Silent Night (16 page)

T
UCKER ARRIVED AT
exactly eight o’clock, his palms sweating like an acne-prone high school kid’s. How would she react to his gift? Think he was a pompous ass and throw it in his face, or . . .

She opened the door before he could knock, and all the air blew out of his lungs in a long whoosh. Her dark hair was piled loosely on top of her head, her eyes painted with smoky shadow and her lips a vibrant red. The long black dress hugged her body like a second skin, the neckline showing him just enough of her cleavage, and the slit just enough of her thigh to make him instantly aroused.

“Damn.”

“It’s tight,” she said. “Flattered you think I’m a size two, but I had to lie flat on the bed to wiggle into it.” She gave a little spin and smiled. “Thank you though. It’s lovely.”

His gaze trailed down the soft curve of her hips, and he laughed out loud when it reached her feet. Beneath the evening gown, she wore her Converse sneakers.

She stuck out a leg and wiggled her foot at him. “Wait till you see the whole ensemble. With my parka, it’s a complete hot mess. Sorry. It’s all I’ve got.”

“What size shoe are you?” Still laughing, he pulled out his phone.

“You’re not buying me—”

“Hey Lisa?” he said into the phone. “I’m swinging by in about ten minutes. What can you loan me in a size . . .”

He looked questioningly to Miranda.

“Six,” she said.

“In a size six shoe? Yeah. Size seven is fine. Thanks, Lisa. I owe you one.”

He shoved the phone in his pocket. “Taken care of.”

She smiled, and the bashful way she looked at him made his heart race. “You look very nice.”

He looked down at his suit and thanked her. He usually reserved the black jacket and tie for funerals and weddings, but he didn’t mind admitting that he’d pulled out all the stops for her. He wanted her to see him as more than a badge tonight.

Hell, if he was honest, he was hoping the night would end up in his bed. He’d even bought new underwear.

“Shall we go?”

She frowned, picked up her parka, and slid it on.

“You’re the best-looking hot mess I’ve ever seen.” He took her arm, and led her, sneakers and all, to his Raptor.

A quick stop by Lisa’s provided Miranda with a pair of strappy black high heels and a cream, waist-length faux fur coat, all of which she was trying to put on in the car. As they headed from Lisa’s to the restaurant, she struggled to get out of her Converse and into the heels, and he found himself laughing at the whispered curses flying out of her mouth every time he turned a corner.

Finally, she leaned back, out of breath, and slid her arms into the coat. She refastened her seat belt and looked at him. “Nice weather tonight,” she grumbled.

Tucker chuckled. “You really suck at small talk.”

“All right then,” she huffed. “What would you like to talk about? Should we dive right into Anatole?”

He frowned. “How about we have a nice, relaxing, nonstressful dinner conversation first?”

“Well, we’ve already determined how badly I suck at small talk, so it’s up to you to fill the silence.”

Tucker thought over their conversation options. Considering where her brother was, discussing him wasn’t an option. Discussing Tucker’s family wasn’t exactly nonstressful, either.

He sighed. “So, I guess it is nice weather we’re having tonight.”

Her bark of laughter was warming. He pulled into Reggiano’s and parked in the first available spot in the near-packed lot.

“Can’t I just wear my Converse? I’m decent on heels, but snow is treacherous enough without adding three inches to the struggle.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Stay put.” He rushed around to her side of the car and offered her his hand. To get her down from his lifted truck, she had to slide down his body. By the time she was on her feet, they were both breathing hard.

He draped his arm loosely around her waist, offering support as they made their way through the snow. They entered the restaurant and he helped her out of her coat. She reached up to adjust the neckline of her dress and he took her hand to stop her.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered. “And stop looking around. I chose this place because it’s outside town limits and the chances of us running into anyone are slim.” He addressed the tuxedoed maître d’. “Reservation for Ambrose.”

Without glancing at the book opened on the brass stand before him, the man smiled. “Right this way.”

They were led to a small table near the window overlooking a lit, icy pond. The maître d’ took Miranda’s coat, pulled out her chair, and placed a napkin in her lap. “May I suggest a bottle of wine?”

“Is Marco still storing the ’61 Brunello?” Tucker sat across from Miranda, loving the way the backdrop of the snowy night and the candlelight danced across her skin.

“I think he might have a bottle or two left. I’ll be right back.”

Tucker thanked him and as he reached for his menu, caught Miranda staring at him.

“You’re staring.”

“Didn’t figure you for a wine guy.”

He shrugged. “Occasionally.” His gaze fell to her throat, then below.

“Now
you’re
staring.” She looked down at her plunging neckline as though checking to make sure one of her breasts hadn’t escaped bondage.

“Stop fidgeting. You are gorgeous.”

She smiled and a pink hue lit up her cheeks. “Thank you. I . . . It’s been a while since I had a reason to dress up in”—she held up her hands—“something like this.”

“It’s okay, I’m out of practice myself. But you’re doing fine so far.”

“Out of practice?” She smirked, as though he’d just given away something he hadn’t meant to about himself. “The night we met, you were wearing a Rolex. I know because it looked a lot like my brother’s and he’s no stranger to the finer things in life. And tonight, you order fancy wine off the top of your head. You said yourself that your mom was a socialite. I’m sure you spent plenty of evenings doing things like this.”

“It’s been a long time since I had much use for my family’s money.”

She held his gaze. “But you kept the Rolex, custom-tailored suit, fine wine, and”—she ran her hand down her side—“and the ability to purchase this on a whim.”

“I like nice things. What of it?”

Miranda shrugged. “I think it’s your way of holding on to them. Maybe just a little.”

Tucker wanted to deny her claim, but perhaps, in a tiny way, she was right. “I kept the watch as a way to remind myself that material things aren’t important. The money, well, I have it, but I don’t obsess over it and certainly don’t make it the definition of who and what I am.”

“Fair enough.” She turned her attention back to the menu, blessedly ending the unpleasant topic.

“How about you?”

She glanced at him from over the menu. “What about me?”

“Get along with your family?”

Her smile was soft and a tiny bit sad. “Yeah. I did.”

“Did?”

“My parents died in a car accident just after I started college. It’s just me and Bobby now.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up pain—”

“It’s fine. Not all the memories are great, but not all of them are bad, either.” She toyed with her water glass. “What about a significant other? Long-term or no-strings kind of guy?”

He thought over the question for a minute before answering. “I was in a long-term relationship, once.”

“What happened?”

“Sonya and I started dating in high school. After graduation, I applied for the academy and enrolled at the University of Chicago—just like we’d talked about hundreds of times. Instead of staying local, she decided to accept a scholarship to a college in Florida. I soon found out that long distance relationships don’t work. What about you?”

She laughed softly. “I dated the same guy through high school and most of college. We’d talked about marriage but our careers took us in two completely different directions. We gave it everything we had, trying to make it work, but someone would’ve had to give up on their dreams and neither one of us wanted that for each other. So we parted on good terms and have remained friends.”

He tried to picture her happy and in love with another man and found himself frowning. Not that he hadn’t expected her to have a past, and not that he had any hold on her. But the image wasn’t pleasant regardless.

He was saved from thinking about it more by the arrival of the wine. When he approved the sample, the sommelier poured their drinks, then discreetly disappeared.

“So, we’ve talked about the weather, our families, and our exes,” she said as she dipped her finger into the wine and ran it around the edge, making it sing. When she stopped and sucked the dark red liquid from her finger, he forgot how to breathe. “Ready to get into why you wanted to talk to me? Gotta admit, it’s driving me crazy not knowing.”

The waitress appeared and Tucker ordered a sampler appetizer for them to share. Even though the subject of Anatole tasted bitter on his tongue, he sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere this evening until the topic had been covered.

“I still don’t have proof,” he said. “But I’m willing to take you a little more seriously after my day today.”

He explained what had happened, watched her brown eyes grow wide as she sipped her wine and could almost feel her excitement from the other side of the table. What was making him queasy was thrilling the hell out of her.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“I don’t want to say it, but I told you so. He’s a liar, Tucker. And more than that, he’s a killer. I wouldn’t have come all this way if I wasn’t sure of that in my bones. I would have stayed in Dayton, still looking for proof there rather than betting all my money on one suspect. And I mean that in the most literal sense. I’ve given up my life to finding the truth.”

“And you’d be okay with the truth if it turned out you were wrong?”

She nodded. “My conscience would be sore for thinking ill about an innocent man, but I’d get over it. The truth is more important to me than anything because that’s the only thing that’s going to give Bobby his life back.” She took another sip of wine. “I want to help you go through those files, Tucker. Please? I know I didn’t win the bet, but I promise I can be objective. If anything smells like I’m wrong, I won’t force the issue.”

“We’ll see.” It was all he was willing to promise. “For now, just answer a couple of questions for me so we can get back to our evening.”

“Okay. Fire away.”

“You know the history of the Dayton murders probably better than anyone. Did Anatole have a connection to all the victims? Was he counseling them like Michael? Or did they go to his church? Anything like that?”

“Just one. He presided over the wedding of the second victim. He performed the baptism of his kid, too. But the others, no. That’s why I had such a hard time getting Dayton PD to listen to me. Nothing tied Anatole to the others.”

“Then you’re basing your suspicion of him on his relationship with Bobby? Have you talked to your brother? Does he agree with you?”

A sadness filled her eyes. “He won’t see me. He wants me to just forget about him. Like that’s possible.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her smile was faint. “Don’t be. He can ignore me all he wants but I’m not giving up on him.”

“Obviously. He’s lucky to have a sister like you.”

He considered his own sister. Had he been as cruel to Gloria when he’d walked away from his family as Bobby had been to Miranda?

He hated that the mood had turned so maudlin. “You know what? We can talk about this tomorrow. Come by my office, we’ll talk about letting you go through the Dayton files, all right? For now, let’s just enjoy the evening. I don’t know about you, but I could damned sure use a break from all this.”

A very brief break. Aside from a murderer, he still had a missing kid to find. He had a feeling there would be very little downtime in the near future and he wanted to relish this one.

“I thought you asked me here to talk about the case?”

“I want to spend time with you. Is that so hard for you to accept?”

“Yeah, I guess it is. After all, I have been a bit of a thorn in your side since we met.”

“A bit? You’ve been a major pain in my ass.” Tucker refilled her glass. “I can understand what you’re doing. Especially after today. But if we do find something substantial that points at Anatole, your illegal bullshit could keep us from getting a conviction.”

She saluted him with her wine. “Fair enough.”

“So no more secrets? No more screwing with the case outside of how I allow you to assist?”

She studied the tablecloth for a long moment. “There are things that I’ve—”

The waitress arrived and she clammed up, leaning back so the appetizers could be placed in the center of the table. Tucker plucked a piece of fried mozzarella from the hot plate, popping it into his mouth. Grease poured onto his tongue, scorching the roof of his mouth. It took everything in him to keep his cool and not spit it back out. After a moment, he was able to finish chewing and swallowed.

“Hot,” he muttered, throwing back half his glass of water. Her efforts to hide her smile as she put one of everything on her plate saved his pride. A little. “You were saying?”

She paused, midway to bringing a toothpick layered with Caprese salad to her lips. “I don’t remember. Must not have been important.”

She smiled. Olive oil dripped from the small square of mozzarella sandwiched between the basil leaf and tomato on her toothpick. She licked it away.

As he watched her open her mouth and pluck the cherry red tomato from the toothpick, her lips closing around it as she gave a slight pull, he took a sip of wine and pushed his half-touched glass away.

The waitress appeared again, this time toting a steaming plate of spaghetti and meatballs for Miranda and Tuscan meat loaf for Tucker. Miranda dove in with gusto, manners obviously the last thing on her mind as she slurped her noodles and wolfed down her meatballs.

Watching her was the most entertainment he’d had during a meal in a long time.

She caught him staring and flashed him a crooked grin. “Sorry. Hungry. Want some?”