Authors: Kylie Brant
Waking Evil 02 (29 page)
She gave a humorless laugh. “That explains it then. When you do, you won’t make a mistake like that again. Good-bye, Mr. Feckler.” She disconnected the call, dropped the phone into her purse. “Ready to go?”
Dev surveyed her carefully as she walked by him. “Trouble at home?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.” For the first time that day, she was glad she had plans this evening. When it came to diversions, Devlin Stryker excelled. And she welcomed any distraction that gave her an excuse to delay dealing with her brother.
She heard the door close behind her as she headed to his car. No way to know for sure if Luverne had been acting alone or if their mother had put him up to it. Eventually she’d have to call home, immerse herself in the genetic jungle that was her family.
But for now . . . she looked up, startled to find Dev leaning in to open the car door. She slid into the passenger seat and he shut the door after her.
For now, she’d spend a few hours engaged in what passed as normal for most people. And forget for a while that her life had never shared more than a passing acquaintance with “normal.”
“Given our plans for later this evenin’, there wasn’t time to drive out of town for dinner.” Dev caught the quick suspicious glance Ramsey slanted his way, and amusement filled him. “On account of your wantin’ to go by Rose Thornton’s tonight.”
“Right.”
He was careful to hide his grin when she passed him to enter the Half Moon restaurant. It wouldn’t do to let her see that he’d accurately guessed her first interpretation of his words. He figured he ought to be grateful her mind was running along the same lines as his. Damned if persistently carnal thoughts involving her hadn’t about worn a path through his brain.
He caught Molly Fenton’s eye, and the waitress whisked off to find them a table. The interior of the restaurant was already crowded but not nearly as packed as it would be in another few hours when it filled with more drinkers than diners.
“I suppose you know everybody in here,” Ramsey muttered.
He scanned the interior, saw nothing but familiar faces. “All the locals, anyway. And I’m noddin’ acquaintance with most of the others.” He sent a friendly wave to Donnelle and Steve sitting in the corner. Felt a flash of annoyance when he saw Banty Whipple and a couple of his equally thick-headed buddies turn around to survey him from their stance at the bar.
“We’re not going to be surrounded by more of your adoring fan club while we eat, are we?”
He thought, he was almost sure, that Ramsey was joking. When Molly gestured toward them, he placed a hand at the base of Ramsey’s narrow back and nudged her forward. “Fact is, not everyone in these parts is a fan.”
Her quick look this time held uncertainty. “Because of your father?”
“There’s that. And others who just don’t find my winnin’ personality irresistible.”
There was a definite smirk on her lips as she sat in the chair held out for her. “Go figure.”
That curve of her lips held him transfixed for a moment. He’d never seen them glossed with lipstick before had he? As a matter of fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ramsey wear makeup at all. But she was wearing some now, though he’d been too interested in the curves and uncovered skin she was revealing to have noticed it earlier.
He took his seat across the table and studied her as she looked around at the other occupants. He gave high marks to the manufacturer of that slinky green top she had on. It left her arms bare and dipped low enough in front to hint at cleavage. He’d already noted that the long shorts she wore were trim enough to show off her very fine ass.
She turned back to him, caught him staring. One eyebrow winged up in question.
He grinned, unabashed. “Just admirin’ the scenery.”
To his delight, she looked discomfited. He wondered how much time Ramsey Clark set aside for a social life. Not much, he figured, giving a nod to Digger Lawton, who had shouted his name from his stance at the juke box. She struck him as someone whose life revolved around her work.
She struck him as someone who had reasons to keep it that way.
“What’ll ya have?” Molly skidded to a stop beside them, flipping open her order pad.
“Lemonade,” Ramsey said without hesitation.
“Bring me a Bud Lite,” Dev told the woman, who nodded as she scribbled the order even as she moved on to the next table.
“Who’s the sawed off little shrimp at the bar glaring daggers our way?”
Surprised, he looked over her shoulder, saw Banty giving him the evil eye. “You’ve had your back to him since we walked in. How’d you notice Banty Whipple?”
“I notice everybody.”
He looked at her with renewed respect. He’d just bet she did. Probably took stock of the place and everyone in it upon the first few seconds of entering. Sometimes it still took him aback, those qualities of hers that must be embedded from years doing her job.
“Well, he’s not the president of my fan club. Although he’s probably contemplatin’ bringin’ a club if he ever drops by my place again.”
Molly came by and dropped off their drinks then, and he paused to take a pull of the beer while returning a long level stare back at the man. It satisfied Dev to see the mark on Banty’s jaw. He hoped like hell it was one he’d put there.
Setting down his bottle, he continued, “Mostly we just can’t abide each other. It so happens his son was one of the kids who found the body.”
A cell rang then, the muffled sound loud enough to have him automatically checking his pocket even as he realized the ring was unfamiliar. In the next instant he looked at her purse, sitting on the chair between them. “Is that your phone?”
Ramsey took a long drink of lemonade, avoiding his gaze until the ringing stopped. Only then did she reach into her purse to check the caller ID. Nothing flickered in her expression when she slipped it back inside. “It can wait until later.”
Which meant it didn’t concern the case she was investigating. She was too much of a professional to ignore it if it did.
Recalling the conversation she’d been having when he’d gone to pick her up he guessed, “Your brother?” And by her arrested expression, knew he was correct.
She toyed with the straw in her glass, the gesture strangely diffident. “He’ll be put out that his latest get-rich-quick scheme has been thwarted. It’s best to wait until he’s a bit more rational before verbally kicking his ass.”
He didn’t smile at the words. Couldn’t, not when they were accompanied by that flash of pain in her eyes. He hadn’t grown up with siblings himself, but knew enough of family to recognize the emotion they engendered wasn’t always positive. Not by a long shot. “If he’s tryin’ to steal your house, the ass kickin’ might need to be more than just verbal.”
“I know how to handle Luverne.” Then, catching his gaze on her, she blew out a breath. “I bought the house long ago for my mother to live in.” One bare shoulder lifted in a shrug. “She never did move out of that tin can of a trailer we were raised in. Saw an opportunity to get some extra cash monthly by renting it out instead. I let that go, but it was only a matter of time until one of them came up with this idea.” Her smile was little more than a grimace. “We’re not close.”
He had a feeling that was an understatement. One he could fully appreciate. His occasional calls home were fueled more by duty than familial devotion. He could mourn the lack of emotion even while realizing there was no other way. It was hard saying who had been more relieved when Dev had stopped making infrequent trips home. His mama, his stepdaddy, or him.
“Looks like Doc Thiesen has some company tonight.”
Dev recognized the change of topic for what it was, and followed the direction of Ramsey’s nod to a corner of the room. Although the older man had his back to them, there was no mistaking his identity. Especially when he saw the man’s dining companion.
Dev lifted a hand in greeting in response to the woman’s wave and turned back to Ramsey. “That’s his daughter, Martha Jane. She lives in Knoxville but gets back here regular to see her dad. She and Doc have always been tight. He raised her alone after his wife left them years ago. He never remarried.”
Which was a far cry from his mama, who’d had someone new lined up less than a year after his daddy’s death. Dev reached for his beer again, tipping it back for a swallow. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he thought there should be a happy medium between pining for decades and a too-quick plunge back into the matrimony pool.
Because the mood had grown too serious, he deliberately sought to lighten it. He let his gaze linger on her until that heat was back in her eyes.
“You’re staring, Stryker.”
“Just wonderin’ where you’re packin’ your gun.”
“Armed or not, I can still handle the likes of you.”
He relished the half-serious challenge in her voice, raised his bottle to her in salute. “And I’m lookin’ forward to bein’ ‘handled.’ ”
She shook her head, a slight smile curving her lips. And he fancied he could see the tension easing from her muscles. “You’ve got disgracefully low standards. I refuse to find that appealing.”
He gave her a slow wink as the waitress returned to take their order. “You’ve appealed to me since the first time I laid eyes on you, sugar. Only seems fair that the feelin’ be returned.”
“So tell me about Rose Thornton.”
Dusk had already settled over the road to the woman’s cabin. They’d gotten a later start than Ramsey had wanted due to the slow service at the restaurant. Dev refused to feel guilty about that. She’d been as relaxed as he’d ever seen her over dinner, and despite her fears, he had no doubt they’d find the old woman at home. There was simply nowhere else for her to be.
“Not much to tell. I always heard she’d been married for a long time, but her husband was dead long before I was runnin’ ’round these parts. Always been as cranky as a cat with its tail in a crack, that’s for sure. Caught some of her buckshot in my—ahem—nether regions once when Matt and I were hangin’ out on her property drinkin’ beer he’d stolen from his daddy’s fridge.”
He felt rather than saw her look at him. “Your . . . nether regions?”
“The scarring,” he informed her with great dignity, “was more emotional than physical.”
“I’ll bet.”
The road narrowed past the cemetery as they got closer to her place, and he slowed accordingly. “She’s not much for people, I’d say, although she always treated those in need of medical assistance. At least those who didn’t hold with doctors and hospitals. I s’pose that’s how she’s made ends meet, although she’s lived pretty simply all these years. Only goes to town every month or so to pick up what she can’t grow or hunt.”
“Sounds like there’s some bad blood between the two of you,” Ramsey observed, looking out the window. “I’m not sure you’ll be much help in getting her to talk to me.”
“She wouldn’t talk to a stranger,” he corrected her. “And even if she isn’t in the mood to chat with me there, at least I present a bigger target if she’s totin’ a rifle.”
“There is that.” There was amusement in Ramsey’s voice. “But since my medical knowledge tends to be pretty rudimentary, you may want to be careful about catching any more buckshot.”
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