Someone Like You (15 page)

He rolled her onto her back and stared into her eyes. She couldn't be saying…it wasn't possible that…

“Lyle is the only other guy you've slept with?”

“Counting you? Yes.”

He didn't know what to say. “But you're incredible. That's crazy.”

“I know the odds of it are impressive, but there we are. My life.” She picked at the edge of the sheet. “I think it's a breast thing. As in I don't have any.”

“You have beautiful breasts.” He loved them. Their perfect shape, the way her nipples got so tight. The soft skin, the color. Just thinking about them got him hard.

“They're too small,” she said.

“Large breasts are overrated.”

She smiled. “You're not a bad liar. I like that.”

He moved close and rubbed himself against her. “Does that feel like a lie?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Actually it does not. All that for me?”

“You and your perfect breasts.” He tugged at the sheet. “Now what does a guy have to do around here to get another shot at proving his point?”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. “Anything he wants.”

 

J
ILL ARRIVED
at her office shortly before nine. Despite her lack of sleep and sneaking home shortly after four in the morning, she felt alive, alert and perfectly fulfilled.

Last night had been spectacular. Mac was even more amazing in bed than she'd possibly hoped. He'd made her feel things that probably weren't legal, not that she
was going to complain. As she unlocked the front door and stepped into the reception area, she found she didn't even mind the fish.

“Good morning,” she said to the nearest one and patted its scaly back. “Everybody sleep well?”

Still smiling and happy, she made her way to the blinking answering machine and pushed the button. While the machine informed her she had two messages, she made a mental note to make sure she was available around eleven. Bev was coming by so they could take the 545 to the parking lot by the dump. Surely all the gravel there would do
something
to the paint job.

Thirty seconds later she didn't know if she should laugh, dance, or simply give up. What was it with her life?

Donald, the fisherman/attorney/senior partner, had called to offer her a job, and another firm from L.A. wanted to talk to her about an interview.

T
HE MORNING WAS PERFECT
,
and driving through town seemed like a great way to spend a piece of his day. Mac left the beaches and turned toward the center of town. It was almost eleven and already the temperature was near eighty. Hot weather meant plenty of customers at the vending carts by the boardwalk and lots of tourists too enchanted to head back to the big city.

The jails were empty, the court schedule light and there were very few clouds on the horizon. For the most part—life was good.

Except for Emily, Mac thought. In the past week he'd thought a lot about what he'd overheard when Jill had taken his daughter for the evening, and he was still at a loss as to how to win his daughter's trust. He loved her with every fiber of his being, but that wasn't enough. He vowed to keep trying to convince her he would al ways be there for her.

“Keep showing up,” he told himself. She was eight—didn't actions speak louder than words?

Their day of sailing had been great. They'd laughed and she'd done a hell of a job steering the boat. But back at the house, she'd still insisted her food match her clothes. He was running out of ideas.

As he turned left, he passed the offices of Dixon
and Son. Tina stepped out as he drove by. She waved. He wondered what errands Jill's secretary had at that time of day and if she would bother returning.

Jill. Now that was one part of his life that worked. Good times, great conversation, lots of laughs, all in the package of an extraordinarily beautiful woman with plenty of smarts. Their night together had been one for the record books and he sure wouldn't mind a repeat performance. It would have to be soon, he reminded himself. Jill seemed to be getting job offers and interview requests three times a day. The odds were she would accept one and be gone.

He didn't want to think about that, so he turned on the street by the high school and pulled up by the football practice field. It was too early in the summer for the team to be working out, but he knew what they'd look like. Awkward and out of shape those first couple of weeks, he thought with a grin, remembering his own days playing football. He and Riley had thought they were God's gift to the sport, not to mention every female within a fifty-mile radius.

Life had been easier then. School didn't matter—it was just a place to be a star and pick up girls. He and Riley had kept count, both being young enough to be more into volume than quality. Then Mac had stolen the judge's Caddy and gone for the joyride that had changed his life. Riley hadn't appreciated the differences. The friendship had ended in harsh words and a couple of well-placed blows.

Mac rubbed his jaw and wondered where Riley was now. His name still stood in the center of town—White
field Bank and Trust, established in 1948. Riley's uncle still ran things there. If Mac was to guess, he would put money on the feud between Riley and his uncle being alive and well. Riley had never been one to forgive and forget.

Mac shrugged off the past and put the car in gear. As he drove past the front of the high school, he saw a crew of teenagers painting the fence of a house across the street. A sign stuck in the ground read Los Lobos Town Beautification Project. Call And See If Your Home Qualifies.

“What the hell,” he muttered as he stopped the car. Beautification project? That was news to him.

He climbed out and greeted the teenagers, then walked to the front door of the house and knocked.

“Sheriff Mackenzie Kendrick, ma'am,” he said when an elderly woman cracked her door. “How are you?”

“Sheriff.” She beamed at him and waved him inside. “If this is my day to be courted by the city, then I have to tell you, I like it. First those young folks show up and ask if they can paint my fence. As if I'm going to say no. They swear it's all part of some plan and that they wouldn't even accept a tip.” Her smiled faded. “You haven't come to tell me they were lying, have you?”

“No. Of course not. I'm asking about the project though. I hadn't heard of it.”

Furniture filled the entryway, forcing Mac up against the half-open door.

“Me, either,” the woman said. “Wait. They gave me a flyer. Let me get it.”

She disappeared into an equally crowded living
room and returned with a neon-pink piece of paper. He scanned the text as a fluffy gray cat wove around his legs, depositing large clumps of hair on his slacks.

He reread the offer to paint fence, trim lawns and shrubs, all for free for those unable to afford it on their own, all in the name of making Los Lobos “the paradise we all know it to be.”

That's a bunch of crap, Mac thought, not sure who could be behind it.

“Mind if I take this with me?” he asked.

“Not at all.” The woman smiled again. “Now you be sure to let me know when you city folks want to work on my roof.”

“I'll do that, ma'am,” he said as he stepped over the cat and made a quick escape.

After brushing off most of the cat hair, he started his car. Was the mayor behind this? Did Franklin think he could buy votes by doing work for folks? Mac wouldn't be surprised, but he happened to know Franklin wasn't exactly rolling in money. Oh, sure, there was a trust fund, but it belonged to his wife, and Mrs. Yardley kept her husband on a short leash. She had a reputation for being both difficult and cheap. Not exactly a combination to make a man's life easier.

The thought of Franklin Yardley getting hell from his wife brightened Mac's day. He drove toward the office, stopping only to make a quick stop at the coffeehouse on the corner.

Once inside, his good mood faded as he saw Rudy Casaccio and Mr. Smith already in line by the counter.
As Mac watched, Rudy paid for two coffees with a twenty, then put the change into the tip jar.

“Oh, Mr. Casaccio,” Jen Brockway said with a smile. “You're too kind.”

“Are you kidding?” Rudy asked. “You don't charge enough here. You have the best coffee I've ever tasted and if Mr. Smith and I keep eating your Danish every day, we're not going to fit in our car.”

Jen Brockway, nearly sixty and with a reputation for being surly and difficult, actually batted her eyes at Rudy. Right then Mac swore off Danish.

“Coffee. Black,” he said as Rudy stepped aside.

“Morning, Sheriff,” the other man said.

“Morning.” What he wanted to say instead was
Get out of town,
but what was the point? Rudy wasn't breaking the law. Not yet.

Jen poured him his coffee and handed it over. He started to pass her a dollar, but she shook her head.

“No, Sheriff. Mr. Casaccio has started an account here. He's asked me to put all purchases by you and your employees on it.” She smiled again.

All this happiness made Mac uneasy.

“Isn't that incredibly generous?” she asked.

Mac wanted to growl his protest. Instead, he did his best to look pleasant and appreciative. “It's mighty neighborly of Mr. Casaccio,” he said in his best Nick-at-Nite Andy-Griffith voice. “But to keep things all aboveboard, I think it's best if we continue to pay for our coffee.” He looked at Rudy. “We wouldn't want people getting the wrong idea about things, would we?”

Rudy had set down his coffee. Now he raised both
hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just trying to do the right thing,” he said easily. “I want to be a good citizen.”

“I'll do my best to keep that in mind.”

Mac took his coffee and left. As he returned to his car, he thought about the beautification project. No way the mayor could get his hands on that kind of money…unless someone other than his wife funded him.

He swore and headed directly for the office.

“Wilma,” he called as he walked through the front door.

The older woman looked up from her desk. “What?”

He jerked his head toward his office. When she'd followed him inside, he closed the glass door and handed her the flyer.

She read it, then let it fall to his desk. “I'd heard about this.”

“Is Rudy Casaccio behind it?”

“From what I can tell, he's been dropping a lot of money in town.” She shifted, then shrugged. “I'm sorry, boss. I know you don't trust the guy. The thing is he's made a lot of people very happy. Doing this kind of stuff and more. Some foster kid's dog got hit by a car. The family couldn't afford the surgery so they were going to put it to sleep. Rudy found out and paid for every thing.”

Great. Just what he needed. A do-gooder from the Mafia. “He has a plan,” Mac said through clenched teeth. “I can feel it. Men like him don't change.”

Wilma cleared her throat. “There's more,” she said, “and you're not going to like it.”

“What?”

“He's been dating Bev. You know—the lady you have taking care of Emily.”

 

“H
E HASN'T DONE
anything wrong,” Bev said in what Mac figured was a reasonable voice.

The thing was, he didn't want to be reasonable. Not where his daughter was concerned.

“He's a criminal, Bev,” Mac told her as he paced the length of her front porch. “I don't want Emily around him.”

Jill's aunt leaned against the porch rail. “I hardly take her with me on dates, if that's what you're asking. We've had lunch a couple of times and I've left Emily with Jill. I see him in the evening, when you have Emily.”

She threw up her hands. “Why am I telling you this? My personal life isn't any of your business.”

“It is when you date men like Rudy Casaccio.”

Why didn't anyone get it? Why was he the only one to see the trouble coming?

“What do you want, Mac? Are you asking me to choose? I love your daughter and I'm enjoying my time with her, but I won't let you dictate how I live my life outside of my time with Emily.” She smiled. “You're not my father.”

“So you'd let him dictate?”

“No, but I'd probably pretend to listen more.”

“Great.”

Was he being unreasonable?

“What about that damn social worker?” he asked. “He's going to have a shit-fit if he finds out my child's
baby-sitter is dating someone known to be involved with organized crime.”

“Are you saying Rudy has a criminal record?”

“No.” Mac had checked. “He's too smart for that.”

“Does he have a record at all?”

“No.”

“I see.” She stared at him. “So you could be wrong about him.”

“I'm not.”

“But you could be.”

He had a feeling in his gut and that feeling had never let him down. Sometimes he wondered if it was the reason Mark had died instead of him.

“What do you want to do?” Bev asked. “Find someone else to take care of Emily?”

The question made Mac want to squirm. He liked Bev. Even more important, she liked his daughter and was good for her. He knew Em had a good time with her.

Bev's green eyes darkened. “I would never do anything to endanger your daughter. She means the world to me.”

“I know.” Why couldn't Bev simply stop seeing Rudy? But he knew better than to ask. “Will you keep him away from her?”

“Yes. I promise.”

There was something in the way she said the word, as if it were a vow she would keep with her life. The tight knot in his gut relaxed a little. Now if only he could get Rudy out of town.

 

“S
O
I'
VE BEEN THINKING
this through,” Mr. Harrison said as he leaned back in his chair and kicked at the fishing net in front of her desk. “You're right about the fence. It's been there a long time and it makes sense that the courts wouldn't make anyone take it down.”

Jill blinked, then glanced around the room wondering if there was a hidden camera somewhere and she was about to be on a reality show.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “So, what's the plan?”

“I thought I'd let my new neighbors buy that bit of land from me. You know, for a real fair price. Maybe they could make payments over a few years.”

Delighted by the turn of events, Jill couldn't help smiling. “You've spoken with them?”

“A couple of times. Juan and his wife are good people. Whoee, can his mother-in-law put together a peach cobbler.”

Under the privacy of her desk, Jill kicked off her high heels and wiggled her toes. “You're being very fair and decent about this,” she said.

“They're young folks, just starting out. I don't want to make things hard for them.” He stood. “So you'll draw up the papers?”

“Sure thing. By Friday.”

“Good. Now don't go charging them a lot of inter est. Let's tie the loan to the prime rate. That should stay plenty low. And spread out the payments so they're not strapped for cash.”

“Absolutely.” She slipped on her shoes and stood. “It's been a pleasure.”

“You bet.”

He shook her hand and left.

Jill waited until she was alone—because Tina was gone again—and did a little dance around the room. Yeah and double yeah for good food and neighbors willing to take a chance on an old man. She had to give Mr. Harrison credit, too, for not being too stubborn about the whole thing. Now if only her other cases would wrap up this easily, along with a couple of wills and Pam Whitefield's suit over the nonalien landing house.

“I'm not going to think about that,” she told herself.

The phone rang, interrupting her celebration. She skittered over to the desk and picked it up.

“Jill Strathern.”

“Hey, it's Gracie. How are things?”

“Good.” Jill sank into the chair Mr. Harrison had vacated. “I solved one of most difficult cases this morning.”

“Congrats. Any news on the job front?”

Jill told her about the fish offer from Los Angeles. “And you?” she asked. “What's going on in your world?”

“I'm going to be in
People
magazine.”