The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [55]
“Just because you survive, doesn’t mean you’ll end up happily-ever-after,” she yelled at him. “Just because you cope, doesn’t mean you’ll win. Bad things can still happen. There’s the jackals, you know. And, and . . . jackals everywhere . . .”
“Good night, Rainie.”
He wasn’t going to stop. It was her turn to make the effort; fair was fair. Funny, she’d never thought about it until now, but in her family, no one was ever encouraged to stay.
“It’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks,” she muttered in her own defense. But Quincy was already gone and there wasn’t anyone else left to hear.
The hour was growing late, dusk beginning to fall. In his car, Quincy used his cell phone to call his ex-wife. But once more he got the machine.
Rainie didn’t have a cell phone. She went into the restaurant and used the pay phone in the lobby.
“Hey, Big Boy,” she said a moment later. “Let me buy you a drink.”
14
Virginia
By nine P.M., Rainie was edgy and tense. She’d returned to her motel for a quick shower before meeting Officer Amity—who was now suggesting that she call him Vince. In her room, she discovered a phone message from the same lawyer who’d called that morning. Some attorney named Carl Mitz was all hot and bothered to get in touch with her. He’d left numbers for his pager and his cell phone. Rainie studied the numbers without calling any of them.
Prospective clients were never this eager. Prospective clients made it their business to make you find them.
Rainie put the message aside. She showered. She washed her hair. She stood for a long, long time with the hot water beating down on her neck and shoulders. Then she put on the same old clothes and headed for the bar.
Officer Vince Amity was already there. He’d also showered and now wore a black western dress shirt tucked into a faded pair of jeans and finished with a pair of scuffed-up boots. The shirt stretched across broad shoulders. When he stood, the jeans barely contained the bulge of his thighs. A fine specimen of a man. The proverbial hunk of burning love.
Rainie ordered her bottle of Bud Light and told herself she did not miss Quincy.
“Ribs here are really good,” Vince said.
“Okay.”
“And the sweet potato fries. Ever had sweet potato fries? Worth every minute of the ensuing open-heart surgery.”
“Okay.” The waitress came by. They placed their twin orders for ribs and sweet potato fries and the minute the waitress was gone, Vince gamely tried again.
“So how long do you think you’ll be in Virginia?”
“Don’t know. Right now, I have more questions than answers, so at this rate it could be a while.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Motel Six.”
“Virginia has more to offer than Motel Six, you know. Ever have some free time, feel like seeing any of the sights . . .”
He let the invitation trail off politely. She nodded with equal politeness. Then he surprised her by saying quietly, “I ran a background check, Rainie. You don’t have to pretend for me.”
She stiffened. She couldn’t help herself, even if she was supposedly now at peace with her past. Old habits died hard; she found she was relentlessly stroking the icy cold bottle of unconsumed beer.
“You run background checks on all your dates?” she asked finally.
“Man can’t be too careful.”
She gave his muscle-bound build a meaningful look and he rewarded her with a grin.
“You found me at work, asked a lot of questions, and kept following up,” he told her. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like to know more about the women chasing me. Besides, your friend Sheriff Hayes sang your praises from here to the Mississippi—”
“He tell you I was indicted for man one?”
“Charged but never tried.”
“Not everyone sees the difference.”
“I’m from Georgia, honey. We consider all women dangerous; it’s part of their charm.”
“The open-minded men of the South. Who would’ve thought?”
Officer Amity grinned again. He leaned over the old wood table and planted his thick forearms. “I like you,” he said bluntly, “but don’t play me for dumb.”