Читать книгу Whispers and Lies - Diane Pershing - Страница 9

At seven that evening, deep in thought even as she stifled a yawn, Lou locked the clinic door, turned around and bumped smack into a chest. A man’s chest. Reeling, she gave a startled cry, but before she could go into full panic mode, two hands had caught her by the shoulders and helped her to keep her balance.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She glanced up to see Will Jamison looking down at her, concern in his eyes. “Well, you sure did.”

Irritated with herself for overreacting, she shook off his grip, making him drop his hands to his side. In the fading light of day, she could see that he’d shaved, was wearing cargo pants, a loud Hawaiian shirt and brown sandals. He was dressed for the heat of July in upstate New York. Heck, he could have been wearing a prison uniform and he still would have looked mouthwateringly splendid.

She wished she’d thought to wash her face, brush back her hair or put on some lipstick. She felt dreary and unkempt, a kind of bone-weariness that sat on her shoulders like an anvil. She rotated her neck, which was way too tight; her nerves were really on edge. Before she turned her attention back to Will, she darted a quick look at her surroundings.

Nope. No one ducking suddenly into an alleyway, no strange cars containing men in dark suits and shades staring at her from behind tinted windows.

Was she slowly going nuts? Having some sort of posttraumatic reaction to her mother’s passing?

She shook her head, hoping it would unscramble her brains back to where they belonged, then returned her gaze to Will. “So here you are again. That’s two times in one day. Coincidence?”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve come to buy you dinner.”

Despite herself, Lou chuckled. “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t like the word no, were you?”

“Hey, you have to eat, right? So do I. Come on, Lou. Give it up.” He had an I-dare-you twinkle in his eye, and she felt her defenses evaporating under the onslaught of so much charisma.

And why did she have the defenses up, anyway? What was the matter with her? She’d been thinking about the man all day, hadn’t she? Why was she holding on so tightly to keeping him at arm’s length? Even so, she gave it one last shot. “I’m not at my best, Will. I look awful. I’m tired. I was planning on picking up a salad and just going home.”

“You look fine. I have an urge for Lady Jamaica’s barbecue and a whole side of pork ribs. I don’t like to eat alone. It’s two blocks away. Come with me,” he coaxed.

He grinned, that sensational crooked grin of his, and just like that, she was a goner. Just as she’d been fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years ago. Caught up in the spell of Will Jamison’s smile.

He offered her his arm, an endearingly courtly gesture, and she indulged in one more moment of indecision. Then muttering, “Oh, what the hell,” she took his arm and allowed herself to be led off down the street.

As usual, Lady Jamaica’s Place was packed and overly loud with conversation and island music. Mouthwatering smells of garlic and exotic spices filled the air of the high-ceilinged, barnlike restaurant. Once she and Will were seated, Lou gazed around the room and noticed people noticing them. Despite herself, a tiny thrill coursed through her—oh, how her youthful self had yearned for this, to be seen with Will, to be thought of as special enough to be seen with Will.

Back then, as now, she’d been friends with his sister Nancy, and when she was at the Jamison house, she would watch him surreptitiously, waiting for him to talk to her, to say hello at least. But he and his friends, all the other cool school jocks, steamrolled their way through the house, sweatshirts damp from shooting hoops in the backyard, horsing around, telling dumb jokes, raiding the refrigerator, creating mile-high sandwiches.

And never, never, ever noticing her, no matter what he’d said earlier. She’d been a nothing. A short, chubby, red-haired, freckled nobody. Not anymore.

Lou had been raised by a hardworking single mother, had learned to make do with very little money and had an affinity for animals. She got decent enough grades to get into vet school, but had never been a real brain. She did have a sharp sense of humor, but not around Will, never around Will. No, whenever she’d been in the vicinity of her secret crush, she’d been dry-mouthed and tongue-tied. The witty, smart little remarks she’d come up with in her head would always manage to get lost, strangled to a premature death in the back of her throat before they could escape. And she would blush.

And now here she was, out to dinner with Will Jamison. In public. Because he had insisted. Despite her setting all kinds of barriers in place, he’d pushed through and insisted.

And again she had to wonder why, even as she cursed her suspicious mind. But really, Will Jamison, attracted to her? It was the word he had used—attracted. But she was so definitely not his type, which tended toward tall, blond and sophisticated; Nancy occasionally ran pictures in the Courier of Will at various D.C. functions, and that was the type of woman always on his arm. Lou was none of those adjectives.

Oh, sure, she knew she wasn’t unappealing and had a somewhat offbeat charm. She was reputed to be “fun.” And yes, there had been men attracted to her over the years—she’d even married one. But she was under no illusions about herself. Lou was ordinary. And she simply did not belong in the same equation with Will Jamison.

Then why had he insisted on taking her out? Was she some kind of charity case? Oh, no. Had Nancy told her brother how sad Lou had been since Mom had died, and had he decided to give the little lady a thrill? Or maybe he was doing a piece on animal rescuers or female veterinarians and wanted her to help him?

Or maybe he really was attracted to her, and she was allowing painful ghosts to infect her mind and run her life for her. Wow, what a concept.

When the waiter, one of Lady Jamaica’s several tall, ebony-skinned sons, appeared at their table, Lou ordered a vodka martini. After Will had ordered a beer, he said, “A martini, huh? Pretty fancy for a ribs-and-corn dinner.”

“It’s a tradition,” she told him. “One a night, and never more than one. It started with Mom about ten years ago. Our own little cocktail hour, a kind of letting-down time after a stressful day. And I’ve kept it up.”

“Traditions are good things,” he said, nodding.

“Unless they’re stupid things.”

“Agreed. Like fraternity hazings.”

“And shooting guns in the air on the Fourth of July.”

“Although fireworks on the same day are good things.”

“Agreed.”

As they grinned at each other, Lou felt herself relaxing, just a bit, and was grateful for the respite. When the drinks arrived, Will raised his glass. “Let’s make a toast.”

“To what?”

“Good traditions and old friends.”

She clinked his glass with hers, but her brief feeling of lightheartedness lessened. He was still playing that “old friends” tune. She could curse her suspicious mind all she wanted, but something in his attitude felt off somehow.

She took a sip of her drink and let it warm her blood. Okay, enough. She was a grown-up now, she told herself, not a foolish schoolgirl, and could handle all kinds of situations, including dinner with Will Jamison. And so they fell into chatting about Nancy’s upcoming marriage to her childhood sweetheart, Bob Weiss. How the town had changed, what had happened to people they both knew. Will was easy to be with, Lou thought. He listened, seemed to be deeply interested in whatever she said.

And, of course, there was that mesmerizing face of his. Eyes that were jade green under heavyish brows and lids, and eyelashes thicker than was fair; a long, thin nose, generous mouth, and just the slightest indentation in the middle of a square, rugged chin. She watched his expression change with each new topic—surprise, amusement, a hint of sadness when he learned of the high school principal’s death, all of it registered on his striking features…and made her stupid heart thump just a little harder.

When their meals came—two huge plates of ribs, corn, coleslaw, beans and garlic bread, hot and spicy and mouthwateringly delicious—Lou was grateful to have something else to concentrate on other than Will Jamison. While he dug in eagerly, she took a bite of one of the ribs and chewed slowly, hoping she’d be able to eat a decent amount tonight.

After Will had inhaled about half his dinner, he put down his fork. A time-out was called for, he decided. He wiped his mouth, finished off his beer and was wondering how to introduce the topic of Lincoln DeWitt when Lou took care of it.

“Tell me about your life as a reporter.” Resting her elbow on the table, she cupped her chin in her hand and gazed at him. “Working on anything special lately?”

“Well, yeah. I’m planning a series for the New York Times about the black sheep of prominent families.”

“Ooh, lots of scandals. Sounds like fun.”

“It is. I’m doing the first one on Lincoln DeWitt.” He tossed the name off casually and watched her face for a reaction.

She shrugged. “Never heard of him, sorry.”

“Really?” When she shook her head no, Will said, “He’s Jackson DeWitt’s brother. The senator from Florida?”

“Now that name rings a bell.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, I don’t much follow politics. I find it too depressing.”

“It is that, but the backroom maneuvering is pretty fascinating.”

She picked up a French fry, dipped it in ketchup and bit into it. That was when Will noticed that Lou’s plate was nearly full. Before he could comment on it, she said, “So, tell me, what’s this Lincoln DeWitt like?”

“He’s got the morals of an alley cat,” he said with a smile. “The man has a huge ego, drinks way too much and, to tell you the truth, I kind of like him. You can’t help it. He’s so up front about what a bad boy he is.”

“Does he know you’re writing the article?”

“Are you kidding? He’s cooperating, one hundred percent. The man loves the limelight.”

Lou offered a mirthless laugh. “Everyone wants to be famous. Not me, thanks. Give me a small, settled life, and I’m a happy camper.”

“Good for you. Better that way.”

So, she really didn’t know, Will realized. Had not an inkling, he was sure of it.

When she took a small bite of her corn and then set it down, again his attention was brought back to the fact that she’d hardly eaten a thing, and he felt concern for her, more concern than was his business.

Not for the first time, he wished he didn’t have two agendas for being here with Lou tonight, the personal and the professional. As a reporter, the two were often linked, and tonight was no exception.

And although he didn’t believe in coincidence, that was exactly what had happened back in D.C. this past Tuesday night that had led to this meeting….

The DuPont Circle neighborhood bar hadn’t been very crowded as, somewhat early for his appointment with Lincoln DeWitt, Will had been catching up on a back issue of the Susanville Courier. His little sister, the paper’s managing editor, always faithfully sent them to him.

He was glancing at the obituaries when a slap on the back told him the man himself had arrived. Lincoln slid onto the stool next to him, saying, “Hey, Will, heard this one? Old geezer is having bed trouble with his old lady. You know, no staying power? Goes to his doc for some hot new meds. Doc tells him there are possible side effects: dizziness, high blood pressure, nausea, even death. Guy shrugs and says, ‘Hey, she dies, she dies.’” Lincoln followed the punch line with one of his big, hearty laughs.

As always, his mirth was contagious, and Will chuckled. “And good evening to you, too, Lincoln.”

DeWitt was a handsome man in his early sixties, with a straight nose, high forehead and a full head of silver hair. But his gut protruded over his belt and there were lines of dissipation around the eyes, a reddened nose, sunken cheeks. Hard living had taken its toll.

After Lincoln ordered his usual double scotch on the rocks, his gaze drifted to the newspaper Will had spread out in front of him. A deep frown creased his patrician forehead as he stared at the Courier’s back page.

Will noticed his reaction. “What is it, Linc?”

The older man grabbed the paper and brought the page that had captured his attention closer. From his vest pocket, he removed reading glasses, put them on and studied the picture. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s my hometown newspaper. Susanville, New York.”

“Janice McAndrews,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“This woman, this Janice McAndrews,” he said, pointing to the page, still frowning. “This is her obituary. Did you know her?”

“Janice McAndrews,” Will said, thinking. “Let me see.”

He peered over Linc’s shoulder and read. There were two pictures, one of a much younger woman—say, twenty years earlier or so—and another more recent one, taken at the age, reported to be fifty-three, when the woman had died of cancer. One survivor, Louise McAndrews, DVM.

“Oh, yes,” he said, remembering now why the name was familiar. “I knew her daughter. Well, kind of knew her. She was one of my sister’s friends.”

“Hmm.” And with that, Linc handed the paper back to him, grinning once again. “So, what’s up? Did you interview Gretchen? And does she still disapprove of me?”

Will wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “How do you know Janice McAndrews? What is she to you?”

Linc gave an offhand shrug, that good-time twinkle was back in his eye. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Then why the reaction?”

“She reminded me of someone, that’s all,” he answered easily. “But I was wrong.”

“Linc. You’re BSing me.”

After a momentary pause, during which the older man probably realized he wasn’t going to win this one, he said, “Yeah, I am.” He offered another smirk. “Okay, I think, well—” he winked “—I may have been, shall we say, intimate with the lady? Only that wasn’t her name…I think. I really don’t remember for sure. There were a few years back there in the seventies when I was experimenting with all kinds of potions and mixtures. The whole thing’s kind of fuzzy.”

“And that’s it? You sure?”

He splayed his hands. “Hey, I’ve come clean about all the ladies I’ve been with, at least all the ones I remember, haven’t I, Will?” That he had, and the list was long and possibly libelous—the Times’s lawyers would be sharpening their pencils, Will had no doubt.

“Okay, yeah.”

So, he’d let it lie. For the moment.

But Linc’s reaction had been too big for his explanation. Will had a sixth sense for what his interview subjects wanted to hide, and Lincoln DeWitt was hiding something. So later that night, back at his home office, Will had turned on his computer and used Google to search the Internet for Janice McAndrews. He got some references to a classics scholar living in Madrid, several more to a financial adviser based in Chicago. A few single hits referred to school reunions, recipe queries and even more mundane things, but nothing about a Janice McAndrews of Susanville, New York. He might have picked up the phone right then and called Lou, but he knew he would be going home for his sister’s wedding.

Now, here he was, three days later, sitting at Lady Jamaica’s, across the table from the woman he’d hoped might shed some light on what Lincoln DeWitt was hiding.

Light had been shed, but Lou herself was completely in the dark.

“All of us here in Susanville are pretty impressed at how well you’ve done, career-wise,” she said.

He shrugged, tossed it off. “I’ve been lucky.”

“Lucky and talented.” She smiled. “Fifteen years climbing the reporter’s career ladder, and now the New York Times. Everyone always thought you’d be the one to take over the Courier. But I guess the wider world outside of Susanville called to you.”

“That it did.”

“And how was it?”

“The world?”

“Yes.”

There was a flippant answer Will could have given, but instead he found himself taking the time to actually think about it. A series of images flashed in his mind like slides on a screen: bodies being blown up in Iraq; more blood-soaked corpses strewn over the wreckage of a train crash in Spain; large-eyed, hollow-cheeked, diseased children in Sudan. “It’s pretty rough out there,” he said somberly. “I got burned-out. There’s a lot of pain in the world, and way too much violence.”

“So I hear.” Compassion shone from her eyes, followed by a soft smile. “And burnout happens to us all.”

He shifted his attention to her full plate. “Hey,” he said. “Come on, you have to eat something.”

Lou was surprised by the change of subject, then she too looked down. Will was nearly done with his dinner and she’d hardly touched hers. She took a bite of her garlic bread, but could barely chew it. For weeks, her appetite simply hadn’t been there. It was as though her taste buds had calluses on them. Yes, sir, that new weight-loss gimmick—grief.

“I’m not very hungry.”

When their waiter asked if they wanted coffee or dessert, Will looked at Lou and she shook her head. He pointed to her plate. “Wrap that to go and I’ll take the check.”

When they left the restaurant, night had descended fully, lit faintly by a quarter moon that hung to one side of the church steeple like a dangling earring. Lou took in a deep breath of cool evening air and felt her nausea abating.

As though echoing her thoughts, Will murmured, “I always forget how much I love the nights here in Susanville. Clean air. No glaring lights to interfere with the stars. Not much traffic or noise. Quiet.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s stroll a bit before I take you home.” He carried her packed-up dinner in one hand, so he bent his other arm and, as before, offered it to Lou. “Okay?”

“Sure.”

Lou inserted her hand in the crook of his elbow and they walked along, not speaking, their footsteps echoing on the nearly deserted sidewalks. This close to Will, she felt so small. Which made sense—he was a foot taller than she was.

But it was more than that, always had been. It had to do with the power of that personality of his and the effect it used to have—still had?—on her. Will reduced her somehow, robbed her of a firm sense of who she was. She felt so…not helpless, exactly, but sapped of strength, as though all her energy—whatever wasn’t being utilized by unrequited love—was needed just to keep up. She didn’t care for the feeling, not in the least.

She shot a sideways glance at him. Lit as he was by the moon and the occasional old-fashioned streetlamp, his face was all planes and shadows. Maturity agreed with him; he was more filled out, less bony. His face, with lines across his forehead and around the mouth and eyes, had not just beauty but character. If she was thirty-three, that made him thirty-six or thirty-seven. He was in his prime, the years when a man finally grows into his face and a woman’s begins to droop.

She was contemplating the unfairness of Mother Nature toward her own sex when Will broke the silence. “Have you always lived here?”

“Since I was thirteen.”

“And before that?”

“We moved around a lot.”

“Your dad’s job?”

“No, my mom’s. Dad was a ship’s captain in the Merchant Marines. He died when I wasn’t even a year old.”

So, Will thought, if his suspicions were correct, Janice McAndrews had invented a father for her little girl and had never given her a reason to doubt his existence. “What a shame,” he said, “to lose your father so early in your life.”

“You can’t really miss what you’ve never had.”

After passing a series of storefronts, they both stopped and stared at the sign in one window. Susanville Courier, Est. 1957, it read. Lou smiled. “And just think, instead of writing for the Times, all this could have all been yours.”

“Never wanted the job.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? I’m surprised.”

“I know, everyone took it for granted. But, trust me, it was the furthest thing from my mind. I hated the paper.”

“Why?”

A sense of bitterness tinged with sadness pierced him then, a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to experience in years. “It robbed me of a father. He was always here, at the paper, hardly ever at home.”

“A workaholic.”

He nodded and they continued walking toward the clinic. “The man invented the concept. He couldn’t come to my soccer games because of a story, unless he was covering the game. Couldn’t visit me in the hospital when I had my tonsils out—deadline on an issue. He was editor, publisher, chief reporter, and I was pretty low on the list of his priorities. Yeah, I hated the Courier.”

He was shocked at how much passion he still felt about the subject and had no idea why he was telling Lou about it. A man who never talked about his disappointment with his father—not to anyone—Will was letting Lou in, as though they’d been intimate friends for years.

She cocked her head and gazed up at him, her deep brown eyes once again filled with understanding. “And yet you went into the newspaper business.”

“I am my father’s son, I guess.” He’d gotten that little insight a while ago—that he was way, way too much like his old man for comfort. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, etc.” He shook his head. “Wow. I sure hadn’t planned on telling you all that,” he confessed. “Let’s pretend I didn’t.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll pierce your manly armor and find out you have emotions?”

Will chuckled. “Busted.”

“Men.” It was her turn to shake her head.

“Uh-oh. Is that disdain for my sex I hear? What’s the story there?”

“None of your business,” she said lightly.

“I showed you mine, you have to show me yours.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

He grinned. “In a manner of speaking. Hey!”

This last was directed at the backs of two men who, out of nowhere, it seemed, ran past them, obviously in a hurry, nearly knocking Lou and him over.

“Hey!” Will called out again, putting his arm around Lou’s shoulder and pulling her close. But the men didn’t stop; instead, they sped up and disappeared around the corner. “Idiots,” he muttered.

In another half block, they were at the clinic. “This where your car is?” he asked.

“Where my house is.” She pointed upstairs. “Mom and I—I mean, I,” she amended, “live upstairs.”

Together, his arm still around her, they walked up the alleyway at the side of the building where a flight of wooden steps led to the upper floor. At the foot of the stairs, Lou turned, slipped out from under his arm and said, “Well, thanks for dinner. See you at the wedding on Sunday.”

He grabbed her hand before she could bolt up the stairs. “Not so fast. You were about to let me in on the reasons for the ‘I hate men’ attitude.”

“I was about to do no such thing.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t hate men.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s boring.”

“Try me.”

She shook her hand loose. “God! You don’t give up, do you? Okay. It’s just that…” She shrugged. “The opposite sex and I don’t mix well. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Nope. I always get my story. You can’t win. Are you going to invite me up for a cup of coffee?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, then. I guess we’ll do it here.”

He plopped himself down on the second-to-bottom step. Sighing loudly, she joined him, but on the step above. She was eye level with him now, illuminated solely by the bug light from the porch above them. Stray strands of wiry hair were backlit in yellow. “Let’s hear it,” he said.

He watched her as she gazed down at her hands, played with her knuckles as she spoke. “It’s just that, well, I’ve had just about nothing but trouble with the male of the species all my life. The heartache kind, the being-lied-to kind, the being-left-feeling-useless-and-ugly kind. Mom had a boyfriend for a while, then he stole money from her and took off. I had a husband and he cheated on me. No dad, no male role model while I was growing up. Stuff like that.”

She raised her gaze to meet his; the expression in her eyes was one of rueful resignation. “I prefer my animals. They always tell the truth. If they’re hungry, they let you know. If they want to be left alone, they go off. They’re soft, eager to please and never leave you.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Now who got naked?”

He sat still for a moment, taking in all she had told him. This woman moved him, deeply. Words seemed shallow, but he managed to say, “Thanks for trusting me.” He took one of her hands in his and squeezed it.

She looked down at their joined hands, then back up at him. “Actually, I’m not sure I do.” Her expression was both sad and apologetic at the same time. “But then, that could be more about me than about you.”

“A real possibility,” he said lightly, wanting her to trust him, but knowing that, at least on one level, she had a right not to. The personal and the professional again.

He lightly massaged each of her small fingers, one at a time, thoroughly enjoying the physical connection. The hitch in her breath let him know the sensation was mutual.

“Back to the animal thing,” he said. “The comparison doesn’t hold up. Humans have certain needs—for verbal communication, for the touching of flesh that isn’t all fur. And,” he added with a grin, “unless you’re twisted, there are some fairly basic needs that can’t be filled by them.”

“Um, yeah, I’ll give you that.”

He really wanted to ask her what she did for that one specific, very basic need—namely, sex. But he had a feeling it would disrupt the fragile sense of trust they’d established. Instead, he set her hand down on his bended knee and picked up the other one, rubbing the fingers, one at a time.

Frozen in time and space, Lou simply couldn’t move. Will’s touch was everything she’d fantasized all those years ago. Firm and sure of itself, yet gentle at the same time. Her pulse quickened, her breathing grew louder in her ears.

“Why did you move so much?”

His question startled her out of a sensual haze. “Excuse me?”

“When you were little.”

“Oh.” Still reacting to his touch, she heard herself answer as though from a distance. “Mom worked as a nanny, for newborns, mostly, and they were short-term jobs.”

“And so you moved every time a job ended?”

She managed a shrug. He was massaging the palm of her hand now; there was something amazingly intimate about the whole thing. Hands, knees, touch, warmth. “I guess so. I didn’t question it—I just thought that’s what you did. A job stopped, it was time for a new town. She made packing and moving an adventure, so it wasn’t too bad.”

“Why’d you finally settle here?”

You, was what she nearly blurted out. But she was not ready to get that naked with him. In fact…

Withdrawing her hands from his ministrations, she clasped them around her bent knees. “I begged her. I was thirteen years old and I wanted to start and end a school year in the same place. She managed to get a nice job with the Griswalds as a full-time housekeeper, and she came into a little money from an inheritance so we could put a down payment on this place. I got jobs after school and we got by.”

“Tell me about her. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. She was a sweet woman, totally devoted to me. To her detriment, I’m afraid. Not that she martyred herself, trust me. She had hobbies that she loved and good friends. We made a nice life here.”

And Mom’s had been way too short. Lou felt her eyes filling with tears. “You know what, Will? I’m tired.” She rose from the steps and realized she was actually exhausted.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

Will followed Lou up the stairs, reluctant to have their evening end. There had been something different, something special about it. Sitting with Lou on the steps, talking quietly in the dark, he’d felt an affinity, an intimate connection to her that was rare for him to feel with anyone.

At the door, she pulled her keys out from her purse, then turned to him. “Well, thanks,” she said. In the yellow light, he could see the tired lines under her eyes. Large brown eyes. Kind brown eyes.

“For what?” He handed her the to-go package.

“Dinner. The talk. The hand rub.” She smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve had human discourse. Conversations with animals tend to be kind of one-sided.”

Without thinking, he placed his palms on her soft cheeks, angled her head up, bent over and kissed her. He felt her body tense for a moment; then she relaxed. Her lips softened, parted slightly. He slid his tongue in and tasted her. Moist. Sweet. His body responded instantly…and way too intensely.

Breaking the kiss, he drew back, dropped his hands.

She gazed at him, eyes wide. “Why did you kiss me?”

It had been a momentary lapse of judgment, following through on something that should never have begun in the first place. He didn’t want to play around in his hometown, then leave. Not with someone vulnerable to hurt the way Lou was.

Still, he owed her the truth. “I told you I was attracted to you. Nothing since has changed my mind. I’m sorry we don’t live near each other.”

“Oh.” He could see she was not sure what to do with that. Embarrassed, she fumbled for her house key and inserted it in the lock. Then she turned again to face him. “Good night, Will.”

“Sleep well.”

Whistling, he began to descend the stairs and was halfway down when he heard a piercing cry shatter the stillness of the night.