Killer Smile. Marilyn Pappano
drink a cup of coffee while getting dressed, it had gone down so poorly that he’d thought he might throw up. Thank God the weekend was here. Maybe he would retreat into his bedroom until Monday morning, or maybe Morwenna still wanted a weekend trip to Eureka Springs. Surely her company, the Arkansas town, the tourists and the hundred and fifty miles’ distance would allow him to get his mental balance back.
“Why are you in so early?”
Blearily Daniel glanced up as Ben dumped a half dozen spiral notebooks on his desk. They were wrapped in a plastic trash bag to keep them from getting wet even though two empty attaches resided in the other detective’s bottom desk drawer. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Because of Size-Two Fitted Bodice?” Ben shrugged out of his slicker and tossed it on an unused desk. “What’s the story?”
Daniel scratched his jaw and felt the stubble of hair where he’d missed a swipe with the razor. He grimaced. Now he would be aware all day long that that thin line of whiskers was there and it would drive him crazy. “No story.”
Ben snorted. He unpacked the notebooks from the trash bag—probably containing lists of his interminable lists—then threw the bag next to the slicker. “Everybody in the department knows there’s a story. And the sheriff’s office. And the fire department. A man doesn’t leave first responders’ night two-thirds through a perfect game without a story.”
Daniel looked over his shoulder. There was a nighttime desk officer on, but they had so few walk-ins that he spent most of his night in the dispatcher shack chatting. All he’d done this morning was stick his head out the door when he heard Daniel come in, wave and settle back in.
“We’re both early,” Ben said. “Let’s get breakfast at Mom’s.” He left the rest unsaid—we can talk there—but it was implied.
“Yeah, sure.” Not that Daniel particularly wanted to eat breakfast or talk, but since the time difference kept him from doing what he did want, he might as well do something besides brood.
Mom’s, known as Creek Café outside the Little Bear family, was eight blocks east of the police station. They could have run it easily, could have walked it even more easily, but they took Ben’s car. Even though neither of them was on duty yet, if they did get a call, the chief would be annoyed if they got caught without transportation.
The café was located just west of the bridge that spanned the creek, the building high enough above the stream that it couldn’t really take advantage of the view. Instead, when a customer looked out, he saw the rocks that lined the creek bed twenty feet above the water’s surface. When Ben told him it was because of occasional floods, Daniel hadn’t quite gotten it. Sitting now at a table against the side windows, he glanced over the water, swirling and splashing fifteen feet higher than usual, and he got it.
Mrs. Little Bear came from the kitchen when she heard Ben was there. She hugged him, combed her fingers through his hair then turned her attention to Daniel. “You look pale,” she said, catching his chin in her fingers and studying his face. “You didn’t get enough sleep last night. You young people think you can get by on coffee and your good looks, but take my word for it—you need a good night’s sleep every single night.”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying, Mrs. Little Bear,” he said drily.
She gave him another appraising look. “I’ll fix you something special. You’ll feel better in no time.”
She left without taking their orders. The first couple of times that had happened, Daniel had been openmouthed, trying to say, Wait, you don’t know what I want. He’d learned that it didn’t matter much what he wanted, because everything Mrs. Little Bear and her kitchen staff made was excellent, and she always chose well for him.
“Am I getting chicken soup for breakfast?” he asked as a waitress filled Ben’s coffee cup. She didn’t offer him any. Her boss had probably told her not to.
“Could be. Or maybe her special grits. They have healing powers. So do her breakfast casseroles. And her sticky buns. With Mom, you never can tell.” Ben sipped his coffee, no cream, no sugar, then fixed his attention on Daniel. It was rather an unsettling experience. “The fire department won last night. It would have been different if you hadn’t run out on us.”
Daniel shrugged. The first responders’ competition was just for bragging rights. No one took it too seriously, but it did keep the three departments in touch with each other.
“So, what’s the story?”
The waitress provided a brief respite by bringing Daniel a glass of pulpy orange juice poured over ice. He didn’t have to ask to know it was freshly squeezed. Archer wouldn’t drink it any other way, and so, beyond a one-time try in middle school, Daniel never had, either.
After a long, sweet drink, he set the glass down and shrugged. “Nothing much. Old girlfriend. Wanted to talk.”
“So, your old girlfriend from Los Angeles just happened to show up in Cedar Creek, Oklahoma, and tracked you down not once, not twice, but three times, and it was nothing much?” Ben gave a sorrowful shake of his head. “You’re a cop, Daniel. People lie to you every single day. Surely you can do better than that.”
He wished he was more comfortable with lying, because he really would rather not talk about Natasha. Or think about her. Or remember. Or wonder...
Nope, he wasn’t going there. He’d spent half the night wondering. How good things had been. How bad they’d become. How they could have turned out differently. How much happier he’d been with her. How she’d shattered his hard-won contentment simply by walking through the police station door.
Whether he was in danger.
Whether she was in danger.
The man in him wanted her to go away, to leave his memories as well as his life this time. The detective in him was curious about the events she’d described, and the cop in him felt an undeniable need to do what he’d always done: protect people. Not her specifically, just people. That was why he wore a badge and carried a gun, why he’d become a cop, why he’d committed so much of himself to the job.
That was what he’d been telling himself the past ten hours.
Ben was waiting, and Daniel knew it wasn’t just the detective in him that was asking. They were friends. Not bare-your-soul-share-all-your-secrets friends—Daniel had only ever had that sort of relationship with his fathers and, he grudgingly admitted, Natasha. But still friends. And if there was any real threat from her stalker...
“Long story short,” he began, scratching that bit of hair on his jaw again, “we were engaged. She changed her mind a week before the wedding. Ended it at a pre-wedding party with all of our friends and families there.” A pause as Ben grimaced. “By proxy. She sent her sister to give me back the ring.”
“Damn.” One word, a lot of sympathy. “I’m guessing that happened about five years ago.”
Daniel nodded.
“Why is she here now? Did she change her mind?”
A snort escaped him. “Oh, she’s good at that. I’m the third of four jilted fiancés.”
This time it was Ben who snorted. “Did you know she’d dumped two other guys before you?”
Daniel grudgingly nodded. “I did, but...it’s complicated.”
“Women always are.”
The waitress appeared, delivering eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy to Ben and the biggest omelet Daniel had ever seen. She grinned at his wide-eyed look. “Cheese, bacon, sausage, ham, chorizo—oh, and veggies and avocado for our California boy. Miz LB says that’ll give you the energy to get through the day. Eat up.”
“Or die trying,” Ben added.
“That’s a distinct possibility.” Daniel took his first bite. The omelet was hot and steamy and meaty;