Nothing to Fear (8 page)
“Butterfly bandage,” Dana responded. Unsteadily. She gulped at the air. “It stopped bleeding a long time ago.” Although the way her heart was pumping, it was small wonder it didn’t start spouting like a geyser. He didn’t let go. If anything, he pulled her closer.
“It’ll get infected.” It was the barest of murmurs. Another shiver arced across her skin.
“I’m . . . I hate needles,” she confessed.
His chest moved again, this time in silent laughter. “Well, I guess I can’t argue with that.” He let her go and she wished he hadn’t. “Sit and eat,” he said quietly and slid onto the vinyl bench on his side of the table. “It appears you’ve been here at least once or twice before,” he added wryly, pointing to her place where a plate of steaming French fries sat waiting, and Dana instantly regretted having chosen this shop. It was so close to the bus station, she came here whenever a bus was arriving later than scheduled. She never had enough cash for more than a plate of fries and a Coke, so that’s all she ever ordered.
Dana glanced over at the counter where the coffee shop owner stood grinning. Fifty-plus and man-hungry, Betty’s eyes moved lasciviously over Buchanan before turning to give her the thumbs-up sign. Buchanan just smiled politely at the busybody and gave her a crisp military salute.
Dana rolled her eyes and sat down. “Pay no attention to the woman behind the counter, Mr. Buchanan. She’s been committed three times just this year.”
His brows lifted as he liberally salted his eggs. He shot a curious glance to where Betty sat openly staring, agog. Not that Dana could blame her, really. “Oh, yeah?”
Scowling, she squirted ketchup on her plate. “No. She’s just nosy.”
Buchanan smiled and Dana drew another gulping breath at the sight. The man was going to give her heart failure. Even with a rumpled suit and unshaven cheeks the man was gorgeous enough to take the breath of any woman with a pulse. And Dana found she definitely had a pulse, which at the moment was scrambling to beat all hell.
“Well, I figured you must come here fairly often even before she brought the fries,” he said, spearing his fork into his steak. “When we came in and you went straight to the rest room, she marched over here and gave me grief about the blood on your face. I had to tell her what happened before she would let me sit down. But I think she likes me now.”
Dana glared at Betty who just beamed. “Please, let’s just change the subject.” She dunked her fries and watched him consume huge quantities of food, like he hadn’t eaten in days. “So why were you in the bus station at five-thirty in the morning?”
“Um . . .” He swallowed and patted his lips with the napkin, which of course drew her eyes to his mouth. It was a very, very nice mouth. Very nice lips. “Business.”
“What kind of business?”
“I have a security consulting business.”
Dana frowned. “Securities—like stocks and bonds?” If he was an investment banker, she was the Queen of England. No investment banker had shoulders like his.
He shook his head. “No, like secure networks. I help companies make their computer systems as hack-proof as possible. I also set up video surveillance and along with my partner, Clay, assist in training their security guards.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. Well, that made more sense, now that her mind was working a little more clearly. “So do you normally call on potential clients in the middle of the night wearing a rumpled suit and two days’ beard?”
He coughed. “Observant, aren’t you?”
“Normally, yes.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So why couldn’t you describe the guy that knocked you down in there when the security guard returned empty-handed?”
Dana met his gaze head-on. “I did.”
“Um-hmm. Tall, twenties, no eye color, brown hair. The old lady who screamed gave a better description and she wore glasses as thick as my thumb.”
The truth was, Dana didn’t really want the guy caught, because then she’d have to go to court and admit why she was in the bus station to start with. She would have if the lady had been hurt or if anything of value had been stolen, but she wasn’t and it hadn’t and Dana was keeping her mouth closed. “It happened too fast.”
Buchanan wasn’t buying it. “Uh-huh. And why were you in the bus station so late?”
This one at least she was ready for. “I was waiting for a bus.”
“To?”
“From. I was meeting a friend.”
“Who is where?”
“She didn’t get off the bus, so I guess she’s not coming after all.” She’d waited for tonight’s client for two hours, but the woman had never gotten off the bus. Again.
He raised a blond brow. “Impolite friend.”
Dana shrugged, laying it on a little thicker. “More like flaky. She says she’s going to come and gets the dates mixed up. Tomorrow she’ll call, crying her eyes out in apology.”
“Which you’ll accept.”
“Naturally. She’s my friend.”
He tilted his head. “So what do you do when you’re not meeting flaky friends at the bus terminal, Dana?”
“I’m a photographer. You know, mothers and babies, that sort of thing.” This was actually true. Sort of. She’d been worried that the constant flow of women and children in and out of Hanover House would attract unwanted attention from her neighbors. It had been Evie’s idea to put out a small, discreet sign advertising family photography. Dana already had the camera equipment she used to produce new driver’s licenses and it did explain all the women and children, but to Dana’s annoyance and Evie’s amusement, sometimes they drew real business. Normally enough to pay the monthly phone bill, but not enough to threaten the true mission of Hanover House, so everybody was happy.
She leaned back, studied him. “So why were you calling on customers with a rumpled suit and two days’ beard at five-thirty in the morning?”
He lifted one corner of his very nice mouth and every square inch of her skin sizzled, some square inches a lot more than others. “Nice. I was just about to cut you a handicap.”
She bit back a smile of her own. “Keep your handicap. Just answer the question.”
“I just got into town and wanted to check out their night talent before calling on the boss during the day. It’s the best strategy for winning new business. Evaluate their vulnerabilities”—he leaned forward conspiratorially—“and offer something better.”
His voice had softened to something close to a purr and all Dana could think of was a big golden cat, stalking his prey. But she didn’t feel threatened. Not in the conventional sense anyway. She felt . . . powerful, like he’d given her a secret key.
“Are you . . . evaluating my vulnerabilities, Mr. Buchanan?”
Those steady green eyes gleamed. “Ethan.”
She acknowledged his point with a small nod. “Ethan. Well, are you?”
He said nothing for a moment, just held her gaze. Finally he leaned back, and when he spoke all smooth texture and pretense were gone from his voice. “Do you want me to?”
It was not the answer she expected and she blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you. I get the impression that you don’t say or do anything you don’t want to do. And if someone tries to make you, you duck the issue like a pro.”
She blinked again. “What a strange thing to say.” And reasonably true.
“Astute, I’d think. Well?”
She drew a breath and gave him the most honest answer she knew. “I don’t know.”
He nodded. “That’s fair, I suppose. One more question and I’ll let you go.”
Disappointment speared her heart at the very thought of his leaving. “Okay. Ask.”
“Do you have a boyfriend, husband, or significant other . . . of any kind?”
It was her turn to cough at his implication. “No current husbands or boyfriends and I’m heterosexual, thank you very much.”
He smiled at that. “Good to know. Can I then assume you have an ex-husband?”
She thought about her ex-husband, the years she’d suffered under his abuse. The relief at breaking free. She’d never looked back. “Very ex. So ex he’s way past Z. You?”
“Ex. Not as ex as yours. She’s probably only halfway to Y.” When she smiled back he leaned forward, his nice mouth gone totally serious. “You felt it back there, didn’t you?”
Instantly she sobered. Opened her mouth to deny it, but couldn’t. “Yes.”
It wasn’t until he exhaled that she realized he’d been holding his breath for her answer. Realized that he’d just exposed one of his vulnerabilities. He slid his hand across the table until it covered hers. “I have to go now. Meet me here. Tomorrow. Same time.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a demand, insistently offered. Dana sat staring at him, feeling it all over again, that surge of current at just the touch of his hand. And suddenly she stood at the edge of a precipice, somehow knowing that her answer was very important. The wariness with which she lived every day of her life inserted itself. “I don’t—”
He shook his head, interrupting her. “You’re cautious, I understand that. I won’t ask for your number, or your sign, or even your favorite color. I promise.” He clenched his jaw for a moment, then visibly relaxed it. “Life is too short, Dana. Too damn short not to seize opportunities when they present themselves.”
Something had changed. Gone was the stalking cat, in its place a man as honest as she thought she’d ever met. It’s just fries and a Coke. How much safer could it be?
Her eyes dropped to his hand, still covering hers. Still hot. Electric. She raised her gaze to find his intently focused on her face. “Green.” The word was out of her mouth before she realized it.
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“My favorite color is green.”
He leaned back, relief in his green eyes. “Tomorrow then? Same time?”
His hand no longer covered hers and she wanted it back. And because she wanted it back, she wanted to run. “I’ll think about it.”
His blond brows furrowed ever so slightly. “Think hard. I’ll be here.”
Wight’s Landing, Maryland, Sunday, August 1, 8:30 A.M. Eastern (7:30 A.M. Central)
Sheriff Louisa Moore shook her head in disbelief, her eyes watering from the stench of decaying flesh. Mr. Stan Vaughn had placed a call to her office this morning, clearly in a panic. He’d found a body, he’d said. Well, he’d certainly been right on that score.
Lou covered her mouth and stuck her head in the little shed. “Find anything, Doc?”
County Coroner John Kehoe looked up, the top half of his face covered with goggles, the bottom half with a surgical mask.
“Not yet.”
Her first partner back in Boston told her she’d get used to the bloaters, but ten years and a major career change later, she still had not. “Then at least a time of death?”
John sat back on his haunches. “Three days, maybe four. Sometime between Wednesday and Thursday, I’d guess. The bugs will tell the true tale.”
Lou fought back the urge to gag. “Bugs?”
“Sure. I’ll send samples of the bugs and their larvae to the lab.” He rocked forward to his knees. “Give me another half hour, then we’ll be ready for tag ’n’ bag. I don’t need you here if you want to run on up to the house.”
“Thanks.”
She made her way up to the house, scanning the beach as she went. Her deputies had combed every inch of sand for several hundred yards on each side of the body. They’d had a bad storm Thursday night. Any evidence outside the shed would most likely have been washed away.
But it looked like a suicide, so that would probably not be a major concern. But the boxers bothered her. Why would a man come to a stranger’s shed wearing only his boxers to commit suicide? And where was the note? And could the Vaughns really have ignored that smell for almost two days? She let herself in the kitchen. “Mr. Vaughn?”
“We’re in the living room.”
They were, sitting side by side on an old sofa. Lou studied the Vaughns for a moment. Both looked pale. It was understandable, of course. It wasn’t every day vacationers found a dead body in their shed. Still, there was something about these two that bothered her. “Dr. Kehoe is examining the body right now,” she said and the two nodded. “Can you tell me how long you’ve been staying here?”
“For about a week,” Mrs. Vaughn said, her voice quavery. “We got here Sunday, but we left again on Tuesday.”
Lou slipped her notepad from her breast pocket, not breaking eye contact. “Why?”
Mr. Vaughn covered Mrs. Vaughn’s hand with his. “We went to Annapolis for our tenth wedding anniversary.”
If she hadn’t been watching she would have missed it, missed the way Mrs. Vaughn flinched when her husband touched her. Still, the woman had discovered a suicide in her backyard, a grisly one at that. “When did you come back?”
“Friday afternoon,” Mr. Vaughn answered.
Just the facts, ma’am, Lou thought. She smiled pleasantly. “What time?”
Mrs. Vaughn moved her shoulders back and forth. “Three-thirty. Or so.”
“And where did you stay in Annapolis?”
Mr. Vaughn frowned. “Statehouse Hotel, but why are you asking?”
Lou shrugged. “Just gathering all the information. Did you see anyone lurking around?”
Mr. Vaughn was still frowning. “No.”
“Mr. Vaughn, Mrs. Vaughn.” Lou shook her head, giving a friendly grimace. “I’m curious as to how you could have ignored that smell for a day and a half.”
“We did,” Mr. Vaughn replied smoothly. “Sometimes after a storm we find dead fish littering the shore. Once, a small shark washed up. The tide always comes in and takes it away. There was a storm Thursday night. We just assumed . . .” He let the thought trail with a grimace of his own. “I have to say my brother had the iron stomach of the family. I get queasy thinking about dead things. I just prefer to let the bay do the work for me. But it didn’t and we couldn’t stand it anymore, so I went down to investigate. And found that poor man.”
Lou glanced down at her notepad, irritated by the polish of his reply. “Well, I won’t take any more of your time. But, please let me know when you plan to go home.” Outside again, she covered her mouth with her handkerchief as she made her way back to the shed. Dr. Kehoe was directing her deputies as they rolled the gurney bearing the body bag.
He pulled his mask off. “I’ll call you when I know something.”