Tara Sivec: Shame on Him

“Get your head out of your ass for two seconds here and think about what you’re saying,” Dallas says angrily, his hands still wrapped tightly around my arms. “You were here questioning someone for a murder investigation. A murder investigation that you aren’t supposed to be anywhere near.”

His words flip a switch in my brain and all the fight leaves my body. He’s right. What would I even tell the police when they got here? That I just happened to stop by the house of a man who worked with Richard Covington and it was just a coincidence that he was shot down right in front of me?

“You need to get the hell out of here right now.”

I stare at Dallas, more confused than I’ve ever been. Why is he helping me? He should be making sure I get thrown in jail for what I’ve been doing.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

“We don’t have time for this. Get in your car and go. Now.”

He pulls me against him and walks me through the doorway. He’s made sure to position himself in such a way that I don’t have to see Andrew lying on the ground behind him.

When I’m on the front porch, he finally lets go of me and I walk in a trance down the stairs and toward my car. The sirens are only a few blocks away now and I know I need to hurry. I run the rest of the way, fumbling my keys out of my coat pocket and wincing at the pain in my hands. I get in the car, start it up, and speed away from Andrew Jameson’s house and Dallas, watching in my rearview mirror as blue-and-red flashing lights pull up to the curb where I was just parked.

A few hours later I hear my doorbell ring and I realize I’ve been sitting on my couch staring at nothing since I got home. I should have showered. Or at the very least, washed the blood off my hands. At least I put on a fresh shirt.

Pushing myself up, I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. I’m not surprised to see Dallas standing on my front porch with his hands in his pockets.

I open the door and he walks right in without an invitation. I close the door and turn to see him pacing back and forth in the living room.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he finally says, coming to a stop with his hands on his hips.

Here we go again. He’s going to tell me what an idiot I am and how I’m not cut out for this line of work. He’s in my house and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him make me feel like crap.

Mirroring his pose with my hands on my hips, I let it fly. “I am sick and tired of people underestimating me. I might not have a lot of experience yet, but I’m good at what I do. I can solve this murder case!”

My chest is heaving and even though it feels good to let all of that out and not have it burning a hole in my chest, I have no idea what made me spew all of my insecurities at Dallas. I don’t know why I care what he thinks of me.

“Lorelei. Come on, snap out of it, baby. Look at me.”

His words from earlier echo through my mind. He was so careful with me, almost sweet. It’s like my subconscious knows there’s a nice guy in there underneath all of that cockiness. A guy who was worried about me and made sure I didn’t get in trouble.

He still hasn’t said a word since my outburst and it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.

“What, nothing to say now? No more insults or tips about how I’m just going to screw everything up?” I ask sarcastically, trying not to feel like a bug under a microscope as he stares at me. I’m sure he’s just taking his time trying to think of some way to put me down.

Without saying a word, he takes a few steps in my direction and stops in front of me. I flinch when he wraps his hand around one of my wrists and flips it over, brushing his fingers over my palm.

“You didn’t get all of the glass out,” he tells me gruffly.

I pretend like his close proximity has no effect on me and stare at the top of his head as he brushes a tiny shard of glass out of a cut in my hand.

“What happened with the police?” I ask him.

Dallas drops my hand and picks up the other one, concentrating on searching every inch of it for stray glass. “I told them I was there following up a lead and we were ambushed. I said it all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to pull my weapon.”

I want to thank him for getting me out of there and not saying anything to the police, but I still have no idea why he’s doing this. What’s in it for him?

“Do you think they believed you?”

He lets go of my hand when he’s satisfied that there’s no more glass and looks up at me. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold now that he’s no longer touching me.

“Of course they bought it. They dusted for fingerprints while I was there. Please tell me you didn’t touch anything when you went into the house. Doorframe, doorknob, anything like that?”

I shake my head no. The only things my hands touched were the floor and the side of Andrew’s neck. Hopefully they didn’t dust his body.

“Then we should be fine. They won’t find your fingerprints and the people in that neighborhood hate cops. When they go door to door questioning neighbors, no one will tell them if they saw anything.”

Dallas moves around me and walks to the door.

“Why are you doing this? Why did you help me?”

He pauses with the door open but doesn’t turn around. “Maybe I just like the idea of you owing me one, Lawyer. I’m sure it will come in handy.”

He’s lying. His words don’t have their usual snarky tone and he won’t meet my eyes .

“Just do me a favor. Start brushing up on your PI skills. I don’t want to have to save your ass again anytime soon.”

No. Absolutely not.”

I pack my files into my rolling bag, pull up the handle, and head toward the door of Fool Me Once.

Kennedy grabs my arm and spins me around. “Lorelei, come on. I know the guy gets on your nerves, but he needs help. And hey, maybe if you do this for him, he’ll stop being such an ass.”

I really cannot believe I’m contemplating this right now. After Dallas left my house the other night, I thought maybe things were going to change between us. I wasn’t expecting friendship or anything crazy like that, but at least civility. I called Stephanie Covington the following day to question her some more about Andrew Jameson and within a half hour of ending the call, I received a text from Dallas that read, “Stop talking to my suspects. Didn’t you learn your lesson by almost getting shot?”

So much for being civil.

“Dallas Osborne is never going to stop being an ass,” I tell her, glancing at my watch.

“This is true. But at least he’s pretty to look at,” she jokes.

I glare at her.

“Come on, Lorelei. Regardless of what a jerk he is, he still helps us out here big time. We owe him for helping Paige bring down Vinnie DeMarco last month.”

It frustrates me that she’s right. Dallas has dropped what he’s doing several times to help Kennedy with past cases, and he was a big help when Paige got herself into a bind with one of the biggest crime families in the state. But that doesn’t mean I have to drop what I’m doing because he suddenly needs a lawyer to rescue him.

“Tell me again what the charges are.”

Kennedy fist pumps and I groan. “This does not mean that I’m saying yes.”

“Whatever. You’re totally going to do it. The dumbass never paid a speeding ticket so they put a warrant out for his arrest. He pissed off the officer who issued the ticket and the guy got a rush put through on the warrant without Ted knowing about it first. God only knows what he said to the guy. Luckily, Ted was able to sweet-talk this idiot into not throwing Dallas in jail. But he’s still being charged with a misdemeanor for failure to pay. If he’s charged, he’s going to lose his license.”