Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (116 page)

Maddie had her eye on a new dance partner.

“Do you mind?” she said.

I smiled.

“Go.”

She patted me on the leg. “Be right back.”

She hopped off the stool, pulled the rubber band back out, and fluffed her hair with her fingers. She reached Brad Paisley Guy, and a conversation ensued. Strange, but he wasn’t looking at her while he was talking—he was staring at me—or at least trying to over the dim-lit lights in the room. Maddie said something, and when he replied, she spun around on her heel and huffed all the way back over to me.

“What did he say?” I said.

“Maybe later.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?” I said.

“He actually said ‘maybe later.’”

“At least it wasn’t a no, right?”

But we both knew it was. And Maddie wasn’t used to rejection. In an act of defiance, and to increase her no-guy-can-resist-me points, Maddie turned to the man sitting to her left and smiled. He wasted no time buying her a drink.

Brad Paisley Guy approached the DJ, striking up a conversation. They talked for a minute, and then the DJ nodded. The next song started. It was some flip-your-partner-dosey-do kind of thing. I’d never understood the fascination with country dancing and all its flinging and twirling. Maybe it was because I’d never tried it before—I’d never been interested.

“Was you planning on dancing tonight?” a husky voice said.

I turned around, coming face to face with Brad Paisley Guy. “You mean were you?”

He held his hand up to his ear like he couldn’t hear me. “Sorry, what? It’s a little loud in here.”

“You just said ‘was’ instead of ‘were.’” I suddenly felt stupid for pointing it out like I was the bar’s grammar police. It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t ever see him again.

Brad Paisley Guy rolled the toothpick dangling from his lips from one corner of his mouth to the other and squinted. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Maybe I am—how would you know?”

He took his time looking me up and down like he wanted me to know it. “Nope, you’re definitely not a country girl.”

His tone didn’t seem offensive, but it bothered me anyway.

“Did you want something?” I said

“I’m Cade,” he said, tipping his hat forward. “What’s your name?”

I pointed to Maddie who was engrossed in her conversation with the man who’d bought her the drink, even though I knew her gift of “ear extend” was on high alert. “That’s Maddie.”

He laughed. “I meant your name.”

“I know what you meant,” I said. “Do you have a last name?”

The side of his lip curled up into a smile and he winked. “Sure do. Do you answer everything with a question?”

Before I could say anything else, he placed his hands on my waist, lifted me out of the chair, and dragged me onto the dance floor.

“I don’t do this,” I said. “Please, don’t—”

I tried to back away, but he grabbed my hands, pulling me in until we were so close I could feel his hot, minty breath on my cheek.

“You don’t do what, dance?”

“Not country,” I said.

He laughed and released one of his hands, wrapping it around my waist. Over the next few minutes I felt like I was sitting in an oversized teacup at a theme park—the kind of ride where at least one person usually threw up before it was over. My body flipped, dipped, and whipped into positions I didn’t even know were still possible.

The song ended with me in the dipped position, my head about three inches from the floor. Cade held me there for a few moments, staring into my eyes, but saying nothing.

“Were you going to let me go at some point?” I said.

“Yeah, sorry.”

He stood me upright but didn’t let go.

“Can I have my hand back too?” I said.

He released me and walked away without saying another word.

What just happened? And why is he walking off? Is it a country/western thing? I didn’t know.

“Umm, I think he likes you,” Maddie said when I returned to my seat.

“It was one dance,” I said, holding up a finger. “Besides, I’m dating Giovanni, and I don’t even know the guy.”

Maddie nudged me with her shoulder. “He’s still looking at you.”

I didn’t dare look over. “Can we please leave now? I’ve had enough.”

She frowned but took pity on me. A minute later, we were back in the parking lot as if the last hour had never happened.

I said something to Maddie, but she didn’t hear me.

“Maddie, are you listening?” I said.

“What? Yeah.”

“No, you’re not. What are you looking at?”

She pointed to a truck parked under a lamppost. “Nice wheels,” Maddie said. “I could see myself with the guy who drives that.”

“What are you looking…”

I looked over. It couldn’t be—but it was. A truck. A shiny, black Dodge Ram with a grille in the front and Cade gripping the door handle, about to jump inside.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rage consumed me. Cade whatever-his-last-name-was, had been following me. I wanted to yell—scratch that—I wanted to scream, but when my mouth opened, all I could manage was, “You,” followed by my pointer finger swirling around in the air like a dagger while I continued to shout, “You—you—you—you—you!”

Cade released the door handle and held his hands up, surrendering to my finger dagger. “Now hold on just a minute, Sloane. Let me explain, okay?”

“No, you hold on! You think you can walk up to me in some bar pretending you’ve never seen me before in your life, and that’s okay?! Why did you ask for my name if you already knew it?”

He smoothed a bit of dirt around with the toe of his boot, like he thought moving a bit of dust would help him decide what to say next. Or not to say.

“You’ve been following me,” I said. “I want to know why.”

When he didn’t respond, Maddie walked over and stood next to me, hands on hips. She had no idea what was going on, but it didn’t matter. “Sloane asked you a question—I suggest you answer it.”

He looked at the two of us like he found the whole thing amusing. “And if I don’t?”I placed both hands on the door of his truck, slamming it shut. “You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

Cade glanced at me and then at Maddie and laughed so hard I thought the toothpick in his mouth would come shooting out. He grabbed it with his hand, flinging it to the ground.

“What’s so funny?” I said.

He tossed his hat through the open window of the truck and tipped his head to the side. “You’re a lot feistier when you’re not on the dance floor. A lot more confident, too.”

Maddie and I crossed our arms in synchronized motion and remained silent.

“All right, ladies,” he said. “The name’s Cade McCoy. Satisfied?”

McCoy? The last name was familiar, but it took me a moment to place it. “As in Walter McCoy, the lead detective in Savannah Tate’s case? Are you related?”

He nodded.

“Walter is my dad.”

“Is he having you follow me?”

Maddie had a look on her face like she was the only one who hadn’t received an invitation to Cade’s coming out party. “He’s been following you?” She turned to me. “You’ve been following her? Someone tell me what’s going on.”

“Not exactly,” Cade said.

“Then what exactly?” I said.

“I’m helping my dad.”

“Don’t you need permission?”

“I got it. The chief and my dad go way back.”

“I didn’t know stalking me was part of the job description,” I said.

“Now hold on. I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

Maddie crossed one leg over the other, uncrossed them, and crossed them back again, something she always did when she needed to use the ladies’ room.

“Go,” I said to her.

“Oh no. I’m not leaving you alone with this—”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “But you won’t be. Now go.”

Once Maddie was out of earshot, Cade said, “I need your help. Tate won’t talk to me. My dad says he’s been actin’ weird lately, like somethin’s going on, but he can’t get anything out of him.”

“What makes you think I can help you?” I said.

“A couple days ago, you met with Tate. He handed you money.”

“What you saw was an envelope, nothing more.”

He shook his head.

“Do you really think you can bullshit me? You’re a private investigator; I know why you’re here.”

“I don’t need a license to snoop around in Wyoming,” I said. “Why are you here? This isn’t your case; why get involved?”

“My father is retiring in a few months. I’m taking over his position.”

It was a bit of a shock, but not unexpected. Although I tried not to show it, I admired Cade for what he was doing. His father needed all the help he could get. “Did you ever consider picking up the phone instead of following me around?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d talk to me. Look, solving this case means everything to my father. If there’s anything I can do to help him, I will.”

I felt like swirling my own foot around in the dirt. The conversation was headed in the direction Cade wanted to take me, but I wasn’t sure it would lead to a place I was ready to go.

“You realize I am under no obligation to tell you what I talked about with my client, right?” I said.

“You’ll have to if I bring you in.”

“Go for it.”

“Will you at least tell me why you met with him?”

I shook my head.

“So, you’re not willin’ to help me at all, then?”

“I work alone,” I said.

“And your, uh, friend?”

“Don’t let her outgoing nature and lack of a classy dress choice fool you; she’s smarter than you think.”

“Who’s smarter?” came a voice from behind.

“No one, Maddie,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I walked toward the car, stopping a moment to glance back at Cade before getting inside. “Good luck.”

“I’d like to know where you’re staying—or if you’re staying.”

“It’s none of your concern,” I said. “Stop following me.”

“You shouldn’t even be here.”

“I’m not leaving,” I said.

“Good. Neither am I.”

“Oh, and the next time you want something, don’t tail me to try and get it. I don’t go for all this sneaking around. People get shot that way.”

He nodded.

“Straight shooter, got it.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The phone rang. It was Giovanni. I contemplated my options: let it ring, send the call to voicemail, or answer it. It was late, and my eyes were only about twenty-five percent open. I wasn’t up for a conversation with anyone, especially him. Still, I wondered where he’d been the past several days. Why he hadn’t called, texted, or communicated with me? I wanted answers, but I was too drained to care. I needed sleep. It was his turn to wait.

I tossed the phone to the side and rolled over, appreciating the hotel for using duvets on their beds instead of those cheap tapestry-looking comforters from the eighties. Or was it the seventies? It bugged me that the cover bedding was seldom washed, like slapping on a set of sheets made up for a bedspread that contained more germs per inch than the inside of a frat boy’s toilet. I couldn’t sleep at night no matter where I was without folding the top sheet over the comforter. It was like a protective layer between me and unwanted germs, and I justified myself by thinking everyone had the same little rituals. Didn’t they?

According to a news report I’d seen on TV, the remote and light switches were the areas that contained some of the highest amounts of germs in a hotel room. Since entering, I’d only disinfected the TV remote and the light switch next to my bed. That wasn’t too bad, was it? I didn’t intend to turn on the bathroom faucets using my elbows or flush the toilet with my foot; I wasn’t a germaphobe, I was germ-aware. Big difference.

The phone rang again, which meant Giovanni would keep calling until I answered. He was unstoppable when he wanted something, and I needed sleep. I picked it up.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hello, cara mia. It’s good to hear your voice.”

It was nice to hear his too, but the sweet talk wasn’t going to work. Not this time.

“Are you there?” he said.

“I’m here,” I said.

“Say something.”

“Like what?” I said.

“Anything.”