But it turned out that Ben didn’t need that information anyway. When he left an hour later, he was convinced that if the vandalism had, in fact, been personal, it had something to do with the phone calls Lori had made earlier in the day. Lori wasn’t so sure. Why would a developer do something so petty?
Ben’s expression told her he didn’t think it was petty at all. “No more phone calls about the land. If someone is trying to intimidate you, it could be the same person who assaulted your father. And why didn’t you tell me about these developers in the first place?”
“I just thought of it today.”
“Well, call
me
next time, not your Realtor.”
“It seemed like a long shot. It still does. I don’t see why you think this was anything more than a couple of drunk teenagers looking for trouble.”
Ben scowled. “If you’ve been watching enough cop shows to think we have a tech department, then you should know that cops don’t believe in coincidences. I reopened the investigation into your dad’s assault. You made a few inquiring phone calls, and suddenly your shop looks like the front end of my first car. No more phone calls, understand?”
Well, she’d been done anyway. “Fine.”
“Now what else are you hiding?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Did you find any more information about the sale?”
Ben nodded. “Your dad bought it at auction. It was foreclosed on just as you suspected. The previous owner was Hector Dillon. Did you know him?”
“Hector?” Lori frowned. “Actually, I think I did. Didn’t he own the gravel pit? I think my dad bought sand from him for the plows.”
“Yeah, he owned the gravel pit and had a pretty good-sized ranch he and his brother had inherited from his dad.”
“The land my dad bought?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, “That was part of it. The bank broke it up into a few parcels.”
Could that have made Hector mad enough to come after her dad, just because he’d bought a parcel? “You’re using the past tense. Is Hector dead?”
“I don’t think so. But he moved to New Mexico about five years ago. I haven’t tracked him down yet.”
“You really think he had something to do with my dad’s injury?”
Ben took off his hat and ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t know. It’s another long shot, but it bears looking at.”
“Okay.”
“As for tonight—” his voice lowered “—will you please let me drop you at Molly’s?”
“No.” She didn’t like being fawned over or taken care of, didn’t like to feel more vulnerable than she really was.
Ben didn’t approve of her answer, but he left after eyeing her locks with suspicion.
Lori collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. Crapola, this was going to cost her a bundle. One door could be banged out and made serviceable, but the other was a lost cause. Five of the wheels had popped off and the framework was twisted beyond repair. So they’d be using one bay until insurance came through, and even then…Her deductible was somewhere in the twenty-five-hundred-dollar range.
“Shit.”
And the truck lights…those would be out of pocket, too, and she couldn’t afford to wait. As it was, she’d have to refer all of tonight’s calls to Grand Valley. She’d sold the old hook and chain truck a few years ago to pay off some bills and that meant no backup, so tonight’s towing fees were gone.
She was seriously beginning to regret the new dress she’d bought. Shit, it was probably snagged in the back from being rubbed against cement.
Gazing longingly at the fridge, picturing the cold beers inside, Lori tugged the throw off the back of the couch and wrapped it around her.
A full day of work, an evening of dirty sex, and a night of being victimized had all teamed up to exhaust her. She’d figure out what the hell was going on in the morning. Right now she just wanted to curl up and sleep, right here on the couch.
The phone rang.
Lori cursed and curled up tighter.
It trilled again and she realized it was her cell phone ringing from her purse, well within reach. Grudgingly, she reached out and scrounged for the beeping menace. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Lori Love,” Quinn’s voice purred.
She closed her eyes and wished she were pressed up against him, breathing his skin. “Hey.”
“How’s it going? Are you in your truck?”
“Yes.” Weariness made it easier to lie than explain the truth. She’d feel bad about it some other time.
“I’m calling to check up on you. I hope you don’t mind the obnoxious behavior.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve never had a stalker before.”
“Great! You’re really racking up the new experiences. But seriously, I’m not just calling to track your movements with the GPS locator I secretly installed on your phone—”
“Nice.”
“I’m calling to finagle another date before I go out of town.”
She smiled and pulled the blanket higher, cocooning herself in warmth. “By
finagle
, do you mean offer to do me again? Because I’ll take it.”
“Yes, you will,” he growled, thrusting her body into immediate arousal. God, he was turning into a wicked, dirty boy and she loved it.
She wondered if she was about to have phone sex with him during her pretend shift in the truck, but Quinn cleared his throat to a more reasonable tone. “But I actually meant something less exciting, unfortunately. I’ve got a business thing on Sunday, a cocktail party that—”
“Oh, God, no,” she groaned.
“Come on, it can’t all be trips to Europe and public sex.”
“Sure it can. This is a sordid affair, remember?”
“Please? An hour, that’s all. Maybe two.”
“Sorry. Nope. I wouldn’t have anything to talk to those people about, and I have nothing to wear.”
“Wear that blue dress. I didn’t get to touch you in it.”
Lord, he knew how to make her smile. He must have sensed her weakness because he pressed his case.
“I want you with me, and I have to go. This developer is one of my big clients and we’re right in the middle of—”
Lori sat up. “Wait. Who?”
“One of my clients—”
“You said a developer. Which one?”
“Er…Anton/Bliss. Why?”
Anton/Bliss. “Okay,” she said with an abruptness that startled him into silence. A few seconds passed. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
“Ah, so it’s name dropping that impresses you. Well, if you’re really good I’ll introduce you to James Dubbin, the head of Aspen’s planning commission. Pretty impressive friends, huh?”
“You’re a dork.”
“Maybe, but I’m a dork with a hot date for Sunday. So assuming you don’t spot me stalking you before then, I’ll see you on Sunday night. I’ll even pick you up to make it official. Seven-thirty?”
After agreeing, Lori hung up and jumped from the couch, her exhaustion vanished under the flood of adrenaline. She raced to the computer and sat down to do some serious research on Quinn’s friends.
The squawking turned to grumbling. God, Lori had hated this woman when she’d run the old movie theater and she was quickly remembering why. Lori glanced at the clock again. “Okay, fine. If you really want me to come tow you in the morning, I will. But it’ll be thirty bucks and your insurance will not cover it, I swear. Call me on Monday after seven-thirty, all right? We’ll do it your way.”
Slamming down the phone, Lori grabbed her keys and darted for the door, glad she’d forgone heels for tonight. Her flip-flops would make faster time on the sidewalk, and they had little fabric roses on them that matched the red polish on her toenails. She actually felt cute tonight, regardless that she’d reverted back to jeans. The jeans were tight, her scarlet tank dipped low, and she knew for a fact there was an extra sway in her hips. All in all, she felt far too cheerful for a woman with her problems.
After carefully picking her way across the rocky lot, she hopped triumphantly onto the sidewalk and started the short two-block trek to The Bar—otherwise known as T-Bar, since the
h
in the sign had long ago burned out. The place was run-down and decorated in the same style as Lori’s house, but it was the only game in town, and she and Molly had cavorted there often since Molly’s return to town the year before.
Up to that point, Lori had only dropped by occasionally, since she hadn’t had a good friend to hang out with. All the women in town had either left after high school and stayed gone, or they’d married young and started families. Strangely enough, the good housewives of Tumble Creek had a marked disinterest in hitting the town with the community’s lesbian mechanic.
Just as she stepped off the curb to cross the street, a vibration rumbled through Lori’s lower pelvic area, bringing her to an abrupt halt. “Yikes!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her belly. Maybe she should find a better place to keep her cell phone. Or maybe not.
Assuming it was Molly, Lori flipped open the phone and sprinted across the street. “Hello?”
“Lori, where
were
you last night?” For a moment, she couldn’t place the frantic female voice, and the vandalism popped immediately into her head. Was this the person who’d trashed her garage? But then she heard the caller draw a deep breath. “I went to The Bar, but you guys didn’t show!”
“Helen?”
“You said you and Molly would be there!”
“Oh, jeez.” She smacked her forehead and stopped in the street. “Helen, I’m so sorry.” An approaching pickup honked, the male occupants whistling as they eased past. Only one guy didn’t whistle. He was James Webster, nephew of Miles, the town reporter. She’d fired James a few months before because he’d called her a bitch when she wouldn’t advance his pay. His eyes watched her as the truck rolled past, but he didn’t quite glare.
“How could you leave me alone there?” Helen cried.
“I’m sorry,” Lori muttered. “I had to cancel, and I totally spaced on calling you. Did you and Juan have an argument?”
“Well, no…”
“Regardless, I didn’t mean to leave you just sitting there looking lonely.”
“Yeah…” Her outrage had faded to a suspicious reticence.
Lori stopped dead in her tracks. “Helen?
Did
you sit there looking lonely?”
“For a little while.”
“And then?” Raising her eyebrows, she waited for Helen to end the long silence. She waited in vain. “Helen, did you and Juan get back together?”
“No! No, we did not. But I drank that first beer a little fast. I was nervous, and Juan kept glaring at me. And then…I don’t know what happened. I started drinking screwdrivers and you know how those get to me. And then I was crying and Juan was so nice, and I…I woke up in his bed this morning!”
“I see.”
“And then I woke up again in the afternoon, and he was gone, and I think he thinks we’re back together!”
Lori walked the last few yards to the establishment in question, then leaned up against the wall, trying not to think of the last wall she’d leaned against. “
Are
you back together?”
“We can’t be!” Helen shouted. “I’m too old for him!”
“Mmm-hmm. Funny, it sounds like you were just the right age a few hours ago.”
“Shut up.”
She couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her mouth. “Look, Helen, I’m sorry that I forced you to make sweet, sweet love to Juan last night.
And
this morning.”
“Oh, cripes.”
“But I told you before, I think you should give it a chance. You two have obviously got some serious chemistry.”
“We’re from two different worlds.”
That struck close to home, so Lori just shrugged. “I am sorry. I’m walking into The Bar right now if you want to meet us here tonight.”
“Are you insane?”
“Should I tell Juan you said hi?”
Helen screeched. Then she huffed, “I hate you,” and hung up. Poor girl. She had it bad. If only she could relax and embrace the hot sex as Lori was doing.
After checking to be sure the phone was still on that lovely vibrate setting, Lori stuffed it into her pocket and tugged open the heavy oak door. The thick odor of beer drifted over her, happily lacking the stale cigarette stench of years past. Stepping into the dim room, she idly wondered if there were any states where you could smoke in bars these days. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud inhalation.
“Lori,” Molly barked from a few feet away.
Lori squinted toward the bar, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Just as she picked out Molly’s blond hair, her friend sprang to her feet and pointed.
“Lori Love, who are you having sex with? And don’t you lie to me!”
The whole bar froze—of course it did—and all eyes turned toward her. As she looked around in horror, one of the gentleman had the courtesy to tip his cowboy hat, but the rest of them were too busy smirking or ogling her body. “Molly, are you crazy?” she hissed, rushing toward the stools.
“Me?” Molly countered. “Ben hinted you’d been on a date last night and I didn’t believe it. But look at you!”
Panicked, Lori looked down to be sure a boob wasn’t hanging out again. “What?”
“You’re practically…
dewy!
”
“Dewy?”
“You’re all aglow. You think I can’t see that? No wonder you canceled yesterday. You probably still had rug burns on your knees. Oh!” She gasped, pointing toward Lori’s legs. “That’s why you’re wearing jeans!”
“You’re insane, you know that?”
Molly threw her hands in the air. “Who is he?” she demanded just as the jukebox faded to a new song. The bar watched, collective brow rising higher.
“He?”
someone whispered from the vicinity of the pool table.
Great. Just great. Lori collapsed onto a stool and glared at her best friend. “Either keep your voice down or I will go home, pack up my things and leave this town without telling you anything, ever. Got it?”
Molly blinked and then glanced toward their observers. “Oh, sorry. My bad.” She raised her voice again. “Nothing to see here, people! I was just kidding around.” Then she plopped back into her seat, leaned close and waited.
Clearly, her best friend was a lunatic.
Lori tried to rub the embarrassment from her face. “I need a drink.”
Molly gestured frantically for Juan to hurry, then tapped her shoe against the footrest of the bar.
Ping,
ping, ping.
Juan grinned and waved before he started mixing Lori’s favorite: a green apple martini with three maraschino cherries crowding the bottom. Molly crossed her arms and chewed her lip.
“You’ve got the patience of a two-year-old,” Lori observed, leaning nonchalantly against the bar just to annoy her friend.
“Whatever.”
“What did Ben tell you?”
“Not enough.”
Lori smiled. “Do you remember last year when you wouldn’t tell me anything about your job except that it was secret? You even asked for my advice about breaking it to Ben and you
still
wouldn’t give me a hint.”
Molly’s eyes stayed on Juan as he carried the brimming glass over and gingerly set it down on the bar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered.
“I’m talking about secrets. Naughty, sexy secrets.”
Molly’s gaze swung back to Lori and locked on. “Drink your drink already, woman. I need details.”
Grinning, Lori idly picked up her martini glass and sipped at it.
Molly’s eye twitched. “I should’ve known something was up when I saw Miles’s latest column.”
“What did it say?”
“Oh, it was just another dig about you being seen in dress. Miles wants to know why you’ve taken a sudden interest in fashion.”
Lori cocked her head. “I wondered why Miles showed up on my caller ID. Must be a slow news month.”
Molly growled.
“Okay.” Lori finally relented. “I can’t give you any details, but I can tell you I’ve been seeing someone.”
“‘Seeing’ someone? As in having someone over for tea or as in making the beast with two backs?”
“Your imagery is less than pretty, but I have, in fact, been getting down and very, very dirty.”
“I knew it! My God, you look like your joints have been lubricated. Whoever he is, he’s good. So who is he?”
Lori took another apple-tinted sip. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“Am not.”
Molly glared. “Don’t be childish. Just tell me who’s puttin’ it to you.” Her glare narrowed as Lori happily sipped from her drink. Then her friend’s face sprang from suspicion to utter shock in the space of a millisecond. “Ohmigod. Oh, my
God,
it’s Quinn, isn’t it?”
Crap. “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It is!” She jabbed a finger at Lori’s chest bone. “It’s Quinn. You’re doing my brother!”
Well, at least she was screeching in a sort of whispery shout that probably didn’t reach farther than the first few tables. “Shut up already! You’re going to get Quinn’s name in the
Tribune
. And it’s not him,” she added halfheartedly.
“You’re the worst liar in the world. And I can’t even believe you’re dating my brother and you didn’t tell me. Worst liar
and
worst friend.”
Lori sighed and finished off her drink. “I couldn’t tell you. It’s weird.”
“Weird because he’s my brother or weird because he likes to dress in latex or something?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because he’s your brother.”
“Hmm.” She pursed her lips. “Yes, I knew this could be a problem. Damn it. Okay, so no details, just tell me what led up to this shameful, disgusting state of affairs.”
Juan whistled his way over with the next round of drinks, dark brown eyes twinkling.
“What’s he so cheerful about?” Molly whispered when he moved away.
“Helen gave him some of the good stuff.”
“I thought they’d broken up.”
Lori cringed. “So did Helen, so don’t say anything to Juan to get his hopes up, just in case it doesn’t work out.”
“Yikes. Awk-ward! But enough about them…back to you.”
Lori smiled. “All right. Quinn came by to ask me out. I thought you’d talked to him and I told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t going to use him for sex. Needless to say, he was intrigued with my outburst.”
“I guess!”
“So, you know…it developed from there.”
Molly’s face scrunched up. “I can’t get details. Damn it, I wish you were sleeping with someone besides my brother.”
“Sorry. There’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Fine. So what happened at your shop last night?”
Groaning, Lori swirled the liquid in her glass before taking a generous gulp. “Somebody trashed it. Busted out lights and rammed into the bay doors. One of them will have to be replaced.”
“How much will that cost?”
“Too much. The guy’s coming out tomorrow to take a look, but I checked online. Whatever it will be, I can’t afford it.”
Molly cursed under her breath. “Well, what the heck? Who would do that to you?”
Apparently Ben had said nothing about what he suspected, so she kept her mouth shut and shrugged. “Whoever it is, I doubt we’ll find them, and I doubt even more they’d be the type of people who can afford to pay damages, so I’m screwed.”
She was staring down at the scarred wood of the bar, thinking she should tell Ben about James Webster, when she realized that Molly was uncharacteristically silent. When she looked up, her friend studied her face and then glanced down to the drink in Lori’s hand. “What?” Lori pressed.
“Nothing. I’m just trying to decide if you’re tipsy enough to broach the subject.”
She straightened and frowned. “What subject?”
“The subject of you moving. Why don’t you sell, Lori?”