Hart To Hart (28 page)

Ellie picked up her wine. “Can we talk about something else?”

“I’m sorry, hon. You’re right. We’re here to celebrate your return. I’m really not trying to convince you to go. I’d miss you too much if you did.”

“That’s better. So, any word from Cal?”

Wendy laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve set your sights on him?”

Ellie nearly spit out her wine. “Hell no. Just making conversation.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

A
knock sounded
on Vic’s door. He looked up and Sharon was there, hand on her hip. “Are you ignoring me?”

He had no idea what she was talking about. “No. Why would I?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve buzzed you twice about a phone call, and even texted you the information, yet you haven’t responded. Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

She crossed her arms. “May I be frank?”

He chuckled. “When have you ever thought to ask?” He kept his voice light. Sharon was the best, and he never wanted to piss her off. Hell, if she decided to do him in, he would be dead in seconds.

“Since you haven’t been yourself.”

Vic had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this conversation. “Shoot. Or rather should I say, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Have you called Ellie?”

Shit. He didn’t need this. “I texted her the day she left to be sure she arrived home safely.”

Sharon stepped into his office and sat down in the chair across from the desk, something she rarely did. “And not since then?”

Ellie had been gone over two weeks. Contacting her would have been too painful for both of them. “No.”

“Let me get this straight. After nineteen years of marriage and five years of being separated, your former wife comes in here looking for your help. You drop everything for her. In fact, you had me transfer two of your cases to your arch-enemy because you wanted to devote your whole time to her.”

“Rich Sandringham is not my arch-enemy. I just think he’s an ass and moderately incompetent.”

She waved a hand. “Regardless, you put your life on hold for her. As soon as things turned good between you, the spark returned to your eyes. I’d never seen you so happy.”

“I was happy.” He’d told her that a few times, so he couldn’t retract the statement now.

“And yet, you let the best thing in your life walk out.” It came out a statement and not a question. Christ, she acted like he was just plain stupid.

Vic stabbed a hand in his hair. “Ellie has a life in Virginia—a gallery to run that she owns.”

“That’s more important than family?”

“To her it is.” Ellie was used to fancy things, and he was good with pretty much anything.

“I know you love her. Are you afraid you can’t satisfy her?”

He choked out a laugh. “Ah, that is way too personal—even for you. How about you leave my life to me.”

Sharon stood. “Just saying. You’re being an ass.”

The damn thing was that she was right. She knew he’d never fire her no matter what she said. Shit. Seems the women in his life had him wrapped around their little finger. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“You do that. You’re not going to find a better woman than Ellie Hart.”

“I know, but she can do better than me.” That was the truth.

Sharon shook her head and left. Vic pushed aside that conversation and went back to work on the Harold Evans case. He believed his wife was cheating on him, and it was Vic’s job to find out with whom. He wouldn’t find out sitting on his ass. Mrs. Harold Evans would be getting off work in a few minutes, and it was a Friday night. Harold said he had to go out of town and wanted to see what his wife planned to do. She’d been very secretive about something, sneaking off for the last couple of weeks.

Vic gathered his camera, bundled up against the cold weather, and headed out. Despite the snow covering just about everything, the streets were rather crowded near town. With Christmas but a few weeks away, people seemed to be busy with last minute shopping. After Sharon’s brutal comment about him fucking up his life, even the Christmas decorations didn’t cheer him up as they usually did.

He discreetly parked across the street from the bank and waited for Harold’s wife to exit. It was some thirty minutes later that she came out in her faux fur coat and heels, hurrying to her car. After she was partway down the road, he pulled out and followed her. The residential area was on the outskirts of town, but she drove only six blocks and parked. Interesting. Perhaps she had an appointment with a divorce attorney in town.

As he checked the names of the establishments, he was surprised to see her dash into Fred Astaire’s Dance Studio. Her lover must be inside.

Keeping the heat on in his truck, he leaned back and smiled, thinking about the first time he and El had danced. It was some silent auction event that his commanding officer suggested he attend. Having to wear a tux had been a nightmare, but having El in his arms made up for it.

His wife had been such a graceful and talented dancer. Him? He could barely keep the beat. At least he hadn’t stepped on her toes. For a split second, he considered going inside and taking a lesson or two. That way, when Charlotte married, he wouldn’t look like a fool during the father-daughter dance.

Give it a try
.

Vic pushed open his door, telling himself he was doing this as part of the job. If he could pretend to be a homeless man for a month, he could take a dance lesson or two and survive.

When Vic entered the small ballroom with a large mirror lining one wall and posters of famous dancers plastered on the others, he hadn’t expected the sea of women to turn and look at him like a guppy in a shark tank. There were three men and about ten women.

Act casual
.

An older woman he’d not met before came over to him. “Are you here for ballroom dancing?”

“Yes.” His throat turned dry. “But I’m not very good.”

She smiled. “All the more reason to be here, young man. I’m Millie by the way, and I will be your dance instructor.”

Her lithe body spoke of someone who’d spent years on the dance floor, tapping out a beat. “How much are the lessons?” It didn’t matter what she told him, but he wanted to act the part.

“Men get to come free. We have so few, we can’t possibly charge them.”

Oh, boy. “Where would you like me?”

She squeezed his arm. “A handsome man like you should know better than to ask an old lady a question like that.”

His face heated. She was hitting on him? Dear God. “I’ll stand behind the ladies and try to follow along.” That way, he could watch Sandra Evans to see which of the three men she had her eye on, though none looked better than Harold Evans, stodgy though he might be.

“We’re going to do the tango today,” Millie explained.

He inwardly groaned. Millie, however, was an excellent teacher, taking the steps slowly. Vic watched Sandra while he tried to follow. Throughout the hour, Sandra barely made eye contact with any of the men. That was interesting. Perhaps her partner hadn’t shown up tonight.

“Let’s pair up.” Millie went around the room putting the couples together—mostly women with women.

From what he’d observed, she put an experienced person with a novice. When it came time to pair him up, he ended up with Sandra. What a coincidence.

“Hi, I’m Vic.”

She smiled. “Sandra. First time?”

“Yes. You?”

“I’ve been coming for almost three months now.”

“That so?” Dumb comment, but his mind kept imagining him and El dancing.

She smiled. “Years ago, my husband used to dance professionally. The few times we went dancing, I couldn’t keep up. He never said anything, but I could tell he was disappointed. This Christmas, he’s booked us a trip to Argentina, and I know we’ll be at a club where they do the Argentine Tango. I want to get out there and dance with him.” Her eyes sparkled. “I realize the Ballroom Tango is different, but it’s the best I can do on short notice.”

“That’s amazing and quite sweet.” Not to mention, highly romantic. Boy, had he pegged her wrong.

“Thank you.” So engrossed in her story, Vic stumbled. “Remember, it’s right, left, right,” she said in a helpful tone.

“Gotcha.” It would take months for him to get good.

By the time the class ended, he’d been paired with three other women. When he left, he signed up for a month’s worth of classes.

On the way home, he had to figure out what to tell Mr. Evans. There was no way he’d spoil the man’s surprise. Sandra was a wonderful wife to sneak in dance lessons. He bet she’d like El, if they ever met.

El had made sacrifices like that for him all through their marriage, and yet, he’d done little for her. Damn. He had made so many mistakes.

As soon as he entered his house, he lit the fire and called Charlotte. He missed her. Hell, he missed El, too, but she was better off where she was.

“Hey, what’s up? You call Mom yet?”

What was wrong with everyone? “We’ve been through this. I called to see if you wanted to come over for Christmas. I thought we’d build a snowman like we used to.”

She laughed, sounding a lot like her mom. “I’m twenty-three.”

So? He and El loved making one. “Fine, but come anyway. I’ll have a tree.”

“Sure. What can I bring?”

“Just yourself. When I know more, I’ll let you know.”

After he disconnected, he grabbed a beer, turned on the stereo and sank onto the sofa. Was he being an ass, like Sharon claimed? El wouldn’t like Rock Hard, and he would never ask her to give up her career for him. His life was fraught with danger.

She’d already asked him to come with her, which meant she cared, but perhaps she was being polite. Why was this now so confusing? He’d told her to stay away. Shit. Had he made a mistake? Vic rubbed his eyes. Why couldn’t he do anything right when it came to her?

Of late, things had become jumbled in his head—and it wasn’t from the concussions. He’d totally believed the worst of Sandra Evans, and that wasn’t like him at all. The facts pointed to her being a straight arrow, and the few people he’d spoken with had said she loved her husband, yet he wanted to believe the worst.

Something needed to change and fast, but he didn’t know what.

*     *     *

“I’ll get us
some coffee from across the street,” Ellie said. “Be right back.”

“Tell them to go light on the cream,” Wendy called out.

“Don’t worry, I remember.”

Ellie bundled up, grabbed her purse, and left the gallery. With Christmas around the corner, business had become rather hectic. She’d convinced Hilton to take his turn at night, when the bigger customers usually stopped by, and yet she still was running ragged.

Outside, the air was brisk and the heavy clouds were about to dump its load. She stepped to the curb and waited for the light to change. She ran through her options of what to buy in the way of sweets. It was going to be a long evening. On Friday and Saturday, the gallery stayed open until ten.

The light turned red and the white walk signal lit. Ellie had taken about three steps when the sound of metal crunching ripped through the air, the loud crash startling her. Tires squealed and horns blared. As if time slowed, the car that had just stopped at the light was pushed into the intersection by the car behind it. Ellie froze, awaiting the impending disaster. A car entering the intersection from the right side slammed into the passenger door of that first car. Glass shattered and smoke puffed out from the engine.

Holy shit. Ellie wanted to rush to the woman, but it wasn’t safe. More cars banged into the one in front of it. She whipped out her phone, dialed 911, and told them the location and nature of the crash. Drivers from as far as four cars back exited their vehicles and ran toward the site. Pedestrians stopped and gawked.

She wanted to help, but didn’t know what she could do.

“What happened?” Wendy said, running out of the store.

“Someone slammed into a woman and pushed her into the intersection when the light was red. Oh, my God. I hope she’s okay.”

Less than two minutes later, sirens sounded. Wendy wrapped an arm around Ellie’s shoulder. “Come back inside. We can get the coffee later.”