Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned (23 page)

Twenty-three

Zoe opened her eyes to the pale light of early morning sun through her lace curtains. Her curtains. Her room. Her bed. Yet even before her mind kicked into gear, she sensed something was very different. Then last night cut through the brain fog.

She rolled slowly from her side to her back and snuck a covert peek. Pete.

He faced away from her, still asleep. The sheets…her sheets…covered him from the waist down, but his broad, muscled back held her appreciative gaze.

The sweet and sultry memory of last night stirred a flutter, like bird wings, inside her chest.

She lay back against her pillow and blew out a long breath. It had been incredible.

They’d denied their passions for so long, and once released, those passions had nearly consumed both of them.

She smiled recalling the trail of clothes they’d shed in her living room before she’d taken his hand and lured him up the back staircase to her bed.

Wow.

But now what?

She drank in one more look at Pete’s bare back before rolling away from him and gingerly sitting up.

Merlin sat on the floor staring at her in disapproval, his tail swishing from side to side. Zoe looked around for Jade and found her curled up at Pete’s feet. Clearly Merlin was the only judgmental one.

Zoe tiptoed into her bathroom with Merlin trailing along behind. Jade appeared perfectly content to keep an eye on their guest from the foot of the bed. The door squeaked as Zoe eased it shut, and she shushed it. Pete didn’t stir.

Running the shower would be too noisy. It could wait until after the morning’s barn work. She dug through the hamper for some not-too-terribly-dirty clothes to slip into. Her fuzzy tongue tasted like the stuff she scraped off her boots, but the old pipes in the even older house tended to elicit an assortment of whistles and bangs. Sounds she had grown accustomed to and didn’t even hear anymore, but which would no doubt wake the man slumbering in the next room. She snatched her toothbrush and paste. She could brush her teeth in the kitchen sink.

Pausing to look in the mirror, she groaned. Her short blond curls suffered a severe case of bed head. Her hairbrush did little to tame them. A red line creased her face where she’d had it buried in her pillow. She offered up a little prayer Pete wouldn’t wake up until she was already out in the barn. Not only because she looked horrible, but also because she needed to think.

Something she should have done—but didn’t—last night.

She turned the bathroom doorknob as quietly as possible until it clicked open. Pete had rolled onto his stomach. The sheet had slipped even lower. Heaven help her, he looked good out of uniform.
Way
out of uniform.

With Merlin underfoot, she padded toward the stairs. Jade stood and gave a long feline stretch before dropping to the floor with a soft thud. Still Pete didn’t budge.

Zoe touched the plain pipe handrail at the top of her staircase, and the phone rang. Pete flopped over onto one side, pushing up onto one elbow. Zoe did a shuffle-step around the cats to grab the cordless handset on the mantle.

“Zoe? It’s Wayne. I’ve been trying to reach Pete, but he’s not answering his cell. Do you happen to know where he is?”

She thought of Pete’s cell phone still on her table downstairs. But how on earth did Wayne Baronick know to call her house? She glanced at Pete, now sitting up in her bed, looking rugged and rumpled and incredibly sexy. “Yeah, I do,” she said into the phone before tossing it to him.

Clutching her toothbrush and paste, she bolted down the steps.

Zoe reconsidered her retreat to the barn. With the cats fed and her mouth tasting like Colgate instead of dried mud, she scooped her favorite mix of light roast and French vanilla into the Mr. Coffee and filled the reservoir with water. Leaving it to brew, she returned to the living room to gather Pete’s clothes, and hers, from last night and headed back upstairs.

The bed was empty, sheets strewn to the side. Her phone was back in its nest on the mantle. The shower she’d taken a pass on was running in the other room.

For a fleeting moment, she contemplated joining Pete, but she had no problem playing the choice out in her mind. It would end with them back in bed. And she still had her doubts as to the wisdom of that move the first time.

She deposited her clothes on a chair and his on the bed and slipped downstairs again.

Her cell phone was in its usual spot with her keys on the small catch-all table next to the door. She snatched it up on her way to the kitchen. The screen indicated two missed calls. One voicemail. Probably Baronick in his attempt to track down Pete. She’d listen to the message later. Right now she needed to think, and the best way to do that was by cooking breakfast.

As she cracked eggs into a stoneware mixing bowl, she replayed last night. After years of waiting and longing, being with Pete had been close to perfect. Close. There was still the little matter of the last few days when they’d been at each others’ throats. Did one night, even one unbelievable night, mean everything between them was copacetic?

Yeah. Right.

Zoe whisked the eggs into a froth. By the time Pete swung open the kitchen door, she had the makings of an omelet sizzling on the stove.

“Hungry?” she asked over her shoulder, her voice entirely too cheerful.

When he didn’t answer, she risked a glance at him.

She’d hoped to see a smile. A twinkle in his ice-blue eyes. The expression she saw instead was one she’d never witnessed before. Troubled creases carved his forehead, his eyes were wide with…what? Worry? Regret? Trepidation? His slightly lopsided mouth seemed torn between admiration and lament. Definitely not the in-charge poker-faced Pete Adams Zoe was familiar with.

Since he still hadn’t responded to her question, she pointed to the skillet. “I’m making omelets.”

Pete blinked. Offered an apologetic smile. “It smells great. I wish I could stay. But—” He motioned over his shoulder. “I have to go.”

She should be relieved he was leaving. She wouldn’t have to make sense of her jumbled feelings with him sitting across the table. Instead, her chest felt hollow.

He aimed a thumb at the Mr. Coffee. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” Pete had never asked permission before. The fact he was asking now left Zoe convinced the void between them had not been bridged by sex.

He opened the cabinet door where she kept her cups and pulled out a travel mug, which he held up to show her. “I’ll get it back to you.”

A lump was growing in her throat. “Don’t worry about it.” She tossed a handful of cheese on the eggs and folded the omelet. Not that she had any appetite left. “What did Wayne want?”

Pete filled the mug and replaced the pot on its warmer. “He’s heading to the station so we can have an early meeting.”

With everything that had transpired, she’d almost forgotten about the body in the potato bin. At least the odor had dissipated. “Has he learned anything about Tierney’s murder?”

“I don’t know yet. That’s why we’re meeting.”

He was dodging her questions. This was how it was going to be? A one-night stand? The lump continued to press upward, squeezing her brain. She kept her eyes on the skillet, switching off the heat to the electric stove.

Pete moved behind her. She hoped, prayed, he was going to turn her to face him, apologize for being an ass, and kiss her long and hard like he had last night. Instead, she felt his presence, the heat of his closeness. His fingers lightly touched her shoulder and he pressed a brief kiss into her hair on the back of her head. Then he took his coffee and walked out of her kitchen. A moment later, the back door slammed.

Zoe swept a hand across her face. No. She would not cry.

She slid the omelet onto a plate. Nothing about it appealed to her at the moment. Maybe later. Or maybe she’d feed it to the cats. What she really needed was to talk to her best friend Rose. Unfortunately, Rose was out west somewhere with her kids and had sworn off electronics for the summer.

Zoe scooped up her phone. Perhaps this one time, Rose would have her cell turned on. Zoe keyed in the number, but the call went directly to voicemail. With a guttural growl, she contemplated hurling the useless thing across the room, but remembered the two missed calls.

The first one, as expected, was from Wayne’s number. The second was from Holt’s. The lump in her throat returned. Had something happened to Maddie? She played the message, but it was the detective. “If you see Pete, have him call me.” Zoe deleted it.

No message from Holt.

She dialed his number. Like her call to Rose, it went straight to voicemail.

“Holt, this is Zoe. I see you called.” What else should she say? “I hope you and Maddie are all right. Call me back. Okay?” After she hung up, she held onto the phone and asked it the question she’d really wanted to ask Holt. “Where the hell are you?”

Had it been possible to kick himself all the way to Dillard, Pete wouldn’t have needed his SUV to get to the station. He was a damned idiot. He’d finally,
finally
, made love with Zoe. It had been better than he’d ever imagined. He’d dreamed about her for years. Wanted her for years. He’d had their first time all planned out. Romantic dinner. Perhaps dancing. Taking her back to his place. A little wine. And then slow and sweet.

Instead, he’d practically ripped her clothes off in a primal zealous rush to claim her as his own like some frigging caveman.

He could have…might have…redeemed himself this morning if he’d simply talked to her. The second part of his dream. The afterglow. A languid morning of mimosas and French toast, sharing laughter and conversation in each other’s arms.

She’d fixed breakfast for him. Not French toast, but omelets she’d prepared herself. She’d wanted him to stick around. That was huge.

He’d wanted to stay. Longed to stay and take her in his arms again. Instead, coward that he was, he bolted.

For a moment, he contemplated turning the Explorer around and heading back to the farm. And Zoe.

But there was the blasted phone call from Baronick.

“I think we may have been too quick to dismiss Farabee as a suspect.”

Pete didn’t want Zoe to suspect Holt might once again be on his radar. Not until he knew what Baronick had dug up. And the detective had refused to discuss it over the phone.

Zoe could read Pete all too well. If he’d stayed for breakfast and conversation, she’d have known immediately he was keeping something from her.

So, he’d left without telling her what he’d intended to say.

I love you, Zoe.

Pete slammed the steering wheel with his palm. He was an idiot, plain and simple.

Baronick was already seated in the conference room with two cups from Starbucks when Pete arrived. The detective slid one of the cups toward him. “Morning, Pete.”

He eyed the Starbucks brew then the travel mug of Zoe’s French vanilla crap. He loved the woman. Hated her coffee. Swapping cups, he took a seat across from Baronick. “What’s so damned intriguing you couldn’t discuss it on the phone?”

“Whoa there, big fella. First things first.” He hiked his eyebrows suggestively. “How was your evening?”

Pete fixed him with
The Stare
. The one that withered criminals and put his officers in their place when needed.

Baronick was a little tougher and took a little longer, but he eventually backed down. “Fine. You don’t wanna be the kiss and tell type. Hey, I’m cool with that.” He picked up his phone and did some swiping and tapping. “I did some digging into our EOD Specialist Ryan Mancinelli. Honorable discharge. Treated at the VA in Pittsburgh for PTSD. Nothing new there. So I checked him out with the Monongahela County Builders Association where he’s a member in good standing. All four and five star ratings for his work. But no one has any idea what job he’s been on lately.”

Pete turned the Starbucks cup around and around. “Builders Association. Don’t suppose you asked whether Holt Farabee was a member.”

The smug grin returned. “I did indeed. And that’s where it got interesting. Farabee’s also highly thought of. Good worker. His customers are happy.”

“That’s interesting?”

“No, but the guy I talked to told me Farabee and Mancinelli are best buds from way back.”

“Really?”

Baronick swiped the screen again. “They always sat together at meetings. Most of the time, they rode to meetings together and went out for burgers afterwards.”

Pete mulled it over. “So? They live in the same township. They share the same profession. They’ll either be friends or competitors.”

“True. Let’s move on to my next tidbit. I decided to have a talk with Dennis Spangler.”

It took a moment for the name to register in Pete’s brain. “The guy from the collections department at MNB?”

“Yeah. I wanted to touch base with him now that Tierney’s dead.”

Pete should have thought of that. If he wasn’t so damned twisted up about Zoe… “And?”

Baronick leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head and giving Pete a triumphant grin. “He told me the eviction for the Farabees had been hurried along. Holt and Lillian should have been given at least six more months to get caught up on their payments, but one bank employee somehow managed to expedite the whole process.”

The space behind Pete’s eyes cooled. “Stephen Tierney.”

“Give the man a cigar.”

“Did Farabee know?”

Baronick shrugged. “Spangler says he never met Farabee and has no idea how much he knew about the eviction being fast-tracked. But Farabee doesn’t come across to me as someone who would go quietly. I’d bet a month’s salary he knew he should have had more time and the reason he didn’t get it.”

Exactly what Pete was thinking. “Stephen Tierney has an affair with Lillian Farabee. He knows Holt and Lillian are having money problems and it’s driving a wedge between them, so he helps matters along by having them evicted. Holt finds out. Now, not only is he pissed at Tierney for taking his wife, but also for taking his home.”