Love at First Sight

by B. J Daniels

  “Speeding?” she cried.

  “Speeding and failing to slow down and pull over after an officer of the law both flashed his lights and siren for you to do so,” he added.

  “I wasn’t speeding,” she snapped. “I was chasing a killer. Well, a possible killer.”

  “I guess I didn’t see the distinction,” he said carefully. “I thought cops chased possible killers. May I see your driver’s license and car registration, please?”

  She made no move for her purse. “I was trying to get his license-plate number. He was driving a larger, newer model, dark-colored sedan with a dented left rear fender. Well? Aren’t you going to do something?”

  He shifted his gaze to the highway. Cars breezed past. Some large, dark-colored, newer model American cars. Some dented. If she had been chasing someone, he was gone. And if she hadn’t—

  Jack looked down at her, afraid to take his eyes off her for long for fear of what she’d do next. “Your driver’s license and car registration, please?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Those expressive eyes blinked, still hot with anger. She started to reach for her purse but stopped in midmotion and blinked again, as if seeing him for the first time, really seeing him.

  It was one of the few times he wished he looked a little more like a cop. Instead he was dressed a lot like her. Faded hockey jersey, worn jeans, Top-Siders. No socks. Definitely should have taken off the baseball cap, though.

  Indecision and alarm flashed over her features. She glanced back at his Jeep, the light on top still flashing. She wasn’t buying that he was a cop. Why wasn’t he surprised? Par for the morning.

  As he dug his badge from his jeans pocket, he noted that all four doors of her car were locked and she’d left her engine running. Worse, she looked ready to run again herself. He just wondered what she was running from. Or chasing.

  He held the badge up and watched her study it intently.

  “And you are—?” she asked, pointing out his lack of a name tag.

  “Detective Jack Adams. Now may I see your license and registration?”

  She flashed him a smile about as genuine as Naugahyde. “Of course, officer.”

  He watched her rummage in her purse. She was all nerves and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d pulled a pistol out of her bag. He wondered if the nerves were her way of showing anger. Or fear? Either could make her dangerous.

  With a start, he caught a glimpse of a spray can in her purse. Then her fingers were grasping it and as if in slow motion, he watched her pull it out. He stepped back, now fully expecting the worst. Pepper spray.

  That’s when he spotted a blue dress in the passenger seat. A dress with what appeared to be a huge bloodstain.

  “Drop that and step out of the car,” he ordered, automatically reaching for his weapon.

  THE ORDER came out of the blue. Karen turned, her gaze rocketing up to his. Only he wasn’t looking at her but past her to— Karen groaned. That damned dress! That dress was going to be the death of her.

  “Drop the spray and get out of the car,” he ordered again. “Now!”

  She dropped the can of spot remover Howie had given her. It tumbled to the floor. “All right, all right,” she said quickly, trying to calm him before he did something crazy like shoot her. You never knew with these cop types. “It isn’t what you think.”

  “It never is,” he said coldly. “Step out of the car slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  This wasn’t happening. Earlier she’d thought he hadn’t looked much like a cop. Not with his head of thick, unruly sandy-blond hair under his baseball cap and those big brown eyes and that slight crook in his nose in that otherwise boyish face. Not to even mention the way he was dressed.

  But he looked like a cop now. And he definitely sounded like one.

  Carefully, she opened her door and stepped out very deliberately. Judging from his body language, she’d be wise not to make a wrong move.

  “It isn’t blood,” she said, adding a feeble, terrified chuckle. “It’s wine. Red wine. My date spilled it on my dress last night at the restaurant and I should have put cold water on it right away but—” She was babbling, sounding all the more guilty when she wasn’t guilty of anything but stupidity. Unfortunately, she suspected a lot of people went to prison for that very crime.

  “And I suppose that wasn’t a can of pepper spray you were pulling out of your purse, either,” he said.

  Pepper spray? “No,” she groaned, realizing what he’d thought. “It’s spot remover.”

  “Put your hands on top of the car, legs out,” he ordered.

  Oh, not “Assume the Position!” This would be funny if it wasn’t so not funny. She did as she was told. She could feel the chilly Montana air under her T-shirt. Why hadn’t she taken the time to put a bra on? She tried to concentrate on Talley’s fried pies waiting for her at home. Even the thought of Howie waiting for her seemed like good news right now.

  The detective moved in behind her. She felt her face flush with embarrassment as she waited expectantly for the feel of his hands. He skimmed his palms down her legs, over her butt, between her legs, then around in front. Of course her nipples were hard as pebbles by then.

  All she could think about was her mother. Pamela Sutton, a staunch Republican, City Garden Club member and bridge player, would be horrified—not that her daughter had been arrested for suspicion of who knew what—but the fact that her normally sensible only off-spring hadn’t been wearing a bra at the time of arrest. And at Karen’s age!

  Karen closed her eyes as Detective Jack Adams’s hands brushed over her. She hated to think that this was the most intimate she’d been with a man in—how long?

  “Don’t move.”

  She opened her eyes as the cop sidled around beside her and, keeping his gaze glued to her, reached into the Honda to pull out the dress. That rotten-luck sale dress.

  He stared at the stain.

  If only she’d let Howie take the dress to the cleaners.

  He held it up to his nose and sniffed.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to even think how the dress might smell after she’d worn it last night and then thrown it behind her couch.

  He looked at her over the wad of dress. “Beaujolais?”

  She nodded, feeling close to tears. “Blind date.”

  He reached into the car and came back out with the spot remover. He motioned for her to unassume the position. She straightened and crossed her arms, trying to hide just how ill at ease and chilled she was.

  She thought he might apologize. For frisking her. For thinking she had a dress in her car covered with blood—someone else’s. For even suspecting she’d pepper spray a man of the law.

  He tossed the dress and the spot remover back into the car, seemingly as upset as if the wine had been blood and the spot remover pepper spray. His gaze met hers. His look said he was still a cop. And she was still a speeder.

  She waited for him to give her a ticket.

  Instead he gave her a smile.

  Without her consent, her heart did a little pitter-patter and her knees went soft. She really needed to get out more.

  “I’ve heard that brand of spot remover’s pretty good stuff,” he said after a moment. “So, want to tell me again why you were speeding?”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. He was offering her a chance to bare her soul. She’d already bared nearly everything else for him. And she did need to talk to a police officer about Liz. Why not a cop she’d been almost intimate with?

  She let out a long sigh and glanced toward the strip mall. “Is there any chance we could talk about this over coffee? Maybe a doughnut?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jack watched her bite into a lemon-filled jelly doughnut, enthralled. He’d never seen a woman who enjoyed food this much. He couldn’t help smiling as she licked lemon from her lips in almost orgasmic delight.

  He got her anot
her doughnut.

  Between bites, Karen Sutton began to tell him about Liz Jones, washing her statement and the doughnuts down with large amounts of black coffee.

  If what she was saying was true, she really had been chasing the man she thought to be Liz Jones’s killer. Being a cop had left Jack as skeptical as he was cynical and suspicious. But even he had to admit, he’d over-reacted earlier. The woman had knocked him off-kilter, like a load of laundry thrown to one side of the washing-machine tub.

  He knew he should be more concerned about that, but as he watched her stare deeply into her coffee cup, her hair framing her face, the sunlight streaming in the window, making her freckles glow like gold dust, he realized this woman was definitely a new experience, one he was rather enjoying.

  True, her story was unbelievable. Maybe that’s why he tended to believe it. Or maybe he just wanted to believe it because of the woman telling it.

  “Didn’t it seem odd that a classmate you hadn’t even seen in sixteen years would be so anxious to tell you her most intimate secrets?” he asked.

  Karen shook her head. “I think she just needed someone to confide in, someone she thought she’d never see again.”

  “But you said you exchanged phone numbers,” he pointed out. He still had the once balled-up napkin in the Jeep.

  “It was just the polite thing to do at the time,” she said between bites of doughnut. “I really never expected to hear from her again.”

  Jack studied his Girl Next Door. No longer appearing nervous or angry or frightened or suspicious, she seemed only too happy to tell him everything she knew about Liz Jones. She even seemed to forget for the moment that she wasn’t wearing a bra. When they’d first sat down, she’d kept pulling the body-hugging fabric away from her skin, never letting either of them forget her recent frisking.

  There was something so appealing about her candor, so appealing about her, he found it hard to concentrate. “Did she say how she met this guy?” He handed Karen a napkin and pointed to a spot on her cheek. “Powdered sugar.”

  She eyed him a little oddly for a moment before taking the napkin and dabbing at her cheek. “That’s the weird part. They met through a newspaper ad. She’d put something in the ‘I Saw You’ column after seeing a man on a street corner.”

  Jack had seen the personals column in the local newspaper and had always thought only college students placed those kinds of ads.

  “Our eyes met on the bus Friday. I wore a blue coat. You wore a smile. Want to get the rest of us together?”

  “I spilled my coffee on you Saturday at Hooked on Java. Call me embarrassed. Or just call me.”

  Liz Jones must have been a woman who liked taking risks. He wondered about the woman sitting across the table from him, then reminded himself that thirty minutes ago she’d been chasing down a man she thought was a killer.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said carefully. “The man who answered her ad was a total stranger. But Liz started a relationship with him, not even knowing his name or who he was. Don’t you find that a little…bizarre?”

  Karen looked thoughtful for a moment. “Even when we know each others’ names, how well do we really know each other?” she said philosophically.

  He stared at her, dumbstruck. Could he have been that wrong about this woman?

  She laughed at his shocked expression. “All right, I found the entire thing really bizarre. But Liz seemed fine with it. At first. I think something had happened that worried her and that was one reason she needed someone to talk to.”

  “So, how did you end up at the Hotel Carlton?”

  She grimaced. “Blind date.”

  “I’ve had a few of those myself,” he said with a chuckle. “Only I’m usually the one who spills the wine rather than wears it.”

  She looked up, her eyes met his. Angry, her eyes had been electric blue. Now though, they reminded him of the waters of a high mountain lake filled with summer reflections. She smiled. Killer smile when she wasn’t trying to look innocent. Something hot arced across the table between them. Or maybe it was just the spring sunshine and her smile. She had a kind of sex appeal beyond the cute lightly freckled face, the perky full breasts, the shapely butt, the muscled legs. This was not your typical Girl Next Door. He had a feeling she wasn’t your typical anything.

  She continued her story right up to the scene in the hotel hallway between the mystery man and Liz Jones.

  “What did he look like?” Jack asked, excited that he’d have something to give to Denny. Not that Detective Kirkpatrick deserved anything after the trick he’d played on Jack that morning, getting him out of bed at daybreak.

  “Average height, brown hair, medium build,” Karen said. “His face was shaded by a baseball cap.”

  “You just described half the guys in the United States.”

  “I know,” she groaned. “I just saw him for a second. Then later in silhouette.”

  Jack took another shot at it. “What about the way he was dressed?”

  “Blue jeans, jean jacket, baseball cap.”

  Dressed like that, he’d be Joe Blow Invisible in Montana.

  Jack tried not to let his disappointment show. She seemed so anxious to help. “Anything about him strike you as odd or unusual?”

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “There must have been something or I wouldn’t have recognized him again this morning.”

  Jack wished he could be sure about that. But he couldn’t even be sure she’d been chasing the right guy. There were always mug-shot books. Or a police artist. But he doubted either would be productive. She couldn’t provide enough for a good composite, let alone pick him out strictly from a more than likely outdated mug shot.

  “You believe he was her secret lover?” Jack asked. “The one from the personals?”

  Karen nodded. “I’d put money on it.”

  A betting woman. Wouldn’t Denny love her? He clamped his jaw down on the thought.

  “Why?” he asked, curious, since he suspected she didn’t take her bets lightly.

  She proceeded to tell him about Liz’s message on her answering machine.

  “What’s eerie about it is that at the same time Liz was calling me to tell me she’d found out who he really was, I was coming down the hallway. She was expecting him. On the tape, I heard a knock at the door and she said something like, ‘That’s him now.’

  “Add to that the way she greeted him at the hotel, trying to slap him, and his reaction, pushing her into the room as if he didn’t want anyone to hear their conversation or to see them together,” she concluded.

  “You think he’s married?”

  “Seems likely, huh?”

  He finished his coffee. It was time to turn all of this over to his partner. And time for Jack Adams to get on with his so-called vacation. Denny could handle it from here. So why was Jack dragging his feet? Did he even have to ask? He smiled to himself. At thirty-four he knew himself pretty well.

  “We need to get you, your information and that message on your answering-machine tape to Detective Kirkpatrick at the police department,” Jack said finally.

  She nodded. “You’re not on the case?”

  He laughed and looked down at his clothing. “I’m actually on vacation.” Kind of.

  She smiled. “You must be very dedicated, chasing speeders on your vacation.”

  He almost told her about seeing her at the Hotel Carlton, about making a bet with himself about her, about thinking there was something interesting and suspicious about her, about picking up the coffee-stained napkin she’d dropped and following her. “Just a chance encounter,” he said.

  “Just my luck.”

  He wasn’t sure how to take that, but she was smiling.

  He met her gaze and almost laughed at the tension that sparked between them. Sexual tension? It had been so long he almost didn’t recognize it. Almost.

  “What now?” she asked, her eyes large and expectant.

  Several thoughts leape
d to mind. He wondered if she had plans for later tonight. Except later tonight, he’d be frying freshly caught fish over his Coleman miles from here. Remember all those plans you had at the lodge?

  “Oh, there is one other thing,” she said, toying with her coffee cup, the nervousness back. “The guy I saw at the hotel with Liz—” Her gaze came up to meet his. Fear darkened her eyes. “He saw me, too.”

  Jack felt his gut clinch. “Did he know you?”

  She chewed at her lower lip for a moment. “I don’t think so. He looked…surprised when he saw me, but it could have been because I had red wine all over my dress, which as you know looks a lot like dried blood.”

  He nodded, remembering only too well. He finished his coffee, then excused himself. In the quiet of the men’s room, he punched in the number on his cell phone, telling himself he was doing the right thing. But he wondered if the woman back at the table would agree. She seemed to have a definite mind of her own.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” he said, when he returned to the table. “By now the police could already have someone in custody.”

  She looked relieved as she put down her empty coffee cup. “That is possible, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll try to find out for you.”

  She gave him her home number and he dug one of his cards from his wallet and wrote his cell-phone number on the back, still thinking he’d be fishing before nightfall. “Call me if you need anything.”

  THE PAST TWENTY-FOUR hours felt like a twilight-zone roller-coaster ride. Karen drove back to her apartment in a strangely electrified daze, wondering when the ride would end and the old Karen’s quiet life would return. She couldn’t believe she’d tried to chase down a killer. Even a possible killer. That just wasn’t like her.