Creek Road, in the heart of town. If Flynt remembered right, the café was open till eight or nine at night, seven days a week. But it did most of its business weekdays, for breakfast and lunch. As a relatively new employee, Josie would probably draw the less desirable weekend shifts.
He could make it to town in half an hour—less, given that he’d be burning rubber all the way.
But no.
If he showed up at the café now, looking for her, there would be talk. Even dropping in at that shack of her mother’s in broad daylight was too chancy. He was a Carson, after all, a rich man, a power in the community. And she was young and poor and pretty. Only one reason, folks would say, why a man like Flynt Carson would come looking for a girl like Josie Lavender.
A voice in the back of his mind whispered, What does it matter? Why not go after her right now? When the truth comes out, everyone will know about us anyway….
He ignored that voice. That voice was just making excuses for him to do what he wanted, not what was best for Josie.
Better to wait till after dark, keep it just between the two of them. He owed her that much.
Hell. He owed her more. A lot more. He’d tried to make it up to her, a little anyway, with that ten thousand dollars he’d pressed into her hand when she’d left. She’d taken it then. But six months later, she’d sent him a cashier’s check, paying every penny back. The postmark on the envelope had said it came from Hurst, Texas, up in the Dallas/Fort Worth area.
He’d looked at that postmark and felt just about the way he felt right now—that there was a way to her, that he could find her if he wanted.
And he wanted. As much as—no, more than—he wanted to draw his next breath.
But he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. Not then, not now. Not until tonight.
He looked at his watch. Barely twelve-thirty. The day stretched before him, endless hours of it, until he could go to her and get the truth out of her.
Flynt muttered a low curse and turned back to the house.
Three
Josie Lavender had the closing shift that night. She hung around to do her cleanup work, marrying ketchups, filling salt and pepper and sugar dispensers, setting up the tables for the morning girls. She left the café at 9:20 and she got home about ten minutes later.
Her mom was lying on the old green sofa in the front room, watching TV. “Hi, sweetie.” Alva Lavender lifted the mask that covered her mouth and nose just long enough to get the words out, then slid it back into place and sucked in a difficult breath. Alva suffered from emphysema. She spent a lot of time each day hooked up to the oxygen tank that helped her breathe a little easier.
Josie locked the front door. Mission Creek didn’t have all that much street crime, but what little there was tended to take place in her mother’s neighborhood. “Mama, did you eat?”
Her mother held the mask in place and nodded.
“Want me to—”
Alva didn’t let her finish. She slipped the mask aside again. “Don’t worry ’bout me. I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
Alva, behind the mask once again, nodded some more, and then waved her thin hand. She pointed at the television, indicating she wanted to concentrate on her program. It was a Law and Order rerun, from when Benjamin Bratt was on the show. Alva had a thing for him.
“Okay, Mama,” Josie said softly. “If you’re sure you don’t need me to fix you something, I’m going to have a nice, long bath.”
Alva waved her hand again, but never took her gaze off the television screen.
Josie went through the open arch opposite the front door and into the tiny, square hallway. From there it was two steps to her bedroom.
She flipped on the switch by the door. Her room was just big enough for her bed and her dresser and the small pine desk she’d found at a yard sale while she was still in high school.
Josie’s computer sat on that desk. It was a nice one, with a big screen and the newest software and tons of memory. She’d bought it when she was living up in Hurst. Mostly she used it for word processing, keeping her small bank balance in order and for e-mail. It made her feel hopeful, somehow. That she was hooked in to what mattered, and on her way up. She had a car—a not-so-great one, but a car, none-the-less—and she had a computer. And she wouldn’t always be working the worst shifts at the Mission Creek Café. She was dealing with the obstacles life had put in her path, step-by-step, one day at a time.
Josie grabbed the hem of the snug black T-shirt with Mission Creek Café written in orange across the front of it. She was just about to yank it off over her head when she heard tapping on the window behind the desk.
She froze, with her arms crossed, still holding the hem of the shirt in each hand.
There it was again. Three sharp raps.
Josie stared at the yellowed blind pulled down over the window and debated. Should she see who was out there? Probably not. Who could it be but someone looking to make trouble? Anyone on the up-and-up would just walk up the front steps and knock on the door.
But then again, why would a troublemaker bother to tap on the window and let her know he was there? With a sigh, Josie smoothed her shirt back down and slid around the end of the bed to lift the side of the blind.
At the sight of the face looming close in the shadows beyond the glass, her pulse went racing and her throat got tight. “Flynt.” She mouthed his name, barely able to give voice to the word.
Was she surprised to see him?
Not really.
Had she suspected it just might be him?
Maybe.
Did it hurt to see his face again?
Definitely.
He said, slowly, so she could read the words off those lips of his that had kissed her in places she still blushed to think about, “Open the window, Josie. Now.”
She stared at him, unmoving. He stared right back. Finally she held up a hand, signaling for him to wait just a moment. He nodded, his mouth a grim line.
She dropped the shade and went to shut the door and engage the privacy lock, pausing first to listen for the sounds from the living room. She heard the drone of the television and the hum of the window air conditioner. Nothing that might indicate her mother knew she had a visitor.
Which was all to the good. She’d just as soon not have her mama asking her a lot of questions about Flynt Carson. Alva didn’t need to know about what had happened between Josie and her former boss. She’d only worry if she knew.
Josie went back to the window and did what Flynt wanted, running up the shade, slipping the latch, shoving up the bottom pane and unhooking the screen. He started to climb through.
She decided when it was almost too late that it was a bad idea to let
