The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [56]
“I’m not who you want to have dinner with tonight.”
“Luke,” Rainie declared grimly, “has a big mouth!”
“Sheriff Hayes is a good friend. It’s nice to see they grow them right in Oregon, too. By the end of this evening, however, I’m gonna be even a bigger friend for you.”
“Oh yeah?”
The waitress interrupted them with heaping platters of food. The minute she was gone, Vince said, “Eat your ribs, ma’am. Then I’ll take you to Amanda Quincy’s car.”
Society Hill, Pennsylvania
Bethie was humming when they finally pulled up to her darkened town house. It was nearly ten o’clock; the moon was full and the humidity a soft, fragrant caress against her wind-burned cheeks. It had been a wonderful day, a glorious day, and while the hour was growing late, she still wasn’t ready for it to end.
“What a fabulous evening,” she said gaily.
Tristan smiled at her. Three hours ago, as the day cooled and slid into a purple-hued dusk, he’d taken off his sweater and tucked it around her shoulders. Now she snuggled in soft, cable-knit cotton, inhaling the scent of his cologne and finding it as poignant as his touch earlier in the afternoon. He’d retrieved a navy-blue blazer from the trunk for his own warmth. The jacket was finely cut but there was something about it that nagged at her. Giggling, she’d finally gotten it. He looked like an FBI agent, she teased him. He’d become a G-man. Fortunately, the comment seemed to amuse him.
“What now?” she asked.
“I believe that’s your call, love.”
“Are you playing hard to get?”
“I thought it would be an interesting change of pace.”
Bethie giggled. She was probably still feeling the effects of the champagne, she decided, because she’d never been the giggling schoolgirl type, not even when she’d been a giggling schoolgirl. Today, however, they’d had one bottle of champagne in Pennsylvania Dutch country, then another bottle back in Philadelphia, sitting down at the waterfront after a superb lobster dinner at Bookbinder’s. She’d been worried about driving home, but fortunately the champagne didn’t seem to affect Tristan at all. He was a solidly built man, and one who could apparently hold his liquor.
Interesting, she thought absently, but should a man who’d just had a kidney transplant be able to hold his liquor? She wondered when he took all his pills.
“I don’t think we’re alone anymore,” Tristan murmured.
“What? Where?” She looked around her quiet street wide-eyed. Tristan had his arm draped casually around the back of her seat. She leaned her head closer to him.
“I don’t see anyone,” she said in an exaggerated stage whisper.
“Your neighbor. Through the lace curtains.”
“Ah, good old Betty Wilson. Old bat. She’s always watching me. About time I had something good to show her.” Bethie draped her arms around Tristan’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth. He complied readily, his other arm curling around her back and trying to draw her closer only to have the gearshift get in the way. They broke apart breathlessly, thwarted by bucket seats, and she was struck once more by the taste of him on her lips, and her own desperate hunger for more.
His eyes had grown dark again. She loved it when they held that intense, burning gleam.
“Bethie . . .” he said thickly.
“Oh God, come inside!”
He smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Virginia
The salvage yard was dark and deserted, but Officer Amity had come well equipped. He handed out two high-powered flashlights, then strapped a fanny pack filled with tools around his waist. Rainie was impressed.
“I didn’t take you for the breaking and entering type,” she told him.
Amity shrugged. “When I called earlier, the owner wasn’t big on cooperation. Salvage yards can be that way. They’ve paid for the vehicles and they’re afraid to have their newfound property seized as part of a police case. Understandable maybe, but why should you and I keep beating our heads against a wall, when we’re both so capable of scaling a chain-link fence?”
“I can do fences,” Rainie assured him. “Dobermans have me a little more concerned.”
“No dogs.