“There hasn’t been time for romance,” she said.
“Phooey, I’ll tell you like I’m always telling Tyler. You have to make time for romance. Otherwise you’ll wind up alone...like me.” Her ruby lips quivered and tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, Samantha, honey, I’m so sorry about your daddy.”
Samantha blinked, disconcerted by the swift change of topic. Instantaneously, grief welled up in her throat, pushed against her chest with a suffocating tightness. She swallowed hard against it, unable to understand why she would grieve for a man she thought she hated.
Edie fumbled in an oversize purse and withdrew a handful of tissues. She dabbed at her eyes and laughed self-consciously. “Goodness me, I didn’t mean to do that.” She wiped her eyes again, then patted Samantha’s hand. “Now, what’s this I hear about you taking on the Marcola case?”
“We...we’re taking on the Marcola case,” Samantha confirmed. “I’m going to need your help on this, Edie.” She smiled and squeezed the older woman’s hand. “As usual, I think I might be in over my head.”
Tyler chewed an antacid tablet, grimacing at the familiar chalky taste. He closed the file he’d been working on and stretched to unkink tight muscles in his back.
It had been a long day. First the trip to the jail to oversee Samantha’s interview with Dominic, then a glitch in the case he’d been working on that had required hours of research.
He raked a hand through his hair and checked his watch. After seven. Time to call it a day. He pushed away from his desk and grabbed his coat from the closet, then left his office and started down the stairs to the front door.
“What are you doing here this late?” he asked, surprised to see Edie still at her desk.
“Just catching up on a few things.” She smiled. “Seems there aren’t enough hours in the day.”
“Tell me about it,” Tyler said dryly. He looked toward Jamison’s office. “Did she go home?”
“She left just a few minutes ago, but I don’t think she was going right home.” Edie’s gaze didn’t quite meet his.
“Where’d she go?” Tyler asked.
Edie hesitated and in her pause, warning signals went off in Tyler’s head. He leaned over her desk, forcing her to look at him. “Edie, where did Samantha go?” he repeated.
“She said something about going to the Devil’s Kitchen.” Edie’s bottom lip quivered with anxiety. “I tried to stop her, told her that was no place for her to go by herself, but you know Samantha.”
Tyler stifled a curse as he raced out of the building and toward his car.
Why in the hell would Samantha go to the Devil’s Kitchen? The bar was one of the most disreputable—and dangerous—in town.
As he drove, he tried to ignore the acidic roar of pain in his gut. Damn her. What was she up to? At one time or another, every lowlife in a four-state area seemed to migrate to the Devil’s Kitchen. She had to be out of her mind to go there—no matter what her reasons.
The bar was located on the north side of town, surprisingly close to the most desirable housing in Wilford. There had been petitions and community efforts to close the tavern, but it had been there long before the expensive houses and apartments were constructed and was protected by the current zoning laws.
As Tyler parked in the overcrowded lot, he realized Morgan Monroe’s apartment was a scant two blocks away. He had a feeling that fact had everything to do with Samantha’s presence here.
The Devil’s Kitchen was housed in a low, squat building that had been painted black and weathered to a dirty gray. A neon outline of a smiling devil, complete with pitchfork, glowed atop the flat roof.
Smoke and noise greeted him as he pushed open the door. For a moment he stood just inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the semidarkness.
The jukebox spewed a raucous tune that couldn’t compete with the noise of the crowd. Tyler searched for Samantha amid the din, wondering if he would ever again see so many tattoos in one place.
The veneer of civility Tyler had worked so hard to attain slipped away as old survival instincts and adrenaline replaced it. This was a place from his distant past, a landscape from his nightmares.
He’d once sought out bars like this, wanting to fill himself with the rage and utter lawlessness that reigned in such a place.
He realized that now, in his three-piece suit, with his expensive watch and the scent of money clinging to him, he represented nothing more than a temptation to the other men in the bar. They would peg him an easy mark.
But they would be wrong.
He began to weave his way through the throng of people, his gaze scanning for Samantha as he worked his way toward the back of the room.
A scruffy man bumped him, an intentional jolt to his shoulder. Tyler met his eyes, holding his gaze until the man flushed and looked away. Tyler would be lucky to get out of here in one piece, but if he did, he intended to tear into. Samantha for putting herself—and him—in a position of risk.
Apprehension crawled up Tyler’s spine as he saw no sign of Samantha in the main area of the bar. He knew she had to be here somewhere; her car had been parked out front. The only place left was a small doorway that led to some sort of back room.
Tyler eyed it in horror. Surely she wasn’t in there. His mind filled with all sorts of terrible images—Samantha being assaulted amid crates of liquor... Samantha fighting off one assailant after another until she was too weak to resist any longer. With all the noise, nobody would hear her screams.
Without hesitation, Tyler bolted through the doorway, pulling up short as he heard the sound of Samantha’s laughter. He felt himself relax somewhat. If she could laugh, then she was still breathing.
He walked around a stack of cases of liquor and there she was, sitting on a crate, talking to a tall, gaunt man whose face bore the pitted remains of adolescent acne.
“Tyler!” She jumped up from her sitting position at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” he answered tersely.
She gestured toward the tall man next to her. “Tyler, this is Silas Gorman, better known as Bones. Bones, this is my partner, Tyler Sinclair.”
Bones held out a thin hand, his eyes not quite meeting Tyler’s. “Hey, man,” he muttered.
“You’ll call me if you hear anything?” Samantha asked the tall man.
“Anything for you, Sam.” He grinned, exposing a flashy gold front tooth.
Samantha nodded in apparent satisfaction, then turned to leave. Tyler trailed behind, wondering how she knew Mr. Bones...unsure if he really wanted to know.
As she wove her way through the crowd toward the front door, Tyler observed the leering looks she earned from the men she passed. Thank goodness she wasn’t wearing one of her short skirts, but rather was clad in a pair of worn jeans and an oversize sweatshirt.
She’d almost reached the front door when a big, burly man grabbed her arm and said something to her. Although Tyler was too far behind to hear what the man had said, he saw her eyes widen as she tried to wrench her arm away from his tight grasp.
“I knew it,” Tyler breathed to himself with dread. Somehow he’d known they wouldn’t get out of here without one altercation. He shoved forward to where the creep still had hold of Samantha.
“Let the lady go,” he demanded.
“Mind your own business,” the big man snarled, his breath sour with the odor of too much whiskey and too many cigarettes.
“The lady is my business,” Tyler coolly replied as he stepped closer to the man. His ulcer went into over-drive as he realized his opponent was a full head taller than him and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. However, the fear in Samantha’s face and the slight grimace of pain that twisted her features sent adrenaline surging through Tyler.
“I’m going to tell you one more time, let the lady go. If you don’t understand my words, perhaps you’ll understand a more direct form of communication,” Tyler warned.
The big man’s eyes
flared, as if he found the idea of a brawl with Tyler fun. He let go of Samantha’s arm and turned to face Tyler. His nostrils flared, like those of a bull ready to charge. Tyler saw the punch coming and easily sidestepped the swing. The creep roared in rage and came back with a left jab that glanced off Tyler’s jaw.
Tyler was vaguely aware of Samantha’s scream, but he ignored it, focusing completely on his antagonist. The two men warily circled each other, with shouts of encouragement coming from the spectators nearby.
Nobody seemed inclined to either call the police or step in to help and Tyler only hoped that if he managed to punch the guy out, another wouldn’t take his place.
“Take him, Brennon!” a voice shouted.
“Yeah, dirty his suit, Rick!” another yelled.
Rick Brennon. At least Tyler would know the name of the man who pounded him. He hoped when Rick Brennon got through with him, he would remember that Samantha had gotten him into this mess.
Still, Tyler didn’t intend to go down easy. He’d grown up on the dark side of St. Louis, fighting creeps like Rick Brennon in an effort to stay alive.
His breath caught in his throat as a knife suddenly appeared in Brennon’s hand. “Come on, pretty boy,” Brennon taunted him. “Come get a taste of this.”
Tyler eyed him in disgust. “What’s the matter? Afraid to face me without that steel in your hand?”
Brennon’s eyes narrowed as he barked a laugh. He tossed the knife to a fat man standing nearby, then gestured Tyler closer. “Bring it on, pretty boy.”
Knowing there was no way he was going to get out of here without a fight, Tyler drew strength from the rush that eddied through him. Biding his time, he waited for Brennon to attack. When he did, Tyler responded.
In three swift moves, Tyler had Brennon on his back on the floor, and his foot pressed against Brennon’s thick throat. “An honorable man would let this end right here,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “A stupid man would continue until one of us is bloody and bowed. Personally, it’s going to tick me off if I get blood on my suit. So, are you going to be honorable or stupid?”
Brennon’s eyes flickered his answer and Tyler removed his foot. As the big man got to his feet, Tyler grabbed Samantha by the arm and hurried her toward the door.
“Get in my car,” he said when they were outside.
“What about my car?” she asked.
“We’ll come back for it.”
“But—”
“Samantha, get in the damn car before I really lose my temper and toss you back inside that place.”
She obviously recognized the threat as possible. Almost meekly, she opened his passenger door and slid inside. Tyler got behind the wheel. Now that the imminent danger had passed, the surge of survival instinct waned, leaving behind only a heady anger directed at the woman beside him.
“Tyler, I—”
“Samantha, do yourself a favor. Don’t say anything for the moment.” He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “In a few minutes I’m going to ask you why I shouldn’t wrap my hands around your pretty little throat.” He glared at her balefully. “You might take this quiet time to be thinking of reasons why I shouldn’t.”
Chapter 5
Samantha knew Tyler was mad as hell. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. She had a feeling he envisioned the wheel as her neck. She cleared her throat, a wave of heat cascading through her as she thought of those hands, not tight around her neck but instead, languidly stroking.
She straightened and diverted the heat vent that had been blowing hot air in her face. She didn’t know what he was so mad about. Everything probably would have been fine had he not interfered. But, she had a feeling that mentioning this particular fact might be a big mistake.
They were nearly home when he finally spoke. “Now, you want to tell me why on earth you went to that place?” His tone was measured—controlled calm.
“The night Abigail Monroe was murdered, the anonymous 911 call was made from the Devil’s Kitchen.” She hesitated a moment, then continued. “Don’t you find it strange that somebody ran two blocks to make a call that a woman was in danger in apartment 502?”
Tyler remained silent, his brow pulled into a thoughtful frown.
Samantha turned in her seat to face him. “I think the real killer made that call, knowing Dominic was passed out on the bed and would be charged with the crime.”
“And did you expect the culprit to be standing by the phone this evening?” Tyler asked dryly.
“Of course not,” Samantha retorted, irritated that he made her feel foolish. “I went there tonight to ask some questions, find out if anyone knew anything about Abigail Monroe’s murder. Sometimes alcohol loosens lips and bragging becomes an art form, especially in places like the Devil’s Kitchen.”
“How do you know Bones?” He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine.
“Why don’t we finish this conversation inside?” she suggested. She would feel better talking in the house, where she could gain some safe distance between them. She wasn’t fooled by his outward composure. Anger still sparkled in his eyes and she was far too aware of her close proximity to him.
As they got out of the car and went into the house, Samantha followed behind him, remembering how easily Tyler had taken down Rick Brennon. It shocked her that Tyler had so smoothly overwhelmed the bigger, meaner opponent and hadn’t even broken into a sweat.
For the first time since Tyler had entered her life so many years before, curiosity about his life before the Darks entered her mind.
Virginia met them at the kitchen door, her face as usual radiating dour disapproval as she eyed Samantha. “There’s ham and scalloped potatoes in the refrigerator and a loaf of homemade bread in the bin.”
“Sounds delicious,” Samantha said, realizing she was ravenous.
“Hmm, it was delicious two hours ago.” Virginia plucked her coat from the back of a kitchen chair and pulled it on. “I’ll just be on my way,” she said. With a curt nod to them both, she turned and left.
“I never understood why Father hired Virginia,” Samantha said when the older woman had gone. “She’s the most sour woman I’ve ever known.”
“She was utterly devoted to your father for many years.” Tyler sat down at the table. “He left her a small stipend in his will, but she wanted to continue to work, so I’ve kept her on here.”
Samantha walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the items Virginia had prepared for their dinner. She could tell Tyler was still angry. Muscles had formed a knot at his jaw and he slowly thrummed his fingers on the tabletop as if mentally ticking off ways to punish her. Tension filled the air, as thick and rich as the scalloped potatoes she spooned onto her plate.
“Hungry?” she asked in an attempt to dispel some of the tension.
He eyed her balefully. “I lost my appetite about the same time I realized I was going to have to fight Goliath to get you safely out of the bar.”
Samantha filled two plates and shoved them into the oversize microwave. “You have to eat.” She turned back to face Tyler. “I must admit, you surprised me with your smooth moves. Where’d you learn how to fight?”
A dark eyebrow crooked upward in an expression of dry amusement. He stopped the movement of fingers against the table. “Contrary to what you believe, I wasn’t born and raised in a three-piece suit on the conservative side of the law.”
“Where were you born and raised?” It was odd that she’d never asked before. In all the time he’d been a part of the family, she’d never asked him any personal questions about his life before the Darks.
“St. Louis. I lived there until your father sent me to college.”
She looked at him in surprise. “How did you meet my father?”
He leaned back in the chair and Samantha could almost see the tension leaving him as he relaxed. “I was a junior when your father came to our high school as a guest speaker in my civics class.” Tyler’s eyes softene
d at the memory. “He was the most dynamic man I’d ever met. He exuded power, control—all the things I didn’t have in my life at the time.” He smiled. “Your father could be a very charismatic man when he wanted.”
She nodded, then placed silverware on the table. “So he came to talk to your class. That doesn’t explain how you came to be his protégé.”
The smile remained on Tyler’s face. “There was a question-and-answer period after his talk. Jamison later told me I was the only one who asked intelligent questions and that he could see ambition burning in my eyes.”
“And so he offered to mentor you,” Samantha finished, wishing her father had been able to look deeper than her acts of rebellion to see her burning need for him. Tyler nodded. “What about your parents? What did they think?”
He shifted positions. His smile faded as he rubbed his stomach. “I never knew my father. He left my mom when she was seven months pregnant and we never heard from him again. My mother died when I was fourteen.”
Sympathy battled with guilt inside Samantha. She knew well the pain of losing a mother at a young age and imagined the trauma was just as great for him at fourteen as it had been for her at six. In all the time she’d cursed and resented Tyler’s presence in their life, she’d never considered the possibility that he had no other family of his own. “I’m sorry, Tyler,” she said softly. “Was it an illness, or some sort of accident?”
He drew a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair, his eyes radiating a darkness, a kind of pain that almost frightened Samantha. She wondered if perhaps she had stepped over a line, intruded too far into his privacy.
The microwave dinged and she jumped. The darkness lifted from his eyes and he cast her a tight smile. “I’ve been a part of your life for almost fifteen years and you’ve never displayed any kind of curiosity about me. Why the interest now?”
Reluctant Wife Page 6
