Yesterday's Gone (Two Daughters Book 1) (13 page)

“Well, you’ve impressed the hell out of me,” he said. “And, Bailey, you were never a slut. That’s a shitty word to apply to yourself. You knew only one way to ever have any control. Isn’t that right?”

She stared at him. “How do you know?” she whispered.

“It’s logical. And I get the feeling you’re big on staying in control.”

“And you aren’t?” she shot back.

“Yeah, I probably am. My mother loved me, but I always knew I didn’t have what it took to make up for what she’d lost. To make her really happy.”
Jesus
, he thought.
I’m laying myself bare here. For her
. “So you’re right. I don’t like feeling helpless.” Now he was the one to shrug, as if his skin wasn’t crawling at the admissions he’d just made. At his shocked realization that Bailey, too, made him feel helpless because he wanted to make everything better for her and knew he couldn’t. “Cops tend to be control freaks no matter what. We kind of have to be.”

She stared for long enough, he couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved back his chair and stood, grabbing his dirty dishes. “There’s ice cream if you want dessert. Let me get the dishwasher loaded.”

“I can do that—”

“Tomorrow night.” If he could survive another evening with her. Or even this one. “I brought stuff home to work on reports. I’d better get on with it.”

“Oh. Okay.” She followed him to the kitchen carrying her own dishes, then went back for the serving dishes when he yanked open the dishwasher.

He rinsed and loaded from habit, his awareness of her like the brush of fingers down his spine. He was done too soon. Closing the dishwasher, he turned to see her standing on the other side of the kitchen. In the dress that molded itself to every ripe, tempting swell of female flesh. But then his gaze rose to her face, and the shyness on it made him feel like a creep, lusting after a woman who’d just told him she hated sex and didn’t want anything to do with men.

“Thank you,” she said softly, utterly confounding him. “For everything you said.”

“Everything?” he echoed hoarsely.

“Understanding why I did what I did. Saying I impressed you. Admitting—” she lifted one slender shoulder in a way that went with her now-rueful expression “—that you’re not always as confident as you look. That’s really nice.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I do.” Her smile held all the complexities that made up this woman. “That’s why it means so much. Well...that’s all I wanted to say. Except I’ll get out of your way so you can work. I think I’ll watch TV, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay.” She backed through the doorway.

He let her go, even though he wanted to say,
What about that dance?

No. Hell. What he wanted to know was whether she thought she could ever make love instead of having sex, and enjoy it. With him.

The man who’d royally screwed up her life, whatever she was saying now.

Yeah, fat chance.

He retreated to his bedroom, where he was pretty damn sure he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the report he could have put off until tomorrow.

CHAPTER TEN

M
AYBE
THE
NAP
was to blame—she didn’t take those very often. All Bailey knew was that she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she lay in bed, staring at her door, which she’d carefully positioned about three inches ajar. She’d done the same with the bathroom door. The light she’d left on in there served as a night-light, something she’d needed ever since
him
. She’d been relieved when she heard Seth’s footsteps come down the hall a while ago and he hadn’t turned off the light.

It wasn’t so much that she feared the dark or what might come out of it. She thought it had more to do with the run-down motels where they’d stayed. There was never real darkness, or silence, for that matter. City lights, headlights, the neon light of the motel sign, sometimes flickering, all seeped through bent blinds. They were always in the kind of neighborhood where there’d be traffic most of the night as well as sirens now and again. Low-voiced conversations took place just outside, and fights penetrated thin walls. Sex, too—the squeak of the bed frame or noise it made hammering against the wall, the slap of flesh, the cries from the women and the guttural sound men made. She always thought the men must be hurting the women, because he hurt her, every time. But she had learned to be completely silent, so nobody would hear her through those walls.

To this day, she couldn’t sleep without some light. In her apartment, she had a night-light plugged into a wall socket, even though in LA there was always some light sneaking through the blinds, too. The never-ending sounds of traffic were familiar, too.

Here, it was so quiet she’d find herself straining her ears to hear
something
. She couldn’t believe the whole town shut down, but it must, or at least mostly. There were no taverns in Seth’s residential neighborhood. She’d seen that most businesses in town closed at five-thirty, and even restaurants by ten except on Friday and Saturday nights when they stayed open until a crazy, late eleven o’clock. Stimson was Mayberry, and she should have grown up here.

The thought was as surreal as practically everything else that had happened since she first set eyes on her own face online.

In her heart, she knew that having taken a nap wasn’t all that kept her awake. Her current state had more to do with the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation with Seth.

She could not
believe
she’d said all that. Not since that last counselor, a woman, of course, who’d helped her work some stuff out, had she so much as talked about her slutty—okay, sexually active—days. And that was a
long
time ago. She’d been barely twenty when she decided to call a halt to the need to use her body to garner attention. Or, a creepier way to look at it, to replicate the years when that was her only worth.

The stunning part was that Seth had understood immediately what it took her a long time to grasp. And he hadn’t looked repulsed by her past, either, unless he’d just hidden that. Although, now that she thought about it, he had been awfully anxious to get rid of her. So maybe...

But she couldn’t quite believe that, which was part of what had her vibrating with tension instead of relaxing into sleep. He’d paused outside her bedroom door on the way to his, long enough she’d gone rigid in bed, waiting, waiting. Until finally his footsteps continued and she heard his bedroom door open and close.

Why
wasn’t
he disgusted? She’d seen rage flicker on his face when she first started telling him, but then it cleared. And she would swear that was heat in his eyes as he watched her fumble through her thanks and beat an awkward retreat from the kitchen. As if he wanted her but was holding back.

Well, duh. Because she’d told him she didn’t do guys. Because she’d said she hadn’t enjoyed sex even when she’d had it frequently. Because she was part of his investigation, because he felt responsible for her, because he was afraid she’d latch on to him emotionally and he didn’t want
that
much responsibility. She could take her pick.

He was being smart, and she didn’t know why she was even thinking about this. If nothing else, she’d be heading back to California soon.

But she kept thinking about him anyway. His strong, athletic body and his incredible gentleness with her. Big hands, thick wrists, broad, muscular shoulders and deep, intense eyes. All of which, for reasons she didn’t understand at all, warmed her inside until she had a melting sensation that was entirely new. She kept picturing the sex act and visualizing him being the one who touched her, kissed her, penetrated her, and she ached so much she had to squeeze her thighs together to try to contain it.

She’d written off the idea of ever feeling any of that. What if she actually could enjoy being with a man? The idea was unexpectedly seductive.

Of course—what if he was the
only
man she could ever enjoy being with?

One step forward, two back. Because she couldn’t imagine he’d want her long-term even if, well,
she
wanted anything like that.

She moaned and rolled over, presenting her back to the door, but she couldn’t stand it for long and flipped back over so she could at least see the faint light out of the corner of her eye.

Then she made herself think about Kirk again and how she’d felt when he said, “I know my own little girl when I see her.” But
that
made her melt in an entirely different way that left her feeling equally vulnerable, so she thought about Karen instead, and Eve, who wanted to hate her. And how much fun they were going to have, sharing another meal.

But, please, no more photo albums.

Her eyes popped open. Was that a phone ringing? She was sure about it when she heard a muffled voice. A couple of minutes passed before Seth’s bedroom door opened. Once again, he paused in front of hers.

“Bailey? Sorry if I’m waking you.”

“You’re not.”

“I have to go in. Don’t know when I’ll be home.”

“Someone was killed?”

Momentary silence. “Yeah. This is what I do.”

“I know.” She cleared her throat. “Be careful.”

“Gunman is long gone. Don’t answer the door.” He didn’t wait for an answer, only walked away. The soft sound of the front door opening and closing was followed by his SUV backing out a minute later.

More of that unsettling silence. Apparently in Mayberry, police officers didn’t use their sirens on the way to murder scenes.

* * *

“W
HAT
’
S
WITH
YOU
TODAY
?” Ben asked, scowling. “As if I can’t guess.”

Seth had been leaning way back in his chair, his feet propped on a corner of Kemper’s desk. Now he lurched upright, planting his feet on the floor, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, have you been able to concentrate on anything but Hope Lawson from the minute you set eyes on her? Or, shit, from the minute you started hunting for her?”

“Don’t tell me I’m not doing my job,” Seth snapped.

Kemper leaned forward aggressively. “Yeah, gazing off into space while I’m trying to
talk
to you.”

They had a glaring match. Seth broke it off by swearing and scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m tired. That’s all.” And he was. Fatigue pulled at him in a way it wouldn’t have a few years ago even after a missed night’s sleep. He was too young to be feeling old. He wasn’t about to admit to how inadequate the previous night’s sleep had been, too, because that would feed right back into Ben’s accusation. Yes, he hadn’t slept because he’d been rescuing Bailey again. Because he’d tucked her into bed across the hall from
his
bed. Because he hadn’t been able to turn off his awareness of how close she was, how little she was likely wearing. He wanted her with an unfamiliar fierceness.

The other detective grunted. “Yeah. Sorry. Nicole called.”

Nicole being his ex, which made his grumpiness understandable. Seth dragged his mind from Bailey to his partner.

“This is supposed to be my weekend to have Rachel,” Ben grumbled, “and wouldn’t you know, Nicole had her scheduled in a bunch of things she couldn’t possibly miss. She’s five years old. How important can some other kid’s birthday party possibly be?”

Dredging up memories of some of his kid sister’s temper tantrums, he said, “Ah... I guess it depends on whether it’s a best friend or just some other kid in her day care.”

“Crap, I don’t know. I could have taken her to the damn party.” Ben brooded for a minute. “It was at a roller-skating rink. Can five-year-olds stand up on roller skates?”

“Taking a wild guess... I’d say no. Or only if all parents are on deck to hold them up.”

“That’s my take, too.”

“Have you ever roller-skated?”

Ben looked at him as if he was crazy. “How hard can it be?”

Seth shrugged. “Just asking.”

“I skateboarded. I snowboard.”

“Okay.”

“Nicole insisted I wouldn’t have a clue what to buy as a present for the birthday girl. And I’d make all the mothers there uncomfortable. Would I be willing to go unarmed? she asked snidely.”

“If you were carrying, that might scare some of the moms.”

He gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Who goes armed to take their kid to a birthday party?”

Some guys Seth knew probably would. “Maybe she didn’t like the idea of all those young mothers flirting with you.”

The fleeting expression on Ben’s face made Seth wish he hadn’t said that. It looked like hope. Seth didn’t know a lot about their breakup, but got the impression it had been her decision, not Ben’s. What if he still thought—? Nah. They’d been divorced for, what, a year now? What he mostly bitched about was not seeing his kid often enough, which Seth understood.

“Maybe you need to get tough,” he suggested. “Don’t you have a court-ordered parenting plan? If she’s in violation...”

“And wouldn’t that piss her off and make her want to be cooperative.”

True—but the alternative wasn’t looking so good, either. Not Seth’s business. He shrugged and let it go. “What deep thoughts were you trying to convey that I wasn’t hearing?”

There was a pause as Ben switched gears. “Did you catch the hesitation from his partner when we asked how solid the marriage was?”

Seth’s attention sharpened. Geoffrey Stephen Moore, attorney-at-law, had evidently been gunned down when he opened the front door after the doorbell rang at almost ten o’clock at night. Wife was in the family room at the back of the house. They were looking into the possibility of a pissed-off client or ex-client, but had to seriously consider his nearest and dearest, too. And, while his wife was distraught, some of her hysteria had a staged look, feeding Seth’s inclination always to put the wife or girlfriend—or husband/boyfriend, depending on who the victim was—in the number one suspect slot until evidence indicated otherwise.

In this case, they were leaning toward believing she couldn’t have killed her husband herself—she’d been on the phone with another woman who said she heard a muffled sound that must have been the gunshot just moments before Heather Moore cried, “What was that? Geoff?” Then, a minute later, she screamed, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” She had no gunpowder residue on her hands, and no handgun was registered to either of the Moores.

“I did notice,” he agreed. “I’m thinking ole Geoff was cheating on her.”

“Which opens all kinds of possibilities.” Ben was the one to rock back in his chair now. “Office should be long since open unless they closed down for the day.”

“The partner said something about motions,” Seth said. “I’m thinking no. If anything, he has to be having nightmares about how much slack he’s going to have to take up.”

Ben rose to his feet. “I looked the firm up. They have a junior attorney and a summer intern as well as a paralegal and two clerks. We can lean on ’em all.”

“Works for me.” Seth was energized enough to make it to his feet, too. “Now that she’s past the first shock, I say we go back to talk to the wife again, too. She must have said ‘What if I’d been alone and
I
was the one to answer the door?’ three times. Was she often alone at ten in the evening on a weeknight? If so, where did she think he was the evenings he was out?”

Ben glanced at his watch. “I vote we start at the office. The wife is going to be more of a challenge. You can bet her mother and sister are still in pit-bull mode.”

Far as Seth could see, the mother had egged her daughter on to bouts of sobbing rather than making any effort to comfort her, which he’d also wondered a little about. Maybe she was whispering, “Make it look good. Really let loose, honey.”

Seth waited while Ben detoured into the john before the two men walked out. Good timing—they’d catch Geoff Moore’s coworkers just before they broke for lunch.

He wondered if Bailey had made it to the Lawsons’ yet and, if so, how it was going. Eve’s hostility surprised him. He’d feared he might be part of Eve’s problem with her newfound sister, except she’d have no way of knowing how damnably attracted he was to Bailey, or that Bailey was now staying with him.

An uncomfortable thought stirred. Eve wouldn’t know unless Bailey had told her. And why wouldn’t she?

* * *

B
AILEY
DIDN
’
T
OFTEN
covet anything, but every once in a while she was hit by a bolt out of the blue. Unable to stop herself, she reached out to stroke the quilt Karen had just flung open across the bed for her to admire. Even the texture wasn’t what she’d expected; the only quilts she’d touched before were the cheap kind, imported from China, with great big stitches. This was intricate, with tiny stitches, forming ripples that occasionally spun into spirals, which made her think of whirlpools amidst the watery blues and greens of the fabric.

“This is stunning.” She looked at Karen. “Do you at least take pictures before you give them back?”

Karen laughed. “I do. I have whole albums full of pictures.” The humor in her eyes told Bailey she’d guessed at her painful reluctance the other night when presented with those albums. “As it happens, though, I made this quilt from scratch. When I have time, I design and piece my own as well as machine-quilt them. I enter some in shows—it’s good advertising for my business—and I sell most of them in local stores. This one...” She smiled. “Actually, I think it’s yours.”