hour. Fabulous. She imagined having a Brazilian bikini wax would be less painful than sitting in a car with Matthew suffering through stilted, awkward conversation as they each navigated around the emotional land mines that could blow them both to bits. “Music?” she asked, moving to turn the stereo on.
“Not interested in catching up?” he asked as she turned the volume up. His mouth twisted knowingly with just a touch of mocking cruelty. “Guess not.”
She shot him a dark look and then returned to the scenery outside her window. In spite of the rain that continued to fall from the gray skies, the melancholy beauty of the coastal forests was something that tugged at her emotional center. It was hard to ignore that her roots were here, even as much as she tried. It was probably why she’d requested the San Francisco office. She needed to hear the ocean and smell the briny perfume of the sea. Her family had always been attached to the water. Her father had been a fisherman just like his father before him. Some of her best memories included the sea. In spite of herself, Kara wondered if Matthew still enjoyed abalone diving, or if he had ever bought that sailboat he’d been wanting when they were kids. Probably not. Neal had been the impulsive, spontaneous one. Matthew always weighed the pros and cons of everything six ways from Sunday before he did something. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the nostalgia plucking memories from her mental chest that she’d locked away long ago.
Regret tasted metallic on her tongue. She risked a glance at his profile. Strong, stubborn jaw, lips compressed to a tight line, betraying some kind of inner conflict as did the pull of his dark brows shadowing his eyes. Likely, if she’d told Matthew about their daughter, he would’ve taught her to dive, to enjoy and respect the ocean. He would’ve taught Briana to play guitar. She swallowed as she recalled Briana’s most recent request.
“Why didn’t you have kids?” she asked, glancing at him curiously. “When you were married, I mean.”
“Back to catching up?” he asked, the mild tone deceptive.
She shrugged. “It’s a long drive. You don’t have to answer of course. I was just wondering.”
The frown eased as he considered his answer. Finally, he admitted, “I did want kids. She didn’t. Takes two to make that happen. Seeing as how things turned out, it was for the best. How about you?”
“My job.”
He seemed to accept that. Of course he did. It made sense. Her job was chaotic with odd, often-times long hours. Adding a child to the mix would certainly be difficult. And it was. If it weren’t for the treasure that Mai had turned out to be … single parenting wasn’t for wimps.
The shame returned. He’d wanted children. A moment of insanity gripped her and she imagined just blurting out that he had a child. A wonderful, beautiful, smart and amazing kid who looked just like him and even had that same stubborn tilt of the chin. Yeah … that would go over well. The breath hitched in her chest as she discarded the dangerous thought and returned to the case.
“Tell me again about the photographer who found Hannah Linney.”
“He’s already been checked out. His alibi is airtight. There’s no way he dropped that little girl out there. Tell me why we’re heading out to Wilkin’s Mine.”
“We managed to find a very small bit of mineral, orickite, on Drake Nobles’s body. It was an odd find and the first bit of evidence, aside from those damn little nursery-rhyme words from ‘Pop Goes the Weasel', that we’ve managed to get. Oddly enough, orickite is only found in this area.”
“So are you thinking the killer is a geologist or a miner?”
“I’m not thinking anything. I’m just following evidence. I want to see the mine, poke around, talk to the owner and then see what shakes out.”
“You know the owner might not want to chat. He’s not what you’d call friendly.”
“You know him?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I know him, per se, but I know of him. I know enough to say I think being down in that mine has pickled his brain a little.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“Have you had run-ins with him before?”
“A time or two. Nothing serious. He’s a crazy old coot, but basically harmless. As long as you don’t try to take his pot. Then, we might have a problem.”
“Great. Another pot grower. You might want to remind people there’s a law against that.”
“Not since Prop 215. Gotta love those liberal California voters. As long as you’ve got a medical card, not much the law around here is going to do about it. I don’t have the resources to chase after every illegal grower. My superiors have a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. You know how it is around here. Nothing much has changed. Besides, they’re harmless. They grow their weed and if they’re left alone, they leave everyone else alone.”
“It’s still against the law,” she said stiffly.
“Yeah. But I’ve learned to pick my battles.”
She met his gaze briefly and looked away, unable to stare too long without fear of falling into those blue eyes and drowning. “I suppose you have a point, but it’s still not right,” she added.
They rode in silence, letting the music fill the car instead of their chatter—not that she could’ve mustered anything resembling frivolous chatter, her nerves were so taut. She had just managed to allow her mind to settle down when Matthew deliberately seemed to poke at a tender spot.
“Why didn’t you come to the funeral?” he asked in a deceptively casual voice, as if that question wasn’t charged with emotional pitfalls. When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “Your name was the last word he ever spoke. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Of course you didn’t. You weren’t around.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? Talk about the past? Why not? We’ve got a lot of history. Nothing wrong with reminiscing.”
“You’re not reminiscing. You’re dredging up old crap. When did you turn into such a passive-aggressive prick, Matthew? If you’ve got something to say to me, get it out. Say it. Say it or shove it up your ass because I don’t answer to you. I never did and I never will.”
“You need to work on your people skills.”
She shot him a look. “And you need to work on professional civility.”
He drew himself up and then sighed, surprising her with his agreement. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. But then, Neal was always the talker. The one who could smooth everything out and make you wonder what the hell you were mad about in the first place.”
True. A vision of Neal as she liked to remember him came back to soften the tense muscles in her mouth. He was grinning like the devil, that ridiculously adorable dimple of his flashing as he threw his head back and laughed at something they’d said in their long-ago past. “Yeah, he was quite the charmer when he wanted to be,” she admitted. She had a treasure trove of memories to draw from. She remembered how her heart had broken when she realized Briana was not Neal’s. She couldn’t even pretend. Whereas Neal had been fair-haired and looked the part of the beautiful beach bum, Matthew had always looked the part of … law enforcement. She stifled an inappropriate urge to giggle. Matthew couldn’t look like a bum if he tried. Neal had been adept at making lounging look like art; Matthew had been adept at making lounging look like hard work. A smile born of sweet memories tilted the corners of her mouth until she remembered that Neal was gone. The smile faded and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I heard his parents moved away,” she said, feeling as if she were listening to the conversation from elsewhere.
Конец