by MJ Fredrick
Noah and Kayla both turned to stare at her. Finally she realized it and looked up.
“I don't think we have a serial killer in Evansville,” Kayla said sternly.
“I’m just saying. There’s a demand for it outside of the veterinary field.”
“Sure, vets and serial killers. Got it,” Kayla said.
Janie shrugged at their denial. "I'm just saying I read it. It stuck in my head because we use it, right, and I'd think it would kill someone, so I went and looked it up and people actually use it as a recreational drug. I guess it's easier to get than other drugs."
Noah stared at her.
Her eyes widened and she lifted her hands as if in surrender. "Not me! I don't use them. I just like to read thrillers, you know. That's as adventurous as I get. It just made me wonder."
"No, I know you don't, but recreational drugs?" His immediate thought went to his father. Did Rey know about Ketamine? Had he used it? Did he know people that did, people that would want it? Would he steal from his own son?
The man he'd been before prison would have no trouble stealing from his own son, if it meant making a buck, but Noah didn't know about the man his father was now.
He felt a moment of guilt for suspecting his father, but he vowed to look into it more thoroughly. He should have done so as soon as he'd noticed the missing medicine. But he wasn't going to ignore it any longer.
“I’m going to be here for a bit.” He turned into his office and opened his laptop. Admittedly he wasn't all that accustomed to using his laptop, and wasn't particularly tech-savvy, so he took longer than he probably should have to track down the last time he’d used Keta, and the times before, so he could estimate the combined dosages and see when he should have run out, based on the last time he ordered the medication.
Yeah, he hadn't used it up. If it was nowhere in the office, and not at the Valadez place, someone had taken it.
He dropped his head to his hands. He thought about calling the sheriff’s office, but he didn't know what they would be able to do. He couldn't tell the sheriff how long it had been missing, where it was missing from. Damn it.
He needed to talk to his father.
*****
He was late for dinner, so there went his plan of bringing up the conversation casually. Selena was on the couch again, under a blanket and next to the space heater, though the house was plenty warm. No one had done his chores for him today, though, so he went to the barn first and took care of the animals, cleaned up. He went back into the house, starving, the doughnut long since burned off.
He heard Ben in his room as he warmed up his dinner, and he wondered who’d made the fried chicken and the mashed potatoes, which tasted homemade, not the instant ones he’d bought when he was in the mood for potatoes.
Instead of eating in the kitchen by himself, he carried his plate to the living room and sat beside Selena for the second night in a row. And she was watching the same movie. She hadn't been lying that it was her favorite. He rolled his eyes and tasted the potatoes. Yup. Homemade. Fresh.
“Who made dinner?”
“Dad.”
That took some of the pleasure from the meal, but he was too hungry to nitpick. “Where is he?” His car had been in front of the house when Noah had gotten home.
“He’s in his room. He said he didn't want to see my movie again.”
He hadn't seen it last night, but Noah didn't point that out. And he felt a surge of pride that Selena hadn't let him bully her into changing to another program. After all, this was her home, had always been. He’d been the one who'd made a mistake that had taken him away from his house.
Noah finished his dinner and carried his plate into the kitchen. He’d clean up after he spoke to his father.
He hadn't entered his father’s room since Rey had moved back. He’d wanted to give the man his privacy, and he didn't have much to say to the older man in any case.
Which made this so difficult. There would be no beating around the bush, no hinting to get to the subject he wanted to talk about. If he went to his father’s room, he was going to have to be direct.
Shit.
He knocked on his father’s door.
“Yeah?”
The volume on the TV they’d bought second-hand turned down as Noah opened the bedroom door.
Well, not a bedroom door, exactly, since it wasn't a bedroom. The place was a mess, clothes everywhere, his father reclined on an unmade bed, empty chip bags and take-out bags from the taqueria tossed about. Now Noah knew where Ben got his bad habits.
“What is it?” His dad grunted as he straightened. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah, ah, actually. I have a question for you. What do you know about ketamine?”
“What’s that? A vegetable?”
Noah decided not to call bullshit on the old man’s answer. “A drug.”
His father’s face hardened. “Why would you come to me and ask me that?”
“I wondered if you might have heard about it in prison, maybe know what the demand for something like that is.”
“All I know is that some kids use it to get high. It gives them hallucinations. Easy enough for them to get in Mexico, from what I understand. Didn't know anyone who had it in prison. Why?”
“Did you know it’s a veterinary drug?”
“Drugs were never my thing.” And then realization struck and he tensed, staring at Noah. “You think I took some? That I stole from you?”
Noah felt his entire body heat, then ice over as his father rose, and he was nine years old again. His first instinct was to retreat. Instead, he squared his shoulders and set his feet. “I’m asking you what you know about the drug.I didn't say anything was missing. You provided that information.”
That gave the old man pause, but just for an instant. “Why else would you be asking about it?”
Noah didn't answer the question. “A bottle is missing from my office.”
“I’ve never even been to your office.”
That was probably true, but that didn't mean his father didn't have a hand in it. “All I’m asking is what you know about the drug.”
His father held his gaze steady. “I don't know anything about it. I’m clean, I have been for years. And I never dirtied my hands with dealing.”
Noah was surprised by his own desire to believe his father’s words. And he did believe, for the most part. He buried the guilt that his first suspect had been his own father, because still, his father had known without Noah telling him that the drugs were missing. He grunted and took a step back toward the door, giving his father a sharp nod. Damn it, he worked with people every day. How did he not know how to interact with his own father?
“I just wanted to see what you knew. Sorry to bother you.”
“You bothering me doesn't piss me off as much as you thinking I had something to do with that.”
Noah gave another nod, wishing he could find it in himself to apologize for the thought. Instead, he turned and walked out.
If his father didn't have anything to do with it, who did? One of the girls who worked for him? There’d been no sign of a break-in. Had he just totally screwed up and left it somewhere? But no, he was too methodical for that. Plus, shit, he didn't have enough money to be leaving drugs behind at client’s houses.
Someone had taken them, but who?
*****
The following day, Noah drove to the sheriff’s office before heading to the office. Deputy Wyatt Jordan was alone in the office. He looked up when Noah walked in, and his jaw tightened. Noah got it. His brother had been arrested, his father was on parole. His family caused some trouble for law enforcement.
“Hey, Wyatt. Kind of expected to see you in the courtroom Monday.”
“I had planned to be, but I got a call, and with the delay, well, I didn't make it back. Heard I missed quite the show, the damsel jumping in to save the man who saved her.” He tapped his pen on the desk. “What can I do for you, Noah?”
“I’
m not sure there’s much, but I noticed a drug missing from my office, and one of my techs said that it can be used as a hallucinogen?”
Wyatt straightened. “Ketamine?”
Noah snapped his head up. “You know of it?”
“We’ve had some instances of it being used, mostly by the roughnecks. You’re missing some? Since when?”
“I honestly couldn't tell you. I noticed last week it was out of stock, and last night I did some research as to when I last used it.” He passed over a paper with the dates on it. “I’m not sure what good any of this does, but I know no one has broken into my office, though someone might have taken it from my bag. I just wanted to, I don't know. Maybe run some background checks?”
Wyatt’s eyebrows went up. “Like on your employees?”
“Yeah, I think I gotta. It wasn't something I ever considered before. I wanted people who were good with animals, had some training, you know, who could work independently. I didn't think about doing a criminal background check.”
“Isn’t it required since they work around drugs?”
“But it’s veterinary drugs. I didn't think there would be an issue.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes, then leaned forward and tapped some keys on the computer. Noah watched the younger man grimace as he navigated the computer.
“All right. Give me the names and socials of who you want checked out.”
Noah supplied the names. “I’ll have to call you with the socials when I get to the office. I’ll do that first thing. You need anything else?”
Wyatt shook his head as he looked at the list. “I know these ladies.”
“I do, too,” Noah said with a sigh, and turned and left.
As promised, he called Wyatt as soon as he got to the office and gave him the information. Wyatt promised to have something by the end of the day.
Noah was surprised by the guilt that plagued him as he went into surgery with Lisa, who was as competent as he’d ever seen. He’d hate to think she was stealing drugs from him. The same went for any of the women in his office. What motive would they have, anyway? He paid them well, compared to what they’d get working elsewhere in the town. He gave them a lot of autonomy. He wasn't an asshole.
He hoped he was wrong, but what other explanation could there be?
He scrubbed his hands after spaying a female house cat, who had been in heat and driving her owners crazy. He liked cats and dogs well enough, but he preferred the large animal part of his practice. Cat and dog owners were so emotionally invested in their animals. The large animals were money to the farmers, but they didn't often weep in his office when he had to give them bad news.
Thankfully today wasn't a bad-news day. He had to pull some teeth, and try to diagnose a skin condition in an older dog, and admit a litter of puppies who tested positive for the Parvo virus. The days always went by quickly, one appointment after another, barely time to think about food.
He was surprised, then, when Miranda walked in with a bag from the taqueria and a drink carrier with two disposable cups.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, tugging his surgery cap from his head.
“I remembered that today was one of your office days, and I thought I’d bring lunch, since you might not have time to get out.” She held up the bag as evidence.
“What makes you think I wouldn't have time to get out?” He cast a glance at Janie behind the desk, who turned away pointedly, miming whistling.
“Is there a place we can eat?”
Still off-balance at her sudden appearance, he motioned to his office, and followed her down the short hall, not making eye contact with any of the techs.
“Wow, it’s surprisingly neat,” she said, looking about at the well-organized space, the walls lined with books, the desk a second-hand one he’d bought from the school when it used oil money to refurnish the place. It still had a few stickers on the drawers from the first grade teacher who’d had it. His paperwork was in files attached to the wall and file cabinet, also from the school, so the only thing on his desk was his laptop.
“Why surprisingly?”
“Well.” She reddened a little at that. “Your house isn’t.”
“I’m hardly at my house,” he pointed out.
“You’re hardly here, either,” Lisa said, walking by on her way to an exam room.
“Do you have time to eat?” Miranda asked. “I saw the waiting room.”
“A few minutes.” Because now that she mentioned it—and he saw the bag—he was starving. He motioned to the chair behind his desk, and he took the smaller wooden chair usually reserved for patients who were mourning their pets in private. She sat and opened the bag and dumped out some foil-wrapped tacos on the desk.
“I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got a variety.” She started opening the foil to check the contents of the tacos. “I thought about asking your dad, but I don't think he’d know what you like, either.”
“That’s probably true.”
“I missed breakfast tacos when I was in New York.”
“I thought you could get anything in New York, and delivered, too.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and dragged a bean and cheese taco in front of her. “They weren’t the same. Something was always off. They never tasted like home.” She flicked a small plastic container of pico de gallo toward him and he poured it liberally on his fajita taco.
“What made you think about bringing in lunch?” he asked. He hadn't thought they were at a “drop-in” point in their relationship.
“I wanted to thank you for helping me the other day.” She took a deep drink of tea through a straw, her eyes cast down. “And I wanted to see you.”
He lifted his eyebrows and waited until she looked back at him. “Any particular reason?”
She met his gaze then, her cheeks pinker than when she’d come in, and she shook her head. “No. Do I need one?”
Okay, then. This was happening. He had to move some mental blocks out of the way, because it had been so long since he’d been in a relationship, had someone other than his family to consider. He was compelled to tell her about the missing medicine, since it had been on his mind all morning, but he didn't want to talk about it when someone might overhear.
“My desk chairs and bookshelves came this morning,” she said between bites.
He gave her a steady look across the desk. “And you want me to help you assemble it.”
She widened her eyes. “Of course that isn't the reason I came. But if you want to give me Ben’s number, I can hire him. Also not the reason I came.”
“No?”
“I have the house to myself tonight. I wanted to see if I could make you dinner tonight.”
“Make me dinner,” he repeated.
“I cook,” she said, apparently taking his comment defensively. “Not complicated, not great, but a home-cooked meal, I can do. How do you feel about pork chops?”
He hesitated, thinking of Selena. But he could call home and make sure they knew he wasn't going to be there. His dad or Ben could make sure she ate. And he’d just as soon not eat with his dad after their conversation last night anyway.
“Yeah, that sounds good. Can I bring anything?”
She smiled as she started wadding up foil and tossing it back in the bag. Something about the jerkiness of her movements gave away her nervousness.
“Just your appetite. I’ll let you get back to work.”
She wadded up the bag and stood.He stood too, and closed the door with a flip of his fingers. With the same hand, he curved his hand under her hair and tilted her head up.
Yup, nervous. He knew that look in her eyes. This time, though, he exploited it, bending his head just enough so the rush of his breath touched her lips a moment before his mouth did.
She parted her lips and he nuzzled closer, deeper, tasting the spiciness of the tacos mingled with the sweetness of the tea. And then her own taste, at once new and familiar.
Her eyes were dreamy as he lifted
his head. He liked that look on her face, and wished he could keep it there.
“What time?”
“When are you done here?”
“Probably around seven. I have a full day when I’m in the office.”
“Okay.” She gave him a smile he’d seen before, when they were dating, sweet and innocent, kind of shy and uncertain. It gave him a twinge, both of sadness at what they’d lost and a twinge of hope for what they might have in front of them.
He opened the door, and his techs scattered, each going to a different exam room as if they hadn't been waiting for the door to open. He walked her to her car, and felt every eye from his office on them through the window. When he walked back into the office, he scowled, and dared anyone to make a comment.
Chapter Thirteen
Miranda pushed an escaping strand of hair back from her face and stared at the hot mess in the bottom of the skillet. The pork chops were okay, she thought, but all the seasonings were in little black balls on the bottom of the pan. At least she hadn't spent too much money on it at the grocery store, but maybe she should have borrowed one of Riley’s instead, because, shit. How was she going to make the sauce with this mess? She wished Riley was home to give her some pointers, but she was staying late at the bakery, which was part of the reason Miranda had invited Noah tonight.
Thinking about that was the reason she’d burned dinner. Maybe it was too soon to be thinking about taking him upstairs, but, well, she couldn't think of anything else. Sure, sleeping together again might be a mistake, so soon, but that kiss in his office…it had melted every second thought she might have had.
The thing was, how did Noah feel? She didn't want to sleep with him until she knew they were both sure. God knew she didn't want to step into another mistake.
The timer went off for the rolls in the oven, and she turned off the burner under the pork chops so she could pull the bread out.
Okay, they were still pale in the center. A nice brown around the edge, but cold to the touch in the middle. She frowned. They’d been frozen when she brought them home from the store, but she thought they’d thawed enough before she put them in. She shoved the pan back into the oven and grabbed the bag the rolls had come in.
