Doggone Read online

  ‘‘Postnuptial surprise?’’ he asked. ‘‘You’ve got to stop hanging out with all those lawyers.’’

  ‘‘What did you ask him to do?’’

  ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘Don’t play blond, Connor. It’s not convincing. Blue. What did you ask him to do?’’

  I pulled him back on track. I wasn’t ready to share that he’d outmaneuvered me with the whole wedding thing. Or to find out whether he thought he’d outmaneuvered himself at the same time.

  ‘‘You have a one-track mind.’’

  ‘‘What did you ask him to do?’’ I repeated.

  ‘‘I asked him to check out the car. I also asked him to do a background on DeVries.’’

  ‘‘See how easy that was? It didn’t hurt a bit, did it? If your friend is going to do the paper-trail stuff, I should try to talk to some of the people in that neighborhood. Maybe I can pick up some good gossip.’’ I knelt and took a hair toy from the suitcase, turning to look in the mirror as I tried to wrangle my curls into a bun.

  ‘‘You don’t have to go back. Blue’s going to check it out. Believe me when I tell you that if there’s anything to know, he’ll find it.’’

  ‘‘Maybe. There could still be something worth finding at the crime scene itself.’’

  ‘‘I don’t want you going back there.’’

  I met his eyes in the mirror. ‘‘It’s broad daylight. The place is undoubtedly still overrun by the boys in blue. Besides, I’ll have company.’’

  ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘Pavarotti.’’

  ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘Pavarotti. Our four-footed friend from last night. I figured she’s a tenor. I know there are a couple of other famous ones but I couldn’t remember their names, so she became Pavarotti. She must have followed us home.’’

  ‘‘You named her.’’ He shook his head.

  ‘‘Of course.’’ The bun wasn’t working. I took it out and watched my hair go back to wild curls. I was never going to look put together. Maybe I should just face facts?

  ‘‘It can’t be the same dog. She couldn’t have followed us. It’s got to be twenty miles.’’

  ‘‘I’m telling you.’’

  ‘‘I’m telling you not to go back to talk to the neighbors until I can go with you.’’

  Oh, he didn’t just say that. I stared at him. Put the brush down on the dresser top. ‘‘I don’t take orders, Connor. I thought we’d established that last night.’’

  ‘‘That came out wrong.’’

  ‘‘Gee, you think?’’

  ‘‘I’ve got to go into the office. It can’t be helped. Wait for me to go with you.’’ He held up his hands. ‘‘Please.’’

  I slapped a hand to my forehead. ‘‘I almost forgot. Some captain called. He said that your morning meeting was pushed to two o’clock, but he wanted you to meet with, um, somebody at nine. I wrote it down.’’ I pointed to the night table.

  He picked up the sheet of paper and read. He crumpled the paper.

  ‘‘Trouble?’’

  ‘‘Tomás Gutierrez. SecNav.’’

  ‘‘That clears it right up.’’

  ‘‘Secretary of the Navy.’’

  ‘‘Ah, the big cheese. Got it.’’

  ‘‘Okay. I’ll work it out. I can be out of there by four thirty. Five at the latest. We’ll go back then. Together.’’

  ‘‘I’m going to need a car.’’

  ‘‘I’ll drive us later.’’

  I stood up and went over to stand in front of him. Hands on hips. Not smiling. Not cooperating. Basically being me.

  ‘‘I want to get there while the police are still discombobulating the neighbors.’’

  ‘‘People don’t discombobulate.’’ He shook his head.

  It was a good word.

  ‘‘In that neighborhood, they don’t,’’ he said. ‘‘Not for the cops. They’ve seen too much. Wait for me.’’

  ‘‘I’ll be fine. I’m wearing my most do-not-be-alarmed-by-me-I’m-harmless clothes. I’ll rent a nondescript car. I’ll hang out. I’ll make unsuspicious small talk. I’ll blend so well you’d think I was a smoothie. I’m going. Stop worrying.’’

  He groaned. ‘‘Call me the second you’re out of there. Take the cell phone. I want it with you at all times. One hour. That’s it. If you’re a minute late . . .’’ he threatened.

  ‘‘I know.’’ I smiled. ‘‘You’ll send in the marines.’’

  ‘‘Better. I’ll send in the SEALs.’’

  Accord. Great. I released my hair, pulled my T-shirt off, and unsnapped my jeans.

  ‘‘Do I have to wait?’’

  ‘‘You’re dangerous,’’ he said.

  I slid my hands across his chest. Hard muscle encased in silk. ‘‘Pots and kettles, buddy.’’

  Chapter Four

  The phone rang.

  ‘‘McNamara,’’ he barked.

  ‘‘Townley.’’ I used my stern voice. I could barely hear him over the cough of the engine.

  ‘‘Hi.’’ His voice slid toward honey. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘‘Hi, yourself. Is this a bad time?’’

  ‘‘No. Where are you?’’

  ‘‘Headed back toward the water, I think. Damn,’’ I yelped. ‘‘Sorry.’’ The gears ground noisily. I’d worry if ruining the transmission of this behemoth didn’t seem like an act of mercy.

  ‘‘No problem.’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t apologizing to you. I was talking to the guy I just cut off.’’

  The engine grind rose an octave. It went from car failure to cat crisis. I closed my eyes in protest. Not a good idea. When I opened them again I had to jump on the brakes to avoid the back end of a fancy-schmancy car whose bumper was worth more than this entire car on its first day.

  ‘‘Sara, what the hell is all the noise?’’

  ‘‘I rented a car. Shit. Sorry.’’

  I waited while he cursed. I empathized. ‘‘Sara?’’

  ‘‘That wasn’t my fault. He was tailgating,’’ I yelled over the rumbling engine.

  ‘‘Maybe you shouldn’t talk and drive.’’

  Everyone was a critic. He hadn’t tried to steer this bus.

  ‘‘I’d be fine if— Hang on a second.’’

  The tires squealed, followed by a chump-chump-bang. That was new. Not good, but new. I took a deep breath and held it, waiting for the crash.

  ‘‘Sorry,’’ I yelled. ‘‘Jeez, some people don’t know how to share the road. Anyway, I’m back.’’

  ‘‘Pull over.’’

  ‘‘I can’t do that. Grenville might not start again.’’

  ‘‘Who? No, never mind. Just get off the road.’’

  Middle lane. Uncooperative, life-threatening heap of a car or, in the event of a collision, missile. The traffic on both sides was going what felt like a hundred miles an hour with two-inch clearances. Changing lanes wasn’t in the cards.

  The coffee I’d been drinking roiled in my stomach. I reached across to open the glove compartment. Surely the last renter had stocked up on the antacids. The compartment wouldn’t open. I banged on it and banged again. It popped open and launched the contents onto the passenger seat. Maps, air-pressure gauge, condoms, and duct tape. Hey, I was a believer in safety first, but I wasn’t sure if that meant the condoms, the duct tape, or both.

  ‘‘Sara?’’

  ‘‘I think I know where I am now.’’

  ‘‘Just pull off and I’ll come get you.’’

  ‘‘I’ve got the hang of it now. Idiot,’’ I yelled. ‘‘That was totally his fault.’’

  ‘‘Get off the road.’’

  The phone went ominously silent. I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

  ‘‘Sara?’’

  I dropped the phone and grabbed for the steering wheel with both hands. I eased into the sudden break in traffic and took the exit, made a quick left, and pulled into a parking lot. I leaned back against the headrest. Who
needed cardio?

  ‘‘Sara!’’

  ‘‘You don’t have to yell.’’

  ‘‘What happened?’’

  ‘‘I parked.’’

  He blew out a breath. I could picture him in some bland government office, pacing, eyes closed. He did not like being out of control. It could have been worse. He could have been in the car with me.

  ‘‘Okay. Parked is good.’’

  ‘‘Two slots together. I didn’t even have to parallel park, which is good, since Grenville is a bit on the recalcitrant side.’’

  ‘‘Who is Grenville?’’

  ‘‘The car.’’

  ‘‘This thing has a name?’’

  ‘‘I named him.’’

  ‘‘Of course you did.’’

  ‘‘I thought it would help us bond. Improve our relationship, which frankly hasn’t been that great so far, what with the stalling and backfiring and teeth rattling. My head hurts worse than it did after the Aerosmith concert.’’

  ‘‘What the hell kind of car did you rent, anyway?’’

  ‘‘I tried to go to Rent-A-Wreck, but their cars there were all too nice. Totally false advertising. So Ryan arranged one of lesser appeal.’’

  ‘‘You called Ryan?’’

  ‘‘More like I conjured him.’’

  ‘‘And he let you go into that crummy neighborhood in a beater?’’

  He sounded mad. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault. He’d only been trying to help, which was more than Connor’d done by ducking out of the condo while I blew my hair dry. As if a little thing like no transport to the rental car place would dissuade me. It was so ungallant, I knew he’d done it to discourage me. Ryan’s turning up on the doorstep had saved me from figuring out the whole taxi-or-bus thing to get a car.

  ‘‘Ryan doesn’t let me do things, Connor.’’ I permafrosted my voice. It might be enough to cool his tongue, if not his temper. I didn’t want Connor taking a bite out of Ryan for being a good guy and doing me a favor. Besides, I wasn’t stupid. It was daylight, for Pete’s sake. And no one, no one, would try to steal this thing, bright light of day or no.

  ‘‘Right.’’ It came out cranky, but he clearly didn’t want to start World War III over something that had already happened. Either that or he thought he was more lethal in person.

  ‘‘Absolutely right. And I don’t want you blaming Ryan for this. I know how to take care of myself.’’

  Ten seconds. Twenty. A minute. Maybe he counted to cool down. Maybe he was quietly breaking office furniture. Hard to tell. I could hear him breathing, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t had a heart attack from the strain. I’d give him a couple of minutes to get the temperature gauge back down to nonexplosive. I stretched, moving my head from side to side. I reached my arms over my head and twisted at the spine. The lack of shock absorbers had compressed my spine in ways that told me I wasn’t as young as I used to be.

  ‘‘Connor?’’

  ‘‘Yeah.’’

  ‘‘I don’t want you taking it out on Ryan. He was only trying to help.’’

  Silence. How did he do that? The emotional control was remarkable.

  ‘‘I mean it,’’ I told him.

  He sighed. A heavy, meaningful, against-my-better-judgment-and-only-because-right-now-my-little-brother-is-not-close-enough-to-maim kind of sigh.

  ‘‘I hear you. Was it worth it?’’

  ‘‘Not so far. I left a lot of cards on doors but no one’s really talking. It’s early days. This part of the job is all shoe leather and patience.’’ I looked down at my sneakers. Oh-for-two. ‘‘Do you still want to meet for lunch?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. I’ll pick you up.’’

  ‘‘No need. I’m already downtown. Can we eat down here? I can see the marina. I’m not sure which street exactly, but it looks pretty close. There’s got to be some good places down here.’’

  ‘‘Um.’’

  ‘‘What does ‘um’ mean? Don’t worry if you can’t do lunch, Con. You’re working. I understand. It’s not a problem.’’

  I wanted to see him, but I also wanted to appear reasonableabout his work. Something told me I’d need to be able to say ‘I support your job’ later. Probably when I wanted to do something he didn’t like. He’d only have an hour for lunch anyway, best case. If I focused afterward, and he worked a regular day, we could meet at his place by five, five thirty at the latest. We’d have fourteen hours without interruption. I had plans for those fourteen hours.

  ‘‘It’ll need to be someplace casual, though,’’ I mused. ‘‘I’m still dressed in jeans. Otherwise, I’ll have to go back to your place first to change.’’

  He hesitated.

  ‘‘The club is casual. Are you near the Marriott? It’s probably easier now that you’re parked to just walk over.’’

  The Marriott sounded high-end. Oh, well, if he didn’t mind I didn’t.

  ‘‘I can see it from here. You’re probably right. I wouldn’t want to give up a primo parking space. When?’’

  ‘‘The Yacht Club is on the boardwalk between the convention center and Seaport Village. It’s right near the hotel. Anybody can tell you where.’’

  ‘‘Yacht Club? It sounds swanky.’’

  ‘‘It’s not. Everything on the water is called a yacht club.’’

  ‘‘Okay. Meet you there in a half hour.’’

  ‘‘Sara?’’

  ‘‘Yeah?’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry I yelled at you.’’

  He led a very sheltered life.

  ‘‘You don’t know what yelling is.’’ I laughed. ‘‘You’ve got to ask Russ to show you sometime. He screams in three languages, and includes hand gestures and, when he’s really in the zone, projectiles. It’s a force of nature. Frankly, you’re an amateur. If you want, I can score you some lessons.’’

  Just the thought of my over-the-top best friend and neighbor Russ standing in my living room gesticulating wildly while Connor sat on the couch with a bemused expression had me laughing out loud. We’d probably have to do the coursework in small doses. Ten minutes at a time so Connor didn’t accidentally drop Russ out a window to get it to stop. I loved them both, but they were night and day. Connor, unflappable and patient. A deep thinker and, sometimes, a nontalker. Russ, hilarious and flamboyant. An emoter and, always, an over-sharer. My men.

  ‘‘I’m sorry anyway.’’

  ‘‘You’re forgiven.’’

  ‘‘Seen any more of your friend the explorer today?’’

  I sighed. I’d been looking for her. ‘‘No. I’m kind of bummed about it.’’

  ‘‘Well, I’m glad you haven’t run off with another suitor.’’

  I laughed. ‘‘That’s nice, honey. Hang up, now, Connor.’’

  Chapter Five

  ‘‘You said casual,’’ I hissed in his ear, balking just inside the foyer at the Yacht Club. ‘‘And you never mentioned your family. Again.’’

  ‘‘It is casual, and I thought you might not show after last night.’’

  He had a point about the no-show. ‘‘In what universe? If lunch costs more than I make in a year, it is not, by definition, casual.’’

  I squeezed his hand hard enough to stop blood flow. Men. Two days in a row making the less-than-stellar family impression. I might not be the most sensitive of women when it came to dress code, but I didn’t want to go to the ball as the Little Match Girl either. They’d think I was a complete idiot. I looked around. The men wore creased golf slacks and crisp shirts, while the women were in silky dresses and heels. I saw pearls. There were at least three trophy wives, and enough plastic body parts to run a Barbie chop shop.

  Connor leaned down and whispered in my ear: ‘‘I think you look great.’’

  ‘‘That’ll help, Connor. You get to be the navy recruiting poster boy while I’m shilling for Save the Children.’’

  He choked. I glared. It wasn’t a cough. It was laughter, and he was about to get himself hurt. Blood would show on that uniform.


  ‘‘It is not funny.’’

  A solemn face and dancing eyes did not solace bring.

  ‘‘It’s just family, honey. No one will notice.’’

  I wasn’t going. It was as simple as that. He couldn’t make me, and he’d never cause a scene in the middle of the Yacht Club. Then again, he’d tricked me into showing up in blue jeans for a family get-together at the Marriott, so he really must not have cared what people thought and was stupid enough to try to convince me to go in since I was already there. He’d already risked a scene. I could be screaming right now. I could have my hands around his throat and there wasn’t a woman in the place who’d interfere if the facts were known.

  ‘‘You don’t actually think a public place is going to protect you, right?’’

  He stopped. Turned. Sighed. ‘‘I don’t suppose you’ll think I have a good reason.’’

  ‘‘I think reason has left the building.’’

  ‘‘My mother said she expected you, and she did mention it last night, but mostly I thought you’d suddenly have something you had to do on the case if I told you my parents would be here.’’

  ‘‘Gee, you think?’’

  ‘‘They won’t care what you’re wearing.’’

  ‘‘Honest to God, Connor, are you trying to be dense? Your family already thinks I’m some sort of sex fiend. Now they’ll add garage-sale fashion sense and total social embarrassment to my list of nonqualities.’’ I dropped his hand and stepped away, pushing my hands through my hair.

  ‘‘Sara, it’s no big—’’

  ‘‘Sara, Connor, have you been waiting long?’’ His father walked up and clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder, smiling down at me. I tried to smile back. He’d be okay. He’d still have one son who could father children.

  ‘‘Admiral McNamara.’’ I held out my hand, wondering if ‘‘psychotic break’’ showed in my expression. The older man took my hand and pulled me in for a quick hug, kissing my cheek.