Dead Right

Both questions were so shockingly blunt, Madeline didn’t know which to answer first. Money won out. “Sacrifice my retainer? Are you crazy?” she cried. “And I’m not attracted to you! I’m already involved.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The fact that she’d just lied about being involved, of course. Not only was she flying solo at this point, she was beginning to miss the emotional and physical comforts a man could offer.

She swallowed hard. “You’re not attracted to me, are you?” If it was all one-sided—her side—she should be okay. She certainly wasn’t about to lose the five thousand dollars she’d given him.

It was his turn to hesitate. His gaze flicked over her a second time but quickly returned to her face. “I told you. I’m not interested in any woman.”

“Right. The ex.” She took a deep breath. “That’s good news.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.” He rubbed his hands. “So…are we on?”

“Let’s see how it goes this week,” she replied. “If you’re as good as you’re supposed to be, I should be able to tell fairly soon.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said dryly.

She started to lead him out, into the rain. “There’s one more thing.”

“I’m dying to hear it.”

Putting up her umbrella, she raised her voice against the rumbling motors and the security guard telling everyone to move along. “People where I live are very…conservative. If you alienate them, we won’t have a chance.”

“Why would I alienate them?”

“I’m just telling you that Stillwater isn’t California.”

He gave her a salute. “Consider me warned. Somehow I’ll keep my liberal self in check.”

A minute earlier, he’d said he wasn’t interested in her—or any other woman. But when she glanced back at him, she caught him checking out her behind. “I thought you weren’t interested,” she said.

He grinned. “Doesn’t hurt to look.”

Chapter Six

Hunter sat in the passenger seat of Madeline Barker’s economy car, watching the windshield wipers jerk across the glass and thinking that a woman driving a 1992 Toyota Corolla probably couldn’t afford him. “Your windshield wipers might actually work if you’d replace the blades,” he said.

She sent him an irritated look. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome.” Drumming his fingers on his knee, he cursed the moment he’d decided to come to the South. What was he doing here? He should be in Hawaii, sitting on the beach. But despite the rain in Tennessee and an unusual and slightly worrisome reception by his new client, Hawaii didn’t sound as appealing as it should have. He’d spent most of the last month on Oahu, taking pictures of an elected public official who’d flown his children’s babysitter there for a torrid affair. Without Maria, Hunter had no desire to go back so soon. What was the point? He wasn’t the type to lounge on the beach all day—not unless he was doing it for a reason, as with his last job, or he had someone with whom to share the sun and sand.

Someone…He grimaced. Not only had he lost Maria’s love and respect, he’d managed to estrange most of his family. He’d been too hurt and angry to be civil to anyone. And he hadn’t allowed himself a romantic liaison—a romantic anything—since he’d gotten drunk two years ago and let Selena, the divorcee next door, coax him into bed.

“So…are we going to drive the whole way without speaking?” he asked, eager to interrupt his own thoughts. He berated himself over that mistake often enough without starting in well before the usual sleepless night.

“I’m thinking,” she said.

“I hope you’re thinking about telling me what you know of the day your father disappeared. Or is that part of the test to see if I’m any good?”

“Funny.” She came up on a van, slowed, then switched lanes.

He knew they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, that he should do what he could to relieve the tension that had sprung up the moment they’d met, but he was tired and cranky after the long flight and already regretting the trip. “You know how irreverent some of us young Californians can be.”

“At least you haven’t ended any of your sentences with dude or awesome,” she retorted.

His irritation level spiked. “I didn’t want to come here in the first place. This was your idea.”

She immediately backed off. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you. But…I was desperate.”

And now she was disappointed. He could hear it in her voice.

Hunter didn’t want to care—some of what she’d said made him angry—but the slump of her shoulders bothered him. Cursing silently, he dragged his eyes away from her and watched the wet pavement rush under their tires. “Don’t give up on me too soon, okay?” he said. “I can’t promise that I’ll solve your father’s murder. If it was a murder. Maybe no one can. But I’ll make every attempt.”

“In between working on your tan?” She’d mumbled the words, but he could still decipher them.

“You’re just mad that I said I wasn’t attracted to you,” he snapped.

“Why should that bother me? You’re not attracted to anyone, remember?”

“I remember,” he said. But he had to admit she was pretty. Tall, though maybe a bit too thin, she had very distinguished features—wide green eyes that tilted up at the edges, thick dark lashes, high cheekbones and a full, sensual mouth. She had a few freckles across her nose, but the rest of her skin was as smooth and unblemished as porcelain, and she seemed confident yet vulnerable. It was an odd mix, but it definitely worked.

“I wanted someone I could take seriously,” she explained.

He shook his head. “You wanted a savior, and you got a carpenter. As history suggests, they don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

Her gaze slid his way. “Now you’re telling me you have a Christ complex?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m done talking to you. I hope you feel like an idiot when you’re finished with this tantrum.”

“Tantrum? I’ve never thrown a tantrum in my life.”

Hunter told himself to ignore her until she could come to grips with her roiling emotions. He’d been where she was—pushed beyond his normal ability to cope, desperately searching for a way to avoid the pain of his situation. He’d created his own problems while, as far as he could tell, she’d done little to deserve hers. But these days his own temper lurked too close to the surface.

“What do you call this?” he asked. “Good old-fashioned Southern hospitality?”

“Try abject despair,” she replied. “Do you know how many people think I’m foolish for bringing you to town? Only my cousins approve, which is reason enough for concern. When Clay and Grace see you—” She threw up one hand while keeping the other on the wheel.

“Maybe those who are least happy about my involvement are the very people who have something to hide,” he retorted. He was taking a big leap. But he wanted to provoke her, to find or create reasons to dislike her so he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping an appropriate distance between them. He’d already found one reason: he’d expected her to be grateful he’d relented and taken her on as a client. Instead, she acted as if she’d made a big mistake in hiring him.

“Whose side are you on?” she asked.

“My own,” he said. “That’s the way it has to be.”

She didn’t say anything for nearly twenty minutes, wouldn’t even look at him. Finally, he broke the silence. “Is this going to continue, or are you ready to tell me what you know about how and why your father disappeared?”

She lowered the volume on the radio. “I owe you an apology,” she said stiffly. “I’ve been trying to formulate it for the past fifteen miles, but I’m not really myself right now. And I have no explanation for my poor behavior except—there’s a lot riding on this for me, you know?”

He didn’t want her to apologize. Then he couldn’t hold her comments against her. “Not the best apology I’ve ever received,” he said, although it’d sounded sincere.