burner.”
“Have you known all along about Megan’s adoption hunt?” I asked.
“Nope. She told me Friday night after I asked her why she picked you to help out. I mean, no one, including me, knew about your friendship.”
“I think Megan wanted me to meet the family.”
He smiled. “You got that right. She hoped you’d see exactly why she wanted to find her mother. She and her father were pretty close, but it’s been hard for her with the others. She rarely sees her cousins, and Sylvia has a big heart but—”
“I did notice a distance between Megan and Sylvia,” I said.
“Megan denies it, but I think that’s because she always felt guilty for favoring her dad over her mother. Megan was a daddy’s girl, and though she and James never shared blood, she’s as tough as him underneath that beautiful skin.”
I nodded. “She needs that strength now. A murder investigation is not like on television, over in an hour. It will take its toll.”
We turned at the sound of a door closing off the balcony and seconds later Megan appeared, rushed down the stairs, and handed me an envelope.
“Here it is,” she said. “And I’ll call you once we have all this funeral and legal stuff under control.” Her eyes still glistened with tears. “I hope you don’t think I was rude dragging you out of the kitchen. I am so grateful for —”
I pulled her close and hugged her. “No need for explanations. Call me anytime. I mean that.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Travis put a protective arm around her as I opened the door and left.
I picked up a Subway sandwich on my way home and then ate in front of the television. I spent the rest of the evening in the living room unpacking boxes of knickknacks and pictures while the complete Beatles collection provided musical accompaniment. I used the remote to skip my least favorite song, the one about how all you need is love. There are lies and there are damn lies. That song was a damn lie.
Diva and I had just settled into bed around eleven when I heard Jeff’s truck pull into the driveway. I tensed. Things had shifted between us as they inevitably do in relationships, my jealousy having created the tipping point. My fault. How I hated when things were my fault.
I lifted the quilt and sat, slipped my feet into my slippers, then couldn’t seem to move. I leaned forward, palms over my face, my heart beating double time. I took a few deep breaths to get control of my emotions.
“Hi,” Jeff said from the bedroom doorway.
I raised my head, met his gaze. He had loosened his burgundy tie and held his tweed sports jacket over his shoulder.
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Can we talk?” he said.
Now those are words guaranteed to make any woman go liquid, especially coming from a guy who could make me melt just by licking his lips. I kicked off the slippers, sat crossed-legged on the bed, and patted the space next to me. “Do you even know what we need to talk about?”
“No, but I sure as hell hope to find out.” He tossed the jacket on the chair in the corner, carefully removed his gun and badge and placed them on the tall dresser. After plumping a pillow against the head-board, he sat down beside me. “What’s got you so upset?”
“You and your damn girlfriend,” I said.
“My girlfriend? I think that’s you, last time I checked.”
“You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?”
We both looked straight ahead and a long silence followed.
“That obvious, huh?” he finally said.
“I can read you with one eye tied behind my back,” I said.
“You’re scary.”
“No. I’m a good detective.”
“So you are. Anyway, it was a long time ago. Ten years. Big mistake. Back then all that mattered to me was what a girl looked like. I’d just started in Homicide and though lots of guys turn to booze after they’ve worked a year of scenes, I turned to women. I met Quinn through her dad—he was chief of police in Seacliff and—”
“I know that, too.”
“That I’d worked with her dad?”
“No. Knew he was police chief. Go on.”
“Did you research Quinn on the Internet or something?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you how I found out about him later. Right now, we have more important stuff to discuss.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath and reached for the gum in his shirt pocket. He had two sticks of Big Red working before he went on. “I met her when I gave some expert help on a manslaughter case in Seacliff. Quinn’s father told me his daughter wanted to get into the academy, asked me if I could pull some strings.”
“And then pretty soon you were pulling her strings,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s about right.”
“I can understand your interest. She’s... very attractive.”
“On the outside. And like I said, back then that’s all that mattered. Anyway, I broke it off after a couple months. She was too intense for me, not to mention too young.”
“You broke it off? How did that go over?”
“Not so good.” He chewed his gum faster. “Let’s say she didn’t let go easily.”
“You two seemed to have forgotten about all that from what I saw yesterday.”
“It’s old business, Abby,” he said. “She has a job to do and isn’t afraid to ask for help, which means she’s matured.”
“I’m not afraid to ask for help, either. But when I asked what you discussed with her, you wouldn’t tell me.”
He moved in front of me, mirrored my cross-legged position, now chewing far more languidly. “So this isn’t just about Abby being jealous. This is about Abby’s insatiable need to know everything and maybe dip her toes in some dangerous water.”
His blue-ice detective stare worked like it probably does on every suspect he interrogates, and I made myself stare right back even though I wished I had a trap door in the mattress to escape through.
“Is that a crime?” I asked.
Putting his index finger on my chin, he applied pressure and my head lowered. “Get your nose out of the air. Curiosity is not a crime for you—more like a lifestyle—and I obviously acted like an ass yesterday. But this business with Quinn? Well, you know I’m not so hot at mixing personal stuff with police business.”
I smiled. “You are definitely not so hot in that department. But you are so good in other departments, it makes up for it. So let’s get personal.”
He smiled and ditched the gum.
5
The next morning, I traveled south again, switching the car radio station back and forth between NPR and a local talk show for entertainment. Some days I am easily amused. Forty-five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot at St. Mary’s Hospital and stepped out into more typical south Texas weather than the previous frigid days: temperature in the low sixties, gray skies, and enough humidity to make even big hair wilt.
After entering the St. Mary’s lobby with my leather attaché in hand, I stopped at the information desk
