by Stacy Finz
“You done good, Sloane.” Rhys gazed out over the crowd and lit up when he saw his wife and daughter. “This is the kind of community service a department like ours should be doing. But it took you to organize it. All these people have you to thank.”
“Don’t forget Rose, Simpson, and Rudy,” she said, but her chest expanded with pride.
“Your doing, too.” Before she could thank him for the praise, he wandered off to say hi to Maddy.
They set up an assembly line, with Wyatt taking Polaroid pictures of the kids and Sloane getting their fingerprints. Emily explained the process to the parents, including how to fill out a description card of their child and make a body map that detailed scars, moles, birthmarks, and any other unique identifiers.
Harlee showed up with a laptop and camera, shooting pictures for the Tribune. She got a few quotes from Sloane about why the kits were so important and what other steps parents could take to keep their children safe.
“Hey, Harlee, do me a favor and get a few quotes from the chief.”
“I tried. He said to talk to you. That it was your program.”
“I may have organized it, but he finagled the funding.” Rhys seemed to have the magic touch when it came to squeezing money out of city hall. “It may not look like much, but we don’t have money in our budget to fund projects like this. Rhys fought for it. And those kids”—she pointed at Rose, Simpson, and Rudy—“put their heart and soul into it. If you could get a picture of them in the paper they’d sure be thrilled.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Harlee interviewed a few parents, talked to Emily, and made her way to Rhys. The two of them had a combative relationship, but Sloane could tell he liked Harlee. He seemed to admire strong women in general.
Eventually, Harlee circled around back to Sloane. “Nothing new on the John Doe, huh?”
“Nope. But I may have something for you later this week.”
“Tell me now, off the record.” Harlee, always the consummate reporter.
“Since I haven’t had luck with matching him to a missing person, I’m talking to a forensic sculptor, who can reconstruct his face. If she can do it, I’d like to release pictures to the press.”
“But to me first?”
Sloane nodded. “I’ll give them to you first, but I want this to go national in case our John Doe is from somewhere else.”
“My stuff goes on the wire,” Harlee said defensively.
“Good.” Sloane observed Rudy explaining how the kits worked to a few Spanish-speaking parents and she smiled. “Just get my kids in your article today.”
Rhys’s crazy pilot program had become incredibly important to her. Even though Rose had gone back to school, she still showed up at the station most weekday afternoons. Same with Simpson and Rudy. It gave them purpose and confidence. Sloane already had plans to do outreach at the high school and bring in a few more kids. Maybe expand the program to include other after-school activities besides quasi police work, like cooking classes with Brady or horseback riding lessons from Clay or Lucky Rodriguez. Perhaps a tutoring clinic. She had lots of ideas up her sleeve.
As the fair wound down, Sloane checked her phone to see if Brady had messaged. Ever since Sandra’s disappearance, she’d been on edge. He’d sent a picture of Aidan in a kayak. They must’ve gone out on the lake. Luckily it wasn’t too cold.
The parking lot started to clear out, Ethel collected her coffee urn, and Rhys folded up the tables while Clay took down the canopy tent.
“It went really well, Sloane,” Emily said. “We had fifty-two parents make kits.”
“Thank you so much for your help. We couldn’t have done it without you.” Sloane wondered if the day had been hard on Emily, bringing back too many memories of her own missing daughter, Hope.
“It was good for me, Sloane. Thank you for organizing it. I know Rhys was really pleased.”
“You ready to go?” Clay wrapped his arm around his wife and said goodbye.
Rudy’s parents came to pick him up and agreed to take Simpson home since it was on their way. Rose waited for Skeeter, who roared into the parking lot driving his Camaro. Only this car looked like he’d just driven it off the showroom floor. The dents were gone and the primer gray had been painted glossy banana yellow with black trim. Her mouth must’ve hung open because Skeeter got out of the car, smiling from ear to ear.
“You like it?”
Sloane wasn’t into muscle cars, but she had to admit that the Camaro had a certain sex appeal. “That is your old car, right?”
“Yep. I did the body work myself.”
“You’re insanely talented, Skeeter.” The car was virtually unrecognizable.
“Thanks.” He turned a little red. “When I bought the car it barely ran. Now it purrs like a kitten.”
“Did you do the mechanical work too?”
“Every last bit of it. It took me six months and I had to scour for parts. But now she’s a dream.”
“You ever think of getting a job in an auto repair shop?”
“The only one here is that snooty Gas and Go, owned by the rich dude.”
“Griffin Parks,” she corrected. “You ever talk to him? Because he’s a really nice guy. Maybe he could use someone like you.”
Skeeter shrugged. “I doubt it.”
“I know him; you want me to introduce you?” She had to tell herself to stop pushing. But working as a mechanic seemed to hold a better future than working in the railroad yard, not that she knew much about either. She’d just never seen Skeeter so enthusiastic.
“Why would you do that?”
“Why not? If you can help him with his business, I’d be doing him a favor. And I like Griffin.”
“I might be willing to talk to him.”
“You should, Skeeter,” Rose chimed in. “You love fixing cars.”
He put Rose in a headlock. The move reminded Sloane of her big brothers and how they used to roughhouse with her. “It’s up to you.”
“When?” Skeeter surprised Sloane by asking.
The Gas and Go was just across Main Street. “We could go right now. I don’t know if Griff’s working on a Sunday, though. Why don’t we meet there?”
They caravanned over, Rose riding in Skeeter’s car, and parked in front of the convenience store. Rico waved to Sloane and came out from the garage.
“What up?” he asked, but didn’t wait for her answer when he caught a glimpse of the Camaro. “Whoa, nice wheels.” He circled the car.
“Griffin wouldn’t happen to be around? I want you guys to meet a friend of mine.”
“You’re in luck. He just stopped by. I’ll get him.” Rico climbed the stairs to Griff’s office and the two of them came down.
Griff got one look at Skeeter’s car and ignored his visitors. “Holy cow, you weren’t kidding.” Like Rico, he walked around the Camaro a few times. “What is it, a Z28?”
“Yup,” Skeeter said, stepping forward. “A 1993.”
“A freaking classic.” He looked up at Skeeter. “It’s in mint condition.”
Skeeter pulled out his phone and showed Griff some pictures. “That’s what it looked like before.”
“Who did the body work?”
“I did.”
“Get out. You’ve got mad skills, dude.”
Sloane cleared her throat. “This is Skeeter Jones. I told him I’d introduce him to you and Rico.”
“Yeah? Nice to meet you, man.” Griff motioned at the car. “Can I drive it? I’ll just take it around the block.”
“Okay,” Skeeter said, though he seemed reluctant.
“Looks like you guys don’t need me anymore,” Sloane said. “I’m taking off.” Before she left, she sent Skeeter a silent message: If you’re interested in a job, let him know. “I’ll see you on Monday, Rose.”
On her way home, Sloane thought about dinner. Lately, she’d left that decision up to Brady. They’d been eating nearly every meal together, especially on the days she could break away from wo
rk and have lunch at the inn. But with Aidan here she needed a plan. Her brother could eat an entire side of beef. Cruising down the driveway, she noted that her Rav4 could use a washing, since it only sat and gathered dust these days.
The minute she got out of the SUV, the smell of barbecue assaulted her nose. She saw smoke coming from the side of the duplex, where she found Brady and Aidan standing over a Weber. Brady had dragged his small kitchen table outside to use for prep. A couple of large rainbow trout were on the grill and Brady brushed them with some sort of marinade.
“You caught fish?”
“Yeah, we did.” Aidan’s smile split his big, happy face. “Man, I envy you, Sloane. This place . . . it’s flippin’ paradise. We spent the whole day on Lake Davis. I just can’t get over this town. And this dude”—he pointed at Brady—“best tour guide ever.”
And that made her own face split into a grin. High praise from Aidan for her guy was like winning the lottery. The McBride men had never met a boyfriend of hers they liked. In their minds, no one was good enough for their little sister.
Brady gazed up from what he was doing and winked at her. “Dinner is in ten minutes.” He added a few aluminum foil pouches to the grill.
“What are those?”
“Rosemary potatoes and flatbread. I’ve got a big salad tossed. You planning to eat in that?” He nodded at her uniform.
“I’ll change real quick. We eating in my place?”
“Yeah. Unless you want to eat out here,” Brady said.
“Too cold.”
Aidan laughed. “You’ve been away from Chicago too long.”
Sloane threw on a pair of jeans and sweater and set the table. Brady and Aidan came in carrying platters and bowls of food. She pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge and Brady put it back.
“What?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, just went next door and returned with a bottle of sauvignon blanc. “Better with lake trout.”
To her, trout was trout and white wine was white wine. Whatever. “You hear anything today about Sandra?”
“Nope.” He passed her the bowl of salad. “Not a word. How did the kid kits go?”
“We had more than fifty parents come by. Rhys was thrilled.”
“That’s your boss?” Aidan asked, his mouth full.
“Police chief. His wife, Maddy, came with their little girl. And my pilot kids were really into it.” She’d told Aidan all about Rose, Simpson, and Rudy.
Brady’s cell phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he stepped away from the table and spoke in a low tone. When he sat back down, she and Aidan looked at him expectantly.
“That was Nate.” Brady took a big bite of trout. “He wanted to know the oven temperature for heating my artichoke turnovers.”
“Nate’s doing the wine and cheese service today?” Sloane tried not to laugh. Nate owned a fleet of luxury hotels.
“Someone had to do it.” Brady had taken the day off for her, to entertain Aidan while she had to work, even if it meant that the owner of the company had to fill in for him.
She leaned across the table and kissed him. That’s when she felt it. A tugging in her insides, like someone had pulled a chain and the light came on. Sloane loved him. It probably shouldn’t have come as a big shock. They’d been headed in that direction all along. But with everything going on, she’d missed the big picture. Now here it was, staring her in the face in twenty-four-bit color. The million-dollar question: Did he feel the same way?
Chapter 21
“You really want to go to this?” Brady curved his body around
Sloane’s, rubbing against her sweet behind.
“I’d like to support Griffin, and I have the day off.”
He laughed. “Support Griffin. You just want to get a look at those big-ass houses.” He glanced at his alarm clock. “I’ve got to get going. Breakfast is in two hours.”
“Just five more minutes. You’re warm.”
“If I stay any longer it’ll be more than five minutes and then I’ll be late.” They’d already made love twice that morning. With Aidan gone they were making up for lost time. Sloane had driven him to the airport in Reno yesterday. “Come over to the inn and I’ll feed you. Afterward we’ll go over to Sierra Heights and check out the man-sionettes.”
She rolled over to face him. “I’ll give you ten minutes in the bathroom, then I’m coming in.”
He gave her a long kiss and scooted out of bed before he changed his mind. Good to her word, Sloane met him in the shower and despite his better judgment, they did it again.
“It’s gotta be a quickie, sweetness.” He turned her around, pressed the palms of her hands against the tile, and took her from behind. But it wasn’t enough.
Brady lifted her out of the shower and carried her to the bed, where he made love to her again, this time slower so he could feel every intake of her breath. Feel every plane of her body, which he’d already committed to memory. He held her face in his hands and the passion he saw there both excited and scared him. When had he ever let himself feel this much?
He rocked into her, back and forth, trying to make it about sex, just the pure carnal pleasure of it. But when they climaxed together, he knew it was so much more. And suddenly he couldn’t get out of her bed . . . her room . . . fast enough.
“I’ve got to get a move on.” He rolled off her, and she reached for him, laughing.
“I’m not kidding, Sloane. You want me to be late?” He tossed on his clothes, tied his tennis shoes, and gave her a quick kiss goodbye. “Lock up behind me.”
At the inn, Sam greeted him with a big smile. “Lina’s helping Griff, so I’ll be your server today.” She made a little curtsy.
“The girl can’t make up her mind. She told me she wasn’t going to the open house—didn’t want to see Dana.”
“Apparently she decided to go after all. Those two have been inseparable lately, and from what I can tell, Griffin is heavily pursuing her.”
“As long as she’s happy.” Brady started mixing the ingredients for basil and goat cheese frittatas.
The French-toast bread pudding had sat overnight, soaking. He popped it in the oven to start baking. They had a full house, so Brady wanted plenty of variety. Sam started putting the cereals, yogurts, pastries, and fruit out on the buffet table. On the stovetop, bacon and sausages sizzled.
“Can you bring me the pans for the chafing dishes?”
Nate, holding a pastry in one hand—he must’ve swiped it from the dining room—and his laptop in the other, wandered into the kitchen and plopped down at the center island. “Coff—”
Brady slid him a mug and handed him the half-and-half. “Sloane’s dragging me to Griff ’s open house today.”
“You in the market for a house?”
“Hell no. But women like that kind of stuff.”
“Speaking of, what’s going on with your whackjob?”
“Police still don’t know where she is. I hate to say this”—Brady knocked on one of the wooden cabinets—“but I think she would’ve struck by now if she’d been coming for me.”
“What does Rhys think?” Nate took a sip of his coffee.
“I don’t know what Rhys thinks, but the detective from Santa Monica agrees. He said she most likely would’ve shown up here before anyone noticed her missing.”
“So what does he think happened to her?”
“No way to know at this point. But it’s peculiar that she hasn’t been using her credit or bank cards.”
“Could she be dead?”
“Anything is possible.” Brady poured his frittata batter into three cast-iron pans and slipped them into one of the wall ovens. “But police have checked area hospitals and morgues and there has been no one who fits her description.”
“Maybe she has credit cards in someone else’s name.”
“Nothing would surprise me. That’s why I’m not letting my guard down.” Although that was a lie, because he’d stayed at Sloane’s last night
. He just hadn’t been able to stay away from her.
“I’d like to talk to you soon about something. You’re busy now with breakfast. Perhaps we could do it on Monday after the breakfast service. What do you say?”
“Sure.” Brady wondered what Nate had on his mind. He didn’t like surprises and didn’t want to wait two days to hear what Nate had to say. “You don’t want to give me a heads-up?”
“Nah. It’s something we need to sit across from each other on.”
A small part of him worried that Nate was thinking about firing him. As long as this thing with Sandra dragged on, it made him a liability to the inn. Brady couldn’t blame Nate for wanting to protect his business and family. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t find another job. He could make more working at a white-tablecloth restaurant than cooking for the Lumber Baron.
“All right,” Brady said. “I’ll wait till Monday then.”
Sloane got to the inn just as the last guests finished eating. Brady loaded a plate with frittata, French-toast bread pudding, bacon, and fresh fruit, and put it in front of her with a mug of coffee.
“Jeez, Brady, do you think I’m a lumberjack?” In tight jeans and a chambray shirt that cinched in at her small waist, she was the shapeliest lumberjack he’d ever seen.
A corner of Brady’s mouth lifted. “Not even close.” He grabbed a fork and sat next to her at the island. “I’ll share with you.”
“My forensic sculptor emailed.” She took a bite of the French toast and closed her eyes in appreciation. “She has a bust of my John Doe already. Someone from the sheriff ’s department is delivering it on Monday. We’re holding a press conference on Tuesday. But I’m giving Harlee the story as soon as the bust arrives.”
“You think it’ll be enough to find out who he is?”
“I hope so.” She sighed. “This poor guy needs a proper burial.”
He kissed her. “Nugget is lucky to have such a dedicated officer.”
“Yeah, it is.” She smiled and kissed him back. “I know you don’t want to go, but I’m excited about seeing the big houses at Sierra Heights.”
