30. Golf Cart

THIRTY

Golf Cart

They hadn’t had an official date, but they had an official table.

Rus sauntered through the club, feeling eyes move to him, but his were on Lucinda seated at the table where he’d eaten dinner with her a few nights before.

She was in a dress, the only way he could describe it was the smooth color of buttermilk. It had a low circle of a neckline showing cleavage, and long, full sleeves gathered at cuffs at her wrists.

She watched him coming too, and she stood when he got close, stepping away from the table.

That was when he saw the matching tie belt, the full skirt that hit her below the knee, and although the material was clingy, the whole thing was designed to bring attention to the sexy-as-fuck bronze, high-heeled pumps on her feet.

When he arrived, she wrapped her fingers around his blazer at his biceps, noting, “You’ve had quite the night.”

He was unsurprised the news beat him up her mountain.

“Word gets around,” he replied.

Her head was tilted back, and since he’d already made the decision this was happening, and she was giving the invitation, he dropped his face down and touched his mouth to hers.

He could swear he heard the room quiet, then he felt the low buzz that went through as he lifted his head.

And now that was going to head down the mountain.

They moved away from each other, and he stood as she sat and didn’t take his own seat until she was settled under the table.

Her gaze rested on something beyond him, and he knew it was a hovering server when she asked, “Bourbon, whisky, vodka tonic or a beer?”

It was nice to know she paid such close attention.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I staying at yours or are you and Madden moving to Pinetop?”

Her mouth got tight.

He turned, and yes, a server was hovering.

“You got Macallan?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Neat.”

She strode to the bar.

“Porter’s been at you,” Lucinda stated when he looked back to her.

She was peeved.

“Do you live in an out-of-the-way Victorian house by the river?”

“It isn’t out of the way.”

He turned to the windows. “Can I see it from here?”

“Okay, it isn’t far away.”

He leveled his eyes on her.

“I have a sophisticated alarm.”

“I bet the security at Pinetop is more sophisticated.”

“Rus,” she said warningly.

“For between twenty-four and forty-eight hours, the Crystal Killer rapes his victims, vaginally and anally, as they’re tied to plastic tarping on a bed, their mouths duct taped. When he’s done, he bludgeons them in the back of the head with a hammer until they’re dead. He leaves a crystal in their palms and a note for me. And he’s probably in town. I just kissed you. Everyone in this room watched. And the news of what happened at the council meeting beat me up the mountain. Now, am I moving up here? Or are you moving to Pinetop?”

Her eyes were wide, and her face was pale. “Did Ezra…?”

She didn’t finish.

He answered anyway.

“Yes. They used his MO, probably thinking it would send us in the wrong direction. And straight up, if they hadn’t gotten a single detail wrong, they would have. That’s why I’m here. It’s also why CK is now here. So?” he pushed.

“I…need to think.”

She was flustered.

He hated that.

He hated that he’d just told her exactly how Brittanie died too.

But if it got her and Madden staying somewhere else, somewhere safe, he was okay with it.

“Pinetop would be better,” he said gently.

“Because Porter or Mom would be in danger too?”

Yes.

Or maybe.

He didn’t answer with either.

He said, “It’s more populated. He’s careful. He’d stay well away from Pinetop. Especially since he knows I know he’s here. And I know what he looks like now.”

His whisky was served as she said, “Okay. I…it’s closer to Madden’s school too. It’d be nice to have a break from taking her up and down the mountain five days a week.”

He looked pointedly at her phone, which was lying face down on the table.

“Now?” she asked.

“You don’t want the suites all booked up, do you?”

“You’re as annoying as Porter,” she complained.

He nabbed his whisky and took a sip, totally okay with the fact she thought that.

Mostly because she said it while reaching for her phone.

* * *

Rus stood on her balcony.

He saw a swirl of buttermilk in his peripheral vision, turned and looked in through the windows.

The Presidential Suite at the Pinetop took up the whole corner of his floor.

It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a powder room, a much more elaborate bar than his, two seating areas—a smaller, more intimate one for talking, a larger, more comfortable one for watching TV—a pool table, a dining table that sat six, two fireplaces, and a wraparound balcony that had three different doors to get to it.

He wasn’t sure, but he sensed it was bigger than the condo where he lived in Virginia.

Harking not too far back, the brown sugar-glazed pork chop at Bon Amie was inspired, they both had it, along with an appetizer of crab-stuffed mushrooms.

But they didn’t linger over it, and she’d ordered it before he got there, so the mushrooms were put in front of him by the time he took his second sip of whisky.

After their dinner, where conversation, when it was had, was stilted, it was all kinds of hilarious that, to get to her house, on a paved road that hugged the mountain, she drove a golf cart wearing an uber feminine dress and bronze stilettos.

She was being prickly while acquiescing to something that meant something to Rus, so he didn’t give her shit about the golf cart.

Her house, he could see even in the dark, was something.

Nestled on the slope very close to the river, it looked what it was.

A bastion to a bygone age.

It had a decent-sized garden, was painted—you guessed it—cream with some coordinating accents, had three brick chimneys jutting into the purple sky and a ton of fretwork.

Walking in, though, was like stepping from another world into a set decorated as a clean-lined, modern home. There was nothing Victorian or antique, homely or rustic, old-fashioned or traditional. It was open plan. The kitchen was massive and state of the art. The furniture comfortable, but stylish.

All pure Lucinda, including the shock to the system from outside to in.

He loved it.

She went up the stairs.

He shot the shit with Hillary, her nighttime nanny, who he’d peg at Brittanie’s age or a bit older, and a woman Porter might be interested in, because she had fresh-faced, hike-three-miles-and-picnic mountain woman written all over her.

It was unsurprising it took Lucinda forever to pack.

It was also unsurprising his job, once he got the six suitcases loaded in her car, was to go up and carry a dead-asleep Madden to Lucinda’s white Jaguar SUV.

Madden woke up along the way, barely, but she was back out after he got her buckled in.

And Rus realized he forgot how precious it felt, carrying a nine-year-old girl in his arms.

Lucinda drove him to his vehicle, and he followed them down the mountain.

The bellman dealt with their luggage.

Lucinda dealt with checking in.

Rus dealt with carrying Madden to bed.

But he left her with her mom, snapped open her Maker’s Mark and headed out to the balcony.

He walked in rather than her coming out in that dress.

She was at the bar, opening a bottle of wine.

“She good?” he asked.

“A little confused, but my baby is always up for an adventure.”

Excellent.

“I’m sorry this is affecting you and Madden,” he said as he stopped opposite her outside the bar.

“I’m sure when I cease being annoyed our first somewhat-official date was disturbed by the looming threat of a serial killer, I’ll be thrilled the man I’ve started to see is the kind of man who hunts serial killers,” she replied while pouring wine.

She stopped doing that and rested her gaze on him.

“I’m not there yet.”

He fought a smile.

She put the bottle down, picked up her glass, took a sip, and leaning into a hand on the counter of the bar, she brought them full circle to the start of their evening.

The town council meeting.

“How bad was it?”

“Chaos,” he told her. “Accusations flying. A couple of fists flying. The boys named, they’re men now, don’t have the greatest reputations in town from what I could tell. Once the initial news sunk in, this didn’t seem much of a shock, but it sent a shockwave through the meeting. Only one set of parents was there. Two other sets showed at the sheriff’s office before I left, shouting slander, wanting him to arrest Ellen Macklemore and demanding to know the name of the accuser.” He took a drink of his bourbon. Then said, “It’s not something I can wade into, so once we got things calmed down and people on their way at the council chambers, and Moran was facing it at his office, I felt shit, but I had to leave Harry to it.”

That wasn’t exactly true.

He had a few things to say to the parents before he left, but he didn’t need to relay that now.

Fortunately, an FBI agent held sway pretty much anywhere, so after he gave his lecture, some of them calmed down because they listened to reason, and others did it because they were scared of him.

Either way, they’d stopped shouting and making demands so Moran could talk to them.

“This won’t go well for the coven,” she noted.

“They were, no other way to put it, enraged at what Ellen did.”

“Even so.”

She was right.

“Is there something I can do for this young woman?”

Of course she’d ask that.

“I don’t know. She might need a hideout. She’s definitely going to need advocates. Moran sent a deputy out to check on her. I’ll keep on top of it and ask Polly. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed and changed the subject “You raced out this morning, is everything all right with that?”

“We’re making headway. It isn’t looking good for Ezra.”

Her lips thinned.

“It means it’ll be over soon, sweetheart,” he placated.

She took another sip, looking him right in the eye, then asked, “And then?”

He knew what she was asking, and it wasn’t about his plans to catch CK after they took down Ezra Corbin and Carrie Molnar.

“And then, I’m going to go back to my office. I’m going to ask for reassignment to the Seattle division. But before I go, I’m going to see if Moran has any money in his budget for a dedicated detective. He doesn’t have one now, and the way things are going in Fret County, he needs one. He’s a good cop, and he runs a clean shop, but I don’t want to brag, they’d get something unexpected with me. If he finds money in his budget, I won’t ask for reassignment. I’ll just quit.”

“Are you being serious?” she breathed.

And there.

Fuck.

He wished he could take a picture.

The happy, excited look on her face.

Yeah, he was so fucking quitting.

He got that look honestly, he gave her honesty in return.

“It’s beautiful out here and you’re beautiful and your daughter is beautiful, and I’m tired of seeing beautiful girls with their heads caved in lying on plastic. I decided it before I met you, but I can’t say that getting to know you better isn’t high on the priority list of things I’ll do once I move here. And just so there’s no mistake, it’s at the top of the list. Still, bottom line, I need something else in my life, and I like it out here. It feels right. It feels like I fit. And I haven’t fit anywhere since I was two.”

She stood, leaning into a hand, her other hand holding a glass with some pink wine in it out to the side.

She was wearing a gorgeous dress, looking gorgeous, holding his eyes, and she said, “I really, really, really, really, really wish I could make out with you right now.”

It was the most girlie thing she’d done.

And of course, his body responded as did his mouth, which he used to say, “Then get over here. We’ll go lightly in case Madden wakes up.”

She walked around the bar right into his arms.

She kept hold on her glass out to the side, her other hand resting on his chest, her head tipped back.

“I take Madden to the airport to go see her father on Friday afternoon. Can I ask for a sleepover Friday night?” she requested.

His answer was a growl. “Absolutely.”

She smiled.

And Rus kissed her.