"Studies show that—"
He winced. "Spare me, please."
"Okay. Just this once. By the way there's going to be a great chicken-vegetable salad on the menu for lunch."
He ignored her comment. "There's a craft fair on Saturday. I thought you might like to go."
Her stomach turned over. Was he asking her as a friend or as something more? They had not redefined their relationship since last Sunday and she was afraid to bring it up now … mostly because she wasn't sure what she wanted his answer to be.
"I wouldn't have thought you were the craft-fair type," she said. "Won't all those knickknacks and homemade goodies give you hives?"
"I thought you'd have fun."
His green eyes were so beautiful, she thought suddenly. She could very happily drown in them. Which only showed she was losing her mind.
"I can't," she said regretfully. "I already have plans."
"Anyone I know?"
It was a casual enough question. She searched for an edge to his voice – maybe a hint of jealousy. She didn't find any.
"Nope. Just some stuff I need to do." Actually, she was going to visit Dirk and hear all about his trip, but Mark didn't need to know that. At least not yet. At some point in time she was going to have to tell him the truth. Tell him and watch him walk out the door.
"Maybe next time," he said, putting several bills on the table.
"I'd like that."
As he left, she wondered how much longer they would have as friends or whatever it was that explained their relationship. And how much she would miss him when he was gone.
*
Mark drove slowly through town searching for a beat-up dark green import. There wasn't a single one in sight. Whatever Darcy's plans had been for the day, they'd taken her out of town.
He circled through the main section of Whitehorn again, but couldn't spot anyone who looked the least bit like his blond neighbor.
He turned around and headed for home. As he drove, he told himself it didn't matter that she'd had other plans for the day. He hadn't really wanted to see her. Or had he? What exactly had happened between them the previous Sunday when he'd found out about Sylvia's suicide?
It hadn't just been sex. He wanted the intimacy between them to have had no meaning, but he didn't believe that was true. Something about Darcy healed his soul the same way the doctors had healed his body. He found himself thinking about her at odd times during the day and wanting to be with her again. In his bed, her bed, the shower, he didn't much care as long as they were both naked.
Worse, he felt badly for hurting her. He should never have involved her in the horror of his past. Darcy deserved better than that.
Was he entering into dangerous territory? He knew better than to care about anyone. More important, he knew better than to trust again. Darcy had her secrets. Her absence today proved that. Telling himself her life wasn't any of his business didn't change the fact that he still wanted to know where the hell she'd gone.
Chapter Eight
Sunday afternoon Mark settled in front of his desk, determined to catch up on paperwork. He wasn't going to think about anything but the cases he'd cleared and what he was going to do to finish up the forms required to send everything to wherever it belonged. He wasn't going to spend a single second thinking about Darcy.
So what if she hadn't showed up for his weekly basketball game? He hadn't invited her. They didn't have an understanding. They weren't even dating. They were friends – friends and sometime lovers. That kind of relationship didn't require an explanation of one's time. Even when she hadn't arrived home until 10:05 the previous evening.
He opened the top file on his desk and reached for his computer keyboard. As he entered the necessary information, Darcy slowly faded from his mind until he was able to fully concentrate on his work. Two hours later, he'd cleared three cases and was working on a fourth when he heard footsteps in the empty office. He looked up and saw Sheriff Rafe Rawlings walking toward him. They were about the same age. Tall with dark hair, Rafe was well respected in town. Mark leaned back in his chair. "What are you doing here? Someone try to rob a bank on a Sunday?"
Rafe grinned. "Not on my watch. They wouldn't dare." He pulled up a chair and settled into it. "I tried you at home a couple of times this morning. When you didn't pick up, I figured you might be here."
Mark noticed his boss's worried expression. "Want to talk about it?"
Rafe shrugged. "I got a tip the other day. It was so crazy that I couldn't believe it. I did a little checking on my own, but I can't come up with anything. It's probably nothing…"
Rafe's voice trailed off. Mark stiffened. He had a bad feeling about whatever the sheriff was going to say.
"You ready to hand it over to a professional," he quipped, trying to keep things light.
"That I am." Rafe leaned forward. "I re- ceived an anonymous tip that someone is running a money-laundering operation out of the Hip Hop Café."
Mark's first reaction was disbelief. This was Whitehorn. Nothing very interesting happened here. However, that wasn't always true and bad money had a way of turning up in the most unassuming places.
"Where did you start?" he asked.
"You're not dismissing the tip."
"Better to investigate and prove it wrong than to do nothing and have it come back to bite us in the butt later."
"I agree," Rafe said. "I asked around some, but I didn't find anything."
"You talk to any of the employees?" Mark asked, hating that the first person who came to mind was Darcy. Although she'd done nothing to make him think she was anything but a law-abiding citizen, his experience with Sylvia had forever changed how he looked at any woman he knew.
"I had a few words with Janie Carson Austin. She's lived here all her life and I can vouch for her myself. I didn't tell her much because I realized you should be the one getting into it, not me. As you said, you're the pro."
"That's why you hired me." Mark reached for a pad of paper. "I'll be checking into everyone. Even Janie, which is strange because we went to high school together. Still, people change." Though in Janie's case, he doubted she'd taken up a life of crime.
"Do what you have to. I suggest you clear her first, so you can use her for a point of contact. Are you friendly with any of the staff there?"
"I know a few of them." One in particular, but he didn't say that.
Rafe gave him a few more instructions, then left. Mark stared after his boss, wishing this hadn't come up now.
He knew he could do a good job investigating – he was just apprehensive about what he would find out about Darcy. Reminding himself that she lived modestly and worked long hours didn't make him feel any better. He'd trusted Sylvia and look how that had turned out.
He scribbled some notes to himself, then turned to his computer. Unable to stop himself, he typed in a single name.
Darcy Montague.
*
Mark waited until Darcy finished her shift on Monday before heading over to the Hip Hop. Which meant he missed his usual breakfast. He'd spent the previous afternoon and most of the night on the computer clearing Janie, which was why he was here. He was hungry, tired and as crabby as a bear in spring.
He walked into the café close to three. There were only two customers. The waitress on duty said that Janie was in her office in the back. Mark made his way to the cramped space and knocked on the open door.
Janie looked up and smiled. "Howdy, stranger. I didn't think you were speaking to me these days."
"I'm talking."
"Not to most of us. Since you've been home, you haven't been the least bit neighborly."
He sat down in the only spare chair in her office. "Sorry about that, Janie. I've had a lot on my mind."
Her smile faded. "I guess getting shot would give a man something to think about."
He studied her pretty features. He and Janie were the same age; he'd known her most of his life. In the eighth grade he'd thought she was as pr
etty as an angel and it had taken him two years to get over his crush on her. All these years later she was happily married and he felt as old as the black hills.
"Something's come up," he said.
She nodded. "The sheriff was in here a couple of days ago asking me a lot of questions. I got the feeling there was a problem. Want to talk to me about it?"
"Actually I want to talk to you about the people who work for you. We've had a tip that someone is laundering money here at the Hip Hop."
Janie's blue eyes widened as her mouth gaped open. "You're not serious."
"I'm afraid I am."
"There's not enough money going through this place. I mean, we do well for a restaurant in Whitehorn, but it's not as if this is Chicago and we're talking about thousands flowing through here every day."
"There are more ways to launder money than through the cash register. Although I wouldn't be surprised if the sheriff brings in someone to go over the books."
Her gaze narrowed. "Because you're going to recommend it?"
"It's part of my job."
She threw up her hands. "Mark, I don't know anything about this, but I want to cooperate with you. The sooner you start investigating, the sooner you'll find out that someone was playing a joke on you and Rafe."
"I hope so. I'd like to see a list of employees."
Janie typed on the computer, then hit the print button. Seconds later a single sheet of paper appeared. He took it and glanced at the names. Darcy's was on it, but then she worked here.
"Thanks. I'm going to be checking into the backgrounds of the employees. Anything you want to tell me now?"
"No. I'm not aware of anyone having a criminal record. At least nothing anyone has told me about. I've known some of these people for years."
"And some are new."
She frowned and took the list from him. "Darcy is our most recent hire. She's been here about six months." She returned her attention to him. "Mark, I refuse to believe she's doing anything illegal. You know her – you two are neighbors. The woman works her butt off all day here, then heads home to bake for several local businesses."
"I have to check out everyone."
She pressed her lips together. "Don't get all gung ho about this. If you go tearing in like you're trying to beat the clock, you may end up ruining what looks to be a very promising relationship."
He wondered what Darcy had told Janie about them. Were the two women close? "I appreciate the advice."
"Yeah, right. But the truth is you're going to do exactly what you want. Just don't forget, Darcy is a born caretaker with a big heart. She's sweet and kind and if you hurt her, I'll be really pissed off."
"Point taken. Tell me about the other employees."
Janie took him down the list, telling him what she knew about each individual. He made notes, wrote down addresses and phone numbers, all the while asking questions.
"Are you going to talk to Melissa?" Janie asked.
Mark nodded. He still had to check out Melissa North, the owner of the Hip Hop Café.
"You know she's out of town," Janie said. "On a second honeymoon. I'd really hate to interrupt her vacation."
"No point right now. If that changes and I need to talk to her before she's due back, I'll let you know."
"Okay." She tilted her head. "I sure hope I don't get that call."
"I hope I don't have to make it." He rose to his feet. "Janie, I need you to keep quiet about this. Please don't discuss this with anyone."
"I figured that one out on my own. You'll keep me informed, won't you?"
"As much as I can without compromising the investigation."
She stood. "I would never want your job. I'd hate knowing the worst about people."
He nodded. Sometimes he didn't like it, either. He headed to his truck. Once he was back at the office, he would investigate each of the employees. And he would take a second run at Darcy. So far he'd turned up exactly nothing. She didn't even have a parking ticket. Was she really that good, or was her history planted?
He tried telling himself she wasn't anything like Sylvia, but how was he ever supposed to let the past go enough to trust anyone again?
*
Mark headed over to Darcy's place around seven that evening. He'd put it off as long as he could, but eventually he was going to have to speak with her. He might as well get it over with.
She called, "Come in," when he knocked.
He pushed open the front door and stepped into her living room.
"I could be a serial killer," he said as he headed for the kitchen.
She looked up from where she stood at the counter. "I don't have any cereal in the house. I eat oatmeal every day."
He groaned. "Why am I not surprised?"
As he stepped into the kitchen, he found that he very much wanted to move close and kiss her. Not a deep passionate kiss, although he wouldn't mind that, but a greeting kind of kiss. One that said "hello" and "how was your day?" He missed her and how he felt when he was around her.
The realization made him swear under his breath. He had to keep his distance from this woman, both physically and emotionally.
Darcy returned her attention to her work. He saw that she'd baked Christmas cookies and was decorating them. As he watched, she piped red frosting onto a Santa cookie, filling in the coat.
"Don't get all huffy about the front door," she said without looking up. "I usually keep it locked, but I knew I'd be in here baking and I hoped you'd stop by. I didn't see you at the Hip Hop this morning."
"I was tied up at work."
"Oh."
She kept the single word response neutral so he couldn't tell what she was thinking.
"I'm glad it was just work," she continued. "I was getting a little worried. I thought you might be sick or something."
"I don't need rescuing."
He spoke more sharply than he'd in- tended. She flinched slightly. A drop of frosting slipped onto the counter.
"Obviously not," she murmured.
He swore under his breath. "Darcy, it's not that. I just…"
He just what? Wanted her to tell him that she'd never done anything illegal in her life? Or say that she wasn't like Sylvia? That it was safe for him to sleep with her because she wasn't going to try and hold him, but instead would freely let him go when he needed to run?
He knew he was being a jerk. Some of it was the investigation, some of it was his past. He couldn't help wondering if he had any responsibility in Sylvia's suicide. Telling himself he didn't hadn't erased the questions.
Was he screwing up Darcy's life by getting involved with her? Was he willing to walk away?
She finished with the first Santa and moved on to a second. There were already a couple of dozen cookies drying on racks on the kitchen counter. Santas and green trees with tiny ornaments, stars and candy canes. She worked quickly, with an ease that came with long practice. The overhead light turned the tips of her blond hair to gold. Her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks.
"Do you make cookies every year?" he asked.
"Sure. Some I give away. I'm taking a few dozen over to the hospital tomorrow for the kids and the staff. I'll be selling some through the Hip Hop. I really enjoy holiday baking."
He hated what he was doing, but he couldn't stop himself. He crossed to the table and pulled out a chair. Right now he needed answers more than he needed to be her friend. No way would he admit that he just might be using the case to keep his emotional distance.
"It must be nice to have a white Christmas after all those years in Arizona."
She glanced out the window. Snow fell steadily. They were due to get a couple of inches that night. Humor brightened her eyes.
"I agree that the snow is picturesque, but there are times I really miss the heat. I'm sure that come mid-January I'll be wishing I was back in the desert."
He itched to pull out his pad and start taking notes. "Is that why you moved from Illinois to Arizona in the first place? To get away from t
he winter?"
He hated that she looked away before answering.
"Some of it. Also, I'd just lost my parents and I wanted a change."
"I'm surprised you didn't want to stay where everything was familiar. Starting over isn't easy."
"I see your point, but it was different for me. None of my so-called friends had stayed by me. I didn't think I was giving anything up by moving on."
The argument sounded convincing, but her body language and his gut told him otherwise.
"What brought you back to the Midwest? And why Montana?"
Darcy carefully finished the last Santa coat, then switched to white icing. As she piped on trim, she nibbled op her bottom lip.
"It was time to try somewhere new," she said at last. "As for Montana, I don't know. I'd heard so much about it. There's a lot of natural beauty here – outdoor sports, that sort of thing."
He doubted she could get a pair of skis into her car, and she didn't have a roof rack. Besides, Darcy didn't strike him as the sports type. When would she find the time? Between her full-time job at the Hip Hop and her baking, she seemed to keep herself busy.
"Why all the questions?" she asked softly.
Now it was his turn to look away. "No reason."
"I think there might be. You didn't come into the café today. Are you avoiding me, Mark?"
"There's a new case. I can't talk about it."
She accepted his explanation with a nod. Either she didn't notice he hadn't answered her question, or she wasn't going to push it.
"What about your friend's death? I'm sure you're not over that."
He grimaced. "Sylvia wasn't a friend."
"I think you two were very close."
Darcy's comment invited confession, but he wasn't in the mood to admit he'd made such a big mistake.
He stood up and paced the length of the kitchen. Restlessness filled him. He wanted Darcy. Even as he questioned her, his body tightened in anticipation. Only they weren't going to be making love today. Probably not anytime soon, if ever again. Not while he wasn't sure about her.
What was he doing here? He should either ask her some pointed questions or get the hell out of her place. But asking questions meant hearing answers and he didn't know if he was ready for that.
CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN Page 9
