"Hi, Ms. Dalton," he said.
"Hello, Chief Riley." Would every encounter with him be predicated by the gut-clenching question, Does he know? "Please, call me Gloria."
"Okay. Call me Zane. I need to talk to you about Steve Chasen," he said, his face solemn.
She swallowed. "What about him?"
"Well, actually, it affects you... Gloria."
Chapter 10
Even as Gloria strove to keep an outwardly calm appearance, the muscles in her legs bunched in preparation for a quick getaway in case Zane confronted her with the truth about herself.
"How could information about Steve Chasen possibly affect me?"
Zane gestured to an empty booth. "I assume you came to eat. Why don't we sit?"
She walked stiffly to the booth with red bench seats and a white Formica tabletop and slid inside. Ted appeared at the table to take their order. She asked for a salad and baked potato, and Zane ordered a piece of pie to go with his coffee.
Gloria eased a bit—surely the man wasn't going to confront her about her past over a slice of pecan pie?
When Ted walked away, Zane sipped from his coffee and leaned back in the bench seat opposite her. "About Chasen..."
"Yes?" she prompted.
"I made a few phone calls and tracked down his previous address in Richmond, Virginia. His parents are deceased, and he was an only child."
Blowing on her coffee helped to hide an exhale of relief that his news wasn't about her, but she did feel a pang of compassion for Steve Chasen. "That's too bad. Any extended family?"
"No. Which brings me back to your offer to arrange a memorial service—are you still willing?"
"Of course."
He gave her a little smile. "That's nice of you. I'll tell the folks at Goddard's Funeral Chapel to give you a call when the body is released."
She nodded and tried not to think too much about "the body." "Without a will, I assume his belongings will be placed into probate, then auctioned to satisfy his creditors, if he has any."
"You'd know more about that than I would."
"I was wondering if I could borrow the key to his place," she said, thinking she'd like to have more time to go through Steve's "things." When his eyebrows went up in question, she added, "To feed the cat, of course."
"I'll have a duplicate made and drop it off. I think I can trust you." His eyes crinkled at the comers, and she managed a smile despite the gumbo of guilt and desire that swirled in her stomach.
Ted returned with their orders, and Gloria began to eat her salad despite her sudden loss of appetite.
The sense of deja vu was almost overwhelming: How many times had Zane sat across from her eating pecan pie and making her squirm with his intense eye contact? Except when they had been young, it was likely that their hands or legs would have been entwined beneath the table. A different time, a different place, and she was a different person, yet the sexual energy crackling between them was familiar... and dangerous.
She saw the sudden desire lurking in his eyes, shrouded by surprise and propriety. Gloria dragged her gaze away—Zane didn't understand what was happening, but she did, and she had to be the one who kept a cool head. It was so tempting to blurt everything, but where would that leave them? Her, running, and Zane, vulnerable, especially considering George's info about Riaz being out of prison. And then a horrible thought struck her—was it possible that Riaz and his men would track down Zane, thinking she'd be keeping tabs on her old boyfriend?
"How's your hand?" he asked, breaking the tense silence.
"Fine," she said, flexing it. "Just a little stiff."
"How are the repairs coming along on your office?"
"We have everything cleaned up inside, but the handyman is waiting for supplies before he can begin work on the outside."
A young waitress stopped next to their table and flashed a shy smile. "Excuse me, would you like to buy a candy bar for the families of the victims of the voodoo museum?"
"Sure," Zane said, reaching into his pocket. "I'll take two." The girl thanked him and left the milk chocolate bars on the table, which he pushed toward Gloria. "Take them, I've got these things coming out my ears."
She laughed and pushed them back. "Me, too, and I don't even eat chocolate."
"You don't eat chocolate?"
She shook her head—she'd changed her diet as drastically as she'd changed her appearance.
"Are you diabetic?"
"No... I just try to avoid sweets."
"You take good care of yourself." He flicked his gaze over her. "It shows."
She blushed furiously, tongue-tied.
"I indulge occasionally," he said, gesturing to the pie. "But my favorite is—"
"Dark chocolate," she finished for him, nodding.
He squinted. "How did you know that?"
When she realized her gaffe, she froze, her mind racing for an explanation. "I... just... thought—"
"I guess it's not that unusual," he said with a laugh, lifting his coffee cup for another drink. "And don't get me wrong about the candy bars—selling them is a nice gesture, but the entire population of Mojo is going to be in a sugar coma."
His grin was so genuine, his expression so unexpectedly unguarded, that she was struck speechless as old feelings crowded her chest, taunting her with what could have been, tempting her with what could be now.
"Gloria," he said. "Are you... seeing anyone?"
She picked up her water glass and took a deep drink, then set it down. "No, not... currently."
The corners of his mouth turned up as he sipped from his coffee cup. "Is there an ex-husband in your past?"
"Not a husband."
"But someone serious?" he pressed.
She nodded, realizing that if Zane thought she was still hung up on someone from her past, it might help her keep him at arm's length. He didn't have to know it was the memory of him that she kept tucked in her heart.
"I know what you mean," he said, his eyes touched with sadness.
With a jolt, she realized that he might be talking about her—or, rather, Lorey. She knew she should change the subject, but the temptation to dredge up old feelings was irresistible. "You're referring to the person you filed the missing persons report on?"
He nodded. "It was a long time ago, but it stuck with me."
It stuck with me, too, Zane. Her thighs warmed at the memories that suddenly seemed so fresh, so real. Desire stabbed her low and hard, and she realized with dismay her relatively short time with Zane had been the most sexually satisfying phase of her life.
And they hadn't even made love.
"Surely you've had relationships since then," she murmured.
He pursed his mouth and nodded. "Yeah, I've known some really nice women, some I even grew attached to. Thought about settling down once or twice."
The faces of pretty, hopeful women flitted through her brain, and she felt an unexpected pang for their loss. "So why didn't you?"
He splayed his hands and made a rueful noise. "When it came down to making a permanent commitment, I knew I'd constantly be torn between my family and my job. In the end, I always moved on, literally. I guess I've always felt this nagging sense of having unfinished business and it's left me... restless."
"I understand," she said, her leg accidentally bumping his under the table, sending a vibration of awareness straight to her feminine core. Her chest ached with longing to end the suffering for both of them, but the consequences of a confession loomed like a black cloud. It would solve a few problems but create so many more.
When his eye contact became too powerful to ignore, she glanced at her watch. "I didn't realize it was getting so late. I need to get home." She waved for the check, busying herself with her purse.
"Are you still unpacking?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Me, too," he said. "Don't you hate moving?"
She glanced up. "You have no idea."
The waitress came by with their check.
"I've got this," Zane said, gesturing to her half-eaten meal and his empty plate.
"No—" Gloria started to protest, but he'd already paid.
He smiled. "Consider it a very small thank you for all that you're doing for Steve Chasen. You don't have to, you know."
She smiled through her guilt and suddenly needed to get away from Zane, the man who left her feeling so disoriented and so conflicted. "Thank you for dinner. Goodnight."
"I'll walk you to your car," he said, starting to rise.
"I'll be fine," she said quickly, holding out her hand to dissuade him. "Finish your coffee."
"Okay," he said, studying her warily. "I'll get that key to you sometime tomorrow."
She nodded and fled, releasing a pent-up groan of frustration when she walked outside into the cool air. Closing her eyes, she hit the palm of her hand to her forehead. What was she thinking, asking Zane about the past? What good could possibly come of it? Weren't her emotions tangled enough without making things even more complicated?
She sighed and gave herself a mental shake, then hurried to her car, shivering in the cold in her thin jacket. At the door of her Honda, she hit the keyless remote. But just as she reached for the door handle, a dark shadow fell across the pavement near her. She turned to see the outline of a man standing there, and she cried out, fumbling with the door handle in alarm.
"Ms. Dalton, I didn't mean to scare you."
She stopped, still leery, her heart pumping furiously. "Who are you? I can't see your face."
The man stepped up into the light. Thinning hair, stocky build, casual, but neat, clothing. "I'm Daniel Guess, from the Post. I called you the other day to ask you about Steve Chasen's death."
She frowned. "I remember."
"I was hoping you would talk to me in person."
"There's nothing to talk about, although I'm very sorry about Steve's death."
He took a step forward and leaned in. "Were you the one who found the voodoo doll?"
Her throat constricted. "Who told you about the voodoo doll?"
"Does it matter?"
"It might."
"So you do think it has something to do with his death?"
She scoffed. "Of course not—I'd just like to know who's playing a prank."
"Were you scared?"
"N-no."
"I know you're aware another doll bearing the likeness of Deke Black was stabbed just before he was murdered last year, because you represented his wife in that investigation, didn't you?"
"His ex-wife," Gloria corrected.
"Is this doll similar to that one?"
"I don't know. I don't know anything about voodoo, Mr. Guess."
"Was the doll you found fashioned in a likeness of Mr. Chasen?"
"I didn't notice." Too late, she realized she'd just admitted to seeing it.
"What did it look like?"
She opened her car door. "That's all I have to say."
"Was it stabbed?" he persisted. "Where is the doll now?"
"That's all, Mr. Guess," she said, raising her voice an octave.
"What's going on here?"
She turned to see Zane striding up, his expression dark.
"You must be Riley, the new chief of police," the reporter said, flashing a smile. "I'm Daniel Guess with the Post."
"What's your business with Ms. Dalton?" Zane asked, ignoring the man's attempt at friendliness.
"We had a report that a voodoo doll was found shortly before Steve Chasen's car accident."
"Is that so?" Zane asked.
"Yes, and Ms. Dalton here confirmed it."
"I didn't," she cut in. "I told you I had nothing to say."
"Sounds to me like you're wasting your time," Zane said to the man.
The reporter narrowed his eyes at Gloria. "I should warn you—I always get my story."
Zane stepped closer to the man, leveraging his considerable height advantage. "And I should warn you—get the hell out of my town before I arrest you for harassment."
The reporter lifted both hands. "Just trying to do my job."
"Do it outside the city limits," Zane said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the interstate. "Now."
The reporter frowned but backed away. He stopped at an SUV close by, then grinned. "Hey, if you want to get rid of me, maybe you should make a voodoo doll." He laughed, then climbed into his vehicle and drove away.
Zane's mouth tightened as he watched the tail-lights disappear. "Are you okay?" he asked her.
Gloria nodded. "He just scared me when he first appeared, that's all."
He frowned. "Gloria, it's not good for the town for you to tell stories about that voodoo doll you found."
Anger sparked in her chest. "I wasn't telling stories."
"Then how did he know about it?"
"I don't know—he called me yesterday and started asking questions. I told him I had no comment."
"Who could've tipped him off?"
She lifted her hands in a shrug. "I don't know—Marie was there, it's possible she called him. Or she told someone who called him. You said yourself it's hard to keep a secret in a town like Mojo." Then she angled her head. "Or it could've been the person who made the doll, did you think of that?"
"All the more reason to keep it quiet if we have some voodoo kook looking for a headline. It's probably just a copycat."
"But quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?" she asked lightly.
He moved to stand in front of her, his eyes challenging. "I don't believe in coincidences."
So how do you explain this? she wanted to say. Me and you, after all these years, standing here, inches apart. Coincidence?
In the space of an exhale, the atmosphere changed from irritation to stimulation. Zane stared into her eyes, confusion playing over his face.
Longing coiled tightly inside her, squeezing her lungs painfully. Then suddenly, like an animal springing on prey, she kissed him. A big, open-mouth, where-have-you-been kiss that took both hands. He seemed surprised at first but caught up quickly and lashed his tongue against hers.
She sighed into his mouth, reveling in the familiar tastes and textures that she had tried to forget, but hadn't been able to. God, she wanted to lap him up. His arms encircled her, and he pulled her against his long, hard body. It was as if she'd never left, as if she'd traveled back in time, to a love that transcended tragedy. The lonely years melted away, as if they never were. There was only Zane.
A loud bang sounded near them, wrenching them apart and sending adrenaline surging through her tingling body. Gloria's head spun as she tried to identify the noise that she'd heard before—fireworks?
But when Zane pushed her to the ground and covered her body with his, murmuring, "Stay down" in her ear, she realized what was happening and where she'd heard the noise before—in her living room, the night her father had been killed.
Dear God, someone was shooting at them.
Chapter 11
Gloria had imagined a time when Zane would be lying on top of her again, but she hadn't imagined she would be facedown in the cold grass with the wind knocked out of her, wondering who could be shooting at them—and why.
"Are you okay?" he said in her ear.
She gasped for breath but managed to whisper, "I think so."
"Don't move."
She felt his weight roll off her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him crouching next to her car, talking low and fast into his radio. She heard the scrape of metal against leather and realized he'd drawn his own weapon. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears as she resisted the urge to pull him back to the ground. The thought of him being shot sent a scream to hover at the back of her throat.
Was some lunatic on the loose? A fugitive? A fight in Caskey's Bar across the square that had moved outside? The square had been practically deserted except for her and Zane.
Although, admittedly, a parade could have moved through while she'd been kissing him and she wouldn't have noticed.
Then a
cold, hard possibility hit her—had one of Riaz's men tracked her down? Fear curdled her blood, fogged her brain.
She heard Zane moving stealthily away, which only terrified her more. What if Zane was injured or killed because of her? A siren approached, and from the sounds of feet pounding and murmured voices, she assumed Zane and his officers were canvassing the area. Her mind spun with horrible scenarios, all of them involving Zane's spilled blood. It wasn't fair that she'd just found him, only to have him ripped away.
After several agonizing minutes, she lifted her head gingerly, wondering if a night-vision scope was aimed at her head. Better hers than Zane's, she decided. Raised voices sounded a few yards away, followed by what sounded like a scuffle. She pushed to her feet to see Zane and two other uniformed officers surrounding a scraggly bearded man. Homeless? Transient? He lifted his hands in surrender, and an officer removed a large pistol from the man's coat pocket.
She squinted in the dim light to see if she recognized him. He looked more like a mountain man than a hit man for Riaz, but those people were masters of disguise.
Just like the members of WITSEC, she acknowledged wryly.
She watched as the man submitted to being handcuffed and was led toward a squad car yelling, "I didn't do anything wrong!" Zane strode in her direction, casting a long shadow, backlit by the signage of the businesses in the square that stayed open late: Ted's Diner, Sheena's Forever Sun Tanning Salon, Benny's Beignet Shop, and Caskey's Bar.
She was so glad he was okay she nearly wept with relief. When he stopped in front of her, she resisted the urge to pull him close and reassure herself he was unharmed. "What happened?"
His expression was hard to make out in the darkness, but his shoulders were set in a taut line. "That's Jimmy Scaggs, a local. We're not sure, but we think he discharged a pistol accidentally."
She frowned. "I know that name from the Deke Black murder."
"He was a suspect. He's been in trouble with the law here and there, he has a tendency to threaten hunters that go near his property. Just from talking to him, I don't think he meant any harm, but we're taking him down to the station to question him. He swears he didn't discharge his gun, but he's rambling about finding a body in the woods."
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