second handful and stirred the water.
He smiled, but didn’t add anything. “The sauce smells good.”
“Thanks.” Okay. They’d covered when he returned to Walkers Ford. The next logical question was why.
“Tell me about you, Alana Wentworth.”
His asking about her wasn’t in her plan. She blinked, then moved to the sink to run water in a bowl for Duke. “Surely you did a background check before I moved in,” she said.
“Actually, I didn’t,” he said. “Women who move to small towns to work as librarians and drive Audis are usually pretty safe risks.”
“Especially when they’re living next to the town’s chief of police.”
He tipped back his beer. “It’s not like on television, where one quick search performed by a quirky genius gives me your entire history down to your shoe size in third grade. I could get your criminal record from the national database, but that’s it.”
He wouldn’t find what brought her here in a criminal history check anyway, and not even in Google search results, unless he knew how to dig. She didn’t expect cops to be hyperparanoid, but somehow Lucas’s remote bearing struck her as odd. “I’d figure you for the curious type,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“Cops are like librarians,” she said. “We know things other people don’t know. I know, for example, that as we increase microfunding for women’s businesses, their standards of living increase, birthrates drop, and their children are more likely to attend school. You know things about people they may not want other people to know. Like Cody’s family history.”
Silence behind her. When she turned to him, his face was entirely blank. Maybe he wasn’t curious about anything. Except he had asked about her.
“There really isn’t much to tell,” she said.
“So let’s start with why you took the contract job.”
This part was easy enough. She slowly stirred the sauce, inhaling the scent of tomato, basil, and garlic, melding with spicy sausage. “I wanted a change of pace.”
“Moving from Chicago to Walkers Ford for a change of pace is like throwing a speeding semi into park.”
“Denver to Walkers Ford was about the same,” she observed.
It was his turn not to answer.
“It’s not forever,” she said, when he obviously wasn’t going to respond. “I went to library school intending to be a librarian. Instead I went to work for my stepfather. This is a sabbatical, of sorts.”
“I hear you on the phone when I get home late,” he said.
“I’m still working for my sister,” she admitted, “so I end up on calls at odd hours.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a sabbatical,” he said.
She shrugged. “It’s just easier to get Freddie what she needs than trying to train someone else to do what I do. I wasn’t supposed to be gone as long as I have been.”
Nina Simone’s sultry voice drifted from the living room, where Alana had put her iPod on the speaker set. Perfect seduction music, sophisticated, raspy longing melding with the Bolognese as she set the platter of spaghetti, the sauce, bread, and the salad on the table between her place and Lucas’s. His fingers brushed hers when he passed her the bread, warm skin against hers, his knees bumping into hers under the table.
But he didn’t back up, so she didn’t either.
“You want to know what I think happened?”
“Sure,” she said.
“People don’t move to small towns, even temporarily. They leave them. Sometimes they come back to raise kids here. Usually they come back because they’re running away from something.”
“That’s what you think I’m doing?”
He used his spoon to twirl his spaghetti onto his fork and ate the mouthful before he answered. “It’s good,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m not sure. You don’t seem like someone with something to hide.”
“I made a mistake in Chicago,” she said.
“Because?”
Because one of these things wasn’t like the others. One of
He smiled, but didn’t add anything. “The sauce smells good.”
“Thanks.” Okay. They’d covered when he returned to Walkers Ford. The next logical question was why.
“Tell me about you, Alana Wentworth.”
His asking about her wasn’t in her plan. She blinked, then moved to the sink to run water in a bowl for Duke. “Surely you did a background check before I moved in,” she said.
“Actually, I didn’t,” he said. “Women who move to small towns to work as librarians and drive Audis are usually pretty safe risks.”
“Especially when they’re living next to the town’s chief of police.”
He tipped back his beer. “It’s not like on television, where one quick search performed by a quirky genius gives me your entire history down to your shoe size in third grade. I could get your criminal record from the national database, but that’s it.”
He wouldn’t find what brought her here in a criminal history check anyway, and not even in Google search results, unless he knew how to dig. She didn’t expect cops to be hyperparanoid, but somehow Lucas’s remote bearing struck her as odd. “I’d figure you for the curious type,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“Cops are like librarians,” she said. “We know things other people don’t know. I know, for example, that as we increase microfunding for women’s businesses, their standards of living increase, birthrates drop, and their children are more likely to attend school. You know things about people they may not want other people to know. Like Cody’s family history.”
Silence behind her. When she turned to him, his face was entirely blank. Maybe he wasn’t curious about anything. Except he had asked about her.
“There really isn’t much to tell,” she said.
“So let’s start with why you took the contract job.”
This part was easy enough. She slowly stirred the sauce, inhaling the scent of tomato, basil, and garlic, melding with spicy sausage. “I wanted a change of pace.”
“Moving from Chicago to Walkers Ford for a change of pace is like throwing a speeding semi into park.”
“Denver to Walkers Ford was about the same,” she observed.
It was his turn not to answer.
“It’s not forever,” she said, when he obviously wasn’t going to respond. “I went to library school intending to be a librarian. Instead I went to work for my stepfather. This is a sabbatical, of sorts.”
“I hear you on the phone when I get home late,” he said.
“I’m still working for my sister,” she admitted, “so I end up on calls at odd hours.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a sabbatical,” he said.
She shrugged. “It’s just easier to get Freddie what she needs than trying to train someone else to do what I do. I wasn’t supposed to be gone as long as I have been.”
Nina Simone’s sultry voice drifted from the living room, where Alana had put her iPod on the speaker set. Perfect seduction music, sophisticated, raspy longing melding with the Bolognese as she set the platter of spaghetti, the sauce, bread, and the salad on the table between her place and Lucas’s. His fingers brushed hers when he passed her the bread, warm skin against hers, his knees bumping into hers under the table.
But he didn’t back up, so she didn’t either.
“You want to know what I think happened?”
“Sure,” she said.
“People don’t move to small towns, even temporarily. They leave them. Sometimes they come back to raise kids here. Usually they come back because they’re running away from something.”
“That’s what you think I’m doing?”
He used his spoon to twirl his spaghetti onto his fork and ate the mouthful before he answered. “It’s good,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m not sure. You don’t seem like someone with something to hide.”
“I made a mistake in Chicago,” she said.
“Because?”
Because one of these things wasn’t like the others. One of
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