The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) (8 page)

"Will you be in tomorrow? I
want to stop by the courthouse."

"Yeah, sure. I should be
unless I'm out on a call."

"Okay, great. See ya then."
Butch pulled away from the curb so fast his tires squealed. The only
surveillance he'd been on was Phoebe.

At first Marc thought maybe Butch
had been called out at dinner and that's why she was escorted home by her
friends. Now he suspected something else. He didn't want to accept that Phoebe
was attracted to Butch Wilcox. Why would she kiss Marc so passionately if she
were?

Strolling home, all he could think
about was their date tomorrow night. That nipple ring was calling his name, not
to mention the rest of her delicious body. And they'd do more than kiss.

***

In the morning Marc's first stop
was the coroner's office. There were no blood test results in the police file,
which was odd. All evidence from such an old case should have been there. He
needed to prove his dad hadn't been driving drunk, and the blood results were
the only way.

At reception he was advised that
Dr. Cooper was finishing up an autopsy and would be able to see him in twenty
minutes. Marc decided to wait. It took a little longer, but he was finally
directed to the doctor's office. After giving his name and explaining what he
needed, he was relieved to find out that even though records from a decade ago
were in storage, the storage area was in the same building. An assistant was
sent to track the file down.

Since the doctor had work to do,
Marc waited in reception again. The assistant joined, him and he could tell
there was bad news by the harried look on his face.

"I'm sorry, sir, there were no
files for Marc and Frieda Rahn."

"The accident was in 2004. Are
you sure you looked back that far?"

"I went back farther. Are you
sure the deaths were in this county?"

Marc steamed with anger and
frustration. "Yes, they were in this county. This town. I should know.
They were my parents."

"I'm so sorry, sir. I can do a
more thorough search, but that'll take time."

"I'd appreciate that. What's
your name?"

"John Cross. I'm a medical
assistant. If Dr. Cooper gives me the go-ahead, I'll get back into the
storeroom and look further. Obviously I can't promise anything except that I'll
do my best."

"I understand, John. Thanks."
They traded cell numbers and Marc left with John's assurances he'd do
everything he could to get to the bottom of this. Outside, he felt sick to his
stomach and didn't feel so confident the records would be found. Why were they
missing in the first place?

Nothing he'd tried to find out
about this case had turned out to be easy. He hadn't expected to be instantly
handed information, but now it was beginning to feel like a cover-up. Either
this county was inefficiently run, or someone had the file secreted. And in
that case, he definitely believed his parents had been run off the road on
purpose. He had to find out why.

Marc had driven to the coroner's
office on the outskirts of B Falls. As he passed Frank's house on the way back,
he recalled the older man telling him about Harold Wilcox buying up the stores
to build his resort on the land and how he didn't like him or trust him. So he
swung his car into the resort's parking lot and decided to go on a little
fishing expedition.

"Marc Rahn. Welcome home. I
heard you were back in town. Marine Corps, right?" Harold Wilcox was an
older version of Butch with his fair hair turned pure white and his complexion
tanned, probably from golfing since one of the shelves along the wall held
several trophies. He pumped Marc's hand in a too-tight grip.

"Yes, sir, eight years."

"What brings you to my office?"

"Well, I'm just tying up some
loose ends. I wanted to get copies of the sale papers for my dad's store."

"Really? Why, if you don't
mind my asking?"

Marc shrugged. "Just getting
files and records consolidated in one place. I also want to decide what to do
with the old house. You know, make decisions so I can move on with my life."
Some of what he said was true. He did need to figure out what to do with the
house. "Could you have someone make copies? I can wait."

Wilcox crossed back to his desk and
sat down, motioning Marc to do the same. While the older man dithered around
moving papers on his desk, Marc surveyed the office. Designed to look old-world
but with all new furniture, it should have felt comfortable. It just felt cold
even though everything wood in the room was a dark rich cherry and everything
soft was green leather, the carpet a white Berber.

It was a pretentious office, one
for show, not for serious work.

"I'll have to ask my secretary
to check the files. That sale was how long ago?"

"Around the time my folks had
the accident. 2004 or 2005."

"Yes, yes. I remember now.
Very sorry about that, Marc. You were in high school, right? A senior along
with Butch?"

"Yes, sir. Do you think you
can have the file found?"

"Oh, I'm sure of it. When you
leave I'll talk to my secretary about it," Wilcox hedged and stood.

Marc was being stonewalled.
Lounging in the chair, he leisurely swung his foot up to set his ankle on the
opposite knee. "Would you mind getting it started right now? The sooner I
get this done the better. I'm only home on leave." He'd show the bastard
he wouldn't be brushed off that easily.

Wilcox, already standing up,
apparently decided to use that movement and strode to the door to talk to his
secretary. Marc could hear mumbled voices. Was Wilcox really asking for the
file or was it all a show? He figured he'd find out soon enough. Either he'd
get the file in the next day or so or it would be conveniently lost, like the
police file.

Whatever.
He'd deal with whatever happened. This evening he had more important things to
think about. He gave a silent apology to his parents. He didn't consider them
of lesser importance, and he'd get to the truth soon. But quirking a
self-satisfied smile, he anticipated a very enjoyable evening with Phoebe
Barnes.

***

Early that evening after showering
and shaving, Marc donned black trousers and a light-blue dress shirt. Chuckling
to himself, he decided he liked any color combination except green and tan. He'd
had enough of camouflage and was enjoying civilian clothing during his leave.
Backing his car out of his driveway, he whipped it around to the curb just
across the street.

"You look beautiful, Phoebe,"
he said when she answered the door. She stunned him, but he wondered what look
she was going for.

A tight black skirt to just above
the knees looked businesslike, but that definitely didn't describe her top
half. The blouse was sleeveless, all white silk and ruffles, dipping to a deep
V between her breasts.
Not businesslike
at all.

The spit dried up in his mouth as
his cock throbbed and swelled. She wasn't a tall woman, but in this outfit she
looked statuesque and angelic. Angelic with a bit of the devil, with her long
hair pulled back in a simple bouncy ponytail with the bright-pink streak front
and center in her bangs.

What the hell message was she
sending?

Chapter Nine

"Why, thank you, sir."
Her smiled faded a little, although he was having the exact reaction she'd
hoped for. She needed to keep the control because she had plans for her future.
Already attracted to Marc, she had to make sure it didn't go too far too fast.

He gave her an indulgently droll
look. "Don't call me…"

"Oops." She tipped her
lips in a teasing smile.

His light eyes surveyed her up and
down, finally focusing on the frothy lace over her breasts. Because of the
nipple ring, she almost always wore something that wasn't formfitting,
especially on a first date. She didn't want a man to get the wrong idea about
her. The piercing didn't mean she was easy. He'd felt it the first night they'd
kissed, and she had no intention of his getting to it again until and unless it
was her choice.

At her urging, they turned, and she
led the way down her front walk to the street. "Wow," she exclaimed. "That
is one heck of a beautiful car. What is it?"

He gave a low, throaty laugh.

She glanced at him. His face lit
up, his expression of pride and love added to his attraction. "Oh my God,
you love it, don't you?" She laughed along with him.

Then he turned a bit sheepish, his
cheeks flushing. Shrugging, he said, "It's a BMW Z4."

"It's gorgeous."

"Thanks. I always wanted a
roadster when I was a kid. A 'Vette would've been good, but then I saw this
baby."

"You've probably saved a lot
of money over the years."

"Yeah. The Marines take care
of most of my needs, so I didn't make any major purchases except this one. Come
on. It drives pretty smooth." He opened the passenger door for her. "Do
you want me to put the top up to save your hairstyle?"

Gazing into his amazing eyes, she
couldn't disappoint him. "No, I'll just hold it down." She swept the
tail to the side, wrapping the strands together in one hand.

"Great!" He strode around
to the driver's side and folded his long legs into the car. The engine purred
to life. "I've heard there's a new restaurant over in Birch Park. At least
new to me."

She nodded. "Oh, sure. Falls
River Diner. That's a good place." It was named "diner" but was
really an elegant white-tablecloth restaurant with a gorgeous view of the
rapids where the waterfall met the river. Drawing in a shaky breath, she
stiffened when his fingers brushed against her shoulder.

"Here," he murmured. "A
strand is loose." He played with it for a moment, winding it around his
forefinger, his gaze on her face.

Her breath caught and warmth washed
over her from her breasts to her cheeks. She had to laugh at herself. Any woman
would die for this guy. Amazingly built, tall, hair obviously growing out from
a military cut. She didn't care for long-haired dudes so he was good. His face
exuded masculinity. He had shoulders that would hold up the earth, arms that could
hold and protect a woman.

Stop
it! I don't need protecting.

They settled in at a table
overlooking the river, at the point where rough-edged rocks caused the rapids. "I'm
sure you've been here before. What do you recommend?"

"The food's good especially
the homemade soups and breads. What do you like?"

"I know what I like, but it's
been a long time since I've been in a nice place with something other than MREs
to eat."

"I think we can find you
something better than that here."

They studied their menus in silence
for a while.

He put his down on the tablecloth. "Where
are you from? I would have remembered if you'd grown up here."

"I moved here a year ago from
Parkersburg."

"What brought you here?"

"I got a job singing at
Marietty's. It was a chance to get some experience and move my career along."

"Well, you're really good."
His gaze softened with admiration.

"Thanks. It's been my dream
ever since I can remember. I don't plan to stay here much longer though."
Keep warning him. And yourself.

The waiter arrived with water and
rolls. They ordered drinks—a vodka tonic for her, and beer for him.

"You don't like B Falls?"

"It's a wonderful town but a
dead-end for me. I want to record and tour. That means New York or Los Angeles."

"You're amazing. I can't see
why an agent wouldn't grab you up." Her hand lay on the table. His large,
warm one covered it, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the restaurant.

She had a lot of support from her
friends and the audiences cheered her on, but he'd only heard her sing once. A
little voice poked at the back of her mind.
He
might like your singing, but it's your body he's after. Don't fall for him.

She slipped her hand out from under
his and fiddled with her napkin. "I'll make it one of these days. It only
takes one phone call." She changed the subject. "What brings you back
to town now?"

"Unfinished business."

That
was brusque.
"Personal business?"

"Didn't Butch or your friends
tell you about me?"

She glanced down, taken aback by
his bitter tone. Lifting a shoulder, she responded, "I think something terribly
sad happened to you."

"Some other time." His
voice was a low growl.

This time she reached for his hand
and rubbed the back of it in sympathy. "Okay."

Resting his elbow on the table, he
quirked a smile. "Away from the stage you're not the same person."

She stifled a giggle. "No
kidding. Performers usually aren't. It's called acting. Why? What did you think
I was like?"

His eyes twinkled with humor. "Answering
that question would be like approaching an IED."

"That dangerous, huh?"
she responded softly. "Are you a career Marine?"

"No but technically once a
Marine, always a Marine."

The entrees arrived. After a few
bites, she continued, "There's no age limit?"

"Not really and I'm not that
old." He huffed a laugh.

"Oh no, I wasn't saying you
were. How old
are
you?"

"Old enough to want to kiss
you again."

"Oh, shit!" She flinched,
her eyes closing in alarm.

"Pardon me?" His head
bucked back, and his sensual expression disappeared.

Damn
it.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean you. Don't turn around." Butch had
just come into the dining room from the kitchen, of all places.

"You can't say 'don't turn
around' to a military man." He looked over his shoulder. "Are you
talking about Butch?"

"Yes."

"Are you dating him?"