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Authors: Ridley Pearson
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break the law using Gorman but not her had been a perpetual sore spot.
He shrugged. “The guy’s name is David Stapleton. If we’ve got it right, his woman is called Priscilla Cole.” He passed her the names on a blank piece of notepaper.
She didn’t so much as glance at the names; her eyes were locked onto his. She held the gaze for an interminable amount of time. Without looking, she reached out, found the Scotch, and drained it. He refused to break eye contact; he could be as obstinate as she. He had spent years lost in those eyes. He felt a little drunk.
“I miss you,” she said softly. Was she making it up?
“Yeah,” he answered.
“It’s not serious … What I’m in now … It’s a filler, something to take up the time, warm up the nights, give the weekends meaning.” She reached for the drink again but realized it was empty. He felt like offering her his. “You could use someone,” she encouraged.
“That’s the thing,” Dart offered. “It would be using, I think.”
“That’s okay, as long as it’s clear.”
“No. Not for me it isn’t.”
Her eyes grew sad, but she never broke their eye contact.
“Want another?” she asked. He wasn’t sure what she meant—another chance, another drink? He nodded.
She raised her hand, flexed her wrist, and pointed at the table. She never took her eyes off him. Never confirmed that the order had been received. But the drinks arrived minutes later, and Dart thought how typical this was of her. In control. In command. He started feeling angry with her; he wasn’t sure where that came from.
He touched the notepaper again, breaking eye contact.
She scooped up the names, neatly folded the piece of paper, and slipped it into her shirt pocket, impatient with him.
“It’s true about missing you,” she told him.
“I don’t want you breaking any laws.” He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said this, and then wondered why. Of course he wanted her breaking laws.
“Heaven forbid,” she mocked. “It might reflect on you.”
More salt.
She picked up her glass—it seemed a familiar movement to her—and she said, “Let’s see how far I get.”
“Yeah … okay,” Dart said, not entirely sure if she were talking about insurance records, or their relationship. As much as he felt drawn to her, torn by their breakup, he understood that his tendency was to be attracted to women who needed him to save them. His relationship with his mother had established this, and he had continued it through several relationships and into the romance with Ginny. He had repeatedly rescued her when she had been busted for her computer hacking—there were times he felt it was his only purpose in the relationship. He knew he needed to break that cycle. If he were to go back with her, no matter how tempting, he’d simply start it all again—he felt clear on this. Even so, the heartstrings tugged.
When she swallowed, her throat moved sensuously. His visceral attraction pulled at him, despite his reasoning. But his reasoning won out, and not long after, she stood and left.
So, why, he wondered, drinking alone once again, did it hurt so deeply to see her go?
CHAPTER 7
Four days later, Dart found himself standing out on the sidewalk in front of the Jennings Road headquarters alongside a restless Ted Bragg. He could hear the sound of boat traffic out on the Connecticut River. The late August air was like a cocoon, smothering every living creature that ventured outside. Dart would have preferred to have remained inside with the less than exceptional air-conditioning, but Bragg had insisted they meet out here so that he could smoke. Dart toed the sidewalk restlessly, waiting for Bragg to say something. Patrol cars came and went.
“I ran the Ice Man stats into the animation software, like I said.”
“You said a week or two, Buzz,” Dart reminded, surprised at how quickly the man was getting back to him.
“I’m motivated,” Bragg said irritably. “This software
He shrugged. “The guy’s name is David Stapleton. If we’ve got it right, his woman is called Priscilla Cole.” He passed her the names on a blank piece of notepaper.
She didn’t so much as glance at the names; her eyes were locked onto his. She held the gaze for an interminable amount of time. Without looking, she reached out, found the Scotch, and drained it. He refused to break eye contact; he could be as obstinate as she. He had spent years lost in those eyes. He felt a little drunk.
“I miss you,” she said softly. Was she making it up?
“Yeah,” he answered.
“It’s not serious … What I’m in now … It’s a filler, something to take up the time, warm up the nights, give the weekends meaning.” She reached for the drink again but realized it was empty. He felt like offering her his. “You could use someone,” she encouraged.
“That’s the thing,” Dart offered. “It would be using, I think.”
“That’s okay, as long as it’s clear.”
“No. Not for me it isn’t.”
Her eyes grew sad, but she never broke their eye contact.
“Want another?” she asked. He wasn’t sure what she meant—another chance, another drink? He nodded.
She raised her hand, flexed her wrist, and pointed at the table. She never took her eyes off him. Never confirmed that the order had been received. But the drinks arrived minutes later, and Dart thought how typical this was of her. In control. In command. He started feeling angry with her; he wasn’t sure where that came from.
He touched the notepaper again, breaking eye contact.
She scooped up the names, neatly folded the piece of paper, and slipped it into her shirt pocket, impatient with him.
“It’s true about missing you,” she told him.
“I don’t want you breaking any laws.” He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said this, and then wondered why. Of course he wanted her breaking laws.
“Heaven forbid,” she mocked. “It might reflect on you.”
More salt.
She picked up her glass—it seemed a familiar movement to her—and she said, “Let’s see how far I get.”
“Yeah … okay,” Dart said, not entirely sure if she were talking about insurance records, or their relationship. As much as he felt drawn to her, torn by their breakup, he understood that his tendency was to be attracted to women who needed him to save them. His relationship with his mother had established this, and he had continued it through several relationships and into the romance with Ginny. He had repeatedly rescued her when she had been busted for her computer hacking—there were times he felt it was his only purpose in the relationship. He knew he needed to break that cycle. If he were to go back with her, no matter how tempting, he’d simply start it all again—he felt clear on this. Even so, the heartstrings tugged.
When she swallowed, her throat moved sensuously. His visceral attraction pulled at him, despite his reasoning. But his reasoning won out, and not long after, she stood and left.
So, why, he wondered, drinking alone once again, did it hurt so deeply to see her go?
CHAPTER 7
Four days later, Dart found himself standing out on the sidewalk in front of the Jennings Road headquarters alongside a restless Ted Bragg. He could hear the sound of boat traffic out on the Connecticut River. The late August air was like a cocoon, smothering every living creature that ventured outside. Dart would have preferred to have remained inside with the less than exceptional air-conditioning, but Bragg had insisted they meet out here so that he could smoke. Dart toed the sidewalk restlessly, waiting for Bragg to say something. Patrol cars came and went.
“I ran the Ice Man stats into the animation software, like I said.”
“You said a week or two, Buzz,” Dart reminded, surprised at how quickly the man was getting back to him.
“I’m motivated,” Bragg said irritably. “This software
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