I Want Candy (25 page)

Turner didn’t look at him. “There was that.”

J.J. laughed. “Damn, Halliday! You mind telling me what was going on out at Cherokee Pines last night? I read your report about Candy and then I get a call from Lorraine Estes telling me that the parking lot out there was crawling with federal agents.”

Turner shrugged, peering at his stack of mail as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. “That lady’s a couple fries short of a Happy Meal, Jay. So you gonna put the story about Candy in the newspaper?”

J.J. chuckled. “I could. I
should
. The incident is part of the public record. But I spoke to Wainright Miller this morning and he said he’s undecided about filing charges, so I’m not sure how much of a story there really is.”

Turner tossed the pile of mail to the desk and smiled at J.J. “And what does Cheri say about all this?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just that she’ll smother me in my sleep if I run it.”

“You da man, Jay!”

When they stopped laughing, J.J. leaned his elbows on his knees and looked up at Turner with a no-nonsense kind of stare. “Is this another drug task force operation? Is it related to the shooting out at the Tip Top? When can we expect a bust?”

Turner frowned at him. “You know I can’t say.”

J.J. whipped out his notebook. “It’s impossible to hide shit like that around here, especially since there are just two nice bed-and-breakfasts in town and one decent motel, so it ain’t hard to figure out where everyone’s staying. And anyway, I remember Kelly O’Connor from the Waynesville bust last year—she’s kind of hard to forget. I saw her driving around town the other day, and don’t tell me she’s here for the scenery.”

Turner laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “What do you want me to say? I’ll tell you the minute we’ve made a bust and nothing before. That’s how it has to be, Jay.”

His friend sighed. “How soon?”

“Can’t be soon enough if you ask me. I’ll rest easier when this thing is shut down.”

“Meth?”

Turner shook his head. “You know I can’t say anything more. I can’t jeopardize this investigation. Please just sit tight and as soon as I got something that can go public you’ll be the first to know. Same as always, all right?”

J.J. shoved his notebook in his back pocket, suddenly very quiet. When he looked up at Turner again, he saw grave seriousness in his friend’s eyes.

“What?” Turner asked.

“Where’s your wedding ring, man?”

Just then, Bitsy knocked on the door. “It’s Reggie,” she said, barely getting the words out before Turner’s brother pushed past her through the office door.

“Jay!”

Turner observed his brother and J.J. greet each other with enthusiasm and nodded to Bitsy that it was okay. He mouthed a “thank you” to his secretary.

“Hey, come on in, Reg. Really.” Turner waved his arm around the office. “It’s not that I was in here with the door closed engaged in official department business or anything.”

Reggie laughed. “Yeah, whatever. Bitsy told me it was just J.J. so I knew damn well I wouldn’t be interrupting shit. So…” The way Reggie smiled at Turner made him squirm with discomfort. “I ran into someone interesting this morning.”

Turner glanced quickly at J.J. before he looked to Reggie again. “That’s nice. Can this wait?”

“Oh,
hell,
no!” Without being invited, Reggie pulled up a spare chair and bent himself in half, resting his elbows on his knees. “See, the thing is, I went by your house this morning, T. Mama asked me to drop off some leftover pot roast for you.”

Turner shot up out of his chair, knowing all too well where this was headed. “Listen, Reg, I’m going to have to discuss this with you later.” He stood over his brother and glared down at him. “You should go.”

Reggie only leaned back in the chair, scooted his butt forward, and crossed his legs like he was fixin’ to stay put a while. He smiled up at Turner. “Don’t worry, little brother. I got a few extra minutes before I gotta be in the showroom. I’m in no rush.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, not really.”

J.J. laughed. “What’s all this about?”

“Oh, it seems Turner had a sleepover last night.” Reggie delivered that news with a heavy dose of swagger.

“It’s not what you think,” Turner snapped.

J.J.’s eyes got big. “Say what?”

“Yep.” Reggie’s grin spread. “The lovely Candace Carmichael was just on her way out when I came in. And listen, I haven’t seen that girl in a long, long time, and all I gotta say is,
damn,
she turned out
fine
.”

Turner shook his head in disgust and returned to his chair. He knew that no matter how much he tried to explain himself to Reggie he’d only dig the hole deeper. It was a lesson he’d learned a long time ago.

J.J. coughed. Turner looked up at him and nodded his admission.

“Wow,” J.J. whispered.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mama,” Reggie said.

Just then, Bitsy tapped on the door and poked her head in. “May I have a word, Sheriff?”

“Absolutely!” Turner was glad for the interruption. “Gentlemen,” he said, standing. “So sorry but it’s time you—”

“No.” Bitsy cut him off. Her eyes were quite big. “It would be best if they stay in there and you come out here.”

Turner left Reggie and J.J. behind, knowing the two of them would have a rip-roaring good time in his absence. But he couldn’t worry about that now because Bitsy looked dead serious.

“The conference room,” she said with a crisp nod. “I’ll make sure your visitors are escorted out.”

Without delay, Turner opened the conference room door, where he found Kelly O’Connor and undercover agent Dante Cabrera, who had been beaten black and blue.

*   *   *

Candy knew it was ridiculous to feel this way, but she couldn’t help it—she felt a little disappointed. It was after ten o’clock and Turner wasn’t home. He hadn’t shown up at Lenny’s for lunch as he’d promised. He hadn’t even called. She’d spent the evening by herself in his house, watching satellite TV, eating a chef’s salad she’d brought home from the diner, and scribbling in her notebook.

Of course, he didn’t owe her an explanation as to where he was and when he’d be back. She wasn’t his wife—hell, she wasn’t even his girlfriend. Not really. In fact, the longer she thought about it, the more Candy realized she didn’t know what she was to him. What did it mean when a man called you “beautiful” and “baby” and brought you back to his house where he snuggled with you until you fell asleep? What did it mean when a man licked ice cream off your cleavage in a park and told you that you drove him fuckin’ crazy? What did it mean when a man made it perfectly clear that when the opportunity presented itself the two of you were going to go ravish each other?

Candy supposed all those things made her Turner Halliday’s
potential
girlfriend.

Okay, then. His potential girlfriend missed him, and she was disappointed that he hadn’t come home.

Candy wandered through the house, careful not to do anything that might be considered “nosy” while still getting herself acquainted with her surroundings. Turner’s bedroom was decorated in typical bachelor style—a brown and blue striped comforter, bare wood floors, very little on the walls. She guessed that he’d changed the look after Junie died, maybe to spare him from memories too painful to deal with every morning when he woke and every night when he tried to fall asleep.

Interestingly enough, there was only one photo of Turner and Junie that Candy had seen in the house. It was on the living room fireplace mantel, and it was a photograph from their wedding reception. The two of them were beaming, breathless, dancing with each other like no one else in the world existed.

Candy picked up the silver-plated frame so she could examine it closer. Junie had certainly been an attractive woman, her dark curls clipped loose at the back of her head, her exquisite white lace wedding dress tight on her slim frame. It struck her how perfectly Junie seemed to fit in Turner’s embrace, and how much love was conveyed in the way she looked into her new husband’s eyes.

And then there was Turner. She felt the slightest shiver of jealousy at his expression. He appeared transfixed by the woman in his arms. His handsome face was radiant. His smile was dazzling. Every bit of his attention was focused on her, his wife.

With a sigh, Candy placed the frame back where it had been, and in doing so noticed that a thin film of dust had settled on the mantel. She smiled. She could clean! It would pass the time. It would help earn her keep.

An hour and a half later, Turner’s house was spotless. She’d vacuumed, dusted, made beds, mopped the kitchen, and scoured both bathrooms, and all the while she’d let her mind swing back and forth between the questions and answers that haunted her.

Could Turner ever love her?

What a ridiculous question—she was leaving in two and a half months and that was that.

How would she compare to Junie? What if she wasn’t as sexy as Turner’s wife or as funny or as smart?

What a ridiculous question—she was probably leaving in a couple months.

And what if Candy fell hopelessly, madly, passionately in love with Turner Halliday? What would she do? What would happen?

What a ridiculous question. She probably would be leaving at some point.

To celebrate a job well done—and to clear her head—Candy took a long, hot shower. Then she painted her toenails in a dusky pink Lancôme shade she found at the bottom of one of her boxes.

It was twelve-thirty. Still no word from Turner.

Eventually, Candy gave up waiting. She checked to make sure the front door was locked and fell into the guest bed, exhausted, lonely, all her thoughts on Turner.

And she dreamed his arms encircled her, his weight was heavy against her, and the rhythm of his breathing rocked her to sleep.

*   *   *

Turner opened the front door and entered the house as quietly as possible, something he hadn’t needed to do for more than four years. He tossed his ball cap on the kitchen counter and took off his work shoes, leaving them on the rug by the front door. As he moved through the living room he stopped, sniffed, and whirled around.

The place was
clean
. Not that he’d ever let it get disgusting, but its current condition went way beyond tidy. It was immaculate.

He sighed. Candy shouldn’t have done this. He didn’t want her doing anything for him. She was his guest. She was …

Turner stopped in the hallway and peeked into the guest room. She’d fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on, a notebook and pen tossed aside, and one of her bare legs stretched out on top of the covers. A lump formed in his throat as he gazed at her. He itched to brush his fingertips down the back of her thigh, knee, calf. He yearned to put his nose in her blond curls and breathe deep. He ached to feel his lips on her soft and warm cheek.

Turner had to smile at how fast and completely he responded to Candy. His body was already humming and buzzing to life, simply being in close proximity to her.

Using all the self-restraint he possessed, Turner stepped into the room and turned off her lamp, then closed the guest room door.

He was so tired his body hurt. The day had been a crazy rush of emergency meetings with the task force and prosecutors, with efforts to obtain search warrants for the Spivey property and an arrest warrant for Gerrall, who had gone missing after the ruckus. With the picture Dante painted for them today, everyone agreed they were going to have to move fast before someone got killed in the chaos out in Preston Valley. Dante insisted it was safe for him to go back in, that no one had any suspicions about his identity, but Kelly fought him hard. Finally, it was agreed that he go to the Western Carolina Medical Center’s emergency room under his assumed identity, and go back to work with Spivey once he was patched up.

This entire operation was making Turner increasingly uncomfortable. Gerrall being unaccounted for made him anxious as hell, especially after Dante’s description of his erratic behavior the night he got fired. He wanted nothing more than to arrest Bobby Ray and his crew, shut down the meth lab, and get Gerrall behind bars.

Turner stripped out of his uniform and took a quick shower. He set his alarm for six and pulled down the neatly made bedcovers, slipping inside with a groan of relief. The weeks of pulling double shifts were really starting to wear him down. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.

And he waited.

A half hour later, Turner sat up in bed and flipped on the light, knowing there was no way in hell his mind and spirit could rest while his physical form was on alert the way it was. His dick was so hard it was uncomfortable. It was as if his body instinctively sensed Candy’s presence through the wall, down the hall, behind the shut door. He was nuts if he thought sleep would find him.

Turner rubbed his hands over his face and sighed with frustration. He looked up in surprise when he thought he heard a soft tapping at his bedroom door. He listened carefully. There it was again.

“Yes?” he asked, his blood pounding in his head.

Candy pushed the door open a crack and peered in, a smile on her sleepy face. “Are you okay?” she asked, blinking into the light.

Turner couldn’t speak at first. She stood there in an old T-shirt and a pair of panties—at least he assumed there were panties involved but the shirt came down to the tops of her thighs so he couldn’t be sure—and he could see the outline of her breasts. He could see her hard little nipples under the thin cotton fabric. Turner bunched the covers up over his erection, suddenly, painfully aware of his own nakedness.

This felt way too dangerous.

“Fine. Good.”

“I was worried about you,” she said, yawning, raking her fingers through all that thick hair. Turner noticed that she shifted her weight and stretched out one of those gloriously long legs, letting it poke through the crack in the door. He had to believe she didn’t know what she was doing to him. He had to believe that she was half asleep and didn’t realize she was driving him insane.