Part 15 (2/2)

Marshall's smile inched a little wider. ”I know all about the guy you're seeing, Abby. I know he doesn't appreciate you, and I know he doesn't spend nearly enough time with you.”

”I know it probably looks that way from the outside, but you really can't tell what's going on between two people from outward appearances. Jawarski and I are both content with our . . . with the way things are. Really, Marshall, I'm flattered, but I really don't think it's a good idea.”

He studied my expression for a long time, then shrugged and worked up a smile. From a distance, the smile might have been convincing. Close up, it definitely lost the battle. Maybe because I could see the embarra.s.sment in his eyes. There was something else in his expression, too. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

”Well, you can't blame a guy for trying, I guess.” He glanced over his shoulder, ran a quick look over his watch, and backed a step or two away. ”Listen, I've gotta-I need to get back to the restaurant.”

”Oh. Sure,” I said with a smile. ”Business is always first, right?” I tried again to figure out what that emotion was in the back of his eyes, but again it eluded me. Probably nothing, I told myself firmly. I'd hate to see what would be in my eyes right after someone turned me down for a date. ”Listen, Marshall, just because we can't go out, that doesn't mean we can't be friends.”

”Right. Friends. That's good. It's cool.” He stepped backwards again and the cat, which must have been hiding under a chair, let out a yowl of pain. A flush rushed into Marshall's face, and he turned away quickly. ”I'll see you around, okay?”

”Absolutely.” I kept smiling until he shut the door behind him, then let out a breath and closed my eyes. I told myself that he'd taken the rejection well, but I couldn't stop thinking about that look on his face and wondering just what it was I'd missed.

Chapter 26.

My conversation with Marshall convinced me that I couldn't put off talking to Jawarski any longer. Not only did I want to find out if knowing Lou Hobbs's name had unearthed any new information, but I had a sudden, intense need to make sure he and I were as comfortable with our . . . whatever it was . . . as I'd told Marshall we were.

I put the box holding the cups and saucers in the hatch and stuffed an old sweater and my emergency kit around it to keep the box from sliding. Then, loading Max into the backseat, I turned the Jetta toward town again.

It was mid-afternoon by the time I got there, and the parking lot the police department shared with other city offices was packed. I drove up and down several rows before I found a spot closer to the library than the police station. The weather was mild, but I had no idea how long this conversation would take, and I didn't want to leave Max cooped up in the car. Hooking him to the chain again, I found a spot where he could lie in the shade or bask in the sun, depending on his mood, then pushed through the gla.s.s doors of the white brick building that housed Paradise's finest.

Since Jawarski and I had started spending more time together I'd become, if not a regular fixture around here, at least not an unexpected one. I waved at the women working dispatch, signed in with the officer working the front desk, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

The detective division is all the way at the back of the building, down a long, brightly lit corridor that stretched from one end of the building to another. That's why I had no trouble seeing the blonde with the killer body standing just outside Jawarski's office. I didn't have any trouble seeing Jawarski either, for that matter. He lounged in the doorway wearing a broad, appreciative smile as he listened to what the blonde was saying.

I'm sure there were at least half a dozen explanations for what I was seeing, every one of them legitimate and non-threatening. I skipped over every one of them and went straight back in time to the night I walked into the bedroom I shared with my then-husband and discovered him on the floor with the reason my marriage had been falling apart.

I stopped halfway down the hall, wanting to turn around and get out of there before Jawarski noticed me, but unable to move. I was rooted to the spot, staring at the very thing I didn't want to see with the horrid fascination of someone who's just witnessed an accident.

After what seemed like a very long time, Jawarski looked away from the blonde and noticed me. He said something to her and waved me closer. ”Hey there,” he said as the woman turned and walked away. ”What are you doing here?”

Angry with myself for my reaction, I moved into his cluttered office, but I couldn't get out the words I'd come to say. Instead of asking him to grab some dinner at my favorite Thai restaurant, I heard myself say, ”I wondered if the information I gave you earlier was of any use.”

His expression closed down, just as I'd known it would, but right then it was easier to deal with him as a cop than as the man I cared way too much about. ”You came about the murder?” he asked, his voice stone cold.

I nodded once and sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. ”Did the name help you? Could you find anything on either Arthur or Lou Hobbs?”

Jawarski dropped heavily into his chair, but the glare I expected didn't appear. Instead, he smiled as if he'd just won the lottery. ”Not yet, but we're still pursuing a few angles, trying to find out if he has any other aliases.”

”Do you know where he was staying while he was here in town?”

”If I did, is there a reason I should tell you?”

The question stung, but I wasn't sure whether I resented it because of the blonde, because of Marshall, or just because Jawarski was being an a.s.s. ”You should tell me,” I snapped, ”because I may have some information that I can share with you.”

”Really? And what would that be?”

”I have a phone number that Elena Whitehorse from Big Horn Realty used to reach him when she set up appointments for him with Quentin Ingersol.” I'd copied the number onto a piece of scratch paper, and I pulled that out of my pocket now and dropped it on Jawarski's desk. ”If you don't already know where he was staying, maybe that will help.”

He picked up the note and studied it for a long moment. ”How'd you get this?”

”That doesn't really matter, does it? What matters is that Quentin Ingersol knew Hobbs, but he's lying about it for some reason.”

His gaze s.h.i.+fted from the paper he held to my face. ”And you know that how?”

”I told you I talked to him earlier. He denied knowing Hobbs at all.”

Jawarski let out a sigh heavy with frustration. ”Yeah. I've been meaning to talk to you about that.”

”Don't bother giving me the lecture, because I already know it word for word, and you already know I'm not going to listen anyway.”

He shook his head and ran a hand over the bristle on his head. ”What did this Elena Whitehorse tell you?”

”Just that Hobbs was in Quentin's office more than once, and she called that number when she needed to make an appointment. And she said that she thinks Hobbs made Quentin nervous.”

”Have you tried calling the number yourself?”

I thought about saying no, but he'd see right through me, so why bother? ”Yes, and I'm pretty sure it's a cell. It went straight to voice mail with the factory recording. I don't have any idea whose phone it is.”

I was trying hard not to be p.r.i.c.kly with him, but the mix of emotions churning in my blood made my skin itch. Was I jealous? Feeling guilty? All of the above?

”Is that it?”

I stood and walked to the other side of the room, pretending a sudden interest in a stack of books he had on a table. I didn't want a guy who flipped out over inconsequential things, and here I was tying myself in knots over something far less threatening than a kiss. The worst part was that I had to finally admit that I felt more than friends.h.i.+p for Jawarski.

Doing my best to keep my voice casual, I asked, ”Who was that woman I saw you talking to when I came in?”

”Stephanie?” I could hear the surprise in his voice, the effort he made to follow me onto this new track. ”She's a detective with the narcotics division, why?”

”I've just never seen her before,” I said, darting a thin smile over my shoulder. ”I wondered if she was a friend or someone you work with.”

”She's both, but not in the sense I think you mean.” He stood and came toward me, but he stopped before he got too close. ”What's this all about?”

I turned to face him and forced myself to be honest. ”I wish I knew. When I saw you talking to her, I felt a whole bunch of things I didn't want to feel.”

His blue eyes darkened slightly. ”You didn't have to. She's a friend, and she's a fellow officer, but that's it.”

I nodded slowly, trying to work up the words to tell him about Marshall and wondering how I'd explain something I didn't understand myself. ”I know it's short notice, but I really came by to see if you're free for dinner. I was going to give you the phone number then.”

”Tonight?”

”If you're not busy. I was thinking maybe we could grab some Thai at the Lotus Blossom . . . unless something else sounds better.”

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