The fact was I’d have to be more careful for the foreseeable future — at least until someone else caught Mab Monroe’s interest.
——
Two weeks after the incident at the mine, I perched on my stool at the Pork Pit reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. Fletcher’s copy of Where the Red Fern Grows adorned the wall beside the cash register, of course, but it had been joined by something new — the picture of him and Warren T. Fox. I think Fletcher would have liked having it in the restaurant.
It was a Monday night again and quiet except for my two customers — Eva Grayson and Violet Fox. The two college girls sat at the counter, slurping down chocolate milkshakes and studying. Their books covered a good portion of the countertop. Eva and Violet had started coming into the Pork Pit at least once a week when they had an hour or two to kill between classes. Sometimes, Cassidy, Eva’s other friend, joined them. But more often than not it was just the two girls.
“So when are you going to go out with my big brother?”
Eva said, pushing aside her empty milkshake glass.
I looked up from my book. “Why do you ask?”
Eva stared at me. “Because every time I mention I’ve been in here, he asks me how you are, Gin. Why don’t you give the poor guy a break?”
I raised my eyebrow. “If your big brother wants to ask me out, he can come down here and do it himself, instead of getting his little sister to plead his case to me.”
Eva waved her hand. “I’m just filling you in on Owen’s good qualities. Not pleading his case.”
“What was it you told me you were majoring in again?”
“Marketing,” Eva replied with a grin.
“I rest my case.”
Violet just laughed and took another swig of her own milkshake.
The front door opened, causing the bell to chime. I looked up, ready to greet a potential customer.
And he walked into the restaurant.
Detective Donovan Caine. Black hair, golden eyes, bronze skin. The Hispanic detective looked the same as I remembered, except for the lines on his face. For once, they seemed to have smoothed out, as though some great weight had been lifted off his lean shoulders. As though he’d made some decision that had finally brought him a measure of peace. I wondered what it could be, but I had a funny feeling it had something to do with me. Maybe everything to do with me.
The detective came over and rested his hands on the counter. Hands that had done such wonderful things to my body. “Gin.”
“Detective.”
“Can we talk?” he asked in a low voice.
I hadn’t seen the detective since that afternoon I’d waved to him from the ridge, and he hadn’t made any effort to contact me. People always talked about the stages of grief you went through when something traumatic happened. Hah. I’d pretty much moved from hurt to just plain pissed, with no stops in between. Still, I was curious as to why Donovan had come, what he wanted to say to me now, two weeks too late. Fucking curiosity. Just wouldn’t let me be.
“Sure. Let’s chat.” I turned my gray eyes to Violet and Eva. “Why don’t you girls go in the back for a few minutes and convince Sophia to make you some fresh milkshakes? On the house.”
Violet shrugged and walked around the far end of the counter. Eva Grayson studied Donovan Caine with open interest. She sniffed, clearly telling me she didn’t think the detective had anything on her big brother. Then she folowed Violet.
I waited until the two college girls had disappeared through the swinging doors and were out of earshot before I looked back at the detective. “I saw you on TV at the coal mine. Looked like you had your hands full recovering Tobias Dawson’s body.”
The detective nodded. “I did. But Owen Grayson was a tremendous help with that. So were all the other emergency and disaster workers.”
We could have been talking about the weather for as interesting as the conversation was. But the detective’s hands gripped the edge of the counter like he wanted to break it off. He was upset about something. I had no idea what it could be. Because he was the one who’d turned his back on me that day at the mine, not the other way around. So I decided to get to the heart of the matter.
“Why did you come here, Donovan?” I asked. “What do you want?”
The detective stared at me, his golden eyes tracing over my face. “I’m leaving Ashland, Gin. I thought you should know. I thought I should tell you in person.”
For a moment I was stunned. Simply stunned. Of all the things he could have said, I wasn’t expecting that — and the emotions it stirred up in me. Hurt. Anger. Sadness.
“You’re leaving town? Why?”
Donovan ran his hands through his black hair. “A lot of reasons. Too many to get into right now.”
“Well, let’s get into the only one that matters, the real reason you’re here. Me,” I snapped. “You’re leaving town because of me, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.” The detective tried to smile. It didn’t come off very well.
“Why?” I asked. “You turned your back on me at the mine that day. I got the message. For some reason, you don’t want to have anything to do with me. Not anymore. You don’t have to leave town to accomplish that, detective. I’m not the sort who runs after a man, begging him not to leave her.”
My voice dripped with acid. So did my heart, but I kept my face calm, cold, remote. I wasn’t going to let Donovan Caine know how much he’d hurt me that day — how much he was hurting me now. I’d thought we could have something together, a real relationship. That maybe Donovan was someone I could share my heart and life with, dark though they were. But that hope had burned up and crumbled to ash, like so many other things in my life. Hope. A wasted emotion, more often than not.
“I came here to explain,” Donovan said in a low voice.
“Can you please just let me do that?”
“Fine,” I snarled. “Explain.”
Donovan drew in a deep breath. “I’ve thought about you every day, Gin. Ever since that first night we met at the orchestra house. The night Gordon Giles was murdered. I’ve replayed that scene over and over in my head. And not just that one. That night at Northern Aggression. The time we spent together at the country club. Then, in my car a few weeks ago. That night in the rain. I can’t get you out of my head. Your voice, your smell, your laugh, the way you feel against me.”
“Why is that a bad thing?” I asked. “We’re attracted to each other. That’s what people do when they’re attracted to each other.”
Donovan stared at me. “It’s a bad thing because of who you are and what you used to do.”
I’d expected the words, but they still stung. I sighed.
“If this is still about Cliff Ingles—”
He shook his head. “It’s not about Cliff, not anymore. I know why you killed him. Like I told you before, I might have done it myself, if I’d had the chance. No, this is about me.”
I just looked at him.
Donovan drew in a breath. “Do you know why I didn’t come see about you at the mine?”
“Not really.”
“After that night we were together on my car, I felt like maybe there could be something between us,” he said in a low voice. “But then you said you were going after Tobias Dawson. To kill him. And I let you. I let you. I just stood by in the background while you went after another man — to murder him. I did the very thing I’d always sworn not to do — I looked the other way. Not because Dawson was a bad guy, but because of you. I compromised myself because of you, Gin, and what I feel for you.”