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The proverbial light bulb finally clicked on. “And Felicia’s scent is on the sweater.”
“Right.”
“Where did you learn that trick?”
“The school of hard knocks, sweetheart.”
She cringed at “sweetheart,” but said nothing, afraid to tense up too much and set Hannah off on another crying jag.
She glanced at the crib. Would Hannah stay asleep if she put her down?
As if he’d read her mind, Ace said, “Go ahead, put her down. She’s exhausted. She’ll probably sleep through till morning.”
Rory carefully laid Hannah in her crib. Clutching the quilt, she wasn’t sure if she should wrap her in it or not. What if Hannah pushed her face in the folds and smothered herself?
Ace grabbed the blanket and tucked it expertly around Hannah’s pajama-clad body, leaving her splayed arms free.
“I’d get some shut-eye while you can, if I were you,” he said, hands on hips, looking every bit the rogue pirate.
The advice made perfect sense. Why couldn’t she just shut up and take it? “You’re not me.”
He kicked up both hands in surrender. “Doesn’t matter to me either way.”
She ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers got stuck on dried carrot mush. She needed a long, hot—no make that scalding—shower. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“They’re all long days when there’s a baby around.”
She didn’t like the mocking shine in his dark-chocolate eyes, but she was way past witty and nearly all the way into zombie. She sank into the lime armchair and let her tense muscles relax. “How does she do it?”
“Felicia doesn’t try to go it alone. She asks for help.”
Implied fault stressed the silence. Trust. She didn’t have any.
Why should she? What did she know about him? That he was one of Sebastian’s Seekers. A plus. That he was playacting the role of a biker. A minus. That he was good with Hannah. Another plus. That his skin was olive, his cheekbones sharp, his nose straight, his mouth generous, kissable. She quashed a groan. Definitely a minus.
She was being too sensitive. She was letting his very presence become a burr because his expertise with Hannah made her feel incompetent.
But trust grew with time and intimacy. Neither of these existed between them. How could they when Sebastian had handed them opposite ends of the same rope?
She cocked her head, feeling the steam of temper crushing her chest, pounding at her temples. “Trusting a biker is what got Felicia into all this trouble.”
He bent toward her, resting a hand on the back of the armchair, trapping a strand of runaway hair beneath his palm. His body heat shimmied into her. His scent of sweat and musk had her turning her nose toward it as if it were an aroma worth sniffing. His gaze was so sharp she angled her head to avoid its honed edge and felt it graze her anyway. “No, what got her into this mess was not trusting her gut.”
Chapter Three
Rory counted two diners, one pizzeria, two antique stores, one gift shop, one florist’s shop, one barber, one beauty salon, one ice-cream parlor, one service station, two churches and four bars squashed together around the picture-postcard town common. A cool breeze snapped at the flags flying from shop poles. The sun played hide and seek with puffy white clouds against a picture-perfect blue sky.
Pushing Hannah’s stroller along the sidewalk, she noted the charm of the hunter-green-and-white bandstand circled by a bed of purple crocuses and yellow daffodils. A granite statue honoring war veterans was framed by budding azaleas. Granite benches, dotting the red-bricked walkway, invited walkers to stop and smell the grass. She could imagine how this two-block-long rectangle would look dressed up for a Fourth of July celebration or a strawberry festival, crowded with people and music and food. She could see the appeal of the image. A kinder mode of life—less hurried, less troubled, less complicated.
But here in Summersfield the portrait was a lie. Why would anyone want to pollute their own hometown with the poison of drugs? Was that the reason Felicia had finally agreed to leave Summersfield? To save Hannah from that fate?
With a sigh, Rory parked the stroller in front of the Star Café with its red-and-white checked curtains and carried Hannah inside. This is where Felicia works, she thought as sleigh bells tapped against the glass of the closing door. She took in the long stainless-steel counter along the side, the round white tables in the middle and the booths forming an L along the far edge and the window wall. The place was bustling with activity, especially along the counter. The aroma of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and coffee sent her stomach gurgling. A harried waitress shouted, “Seat yourself, honey.”
Rory chose a newly vacated booth by the window and Hannah was soon busily reaching for the caddy of sugar packets, the tray of jelly tubs, and the bowl of butter pats wrapped in foil. Clumsily, Rory pushed each out of reach while trying to free the baggie of Cheerios and the purple bear she’d stuffed in the pockets of her jacket.
“Hi, sweetie,” a tired-eyed blonde armed with a coffeepot crooned at Hannah. Hannah’s bright answering smile and babble said this wasn’t a stranger. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
The blonde gave Rory a series of quick looks, as if she wanted to stare but didn’t dare. “You must be Felicia’s sister.” Her voice croaked.
“Rory.”
“Oh, that’s different. What can I get you?” She didn’t offer her name in return, but it was there on the red tag tacked to her white polo shirt. Heidi.
Was Rory imagining the nerves? She glanced at the chalkboard menu on the wall, keeping Heidi in her peripheral vision. She was hungry enough to eat the lumberjack special, but settled for French toast. She could handle that and Hannah at the same time.
“Great,” Heidi said. “I’ll be back with a high chair for Hannah.” She couldn’t seem to get away fast enough. That didn’t bode well for a flowing supply of coffee—or answers.
“Wait!” Rory extended an arm across the table to keep the coffee cup from Hannah’s curious grip. “Have you heard anything from Felicia?”
Clicking her pen like a twitchy rabbit, Heidi stood frozen. She tucked her pad and pen in the pockets of her red apron and cleared her throat. “Not since we last worked a shift together.”
“When was that?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Four, five days.”
She knew something. Of that, Rory was sure. Why else would she be so nervous? “I know you’re busy now, but when the rush dies down, could I talk to you for a few minutes?”
Heidi glanced toward the kitchen, then wrenched her lips into a strained smile. “Okay, I guess.”
Heidi was no sooner gone than the bells on the door jingled, and Ace folded his long limbs into her booth. “Crowded,” he said by way of explanation.
He was back to pirate mode this morning. His uniform matched Mike’s—except Ace’s T-shirt was plain white and no sign of tattoos peeked above his collar or beneath his cuffs. Why was it so hot in here all of a sudden? She unzipped Hannah’s jacket and stuffed it in her tote bag, started wriggling out of hers, then changed her mind. Ace had a way of making her feel transparent.
A busty brunette settled a mug of coffee in front of Ace without asking if he wanted any. Must be a regular.
“Hi, there, handsome.” She all but batted her lashes. Disgusting the way some women threw themselves at men.
“Meg.” His smile was one of a man who knew he had the interest of a woman and enjoyed it. Was she part of his job of fitting into town?
“Heidi’ll be right with you.” Meg’s tone suggested she found this personal loss regrettable. Rory couldn’t see the appeal. Why would anyone want someone so hard and unyielding as a partner? Of course, maybe partnership didn’t enter into the equation.
“What are you doing here?” Rory caught the bits of paper Hannah dropped as she ripped a napkin to shreds. “Not checking up on me, I hope.”
He studied the chalkboard menu. “I’m eating breakfast before I go to work. So’s most of this crowd. Ease up on the starch, sweetheart. It’s bad for your arteries.”
“You can’t cook for yourself.” Rory snagged the knife out of Hannah’s reach and distracting her with two more Cheerios.
“I can take care of myself.” He added a container of half and half to his coffee. “Sleep okay?”
“You are checking up on me.”
“It’s my job, remember.” Taking a swallow of coffee, he seemed to take apart her face, recording each tired line, the twin half moons bruising the skin beneath her eyes, the matte sallowness of her skin for a memo regarding her inadequacies.
Why that look managed to both unhinge her and make her feel guilty she had no clue, but she refused to squirm under his scrutiny. Having her here was not his idea, and having to deal with him was not hers. They’d both have to get over it. She beamed her most sugary smile at him. “I can take care of myself.”
“Here you go.” Heidi jammed a wooden high chair at the edge of the table. Then she looked at Ace. “The usual?”
He nodded.
As Rory slipped Hannah into the high chair, she raised a brow in question.
“See and be seen,” he said in a low voice that barely exercised his lips.
“You eat out every day?”
“Most.”
“Part of the job.”
His mouth curved up. “You catch on quick.”
Soon both their orders arrived. Even though Hannah had already had breakfast, she cooed at the sight of the French toast, so Rory cut her a finger-sized slice and let her gum away at it.
Ace dug into his lumberjack special. “What are your plans for today?”
“See and be seen.”
He chuckled. “You’ve already made an impression.”
“On who?” The French toast practically melted in her mouth. Her stomach appreciated that she finally fed it.
“Mike.”
She sniggered. Her opinion of Mike didn’t rank too high. She couldn’t care less what he thought of her.
Ace spread strawberry jelly on his toast. “You should care.”
“What are you?” She pointed a fork at him. “A mind reader?”
“Your every thought is a billboard.”
God, I hope not, she thought, as she concentrated on cutting another finger of French toast for Hannah. The last thing she needed was for him to know how uncomfortable he made her. “Why should I care?”
“Because even though there’s a board of selectmen who runs the town, what Mike wants pretty much goes.” His face was a mask of joviality, and when he spoke, the noise of the diner nearly cloaked his voice.
She cocked her head and tried to read the granite set of his face. “And if I don’t play nice—”
“You don’t get any of your questions answered.”
“Noted.”
He paused over his eggs. “Rory—”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I never said you were. Just determined.”
“I need to find her.”
“I know. But you digging might make things harder for Felicia.”
She stopped her fork midway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”
He handed Hannah the corner of toast she was reaching for. His voice was low, barely above a whisper. “There’s more than Felicia at stake here. Can you understand that?”
She stirred a bite of French toast in the lake of maple syrup at the bottom of her plate and sighed. She could understand how stopping the traffic of drugs was just as important, but it seemed a whole lot less real than Felicia’s disappearance. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
She shot him a killing look he chose to ignore. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can to find her.”
“Couldn’t stop the avalanche if I wanted to. Just don’t go stepping on any toes, okay? Determined could get you killed, and that really wouldn’t look good on my record.”
Of course not. “I’m not a toe-stepper by nature.”
He pushed away his plate. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Who did Felicia hang out with? Besides Mike.” Rory pushed Cheerios one by one toward Hannah who thought it was hilarious to drop them on the floor.
Ace leaned back in the red vinyl seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “They’re not going to talk to you.”
Rory shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”
“Heidi, Meg and Terra are motorcycle mamas.”
She lifted both her eyebrows. “Motorcycle mamas?”
“They belong to the club.”
“‘Belong’ as in members?”
“‘Belong’ as in belong to every member.”
The French toast that had seemed fluffy moments ago now felt like lead. “Felicia’s a mama?”
He shook his head. “Felicia’s an old lady. She belongs to Mike.”
