Dark Whispers. Debra Webb
look on Farago’s face was priceless. His eyes bulged. His jaw fell slack. It was almost worth the loss of the career Farago had stolen from Clint a decade ago.
But not quite.
6:50 p.m.
NATALIE WATCHED THE man driving as they moved through the darkening streets. Dusk came a little earlier every day, reminding her that the year was barreling toward an end. It didn’t seem possible that she’d lost so much of the past twenty-four months. She didn’t want to lose any more. She wanted her life back.
“You don’t have to stay with me every minute,” she announced to the silence. Neither of them had spoken since leaving the parking garage. She’d worked well beyond the number of hours allowed by her medical release and Clint had insisted on taking her to dinner. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, the incident in my kitchen yesterday morning notwithstanding.”
Clint smiled. She liked his smile. He was quite attractive for a PI. She’d had her fair share of dealings with private investigators. Most of whom had been older and far less easy on the eyes. In addition to attractive, Clint was well educated and his instincts appeared quite good. He wasn’t the only one doing research. She’d done quite a bit herself last night after he left. Clint Hayes possessed a law degree from Samford. He’d graduated with highest honors, but then he’d turned to law enforcement. There was a story there; she just hadn’t found it yet. He dressed particularly well. The suit was no off-the-rack light wool ready-for-wear. Neither was the shirt or the shoes. When did private investigators start earning such a high salary?
“Feel free,” he glanced at her as he made the turn into the restaurant, “to say whatever is on your mind.”
A blush heated her cheeks. She doubted he had any idea of what precisely was on her mind. She might as well see just how good his perceptive powers were. “You went to law school, yet chose a different career path. I wondered what happened to divert your course.”
He parked in the crowded lot and shut off the engine. The interior of the car fell into near darkness with nothing more than a distant streetlamp reaching unsuccessfully through the night. When he turned to her it was difficult to read his face, but his voice when he spoke telegraphed a clear message.
“I made the decision I needed to make. I don’t think about it and I don’t talk about it. Next question?”
The cool tone was so unexpected that Natalie’s heart beat a little faster. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable. I was merely curious.”
“I’m very good at what I do, Ms. Drummond. Very good. I’ll spend every moment with you and on your case until we find the truth. But—”
Her ability to breathe failed her.
“I am not here to satisfy your curiosity about me.”
Before she could find her voice, he emerged from the car and walked around to her side. Natalie wasn’t sure whether to feel incensed or chastised. When he opened the door she finally remembered to unbuckle her seat belt.
She exited the car. He shut the door and, from all appearances, that would have been the end of it.
“Wait.”
He turned back to her and with the soft glow of the restaurant lights she could see his expression well enough to know he wasn’t angry...it was something else. Had her question injured him somehow? She blinked and wrestled with the best way to handle the situation. Since her injury she rarely grabbed on to the right emotions much less the proper words in a timely manner. She had taught herself to resist emotion and to react with the cool calm for which she had once been known in the courtroom.
“I apologize for asking such a personal question. I’m afraid the injury has left me with far fewer filters than I once possessed. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
He nodded, his only consolation to acceptance. “I had dinner here last week. The salmon is incredible.”
“Does your expense account cover this restaurant?” The words were out of her mouth before Natalie could stop them. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
Clint touched her arm and she opened her eyes. “This one is on me,” he assured her, his tone the deep, warm one she had grown to associate with him.
Before she could argue about who would pay, he ushered her through the entrance and she decided to stop trying so hard...at least for the next hour or so.
Southwood Road
9:20 p.m.
AS HE HAD last evening, Clint insisted on going into the house first. Her sister had phoned to say she was coming to spend the night but she would be late. Natalie wanted to tell her not to bother but she wouldn’t pretend she wasn’t terrified at the idea of being alone at night after the ordeal with the intruder. The idea made little sense since it had been broad daylight when she shot the man in her kitchen.
You did shoot him...didn’t you?
The idea that she was second-guessing herself again after finally, finally reaching the place where she felt she’d regained her confidence made her sick to her stomach.
Clint paused at the bottom of the staircase and she raised her hand. “No need to check upstairs. The security system was armed. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I wasn’t thorough.”
Natalie nodded, surrendering. “I probably wouldn’t, either,” she confessed.
Side by side they moved up the staircase. She was never able to climb or descend the stairs without admiring the painting of her family as it had once been. Life had felt so safe and so happy then. It seemed unfair she’d lost both her parents before she was thirty. Particularly since they had both been healthy and vibrant. If they were still alive, what would they think of Natalie and her sister? Would her father be proud Heath had been so successful following in his footsteps? Certainly April had become every bit the fund-raising and society queen their mother had been. Natalie sometimes regretted that her sister had not chosen a career path, but in truth what she did was immensely important to the community.
“You grew up in this house?” Clint asked as they reached the landing.
She nodded. “My grandfather built it. He and my grandmother lived here until they died. My parents did, as well. I suppose I will, too.” She caught herself before she suggested it was her turn for a personal question. Not a good idea. His assignment necessitated the asking of questions.
“My father died when I was at Samford,” he said, somehow understanding her need for reciprocity. “My mother remarried and moved to Arizona a few years ago.”
“You miss them? I still miss mine.”
He checked the first of the half dozen bedrooms as well as each of the en suite baths. Just when she was certain he didn’t intend to answer, he said, “I do. My mother calls a couple of times a month, but she rarely gets home anymore. I should visit her more often but I don’t think Oscar likes me.”
He chuckled and the sound made Natalie smile. He had a nice laugh for a man who preferred not to talk about his early career decisions.
Silence lapsed between them as they moved through room after room. He took extra care with the upstairs den and the balcony that overlooked the rear gardens. The French doors were locked, the security monitor in place. She and her sister had played here as children. In the gardens, too; but not without the nanny. The Drummond name and money had always been a target.
When they reached Natalie’s bedroom, she touched his arm. “Please, ignore what you see in my private space.”
His dark eyes held hers for a long beat. “I understand the need for personal privacy, Natalie. You can trust me with your secrets.”
As foolish as it sounded, she did. Perhaps her need for his understanding was because his academic background was so similar to