I find Hurley sitting at a table in a back corner. He waves to me when I enter and I meander my way through the crowd of people standing around the bar. When I get to the table, he stands and pulls out a chair for me. I catch a faint whiff of some exotic scent emanating from him and my hormones kick up a notch.
“Thanks for the invite,” I say.
He settles back into his own chair and motions at a barmaid. “Wait until you hear what I have to tell you before you thank me,” he warns, his expression taut.
He takes a swig of his Samuel Adams as the barmaid arrives to take my order. I settle on a Miller Lite on tap and the second the barmaid turns away I lean toward Hurley.
“What is it?” I ask.
“We found Erik Tolliver’s gun.”
He just drops it out there, like a bomb, with no further explanation. Judging from his earlier warning, I’m guessing that the circumstances surrounding this find won’t bode well for Erik.
“Where?”
“It was tucked in between some sheets in a linen cabinet in the radiology department at the hospital. One of the techs found it this evening when she was rotating the linens.”
“Fingerprints?” I ask.
Hurley shakes his head. “It was wiped clean. But that reminds me. We got the fingerprint evidence back from Madison and several of the prints we collected in the house belonged to Erik.”
“Of course they did. He lived there for a long time so I’d expect to find some of his prints. Were any of them found in blood, or in the mess in the kitchen?”
“No,” Hurley admits.
The barmaid brings my beer and I take a swig to avoid looking at Hurley, knowing my disappointment is probably showing on my face. “Have you done any ballistics yet?” I ask, grasping at straws.
“No, but given where we found it . . .” He lets the thought hang there, knowing I’m smart enough to come to the obvious conclusion. Then he further depresses me by adding, “I did some follow-up this evening on those women whose names you gave me and their alibis check out. So if you’re right about Erik, we have no suspects at all. I think it’s time to admit defeat.”
“I’ll wait for the ballistics report.”
Hurley smiles. “You are a stubborn woman, Winston.”
“It’s not stubbornness, Hurley, it’s my gut. I consider myself a pretty good judge of character and I truly don’t think Erik Tolliver could have done this.”
“Despite all the evidence?”
“It’s circumstantial, just like it was with David.”
An awkward silence stretches between us. When Karen Owenby was murdered, the primary suspect, at least in Hurley’s eyes, was my husband, David. But despite my anger and disappointment with David over his affair, I couldn’t make myself believe he was a killer, despite some pretty damning evidence. Hurley and I butted heads then much as we are now. That time, I prevailed, but I have to confess that this time I’m a little less sure. I know Erik fairly well, but not nearly as well as I know David. And despite what I just said to Hurley about my gut, I’m clearly not as astute as I might think, given that David managed to carry on an affair for a long while without my knowledge.
Hoping to lighten the mood and keep my hasty leg shaving from being a total waste of time, I challenge Hurley to a game of darts. But my heart isn’t in it tonight and he beats me handily. With my beer now gone, I tell Hurley I’m going to call it a night.
“Okay,” he says, draining the last of his second beer. “I’ll walk you out.”
He gathers both of our coats from our table and holds mine for me while I put it on. As he settles the coat around me, his hands gently grip my shoulders and linger there for a second longer than necessary. I stand frozen to the spot, afraid to move and afraid not to move, until his hands finally drop away. My face feels like it’s about one foot away from a blast furnace so I keep my eyes focused ahead, worried that if I look at Hurley the raw emotions I feel will be apparent from the color in my cheeks.
The cool night air seems to help some but I still avoid looking at Hurley until I get to my car. As he looks at the vehicle, a smile crosses his face. “How’s it driving?” he asks.
“So far, so good. The engine seems to run well and the seating is pretty comfy. The lingering aroma of formaldehyde is a bit of a bummer but my niece now thinks I’m a truly rocking aunt and wants to know if I’ll give her and her friends a ride in it with them lying down in the back.”
Hurley chuckles. “So are you going to buy it?”
“I don’t have much choice. It’s the only thing I can afford right now.” I pause and look up into Hurley’s baby blues. There’s a twinkle there, but I also see a hint of something else, something hot and smoldering that makes me squirm in a deliciously uncomfortable way. Something impulsive comes over me and before I can think about it, I lean up and kiss him on the cheek. His skin is warm and spicy smelling, and the bristles from his five-o’clock shadow make my lips thrum.
“Thanks for helping me find it,” I stammer as I step back.
When I look at his face I see that his smile is gone. Embarrassed by my boldness, I start to apologize but all I can do is stammer.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t want to . . . I just . . .”
Any further attempts to explain myself are cut off when Hurley takes my shoulders and pulls me close. Our faces are only inches apart and since I haven’t bothered to zip up my coat, I can feel his chest against my breasts. I’m close enough to be in touch with several of his other anatomical parts, too, and I’m pretty sure that’s not a nightstick I’m feeling. My nipples harden into exquisite little bumps and I have to fight an urge to grind my pelvis against him.
“No apology necessary,” he says, his voice thick and husky. “I rather liked it.” His face lowers and our lips touch in a gentle spark that quickly explodes into a raging fire. He pulls me into him and my entire body comes exquisitely alive with wondrous sensations everywhere it’s touching his. When his tongue probes its way between my lips, I part them willingly, ready to share every inch of myself. My hormones start flaring like sunspots, and just as I’m about to bodily toss my stud into the back of the hearse and do my best imitation of a kinky cowgirl, I hear a familiar male voice behind me.
“Well, well, isn’t this interesting?”
Hurley pulls away from me and it’s all I can do not to grab him back, wrap my legs around his waist, and rein his lips back into submission. But my ardor dies a quick death when I see the source of the voice: Luke Nelson.
Hurley looks embarrassed; his face is beet red and the front of his jeans make it obvious he was enjoying what we were doing. As was I, and I’m pretty pissed off at Nelson for interrupting.
“So are you two always a team?” Nelson asks, smiling at the two of us. “It makes sense, of course, given your jobs and all. I’m sure you share a lot of interests in common.” He pauses and adopts an exaggerated expression of worry. “Though I’m thinking it might make for some conflict-of-interest issues, eh?”
Hurley’s eyes narrow, as does the tent in his pants. “What do you mean?” he asks. “What conflict of interest?”
Nelson shrugs, his smile back in place. “Well, it seems that your respective investigations would require a certain level of objectivity,” he says. “You two didn’t look very objective just now.”
Hurley’s eyes narrow down to a dangerous glint. He says nothing but the look he’s giving Nelson communicates volumes. I imagine the average person would feel rather intimidated—I do, and he’s not even looking at me. But Nelson is no average person.
He stares Hurley down for several seconds and then shrugs again. “You two have a nice night,” he says, and then he turns and heads into the bar.