But I might be. If I’d stopped.
The thought chilled her.

Lillian passed her the kittens and hurried to kiss him. Not a social peck, but a smooch that made Neva turn away with a grin. Her mother whispered to him for a few seconds, likely filling him in. She wished they had better news.

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I’m fine.”

Her dad hugged her anyway, as if he feared losing her. She had spent so long focused on how she wasn’t Luke, she had forgotten that they loved her, too.

“I’m glad you’re out of that apartment,” her father said. “I’ll beef up security. You’re staying to eat, right, Cliff?”

The sheriff agreed, “Wouldn’t miss it. I smell Caro’s luscious roast beef.”

Caroline James had been cooking for them for twenty years. For the last ten, Sheriff Raleigh had been saying he’d marry her and take her home with him. Which might even work if she wasn’t seventy years old and disinclined to younger men. For the first time, Neva realized how lucky she was, because she had memories like this.

Some people, like Zeke, were totally alone. Maybe he had an aunt or cousins, but he was apart from them in ways that couldn’t be mended. For a little while she’d thought she could reach him, but no. He was too far from her, too, and the ache settled into her chest again, but she resolved not to let it own her.

They ate a delicious dinner, and there was laughter in the house for the first time since Luke went missing. Afterward they played with the kittens and set up the playpen in the sitting room. Raleigh stayed late, and Neva watched her parents together, feeling like it might be the last time. The doctors had said her father had a year but he might go downhill quickly. But from the research she’d done later, life
with
treatment could be worse. She respected his choice; she just wished it wasn’t breaking her heart, too. But she put that aside. Tonight was not the time for such dark thoughts; it was an oasis, and a respite.

Tomorrow she would meet with Agent Hebert, answer his questions, consider the dangers, and take up her burdens again.

Coming out of
the supply closet, Neva smacked into Zeke. He had an armful of dog food, so she stepped back to let him through. Before, he would’ve stolen a kiss and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck. Remembered pleasure curled through her, chased by an ache that it was lost. She didn’t intend to speak, but that seemed churlish. Though the effort might kill her, she would be better than that.

So she fixed a fake smile in place while he stacked the supplies, and said, “Everything all right?”

“That a joke?”

“No.” She was surprised to find that true. “We’re still friends. It didn’t work out between us, but that doesn’t mean I stopped caring what happens to you.”

“Too sweet for your own good,” he said softly. “Ought to hate me. Wish—”

“Don’t. Don’t say it.” Hurt and longing swamped her in equal measure, and she wasn’t strong enough to go down that road with him again. “Please don’t make me think about it.”

It hadn’t been nearly long enough for her to forget. He let out a slow breath, and she had the unmistakable impression he hurt as badly as she did. If she stood here much longer, she would beg him to tell her why. Because that was the worst part of this: she couldn’t make sense of it.

But he’d always been good at reading her moods. “Can’t control it. Those feelings. Wanted to kill him, and it’s unlikely to get better, so . . . better this way. Better without me. Can’t live in your world and play the part you need me to. Wanted to, so damn bad.” His voice dropped, leaden with sorrow and finality. “Can’t.”

In front, Julie was playing a Christmas CD, Faith Hill singing “O Holy Night.” Neva heard her friend moving around, hanging the usual decorations: lights, garland, ornaments, and pictures of their pets the children from the elementary school sent over, so full of cheer when she felt bleak as a salted, fallow field.

“You say that,” she said, “and I have no way of proving you wrong. But I’ll always be sorry that you didn’t even try.”

He flinched at that, back against the steel shelving. “Not true.”

“
One
party isn’t a real effort. And yes, you fucked it up. You could have apologized and pushed past it. But all you know how to do is run. So fine, that’s your call. But don’t look at me with those sad, sad eyes and act like you had no choice. You just made the wrong one.”

Neva pushed past him and went straight to her office. She had five minutes before her next patient arrived. She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking from head to toe. It felt good to tell him off; she’d been saving up those words for days, but it hurt as well because she’d wounded him, and she was still close enough to him to feel when he suffered. Instead she waited until she could face her client with equanimity, listening to Julie do the intake and settle them in the exam room.

Mrs. Jones wanted Kady’s teeth cleaned for the holidays. Scraping gunk off poodle teeth wasn’t exactly the glorious animal-saving mission she’d signed on for, but it paid the bills. Unfortunately, the dog didn’t enjoy the process, so she had to sedate her. Thus Neva kept busy until lunch, when she had an appointment.

“I’m going out. Can you hold the fort for me?” Julie had already done so much—Neva felt bad about asking more—but this was nothing she wanted, not a fun outing.

Her friend smiled. “Not a problem. I actually brought my lunch today.”

On impulse, she gave Julie a quick hug around the shoulders. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Live the most boring life imaginable and pine away to nothing?”

“For sure.”

“Are you coming to our holiday party this weekend?”

Travis and Julie hosted a big bash in December each year. They did it before the rush, so they were guaranteed good attendance; people weren’t yet sick of Christmas carols, cheese log, and wassail.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Julie grinned. “Then you won’t mind helping me decorate on Friday night.”

“Not at all.”

With a wave, she collected her coat and stepped out into the wind. The tan jacket flapped in the wind as she strode along the walk. The nail salon was doing a brisk business; Neva lifted a hand in greeting to a girl she recognized from high school currently buffing the dead skin off Mrs. Jones’s feet. Kady watched from her oversized handbag, still groggy from the sedative. Pink neon framed the windows, where they advertised that walk-ins were welcome.

Down at Armando’s, she found Hebert waiting for her. He hadn’t yet taken a seat and drew interested glances from women eating their lunches nearby. The agent seemed unaware of his eligible status; Neva decided not to enlighten him. It would be entertaining to watch.

“Thank you for meeting me,” he said.

“I needed to eat lunch anyway and they do great sandwiches here.”

“What do you recommend?”

“I usually order the special. It saves money, and everything is good.”

From his expression, he thought money shouldn’t be a concern for her, which meant Raleigh had filled his ears about her being the first daughter of Harper Creek and needing to be afforded all deference; it also explained his mild dislike on their first meeting. She might be back on good terms with her parents now, and her financial problems would disappear soon enough, but that hadn’t always been the case.

Today, they had a turkey and Swiss combo on sale, so she ordered that. For seven dollars and ninety-nine cents, she got a drink and a side as well; Neva figured that was a decent deal, and why Armando’s did a good business. They waited in line together, making small talk, so they could pretend this wasn’t a business lunch. From the shadows in his eyes, Neva didn’t reckon that fiction worked any better for him than it did for her.

Wax vegetables and plastic leaves lined the top of the glass counter; she had seen them countless times. From the pictures of food on the walls to the faux wood tables, everything here was familiar, but it felt strange with Agent Hebert standing at her left. After receiving their trays, they settled at a table near the back and ate for a while in silence. Just as well. Once they got started, the food probably wouldn’t go down at all.

It didn’t take long for the curiosity to start. A woman she’d gone to high school with stopped by, wearing an inviting smile. Though she greeted Neva, her attention lingered on Hebert. The woman asked, “Are you here for the holidays then?”

“Pardon me?” Clearly he didn’t come from a small town.

“I’m on the welcoming committee. It’s my job to keep tabs on all the new faces.” Her name was Melissa McDonald, Neva remembered. Twice divorced, unless she was thinking of her sister.

He managed to glare her away with his ice green eyes, but two more hopefuls stopped by, digging for information, though the third one tried asking Neva if she had a new boyfriend. “We were all so glad to hear you cut that awful Zeke Noble loose.”

That did it. She gave the bitch her best Harper stare, until she slid away. For good measure, she leveled the look on the whole place in case anyone else had ideas about approaching their table. She couldn’t afford to be away from work the whole afternoon; they needed to get this done.

“Helpful,” he observed. “Your mama teach you that?”

“Among other things.”

“Why were they so persistent?”

She raised a brow. “You really don’t know?”

Hebert half shrugged with the lifting of one lean shoulder. “Should I?”

“You’re young, handsome, and they presume gainfully employed. Your clothes bear no tobacco stains. That qualifies you as a catch, Mr. Hebert.”

For the first time, he seemed flustered and eager to change the subject. “Are you set?”

“Yes. I’ve already told Sheriff Raleigh everything I can remember. But it’s no problem to go over it again with you.”

It wasn’t as if she disliked the guy. In fact, the agent struck her as handsome enough when he wasn’t staring at her like he despised the air she breathed. Today he’d lost some of his edge. He merely looked weary, his green eyes like imperfect emeralds in contrast to his brown face.

“You said the man was driving a late-model Chevy, is that right?”

She nodded. “It wasn’t a Corvette or a Camaro. That’s about all I can say.”

Hebert drew a laptop out of his bag and set it on the table between them. A sticker on the window said “Free Wi-Fi.” She waited while he made the connection and clicked some keys. Then he spun the screen toward her. He’d brought up the Chevrolet home page.

“Just take a look at each model. You might remember more than you think.”

She clicked past the Malibu and the Impala, and then paused. “It might’ve been an Aveo or maybe the Cobalt Coupe.”

“Can you recall how many doors it had?”

“Two. I’m pretty sure.”

“Was it a hatchback?”

Neva shook her head. “It definitely wasn’t.”

“Then it must be the Cobalt Coupe. Could you look at the colors for me? I know it was night time, but if you could narrow it down more than
light
, that would help a lot.”

There were only two possibilities, in fact: silver ice metallic and summit white. The rest were just too dark. She studied the two shades and said, “Summit white. I don’t think there was any shimmer to it.”

Hebert made a note. “I’ll see if any cars matching those parameters have been reported stolen recently. You’ve been very helpful, Ms. Harper. Do you still have my card in case anything else comes to mind?”

She dug into her purse and checked the slot in her wallet where she collected them, then she said, “I do. Will you be in town long?”

“It depends on what I find while I’m here.”

That was as cagey a response as she’d ever heard. Neva furrowed her brow, scrutinizing the minute differences in his appearance. As a vet, she often made diagnoses based on small symptoms, but sometimes it boiled down to a feeling.

“She wasn’t the only one,” she said slowly. “That’s why you look so tired. How many, Agent Hebert?”

“I can’t disclose details of an ongoing investigation.”

“Did they all look like me?”

Hebert didn’t answer that question, either. At least, not aloud. But she saw the flicker of his lashes as he glanced away. Cold coalesced in her stomach like a chunk of dry ice.

“I won’t take up any more of your time,” he murmured. Something in his voice shifted, though. A whisper of a drawl?

She’d never noticed it before. It didn’t sound like Alabama, but she’d need to hear more in order to tell where he might be from. With economical grace, he wiped his mouth and stood. She gathered up his trash for him, then stacked it on her tray, and he drew up short, startled.

“What?”

Hebert just shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Good day, Ms. Harper.”

Not surprisingly, after that conversation, she didn’t feel like going back to work, but she still had a full afternoon of patients to see. With the holidays thundering toward them, pets needed vaccinations before they could be boarded or go on a trip. They needed checkups and teeth cleanings and medicine for motion sickness. With a faint sigh, she cleared the table and went back to work.

 

Geneva Harper wasn’t
like he’d expected, based on Sheriff Raleigh’s comments. Hebert decided he liked her. And a maniac was killing women who bore more than a passing resemblance to her. He knelt where she’d seen the car—faint tire tracks, but nothing that struck him as distinctive. He took a few pictures, more to be thorough than because he thought it would prove vital to the case. But one never knew.