Read Online Home Before Midnight by Virginia Kantra - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Virginia Kantra
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from her post by the kitchen counter. Her crossed arms lifted her shirt in front, revealing a pale slice of belly above the drawstring of her black pants.
He forced his gaze up, into her eyes.
“I don’t think Lieutenant Burke is interested in your opinion of my employers, Mom,” Bailey said.
“But I am. Very interested.”
Her gaze clashed with his. She probably thought he was a middle-aged pervert.
Maybe he was.
He cleared his throat. “You weren’t friends with Helen Ellis?” he asked Dorothy.
“Helen was all right.” Dorothy opened the refrigerator door, where plastic vegetable magnets squeezed in between family photos: a whole gallery of a towheaded boy and a curly-haired toddler in pink; several shots of a smiling blonde with various hairstyles and in different stages of pregnancy who must be Bailey’s sister; and one candid of an earnest, much younger Bailey squinting from beneath her mortarboard at the camera.
Steve narrowed his eyes. Only one?
“Although I always thought she could have done more for Bailey,” Dorothy confided, turning. “Taken her to the right places. Introduced her to the right people.” Ice rattled into a glass. “The right men .”
“I didn’t come home to Stokesville so that Helen Ellis could invite me to Saturday night dinners at the club.”
Dorothy poured his tea. “It just breaks my heart to see you waste your opportunities.”
“I am not wasting my opportunities,” Bailey said loudly. She took a deep breath. “I have a good education and a valuable research position with Paul Ellis.” She made his name sound like it was splashed in capitals on a freaking book cover. “He won the National Booksellers’ Optimus Award last year,” she told Steve, like he should know or care what that was.
Dorothy sniffed. “Paul Ellis.” The name sounded a lot different when she said it. She handed Steve a frosted glass.
“Appreciate it,” he said. “You don’t like him? Ellis?”
Bailey glared. “Don’t you have to pick up your date?”
“After I finish my tea.”
“You have a date?” Dorothy asked.
But he’d been a cop too long to let a pair of women turn an interrogation on him.
“You were saying about Paul Ellis . . . ?”
Dorothy pursed her lips. “Well, he’s Not From Around Here, is he?”
“That’s not a crime, Mom. It’s not even a bad thing. Not everyone wants to live in Stokesville all their lives.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Stokesville,” Dorothy said. “Isn’t that right, Steve?”
Teresa had never been able to stand a visit of more than a few days. Hell, there was a time when Steve himself had . . .
He shut the thought down.
“Good place to raise a family,” he said.
“Unless you have kids whose horizons stretch farther than the town limits,” Bailey said.
Irritation flicked him. What the hell did she know about it? About him.
“Do you have a lot of experience with children, Miz Wells?” he asked in a flat, dangerous voice.
“I was one. How much experience do you have with life outside Stokesville?”
She didn’t back down. He tried not to like her for that.
“Steve used to be with the Washington police department,” Dorothy answered. “Didn’t you, Steve?”
He nodded, watching Bailey.
She moistened her lips with her tongue. “State, or . . . ?”
“Metropolitan,” he told her.
Washington, D.C. Murder Capital, USA. A combustible mix of privilege, politics, and social problems, of overlapping jurisdictions and warring gangs.
Bailey’s eyes shifted and darkened as she reevaluated him. As a cop? Or as a man? he wondered, and despised himself for the question.
“How many years?” she asked.
“Twelve.” Impossible to keep the pride from his voice.
“You must miss it. It’s not like you get a lot of challenging cases in
He forced his gaze up, into her eyes.
“I don’t think Lieutenant Burke is interested in your opinion of my employers, Mom,” Bailey said.
“But I am. Very interested.”
Her gaze clashed with his. She probably thought he was a middle-aged pervert.
Maybe he was.
He cleared his throat. “You weren’t friends with Helen Ellis?” he asked Dorothy.
“Helen was all right.” Dorothy opened the refrigerator door, where plastic vegetable magnets squeezed in between family photos: a whole gallery of a towheaded boy and a curly-haired toddler in pink; several shots of a smiling blonde with various hairstyles and in different stages of pregnancy who must be Bailey’s sister; and one candid of an earnest, much younger Bailey squinting from beneath her mortarboard at the camera.
Steve narrowed his eyes. Only one?
“Although I always thought she could have done more for Bailey,” Dorothy confided, turning. “Taken her to the right places. Introduced her to the right people.” Ice rattled into a glass. “The right men .”
“I didn’t come home to Stokesville so that Helen Ellis could invite me to Saturday night dinners at the club.”
Dorothy poured his tea. “It just breaks my heart to see you waste your opportunities.”
“I am not wasting my opportunities,” Bailey said loudly. She took a deep breath. “I have a good education and a valuable research position with Paul Ellis.” She made his name sound like it was splashed in capitals on a freaking book cover. “He won the National Booksellers’ Optimus Award last year,” she told Steve, like he should know or care what that was.
Dorothy sniffed. “Paul Ellis.” The name sounded a lot different when she said it. She handed Steve a frosted glass.
“Appreciate it,” he said. “You don’t like him? Ellis?”
Bailey glared. “Don’t you have to pick up your date?”
“After I finish my tea.”
“You have a date?” Dorothy asked.
But he’d been a cop too long to let a pair of women turn an interrogation on him.
“You were saying about Paul Ellis . . . ?”
Dorothy pursed her lips. “Well, he’s Not From Around Here, is he?”
“That’s not a crime, Mom. It’s not even a bad thing. Not everyone wants to live in Stokesville all their lives.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Stokesville,” Dorothy said. “Isn’t that right, Steve?”
Teresa had never been able to stand a visit of more than a few days. Hell, there was a time when Steve himself had . . .
He shut the thought down.
“Good place to raise a family,” he said.
“Unless you have kids whose horizons stretch farther than the town limits,” Bailey said.
Irritation flicked him. What the hell did she know about it? About him.
“Do you have a lot of experience with children, Miz Wells?” he asked in a flat, dangerous voice.
“I was one. How much experience do you have with life outside Stokesville?”
She didn’t back down. He tried not to like her for that.
“Steve used to be with the Washington police department,” Dorothy answered. “Didn’t you, Steve?”
He nodded, watching Bailey.
She moistened her lips with her tongue. “State, or . . . ?”
“Metropolitan,” he told her.
Washington, D.C. Murder Capital, USA. A combustible mix of privilege, politics, and social problems, of overlapping jurisdictions and warring gangs.
Bailey’s eyes shifted and darkened as she reevaluated him. As a cop? Or as a man? he wondered, and despised himself for the question.
“How many years?” she asked.
“Twelve.” Impossible to keep the pride from his voice.
“You must miss it. It’s not like you get a lot of challenging cases in
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