The problem was, when they weren’t alone, and eyes were on them, he was forced to be far friendlier and there was not even a hint of distance. Rocky was just as friendly back. This was extremely bad because it always felt extremely good.
Now, he was taking her to Swank’s.
Swank’s was Jarrod Astley’s favorite restaurant in Indianapolis, intel Layne had learned from Merry’s e-mailed report of all things he knew about Astley. Apparently, Rocky took Astley there for his birthday every year and Astley took Rocky there to be seen in the exclusive hotspot as often as he liked which, even though you couldn’t get out of there without spending at least a hundred dollars a head, was often.
Layne had made time to swing by the restaurant so he could chat up the hostess. He found out promptly that she knew Dr. Astley. She also knew Dr. Astley had recently made a reservation, she knew the date and she knew the time and Layne convinced her to share that information with him. Then he made a reservation for two, half an hour after Astley was to get there, gave the hostess a fifty and asked her to make certain he was seated close to Astley. After he smiled at her, she promised he would be.
Layne learned from the intel on Astley that getting into his face made it even better he had a time-consuming case because that fifty he’d slipped the waitress was only the beginning. Astley made a lot of money, even more than Layne reckoned he did (and Layne knew this because he ran every search and report he could on the doc) and Astley wasn’t saving for a rainy day. He lived large. Swank’s was named that for a reason. The place was trendy and expensive and, the time Layne visited the hostess, packed. In Indy, it was the place to see and be seen.
Astley also came from money, he wasn’t the elite of the elite but he was from the upper class, albeit the middle upper class. He had a trust fund that he didn’t dip into much since he didn’t have to and he stood to inherit a whack, even sharing it with a brother and sister, when his mother eventually passed away
Taking his mind off Astley, Layne stood at the sink in his bathroom, shaved, slapped on aftershave and ran a comb through his hair. Then he went to the closet and pulled clothes off hangers.
Melody lived in LA and she worked retail, a fancy-ass store that, from what Layne had learned from Astley’s credit card statements, Jarrod Astley would cream his pants over. Melody liked dressing Layne and she got a great discount so whenever he saw her she always had bags of shit to give him. Even though he rarely wore the shit she bought, he didn’t throw it away but most of it had never touched his skin.
He put on a pair of slacks, shrugged on a shirt, buttoned it, grabbed the jacket off a hanger, went to his bedroom and pulled on his socks and boots. He shoved his wallet in the inside pocket of the jacket and shrugged that on as he walked downstairs.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rocky sitting at the island as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, tagging his keys and cell off the counter as he walked to the utility room door.
“Ready?” he asked, stopped, turned to her and froze.
“Yeah,” she replied, her back to him, she was moving, doing something, he didn’t know what, because he couldn’t force his mind to think.
Her back was bare. Completely. There were only thin black straps that curled over her shoulders and stopped at the back of her pits and her lower body was hidden by the island but what he could see of her back it was completely bare.
And her hair was down, down in a sleek, gleaming fall that went to beyond her shoulder blades but, with her movements, was now gliding around the skin of her back and shoulders. That skin disappeared when she pulled up a black coat and settled it on her shoulders. Turning to the island, with one hand she pulled the thick length of her hair free of her coat and with the other hand she grabbed a little, shiny, deep purple purse and a deep purple scarf in some slithery material. Then he heard her heels on the tiles, she rounded the island and he saw her from the front.
The black coat went to her knees but she hadn’t buttoned it and, as she moved, the coat went back and showed the entirety of the dress. The top front of the dress was straight above her breasts, the middle loose and partially draping, but at her hips and thighs the dress clung, as in clung. It was so formfitting it left nothing to the imagination. And it was short. It wasn’t short-short but it came to just below the tops of her thighs. Her long legs went forever under that skirt, they were bare but looked shiny in a sexy way and she was wearing purple, spike-heeled sandals with a fuckload of thin straps that were so damned sexy, just looking at those shoes made him start to get hard.
He tore his eyes from the shoes, made the grave mistake of trailing them up her body and seeing that dress again and then he saw her face. She was arranging the scarf around her neck and her makeup was smoky, in deep grays and purples, heavier than usual, just as perfect… and hot, especially with her hair falling around her face and shoulders.
She got close and even her perfume was stronger.
Fuck.
She stopped, her head down and twisting around as she settled her scarf around her neck, she finished with that, tipped her head back to look at him, tilted it to the side and said, “Ready.”
Yeah, she was ready. Fucking shit, it was going to be a long night.
He turned to the door, opened it and held it for her.
Her perfume assaulted him again as she walked through. He followed her, reaching high to grab the edge of garage door she opened and she preceded him through that as he bleeped the locks on his truck. Rocky headed to the passenger side, Layne followed. She climbed up and he saw more leg, her coat falling back as the skirt stretched to the danger zone and she settled in.
He slammed the door and rounded the hood forcing himself to think of kittens.
He got in, buckled in, hit the garage door opener, started the truck, backed out and hit the garage door opener again. They were out of the development and on the road toward Indy when she spoke.
“Went by the Station today,” she said.
“I know,” he replied.
“Rutledge and I are forming a bond,” she told him.
“Good,” he returned.
“While I was there, Drew caught me.”
Shit.
“Rocky –”
He heard the material of her coat slide against the seat as she turned to him.
“He wanted me to talk to you. He told me some weird stuff about the Youth Group at the Christian Church.”
“Roc –”
“It doesn’t sound good, Layne.”
“He told me the same thing and you’re right, he’s right, it doesn’t sound good. But we got enough on our plate.”
He heard the material slide again as she turned to look out the windshield.
“I’ve been hearing things at school too. I can’t say I’m surprised at what Drew shared.”
Layne made no response.
“I think –” she started.
He glanced at her then back at the road while speaking. “Sweetcheeks, I made a formal complaint about my kids’ football coach. They were at their Mom’s last week but breakfast conversation the week before included the fact that both my boys are bearing the consequences of that, not at games, he’s not that stupid, considering mine wasn’t the only complaint lodged and Gabby’s wasn’t the only other complaint lodged, but during practice.”
He heard her suck in breath but kept talking.
“I got a case that’s takin’ all my time so I haven’t been able to give any to whatever is goin’ down with Stew.”