Marilyn Pappano - Killer Smile

“That’s all.” She barely managed a whisper. Four men. Four loves. Five broken hearts. And all the blame lay on her.

He was silent a moment longer, until a gust of wind rattled the window beside them. Rain hit it so hard that it sounded like pebbles hitting the glass. She knew the sound, because once when she’d teased that no boyfriend had ever tossed pebbles at her bedroom window when she was growing up, Daniel had done just that the next night with a handful of aquarium gravel.

“Have you talked to Eric and Zach?”

She shook her head. “I’m looking for them.”

His shoulders straightened, his expression going blank, as he gathered the empty sugar and creamer packets he’d used. “Okay, so now I know. There wasn’t any need to come here. You could have called. You could have just given the message to my parents and let them pass it on. But I appreciate the heads-up. Don’t feel like you need to stick around any longer.”

With that, he stood and walked away. Natasha turned to watch him throw his coffee and litter into the trash, then go out the door and into the rain. He didn’t look over his shoulder until he was inside his car and then only to check traffic before backing out of the parking space.

A lump rose in her throat as he drove away. It had gone better than she’d had any right to expect, she told herself as she threw her own coffee away, then exited the restaurant. He was probably right. She should have just told Jeffrey and Archer and let them handle it. But she’d needed to get out of LA, and she’d found it hard enough talking to him. She didn’t think she could have borne the anger that his fathers surely would have felt finding out that he was in danger because of her.

“And you wanted to see Daniel,” Tasha whispered, filling all the corners of her brain with malicious glee.

All right. Yes, somewhere deep, deep inside, she’d wanted to see Daniel.

Stumbling to a stop in the drive-through lane, Natasha tilted her face to the sky and let the rain wash over her. It ran down her cheeks, caught on her eyelashes and dripped from her chin. It didn’t make her feel better, didn’t wash away her hurts or regrets.

But if a tear or two happened to seep from her eyes, no one would suspect. It’s just rain , she could say.

She could even pretend she believed it.

The rain had stopped sometime during the night, giving the waterlogged city a chance to drain and catch its breath. Daniel needed to catch his breath, but it was going to take a lot more than a break in the clouds to do that. He didn’t even have a chance until he knew for sure that Natasha had left Cedar Creek and Oklahoma far behind. He figured he would be able to feel it in his bones when it happened.

The police station was quiet and dimly lit. He’d dressed down today—black tactical pants, a gray polo shirt embroidered with the department’s badge and boots—only very slightly in deference to the fact that it was Friday and everyone else always dressed down on Friday. Mostly it was because of the weather and his desire to keep his feet dry but also because of the trouble he’d had with his tie this morning. The agitation that hummed through his nerves all night long would have made self-strangulation far too tempting if he’d had to give the silk noose one more effort.

He checked the time and grimaced. It was a little after six, so shortly after 4:00 a.m. in Los Angeles. Flea would kill him if he called now. He wondered if Natasha had shared her danger theory and Flea had found it without merit. She obviously hadn’t felt the urge to pass on the information to Daniel. But if she wasn’t taking the stalking seriously, why would she take the stalker’s remark as a threat?

He was tired from a night of restless sleep, he had a headache and when he’d tried to drink a cup of coffee while getting dressed, it had gone down so poorly that he’d thought he might throw up. Thank God the weekend was here. Maybe he would retreat into his bedroom until Monday morning, or maybe Morwenna still wanted a weekend trip to Eureka Springs. Surely her company, the Arkansas town, the tourists and the hundred and fifty miles’ distance would allow him to get his mental balance back.

“Why are you in so early?”

Blearily Daniel glanced up as Ben dumped a half dozen spiral notebooks on his desk. They were wrapped in a plastic trash bag to keep them from getting wet even though two empty attaches resided in the other detective’s bottom desk drawer. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Because of Size-Two Fitted Bodice?” Ben shrugged out of his slicker and tossed it on an unused desk. “What’s the story?”

Daniel scratched his jaw and felt the stubble of hair where he’d missed a swipe with the razor. He grimaced. Now he would be aware all day long that that thin line of whiskers was there and it would drive him crazy. “No story.”

Ben snorted. He unpacked the notebooks from the trash bag—probably containing lists of his interminable lists—then threw the bag next to the slicker. “Everybody in the department knows there’s a story. And the sheriff’s office. And the fire department. A man doesn’t leave first responders’ night two-thirds through a perfect game without a story.”

Daniel looked over his shoulder. There was a nighttime desk officer on, but they had so few walk-ins that he spent most of his night in the dispatcher shack chatting. All he’d done this morning was stick his head out the door when he heard Daniel come in, wave and settle back in.

“We’re both early,” Ben said. “Let’s get breakfast at Mom’s.” He left the rest unsaid— we can talk there —but it was implied.

“Yeah, sure.” Not that Daniel particularly wanted to eat breakfast or talk, but since the time difference kept him from doing what he did want, he might as well do something besides brood.

Mom’s, known as Creek Café outside the Little Bear family, was eight blocks east of the police station. They could have run it easily, could have walked it even more easily, but they took Ben’s car. Even though neither of them was on duty yet, if they did get a call, the chief would be annoyed if they got caught without transportation.

The café was located just west of the bridge that spanned the creek, the building high enough above the stream that it couldn’t really take advantage of the view. Instead, when a customer looked out, he saw the rocks that lined the creek bed twenty feet above the water’s surface. When Ben told him it was because of occasional floods, Daniel hadn’t quite gotten it. Sitting now at a table against the side windows, he glanced over the water, swirling and splashing fifteen feet higher than usual, and he got it.

Mrs. Little Bear came from the kitchen when she heard Ben was there. She hugged him, combed her fingers through his hair then turned her attention to Daniel. “You look pale,” she said, catching his chin in her fingers and studying his face. “You didn’t get enough sleep last night. You young people think you can get by on coffee and your good looks, but take my word for it—you need a good night’s sleep every single night.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying, Mrs. Little Bear,” he said drily.

She gave him another appraising look. “I’ll fix you something special. You’ll feel better in no time.”

She left without taking their orders. The first couple of times that had happened, Daniel had been openmouthed, trying to say, Wait, you don’t know what I want. He’d learned that it didn’t matter much what he wanted, because everything Mrs. Little Bear and her kitchen staff made was excellent, and she always chose well for him.

“Am I getting chicken soup for breakfast?” he asked as a waitress filled Ben’s coffee cup. She didn’t offer him any. Her boss had probably told her not to.