On Dean's Watch. Linda Winstead Jones

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Reva gave the man a real smile. “You’ll have to bring him with you for lunch one day. I’d like to meet him.” The partner must be the one with the potbelly. Goodness knows Sinclair didn’t have one. His entire body was likely as hard as that jaw.

      An unexpected ripple shimmied up her spine. She pushed the reaction down, forced it from her mind. Edna and Frances were not right. She did not need a man.

      Especially not one like Dean Sinclair.

      “Do I own what?” Alan was not yet completely awake. He squinted and leaned toward the window, where Dean sat.

      “You know, tools,” Dean answered. “A hammer, a screwdriver, maybe a drill.”

      Alan shook his head. “Why?”

      Dean kept his eye on Miss Reva’s, even though the last of her customers had left a little while ago. “I paid a visit to the restaurant while you were sleeping.” And he was still obscenely stuffed for his trouble. It was like going to your grandmother’s house and being overwhelmed by all the choices laid before you. He’d eaten too much.

      Everything had been perfect. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten such a fine meal. It didn’t help matters any that neither of his sisters-in-law or his sister, Shea, were what one could call great cooks. Holidays were always interesting, but no one fed him the way Reva had. And Patsy’s idea of eating at home had included a delivery of some kind.

      “It was great,” Dean finished.

      “Okay,” Alan said, not sounding at all surprised. “What does that have to do with my tools?”

      “They put the customers at these big tables,” Dean explained, “and the first thing they did was have everyone tell who they were and where they were from and…what they did.”

      “Hi!” Alan said in an overly animated voice. “I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Dean Sinclair, here to keep an eye on your hostess in case her felon of an ex shows up.”

      “Not likely,” Dean grumbled. “She was sitting right next to me.” He remembered Reva Macklin with an unexpectedly sharp intensity. Her hand had brushed against his once, and it had been nice. Much nicer than it should have been. She was soft and warm, fragile and strong in that way some special women were.

      And she was lovely, far more beautiful than her old grainy picture or the too-brief sight of her through a telescope. No picture or long-range glimpse could do justice to that flawless skin or the sheen in her hair or the depth of her dark-brown eyes. And the way she smelled—like cinnamon and strawberries and soap—was still so real he could close his eyes and…

      “So?” Alan prodded. “What did you tell her?”

      “That I’m a handyman.”

      Alan guffawed. “You?”

      “It’s not that funny.”

      “Yeah, it is. You don’t fix your own car when it breaks down. You live in an apartment and have never even had to mow your own yard, much less fix anything. Face it, you are definitely not mechanically inclined. Do you even know what a hammer looks like?”

      “Of course I do,” Dean snapped. “It’s not that ridiculous.”

      “Yeah, it—”

      “I was caught off guard,” Dean interrupted. “Besides, she was the one who caught me snooping around last night.”

      “You mean legs is Reva Macklin?”

      “Yep. I knew it the minute she opened her mouth. She’s got this husky voice.” The kind of voice a man did not forget. “Since I’d already told her I was checking out the architecture, I had to come up with something that made sense. My brother-in-law’s a contractor and he fixes up old houses. That’s one thing Somerset has in abundance—old, creaking, falling-down houses in desperate need of repair. It was the first logical explanation that came to mind.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “You’re my partner, by the way.”

      “Great,” Alan said flatly.

      Dean couldn’t get Reva Macklin off his mind. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Eddie Pinchon was crude, a lowlife if ever he’d met one. What on earth had a woman like Reva ever seen in Eddie? He glanced at the old picture of another Reva. Either she’d changed in the eight years since that picture had been taken—in the seven years since Eddie had been sent away—or she was putting on a show. Was she that good an actress?

      Dean was adept at reading people. Lies didn’t get past him and he could spot a phony a mile away. The Reva he’d met today was no actress. She’d been friendly without sharing too much of herself, maintaining a professional distance without coming off as a snob. She possessed a quiet gentility that was the hallmark of a real Southern lady.

      Again he glanced at the old photograph of another Reva.

      “If you can get access to the house as Reva Macklin’s new handyman, you can plant a bug or two,” Alan said thoughtfully.

      “We don’t have a court order.”

      “Unofficially,” Alan said quickly. “And if you could plant one in the guest house…”

      “No,” Dean answered. “Not without authorization.”

      Alan shook his head. “We can’t see every entrance to that big house, and we can barely get a glimpse of the guest house from here. There are only two of us on this detail! Pinchon can walk in any time he feels like it, and if we’re not looking in the right place at the right time, we’re screwed.”

      Dean knew Alan was right, and still he didn’t like it. His partner gave him a hard time about being such a stickler for the rules, when some other agents broke them without a second thought. He wanted to catch Pinchon, but he didn’t want to compromise his standards to accomplish the task.

      “Give it a couple of days. Miss Macklin’s got a good, steady business here. She’s not going anywhere. If Eddie does show up, we’ll get him.”

      “I still think a bug is the way to go,” Alan grumbled.

      Dean stood. He and Alan would never agree on this point. “I’m going to walk to town,” he said. Since “town” was three blocks of redbrick buildings half a mile down the road and the path was shaded sidewalk the entire way, it wasn’t exactly an arduous expedition.

      “Bring me something to eat,” Alan said with a yawn.

      It was nice to get out of the house. The streets were quiet now that all of Reva’s customers had left. Dean was rarely subjected to such serenity. It was so quiet he could hear the breeze in the trees. His pace was slower than usual, as if to hurry would be wrong in this place.

      Even downtown, with its small shops and quaint old buildings, was slow-paced. The everyday necessities were all right here. A small grocery, a dress shop, a barbershop and a beauty parlor. And a hardware store.

      An hour and too much money later, Dean headed back to his temporary home. The bags he carried were heavy, but he figured he now had everything he needed to get started. In his shopping bags were a couple of pairs of heavy denim СКАЧАТЬ