The Love of a Stranger Page 9

  “Came to see some lawyers. Gonna do some work for ’em.”

  A slithery dread crawled up her spine. She stopped, snatched off her sunglasses and stared at him. “Who? What lawyers?”

  “Malcolm Henderson and Bob Culpepper. Heard of ’em? Their office is in the building you just came out of.”

  The slithery dread reached her brain and made her head ache. This couldn’t be real. “I’ve heard of them.”

  His warm hand landed on the small of her back and he practically pushed her up the street. “I imagine everybody has. They look like heavy hitters.”

  “What kind of work?”

  They reached the hole-in-the-wall café’s front door before he could answer. A cute young woman labeled BRANDI, who looked like she could be a college student, made eyes at him, then led them to a booth with red vinyl seats. As they slid in, Brandi handed them menus and blessed him with a dimpled smile.

  “That’s who you should be having lunch with,” Alex told him.

  “Unh-unh. I like older women.” He grinned.

  Alex rolled her eyes. She wouldn’t let herself be taken in by phony charm. Or won over.

  The cafe was crowded and noisy with loud voices and clattering dishes and the temperature was too warm, but it served good food. Many of Boise’s business people and the state employees and legislators ate here. He removed his jacket, neatly folded it across the back of the booth, then

  rolled up his cuffs.

  Damn him for being attractive in a maroon tie and denim shirt, though she almost thought she liked him better in a T-shirt and jeans. Well, scratch that outlandish opinion. She had no business liking him in any attire at all. “What kind of work?” she repeated when the hostess disappeared.

  “Little of this, little of that. They’ve got an armed robber on their hands—”

  “They do not. They don’t do criminals.” She couldn’t imagine a civil attorney of Bob Culpepper’s stature taking on a criminal case.

  “They do if they’re court appointed. And neither one of them knows a damn thing about career criminals.”

  “I can believe that much. Bob Culpepper is the most righteous law-and-order man I—” Oh, hell!

  His head cocked and he gave her a steely look with those silvery eyes. He did have the most interesting eyes—a pale gray color with an almost black ring around the iris. And lashes longer than some women’s. “I already figured out you’ve more than heard of them,” he said.

  “Well...sort of.”

  The smirky grin formed again and he kept looking at her. The waitress came and stood by expectantly, but Alex hadn’t made a choice. She had been too rattled in the stranger’s company to think about the menu. “Take his order first,” she said, studying the offerings. “And bring separate checks, please.”

  “Make that one check,” Doug said to the waitress, “and bring it to me.”

  He ordered the house special, a half-pound Grizzly Burger with all the trimmings, including a large order of fries and a milk shake. How could a man who ate like that stay so lean and trim? She ordered a tomato stuffed with tuna salad accompanied by a glass of water with lime.

  “Looking in your cupboards,” he said, “I wasn’t sure you ate.”

  Not intending to be obligated to him in any way, Alex fished her wallet out of her purse and laid it on the table. “I don’t want you buying my lunch.”

  “Hey, cool it. If I take a woman to lunch, I don’t expect, or want, her to pay.”

  “You aren’t taking me to lunch,” she reminded him.

  “Didn’t anybody ever teach you to be polite?” He chuckled,winked at her, then tapped his temple with his finger. “In my mind, I’m taking you to lunch, so just relax and humor me.”

  She made a little huff and began tearing her napkin into one-inch squares. “You didn’t answer my question. Exactly what does someone like you do for someone like Henderson and Culpepper and their bank robber?”

  “Not a bank. It was a convenience store. They think there are errors in the police report, but I’ll be surprised if they’re right. I’m looking into it. But mostly, I’m studying jurors. Jury consulting, they call it.”

  “And what qualifies you to do that?”

  Alex wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, knowing Bob Culpepper as she did. The meticulous attorney wouldn’t hire someone who wasn’t well qualified.”

  “A masters in psychology and fifteen years chasing misfits and outlaws.”

  Like an automated security system, all of Alex’s defenses flew into place and locked. Her high school diploma had come via GED. She had earned it attending night classes after she had worked a twelve-hour day in a restaurant and was too exhausted to function. And at the same time, she had taken care of a baby. She had educated herself further by reading everything she could lay her hands on, including complicated tomes on economics and finance, the understanding of which required her to keep a dictionary by her side as she read.

  She often dealt with customers and clients better educated than she, but that was different. They would never see her in any setting other than professional and vice versa. Today, a two-foot table wasn’t a wide enough barrier between herself and the too charming, overeducated man across from her. She added another rampart by sitting back and crossing her arms under her breasts.

  Years of feeling not quite good enough, not quite smart enough sent a sneer sneaking to her lips. “Well, aren’t you special?”

  His teasing eyes turned serious. She suspected a caustic comeback hung on the tip of his tongue and she waited for it, wished for it so she could grab her purse, slide out of this booth and breeze out the door in indignation.

  What came instead was, “When you’re a young guy with no money and no friends and a lot of time on your hands, one option is going to school.”

  She hadn’t expected to sense that he was honest and down-to-earth, though she should have. Ever since she had known Ted, she had heard about Doug Hawkins and how he grew up an orphan, with nothing but brains, talent and guts going for him. The man was one of Ted’s heroes. Ted even called him Superman. Now she felt guilty and bitchy, even thought for a second or two of apologizing for making such a catty remark. “Yes, I guess it would be.”

  He smiled and the room seemed brighter. For a man who had grown up poor, he certainly did have straight white teeth.

  The food came. He opened his burger, analyzed the contents, then rebuilt it.

  “I doubt it’s really made of grizzly meat,” she said without a hint of a grin.

  He grinned though and sliced the thick burger in half with his knife. “From what Ted says, you oughtta know. He told me you and your husband owned some restaurants.”

  She shrugged. One thing she wouldn’t do was reveal her shortcomings by discussing herself. “Ted told me something about you, too. He said you like to cook. That you know a lot about food.”

  She knew cooks. This stranger didn’t resemble any of them.

  “I like to eat,” he said. “So I had to learn to cook. And yeah, I know a little. Take hamburgers, for instance. The difference between a good and bad burger is fresh ingredients. Nothing but the freshest tomatoes. And crisp fresh lettuce. Because the heat from the meat wilts them and turns them to slop. And you always salt fries right out of the hot oil. How’s that?”

  She already knew everything he said. She had recipes on file for every kind of burger possible, had tried many of them, constantly upgrading the food served in Charlie Boy’s Old South Barbecue. She held back a grin. “I might hire you.”

  He grinned and continued to talk—about food, about eateries around Los Angeles. He told her he had eaten in Charlie Boy’s and that he liked the food. He even made some clever suggestions for improving it. She said little, didn’t tell him that in all likelihood Charlie Boy’s would soon be closing forever.

  By the time they finished eating, she found her mood had lifted. The waitress came with the check and handed it to Doug. Alex returned her wallet to her pur
se. She followed him to the cashier’s podium and while he paid, she dug out her sunglasses. “Since you insisted on paying, I guess you’re in luck,” she said as they headed for the door. “I ate something cheap.”

  Chapter 9

  Doug felt like a fullback on the losing team. All through lunch he had carried the ball and been beat to shit by the opposition. The cranky Miz McGregor hadn’t been rude. She had been...well, cranky. A sexy-looking curmudgeon. After she kicked him out of her house Friday night, he should have known better than to expect anything different.

  The temperature was warm, so as they strolled up the sidewalk, he hooked his jacket over his shoulder by his fingers.

  Her perfume drifted to him. Soft. Clean. The same fragrance he had smelled that day in Ted’s office. It reminded him of a soapy shower and conjured up an image in clear conflict with the prim shirt and pants she had on today. He liked being close enough to smell her perfume. “How many poor innocent guys have you sliced to ribbons with that tongue?”

  “I don’t know any poor innocent guys.”

  “How about me? What have I done?”

  “Humph. My guess is you’re the least innocent of all.”

  He made a mental sigh. She was a tough nut. Buying lunch didn’t seem to have bought much good will, not that he had expected to curry favor by doing it. He slapped a palm against his heart. “You hurt me.”

  Her head angled up, but her eyes were hidden by sunglasses. “Oh, please.”

  Okay, flirting wasn’t effective either.

  He had bought a Hershey’s bar at the café’s cash register, ever determined to put back on a few more of the pounds he had lost. Looking down at her with a mixture of frustration and amusement, he folded his jacket over his arm and unwrapped the candy. He remembered seeing chocolates in her fridge, so he broke the bar in the middle and handed her a half. “Here. This was cheap, too. Maybe it’ll make you sweeter.”

  Her lip twitched. Had she nearly smiled? She reached for the candy. They finished the block munching chocolate without talking. At the corner, he took the candy wrapper from her, wadded it up with his own and tossed it into a trash can. They had a block to go before reaching Culpepper’s office building, scarcely enough time for him to figure out how to reach the most complicated person he had met in a while. “Where you parked?”

  “In the underground near Bob’s office.”

  He might not be a gentleman, but he knew what was expected of one, so he caught her arm as they crossed the street. On the other side a manicured park butted up to the sidewalk. “Bob, huh? Sounds like you know Culpepper pretty well.”

  “I call him when I need a lawyer.”

  “Which, in your business, is pretty often, right? You could’ve said you knew him right up front.”

  She shrugged a shoulder.

  He searched for dialogue more personal. “Lemme guess. You’re one of those control freaks. You enjoyed having the upper hand by not telling me.”

  “You’re wasting your time practicing your psychology on me.”

  He refused to give up. Or maybe he was just too dumb to shut up. “So you sell commercial real estate in Los Angeles?”

  She nodded.

  “Ah, Los Angeles real estate,” he said. “The golden fleece, I call it.”

  “Not as expensive as San Francisco.”

  “Culpepper looks like a high-roller to me. I’ll bet you know a shit-load of people like him.”

  “I wouldn’t classify Bob a high-roller. He’s very conservative.”

  It was Doug’s turn to shrug. He had no argument since he had come to the same conclusion. “I was surprised to run into you today. I saw your suitcase at your house. I thought you were leaving for California.”

  “I have left. But I’m sidetracked by a real estate deal here.”

  Holy cow, persistence had paid off. She had answered a question. “Oh, yeah? Big bucks?”

  She huffed. “Big enough to make me spend the night in Boise.”

  Amazed she had actually told him something of substance, even if it was very little, he pushed on. “Millions?”

  She snorted a laugh and adjusted her sunglasses. “It’s in Marsing. And that ain’t Los Angeles.”

  Inside joke, he figured. He didn’t get it entirely because he didn’t know a lot about the esoteric world of commercial real estate. Marsing, wherever it was, was probably small and rural. What he did know was she hadn’t achieved success in sales by being an asshole all the time. Did sharing a joke with him mean her attitude toward him was softening? Maybe so. Things were looking up.“Yeah. Thank God for that.”

  He nudged her arm and directed her into the park. She didn’t seem to mind being diverted. They ambled along a shaded, meandering sidewalk beside a river. “That river have a name?” he asked.

  “Boise.”

  “Boise River. Hunh. Big surprise.”

  She shifted her bag to the opposite shoulder. He gave her a sidelong look and saw again her injured hands and fingers and remembered the vulnerable woman he had sat down beside on a smoky hillside just six days earlier. “So how you doing in the aftermath?”

  “Better,” she said, looking straight ahead.

  She knew exactly what was in his mind and what he was asking, he thought with satisfaction. He had sensed all along they connected, even through the barriers and smoke screens she kept throwing up. “Got a report from the sheriff yet?”

  She shook her head.

  Why not, Doug wanted to ask. And he wanted to ask about the autopsy, but reminded himself he was a civilian and none of it was his business.

  For all his curiosity about the fire, he had even more questions about her. That was the only explanation he had for hanging out nearly an hour outside Culpepper’s building waiting for her. “Hard thing, losing somebody you lived with a long time, even if you did split up. Must be sort of like losing a card out of your deck.”

  “Sort of, I guess. I knew him since I was born.”

  Ted’s words flew into Doug’s memory: …She tries to be tough, but I know ol’ Charlie frying in that cabin tore her up inside…“Grew up together, huh?”

  She nodded. “We escaped Arkansas together when we were still kids. Unfortunately, he was a disaster waiting to happen, but neither of us knew it then.”

  Half a dozen ducks waddled up beside them and she stopped, watching them as they crossed the sidewalk in front of them. “They’re so busy. They seem to know where they’re going.” Doug detected a wistful note in her voice. She looked up at him and he wished he could see her eyes. “When Charlie was eighteen, he worked as a day laborer in the daytime, then as a busboy at night to keep a roof—”

  Laughter from a few feet away interrupted. It came from a young couple lazing on a blanket under a tree. To Doug’s regret, their mirth had destroyed a poignant moment with Alex. Trying to get the conversation back on track, he said, “Where’d he go wrong?”

  “He was chased by demons even as a little boy. They caught up with him. When you’re in the bar and restaurant business, you encounter many tests of judgment and morality. He failed most of them.”

  The need to talk about her ex-husband must have been strong and who better to talk to than Doug Hawkins? He had history in the bar business. He had seen a countless number of such failures like Charles McGregor in his brother’s tavern. As a cop, he had investigated their crimes. “What was it? Booze? Drugs?”

  “Do you believe people are born doomed?”

  Doug had certainly seen circumstances that made him wonder. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Charlie was born doomed. Both his parents were alcoholics. I didn’t know that was what you called it when we were kids. I just thought they drank a lot. I came to realize it later, after I learned more about alcoholism.”

  “Hard battle to fight. A person probably can’t do it alone.”

  Her mouth turned down into a grim smile. “Hard. No one can imagine how hard life was for Charlie when we were growing up. Besides bein
g a drunk, his dad had a violent temper. I used to bathe and bandage Charlie’s cuts and bruises after...I remember once—I can’t remember the year, but I must have been nine or ten—Charlie’s dad beat him up so bad. I stood on his parents’ porch and screamed through the screen door. ‘You leave him alone,’ I said, as if it would make a difference.”

  A rush of admiration coursed through Doug. She had been a fighter, even as a little kid. “And did he? Leave him alone?”

  She slipped a little finger beneath her sunglasses lens, wiping a tear, Doug was certain. She had a heart after all.

  “Actually, that particular time, he turned on me. When he did, Charlie got free and the two of us ran away, down to the river. We hid out the rest of the day, until we were sure his dad had passed out.”

  “Is that what you always did? Ran away?”

  “Good Lord.” She stopped and dug into her purse, removed a tissue and wiped beneath her sunglasses. “I apologize. I don’t know where all of that came from.”

  He didn’t want her to apologize. He wanted her to keep talking. He wanted to pull her close, but didn’t dare. So he looped an arm around her shoulder, “Don’t apologize. I like hearing people’s stories.”

  She shrugged his arm away. “Well, you wouldn’t like mine.”

  “So Charlie was chased by demons. What were you doing while he ran from them?”

  “Surviving. I was the lucky one. They weren’t after me.”

  He didn’t’ have to hear the words to know her childhood had been no fairytale either, but demons hadn’t chased her. She hadn’t allowed it. She would have turned and faced them and whipped their asses.

  Demons had never chased Doug Hawkins either for the same reason. Some arcane force he had never understood had sheltered him from the booze sold in his brother’s bar and the drugs that weren’t sold openly, but were available anyway. The woman beside him possessed the same gut-level strength as he. Amazing how much he had in common with her. He wanted the chance to tell her. “So how long you gonna be in California?”

  “I don’t know. A week. Maybe two.”