“One of those nice-guy faults.”
“Must make it harder to be a cop.”
“Being honest?” He felt his mouth tip up even more. “Shouldn’t that make me a better cop?”
“Don’t you sometimes have to manipulate people?” she wanted to know.
“I prefer not to.”
“And it works not to?”
“I think I’m pretty damned good at it.”
“So then...when don’t you like it?”
“I didn’t say I don’t like it.”
“You said you like it most of the time. That means that sometimes you don’t.”
“Ha. Busted. The truth is, I really like the investigative end of things. It always fascinated me as a kid, to see how my dad got from point A to point B. But if I’m being really honest, until my dad was killed, I always thought I’d take after my uncle and become a firefighter.”
Sympathy softened her voice as she asked, “Why didn’t you?”
“You already know my story.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I don’t. We just met, remember?”
“Right. I forgot.”
“So. Tell me.”
“Not gonna let it go?”
“No.” She said it softly enough that he thought she might, if he pressed it.
He decided not to. She did know already anyway—she’d heard it from his partner, Brayden, during their previous run-in with Jesse Garibaldi—and sometimes it just felt good to say things aloud.
“Fifteen years ago, my father—a detective like me—was killed. Murdered via pipe bomb. Along with two other men. Those men’s sons, myself included, vowed to find out why, and we vowed to do it by the book.”
He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he felt Nadine’s warm grip on his forearm. “So you became a cop.”
He lifted his lids. “I did. We did.”
“What else?”
“Does there need to be more?” It wasn’t a bitter question, just a serious one.
“I guess there doesn’t have to be,” she conceded. “You’ve already said a lot for having just met me.”
“That’s way truer than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“The guys and I don’t typically share any of that info. Only a handful of people know about the case.”
“Well, then, I’m glad I inspire that kind of trust after knowing each other for five minutes.” She flashed him a smile that, if he didn’t know better, Anderson might’ve called saucy.
He fought a chuckle at the unexpected expression. “All right. It’s your turn.”
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Okay. Well. I’m Nadine Elise Stuart. Twenty-six. I like dogs.”
“Dogs?”
“Yes. And sunsets.”
“Okay...”
“Oh. And long walks on the beach, and—”
He cut her off with a groan. “Really?”
She blinked innocently at him. “What?”
“That’s the angle you’re going to take?”
“We just met. So I don’t want to give away too much too soon.”
The chuckle wouldn’t stay down this time. Anderson let it take over, rolling through his chest, up his throat, then out into the truck. It felt good. And it felt even better when Nadine joined in, her musical laugh mixing pleasantly with his, making it easy to forget the pressing issues at hand. As his mirth tapered off, though, his gaze slipped out the window just in time to catch sight of a navy sedan as it whipped by. Maybe it was the same one that had tried to run her down, maybe not. Either way, it was a sobering reminder that in spite of the light conversation, they were far from safe.
The slightly buoyant feeling in Nadine’s chest faded as they neared Whispering Woods Lodge. It was nestled into a man-made valley, its peaked, full log roof visible from the top of the very long block that led down to its enormous outdoor parking lot. And, usually, just that first glimpse of the rustically styled hotel made her want to go inside. Or it always had when she was a kid, anyway. She remembered how quickly it had been built. How everyone in town heralded Jesse Garibaldi as some kind of miracle worker. The man was still new in town then, his investments in tourism and infrastructure still a novelty. At ten years old, the awe of the town reinforced what Nadine already believed. Garibaldi’s power was endless. Then, it had impressed her. Now, it made her shiver.
“You all right?” Anderson’s warm voice cut through her worry.
“I’m okay,” she replied. “Just thinking about when this place opened fifteen years ago. My dad worked for Garibaldi, so we got a front-row seat. It was amazing. Inspiring and hopeful and...” She shrugged. “I was ten. So it was pretty cool.”
“It’s still pretty cool.”
“Except knowing what I do about Garibaldi makes it harder to enjoy it. Like it’s got a taint. Does that sound funny?”
Anderson’s mouth set into a line before he answered. “The man’s a murderer, Nadine. Everything he touches—or has touched—does have a taint.”
Does that include me?
The question sprang to mind unexpectedly, and she wasn’t able to dismiss it as easily as it had come. After all, Garibaldi had touched her life. He’d paid for her and her mother’s move from Whispering Woods to Freemont. He’d covered her many hospital expenses and the costs of her father’s funeral. Then he’d paid for her entire education. If the man’s taint extended to people, she was probably at the top of the list.
She opened her mouth—maybe to say something about it, maybe not, she wasn’t sure—but stopped as she realized Anderson had bypassed the main lot and was headed for the underground one.
“I don’t think we can park in there,” she said. “Staff and VIP guests only. Unless they’ve changed that.”
He turned a rueful smile her way. “Open the glove box.”
She did as he said, and when she flicked down the door, a laminated parking pass fell straight into her hands.
“Is it fake?”
“No.”
Anderson lifted up the pass and placed it on the windshield, then offered the attendant in the parking booth a wave as they drove through.
“See?” he said. “Perfectly legitimate.”
“Well, then...which one are you?” she asked.
“Which one?”
“Staff? Or suite?”
“Not staff,” he replied, his voice matching his still-rueful expression.
“You’re in a suite?”
“Trust me,” Anderson said as he pulled into a spot, “I didn’t book it that way. It was an accident.”
“Seriously?