Текст книги "I'll Never Let You Go"

Автор книги: Mary Burton

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Three

Saturday, January 14, 9:15 P.M.

No should have been the operative word. No, thank you. Thanks, but no thanks. Maybe another time would have worked. But Special Agent Alex Morgan had caught Leah Carson off guard when he’d asked her out. With no excuses in her back pocket, she’d fallen into a yes before she could think twice.

Leah had sworn she’d never date a cop again, and here she was on the brink. She’d recognized the signs that he was a cop when he’d first entered the vet hospital. The way he moved. His dark, crisp suit. The controlled, careful gaze, always assessing. A cop through and through. She had known. Should have run.

His visits to the clinic all made sense of course. He’d been checking up on his cop brother’s retired canine cop dog that was boarding for a couple of days. According to the clinic staff, the Morgan siblings were all cops. A sister worked forensics. Two brothers worked Nashville homicide. And Alex was an agent with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.

She inhaled and exhaled. This was a date. Not a relationship. Shouldn’t be a big deal to go on a date with a cop. Once. But it was a big deal. Everyone assumed cops kept you safe, right? They were the good guys, right? Sometimes. Most times. But not always.

“Come along,” Alex had challenged. “It’ll be fun.”

Fun. The word hadn’t fit Alex Morgan. Straitlaced. His sharp, assessing gaze devoured details and nuances. And his even, controlled voice gave away nothing. He wasn’t a guy who did fun.

She’d been reaching for a quick no when he’d tossed in a very disarming smile, and for a split second, she’d been charmed. The yes had slipped out through a tiny crack in her carefully constructed barriers.

“Stupid.” She curled her fingers over her scarred palms as she glanced around the noisy restaurant. He’d offered to drive her to the bar, but she’d insisted on driving herself. Knowing where she worked was one thing. Knowing where she lived, another.

The energy of the bar, the loud taped music, the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses swirled. Freezing temperatures had not chased away Rudy’s customers. Wall-to-wall mob. A crush. There were a few cowboy hats and men wearing western garb, but the majority had short-cropped hair, long-sleeved shirts, and well-worn jeans. Most had beers and many glanced toward the windows and doors. The ones who sat had their backs to the walls. Made sense that a cop would invite her to a cop function.

When she’d moved back to Nashville, her first stop had been Broadway and a cowboy boot store. She’d bought a midcalf-high boot with a pointed tip, tassels, and a heel tipped in silver. Oddly, she’d not worn the boots until tonight, and only impulse had made her put them on. Now the choice bothered her. The boots had a pay-attention-tome vibe, made her stick out just a little too much.

A long time ago, in another life, the boots wouldn’t have been a concern. A long time ago, she’d been a different person who didn’t worry about boots or cop dates. Now, doubts, like the bright neon signs on the strip, flashed. Too much? Too coy? Trying too hard?

Twenty-nine-year-old women should know what normal people did on dates. They were comfortable with men and enjoyed their company.

They. Had. Fun.

Index fingers absently traced the scars on her palms, still rough to the touch. The plastic surgeon had done his best to minimize the scarring, but palms were a tricky stitch job. The wounds had reopened twice and had to be restitched. Never fully fading, the scars always warned that sometimes smiles, even the best ones, hid evil.

Clutching her purse close, she glanced out the front window toward Broadway. The door was opened by a couple and the cold air cut like a whip. If this had been July, the streets would have been teeming with people, but on a cold January night, the sidewalks produced only the occasional group of partygoers burrowed in thick coats and wooly scarves. No one lingered or strolled. All hurried in and out of doorways.

Crowds or near desolation both offered advantages and disadvantages. Crowds offered cover. Empty streets gave her room to run.

A man caught her gaze, but hers quickly flittered away. Before her ex-husband, a stranger’s passing glance or a man’s seductive smile excited and titillated. Laughter came quickly and easily. Yes wasn’t to be feared. Thoughts didn’t have to be assessed and reassessed.

Philip had changed all that when he’d entered her life. Now, as she had a thousand times before, she wondered how she could have loved him. Married him. How did a smart woman miss the rising tide of suffocating attention and control? Exactly one year after they spoke their marriage vows, his final attack had left her with twenty-three knife wounds, nightmares, and unpredictable panic attacks.

The beat of the honky-tonk music pulsed in Leah’s chest, racing alongside her thrumming heart. Twenty feet separated her from the door and a clean getaway.

So easy, fear whispered. Leave while you can.

Fear’s warnings had stopped her so many times. Too many nights spent huddled behind a closed, triple-locked door. Too many nightmares.

Fear had gifted her with it all.

“You’re not quitting,” she whispered.

Philip did not have the power to control her. After his attack, he’d vanished. Weeks later, his car had been found in South Carolina at the bottom of a ravine. The car had been badly burned, the body unrecognizable. The authorities had shipped the body and his belongings back to Nashville, and his grandmother had seen to his burial. She hadn’t attended the funeral, and had only visited the gravesite once before she’d left for Knoxville. That was to confirm the bastard was in his grave.

The front door opened to herald a few more laughing couples. No Alex.

Still time to leave, fear coaxed.

No, she insisted, time to stay. Turning from the cold blast of air, she embraced the warmth, the music, the laughter, and that before Leah, who might have been a bit naïve and trusting but who’d been fun. She’d had friends. No fears.

Tonight, she clung to the memories of the before Leah and banished warnings and prophecies of doom.

“It’s the deep end of the ocean, Leah,” she muttered. “Jump or dive?”

A petite redhead, her hair pinned in a loose riot of curls around her face, cut straight through the crowd over to Leah. “Dr. Carson?”

“Yes?”

The woman had a wide, welcoming grin. “I heard my brother Alex invited you tonight. Welcome.”

Leah searched her memory for the woman’s name, but it lingered out of reach. “Thanks.”

Reading Leah’s questioning expression, the woman’s smile broadened. “Sorry. Right. Forgetting introductions. I’m Georgia Morgan. Youngest of the Morgan clan. My brother Rick speaks highly of you. Loves the way you take care of Tracker.”

Tracker. The police canine boarding at her vet hospital. Her nerves relaxed. Dogs were safe, soothing territory. “He’s a great dog. We always like seeing him. Your brother Rick wasn’t happy about boarding him a few weeks ago.”

“It’s the first time he’s ever boarded the dog. He and his wife are having a great time on their honeymoon, but Jenna knows the dog is not far from Rick’s mind.”

Honeymoons meant happiness. New beginnings. Love. And on cue, she produced a practiced smile to hide the flicker of worry. “The dog is doing great.”

“So I hear.”

“Was it Rick’s idea to send Alex by every day to check on Tracker?”

Agent Morgan had appeared every day and stayed long enough to take Tracker outside and then speak a few words to her. He always varied his arrival times, a disciple of ‘trust but verify.’

Georgia laughed. “We Morgans keep an eye out for those we love.”

Keep an eye out for those we love. The statement should have warmed her heart, but she filed the comment away under potential threat. “You’re close-knit.”

“We are.” Glancing toward the bar, she waved toward the bartender, an older man who’d shaved his head bald, sported a thick, bushy mustache, and wore a full, bright Hawaiian shirt that draped a rounded belly.

Leah followed Georgia’s gaze. “He looks annoyed.”

“That’s KC. He owns the place, and he’s giving me the stink eye because I’m supposed to be on stage in thirty seconds.”

She calculated the distance to the stage. “Thirty seconds. Cutting it close.”

Strong fingers with neatly shorn nails waved breezily around Georgia’s head. “Well timed, I like to say.”

Leah couldn’t help grinning. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

“I hate to give people what they want right away.” She lingered, questions dancing in her gaze as she sized up Leah.

“I understand you’re a very good singer. I work with a gal at the clinic who’s heard you sing a few times. I can’t wait to hear you.” A bubble of tension grew inside her.

“Thanks. I like to rock the house.” She turned, and then paused, as if remembering. “Alex just texted me. He told me to tell you he’s running late.”

“He could have texted me.”

“Didn’t get your number. Has the vet number, but not your private cell.”

“I must have forgotten to give it to him.”

“He won’t be much longer. He’s sent me five texts in the last half hour, updating me on his status.” She leaned closer, as if they were conspirators. “He’s communicated more this evening than in the last month.”

“I don’t picture him texting.” In truth, his tardiness gave her a chance to corral nerves that bucked out of reach despite her positive self-talk.

Maybe he’ll be so late you’ll miss each other entirely tonight, fear said. Maybe you’ll have a beer, hear some great music, and go home. No harm. No foul.

Georgia laid her hand on Leah’s arm. “If Alex says he’ll be here, he will.”

“Great.” She watched Georgia cut through the crowd, crack jokes with a few of the men and women, and take her place on center stage. The band behind her was comprised of two guitars, a drummer, and a fiddle player. The fiddle player sawed a few chords of “Fire on the Mountain” as Georgia wrapped her fingers around the mic.

Nestling her mouth close to it, Georgia asked, “You boys and girls ready for some trouble tonight?”

The crowd hooped, hollered, and clapped.

The heat in the room rising, Leah moved toward a coatrack and hung her jacket on a peg. Habit had her recounting the exits in the bar. Only two, and neither was easily reached. Tension rippled through her body. What had her therapist said? Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re going to be fine.

Moving toward an open spot on the bar, she welcomed the task of getting a beer more than the drink itself. Something to hold would make her feel more normal for a second or two. Normal twenty-nine-year-old women held a beer, right? And then, once she got the beer, well, she’d worry about what came next.

As Georgia began a lively tune, a Taylor Swift song about boys and true love, the bartender, KC, caught sight of her almost immediately and lumbered toward her. “What can I get you?”

She smiled because people in lively places like this were supposed to be having a good time and people having a good time smiled. “A beer.”

He picked up a rag from under the bar and wiped the space in front of her. “Bottle or draft?”

“Bottle.”

From a cooler below the bar, he pulled out an iced bottled beer. She watched as he popped the top and set it in front of her. As she reached for money, he shook his head. “Alex said he’d cover the tab when he got here.”

Was everyone watching her? That should have made her feel protected, right? “How do you know I’m here with Alex?”

“He told me to expect a pretty petite brunette. And I saw you talking to his sister.”

He was complimenting her, and compliments prompted smiles. She smiled. “Thanks.”

His deep voice cut through the music. “Alex hates to be late. But that’s the nature of a cop’s job.”

“Makes sense. No schedule for crime and all.”

As Georgia’s voice rose and teased the edges of a high note, KC leaned closer. “He’s a hell of a good cop. Great guy. Bit of a control freak. In a good way of course.”

She sipped her beer, wondering if there was a good kind of control freak. “Of course.”

KC leaned on the bar, in no real rush to move along. “I hear from Georgia that you work at the vet hospital.”

The cold beer tasted good. “For about four months now.”

Beefy fingers swiped over a thick mustache. “What’re you, like a nurse?”

“Like a doctor. I’m a veterinary surgeon.”

A dark brow arched, and she sensed he’d checked off another box on a mental list. “A real animal doctor.”

Grinning, she raised the bottle to her lips. “I’ve got the papers to prove it.”

“Good for you.” A patron at the bar held up an empty glass and called out, but he waved him away. “So how did you and Alex meet?”

“At the clinic. Tracker introduced us.”

KC laughed. “Right. Makes sense. That dog gets around.” He turned to go, then paused. “You know, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

She swallowed a gulp of beer. “I’m not nervous.”

He winked. “I used to be a cop. I know nervous when I see it.”

A direct gaze, she’d been told, conveyed truth and courage. “I’m not nervous. Must be fatigue. I worked a twelve-hour shift today.”

“My mistake.” His tone didn’t sound apologetic. “Your accent sounds like Nashville.”

“Born and raised here. Went to vet school in Knoxville, but as soon as I graduated, I came back home.” Maybe, if she tossed the guy a few easy facts, he’d back off.

“Family?” He kept wiping the very clean bar. Most would see a man making conversation, but cops didn’t just make conversation.

“Mother and father have passed.”

“Sorry to hear that. You got brothers and sisters?”

Smile. Sip the beer. Act normal. “Are you writing a book about me, KC?”

A laugh rumbled in his chest. “Hard to break the cop habits.”

“Right.” He continued to lean toward her, still waiting for an answer.

Leah nodded toward a couple of women at the end of the bar. “You’ve got some thirsty gals over there.”

KC glanced down the bar at a collection of women raising empty beer mugs. “No rest for the wicked.”

No truer words. “So they tell me.”

“Back to work.”

She tipped the beer bottle’s neck toward him. “Good to meet you, KC.”

He saluted. “You too, Dr. Leah.”

She faced the stage and watched as Georgia sang and swayed to the music. She had the crowd in the palm of her hand, and Leah envied her command of the room.

A tap on her shoulder had her jumping, and she turned to see a tall gal with dark brown hair. She had a full, smiling face and a sharp gaze. Dressed in black, a thick chain around her neck dipped between the hollow of her breasts.

Leah smiled, relaxing. They’d bumped into each other at the front door minutes earlier, but Deidre had made a beeline for the ladies’ room. “Deidre.”

“I see you’re all settled in. Cold night.”

“Nice in here.”

Leah had met Deidre Jones a couple of months ago at the gym. They’d become friends, and when Deidre had suggested Leah join a marathon training group, she’d agreed. This New Year was about making new choices. Living. Taking full breaths. And having a friend was nice. “What brings you here tonight?”

Deidre grinned. “Got a date tonight.”

“A date?”

She winked, like a normal, happy woman would. “Nice to play and not work.”

“Still running in the morning?”

“If the date doesn’t go too late, I’ll be there.”

“So is that a yes or a no?” Grinning, she mimicked Deidre’s pointed look when Leah waivered on a run date.

Deidre tipped the top of her bottle toward Leah in a touché kind of salute. “It’s a yes.”

“Good. Always more fun when you’re there.”

Leah searched around. “Where is this date?”

“In the head. He’ll be right back. Just wanted to say hi again.”

The familiar face loosened a few knots. “Thanks.” A man approached behind Deidre. Tall, blond. “Is that David Westbrook from our running group?”

“Yep.” She grinned. “But don’t tell anyone in the group. I don’t need a lot of shit about it. My soon-to-be ex-husband will just make more trouble.”

Deidre had spoken of her divorce to Leah a few times. She hadn’t used the word stalking, but Leah had recognized the pattern. She’d offered suggestions that Deidre had brushed aside. “Sure.”

David grinned as he wrapped an arm around Deidre. “Leah. See you in the morning?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Great.”

“See you.” Deidre hooked her arm in David’s and the two vanished into the crowd.

“Right.” She nudged her back close to the bar and watched as Georgia moved back and forth onstage. The woman had an easy confidence Leah admired.

A man jostled next to her at the bar. When she glanced in his direction, he grinned. “Hey. I’m Max.”

She moved back a step. “Hey.”

“You here by yourself, little lady?” He had to shout to be heard.

“No.”

He made an effort to look around her. “I don’t see anybody.”

She dug her fingernail into the silver label of her beer and ripped the paper. Dogs, cats, snakes, even birds she knew. In an animal, she read dangerous fear or childlike joy at a glance, but people, well, Philip had proven that she didn’t understand the warning signs. A fight-or-flight impulse tightened her chest. She barely recognized her voice when she heard it. “I’m waiting for Alex Morgan.”

Brown eyes narrowed and then widened slightly. “You’re dating that ass?”

The mention of Alex’s name had several other people shifting their attention to her. So Alex wasn’t popular. Interesting. Still, he’d been nice to her, and that fostered an odd kind of loyalty. She sipped her beer. “I only see one ass.”

The man’s gaze narrowed, but instead of moving toward her, he took a step back, held up a hand in surrender, and melted into the crowd.

As much as Leah would like to think she was a tough customer, small-boned, five foot two and 105 pounds soaking wet, her size didn’t scare away much. He hadn’t bolted because of her big, bad scary self.

The wall of energy behind her, vibrating and snapping close, had scared him off. Tightening her grip on her beer, she turned to find Alex Morgan standing behind her.

A Saturday night and he wore a dark suit, a white shirt, and a narrow red tie twisted in a Windsor knot. Ink-black hair cut short and brushed off his face stressed a long, narrow face marked with lines around the eyes and mouth. She guessed he’d earned those lines by frowning, not smiling.

“Was he giving you a problem?” Alex’s gaze darted past her toward Max before settling back on her.

The tension cranked up a notch. Max was an annoyance. Alex was dangerous. He’d heard the comment, noticed the stares but had not reacted. “He was trying to make conversation.”

A muscle in his jaw clenched, released. He shifted his attention away from Max, dismissing him as a non-threat. “I see KC got you a beer.” He had to shout over the music.

“He did. Thank you.” The music pulsed, making conversation difficult. She guessed she’d been in the bar ten minutes, which put the time at about ten. How long did a date last before it ended?

“Can I get you another beer?”

“No. Just got started on this one.” A glance toward the bar found KC twisting the top off a beer bottle and pushing it Alex’s way. He scooped up the beer but didn’t drink.

Alex turned toward the stage as Georgia finished her song. The crowd cheered, and he raised a beer bottle to her when she looked in his direction. She winked. The band settled into a softer, slower song.

“She’s good,” Leah said. Maybe talk would burst the anxiety bubble. “Has she always sung?”

“Since she could talk. But she’s only been singing in public for a couple of years.” He sipped his beer and faced her. “You look pale. Are you okay?”

Lying hadn’t always come as naturally as it did now. “I’m fine.”

His blue-steel gaze studied her. “You look like you want to bolt.”

Normally, a smile and a few fibs deflated questions and concerns. “I spend my days with barking dogs and hissing cats. Haven’t been out in a while.”

“There’s a restaurant across the street. Much quieter and less crowded. We’ll go there.”

It wasn’t a suggestion but a direction. She wasn’t sure what scared her more: the pulsing beat of this crowd or being alone with him. The frying pan or the fire?

New Year’s resolutions had prompted so many changes in the last couple of weeks. Get out. Be a part of humanity. It had been an easy enough promise to make on New Year’s, after she’d finished her second glass of champagne, as she’d watched the televised ball in Times Square drop. “Sure. Sounds good. Let me get my coat.” She set her beer on the bar and grabbed her coat. He took it from her and held it out. Not controlling but the move of a gentleman, she reminded herself.

A smile flicking the edges of her lips, she turned and lowered her arms into the coat. He raised the coat up to her neck, his fingertips barely brushing the back of her hair. The physical touch constricted her lungs.

Smiling, always smiling, she turned and faced Alex.

A dark brow arched. “You okay?”

“Great.”

She moved out toward the door, threading her body around the growing crowd. He trailed close behind, and she caught several angry gazes directed at Alex and her. Outside, the snap of cold air redirected her attention from worry. “Where to?”

“Right across the street.” He moved beside her and gently placed his hand in the small of her back, guiding her. Gently. Not all touch equaled pain. No worries.

The restaurant specialized in barbecue and was outfitted with clean but dinged-up booths. The floor had once been a black-and-white tile, but years of wear and tear had worn away the crisp lines, leaving it a shadowy blend of dark and light. Behind the counter, a hot grill butted against the wall where a tall man wearing a white apron over a white shirt ladled barbecue sauce on dozens of sizzling chicken wings and thighs. The sweet, spicy scents were welcoming.

They settled in a seat by the front window and she shrugged off her jacket, refusing to be nervous. This was a date. Nothing more. Dates were fun. And she wasn’t a crazy woman. She could go on a date with a guy. She could.

Alex ordered a couple more beers and reached for the laminated menus stuck between the napkin holder and the salt-and-pepper shakers. “Place might not look like much, but the barbecue is great.” He unfolded his menu. “Vets eat meat, don’t they?”

“I do. Love barbecue.” She wouldn’t eat much, but she could push the food around and make a show of it. Their beers arrived, and he asked if he could place their order. She agreed, but instantly second-guessed herself, wondering if giving him any kind of control was a smart thing.

She sipped her beer and realized she hadn’t eaten much that day. She’d worked late and her appetite was off due to nerves and fatigue. When the waiter set biscuits on the table, she took one and broke off a piece.

“Rick says you’re a popular vet with dogs.”

“I love what I do, so it’s easy.” She took a sip of beer. “He says you’re a great agent.”

Alex traced the label on his bottle. “He didn’t say that.”

“Maybe not in so many words. But my receptionist got him talking the last time he was in, and she said he had nice things to say about you.”

He studied the menu. “So you and your receptionist were talking about me?”

Color rushed to her cheeks. “I suppose we were. We take care of several of the police canines, and we generally talk about them and their families.”

He closed the menu and looked up. “Good to know. So you must have a dog?”

“No. No dogs for me. I work long hours. Maybe one day.” Since Philip, she’d feared loving anything too much in case it would be taken away.

“I picture you with a houseful of cats and dogs. The homespun type.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Not at all. Making an observation.”

Homespun jabbed, conjuring rocking chairs, shawls, and, well, old. “You’re not the animal type.”

“I like Tracker. But I’m not a dog or a cat guy. I’m on the go too much.”

“Which begs the question, why did you ask me out?”

He sat back in the booth and tugged his coat jacket in place. “You’re different. Interesting.”

“In a homespun sort of way?”

“In a multilayered sort of way.”

She sensed he had lots of questions, but there would be no peeking behind the curtain where she hid her secrets. “I vaccinate dogs and cats all day. Most interesting thing I’ve done lately is joining a running group.”

“With Deidre Jones? She told me a vet had joined the group.”

“I didn’t realize you knew Deidre.”

“She works with my brother at the Nashville Police Department. We cross paths occasionally. How’s the running going?”

“I’m the slowest in the group. And that’s not false modesty. It’s the truth.”

“Tortoise and the hare. Stick with it.”

“Maybe.” She sipped her beer. “You don’t seem to have a lot of friends at Rudy’s.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I investigate cops. Doesn’t win me many points with the rank and file.”

She traced the rim of her cup. Ah, that explained the man’s comment in the bar. “Does that bother you?”

“No.”

His attention shifted to her palm and the scar slashing across it. She closed her fingers, resisting the urge to explain. Whatever she told him would be a lie. She never told the truth about her past, which still shamed her. How could she explain that she was a smart woman who had stayed with an abusive and, ultimately, murderous man? The less said, the better.

“Seems they’d want to weed out the bad apples.”

Alex’s expression didn’t change, but somewhere inside him she thought she saw a door close and lock. “You would think.”

They both hid behind walls. Guarded secrets. Good. You leave mine alone, and I won’t dig into yours. “So, we’re two very simple people.”

The corner of his lip tipped into that grin. The ice melted for a moment, and that unfamiliar pull of desire flowered again. Some would have embraced it. Leah likened desire to a tiger’s dangerous beauty.

“I think we’re two people who’re fairly bad at dating and don’t like to talk about ourselves,” Alex said.

His directness charmed her. And that scared her. Being charmed led to liking, which led to desire, which equaled vulnerability. Her nerves stretched tighter and tighter. “Then why’re we here?”

A shrug. “I was curious about you. And Tracker likes you. He’s a good judge of character.”

Secrets, sadness, and shame banged on the wall so carefully built. She sipped her beer, which now tasted flat and lifeless. “Ah.”

“So what about you?”

“I’m fairly straightforward. Raised in Nashville. Both my parents have passed. Got my vet degree in Knoxville at the University of Tennessee. Enjoying the single life.”

He leaned forward, as if a bullshit meter had clanged in his head. “How did you get the scars on your hands?”

Cut to the chase. This guy didn’t waste time or mince words. No need to look down to see the deep slashes that crossed both palms. “Are you this nosy on most first dates?”

“No.” No apology. “They look like defensive wounds.”

“Nothing so dramatic,” she lied.

No adult had ever asked about the scars on her palms, or the ones on her arms. They might have stared, but they hadn’t asked. Once a little girl in a grocery store had asked her about them. She’d looked as if she’d believed in fairy tales, Santa Claus, and the tooth fairy. Monsters under her bed could be chased away with a mother’s kiss. Leah couldn’t bring herself to tell the girl real monsters walked among them. “It was an accident.”

“Okay.” Alex tapped a finger on the table, as if forcing back more questions that, eventually, he’d ask. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She kept her hand on her beer glass, refusing to tuck it in her lap. “I’m not upset.”

“You’re pale now.”

She moistened her lips. “Just been a long day.”

“It’s my job to be nosy.” That smile appeared again. “Sometimes it’s hard to shut off.”

“No worries.”

Alex Morgan was the kind of guy who’d unearth all her carefully buried secrets. And when he did, what would he think of her? What kind of woman, what kind of fool, would willingly lay down with a monster? The idea that he’d see her as less or weak scraped the underside of her scars.

Her phone buzzed, startling her. With a grateful heart she dug her phone from her purse and read the message. “It’s from my clinic. I’ve got to go by the kennel to check on one of the dogs.”

Alex looked more curious and disappointed. If his job was to sniff out lies, then he surely knew this was no fib. Their clinic took emergency calls, and this was her night on call. “You can’t eat first?”

“No.” She gathered her coat, anxious to step into the cold and slide behind the wheel of her car.

He tossed a couple of twenties on the table and rose. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

She gathered up her purse and coat. “You don’t have to. I’m right across the street.”

“I’ll walk you.” He helped her on with her coat, opened the front door, and waited for her to pass through before allowing it to swing closed behind them. Across the street, the door to Rudy’s opened and closed. In a rush of music and flashing light, Deidre and her date sauntered out arm in arm.

Leah envied the couple’s easy manner. Her back stiff, she started toward her car, her pace brisk as she fished her keys from her pocket and pushed the unlock button on the key fob. She opened the door, and he lingered back an extra half step. For a tense moment she thought he might kiss her. Normal women on first dates kissed their dates, right? A kiss, a touch, vulnerability, pain, and death.

Alex held back a couple of steps. He watched her. Seemed to see fear and accept it as a fact to be filed away under Leah Carson. “Drive safe.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’ve been a real lousy date, Alex. I’m sorry. I’m way out of practice.”

A small shrug. “No worries, Leah. See you soon?”

“You don’t have to check up on Tracker every day.”

“But I will.” The patience humming under his tone coaxed her out of her shell a little further. “You want to go out with me again?”

Fear hovered around her like a ghost. Stay behind the walls. But something she could not put into words challenged her to reach for more. Elbowing aside gnawing butterflies, she nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Great. We’ll figure it out.”

“Perfect.” She drove off, wondering if she’d lost her mind, all the while daring herself not to look in the rearview mirror, knowing he was watching.

He sat and watched as his wife stood by her car and spoke to her date. The guy had dark hair and a trim build. A gust of wind had caught, blown back his jacket, and for a split second, the edge of a gun resting on his hip caught the moonlight before the guy tugged the coat’s edge back into place.