Read Online Exposure by Susan Andersen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Andersen
Tags: romantic suspense
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older gents?"
"Bill Harris. Rick Magoody."
"Goddammit, Mom!" His mug slammed down on the tabletop, sloshing coffee. Those particular "gents" were two of her old clients. "Have you been turnin' tricks again?"
"Oh, certainly," she retorted sarcastically. "And suffer the embarrassment of being arrested by my own son? Spare me." Her eyes, the same brilliant blue as her son's, met his bitterly. "You made it abundantly clear, the day you were elected sheriff, that I was no longer in business."
"So what're you doing discussin' Emma Sands with the likes of Bill Harris and Rick Magoody?"
"I am still allowed a social life, I trust? Paying my bills doesn't give you leave to take away my rights to that, too, does it?"
Elvis slid his good hand off the table and onto his chair, sitting on it to keep from reaching for her throat. God, she made him crazy sometimes. "No, ma'am," he said through his teeth, "that was never my intention when I turned over my life savings to you."
And because that was exactly what he'd done, she relented. The truth was, there was no retirement plan in her line of work and she was going to turn fifty in a couple of months, which was a little long in the tooth for turning tricks. Elvis had presented her with a large cashier's check the same day he'd put her out of business, and he'd never once thrown it up to her in order to control her movements. It was just... he could be so damn rigid sometimes. And she hated knowing that he was ashamed of her. She understood it, but she hated it.
She nevertheless softened her attitude. "I simply had dinner with them, okay? Bill took me off-island Tuesday night, and last night Rick took me out to The Razorback."
"Yeah, okay, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I jumped to conclusions." He looked away uncomfortably. The black velvet Elvis painting hanging on the wall down the hallway reminded him of a subject he'd meant to raise. "So, when are you leaving for Graceland?"
Nadine's mouth formed a little moue. "Well, I really wanted to be there on the sixteenth of August. Such a sad, sad day."
God, give him strength. The anniversary of Elvis Presley's death. She'd have the damn flag flying ai half mast on that day, something she never bothered to do for presidents or veterans or Martin Luther King. "But . . . ?" he questioned in resignation.
"But the vacation calendar was already booked up for that date at MarySue's workplace," Nadine retorted. "So our pilgrimage will have to be a little earlier. We've got a flight out on the fourth of July."
"MarySue must get a couple of extra days off because of the holiday, huh?" Nadine's best friend worked the afternoon shift down at the Anchor.
"Yeah, so we might as well get an early start." Nadine pushed back from the table and bussed their cups to the sink. Glancing at Elvis over her shoulder, she added wryly, "Call me silly, but I have this niggling feeling that my presence won't be sorely missed at the annual parade."
"Oh, I don't know, Mom." The corner of Elvis' mouth quirked up. "Who the hell is everyone going to talk about if you're not there?"
* * * * *
Ruby and Emma were talking about Elvis.
When he'd walked into the cafe a moment ago the two women had both looked up and fallen silent, momentarily forsaking the conversation they'd been holding at a table in the corner. They watched him as he stood by the cash register waiting for Bonnie to pour his coffee-to-go. His expression contained its usual austerity as he looked down at the shiny chrome napkin holder on the formica counter, staring at it with the sort of unfocused intensity that people give objects when they're concentrating on inward thoughts.
Emma found her gaze traveling over him from the top of his thick black hair to the scuffed toes of his cowboy boots. "Have you ever in your life seen a body nicer than that one?" she demanded in a low voice, allowing herself to double check the long length of his back from the immense shoulders that stretched his khaki shirt to
"Bill Harris. Rick Magoody."
"Goddammit, Mom!" His mug slammed down on the tabletop, sloshing coffee. Those particular "gents" were two of her old clients. "Have you been turnin' tricks again?"
"Oh, certainly," she retorted sarcastically. "And suffer the embarrassment of being arrested by my own son? Spare me." Her eyes, the same brilliant blue as her son's, met his bitterly. "You made it abundantly clear, the day you were elected sheriff, that I was no longer in business."
"So what're you doing discussin' Emma Sands with the likes of Bill Harris and Rick Magoody?"
"I am still allowed a social life, I trust? Paying my bills doesn't give you leave to take away my rights to that, too, does it?"
Elvis slid his good hand off the table and onto his chair, sitting on it to keep from reaching for her throat. God, she made him crazy sometimes. "No, ma'am," he said through his teeth, "that was never my intention when I turned over my life savings to you."
And because that was exactly what he'd done, she relented. The truth was, there was no retirement plan in her line of work and she was going to turn fifty in a couple of months, which was a little long in the tooth for turning tricks. Elvis had presented her with a large cashier's check the same day he'd put her out of business, and he'd never once thrown it up to her in order to control her movements. It was just... he could be so damn rigid sometimes. And she hated knowing that he was ashamed of her. She understood it, but she hated it.
She nevertheless softened her attitude. "I simply had dinner with them, okay? Bill took me off-island Tuesday night, and last night Rick took me out to The Razorback."
"Yeah, okay, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I jumped to conclusions." He looked away uncomfortably. The black velvet Elvis painting hanging on the wall down the hallway reminded him of a subject he'd meant to raise. "So, when are you leaving for Graceland?"
Nadine's mouth formed a little moue. "Well, I really wanted to be there on the sixteenth of August. Such a sad, sad day."
God, give him strength. The anniversary of Elvis Presley's death. She'd have the damn flag flying ai half mast on that day, something she never bothered to do for presidents or veterans or Martin Luther King. "But . . . ?" he questioned in resignation.
"But the vacation calendar was already booked up for that date at MarySue's workplace," Nadine retorted. "So our pilgrimage will have to be a little earlier. We've got a flight out on the fourth of July."
"MarySue must get a couple of extra days off because of the holiday, huh?" Nadine's best friend worked the afternoon shift down at the Anchor.
"Yeah, so we might as well get an early start." Nadine pushed back from the table and bussed their cups to the sink. Glancing at Elvis over her shoulder, she added wryly, "Call me silly, but I have this niggling feeling that my presence won't be sorely missed at the annual parade."
"Oh, I don't know, Mom." The corner of Elvis' mouth quirked up. "Who the hell is everyone going to talk about if you're not there?"
* * * * *
Ruby and Emma were talking about Elvis.
When he'd walked into the cafe a moment ago the two women had both looked up and fallen silent, momentarily forsaking the conversation they'd been holding at a table in the corner. They watched him as he stood by the cash register waiting for Bonnie to pour his coffee-to-go. His expression contained its usual austerity as he looked down at the shiny chrome napkin holder on the formica counter, staring at it with the sort of unfocused intensity that people give objects when they're concentrating on inward thoughts.
Emma found her gaze traveling over him from the top of his thick black hair to the scuffed toes of his cowboy boots. "Have you ever in your life seen a body nicer than that one?" she demanded in a low voice, allowing herself to double check the long length of his back from the immense shoulders that stretched his khaki shirt to
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