Jeanne Adams - Dark and Deadly

“Please,” he said, blocking her path.

When she looked up at him, his eyes were dark, unfathomable. “Please,” he repeated. “Don’t do this because I was stupid. I know sorry doesn’t cut it, as you said. I blew it. But don’t put yourself in the line of fire, Torie. Please.”

Damn the man. Why did he have to sound so sincere? So worried about her. Not about his reputation, not about the police, but about her.

If you’d have asked her a month ago who would stand by her, Tristan or Paul, she would have said Tristan. How wrong she’d have been.

“I need to do this, Paul. I’ve been reeling since Todd was killed. I’ve let myself be blown from here to there by everything that’s happened. I have to find my center, find me again.” And why the hell was she explaining it to him?

Because he’d stood by her.

Because he’d apologized.

Because he was so obviously miserable.

She ignored the little voice in her head and put her hand on his outstretched arm, the one blocking the way.

“I need to go.”

He moved aside and let her roll the suitcases past.

“Torie?”

“Yes?”

“Will you dance with me?”

“He asked you to dance?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Pam demanded as they rolled her luggage to the room.

“I guess it means he wants to dance with me at the partner’s dinner.”

“Duh, yeah. But what else does it mean?”

“For heaven’s sake, Pam, I have no idea. I mean, he’s all sexy and serious, and he’s asking me to save him a dance. How the hell…” She caught sight of Pam’s face. “What?”

“You said he was sexy,” she said, sounding stunned.

“So?” It took Torie three tries to get the door open.

“So,” Pam said, shutting the door behind them, going to hang the dresses. “I’ve never heard you call him sexy before.”

“Cripes, Pam, I slept with him.”

“I know, but you didn’t say it was good. You didn’t call him sexy, you didn’t say anything about it.”

“Well, it’s not like I go around detailing my love life.”

“Ha!” Pam laughed. “Like you have one. So, I got a question for ya…”

“Open those Cokes and pour me one before you start asking your probing questions.”

“’kay.”

“What’s the question?”

“‘Do ya love him, Loretta?’”

The movie line, from Moonstruck, had never failed to make her laugh. This time, however, it hit Torie like a fist to the solar plexus. She sat down on the coffee table, feeling as if the wind had escaped her and she couldn’t draw breath.

“Torie? Torie?” Pam hurried over, crouched down. “What is it?”

“Oh, my God, Pammie,” she managed. She felt like she’d been socked in the gut.

When Paul’s phone rang, he ignored it the first time. Then thinking it might be Torie, he raced to get it. Sometime in the night, and throughout the day he’d realized the impossible. The improbable.

Not only was he in love with Torie, he had been since his sophomore year in college.

No wonder he had indigestion.

When he checked the caller ID, it was Tibbet.

“Hey, you called?”

“Yeah. We’re watching your house. Thought you should know.”

“Thanks. Torie’s not here.”

“What? Where is she?”

Paul hesitated. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll text that to you. Try and keep it private. There’s someone on watch for her, too.”

Tibbet grunted. “Yeah. I get it.”

“So, what now?”

“Nothing. Go on to bed, get up, go to work, just like the rest of us slobs,” he said, and Paul could hear the ironic twist in his voice. “But if you hear anything, don’t be a hero, okay? Call nine-one-one. Call me. You got it?”

“Got it.”

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s up with you and Pratt Jr.?”

“We’ve never liked each other. Even in college. We used to call him Weaselboy because he always acted like one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Off the record?”

“Off.”

“He was a slinky, sneaky, slimy snitch.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Tibbet drawled, making Paul laugh. “He’s got Pratt Sr. fooled.”

“I don’t think so. Senior’s not easily fooled, even by his kith and kin. Melvin’s not that sly as to fool the old man.”

“You’d be surprised how blind a father can be,” Tibbet said, adding, “especially when it comes to the eldest son.”

“Only son, at that.”

“All the more reason.”

“So how’d you end up in his good book so much that he pimped you and your buddy to his daddy’s firm?”

“No idea, and that still puzzles me. Neither Todd nor I saw that coming, I can tell you. We took Melvin out, thanked him with a nice dinner and all, but it was never comfortable. I think the bottle of Scotch Todd bought him is still sitting in his office on the credenza.”

“Really?” He could hear Tibbet scratching notes. “Waste of good Scotch.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I gotta get home. Remember, call. I don’t care if you think it’s only a mouse farting, if it’s out of place, lock the damn bedroom door and call.”

“Got it, loud and clear.”

He would call because he had something for which to live. He had Torie. He was going to do whatever it took to find her forgiveness.

For the first time, he understood Todd’s obsession with making it up to Torie. The difference was, Todd had felt that he’d somehow let a friend down, embarrassed her.

From the vantage point of love—dear God, that was hard to admit, even to himself—he could see that Todd wanted to ease a friend’s pain. On the other hand, Paul wanted to win her back, and he didn’t give a damn about the short term. He wanted forever. He wanted a chance to be with her, hear her laugh. Have another dinner out. Or in.

It wouldn’t matter if it was burgers and fries, or the finest steak and wine. He just wanted it to be with her.

“Christ Almighty, I’m getting sappy talking to myself,” he complained aloud.

It was true, though.

Tomorrow he would plan. He would figure out a way.

He’d loved her too long to let her go without a fight.

He turned off the lights in the living room, but sat down at the kitchen table with his laptop. There was one thing he could do now.

Within minutes, he’d ordered the flowers to be sent. They would be delivered to Torie’s room first thing in the morning. The card would have only four words.

“Save me a dance.”

That done, he shut down the laptop and turned out the lights. He turned off the porch light, but the other light, the one in his bedroom, he turned on.

That was nearly his death sentence.

He was walking to shut the drapes when he saw a glint of something directly across the street, where the neighborhood kids’ playground was located. Someone moving.

Something different, Tibbet said.

As he dove for the phone, the glass shattered.

A whoop of a siren made him wince, and he heard engines revving outside as they tore off toward the park.

He dialed Tibbet.

“What?”

“Your guys hit the sirens.” He couldn’t help the shake in his voice. “Someone just put a shot through my bedroom window.”

“Damn, I was right. Marsden owes me twenty bucks.” Paul heard the sound of rustling clothes. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Sit tight.”

“Okay if I do that on the floor?”

Tibbet laughed and cut off the call. Paul heard the doorbell, and shakily got to his feet to answer it.

By the time Tibbett arrived, the crime scene tech had dug the bullet out of the trim around his closet door and left. Paul was sweeping up the glass, wondering if he had any plastic or a board in his shed to cover the gaping window.