Dead Wake (The Forgotten Coast Florida #5) (21 page)

She felt herself turn a little red. To her mind, skirts and dresses were for church or weddings. The fact that she’d left the house in a skirt and blouse without a special occasion made her feel self-conscious and ungainly. It hadn’t helped that Sky had ridiculed her relentlessly while she’d tried on sixteen different combinations.

“It’s just Wyatt, Mom,” she’d said. “At Wyatt’s
house
. Could you spaz less?”

Maggie stood in front of Wyatt now, and was convinced that he knew exactly how many outfits she’d tried on. And that he thought she’d chosen the wrong one.

“Thank you,” Maggie said anyway. “You look very nice.”

He walked over to her and wrapped an arm around her waist, then kissed her forehead. “Hop in the car,” he said as he turned away.

“What? Why?”

He tossed his Mountain Dew in the recycle can by the driveway and opened his door. “I told you. I have something to show you.”

“What is it?’ Maggie asked, as she opened the passenger door.

Wyatt waited until she’d gotten inside. “Do you have to know everything ahead of time?”

Maggie thought about that for a moment. “Yes.”

“Too bad,” he said, and started the truck.

“Where are we going?” she asked, as he pulled out onto the street.

“You’ll see.”

“Is it your intention to annoy me?”

“Usually, yes,” he answered. “But this time it’s just my intention for you to shut up and let things unfold.”

“There are things that have to unfold?”

“You make it sound so threatening,” he said, turning onto D Street.

Maggie noticed that he wasn’t looking at her much, and that he even seemed a little nervous. Wyatt was normally so laid-back that he made potheads look anxious, so this concerned her just a bit.

“So you’re not going to tell me anything?’ she asked.

“No.”

Maggie forced herself to ride in silence for a few minutes, until Wyatt turned left onto Market Street, made a wide U-turn, and parked in front of Up the Stairs, one of the few ‘nice’ restaurants in town.

She had her mouth open to ask him what they were doing, but he was already out of the truck. She started to get a sinking feeling in her stomach, and clutched her purse in her lap as he came around the truck and opened her door. If it weren’t for the skirt, and for the shirt that was not Hawaiian, Maggie could have believed they were going across the street across the street for an ice cream cone at The Old Time Soda Fountain, which happened to be a favorite spot for Wyatt.

“Out you go,” he said.

“Wyatt, what are you doing?”

“Waiting for you,” he answered.

“What do you want to show me?”

“Well, right now I want to show you what it’s like to disembark from a truck, Maggie,” he said.

“First tell me what we’re doing here,” she said.

“You know you weigh less than a bag of squirrels, right?” he asked. “I can pick you up.”

Maggie looked at Wyatt’s face. It looked a lot more serious than his words. “You’re scaring me,” she said quietly.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said gently. He held out a hand. “It’ll be okay, Maggie. I promise.”

Maggie took his hand and stepped down from the truck. He closed the door and pulled her to the sidewalk.

“Wyatt, we can’t do this,” she said as she tried to keep up with his much longer legs.

“Well, it’s what we’re doing.”

“Wyatt, you’ll lose your job.”

“Maggie, half the people in this town already think we’re sleeping together,” he said as he opened the door for them.

“But we’re not!”

“Really beside the point,” he said.

Once they got upstairs, Maggie was too flustered to think of anything else she could say, particularly in front of other people who were waiting to be seated. Wyatt, apparently, had a reservation for two out on the balcony overlooking Market Street.

He held her hand the entire way as the hostess led them out there, and as she glanced around at a couple of familiar faces, Maggie couldn’t help feeling like she had a scarlet “A” tattooed across her face, even though adultery wasn’t any of the things she and Wyatt were doing.

Once they were seated, a waiter scurried over and Wyatt ordered a bottle of wine. Maggie sat silently, her purse in her lap, feeling the heat in her face. Two other tables on the balcony were occupied, and Maggie felt like she’d walked in naked.

Once the waiter was gone, Wyatt looked at Maggie and sighed. “I’m sorry this is traumatizing you,” he said quite seriously. “But you really are adorable when you blush like that.”

“Wyatt, this isn’t funny,” Maggie said quietly.

“It’s not meant to be,” he said.

“We’ve talked about this,” she said. “Two years until early retirement. They’re gonna fire you.”

“Maggie—” he started.

“When they find out—”

“Half of them already knew, Maggie,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘knew’?”

“My meeting with the honchos. Most of them already knew about us,” he said. “So much for hard and fast policy. Obviously they were okay with it as long as we weren’t blatant about it.”

“This is blatant, Wyatt!” Maggie said sharply, her voice just above a whisper. “They’re going to be forced to fire you!”

“No, they’re going to be forced to give me the transfer I asked for,” he said.

Maggie felt like she’d been punched in the chest, but the waiter arrived with their wine, so she had no choice but to sit there silently while he decanted the wine and spouted off a number of appetizers and specials.

Maggie didn’t even hear what Wyatt ordered, and missed out on taking his to task for ordering for her, which she would have done under different circumstances. When the waiter finally left, Maggie swallowed hard and managed to speak in a normal tone.

“Transfer to where?’ she asked.

“Not to where, to what,” Wyatt said. He picked up her wineglass and held it out to her. “Take a big drink of this.”

Maggie took the glass and drained a good third of the wine.

“I’ve asked them to give me Karl’s job,” Wyatt said. “I asked them back in July, when I got shot. They turned me down.”

Karl was the Sheriff’s Office’s public information officer. He was retiring in just two weeks.

Maggie leaned forward. “July? Why didn’t you tell me that?” she whispered angrily at him.

“Because I wanted their answer first,” he whispered back.

“Well, they said ‘no,’ Wyatt!”

“And now they’ll reconsider,” Wyatt said. “They’re going to have to.”

“You’re not a public relations person!”

“Who cares, Maggie? It’s a lateral move. I won’t be your boss, and I’ll still get my pension.” He leaned even closer. “Meanwhile, if we keep hissing at each other like a couple of garter snakes, people are gonna say we’re not only lovers, but we’re having lovers’ quarrels in public, and tomorrow morning everybody from the Mayor to your gynecologist will be talking about it. So I would appreciate it if you’d calm down or, I swear on my borked hip, I will lean over and lick your neck.
That
’ll give ’em a heads-up.”

Maggie sat back in her chair, glancing around her for a moment. A few people were looking, but not all, and while some looked interested, no one looked exactly condemning.

“Now,” Wyatt said. “I’ve ordered us food that I don’t understand and that will probably cost an arm and a leg. Let’s try to enjoy it.”

Maggie stared at him. He stared back.

“What?” he asked.

“Wyatt, what are you doing?” she asked quietly.

“I’m taking action, Maggie,” he said. “That’s what men do.”

“Why now? I mean, we’re okay the way we are.”

“No, we’re not. I told you when we started this that I wasn’t just pissing around,” Wyatt said. “I’m forty-eight, not sixteen. I’m tired of skulking around and I’m tired of waiting. And no, I’m not talking about sex.”

“Wyatt!”

He leaned over and whispered. “Sex!”

“What do you mean, you’re tired of waiting?” Maggie asked. “It’s only been a few months.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Maggie,” he said gently. “I’ve been waiting almost six years for you to figure out we’re not just buddies.”

Maggie sat and stared at him, then took a drink of her wine, trying not to notice that her hand was shaking. It was almost six years ago that her divorce had become final.

“I realize that you’ve had some catching up to do,” Wyatt said quietly. “But judging by some of the things that you’ve said to me, I’m guessing that you’re almost there.”

“Almost where?’ Maggie asked, wishing she had the steady hands to pour more wine.

Wyatt got just a little agitated again, and leaned toward her. “Do you want me to say it? I’d rather do it privately, and I’d rather you say it first, but if you need me to lay it out for you I will, but then you’ll probably piss yourself and we’ll have a whole different gossip problem.”

Maggie was trying to sort out seven possible responses when she saw the waiter approaching, and her eyes widened. Wyatt looked over his shoulder, then back at her.

“Try not to look like a gigged frog; the appetizers are here,” he whispered.

“What is it?’ she asked automatically.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

The waiter arrived at the table and put two plates down between them.

“I thought you might like to share these, so we’ll just put them in the center,” the waiter said cheerfully. “Can I get you anything else? More water?”

“No, thank you. This is great,” Wyatt said distractedly.

When the waiter had gone, Wyatt reached over and poured them both some more wine. He handed Maggie her glass, then raised his own.

“Here’s to the County Commissioners,” he said.

Maggie looked at him, with his glass in the air, and got a sudden flash of Boudreaux earlier that day, raising his beer bottle to her. She got a sensation, like a small animal chewing at the back of her neck, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She felt that there was something else, something that refused to come out from around the edges of her mind.

She raised her glass, though she didn’t raise it very high, for fear that everyone was looking.

W
yatt and Maggie, by some unspoken agreement, passed the rest of their meal engaged in little more than their usual chit-chat and banter. They both stayed away from talk of work, and they both stayed away from any more emotionally taxing topics.

They enjoyed their meal, but they didn’t order more wine and they didn’t linger. They were grown-ups, eating in public like grown-up couples do, but that didn’t mean they had to dawdle over it.

Once they got outside, Wyatt unlocked the truck and opened Maggie’s door. “As much as I would like us to go back to the house and do some kissing and maybe even break out that playlist, I think you need some time to toss things around in your head. So I’m just going to run you back to your car, okay?”

“Okay,” Maggie said.

Wyatt ducked his head and gave her a quick kiss, and Maggie slid into the truck. She waited for Wyatt to close her door, but he didn’t. He just stood there with his arm on it, jingling his keys.

“What?’ she asked after a moment.

Wyatt frowned at her. “Something’s wonky,” he said.

“What’s wonky?” she asked.

He shook his head, then looked over his shoulder down the street. “I don’t know. The something-something isn’t right.”

They’d worked together long enough for Maggie to know he meant something with the case. “What?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said again, and shut her door.

She watched him walk around the front, and he got in and shut his door, still frowning. He put the key in the ignition, and stared at his steering wheel for a moment, then started up the truck.

“Let’s just make a quick stop over on Water Street,” he said as he backed out.

They got to the middle of the block, about half a block before Sea-Fair and, just beyond it, the building where Crawford’s Seafood had been. Wyatt stopped in the middle of the empty street, and reached behind him to the small back seat.

He brought his copy of the case file to his lap, flipped through a couple of pages, then shut the file again and tossed it back on the seat.