by Jo Goodman
Sullivan didn’t say anything. He forked a bite of pie but didn’t lift it. After a moment, he turned the fork over and let it rest on the side of his plate. He raised his eyes and set them on Ramsey’s pale face. With no hint of intent, he asked, “Are you running?”
Ramsey had no ready defense for the unexpected. She blinked. That was all, just a blink, but she felt as if she’d grabbed a bullhorn and announced the answer to every diner in restaurant. The moment passed, and she said steadily, “I don’t run. I walk the trail. I don’t even jog. Why? Did you have something in mind?”
Sullivan’s eyes turned flinty, narrowed marginally. “Too many words, Ramsey. When you’re obfuscating, it’s better to keep it simple. ‘No,’ for instance would have worked better.”
“All right. Then, no.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Ramsey tore her eyes away from his and looked around for their waitress. She saw her, caught her attention, and indicated she wanted the check. “I have this.” When Sullivan didn’t argue, she knew he was not going to allow the conversation to go sideways. She faced him again, her jaw set. “Are you doing some kind of cop thing right now? Your Spidey sense been tripped?”
“A little bit of both.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Ramsey.”
“Don’t Ramsey me. I know that tone. I lived with that tone.”
A vertical crease appeared between Sullivan’s eyebrows. “I didn’t—”
She put up a hand, cut him off. “Hell, Sullivan, I was married to that tone. Condescending. Patronizing. Arrogant.”
“Okay. I get it. You know a thesaurus worth of words for son of a bitch.”
His response startled Ramsey. The corners of her mouth twitched. “Dammit, Sullivan. Don’t make me laugh.” Her brief smile faded and she regarded him seriously. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
“What wasn’t a good idea?”
“This. You. Me.”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. You want to know things about me that I’m not prepared to tell.”
“I figure you have your reasons.”
“If you know that, then why did you ask me if I was running? I don’t understand how your mind works. I don’t even know where that question came from.”
“The only reason that can be important is so you can prepare yourself to deflect, deny, or otherwise be disagreeable. That sound about right?”
“You don’t think I’m going to admit that, do you?”
He shrugged. “Guess not.”
The check came and while Ramsey dug in her purse for her credit card, Sullivan slipped his into the padded book and handed it back to the waitress.
“Hey,” she said, watching the check and his card go away. “I told you I had it.”
“You also had three glasses of wine. I didn’t know how serious you were.”
“So it was three. That explains so much.” Feeling miserable about it, she shook her head. “In the future, cut me off at two.”
Sullivan supposed that meant there was a future. He refrained from pointing out that she’d been talking about ending things a very short time ago. He decided to blame the wine since she seemed to be of a similar mind. “I’m driving,” he said.
“And I’m in favor of that.”
When his card returned, Sullivan added a tip, and slipped his card into his wallet. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, stood, and felt a slight wobble in her knees. “Two is my limit,” she said, holding up the requisite number of fingers. “Definitely two. Definitely.”
Chuckling, he slipped an arm under hers. “All right, Rainman. We’re outta here.”
Ramsey woke when the car slowed to make the turn into the driveway. Her head was resting against the window and she had a crick in her neck. She straightened slowly, massaged her nape, and glanced at the console clock. It was only seven. “God,” she said feelingly. “My head. I don’t remember falling asleep.”
“You didn’t make it out of the West End Circle. If it’s any consolation, it was a big glass and some potent red.”
She pretended to consider it. “It’s a little consolation. Did I snore?”
“Do you really want to know?”
She groaned softly.
Sullivan laughed and shook his head. “You didn’t.” He held up a hand. “I swear. You know I’d tell you.”
Did she know that? she wondered. When he wasn’t interrogating her, he was textbook considerate. Ramsey looked up and for the first time recognized they were sitting in her driveway. “You brought me home.”
“Uh-huh. What was the alternative?”
“I thought you’d get out at your house and then I’d drive my car to mine.”
“Almost a good plan. I’m going to make sure you get in okay and then I’m going to leave your car here and walk home.”
“Sullivan, it’s miles.”
“Two and a half. That’s an easy stroll.”
“I don’t like it. It’s dark and it’s chilly. Let me drive you home. That wine, whatever the hell that grape was, is out of my system.”
“Not chancing it,” he said, turning off the car. “I’ll be fine. The fresh air will do me good and I didn’t work out today.” He opened his door. “Stay there. I’m coming around.”
“Honestly,” she said, about to protest, but he was already out and walking. Ramsey swung her door, swiveled in her seat, and started to climb out. She had one foot on the pavement and the other about to follow when her boot heel caught the doorframe. She hopped on her grounded leg to find balance and release her heel, but in spite of her effort, she began to pitch forward. Expecting to face plant on her driveway, she was relieved when she face planted against Sullivan’s chest.
“Easy,” he said, helping her straighten. “I’ve got you.”
“Not the wine,” she mumbled. “I swear. Not the wine. My heel got—” She stopped because he was kissing her. Really kissing her. If her knees gave way, that wouldn’t be the fault of the wine either, but she didn’t know if she’d tell him that. She felt herself sagging, and before she became a cliché, she steadied herself. He could kiss for a long time without coming up for air. All his swimming experience, she supposed.
Sullivan lifted his head. “Did you say something?”
“Did I?”
“Mm. Thought I heard—”
Ramsey slipped her hands around the back of his head and urged his mouth back to hers again. He offered no resistance. He closed the door behind her and backed her against it. She murmured her pleasure against his lips and stopped thinking about how good he was at this and simply enjoyed the moment. For the first time, mindfulness made sense to her. Textures. Flavors. Shapes. Heat.
She released his head and used both hands to open his jacket. She walked her fingers inside, appreciated the warmth of his body, the firm shape of him against her palms. He was a perfect wedge. Broad shoulders, tapering waist, narrow hips. One of her hands slid lower and she cupped his groin. He felt thick and heavy in her palm.
“Whoa,” he whispered against her lips. He lifted his head a fraction and then rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t think so. Not tonight. No sexpectations, remember?”
“But you said it should happen organically.”
“God,” he said feelingly. “I hope I didn’t say that.”
Ramsey removed her hand from his groin and fingered his leather belt. “You might have said it should happen naturally.”
Sullivan lifted his head. “That sounds more like me.”
“And?” she asked. In case that wasn’t clear enough, she added, “Do you want to come inside?”
He did, but he’d already determined that he needed to take the long view with Ramsey. Their conversation at dinner had borne that home. And there was still the matter of the wine. She might have had four glasses because he’d topped her off at one point. If she eventually remembered that, it wouldn’t g
o well for him.
“No,” he said. He raised his head and cupped her face. “I’ll be a better man for making the sacrifice.”
“What if I don’t want a better man?”
“You do,” he said quietly. “You know you do. You deserve one.”
Ramsey sighed. “I don’t like you very much right now.”
“I’m counting on you coming around.”
She nodded. Her fingers climbed the buttons of his shirt. “Probably in the morning.”
“Sounds good.” He released her face and stepped back. “You have your house keys?”
Ramsey found them, held them up. Sullivan took them and then took her arm. “C’mon. I’ll let you in.”
24
It was a good week for Ramsey. Not only did she come around to thinking Sullivan Day was a pretty good guy, but she also hit her stride hauling in twelve shoplifters. Paul noticed and texted her a thumbs up emoji. The cops also noticed. Jim Butz pointed out that he was at the Ridge more than his wife and she was a dedicated shopper.
Ramsey saw a lot of Sullivan. He responded to five of her calls: one tweaker with a dozen fishing rods in his cart with the intent of selling the steel reels for cash; a young mother who dropped six frozen lasagna dinners from under her coat while she was in line to pay for a Coke; two boys ages sixteen and seventeen, working in tandem to distract the clerk in electronics and make off with a router, a backup hard drive, and a handful of HDMI cables; a middle-aged man with a hoodie pouch drooping with C and D batteries, and finally, yet another shopper trying to go through the self-checkout while paying for only a third of her items.
“Usually they pay for less than that,” she told Sullivan. “I can’t figure out if she was trying to be decent, stealthy, or didn’t know any better.”
“I’m thinking stealthy,” he said, taking the cup of coffee she offered him. “You know, what gets me is that she had more than enough cash in her wallet to pay for it all. And a credit and debit card.”
“They often do.”
“She didn’t try to run?”
“No. She had excuses ready to go, but she stopped offering them when I brought her back here and asked for identification.”
“You recognized the name,” he said.
She nodded. “I don’t follow local politics, but even I know the mayor’s last name. I didn’t ask, but I think she’s his daughter.”
Sullivan nodded. “She is. Youngest. Just graduated from Temple this past spring. I’ve seen her around the city building.”
“You didn’t act as if you knew her.”
“I figured it would embarrass her. Didn’t see the point.” He glanced toward the open doorway. The cart with the items Janet Holloway had attempted to steal was visible outside the office. “That’s quite a haul,” he said, lifting his chin to indicate the buggy. “Did you already do the inventory?”
“Uh-huh. While I was waiting for you. Ms. Holloway helped.”
“Good of her. Paperwork?”
Ramsey made a few scratches on the paper lying in front of her, looked over what she’d written, and laid down her pen. “I’ll make a copy for you.” She got up, took the paper with her, and started for the manager’s office.
Sullivan figured she’d only turned the corner out of his sight when she ran into her boss. Evidently Paul blocked her from going anywhere because what Sullivan saw next was Ramsey being backed into the interview room. She was no longer holding her report. It dangled from Paul’s fingertips. The Ridge manager was wearing his take-no-prisoners expression and it was aimed at Ramsey. Paul gave her no choice but to clear the doorway and make space for him inside the interview room. She surrendered the high ground and dropped into the chair she had just vacated.
“Hey, Paul,” said Sullivan. He received a terse nod in reply.
Paul placed the report on the table and slapped it with the flat of his palm for emphasis. “What were you thinking?” he asked Ramsey. He said it in a way that communicated he didn’t believe she’d been thinking at all.
Ramsey tilted her head to look up at her boss and said innocently, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’m not buying what you’re selling, Ramsey. You know who you had in here.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Ramsey decided it was the better course to remain silent. She lowered her chin a notch so as not to appear belligerent.
“That was Janet Holloway,” said Paul. “Holloway. The mayor’s daughter. If you didn’t know that—” He paused and turned on Sullivan. “Then you did.”
Sullivan merely raised an eyebrow. The manager glowered at him for a moment then returned his focus to Ramsey. Sullivan felt bad about that but had no doubt that Ramsey Masters could hold her own.
Paul pushed the report toward Ramsey. “You should have come to me the moment you realized who she was.”
Ramsey said calmly, “Miss Holloway was trying to make off with over one hundred fifty dollars of merchandise. I followed protocol, and informing you before I call the police isn’t procedure. You’re the one always reminding me that anything over twenty-five dollars needs to be called in. I did that. I rang you before I started to gather Miss Holloway’s information and you didn’t respond.”
Paul tapped the phone in his back pocket, pulled it out, and looked at the screen. Almost immediately, his complexion turned ruddy. He toggled a switch, changed the phone from vibrate to ring tone, and shoved it back in his pocket. Although it was obvious that he had missed her call, he did not acknowledge or apologize for it.
Ramsey took the offensive. “What is it you wanted me to do, Paul?”
He ignored her question and regarded Sullivan. “Was Miss Holloway’s name mentioned during the call?”
“No.”
“Then everyone with a scanner doesn’t know,” muttered Paul. “Good. Have you told anyone at the station since the call went out?”
“No.”
“Better,” Paul said under his breath. He stared at Ramsey’s report, nodded once, firmly, making his decision, and swiped the paper in his direction. He picked it up and tore it in quarters. “Shredder will take care of this.” He looked at each of them in turn. “You understand?”
“Not in the least,” said Ramsey.
Sullivan touched the back of his hand to his mouth as he cleared his throat. The gesture hid his grin. Sobering, he said, “Looks as if you want this to go away.”
“Not just go away,” said Paul. “I want this to never have happened. Is that clear?”
Sullivan shrugged, but Ramsey said, “Not in the least.”
“Then get it clear,” Paul said. “We are not pursuing this.”
“Because she’s the mayor’s daughter?”
“Because her father is someone I would prefer not to embarrass. There are plans for this store that you’re not privy to, but suffice it to say that Owen Holloway’s support is important for growth and tax breaks. Is that enough for you?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “Not in the least,” but she managed to keep it to herself. She chose to nod rather than risk speaking.
“Good,” said Paul, satisfied. “And this stays here. All of it.”
Sullivan said, “I have to make a report.”
“I’m sure you can do that without attaching Miss Holloway’s name to it.”
Sullivan was pretty sure he couldn’t, but he kept that to himself. He’d work it out with Chief Bailey. The chief played poker with Owen Holloway so there was some incentive to handle the daughter’s shoplifting activity with discretion. Sullivan pushed back his chair and stood. “Since there’s nothing else to be done here, I’m going back to my car.”
Paul nodded and stepped aside to let Sullivan leave, but when Ramsey rose to follow, he waved her back down.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sullivan saw Paul’s gesture and was tempted to linger. It was the trouble he imagined it would cause Ramsey that kept him going.
25
Ramsey had just settled com
fortably into one corner of her plump sofa, Kindle in hand, when she heard someone crossing the front porch. Whoever it was ignored the doorbell and knocked instead. Sometimes FedEx or UPS did that when dropping off a package, but she wasn’t expecting a delivery. Friends didn’t simply show up at her door without a preliminary call or text, or better yet, an invitation.
She set the Kindle on the arm of the sofa and unfolded her legs. She was pushing off the couch when the knock came again. It seemed insistent to her and that made her wary. Ramsey did not go to the door straightaway. She went to front window, drew back the curtain a few inches, and looked out at an angle to identify her visitor. The porch light clearly illuminated Sullivan Day’s profile as he stood there staring at the door, waiting for her to answer it. He looked impatient, shifting his weight from foot to foot, sometimes rising on the balls of his feet. When he raised a fist to rap on her door again, she tapped on the window and called to him.
“Coming!” She figured he heard her because he didn’t knock. She turned off the alarm, unlocked the door, but only opened it enough for her to stand in the gap. “Did I forget something?” she asked. “Am I supposed to be expecting you?”
“Not the greeting I was hoping for,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“All surprises? Or only unexpected visitors?” When she said nothing, he asked, “Are you going to invite me in? It’s chilly out here.”
Ramsey didn’t move immediately, making it clear that she was going through a list of pros and cons before she answered. Finally, she stepped back and opened the door wider. “Shoes,” she said, pointing to where her boots and a pair of sneakers were lying on a rug inside the door. He was out of uniform so she was certain he was wearing a pair of designer socks. She wasn’t disappointed. At first, she thought the pattern was primary color polka dots, but on closer inspection she saw the dots were really balloons.
