Daisy didn’t care either, didn’t even look. She was shaken that they had almost made love without protection, that even those few thrusts carried a small amount of risk. Then he surged back into her, and she met his fierceness with her own, demanding everything he could give her.
Afterward, exhausted, Daisy dozed cuddled against his side while Jack stared at the ceiling and wondered what in hell Todd Lawrence was up to. Something was going on that made him feel antsy and he didn’t like it worth a damn, especially when the uneasiness concerned Daisy. He had damn good ears, and Daisy had been lying under him at the time, the receiver only inches away, he’d heard every word of their telephone conversation. Maybe it was just the instincts of a cop prodding him, because there hadn’t been anything he’d heard that he could honestly say struck him as suspicious, but it seemed to him that Daisy was being guided to certain clubs. He didn’t like that scenario at all.
He’d been in bars and nightclubs every night except for Sundays since talking to Petersen. He’d seen one episode of a possible date-rape drugging—and that had been at the Buffalo Club on Thursday night, so he’d gone back on both Friday and Saturday to see if he could spot something. As it was, the woman who had possibly been drugged had been with two female friends; Jack had discreetly questioned them, but they had not only allowed men to buy them drinks, they had also left the drinks unattended while they danced or went to the rest room, so there was no telling when or if the drinks had been drugged.
Both of the other women were sober enough to drive, which made him suspect the third woman had definitely been drugged. He helped them get their friend out to the car, quietly told them to get her to a hospital in case someone had put something in her drink, and saw them on their way before going back inside. Everything had been kept very low key, he didn’t make a disturbance, didn’t identify himself as a cop, because if some bastard was there slipping GHB or whatever into women’s drinks, Jack didn’t want to scare him off. He simply watched, trying to spot something or at least step in if another woman looked to be in trouble, and the next morning he’d called Petersen to tell him they maybe had a starting place.
Last night had been cut short by the fight, but his heart had almost stopped when he’d seen Daisy on the dance floor. She didn’t seem to realize how she drew the eye with the contrast between her classy clothes and the way all the other women dressed; men watched her, and not just because she was a good dancer. They watched those legs, and the sparkling eyes that said she was having a ball. They noticed her breasts, and the way that red dress had clung to their shape. Even now, with her naked in his arms, just thinking about those breasts made his mouth water. His Miss Daisy was stacked; not overblown, but definitely stacked just right.
She wanted a husband and kids. He wasn’t in the market for a wife, let alone kids, but he got a burning knot of what he recognized as pure masculine possessiveness at the thought of her actually meeting someone she really liked at one of those clubs, going out with him, sleeping with him, maybe even eventually getting married. He didn’t like that scenario at all. And when he’d realized he had entered her without first putting on a condom, for an earth-tilting moment he had continued thrusting, tempted almost past control at the thought of coming inside her. If he got her pregnant—hey, he’d marry her. They’d made a deal. Being married to Miss Daisy would be a hell of a lot more fun than being married to Heather the Bitch, and look how long he’d stuck that out.
He knew he was in deep trouble when the thought of getting married didn’t send him running. He glanced down at her sleeping face and gently stroked her bare back. So maybe he’d leave off a condom and see what happened. Naw, he couldn’t do that to her—unless she showed signs of getting serious about someone else, in which case he would fight as dirty as necessary to win.
SIXTEEN
The English setter bounded happily through the knee-high weeds, ignoring her owner’s shouted commands. She was a young dog, and this was only her second time in the field. He’d been training her in his yard to retrieve, using a variety of lures, and her hunting instincts usually held sway there. In the field, though, her youthful exuberance sometimes got the best of her. There were so many interesting smells to be investigated, the heady scents of birds, mice, insects, snakes, things she didn’t know and wanted to follow.
A particularly intriguing odor lingered on the morning air, leading her out of the field and into the woods that lined the field. Behind her, her owner cursed. “Goddammit, Lulu, heel!”
Lulu didn’t heel, merely wagged her tail and plunged into some underbrush where the scent was stronger. Her sensitive nose quivered as she nosed the earth. Her owner yelled, “Lulu! C’mere, girl! Where are you?” and she wagged her tail as she began digging.
He saw the waving plume and fought his way through the tangle of vines, briars, and bushes that grew under the trees, cursing with every breath.
Lulu grew more excited as the scent got stronger. She backed up and barked to signal her agitation, then plunged into the brush again. Her owner picked up his pace, suddenly alarmed, because she seldom barked. “What is it, girl? Is it a snake? Heel, Lulu, heel.”
Lulu grabbed something with her teeth and began tugging. The thing was heavy and didn’t want to move. She dug some more, dirt flying behind her.
“Lulu!” Her owner reached her and grabbed her collar, pulling her back, a broken limb in his hand in case he had to fend off a rattler. He stared down at what she had unearthed and staggered back a step, hauling her with him. “Jesus!”
He looked wildly around, afraid whoever had done this had waited. But the woods were quiet except for the breeze rustling the leaves; he and Lulu had disturbed the birds, and they had either flown off or fallen silent, but he could hear calls and singing in the distance. No shots disturbed the quiet, and no maniac with a big knife plunged out of the trees at him.
“Come on, girl. Come on,” he said, snapping a leash to the dog’s collar and patting her flank. “You did good. Let’s go find a telephone.”
Temple Nolan stared down at the piece of paper in his hand, at the tag number written there. He could feel the icy finger of panic tracing down his spine. Someone, a woman, had witnessed Mitchell’s death, though Sykes seemed to think she had either not been paying attention at all or, in the dark, not understood what she was seeing, because she had continued calmly into the Buffalo Club.
He tried to believe that Sykes was right, but his gut kept twisting. All it took was one loose thread and someone tugging on it to unravel the whole setup. Sykes should have handled Mitchell himself, instead of taking along those two yahoos for help. They should have waited until he wasn’t in a public place before grabbing him. They should have—fuck!—they should have done a lot of things, but now it was too late and all they could do was contain the damage and hope it stopped there.
He picked up his office phone and dialed Chief Russo’s extension. Eva Fay answered on the first ring. “Eva Fay, this is Temple. Is the chief in?” He always used his first name; for one thing, it made people feel more cooperative. For another, this was a small town and word would get around that he thought he was better than everyone else if he insisted on using his title. He lived in a big house, belonged to the country club in Huntsville and to Hillsboro’s pitiful little excuse for one, he moved in a very exclusive circle, but as long as he still acted like a good old boy, they kept reelecting him.
“Sure thing, Mayor,” said Eva Fay.
The chief picked up the line, his deep voice almost like a bark. “Russo.”
“Jack, this is Temple.” The first name business again. “Listen, on the way in this morning I spotted a car parked in the fire lane over at Dr. Bennett’s office. I wrote down the tag number, but I didn’t want to cause any trouble for any sick folks by calling a deputy to give them a ticket. If you’ll run the tag number for me and give me a name, I thought I’d just give them a call and ask them not to park there again.” No one could play the good old boy the way h
e could.
“Sure. Let me grab a pen.” The chief didn’t even sound surprised. He was becoming used to their little town. “Okay, shoot.”
Temple read off the tag number.
Chief Russo said, “It won’t take a minute. Do you want to hold on?”
“Sure.”
When the information popped up on the computer screen, Jack stared at it in disbelief. He sat for a minute, his face set in a hard mask; then he printed out the screen and took the sheet of paper back to his office.
He didn’t pick up the phone receiver, though. Let the mayor wait.
The car was registered to Dacinda Ann Minor, and the address was the one from which Daisy had just moved. The car was an eight-year-old Ford, so it was definitely her car. He hadn’t known her given name was Dacinda instead of Daisy, but, hell, if anyone had named him Dacinda he’d go by Daisy, too.
He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew one thing: the bastard was lying. His Daisy would no more park in a fire lane than she would run naked across the square. The woman didn’t speed, didn’t jay-walk, didn’t even cuss.
Not only that, she hadn’t been at Dr. Bennett’s office this morning. He knew because he’d ended up spending the night, and she’d been fine. Glowing. A big smile on her face. He’d had to swing by his house for a change of clothes, but her car had been in its usual parking slot behind the library when he got to the office.
So who was running Daisy’s tag, and why?
He thought fast. He could lie and say it was a stolen tag and did the mayor have a description of the car? Or he could tell the mayor it was Daisy’s car and try to find out what was going on.
First Todd Lawrence, and now Temple Nolan. Way too much attention was being paid to one little librarian, and too many details weren’t adding up. The niggling uneasiness had turned into a real itch between his shoulder blades.
What were the odds any of the town gossip about him and Daisy had reached the mayor’s ears? They didn’t move in the same circles. For all his comaraderie, the mayor didn’t socialize much with the townsfolk. He did the official stuff, but not much else. He was good enough at the common touch that most people didn’t notice, or they attributed the mayor’s absence from certain functions to his wife, Jennifer, who evidently spent most of her time sloshed. Jack had noticed that the mayor used his wife as a convenient excuse a lot of the time.
Jack picked up the phone and went with his instinct. “Sorry to take so long, but the computer is slow today.”
“That’s all right; I’m in no hurry,” the mayor said genially. “So who’s the culprit?”
“The name doesn’t strike a bell with me. Dacinda Ann Minor.”
“What?” the mayor said, clearly stunned.
“Dacinda Minor—hey, I’ll bet that’s the librarian. Her name is Minor. Her name isn’t Dacinda, though—”
“Daisy.” Temple sounded as if he were strangling. “Everyone calls her Daisy. My God! She—”
“I guess even librarians can illegally park, huh?”
“Uh—yeah.”
“Want me to call and give her hell? She’s a city employee; she should know better.”
“No, I’ll call,” the mayor quickly said.
“Okay,” said Jack, knowing no such call would be made. “Let me know if I can help you with anything again, Mayor.”
“Sure thing. Thanks.”
As soon as the mayor hung up, Jack ran his finger down the list of city departments and located the library’s number, then punched it in.
“Hillsboro Public Library,” said Daisy’s crisp voice.
“Hi, sweetheart, how are you feeling?”
“Just fine.” Her tone changed, became warmer, more intimate. “And you?”
“A little beat, but I think I can make it through the day. Listen, someone said they saw your car at Dr. Bennett’s office.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “That quack. He pushes diet pills.”
Jack scribbled Dr. Bennett’s name on a pad so he’d remember to do some checking into the good doctor’s prescription-writing habits.
“I also heard that your name is Dacinda. True or false?”
“You’re hearing a lot of things today. True, as you would know if you ever bothered to look over the list of city employees. I was named after Granny Minor.”
“You’ve never been called Dacinda?”
She gave a ladylike snort. “I should hope not. Mother said they called me Dacey when I was a baby, but within just a month or two they were slurring it into Daisy, so I’ve been Daisy as long as I can remember. Why are you so curious about my name?”
“Just making small talk. It’s been a while since I’ve heard your voice.”
“Oh, at least an hour and a half,” she said.
“Seems like longer. Are you going home for lunch?”
“No, I just talked to Aunt Jo, and she’s found a dog for me. I’m going to see the people at lunch; she already has it arranged.” Regret tinged her tone.
He wondered if she felt half as regretful as he did. But Daisy getting a dog was important, and he’d use the time nosing around, maybe shadowing the mayor for a while and seeing where he went.
“Listen, there are some things I have to check out tonight, but I’ll come by if I can. What time do you usually go to bed?”
“Ten. But you—”
“I’ll call if I can’t make it.”
“All right, but you don’t have to—”
“Yes,” he said, his tone more grim than he’d intended, “I do.”
He didn’t have to sound so glum about it, Daisy thought as she hung up. She wasn’t clinging to him, demanding his time. She’d been very careful not to ask when she would see him again, though she’d been certain she would. A man didn’t spend all afternoon and most of the night making love to a woman if he didn’t really like what they had together.
One good thing about living on Lassiter Avenue: no one was likely to care who spent the night with her. Since she had just moved in, no one knew her, or knew which cars were normally in the driveway. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel as if a hundred pairs of eyes were on her. She had felt free with Jack, free to be as uninhibited as she liked, to make noise when she climaxed, to stand naked in the kitchen eating peanut butter and crackers for quick energy. She could carry on her affair with him without the entire neighborhood watching to see what time he left her house, or clucking their tongues if his car remained in her driveway all night.
All in all, she was very satisfied with the way things had turned out, though one of the things on her to-do list today was buy more condoms—regular ones, without a hint of flavor. She was tempted to go back to Clud’s Pharmacy to buy them; let Barbara make what she liked of that! Jack’s stock with the women in town would certainly go up when Barbara spread the word that he’d used up six dozen in one week.
At lunchtime, Daisy drove to her mother’s house, picked up Evelyn and Aunt Jo; then they all went to Miley Park’s house to pick out her dog.
Mrs. Park lived several miles outside of Hillsboro, on a pretty section of land with a huge fenced yard around her small frame house. She came out to greet them, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling, accompanied by a grinning, tail-wagging golden retriever bouncing along at her side.
“Sadie, sit,” she said, and the dog obediently sat, but she quivered with eagerness to greet the visitors. Mrs. Park opened the gate and said, “Hurry, so I can close the gate before they get here.”
“They?” asked Evelyn as they obediently hurried through the gate. Mrs. Park quickly closed it just as a tangle of puppies came bounding around the corner of the house.
“The little devils are fast as greased lightning,” said Mrs. Park, bending to pat Sadie’s head. “As soon as they hear the gate open, they come running.”
Sadie got up to check her brood, nuzzling each of the puppies in turn as if counting noses. The puppies couldn’t seem to decide what they wanted to do first,
jump Mama and try to get some milk or check out the newcomers. They pounced and bounced back and forth, little tails wagging so hard their entire bodies seemed to be waving.
“Oh,” said Daisy breathlessly, sinking onto the grass. “Oh!” There were only five of them, but they were so active it seemed as if there were a dozen. As soon as she sat down, they decided to check her out, and abruptly she had a lap full of puppies, puppies climbing over her legs and trying to lick her face, bite her hair, gnaw on her shoes.
Three of them were a mellow gold, and two were such a pale cream they were almost white. All of them were fat, bright-eyed balls of fur, with big, soft paws that seemed way too large for their bodies and baby fuzz so soft she just wanted to sink her hands in it.
“They’ll be seven weeks old on Thursday,” said Mrs. Park. “Sadie started weaning them two weeks ago; I’ve had them on just puppy food for a week now. They’ve had their first round of shots. That was a fun trip to the vet’s, I can tell you!”
“They’re beautiful,” Daisy said, already in love. Her eyes were dazed. “I’ll take them.”
Everyone laughed, and she realized what she’d said. “Well, maybe just one would be better,” she said, blushing and laughing at herself.
“I don’t let Sadie’s babies go unless I’m sure they’ll have a good home,” said Mrs. Parks. “Goldens are lively dogs and need a lot of exercise. If you don’t have a safe place for it to run—”
“The backyard is fenced,” said Daisy hastily, suddenly afraid she might not be allowed to buy one of these adorable babies.
“Is it a big yard?”
“Not huge, no.”
“Well, that’s fine for a puppy; when it grows, it’ll need more exercise than it can get just playing in a small yard. Will you be able to take it for long walks, throw a ball for it, take it swimming?”