The Witness (20 page)

“I got over it, or figured I had. Then I moved to Little Rock, did ten years. When I came back, the woman in question was in the process of shedding husband number two.”

“I see.”

He realized how it all sounded, how he made Sylbie sound—all from his perspective. “She’s not as hard-hearted as I’m making her, but I’m still a little pissed off, and that colors it. So when I came back, took the job here, I was busy for the first couple months. Settling in, and my father wasn’t well.”

“I’m sorry. I hope he’s better.”

“He is, thanks. He’s good. A little while back, Sylbie and I revisited the past, we’ll say.”

“You had sex with her.”

“I did, a time or two. A couple weeks ago, we had an encore. But it just wasn’t there for me.” He studied his wine with a frown. “Maybe you can’t go back.”

“Why would you, if what was back was a mistake?”

“Good point. But, you know, sex. I decided I had to resist yet another repeat performance, and I’d have to tell her—which I should have done straight out instead of evading, avoiding. This afternoon, she … well, what she did was have the guy who runs the shop where she has some of her art displayed, and where she works part-time, call me down there. Officially.”

His conversational style, Abigail thought, was like his mother’s. Personal, rambling. Fascinating. “He reported a crime?”

“A dispute, which required my intervention. Instead, she’s there alone, with the idea we’ll make some use of the back room.”

“To have sex?”

“Yeah. I’m reasonably sure that was the plan, particularly since when I didn’t jump on that idea, she dropped her dress. She just”—he flicked out a hand—“dropped it, and she’s standing there in her skin and red shoes.”

“She’s confident, and was probably certain of your agreement.”

“Confident on some levels, and I didn’t agree. I was …”

“You said it was awkward and uncomfortable.”

“It was all that. Not that I didn’t …”

“You were aroused. It’s natural.”

“Like a reflex. But mostly? It just pissed me off. I was on duty, for God’s sake, and she sweet-talked an easy mark to call me down.”

Abigail considered it a fascinating example of human dynamics and miscommunication. “It appears she might not fully understand how seriously you take your duties.”

“I’m not a horny teenager. I’m the chief of the goddamn police.”

The spike of his temper, and the guilt so clearly wrapped around it, added another level of interest. “You’re still angry with her, and with yourself for the natural reflex.”

“I guess I am. I had to tell her I didn’t want her—partly because of ground I already covered here, partly because, for Christ’s sake, she didn’t show an ounce of respect for either of us. Another part was knowing I was going to have to slap poor Grover back for making the call, scare the shit out of him so he didn’t pull a stunt like that again.”

“That’s several parts.”

“And I’ve got one more. I realized when I was looking at this beautiful, naked woman I’d once loved the way you love when you’re sixteen, I didn’t want her for all the reasons I just said. And because I want you.”

She turned away, stirred the soup again. It was fitting, she supposed, as he stirred something in her.

“I said I wouldn’t have sex with you. Do you think I said that to pique your interest?”

“No. I think you say just what’s on your mind, except what you’ve got behind locked doors in there. But I figure you wouldn’t have brought it up if you hadn’t had some level of want in there yourself.”

She turned back, remained standing across the counter from him. “It was probably unwise for you to come here when you’re still a little angry and most likely experiencing some residual arousal from this incident.”

“God, I like the way you talk. And you’re right, it wasn’t the smartest move.”

“If I reconsidered because—”

She broke off when he lifted a hand. “Do me a favor? Don’t reconsider right yet. If you changed your mind on it, I’d be hard-pressed to pass it up. If you didn’t, well, I’d just be depressed. I didn’t come by for sex, though, like I said, hard-pressed. Let’s just take it off the table for tonight. I’d be willing to settle for some of that soup, some conversation.”

She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to find herself engaged by a man—a police officer—who talked his way past her guard and sat in her kitchen, drawing out her interest with a personal story.

Logically, she should tell him to go. But she didn’t want to, and wondered what would happen if she did something just a little foolish.

“I planned to watch a movie with dinner.”

“I like movies.”

“I was going to watch
Steel Magnolias.
”

He let out a long, long sigh. “I probably deserve that.”

When she smiled, it seemed to him the whole room lit up.

“Actually, I was going to watch
Live Free or Die Hard.
”

“I should’ve brought you more flowers.”

H
E DISCOVERED SHE WAS
a damn good cook, and that he liked raspberry vinaigrette just fine. He also learned she watched a movie with quiet intensity—no chatter.

That was fine with him, especially since the dog appeared accustomed enough to his presence to curl up and sleep at Abigail’s feet. Though Brooks had no doubt if he made the wrong move, Bert would be up, alert, and have him pinned with those unblinking eyes, if not the teeth.

He relaxed himself. Good food, a good movie, a simmering fire and a quiet woman. When the credits rolled, she rose to gather the dishes.

As expected, the dog came to attention, shot Brooks a look that said: I’m watching you, buddy.

“I’ll take care of that.”

“No. I have my own way.”

“I’ll help you take them back, then.” He stacked bowls before she could decline. “You turned my mood around, Abigail,” he said as they walked back to the kitchen.

“I’m glad I could help.” She set dishes on the counter, turned to him. “You should go now.”

He had to laugh. “Okay. Listen, why don’t I pay you back for the mood changer. Take you out to dinner.”

“We just had dinner.”

“Some other time.”

“I don’t go out to dinner.”

“Ever?”

“As a rule, I’m more comfortable here.”

“I’ll bring dinner, then. I’m very skilled at picking up pizza.”

She liked pizza. “It’s not necessary.”

“Neither was letting me have soup and Bruce Willis. Consider it balancing the scales. I bet you like things nice and balanced.”

“I’m not good company.”

“You’re wrong about that. I’ll call you.”

“I haven’t given you any contact numbers.”

“Abigail.” He brushed a finger down her cheek, a gesture so casually intimate her pulse scrambled. “I’m a cop.”

She couldn’t forget that, she reminded herself. Couldn’t afford to forget that. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Do you have to remind the dog I’m a friend every time I kiss you?” he asked when she’d unlocked the door.

“Not unless I give him a different command.”

“Okay.”

This time he put his hands on her hips, stepped in to her. He took her mouth as those hands skimmed up her body, awakening nerves, kindling needs.

She did forget, for a moment. With the night air cool, his mouth
warm, she forgot everything in the pleasure of the contact. Let herself take that pleasure, let her body press against his. Parted lips, a tease of tongue and teeth, that lovely liquid weight in the belly.

She wished—she wished for his flesh under her hands, his flesh sliding hot and damp against hers. Wished, wished for his hands, his mouth on her breasts, on her body. And for the good, strong thrust of him inside her.

Yearned for that primal human contact as she hadn’t allowed herself to yearn for nearly a year.

When he broke the kiss, her mind and body waged war. If she let her body win …

Then he said, “Good night, Abigail.”

“Good night.”

“Take it easy, Bert.” He stepped out, and she welcomed the cool rush of air. Then he paused, looked back at her with those changeable eyes, that easy, effortless smile. “Wine, conversation, dinner, a movie and a good-night kiss. Definitely a second date.”

“It—”

“You could look up the definition. I’d say we hit it. I’m looking forward to date number three.”

When she shut the door without a word, he grinned.

Arousal, he thought, as he grinned his way to his truck, wasn’t always just a reflex. Sometimes it was a result.

A
FTER HIS
M
ONDAY MEETING WITH THE SELECTMEN, WHERE
he always felt a little bit like a fraud, Brooks headed over to Lindy’s with Russ Conroy. Old friend, current selectman, and just-announced mayoral candidate for the fall election.

“Mayor Conroy.”

“That’s the plan. Vote early, vote often.”

Brooks shook his head. They’d gone through school together from kindergarten right through high school graduation. They’d played ball together, with Russ on the mound, Brooks at third. They’d lied and bitched about girls, then women—and if it hadn’t been a lie on Russ’s side, they’d lost their virginity within the same week.

He’d served as best man at Russ’s wedding three years before, and stood as godfather for their daughter when Cecily was born some eighteen months later.

He’d seen Russ, a redheaded runt with a face full of freckles and teeth too big for his head, go from grumbling general dogsbody at the pretty hotel the Conroys owned to the buff, compact manager of same.

His love-’em-and-leave-’em, let’s-take-a-road-trip-to-Key-West friend
had become a canny businessman, a loving husband and a devoted to the point of giddy father.

But he’d never expected there’d come a day when he’d cast his vote for Mayor Russell Conroy.

“Why is that the plan?”

“I’d be good at it.” Russ pulled open the door to the diner, wagged a finger at the waitress as he aimed for a booth. “Bickford’s been good to me. It gave me a home, a living, and more, it gave me Seline and CeeCee. I want a chance at helping it grow—and stay stable, to pump up the tourist trade here and there.”

“You would be good at it.” Brooks sat back as Kim served them coffee without being asked, and as Russ chatted her up.

He’d probably been born for it, Brooks realized.

“Mayor Conroy,” Brooks murmured as he lifted his coffee.

“Chief Gleason.”

“Ain’t it a kick in the nuts? We’re the grown-ups. Especially you, Daddy.”

“Daddy times two, come September.”

“Again? Really?”

Pride and pleasure shone on Russ’s face. “As real as it gets.”

“Hey, congratulations, Russ. You do good work in that department.”

“We’re keeping it quiet for another month, but word’s getting out.” He leaned forward a bit. In the Monday-morning quiet of the diner, ears were always pricked for gossip. “Seline’s sick as three dogs in the morning. A couple of the other teachers—including your dad—noticed she was, well, we’ll say glowing some.”

“He didn’t say a word to me, and I saw him for a bit yesterday.”

“She asked him not to. Your dad’s a vault.”

“He is that.”

“So, with me being an old married man and father of one and a bump, I have to live vicariously.” Russ wiggled red eyebrows. “Hot date this past weekend?”

“I got called in just before eleven to help break up a fight at Beaters. Justin Blake, apparently taking on all comers.”

“Boy’s a troublemaker.”

“That plus belligerent, spoiled and still underage. I’m adding substance-abuse problems. His daddy didn’t appreciate me putting his firstborn in a cell.”

“Lincoln’s an older troublemaker, with the money to back it up. I’m surprised they served the kid at Beaters.”

“According to all the witnesses I talked to, they didn’t. He shoved his way in, already lit, then got rowdy when they wouldn’t serve him and tried to haul him out. Anyway, Blake dragged himself and his lawyer down to the station.”

“Doesn’t sound like a fun-filled Saturday night for you.”

“Or most of Sunday,” Brooks added. “But the kid’s out on bail. He’ll have to go to alcohol school, do some community service, pay a fine and damages. Barely nineteen, and booted out of two colleges, already with two DUIs and more moving violations than I can count. He can’t drive, legally, for another year, but it doesn’t seem to stop him from getting drunk or high, then going someplace else to pick a fight.”

“Ah, youth.”

Brooks gestured with his coffee. “We were never that stupid, or that arrogant.”

“We were pretty stupid, but no, not that. We never got behind the wheel after we got piss-faced on beer we were too young to buy and drink.” Russ sat back, shoved a flop of his carrot-juice mop off his forehead. “You need a Saturday night off, son. You know Seline’s got a list of eligible friends she’s dying to pair up with you.”

“I’ll kill you first, and as chief of police, I know how to get away with it.”

“Just saying. Unless you’re still bumping hips with Sylbie.”

“That’s done. Good and done.”

“Then—”

“Actually, I’ve spent some time recently with Abigail Lowery.”

“No shit?” Eyes bright, Russ edged forward again. “Do tell, and I mean do.”

“I’ve got to get to work.”

“You can’t drop that and not follow through.”

“Let’s just say she’s interesting, mysterious, sexy without trying to be. She’s got a dog who looks big enough and smart enough to operate heavy machinery. And she can handle a Glock.”

“Then why’s she spending time with you?”

“I keep getting in her way. I’ve got to get to work. Pay for the coffee, and I’ll vote for you.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Hey, come on over for dinner, bring the lady.”

“I’m still working on her getting used to letting me into the house,” Brooks said as he slid out of the booth. “Getting her out of it’s going to take more doing.”

I
N THE LATE AFTERNOON
, Brooks took some personal time and ran the errands to complete a mission. By the time he’d finished them and drove to his parents’ house, his father had changed from his work clothes to his gardening clothes.