“Why not?”
“Because it’ll make me cry.”
“Poor Maddy,” he murmured. “What can I do to make it better?”
She tried not to think of what they’d done behind the tree. But nothing had made her feel better than those few minutes—not in a long, long time. “Tell me something good.”
“It wasn’t Clay who broke in last night.”
“How do you know?” she asked, sitting up straighter.
“I called Pontiff. He said there were no cuts anywhere on Clay’s upper body.”
“I knew it wasn’t him, but—” she smiled tearily, feeling vindicated “—I’m glad Pontiff and Radcliffe know, too.”
“Problem is…”
She automatically tensed. “What?”
“It wasn’t Mike Metzger, either, Maddy.”
Slowing for a stop sign, she sat there without giving the car any gas. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She rubbed her tired eyes. Who else could it be? And why would someone else want her father’s books and sermons and cuff links?
There were always more questions than answers.
“What’s it like in California this time of year?” she asked simply because it had nothing to do with what she was experiencing, and because she needed to remind herself that Hunter belonged in a place that was miles away.
“Nice.”
“How nice?”
“Meet me at Two Sisters, and I’ll tell you. Have you had any lunch?”
It was almost three o’clock, but she hadn’t even had breakfast. “No. My day got crazy.” She thought of the close confines of Bubba’s trailer, the terrible smell. “But an empty stomach turned out to be a good thing today.”
“I can imagine. I’ll see you there, okay?”
“Actually, I have to meet the window company first. Do you have something you can do for an hour?”
“I’d like to swing by the bar, ask if anyone came in acting unusual last night. I’ve called two area hospitals, but I’d like to try a few more to see if anyone showed up at the emergency room with a deep cut on his hands or arm.”
“Sounds good.” Until she saw him again, she needed something to hang on to, a positive image. “Mean-while, what’s the best thing you can think of?” she asked.
His voice grew deeper, rougher, sexier. “Are you sure you want me to answer that question?”
“What do you mean?”
“The best thing I can think of is you.”
Lunch didn’t turn out to be as relaxing as Madeline had hoped. Hunter seemed rather pensive, even guarded, and he didn’t flirt with her like he had on the phone. He sat on the opposite side of the booth and didn’t even touch her hand when he set their menus on the edge of the table so the waitress would know they were ready to order.
“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been all day?” she asked after the waitress had gone.
“Out and about, doing interviews, checking details.”
She considered his answer. “Are you being purposely vague?”
He wiped the condensation from his glass. “Maybe. How’d it go with the glass company?”
“Fine. It’s repaired.”
“Good.”
“So, where were you when I got up this morning?”
“We were going to talk about California, remember?” he said.
Folding her arms, she sat back. “But you’ve barely said a word since we arrived—about the case or California.”
“Somehow my home doesn’t seem like a much better subject,” he muttered.
“Because…”
“Because that’s real life, Maddy,” he said intently.
“And this is…what, Hunter? Make-believe?”
“Maybe. In any event, it’s a…short detour.”
“Right.”
“I’m just here to do my job,” he reiterated.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked in a quiet voice. “That yesterday meant nothing to me? That I would’ve done the same with any other man?”
His forehead rumpled in consternation. “No, I don’t want to hear that, even if it’s true.”
“It’s not true.”
“What happened was probably just the result of all the upset and stress and—”
“No. It wasn’t that, either.”
His eyes filled with some unnamed emotion, and she lowered her voice. “Maybe it was the stress that caused me to act on what I felt. But I wanted you, okay? I think I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.”
“Maddy, stop. You know what that does to me?”
“I do. It makes you want to run.”
“No. It makes me want to drag you home and up to your bedroom. You don’t understand what you’re asking for by getting involved with me. You don’t need any more complications in your life. And neither do I.”
She didn’t speak for several long seconds. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“I get it.”
“Then explain it to me!”
“You prefer not to form any emotional attachments to me or this place or anything else.”
“Yes.” He seemed relieved. “I can’t, okay? I have to go home. I’m here for a reason, and I need to stay focused on it.”
“Fine. You’ve put me on notice. What happened yesterday won’t happen again. Satisfied?”
She could tell that he wasn’t, but she went on anyway. Because she knew he was right. What did they have in common? What did they expect would happen if they continued to act on the desire they felt?
“So, Mr. Solozano, give me an update. Where have you been all day?”
“Out and about,” he said.
“You mentioned that already.”
“Just trust me.”
“Trust would violate our no-emotion rule. Give me the hard facts.”
His scowl darkened. “Maddy, stop. You’re…”
“What?”
“You’re driving me crazy.”
She refused to soften that easily. “If I hired someone else, I’d get a report.”
“You’ve been through enough for one day. You don’t need to hear what I have to say. Not right now.”
“Someone else wouldn’t care what I’ve been through, so neither should you.”
“But I do care, damn it!” The people in the next booth turned to stare, and he lowered his voice. “And I don’t have any proof.”