Читать книгу Colton 911: Deadly Texas Reunion - Beth Cornelison - Страница 12

Summer’s mind whirled as she planned her next step in her investigation. Who should she talk to first? How should she proceed so that she didn’t burn bridges with the police department? What need for perspective had brought Nolan back to Whisperwood after all these years?

She shook her head. Letting Nolan distract her was no way to keep her word to Patrice or solve her first real case. She tucked her notepad under her arm as she fished the keys to her Volkswagen Beetle out of her purse and unlocked her car.

The clank of a metal door opening and the sound of voices drew her attention to the front entrance of Lone Star Pharma. Bellamy Colton, her belly swollen with eight months of pregnancy, held the door as Nolan struggled out the door with a pile of large boxes, stacked so high Summer wasn’t sure how he could see where he was walking. Bellamy led him to a car parked in the employee lot and popped the trunk.

Discarding her purse and notepad on her passenger seat, Summer headed toward them to see if she could lend a hand.

“Need any help?” she called, and Bellamy flashed her a broad grin of greeting.

“Thanks, Summer, but I think Nolan’s got it.”

Summer rushed forward as the top item slid from its perch. She caught the tumbling package and grabbed the next box from the teetering stack, as well. “Are you sure about that?”

Nolan shot her an embarrassed grin. “Thanks. That was close.”

Summer read the label on the pillow-like gift zipped in clear plastic packaging. “Boppy?”

Bellamy’s face glowed. “I know! I’m so excited. I hear they’re a must, and I hadn’t gotten one before now.”

Summer exchanged a curious look with Nolan as he loaded the gifts into Bellamy’s trunk, and she mouthed, What’s a Boppy?

He shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the pack mule.”

Bellamy swatted at his arm. “Oh, hush. It’s not as bad as that. One more trip to get the swing, and we’ll be done.”

Summer added the packages she’d caught to the nooks in Bellamy’s car and faced Nolan as he closed the trunk. “I was just finishing up my business here and thought I could buy you that cup of coffee I owe you now.”

“Now?” He dusted grime from the car off his hands and arched one eyebrow.

“I didn’t want to give you the chance to slip out of town and disappear before I could grill you about your mysterious absence from our lives.”

He scoffed and gaped at her. “I disappeared? You’re one to talk, Ms. No Social Media Presence.”

She cocked her head, blinking. “Huh? I have social media accounts. What are you—”

Bellamy cleared her throat. “Um, I hate to interrupt this lovers’ quarrel, but—”

Both Summer and Nolan jerked their heads toward Bellamy, chiming together, “We’re not—!” and “What! No!”

Bellamy’s grin reflected her skepticism. “Whatever…but my feet are killing me. If you don’t mind grabbing that swing, Nolan? My lunch break is almost over, and I need to prop my feet up.”

“Right.” Nolan aimed a finger at Bellamy. “Lead the way. I’m right behind you.” Then pointing at Summer, he added, “Yes. Now’s good. But let’s make it lunch at the Bluebell Diner. This pack mule is getting hungry.”

Summer’s mood lifted, and butterfly wings flapped in her chest. “Deal.”

As he followed the waddling Bellamy back inside, Nolan motioned to the place Summer was standing. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

With a smirk, she saluted him. “Aye, aye, captain. I’ll be right here.”

Nolan returned five minutes later, lugging a large cardboard box. Summer eyed the box then the back seat of Bellamy’s car. “Um, captain? I don’t think there’s room in the hold for that cargo.”

“Not in that ship,” he said, nodding to Bellamy’s sedan. “I told her I’d put it in my car. This way. I’ll drive to lunch.”

Summer pursed her lips, and memories of days spent rambling and relaxing on the Colton Ranch came back to her. Specifically how bossy Nolan could be. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. But she had. She was her own boss now, and she’d learned the hard way not to give any man control of her life.

Nolan started across the pavement, and when she didn’t follow, he glanced back. “Coming?”

“Yeah.” She fell in step next to him and dug her keys out of her pocket. “But I’ll drive my own car to lunch. That way we don’t have to double back here to pick it up.”

He stopped at a dark blue Jeep Cherokee, where he opened the tailgate and slid the baby swing box in the back. “Suit yourself. If you beat me there, go ahead and get us a table.”

She chuckled lightly. “Bossy as ever, I see.”

He frowned. “Bossy? I only said—” He growled under his breath. “Whatever. Can I walk you to your car?”

“Thanks, but I’m just there.” She pointed three spaces over to her yellow VW Beetle. “Meet ya in five.”

Nolan gave her a wink and a nod that stirred a fresh wave of giddy bubbles in her veins. She trotted to her car, energized and more optimistic than she’d been in months. But as she backed her Beetle out of her parking spot, a niggling warning tickled her brain. As kids, she’d blown off Nolan’s autocratic dictates or complied happily enough. He was a year older, a boy, and usually had good ideas that she accepted at face value. Good enough reasons for a nine-or ten-year-old kid to be a follower. No big deal. But eight years later, going along, appeasement and blind acceptance with Robby had gotten her tangled in a dangerous and detrimental relationship that she still had nightmares about.

A cloud of doubt drifted in to cast her good mood in shadow. Summer squeezed the steering wheel and pulled onto the state road leading toward downtown Whisperwood. Nolan might be handsome as the devil and someone who’d graced her childhood with adventure and laughter, but she needed to proceed with caution. Clearly he was still a take-charge kind of guy. She couldn’t let her golden memories of Nolan, her fondness for their old friendship color this new iteration of their relationship. She needed to stand firm and set the parameters, or she could too easily repeat mistakes she had yet to live down.

When she arrived at the Bluebell Diner, a popular place for locals to eat their fill of home-style Southern cooking and Tex-Mex favorites, Nolan was already ensconced in a booth at the back of the restaurant near the door to the kitchen. He sat with his back to the wall, watching the door, and lifted his chin in acknowledgment as she entered the bustling diner.

She greeted the older couple that ran the mercantile across the street from her office and Madeline Klein, for whom she’d handled a case last month, as she wended her way through the tables toward Nolan. The first thing she noticed as she reached their table was that he’d changed T-shirts. He’d replaced the coffee-soiled one with a simple heather-gray one that read FBI over the breast.

He stood as she approached, waiting for her to sit before resuming his seat. He still has cowboy manners, she thought, smiling, flattered, while another part of her brain chafed. Did his old-fashioned manners translate to old-fashioned opinions about women?

Shoving aside the itchy question, she slid into the booth and nodded toward his chest. “Where’d you get an FBI shirt?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “My gym bag was in the back seat.”

She snorted. “I mean, how’d you come to own it?” She raised the ice water already at her spot for a sip.

He waved his fingers in casual dismissal. “Standard issue in the Bureau.”

Summer choked on the water and set it down, sputtering, “Wait, wh-what?”

He handed her a napkin as she coughed. “Standard issue. They may have given it to me for a Bureau event. I don’t remember for sure.”

She clutched the paper napkin in her hand and gaped at him. “You’re in the FBI?”

He scowled and grumbled, “A little louder, huh? I don’t think they heard out on the street.”

Nolan cut a glance to the table next to them, where a middle-aged woman with two small children sat. The woman gave him a curious glance, and Nolan flashed an awkward smile and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the blue gingham tablecloth.

“Yes,” he said in a hushed tone as he handed her a plastic-protected menu from the stack behind the napkin holder. “I am.”

Summer flopped back against the booth and stared at him, her mouth gaping. “Get. Out. Of. Town! Nolan!”

He shifted on his bench, and his hand fisted on the table. “Well, technically I still am, but…” He exhaled heavily and sent her a dark look. “The real reason I’m in town is I’ve been put on administrative leave.”

Their waitress arrived, placing napkin-wrapped cutlery at each of their places. “Y’all had a chance to look at the menu?”

Nolan picked up a menu. “Sorry, no. We need another minute.”

“Take your time, but the pumpkin spice cake is going fast. If you want any, you better order it now.”

“Hmm, that does sound good. Save us two slices,” Nolan said, giving the woman a lopsided grin.

Pumpkin spice cake did sound great, but Nolan’s high-handedness in ordering for her irked her. “Two slices? You are hungry, aren’t you, G-man?”

He peered over the top of his menu. “You don’t want cake? You used to love dessert.”

“What kid doesn’t? What I want is to order for myself.” She softened the scolding with a playful scowl. Leaning forward, she flattened her hands on the tabletop. “Now tell me about this FBI thing. How did that happen? When? What department are you in? Jeez, the FB freaking I?”

He cleared his throat, dropped his gaze to the menu again and said, “I was training for the Fort Worth Police Department when I saw an article that said the FBI was recruiting. So I applied, got accepted and have been in the Bureau for the last six years.”

A look of consternation crossed his face, and she recalled his comment about administrative leave. “And you’re here in Whisperwood rather than on the job because…”

He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, tapped the menu on the table, then met her eyes. “I’m being investigated for sexual assault against a fellow agent.”

As casually as if he’d just told her the sky was blue, he put his menu back behind the napkin holder. “I think I’ll have the chili with jalapeño cornbread. What looks good to you?”

Summer’s heart rose to her throat, and she squeaked, “What!”

“Chili and cornbread. I’ve missed Texas-style chili up in Chi-town.”

She reached for his arm and squeezed. His muscles in his forearm were rock hard, and despite the serious topic of their conversation, her belly twitched in recognition of the skin-to-skin contact. “Don’t pretend you didn’t just drop a bomb. Explain that—” she stopped, giving the woman with the young kids a side glance and lowering her volume to a whisper “—sexual assault comment.”

He firmed his mouth and withdrew his arm from her grip. “I’ll fill you in on the specifics later, somewhere less public. Leave it at this—I didn’t do what Charlotte’s contending.”

“Charlotte, huh?” She folded her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow. “I used to like that name. Not so much now.”

“Why don’t you tell me how you got started as a PI? And how long have you been back in Whisperwood? I tried to track you down in recent years and got nowhere. Where’ve you been?” He sipped his water, and his expression indicated he was closing the door on discussing his life.

“I’ve been a lot of places in the last seventeen or so years. You remember my dad reupped with the Army?”

He nodded.

“So we moved every couple of years. I started college in Georgia before…circumstances led me to change my major and transfer to Colorado State. Then after graduating with a degree in marketing, I decided I liked being my own boss. I’d gained a little experience and interest in private investigating thanks to those, uh, circumstances I mentioned…” She raised an eyebrow letting him know she’d be leaving that story untold for the moment.

“Mm-hmm, now who’s being mysterious and coy?” he asked.

“Not coy. Just saving the details for our private heart-to-heart when you tell all.”

The waitress returned and took their order. When they had semiprivacy again, she said, “I’d say the fact you couldn’t find me on social media indicates you aren’t a very good G-man, but, in truth, I tried to make myself hard to find.”

Nolan’s brow dipped. “Why would you do that?”

“A troublesome ex. That, and I’ve gone by different names over the years. The thing about moving to new schools every couple years is, you can reinvent yourself, be Victoria instead of Summer. Then I tried out Vee and by college I was going by Vicki. After Robby started hounding me, I switched to Tori.”

“What was wrong with Summer?” His gaze narrowed, and his hazel eyes darkened. “I liked Summer. Not just the name, but the girl I knew. Why reinvent yourself?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Boredom. Youthful experimenting. Because I could. New place, new name. It was a game.”

The noise that issued from his throat said he was skeptical. “And now you’re back in Whisperwood. Why?”

“That one’s easy. I love it here. Of all the places we moved over the years, all the zip codes where I lived since I was a kid, nowhere ever felt like home the way Whisperwood did. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was because we lived here longer than anywhere else, but Whisperwood has always represented home and roots. It’s where I wanted to settle down and raise my family.” She spread her hands. “So a few months ago, I made it happen. I packed up my cat and headed down here. I found office space on Main Street and opened my own PI biz.”

“And got hired for a case that involves the crime scene at Lone Star Pharma.” His arched eyebrow asked for her to supply details.

“My first big case here. I helped with criminal cases at my old firm, but since I opened my own business, I’ve mostly been following cheating husbands, looking for lost relatives and finding missing dogs.”

He pulled an amused face. “Dogs?”

She chuckled. “Yeah. A little girl came in a couple weeks ago asking for help finding her dog. She had two dollars. I had a little time.” She shrugged. “We found the dog a couple doors down from her house twenty minutes later. I didn’t charge her. But word got around at the elementary school, and I’ve been hired twice more since then. Found both dogs at the same house as the first. It seems Mrs. Nesbit’s poodle was in heat, and every male dog in the neighborhood was visiting Fluffy. Case closed.”

He laughed, and the rich sound sent a quiver to her core.

Their food arrived, and she tucked in, more to occupy her restless hands and distract her mind from the odd hum that had vibrated in her veins since sitting down with Nolan fifteen minutes earlier than from hunger.

“And the case you have now? It’s the real thing?”

“I’ll say. A twenty-year-old woman was strangled and buried in the parking lot where you saw me earlier. Her family isn’t happy with the way the police are handling the case, the slow trickle of information from the Whisperwood PD, so they’ve hired me to find the person responsible for killing her.”

With his gaze fixed on her, Nolan set his cornbread down so hard, it broke in half. “You’re investigating a murder? An open case with the local PD?”

She wiped condensation from her water glass with her thumb. Did she detect a note of disbelief or judgment in his tone? She prayed not. She’d come to expect a bit of sexism from the population as a whole, but she wanted to believe Nolan was above it. She bobbed a nod. “I am.”

He said nothing as he popped another bite of cornbread in his mouth and chewed, watching her. She held his stare, wondering what was going on behind his mercurial hazel eyes. Where moments ago they’d been the gray-green color of a Texas river, now flecks of gold sparked in their depths, a sure sign his mind was churning. Once he’d swallowed the bite of cornbread, he said, “You’re talking about Patrice Eccleston?”

“Yeah. You heard about her?”

“My family was discussing the case last night at dinner.” He paused briefly before adding, “I’m staying on my cousins’ ranch. Same room I used all those summers as a kid.”

She smiled. “I’m guessing Josephine hasn’t changed a thing in that room since the last time you stayed there.”

“You’d be right.” He stirred his chili, blew on a spoonful and said, “I want in.”

She paused with a French fry halfway to her mouth. “Pardon?”

“Your murder investigation. I’m sitting on my butt out at the ranch doing nothing except mucking stalls in the morning and watching Jeopardy! in the afternoons with Josephine. I’m an FBI special agent, Summer. I can help you, and I want in.”