Saving Allegheny Green

by Lori Wilde

  Dooley snorted. “Figures. The stupid dude offed himself. The cops don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground.”

  I was inclined to agree. No offense, Conahegg.

  “Rocky owed you money,” I said.

  “Yep. Three grand.”

  “And he never paid.”

  “No, but he called here the day before he died bragging that he was making some kind of big score and that he was going to pay what he owed.”

  “Did he tell you where he was getting the money?”

  Dooley shook his head. “Said it was a secret.”

  A secret huh? Well that little secret was probably what had gotten him killed.

  “So where were you the night Rocky died?”

  “Right friggin’ here.”

  Great. Another suspect with an alibi. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t slipped away from work, killed Rocky and hurried back. Except Andover Bend was on the opposite side of the county and a forty-five minute drive from here. No doubt someone would have noticed if Dooley had been gone for an hour and a half. But I’d ask around and find out.

  “You don’t know what happened to the money?”

  Dooley shook his head. Then his eyes narrowed further and he stuck his hands on his hips, arms akimbo.

  “Wait a minute, I’d bet anything your sister’s got the loot.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “She’s missing and so is the money.”

  “How do you know she’s missing?”

  “Your loony aunt told me.”

  Ah yes, when he’d shown up to break Mama’s troll dolls. I shouldn’t forget that he could be a violent man.

  “Put two and two together,” Dooley said. “Your sis is vapor. Probably in Mexico blowing the loot on bad tequila.”

  I feared he might be right. Except Sissy had been trying to turn over a new leaf. Or so she’d told me.

  “Maybe the cops are right,” Dooley continued. “Maybe your sister did kill Rocky. In which case she owes me money. Guess that scare I put into her the other night didn’t do much good.” He slammed a hammy fist into his open palm.

  Anger leaped through me. “It was you who beat her.”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t find Rocky. Sistine was the next best thing.”

  “You get off on beating women, do you, big man?” I can behave like a real fool at times, especially when I see an injustice. Especially when it’s aimed at my family. It’s a dangerous flaw of mine.

  He took one arm and braced it on the wall over my head. I gulped. He leaned way over until we were nose to nose.

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do get off on beating women. If you don’t get me three thousand dollars by Friday, you’re gonna be next.”

  My hand slipped inside my purse and I wrapped my fingers around the twenty-two and, keeping it concealed, pointed it at his crotch.

  “I have a gun,” I said, opening the flap of my purse real quick so that he could see I wasn’t lying. “Step away from me if you value your gonads.”

  “Huh?” He looked confused.

  “Your balls! If you don’t want them shot off, move over there.” I motioned toward a table. I talked tough but my knees were whamming together so loudly I worried he’d hear and know I was bluffing.

  “It’s against federal law to bring a firearm into a bar,” he said.

  “Duh,” I snapped, as if committing a felony was a daily occurrence for me. “Tell me something I don’t know. Now move it.” I jammed my purse into his groin, which was too close to my eye level.

  “No,” he said.

  What now?

  “I could break your arm in two pieces.” Dooley snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

  “You must not mind pissing from a tube,” I said, desperate to hold on to my bravado. It was the only thing I had going for me. Sweat rolled down my breast and pooled in my cleavage. Come on, Marchand, sit down so I can get away from here.

  He hesitated, gauging my seriousness.

  A drunk appeared from the shadows near the front door and staggered toward us, a misshapen cowboy hat pulled low over his forehead.

  At least I thought it was a drunk.

  The man stumbled into Marchand.

  “Hey,” Dooley said, “watch what you’re doing.”

  “Hot Stuff” morphed into “Hot Legs” and the first dancer wandered offstage and another equally bored colleen took her place. No one paid any attention to us.

  “You’re not threatening a lady, are you?” The drunk asked in a deadly voice. I saw his teeth flash in the darkness as he smiled a predatory smile.

  “Shove off.” Dooley placed a hand on the man’s chest and gave him a push.

  But the stranger was lightning quick. He clamped down on Dooley’s wrist like a mongoose on a cobra.

  The stranger was big but Dooley was bigger. Much bigger. I sucked in my breath. Someone was fighting for my virtue. Well, not my virtue really, since I didn’t think Dooley had intended on having his way with me sexually, but rather my reputation.

  Dooley cocked back his other hand.

  Before he could even release the punch, the stranger flipped Dooley over his shoulder onto the cement floor. There was a loud, ugly thud.

  I cringed. That had to hurt.

  The next thing I knew the stranger had one knee pressed hard against Dooley’s throat.

  “Tell the lady you’re sorry,” the man growled and in that moment I recognized the voice.

  Conahegg.

  My face turned hot. My body, too.

  Dooley said something that sounded like, “Ah tworry.” But I couldn’t be certain.

  My mind whirled. What was Conahegg doing here in street clothes? Was Tits-a-Poppin’ his after-hours hangout? He really didn’t seem the strip club type, but who knew?

  “You won’t be contacting Ms. Green or her family under any circumstances.” Conahegg put more pressure against Dooley’s neck until his veins bulged. He pulled his badge from his pocket and held it in front of Dooley’s eyes. “Because if you do, I’ll arrest you for stalking. Got that?”

  Dooley nodded or tried to.

  A few of the patrons had stopped salivating at the stage long enough to cast vaguely curious glances our way.

  Conahegg got to his feet. Dooley lay stretched out on the floor moaning.

  A big black dude came thundering from the back. His jaw was clenched and he looked ready to fight. “What’s going on over here?” He glanced from the downed Dooley to Conahegg to myself.

  “Misunderstanding,” Conahegg said. “Resolved.”

  “You knock over my man, it ain’t resolved,” the black man said, moving toward us in a slow, menacing manner, his fists upraised.

  Conahegg flashed his badge again. “Before you open your mouth, I suggest you find out if that girl dancing on the stage is over eighteen. Don’t make me shut the place down.”

  “Oh, uh, right.” The guy quickly backed off.

  “Come on,” Conahegg said, taking my elbow and hauling me from the club.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “WHAT IS THIS,” I carped, once we were outside and I had twisted from his bear-trap grip. “I’m not yours to manhandle, Conahegg.”

  A light rain had begun to fall. The shine from the neon sign flashed a reflection in the water puddles on the asphalt. Red, green, yellow.

  He pushed the cowboy hat back on his forehead. “I saved your stubborn hide. Doesn’t that afford me some sort of momentary proprietorship?”

  “No.” I glared at him but my heart went thudda-thudda-thudda.

  “Can we at least get in out of the rain?” he asked, opening the passenger side door to his SUV.

  “I’ve got my own car, thanks.”

  “Get in, Allegheny,” he growled.

  I thought about telling him to get stuffed but he had such a no-nonsense expression on his face and I was getting wet, so I climbed inside.

  Conahegg slid behind the wheel and the dome light came on, illuminating him for a
close-up.

  Even drenched he looked good. Like Indiana Jones fresh from a field expedition, all manly and macho and full of himself.

  “Please, tell me that’s not a gun in your purse.” Conahegg groaned and cast a glance at my handbag which lay open on the seat between us.

  “It’s not a gun,” I replied, happy to oblige his fantasy by hastily snapping my purse shut. “Besides, it’s not loaded.”

  Conahegg whipped out his hand, grabbed my chin and forced me to look him square in the eye. “Your behavior isn’t funny, Ally. You’re in over your head. You don’t go after men like Dooley Marchand with an unloaded gun.”

  His nostrils flared and his pupils constricted. I could smell the scent of his cologne, the tang of his toothpaste. His collar had gotten flipped up in the scuffle with Marchand, the white of it startlingly bright against his tanned neck. Right at that moment I wanted nothing more than to bury my mouth in the hollow of his throat, taste that skin, lose myself in him.

  “Okay,” I admitted, even though I was loath to confess my weaknesses. “I’m in over my head.”

  Conahegg let me go and leaned back against the seat. “Do you realize what a pain in the posterior you can be? You scared the daylights out of me.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Following you.”

  “And you called Dooley a stalker?”

  “Don’t start with me, Ally,” he warned.

  “Why were you following me?”

  The dome light faded to black. Conahegg’s SUV was parked facing the Majestic liquor store. We watched the manager lock up for the night.

  “I dropped by your house to speak with you and I saw you driving away.”

  “And you decided to tail me.”

  “Yes.”

  “I never spotted you.” I couldn’t believe I’d been so oblivious to Conahegg tracking me.

  “You’re not trained.”

  “Do you think Dooley Marchand could have killed Rocky?” I asked.

  “No. He’s got an alibi.”

  “You checked him out?”

  “Of course. The day after you found Rocky’s body.”

  I was impressed. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been sitting on his hands as I supposed. “But you still think Sissy did it.”

  “She’s the only one who’s skipped town. It doesn’t look good, Ally. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to face facts.”

  “Sissy did not kill Rocky.” I peered out my window. Our breath formed moisture against the glass. I wiped a circle with my fingers.

  “We need to find her. If she didn’t kill Rocky, then she probably knows who did and she’s afraid.”

  That had never occurred to me. “Do you think Sissy is in serious danger?”

  “Could be. Do you have any idea where she could be?”

  “No.”

  Rain drummed on the roof. I was uncomfortably aware of Conahegg’s presence not three feet from my reach. If I stretched out my hand, my fingertips would graze his hard muscled thighs.

  “Ally,” he said, his voice strangely soft.

  I raised my head. “Yes?”

  “I want you to promise me you’ll stop doing crazy things like this.” He waved a hand at the strip club. “You’re going to get into serious trouble. Will you leave the law enforcement to me?”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “How can I trust you to look after my best interests,” I said. “You’re the sheriff. Your job comes first. With me, it’s my family.”

  “If I had to, I could put you in jail to keep you safe. That pistol in your purse is grounds enough.”

  “But you won’t.” I met his eyes. They were hard and soft at the same time.

  “No. I won’t.”

  I exhaled, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath.

  “Ally, I’m worried about you. I’m afraid the next time you get into a scrape I won’t be there to bail you out.”

  “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you?”

  “I’ve been doing it for seventeen years. Myself and everyone else.”

  “Maybe it’s time to let someone else do the caretaking.” He reached for me but I shied away.

  I didn’t want him to touch me. I didn’t want to care about him. I didn’t want to be at the mercy of runaway emotions.

  But it was too late and I knew it.

  “By the way—” his eyes raked over me, his tone lightened “—I like the pantsuit.”

  “What?”

  “You look very nice. Much too nice for here. Would you like to go grab a bite to eat?”

  “Are you asking me out?” I blinked at the abrupt change of conversation.

  “Would you say yes if I were?”

  “I thought you said I wasn’t ready for a relationship.”

  “Who’s talking about a relationship? I’m proposing a steak at Taggert’s Diner.”

  “I gotta go home.”

  “Why? Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

  He knew I couldn’t pass up a challenge.

  Damn Conahegg. Damn him for tailing me. Damn him for being so attractive when the last thing I needed was to be entranced by him.

  All I wanted was for Sissy to be cleared of murder charges and for my life to return to normal.

  And then a little voice in the back of my head spoke up loud and clear.

  Liar, it said.

  He ran his callused thumb along my wrist. I felt as if I were rushing headlong into an abyss but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from charging straight ahead.

  “If not dinner,” he whispered, “maybe a drink? You need a little fortification after your run-in with Marchand.”

  “Dinner’s fine.” Although I was hungrier for beefcake than beefsteak.

  Don’t ask me what I was thinking, because I wasn’t. Not a coherent thought entered my head. I registered everything through a primitive, elemental filter.

  Man. Big. Strong. Hands on steering wheel. Scent. Musky. Sexy. Immediate. Taste. Salty. Sweet. Eagerness.

  Feel. Leather seats. Fingernails biting into palms.

  Sight. Rain. Headlights cutting the darkness. Sound. Wind-shield wipers. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

  Was this how Aunt Tessa’s Ung experienced the world? Blunt. Raw. Unadorned.

  It felt real. I felt alive. I wanted more.

  I wanted Conahegg.

  Silence expanded in the vehicle. Filling my ears. Blossoming until it was its own noise.

  I sneaked a surreptitious glance at the man beside me.

  He turned his head, caught my eye.

  The way he looked at me had me feeling as if I’d unleashed a chained beast. His breathing was heavy, his eyes murky.

  I gulped, leaned toward the door.

  He finally snapped his gaze away, forced to focus on the road and pulled into Taggert’s parking lot.

  The lights were out. A Closed sign on the door.

  We both stared at the empty building.

  “Oh,” I murmured. “I forgot. Jim Taggert closes the restaurant the third week in July for his family vacation.”

  “Ah,” Conahegg said and nothing else.

  The digital clock, numbers glowing green from the dashboard, flicked over. Ten o’clock. Not yet late.

  “I’ve got steaks in my freezer,” Conahegg ventured. “If you’re still interested in dinner.”

  Our gazes met and held as if we’d been superglued together.

  The ball was in my court. If I went to his place we both knew we’d never get around to those steaks.

  “Um, uh.”

  “Or I could take you back to your car.” It could just be sex, Ally, it doesn’t have to mean anything.

  Except I’d never had meaningless sex in my life.

  So try something new.

  Why not? If nothing else it would be a pleasant distraction from murder and mayhem, from dependent family members and a missing sister.

/>   “Can I be honest?” Conahegg broke through my dithering.

  Oh God.

  I nodded.

  “I want to spend the night with you,” he said. “I’ve wanted it from the moment I laid eyes on you, Allegheny Green. The steak was an excuse.”

  “I know,” I whispered, my pulse racing at an impossible gallop.

  “My place?” His voice was hoarse as sandpaper.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure?”

  In my heart I knew going to Conahegg’s house wasn’t a good idea. That we were both feeling vulnerable and swept away by passion. I didn’t want to hurt him. Hell, I didn’t want to hurt me.

  I almost told him to forget the whole thing. I was only kidding, ha, ha. But the desire I saw reflected in his eyes was my undoing. No man had ever looked at me in quite that way. As if I was the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth and he couldn’t wait to bury himself inside me. Heady stuff for a small-town girl who didn’t get out much.

  “I’m sure,” I said, even though I was anything but.

  He threw the SUV into overdrive and stamped on the gas.

  We shot from Taggert’s parking lot like an emergency ambulance headed for a ten-car pileup.

  IT TURNED OUT Conahegg lived in a two-story log cabin with ten-foot beamed ceilings, three miles south of Cloverleaf. I briefly got to meet his German shepherd, Rex, whom he promptly escorted to the garage.

  “Come here,” he said, shutting the garage door behind him and moving across the living room toward me.

  And I went. Meeting him halfway.

  Equals.

  Hey, I couldn’t let him have the upper hand, could I?

  He rested one hand at my waist. His eyes glittered in the dim lighting. I felt strange in his room, but comfortable in his arms.

  He lowered his head to my lips.

  I waited. Ready.

  In that moment our mouths came together. Frantic, hungry. We clung to each other, kissed as though we could never get enough.

  My groin was on fire. Aching, burning for release.

  His fingers were fumbling with my zipper. I tore at the buttons on his pristine white shirt. I heard them snap loose, then hit the floor. The sound and my own wildness fueled my desire. I wanted Conahegg in a way I had never wanted another. He induced the most animalistic response in me.

  Man. Woman. Sex.

  Simple equation. Nothing complicated about that.