Her cell phone was still in her purse in the living room. And Violet would have texted—to let Megan know she’d arrived at Dixie Downs safely, to let Megan know when she’d arrived home safely since her mother wasn’t there to greet her.
And of course, the cell phone was the only way to reach Megan if there’d been any sort of problem.
Epic, epic fail.
In one fluid motion, she maneuvered out of Nic’s grip and slid off the side of the bed. Her feet didn’t make a sound on the carpet, but Nic was awake in an instant.
“Megan—”
“My phone,” she whispered. “I left it in my purse on vibrate. I wouldn’t hear it if Violet needed me.”
She was halfway out the door when he said, “Anthony and Tess know you’re with me. They’d have called if—”
Megan was gone. The moonlight through the open shutters cast silver light in the living room to guide her way. She dug through her purse and retrieved the phone, flipped it open and glanced at the display.
Four text messages from Violet, who’d behaved responsibly by keeping Megan in the loop about where she was.
Alive!
Translated meant she’d arrived safely at the track.
Dinner with Tess’s uncle. He won first place!
Home. You’re not here.
Tired. Going to bed. Hope you’re alive.
Megan flipped the phone shut. Some mother she was.
When she returned to the bedroom, she found Nic sitting up in bed, a knee drawn before him, watching her. He’d flipped on a bedside lamp and the soft glow illuminated the room enough to make her feel self-conscious. Why hadn’t she thought to pick up her clothes in the dining room?
“Violet okay?” he asked.
“Yes. She went to bed a few hours ago.”
Megan couldn’t seem to meet his gaze, wasn’t sure what was up with that. Maybe she didn’t want to let him know how rattled she was right now. Or maybe she didn’t want any more tests tonight. He was one big fat test, sitting there in the lamp’s golden glow, looking all sleep tousled and sexy, making her body tingle with the memories of what they’d done in this bed.
Spotting her bra clinging to the comforter, she grabbed it, glanced around for her underwear.
On the floor in front of the closet.
One sandal beneath the bed skirt. The other by the nightstand.
All out of place, all strangers in Nic’s bedroom.
As she was.
“Megan,” he said softly. “We need to talk.”
She shook her head, still not ready to meet his gaze, needing to be anywhere in the world but here right now.
“I’ve got to go.”
Setting her sandals on the edge of the bed, she slid her hands through the straps of her bra then dragged them up her arms. She’d feel better if she were dressed. Even a little dressed would be better than nothing right now.
“It’s late. Stay.”
“I can’t tell Violet I spent the night here.”
“What will you tell her?”
Megan could feel his gaze on her, made quick work of getting her underwear on. “I don’t know. Probably that we were talking about how to work things out and lost track of time.”
“Are you going to tell her that you’ll accept the project and move here?”
She nodded. “That’ll make her happy and distract her from the fact that I haven’t responded to her texts.”
“You think she’s worried?”
Megan dropped her sandals on the floor and stepped into them. “I don’t ever ignore her texts.”
“Megan.”
There was something in his voice that drew her gaze. She finally faced him, recognized the stranger’s mask was gone. Maybe sleep had dulled the edges. Or maybe what had passed between them since she’d arrived had changed things. Either way, the intimacy of staring at him across the bed, of seeing the hurt in his eyes, was too much.
“I’ve got to go.”
“You’re running again?” There was surprise in his hoarse whisper.
“No. No, I’m not. I’ll be at your mom’s. I promise.” She was struggling to catch a deep breath. “Please don’t get up, Nic. I’ll let myself out.”
She was halfway down the hall, before realizing Nic likely hadn’t meant running from New Orleans.
But from him.
Oh, God, please don’t have let my skirt been sitting in a puddle of malbec and broken glass all night.
She’d wind up right back in his bedroom again borrowing something to wear, which would, in turn, raise questions about what happened to her clothes if she ran into her daughter.
Luck was with her and, thankfully, the puddle of wine had missed her skirt by mere inches. She could barely make out the mess in the darkness, hated leaving the result of her clumsiness for Nic to deal with.
But as she dragged on her skirt and hastily buttoned her blouse, she talked herself out of cleaning up. If he heard her clanking around in here, looking for paper towels, a broom and the trash, he’d surely come out.
So she grabbed her purse and headed toward the door, half expecting him to show up as she unlocked the dead bolt.
He didn’t.
By the time she arrived at the first floor, she could almost breathe again. But she couldn’t help glancing up at his windows on the top floor before she got in the Jeep.
He was there in the window.
She wasn’t surprised.
He might have respected her wishes and let her leave, but he would never be able to deal with not knowing whether or not she’d gotten safely to the car.
Fifteen years may have passed. He might have grown up, but he was still Nic.
JURADO POPPED HIS HEAD inside Nic’s office door and announced, “Chief, they’re all here.”
“Good,” Nic said. “They can see each other?”
“You betcha. The judge is foaming at the mouth. I can tell you that.”
“Let him foam. I’ll be there. Later rather than sooner.”
Jurado grinned. “Better you than me. Promise you I won’t be mentioning that to him.”
Then he vanished, leaving Nic staring at the closing door. He set the department’s monthly budget report on the desk. He hadn’t been looking at it anyway. Well, he’d been looking at it, but he’d been thinking about Megan.
How in hell had this happened?
The instant he’d said he was going to get out from under all the responsibilities and start paying attention to what he wanted for a change, the shit had hit the fan, starting with the mayor and this appointment. Then Violet. Now Megan.
What a damned mess.
Now he had Judge Dubos sitting in an interrogation room ready to eat Nic alive for dragging him out of the courtroom to talk. Of course, he’d also dragged in Big Mike, who wouldn’t be happy to be out of bed so early. The only one who might be remotely okay with him was the massage therapist. She’d feel as if the police were taking her complaint seriously. But her boss wouldn’t be so happy—Busybodies’s owner would assume they were trying to manufacture evidence for a prostitution charge.
Nic rubbed his temples. Forcing this confrontation had been a last resort, but Andy had been right. Until Nic could ID Great Eye guy, he had nothing. His officers were still combing through every case Judge Dubos had heard for the past year. So far they hadn’t been able to make any connections.
With any luck—and Nic wasn’t holding his breath on this one—the judge would think the only people he had to worry about were Big Mike and the women from Busybodies. Nic was placing the judge under surveillance.
Then he was going to hope that someone gave him something to work with here, so he could protect his daughter.
Nic wasn’t used to hoping and was not a happy camper.
Not at work. Not at home. And that part largely had to do with the woman he’d made love to last night.
They’d picked up right where they’d left off as if the years and the lies had never happened.
; What did that mean? That he’d never gotten over her? That the years, the lies, the betrayal all meant nothing?
The thought alone made him scowl. So what if he still had feelings that went beyond this anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. What the hell could he do?
Not a damned thing. Not even if he wanted to. He had no control over Megan and she’d run away from him again.
Pushing away from his desk, Nic got to his feet. He had three people sitting in Operations waiting for him to come vent his frustration.
The judge wasn’t the only one foaming at the mouth today.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN’T ride with Uncle Damon’s students?” Violet wasn’t sure she heard her dad right. “But it’s the Easter parade, a New Orleans tradition. He invited me.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not a good idea, Violet. Not this time.”
Her dad had come to pick her up from Grandmama’s shop. She hadn’t seen him all day and had been really excited ever since Mom had given her the news this morning.
They were moving to New Orleans.
Violet thought her dad would be happy. Everyone else seemed happy—well, everyone she’d told, anyway. Grandmama was thrilled. She was going to teach Violet how to cook Italian and do something really cool to her hair.
“But I don’t understand why. They’ve got a float.”
“I know. It’s a decent one, too. Always wonder whether I should assign extra duty officers. If those karate kids went berserk in the crowd, they could do some damage.”
Was he trying to be funny? “Did you want to talk to Uncle Damon?”
“There’s no need, Violet. It’s not a good time for you to be riding on top of a float.”
“But why?”
“Because I said so and I’m the police chief.”
Violet almost laughed. The sound was nearly out of her mouth before she saw that he was for real. He was staring at her like he didn’t even want to be having this conversation but couldn’t get out of it.
Wow. Took a minute to wrap her brain around that.
Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t some little kid who was okay with following orders. She liked to be part of the process.
It was only fair.
“Is this some sort of police thing or do you have a beef against Uncle Damon?”
Her dad ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up sort of squirrely. He opened his mouth to answer, but then Grandmama came out of the back room, where she’d been mixing up a bowl of color for a client.
“You need a cut,” she told him. “If you hang around for a few minutes, I’ll have time while Millie’s processing.”
“Thanks, not now. I’ll come another day.”
Grandmama nodded and went about her business. “You know where to find me.”
Violet was about to continue the conversation, but his phone vibrated. He frowned apologetically and took the call, leaving her nothing to do but spin in the chair, glancing in the mirror as she went around. How would dreds look with this nose ring? Tribal. Just the thought made her smile. Mom would faint. And Dad… What was up with him today?
She really hoped he wasn’t trying to get all parental since they were moving here. She might have to explain how she was always part of the decision-making process. But the usual stuff that worked with Mom wasn’t working on him. Mom always listened to reasonable game plans. The more rational she was, the more willing Mom was to negotiate nos into yeses. She always said if they handled situations rationally, they could come up with something to meet both their needs.
Except for the nose ring. Violet had to take matters into her own hands on that one.
But her dad obviously thought she was supposed to accept no for an answer without any explanation. And about something as stupid as riding on a parade float.
Violet wasn’t sure what she thought about that. She’d been so hyped about having a dad that she hadn’t really thought about what having a police chief dad might be like. Who else would have an issue with a parade float?
“Seriously, padre.” She gave him another shot after he ended the call. Hopefully he only needed some training. He hadn’t had any kids before. “What’s up with this? Problem with the police? Problem with me? Help me out here.”
“Problem with you and the police.”
“Oh, Great Eye guy?” He nodded.
Bummer. She wasn’t happy that she hadn’t been able to find the guy in all those books. She’d wanted to help her dad before. But now, not helping was becoming a problem.
“So, what? Am I in danger or something?”
“No. But it’s not the time for you to be parading through the French Quarter on top of a float. Anyone could be in the crowd and see you.”
“Damn.” A little danger might have been exciting. She could have gone on the run or something. Tweet every time she dodged a bullet. Catching his reflection in the mirror, she recognized the narrowed gaze and made a correction. “Dang.”
He eased up. “Are we good?”
Violet had to think about that. All he’d needed to do was explain the problem. No big deal. “We’re good.”
Wow. The novelty was wearing off faster than she’d have thought.
NIC ARRIVED AT HIS MOTHER’S house early on Saturday. The week might officially be over, but the problems had followed him into the weekend. He heard voices from the direction of the kitchen and hung in the hall, steeling himself to see her. Their plan was to spend some time scouting neighborhoods and rental properties from a list a real estate buddy of his had pulled together.
Megan had been dodging him ever since they’d made love. She delivered Violet. She retrieved Violet. She spoke with him on the phone to make arrangements for Violet, but not once had she addressed what had taken place between them. And she dodged his every attempt to talk about it.
He hated not knowing where they stood, needed to get her alone to force the issue and figure out where they were going from here. They still had feelings for each other.
There, he’d admitted it. But that didn’t mean he had a damned clue what to do about it, and he hated standing on the edge of an abyss. That’s exactly what the future felt like—a huge chasm filled with awkward meetings and unresolved issues and that distant politeness Megan had honed to a science. A future spent trying to interact as involved responsible parents when he could barely look at her without thoughts of kissing her.
Violet needed to be the priority here, and his relationship with her. They had a lifetime to catch up on, and Megan needed to be a part of that process. Their plan made sense. But when he thought about how they were jumping into parenthood—and into bed—over a gap of fifteen years…chasm.
And a mighty big one at that.
Irony at its finest. He meant to move on with his life, and he was. In a direction he’d never once considered. A daughter he hadn’t known existed. A woman he couldn’t trust.
How was this moving on?
Maybe he was with Violet. Stepping into his role as father, a role he’d spent a lifetime preparing for. But with Megan everything was history. And she was still running. He didn’t have a damned clue why.
Because they still had feelings for each other?
That presented a problem, he agreed. They couldn’t be together. There were too many years and too many issues between them even though his gut told him it wasn’t over. Bouncing back and forth between this gut-wrenching excitement to see her and resentment because the feeling was so out of his control.
God, he hated this. They needed to address the situation and figure out what to do about them. Before they wound up in bed again. Once Violet and Megan moved back to New Orleans, she wasn’t going to be able to run far.
But he didn’t see much hope they could talk today, not while spending the day with Violet.
“She’s quite capable of making her own breakfast, Mama,” he heard Megan say.
“Come on, Mom.” That was Violet. “Grandmama wants to dote on me, an
d I’m okay with that. We’re getting to know each other. You know how much I love French toast, but she doesn’t.”
Nic made his way into the kitchen, where he found his mother standing over the stove, dressed for work and wearing an apron, a spatula in one hand and a smile on her face.
She was enjoying her houseguests. No real surprise there, but he was glad. She hated knocking around this empty house.
“You’re late, Nic,” she said when she saw him. “I need to get to the shop soon. I’ve got a nine o’clock.”
“I’m your man then.”
“You always are. Hungry?”
“For French toast? Um, yeah.”
Violet giggled, and he planted a kiss on the top of her head before heading to the stove and kissing his mother, too.
“Everything okay at the station?” she asked.
“It is, and I’ve got some good news.” He braced himself to face Megan. She stood at the corner of the counter by the back door, nursing a mug of coffee, looking as beautiful as she always did. Except today she seemed more like the Megan of his memory with faded jeans riding low on her hips and the scoop-necked T-shirt clinging to every curve.
Or maybe she looked like the girl he’d fallen in love with because he could picture her naked again.
“We always welcome good news, Nic.” She was all smiles, and he couldn’t see anything left of the woman who’d fled his apartment in the wee hours and had been dodging him ever since.
“Megan.” He strode toward her, close enough to make her tilt her head to meet his gaze, eyes widening uncertainly when he reached above her head to pull open the cabinet and grab a mug. “Excuse me.”
She recovered quickly, reaching for the coffeepot and pouring for him.
“Thanks,” he said. “Might have made a connection in the case. Keep your fingers crossed that it pans out.”
“Great Eye guy?” Violet asked.
“No, I’m afraid not. But something is better than nothing. After we’re done, I’ll go down to the station and see what they’ve come up with.”
“What is it?” Violet asked. “Can’t you tell us?”
Then There Were Three Page 17
