Restore My Heart (7 page)

He shrugged, then opened the passenger door for her. “You said it’s just a few blocks. I’ll walk.”

She started to say something, but stopped. Whatever internal debate she waged, Joe’s side must have won. “Okay.”

She directed him through the old residential neighborhood where the narrow lots had no room for driveways and the garages faced alleys in the rear. Most of the homes, he guessed, were fifty or sixty years old, small by today’s standards.

“This is it. We can go in around back.”

He turned at the corner, then entered the alley. Pointing to a white wooden garage, Sally showed him where to park. The garage had been built in the last twenty years, he’d bet, and stood out among the older, narrower ones along the alley. As he nosed the Mustang beside a pick-up truck, a floodlight from the garage’s eave suddenly blinded him.

“Motion sensor,” Sally said.

He nodded. After he’d helped her from the car and locked up, he followed her down a narrow sidewalk squeezed between the garage and the fence. Ducking to dodge an overgrown shrub, they made their way across a brick patio, then up a plywood ramp that had been erected over the steps.

A second motion sensor light clicked on as they stepped onto the ramp. After Sally unlocked the door, Joe grasped her arm. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You’re really walking?” She looked up at him, frowning. “I’ll see if Dad can drive you back—”

“No need. I could use the exercise and a little fresh air after all that smoke tonight.”

“I hope it doesn’t start raining on you.”

Grinning, he winked. “It wouldn’t dare.”

Sally squeezed her eyes shut. She sucked in a ragged breath as she backed into the door jamb. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“What is it?” Even in the shadows he could see the color drain from her face. He rushed to catch her as she started collapsing. “Sally?”

“A muscle—spasm.”

From her pained grimace, it was one hell of a cramp. He scooped her into his arms, pushed the door open with his backside, then carried her into the house. The stench of stale beer and pizza assailed him as he stepped into the kitchen. “Which way?”

Sally had grabbed his shoulders when he’d lifted her into his arms. Loosening one arm, she pointed to the end of a short hallway. Passing the open bathroom door, he carried her to the end of the hall, using his elbow to nudge open the door of a bedroom.

She hardly weighed a thing. Holding her, carrying her felt too good. As he lowered her to the bed, a long shadow and a whiff of beer alerted him to her father’s presence. Joe hardly blamed the guy for his wariness, considering a stranger had just rushed in carrying Sally to her bedroom. If her agony hadn’t concerned him so much, Joe might have laughed.

“Leg cramp,” Joe muttered without turning to look at him. “Let me help you take off your pants.”

“What?” Sally’s eyes widened into saucers. “W-why?”

“So I can work out the knot in your muscle. Come on. This is no time for modesty.” He reached for the buckle on her fanny pack.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Dad, this is—” Sally sucked in another breath, unable to finish the introduction.

“Sir, I’m Joe Desalvo. Sally has a muscle spasm. She’s in a lot of pain. Could you help me here?”

The man’s shadow didn’t budge. “What’s wrong with her clothes?”

Joe had forgotten the damage from fire fighting and falling. A tear and stains marred her slacks. Her blazer sleeves had soot marks as well. “Someone set fire to Mustang Sally’s.”

“Fire?” The man glared at Joe as if he were the arsonist.

“It’s all right, sir. We arrived in time to put it out.” Her father just stood there. Joe cleared his throat. “Right now we need to help Sally.”

Joe didn’t take time to analyze the guy’s lack of response. As Sally removed her fanny pack and tossed it aside, Joe unsnapped the waistband of her fly.

“Sally can undress herself,” her father said.

“Please!” Sally muttered, pushing away his hands. She unzipped, started to slide the waistband over her hips, then froze. “Dad?”

Joe turned to face the man. He guessed the disheveled man to be younger than he appeared, which was at least sixty. The man’s gray eyes glared at Sally’s leg, his unshaven face twisted by a grotesque frown. Sally’s father spun from the room, his behavior puzzling Joe.

Damn the man! His daughter lay writhing in pain and he ignored her? Joe tamped down his curiosity to concentrate on Sally. He tugged her pants free. Bracing himself for the sight of a shriveled or scarred leg, he schooled his features to show no reaction. Thick scars ran beneath, beside, and over one knee.

“Don’t mind Dad. He’s—”

“Sally, where is the cramp?”

“Ham-hamstring.” Humiliation filled her eyes while the pain quickened her breath.

Joe sat on the bed and went to work on the backside of her thigh, kneading the stubbornly tight knot in the muscle. He focused on the massage, while his heart ached for the young woman ashamed for her imperfections, embarrassed by her father’s odd behavior.

In truth, Sally’s leg muscles surprised him. Instead of the atrophy he’d expected, he found development. Curves. He’d better ignore the curves, he warned himself, especially in the intimacy of her bedroom, where all he’d have to do is peek beneath the crumpled blouse and blazer to see her underwear.

Stop it, pal
.

The scars weren’t the hideous marks he’d prepared himself to see. In fact, he figured these scars were several years old as they’d faded to match the pigment of the surrounding flesh. He’d better not think about Sally’s flesh, either. If she thought her leg repulsive, she had another think coming. He had to concentrate on his mission and rein in his lustful thoughts.

The massage took several minutes to relax the spasm in her hamstring. Sally’s breathing began to deepen, the suffering easing from her face. Joe wondered how much the hurt in her eyes had to do with her father’s shabby treatment.

“Better?”

Sally nodded without looking up.

Standing, Joe lifted a corner of the worn cotton bedspread and covered her bare legs. Then he pulled out the two pillows, arranging them behind her back. “There. Now you can be modest.”

“Thank you, Joe. You’re very kind.”

Joe started to reply, “My pleasure,” but reconsidered. He didn’t want to say anything that could be misconstrued and add to Sally’s distress. He eased down onto the bed beside her, facing her. She continued to avert her eyes. “Is your father angry about something?”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “No. He can’t stand to look at my scars. They’re too repulsive.”

“Repulsive?” One piece of the Sally Clay puzzle locked into place. No wonder Sally’s self-esteem was rock bottom. How different from the way his own family treated his sister after an accident sentenced her to a wheel chair. “Nothing about you is repulsive, Sally.”

With his thumb and forefinger, he tugged at her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, determined to leave no doubt as to the sincerity of his words. Her chocolate-drop eyes stared at him, filled with questions. A spark of desire soon heated the chocolate into molten liquid. He couldn’t pull himself from their temptation. He searched for the words he needed to reassure her, but his voice stopped working. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as if it were an icy flagpole. His lips parted, hungry for—

He didn’t remember dipping his head. Suddenly, so close her breath mingled with his, his mouth drifted lower, closing the remaining distance. He needed to taste the sweet, luscious mouth—

“Telephone, Sally.”

The gruff intruding voice broke the spell. Sally blinked, as if emerging from a trance. Join the club, Joe thought, bolting from the bed. Sally accepted the cordless telephone from her father, while Joe waved and mouthed “good night.” He made polite noises to her father as he left, none of which he could later recall, then hurried into the night for the walk back to his car.

Just as he stepped outside, it started to rain.

“Hello,” Sally murmured, still dazed from whatever had happened, or almost happened, with Joe. She slapped her free hand across her racing heart, willing herself to relax.

“Sally? Uncle Sal. We missed you tonight.” The familiar noises of the Universal Joint competed in the background.

“I went to dinner with Joe Desalvo.”

“A date? Honey, that’s great.”

“No, Uncle Sal, it was business. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“You’re still open Saturdays, aren’t you?”

Sally postponed telling her uncle about the fire at Mustang Sally’s. Tomorrow would be soon enough. “Yes, we’re open. Why?”

“There’s a guy here who needs work on a sixty-seven Corvette. Should I send him over tomorrow?”

“Sure. A complete overhaul?” Visions of dollar bills danced in her head.

“Most likely. Says he has low compression and smoke coming out of the oil filler.”

“Probably blow by.” Lost compression from the upstroke of the piston around the rings produced smoke, requiring an engine rebuild or a replacement engine block and components. “Depending on the wear, it may require a long block.”

“At the very least. Don’t worry. He can afford it. Hang on a sec.”

Sally rubbed the skin on her leg, still warm and tingling from Joe’s touch, and waited for Uncle Sal. Pushing aside thoughts of the fire, her mind replayed the scene with Joe. Recalling his invitation to go to his mother’s for dinner, she wondered how she could refuse such a gentle, compassionate man. She didn’t want to offend him. But the more she was with him, the closer he got to her heart.

“See you tomorrow?” Uncle Sal asked when he came back on the line.

“After rehab and work. You tending bar?”

“All afternoon. Gotta go now, sweetie.”

“Okay. And thanks for drumming up business.”

After she’d disconnected, she lay across the bed, her thoughts returning to Joe. He’d seen her scars, touched them. He’d looked at her with acceptance, not revulsion. Her cheeks warmed, remembering how his heated gaze filled her with longing she couldn’t conceal. He had to know she’d yearned for his kiss.

He’d been so close, a whisper away. The desire in his eyes had matched hers. Would she have let him kiss her? Who was she kidding? Would she have had the strength to turn away? She didn’t want to question why a super guy like Joe would want to kiss her when he could have his pick of women—whole, healthy women. Nor would she think about her mission for the FBI, the success of which might revive her business.

Tonight Sally would pretend she was a normal, attractive woman who’d had a guy want to kiss her. She seriously doubted she’d get much sleep.

A steady rain greeted Joe when he woke up Saturday morning. He quickly dressed, dashed across the driveway, then let himself into his mother’s house to bum a cup of coffee. Even if she wasn’t awake, she’d have coffee set up to brew automatically.

“Good morning, Joe.” His mother breezed into the kitchen, in full makeup and dress.

“You’re the chipper early bird, Mom.”

Joe looked closely at his mother as she poured a cup before joining him at the table. Dark crescents beneath her eyes told a different story. His mother was neither chipper nor rested.

“Mom, are you all right?”

Her answering smile collapsed. “I’m surviving.”

“Did you get a chance to go through Dad’s desk yesterday?”

She sighed. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet. Maybe next week.”

“I could do it.”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh, would you?”

“If it’ll help, you know I will.”

“I’m looking for any clue—” Her uplifted hand made a swiping motion. “Oh, you know. Anything that will help us understand what happened.”

Joe hesitated. His mom wanted clues pointing to a murder. What if his father’s papers and files supported the case for suicide? “You may not like what I find.”

“Don’t keep anything from me. I can stand the truth.”

Steel was back in her voice, determination back in her eyes. Joe finished his coffee, accepted a refill, while he debated telling her about the counterfeit engine in the Darrin. Another glimpse at the rigid set of her jaw, the eyes that missed very little, and he knew he had no choice.