Pam snorted a laugh at her formal tone. Torie shushed her, trying to listen.
“Torie, I don’t know how I can ever apologize enough. I’d…I’d like it if you continued to stay here. I want to know you’re safe. I’d be, well, devastated if something happened to you.”
“Devastated? That’s interesting. Wow.” She put a note of derision in her answer. “Somehow I don’t feel welcome anymore, Paul. I’ll pick up my things. Pam’s booked me a room at the Marriott.”
“Which one?”
She told him and could hear him fumble for a pencil to jot it down. “I left a pen on the counter by the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Do you know the room number yet?”
“No.”
He sighed, and sounded sad, tired. “I’ll be here, Torie. Waiting for you. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
When she hung up, she didn’t know what to say.
“That was long and involved.” Pam’s neutral comment puzzled her more. After all these years, she was far more used to Pam dishing dirt on Paul, and heaping coals on the fire of Torie’s peevishness with him. Instead, she was silent.
“Yeah. He’s full of apologies.” It puzzled her.
“You gonna forgive him?”
Torie couldn’t believe her ears. “What? After what he said? Jeez, Pam, he practically called me a whore.”
“But he didn’t, did he?”
“No.”
“Never mind,” Pam said in one of her lightning changes of subject. “Let’s go shopping.”
“I’m not getting a dress.”
“Yes, you are. If nothing else, you’ll need it for the Spring Fling for the Chamber, and you literally have nothing you can wear. So shut up and let’s shop.”
By the time they got to Paul’s house, a little after eight, they’d found four dresses. Pam had insisted she buy all four, take them back to the hotel, and think about them.
“All right, all right. I’ll do it,” she said, finally giving in.
“Good. That black dress will be perfect with the shoes we bought.” She grinned at Torie. “I like being your personal shopper.”
“Yeah. Well, you gotta help me the way you’re helping Carlos. Hopefully, I’ll be able to go back to work on Monday, which means I’ll have less time to get both houses up and running.”
“I should start charging for this,” Pam said, joking. “Help people manage all this kind of stuff.”
“Yeah, you should,” Torie said, totally serious. “You’d be perfect at it.”
They rang the bell and Paul answered immediately, hurrying them inside.
“You don’t want to be standing out on the porch when someone’s trying to shoot you.”
“Oh. No. I guess not.” Now that she was with him again, in his house, she didn’t know what to do with herself. “I’ll get my things.”
“Let me help you,” Paul offered.
“That’s okay.”
He followed her anyway, after telling Pam to make herself at home.
“I know you need to do this, Torie. I don’t blame you.”
“Blame me? I should hope not.” Torie struggled to find the anger and hurt she’d felt the night before. Instead, she found nothing. She smoothed the covers on the bed, thinking briefly about their incredible lovemaking.
“Torie?”
“I need to get out of here,” she mumbled.
“You didn’t really get a chance to unpack.”
She busied herself tossing the few things she’d set out into the suitcases, stacking the cases together to roll them out.
“Please,” he said, blocking her path.
When she looked up at him, his eyes were dark, unfathomable. “Please,” he repeated. “Don’t do this because I was stupid. I know sorry doesn’t cut it, as you said. I blew it. But don’t put yourself in the line of fire, Torie. Please.”
Damn the man. Why did he have to sound so sincere? So worried about her. Not about his reputation, not about the police, but about her.
If you’d have asked her a month ago who would stand by her, Tristan or Paul, she would have said Tristan. How wrong she’d have been.
“I need to do this, Paul. I’ve been reeling since Todd was killed. I’ve let myself be blown from here to there by everything that’s happened. I have to find my center, find me again.” And why the hell was she explaining it to him?
Because he’d stood by her.
Because he’d apologized.
Because he was so obviously miserable.
She ignored the little voice in her head and put her hand on his outstretched arm, the one blocking the way.
“I need to go.”
He moved aside and let her roll the suitcases past.
“Torie?”
“Yes?”
“Will you dance with me?”
“He asked you to dance?”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Pam demanded as they rolled her luggage to the room.
“I guess it means he wants to dance with me at the partner’s dinner.”
“Duh, yeah. But what else does it mean?”
“For heaven’s sake, Pam, I have no idea. I mean, he’s all sexy and serious, and he’s asking me to save him a dance. How the hell…” She caught sight of Pam’s face. “What?”
“You said he was sexy,” she said, sounding stunned.
“So?” It took Torie three tries to get the door open.
“So,” Pam said, shutting the door behind them, going to hang the dresses. “I’ve never heard you call him sexy before.”
“Cripes, Pam, I slept with him.”
“I know, but you didn’t say it was good. You didn’t call him sexy, you didn’t say anything about it.”
“Well, it’s not like I go around detailing my love life.”
“Ha!” Pam laughed. “Like you have one. So, I got a question for ya…”
“Open those Cokes and pour me one before you start asking your probing questions.”
“’kay.”
“What’s the question?”
“‘Do ya love him, Loretta?’”
The movie line, from Moonstruck, had never failed to make her laugh. This time, however, it hit Torie like a fist to the solar plexus. She sat down on the coffee table, feeling as if the wind had escaped her and she couldn’t draw breath.
“Torie? Torie?” Pam hurried over, crouched down. “What is it?”
“Oh, my God, Pammie,” she managed. She felt like she’d been socked in the gut.
When Paul’s phone rang, he ignored it the first time. Then thinking it might be Torie, he raced to get it. Sometime in the night, and throughout the day he’d realized the impossible. The improbable.
Not only was he in love with Torie, he had been since his sophomore year in college.
No wonder he had indigestion.
When he checked the caller ID, it was Tibbet.
“Hey, you called?”
“Yeah. We’re watching your house. Thought you should know.”
“Thanks. Torie’s not here.”
“What? Where is she?”
Paul hesitated. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll text that to you. Try and keep it private. There’s someone on watch for her, too.”
Tibbet grunted. “Yeah. I get it.”
“So, what now?”
“Nothing. Go on to bed, get up, go to work, just like the rest of us slobs,” he said, and Paul could hear the ironic twist in his voice. “But if you hear anything, don’t be a hero, okay? Call nine-one-one. Call me. You got it?”
“Got it.”
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“What’s up with you and Pratt Jr.?”
“We’ve never liked each other. Even in college. We used to call him Weaselboy because he always acted like one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Off the record?”
“Off.”
“He was a slinky, sneaky, slimy snitch.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” Tibbet drawled, making Paul laugh. “He’s got Pratt Sr. fooled.”
“I don’t think so. Senior’s not easily fooled, even by his kith and kin. Melvin’s not that sly as to fool the old man.”
“You’d be surprised how blind a father can be,” Tibbet said, adding, “especially when it comes to the eldest son.”