Chapter Thirty-One SCARLETT

Chapter Thirty-One

S CARLETT

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

8:30 p.m.

I stood outside Luke’s condo door, a bottle of red wine in one hand and white in the other. I’d spent a half hour deliberating what he might like, if these bottles were fancy enough, or if stylish graphic labels equated to good flavor.

Inside, the faint sounds of music drifted. Jazz. Which made sense. Luke struck me as a kind of classy individual whose tastes rose above pop. I rang the bell.

Footsteps moved toward the door. I drew in a breath. I’d not been alone in an apartment with a man, well, ever. Doors closing behind me still messed with my head.

When the door snapped open, I flinched. I tried to recover and smile, but he didn’t miss my display of nerves.

“You made it,” he said easily.

“I did.” A smile sputtered on my lips.

He wore jeans, a faded T-shirt, and some generic brown shoes. He smelled of fresh soap, and his hair was damp. I held up the wine bottles as if they were proof that I was excited about the evening. Still, I remained on my side of the threshold.

“Do you want to come in, or are you going to toss those bottles at me and run?” he asked.

“I’m coming in.” The words sounded as if they’d been wrenched from my throat.

He stepped aside and held out his hand, giving me a wide berth.

I walked past him, feeling the buzz of energy in his body. His place was neat, furnished in a midcentury-modern style. Lots of teak, slim, low furniture, and light fixtures that were geometric space age. The kitchen was attached and there were two other closed doors. One had to be the bedroom, and I guessed the other was a closet or a spare.

The door closed softly behind me. “You can set the bottles on the kitchen counter.”

I moved toward the slate of white quartz and a tray of cheese and crackers. Two pots simmered on the stove—one for sauce and the other steaming water.

“Nothing fancy,” he said.

My bottles clinked faintly against the counter. “I live on sandwiches, so this is a major step up for me.”

He moved past me into the kitchen and opened a cabinet to a collection of matching wineglasses. That was another step up for me. I was all about mason jars. “Red or white?”

“Red.” It was the first of the two offerings, so I defaulted to it. Truth was, I could drink either.

He uncorked the red, poured it through a diffuser, and handed me a glass. “How was your day?”

Stalking Lynn might not be a good dinner conversation starter. “Working on the prints. All colors have been applied.”

“If they’re anything like the pieces you auctioned off for the Judge, I’ll buy one.”

“Proceeds go to the recreation center.”

“I know.”

“Where are you going to hang it?”

“My bedroom.”

“Nice.”

“Do you see your art displayed often?”

“Almost never.” I moved closer to the counter, and he remained on his side. Fear boiled. This felt like that moment I’d stood at Tanner’s open van door. My life would change after this.

“Eyes forward.”

“Yes.” I sipped. “Tell me about your week. Win any cases?”

“No. Lots of prep. Going to trial on a corporate case in a couple of weeks. The hope is that I’ll be so sharp and prepared that the other side will settle before trial.”

“You don’t want to fight it out in front of a judge?”

“Not if I can help it. Always better if these things can be settled privately.”

“That I do understand. No one likes their life on display.”

“Has it been like that since Tanner Reed?”

“Not much of a tiptoer, are you?”

His gaze didn’t budge off my face. “Hard when you have big feet. That a problem?”

“It’s kind of a relief.”

“Good. Because these feet will never be subtle.”

I’d wanted ordinary, and he was dishing it up with a glass of red wine. “It was a big deal in the first two or three years after. It’s not fun. You survive a trauma and then everyone else wants to relive it over and over. You want to get beyond it but feel anchored by it.” I sipped more wine, realizing I was headed to oversharing. “But in the last few years, I think everyone has basically forgotten. Which is good.”

“But.” He stared at me over the rim of his glass.

“But? What do you mean?”

“You can tell me to back off anytime. But I have a special radar for the unsaid. Believe it or not, some clients lie to their lawyers.”

I chuckled. His radar must be buzzing loud now. “How familiar are you with the case?”

“Versed well enough.”

“Remember the girl in the diner?”

“Rescued right before Tanner was caught?”

“That’s a kind way of putting it. The girl I tried to lure into a van.”

His gaze sharpened. “You called for help, according to the reports.”

“Her name is Tiffany Patterson. She connected with me about six months ago. She’s a drug addict. And I’m trying to help her. So far, with limited success.”

He frowned. “Drug addiction is difficult.”

“I’ve learned that.” I swirled my wine. “Detective Kevin Dawson paid me a couple of visits.”

“About Tiffany?”

“No. A body was found in the wall of a house around the corner from where my mother and I once lived. It was the body of a girl who vanished shortly before I did. Her name was Sandra and she dated Tanner once.”

“Does Dawson have more information on the cold case?”

“If he does, he’s not sharing. But he seems to think I know more about the girl and what was happening in Tanner’s house.” I drew in a breath. “Now, if you’re thinking I’m a little too complicated, no harm, no foul.”

He set his glass down on the counter. “I’m not scared off. In full disclosure, I have a history with Dawson. I can’t get into case details, but we didn’t see eye to eye on some of his choices regarding his ex-wife’s crimes.”

“Crimes?”

“Tiffany isn’t the only one with a substance abuse issue.”

“And he tried to cover it up?”

“Yes. I wanted to press the issue and file charges, but my boss didn’t want me to tarnish Dawson’s reputation. He has a solid arrest record. It’s part of the reason I left for private practice.”

“Now I’m curious.”

He shook his head slowly. “He loved his ex-wife. His devotion to her was a blind spot.”

“I guess we all have them.”

“Maybe.”

“Dawson isn’t going to let this case go until he closes it.” I met his gaze. “Too problematic yet?”

“Not yet.”

I shook my head. “The night is young. And you never know with me.”

A brow arched. “Is tossing a salad too much to ask?”

Tension melted. “I can handle lettuce.”

“Good.” He reached in the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of dressing and a wooden bowl filled with iceberg lettuce. “You toss, I’ll set the food on the table.”

“Most men would be running for the hills.”

He grinned. “As you said, the night is still young.”

Dinner proved to be relaxed and fun. Luke told stories from his days in the district attorney’s office, and I shared stories about turning my art into a business. I helped him clear the table, but I was still careful not to touch him, and he didn’t press.

“Can I make you a coffee?” he asked.

“Thanks, but I won’t sleep tonight if you do.”

He leaned against the counter, the expanse of his chest pressing against his shirt. “I can drink it 24/7 and be fine.”

“And you can sleep?”

“Like the dead.”

“That’s nice.” I’d never been a great sleeper, and I often woke at 2:00 a.m. and found myself staring at the ceiling.

He came around the counter and stood inches from me. He didn’t touch, but he could grab me in a second. “Tonight has to be a dating record for you.”

“We’ve set a very high bar.”

“I like breaking records.” His fingers flexed and relaxed.

He wanted to kiss me. I wasn’t so lost in my own head as not to recognize male attraction. His natural reaction normally was enough to turn off my brain. But I didn’t want to shut down, so I struggled to stay present.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” he asked.

The stretch of silence was short. “I do.”

“I’ll let you take the lead on this one. If you want to kiss me, then do it.”

I’d broken many of the bindings Tanner had wrapped around my emotions over the years. I’d created a business that was doing well. I volunteered. I displayed my art at the festivals in the NEON district. But I was completely bound when it came to intimacy. Generally, a step forward meant a step back.

I moved toward him. I was so close I could feel the energy emitting from the rise and fall of his chest. The scent of his aftershave wrapped around me. Heat radiated from him. He stared down, as still as stone. My fight-or-flight response was sledgehammering against my chest.

I rose on my toes and carefully pressed my lips to his. They were warm, soft but not soft. He was clean shaven, which meant he must have shaved for a second time today. Tanner often didn’t shave. The hair on his face was rough, and he liked rubbing his stubble over the tenderest parts of my body.

Luke was not Tanner.

Not Tanner.

Fear slowly seeped into my bones, but I ignored it. I placed my hands on Luke’s sides. Lean muscle remained steady, and his breath didn’t hitch or speed up. I leaned into his body. I teased his lips with my tongue, and a growl rumbled in his chest as he leaned into me. When I pulled back, I realized his hands were on my hips.

“That was a G-rated kiss,” I said, understanding full well what the dirtiest X-rated versions entailed.

“It’s nice.” His voice had deepened and developed an edge.

At twenty-five, I had more experience than a sex worker and less than most teenagers. How long would a man like him put up with me? This was going to end. He would realize I wasn’t normal. And that would be that. G-rated kisses only sustained a relationship so long. In the past I hadn’t been disappointed by men who ran from me, but I suspected this time I might be sad.

“I should probably get going,” I said softly.

He didn’t move his hands. “Okay.”

“It was a great evening.”

“It was.” His voice was rough with desire as he dropped his hands to his sides. He followed me toward the door. “Do you want to do it again sometime?”

“Do you want to see me again?”

He chuckled. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah, actually. I’m a lot of work. Eccentricities coming out of my ears.”

The hard lines of his face softened with a smile. “I don’t mind a few. I’ll text you?”

“Okay.” I leaned in and kissed him again on the lips and left.