Clark asked me to conduct a private, preliminary investigation, apart from the PD.”
Her breath of relief made her feel heady for a second. Sunshine on her face felt good, too.
“So his reputation won’t be ruined if it turns out he didn’t do this.”
“Yes. But he did it, Harper. And if we prove that, we can handle this quietly, help him, rather than ruin his entire life.”
“Shouldn’t you be keeping an open mind, since you’re conducting the investigation?”
“What cop did you ever know who didn’t work with suspicions? With gut instincts? It’s what guides us to the truth.”
He was right, of course. But...
“Does Clark think he’s guilty?”
“I don’t know what he thinks, other than that he’s not happy about it. Any of it. He’s known Miriam for forty years. And Bruce and me for most of our lives. Out of respect for Dad, he wants me to find the truth. And, I guess, he’s hoping I find something other than Bruce has been abusing our grandmother.
“So...about this evening...”
She had Brianna to consider. Still, Mason was Brianna’s uncle—not that they’d spent any time together.
“How about if I meet you?” Her thoughts came quickly. Brianna and Alissa were approaching, only a football field’s distance away. “At eight...at The Cove.” A beach bar about a block from home.
“What about your daughter?”
“That’s past her bedtime.” She was panicking. For no reason. “I’ll call a sitter for her,” she said, thinking on the fly. “If I brought her along, the chances of us having a conversation without an inquisition from her would be nil.”
His brief chuckle warmed her. Which brought its own bout of panic.
“Okay, I’ll meet you at eight,” he said.
“You know where The Cove is?” It wasn’t as if Santa Raquel was all that big. Or he’d spent any time there. Not her problem.
“I’ll find it.”
Of course he would.
SHE’D DRESSED UP for him. In skintight black pants, a long, figure-hugging white shirt and a black denim vest trimmed with white lace, she knew she looked good. She’d spruced up her hair with enough spray to give it the sexy just-got-out-of-bed look her stylist had left her with the day she’d cut it. And put on eyeliner, too. She didn’t kid herself. A perverse, lesser part of her wanted Mason to regret never having called her after the night she’d spent in his bed. She wasn’t proud of the feeling. She also wasn’t fool enough to deny it was there.
The much bigger part of her, the rational part, dressed up to give herself confidence. And to prove that she wasn’t afraid of her sexuality in his presence. He could come on to her or not. She’d have no problem resisting him. Mason was a little too...much for her tastes. Taller than Bruce, broader than him, he’d always seemed larger than life to her. Gorgeous. But somewhat...intimidating. Both of the Thomas men, with their thick dark hair, swarthy coloring and striking green-gold eyes, had the ability to stop women in their tracks. Bruce had longer hair—and unrulier than Mason’s more military cut. She’d always preferred hair she could run her fingers through.
Like the night she’d run them through the thick patch of curly hair that covered Mason’s chest...
She shook that thought away—far away—as she entered the bar fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. She was going to have a beer in front of her before he started shooting questions at her.
Happy to find the back booth clear, she slid in, facing the door, and looked out the window beside her, imagining she could see the ocean she knew was mere yards away. She could see the beach, but The Cove’s outside string of lights didn’t penetrate enough of the darkness for her to delineate waves. If the moon had been out...
He slid in across from her before she’d had a chance to order. The last time they’d been together in a bar, the only other time, they’d sat side by side on stools.
Pulling a small, leather-bound pad from the back pocket of his jeans, he flipped it onto the table and settled in.
“Did you order?”
“Not yet.”
Glancing around, he signaled the waiter. “You still drinking the same kind of beer?” He gazed in her general direction, but not directly at her.
“Yeah.” She said nothing else, knowing she was challenging him to remember, sure that he wouldn’t. And didn’t really care either way. Being perverse again, which seemed to be something he brought out in her. She’d have to rein in her lesser self when he was around.
Her hands folded on the table, she noticed that his hair was longer than five years before, and still as thick. Not as long as Bruce’s, which usually fell past his collar, since he worked undercover so much of the time. She’d also noticed that Mason had not only changed into jeans, but the black shirt was different from the one he’d had on that morning, too.
It was unbuttoned down to midchest.
She stared down at her hands. And then out toward the ocean again.
Why was his shirt unbuttoned? Surely not for her? Had she told him she liked running her fingers through the hair on his chest? Parts of that night they’d spent together were a blur.
Other things she remembered as though they’d happened yesterday.
He was talking to the waiter about beers on tap and specials. Her preference was neither on tap nor on special. She waited.
He ordered a tall dark lager for himself. And the light beer, bottled, that she’d always preferred.
“You changed your clothes,” were the first words out of her mouth when the waiter left. She wished she’d bitten her tongue.
He nodded. “I was up most of the night and hit the sack as soon as I got home.”
And then he’d obviously showered when he got up. That was why the musky aftershave he wore was reaching her nostrils so clearly. He’d just put it on.
“Where are you staying?”
“At home, why?”
“You drove back to Albina this morning?” And then another two hours to meet her for questioning?
“Yeah.”
“You going all the way back tonight?”
His shrug distracted her. Those shoulders... She had a mental flash of tanned, smooth skin. And a strength that allowed him to support his own weight, and hers, too, as he’d moved them together into the most incredible physical experience...
“Depends
