The Girl Most Likely To... Page 7

  “What took you? If you were any slower, you’d have found me in cube form.”

  “Sorry…tough weekend,” Dana said, reaching into her jacket pocket for her keys.

  “Party too hard in Chicago?”

  Funny how the word Chicago now summoned the image of Cal instead of a city. She lowered her head and briefly closed her eyes as she tried to push away the delicious memory of how it felt to have him over her…inside her. Her hand shook as she fumbled for her keys.

  “Chicago was okay.” Her words were both a lie and a compromise. Chicago had been magnificent and horrible, and never to be repeated. She wasn’t ready to deal with someone as intense or as high profile as Cal. As she unlocked the door, she mentioned the one weekend event she could discuss with Trish. “The real trouble started with a break-in here.”

  “You’re kidding,” Trish gasped as she followed her in. “What would anybody want to steal from the salon?”

  “My sense of security, mostly.” She showed Trish the stained floor and assured her that Aphrodite’s Haven, Trish’s newly renovated room, hadn’t been touched, which was another reason Dana knew the vandalism was a very personal message. “I had to drive to Muskegon yesterday to pick up enough shampoo and color products to last me until my regular order comes in.”

  “Jeez! Any idea who did it?”

  “The police are on it, but my money’s on my ex, even if he manages to skate,” Dana said as they hung up their coats.

  “Mike?” Trish pondered the possibility, twirling a red corkscrew curl around one finger. “Makes sense, in a pathetic sort of way.” She stopped, her eyes wide with alarm. “Not that I mean that you were pathetic for marrying him, or anything.”

  Dana had to smile at Trish’s energetic backpedaling. “No insult taken. Besides, he was still a rat-in-training when I married him.” Or maybe she hadn’t been as adept at identifying the scent of a rat as she should have been.

  She switched on the computer and waited for it to warm up. It had been acting a bit out of sorts lately. “Anyway,” she added, “I hereby declare this a Mike-free zone. No mention of the man.”

  “No problemo,” Trish replied.

  Dana waited for the welcome screen to appear on the computer. Still nothing. She searched for visible signs of damage, but everything looked as it always had—about five years out of date.

  “Come on, you beast,” she urged. “Don’t fail me now.”

  But it did. Using the Voodoo Theory of Computer Repair, she switched the unit off and gave it the evil eye.

  “I’ll be back in three minutes and you’d better work then,” she threatened.

  The computer didn’t appear particularly impressed.

  Dana opened the reception desk’s drawer, searching for the appointment book that served as backup for the computer. She found nothing but a few bits of balled-up foil from long-eaten chocolate kisses. Groaning, she recalled that she’d taken the book with her to Muskegon yesterday to make sure she picked up the right colors and brands for this week’s clients. Unless the computer awoke, she’d be running home to retrieve the book from her kitchen.

  Dana could hear Trish stirring about in the back room.

  “I’ve got Mrs. Marshall coming in at nine-thirty for a makeover,” Trish called. “Rumor has it she fell asleep on the beach in Cancun wearing her sunglasses but no sunblock. Major raccoon face. Could you keep an eye on the door? I need to get my chi flowing before she comes.”

  “Sure,” Dana answered, wondering what, exactly, livewire Trish did to get her chi flowing, then deciding she didn’t want to know. She checked her watch. One minute until the moment of computer truth.

  Thirty seconds early, she tried to wake up the sleeping beast…to no avail.

  “This is what I get for not waiting the prescribed voodoo interval,” she muttered. “Thirty rotten seconds and I end up under the desk.” She stretched out flat on her back and traced the power line from the outlet to the back of the computer to see if it hadn’t become loosened in the mayhem committed by her ex. It seemed tight enough. Cursing her snug red pants and the heels on the Ferragamo pumps Hallie had bought, worn once, then generously given to her, she wriggled farther under the desk to check the line between the CPU and the monitor. She was thus entangled when the bells over the front door rang.

  “Is that you, Mrs. Marshall?” she called. “Trish will be with you in just a minute. Hang up your coat and feel free to change into a smock if you’d like. They’re right there on the hooks by the door.”

  “They’re not my style,” replied a voice that resonated in a register far below Mrs. Marshall’s soprano range.

  Dana sat upright out of sheer instinct. The yelp that shot from her mouth when she bumped her head was instinctual, too. After giving her stinging scalp a quick rub, she worked her way from beneath the desk and stood.

  What was it about a guy in uniform that made a woman’s heart beat faster? Dana’s drummed a full-tilt boogie. Of course, she possessed the mixed burden and gift of knowing the hard, muscled perfection that lay beneath this particular navy blue garb.

  “Guys tend to avoid clothes with names like ‘smock,”’ Cal said while rubbing the garment’s silky black fabric between his thumb and index finger. “It’s tough to be macho when wearing one of these,” he continued, giving her a slow curve of his mouth.

  Since macho and Cal fell under the same definition in the dictionary, Dana decided his comment was an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. While it was a nice try, his effort didn’t reduce the general feeling of edginess, embarrassment and hunger that seeing him created.

  “We need to talk,” he said, his voice now all business.

  Talk. She was fairly certain she could talk. She also knew that talk was much safer for her hurting heart than any of the other activities still dancing in her mind. “I take it you had a visit with Mike?”

  He nodded. “I tried to call you yesterday.”

  “I quit answering the phone. I’ve reached my bad news quota for the week.”

  “He has an alibi…a woman.”

  “No shock there. Did it occur to you that she might be lying for him?”

  “It checks out.” Cal frowned as though he were steeling himself to swallow some really bad medicine. “I’m going to ask you a question and you have to promise not to go for my throat.”

  She looked at the location mentioned. It was strong and, as she recalled, tasted slightly salty. She also remembered that he believed she was still Down ’n Dirty Dana, a reputation she’d fought long and hard to escape.

  God knew that at the peak of her wildness, she’d fooled around with plenty of guys and had experimented with things she wouldn’t dream of touching now. And since she wasn’t exactly guilt-free when it came to her past, she let a lot of the lingering talk in town bounce right off. With Cal, it was different. For better or worse, his opinion of her mattered. She needed him to see that she’d grown up, that she’d truly changed. The thought of further intimacy with him still scared her to death, but she needed his respect. Unable to meet his eyes, she looked at the tips of her shoes. They were almost due for a polish.

  “Ah, Dana?”

  “I’m listening.” Just not looking…it hurt too much.

  “Mike mentioned someone named Jimmy DeGuilio. He said you two were involved, and that you’ve had some problems.”

  That gained her undivided attention. “So you want to know if Jimmy is one of my legion of lovers?”

  It was Cal’s turn to look away briefly. “Are you having problems with him?”

  She wasn’t surprised that Mike had dragged Jimmy’s name into this. He’d always been jealous of the relationship they’d had. “Jimmy might be my boyfriend if I were a Dan instead of a Dana.” At Cal’s blank look, she spelled it out. “He’s gay. Jimmy’s a friend from the salon where I worked, back in Chicago. He took a job in New York City to be closer to his boyfriend, so we haven’t been in touch lately. And he’s definitely no threat.” She paused.
“I have to say, if you’re following up Mike’s leads, I’m worried about your objectivity.”

  “I’m following up all leads,” he replied with a quiet conviction she wanted to accept. “The state lab has the information they need to look for fingerprint matches, but this case is low priority.”

  Dana gestured around her. “And this place is all I have.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to trivialize what you’re dealing with. You just need to know where you stand.”

  “I know where I stand. I’m being evicted, the floor of my salon looks like a murder scene, my stupid computer won’t work and I’m stuck with a cop who hates me in charge of my case.”

  He gave her an appraising look.

  “Do you have something to say?” she demanded.

  He shook his head. “Nothing worth losing my life over. I’ll have someone from the department contact you once we know more.”

  He turned to leave.

  Dana felt something really close to guilt over her behavior. Granted, her life was a total mess. Her one-year plan for Sandy Bend spa domination now looked more like a ten-year plan. Plus, Mike might have had something going with that PMS comment, but she didn’t need to be quite so snarky.

  “Cal, I’m sorry,” she heard herself blurting.

  He looked back at her. His blue eyes held something that looked like a blend of regret and humor. Dana found herself riveted by the sight.

  “You know I don’t hate you,” he said. “Much as it would make my life easier, I just can’t do it.”

  And she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Far from it, in fact. She knew that the desire she regrettably felt was plain on her face. She couldn’t hide it, any more than she could look away from the spark kindling in Cal.

  The front bells chimed. If they hadn’t, Dana wasn’t sure how long they would have stood there, drawn by this hot, invisible pull. She looked away and busied herself smoothing the hem of her white, belly button-baring T-shirt.

  “Hey, big bro,” Hallie said as she strode into the salon. She unbuttoned the bright green wool cloak that was as close to a conventional coat as unconventional Hallie would wear. “Business or pleasure?”

  “Business,” Dana and Cal replied in unison. Dana suspected it was the only thing they’d ever agree on in their lives. She also flat-out knew they were both thinking of certain pleasures they had shared on the fifteenth floor of the Almont Hotel.

  “Bummer. I had such high hopes for the two of you. You sure you won’t try a date or something just to humor me?”

  It was the unforgettable “or something” that still held Dana in its thrall, enough so that she was almost willing to forgive Cal for believing the worst about her.

  “Shouldn’t you be home watching Steve?” Cal suggested. “He’s recuperating, right?”

  Hallie shrugged. “What’s to watch? He’s had his breakfast and now he’s glued to the Food Network. Funny, since I’ve never been able to get him to do any more than throw some burgers on the grill. He does have his compensating talents, though,” she said with a very content smile.

  Dana could have sworn that Cal was working up a blush, though he was so golden-skinned that she couldn’t be sure.

  “Way more information than I need,” he said, then escaped.

  Hallie laughed as her brother departed. “He’s still so easy to rattle. It just kills him to think of me married and having a love life.”

  “Bad topic for me, too,” Dana pointed out.

  “You can’t say I didn’t try to help.”

  Which was exactly why Dana would never tell Hallie a word of what happened with Cal. Her friend’s intentions had been kind, if misguided.

  “So, how is Steve?” she asked, seeking some way past this awkward moment.

  “Fine, though cranky. The man wasn’t made to be an invalid. Since we were making each other crazy, I figured I’d have a look at this floor of yours.”

  “How did you know about the floor?”

  “Don’t you mean, ‘How did you know about the floor, Hallie, since I, Dana, your best friend, alternate between not returning calls and keeping my phone off the hook?”’ Hands on slender hips, she frowned at the stained flooring. “A stream of people stopped by my gallery yesterday. Not to buy anything, mind you, but to see if I could add anything to the news making the rounds. How do you think it looks when I can do nothing but shrug? I’m losing my reputation for being in the know.”

  “Fat chance,” Dana said. They didn’t come any better connected than Hallie, and she used her popularity to help promote Dana’s business.

  “I think we can paint it.”

  “Paint what?”

  “The floor. You really are distracted, aren’t you? It’s kind of a short-term fix, what with all the funky stuff you drip and spill around here, but it should do the job until you get the new flooring down as part of the big renovation.”

  The phone rang and Mrs. Marshall walked in the door at the same time. Dana waved to Mrs. Marshall and pointed her toward Trish’s room while giving a patently false cheerful greeting to whomever was on the phone. “Good morning, Devine Secrets.”

  It was Mrs. Lindsay from Hart wanting to know if she could make her one o’clock a two o’clock. Her grandchildren were visiting and…

  Dana dug through the desk drawer for her appointment book, remembered it wasn’t there, then confirmed with Mrs. Lindsay anyway. Even if it wasn’t okay, Dana had survived double-bookings before. By the time she was off the phone, Hallie was on her hands and knees scratching her fingernail against the stained vinyl flooring.

  “One color or a pattern?”

  “Whatever will cover the mess,” Dana replied. “And nothing too hard for me to do.”

  “I’ll give you a paint-by-numbers pattern,” Hallie said. “So, in the minute and a half we have to ourselves, tell me, are you okay?”

  Dana nodded.

  “No, I mean really okay, not this tough chick act you use to fool everyone else.”

  Not everyone. Dana suspected that like his sister, Cal could also see right through her. It must be something in the Brewer genetic code that gave them this talent.

  “I’ve been better,” she said. “Know of any cheap houses for rent?”

  “Cheap? In Sandy Bend? You’d have better luck asking for summer to arrive three months early.”

  “Well, keep an eye out because it looks like I’m being booted from my house.”

  “You’re kidding? You’re the only person I know with the guts to rent the Pierson House.”

  “First, it’s not haunted. Well, not too haunted. Second, the owner is moving back.”

  “Mr. Vandervoort?”

  Dana nodded.

  Hallie frowned. “I’d better tell Cal. According to my dad, that man ran the biggest numbers ring on the west side of the state. He took off just before they were ready to arrest him and his girlfriend, who was the kneecap breaker of the team.”

  Great. Not only was she being evicted, she was being evicted by a criminal. With luck, Vandervoort’s gun moll wasn’t coming back with him. Dana liked her knees.

  “But that was a lot of years ago,” Hallie added, no doubt worried about the hysterical grin Dana could feel stretching her face. “We were just kids, and besides, you know how my dad likes to embellish stories.”

  Recalling her phrase of the day—It could be worse—Dana laughed. Maybe now it could get no worse.

  6

  AFTER HIS CONVERSATION with Dana, Cal retreated to the relative calm of the police station—a calm that died an ugly death when Richard MacNee strolled in. MacNee’s visits had become almost a daily event. Cal knew his competition was doing it to grind down his patience and push him into a rash act, but it wasn’t going to work. Too much was at stake.

  Cal wasn’t a twenty buck word sort of guy, which is why when the word unctuous came to him, it gave him a jolt. A twenty buck word—and possibly even more expensive—but damn, it fit. MacNee’s smile was oilier than a T
exas well.

  “Seems you have yourself a crime wave going, Brewer,” the man said while dusting off a coat already free of snowflakes.

  “I wouldn’t define one break-in as a wave, Dick.”

  “Richard,” he corrected as his smile grew brittle and then disappeared altogether.

  Cal managed to hide his smirk. Okay, so it was juvenile to call the man by a name he clearly hated. In this case, that didn’t make the act any less satisfying.

  “I’m sure Dana Devine wouldn’t take to hearing you discount her troubles.”

  Hearing Dana’s name roll off those greasy lips took the pleasure out of baiting MacNee. In fact, Cal found himself feeling downright territorial—not that he was too sure whether the protective impulse had more to do with guarding his hide or Dana’s.

  “She knows the matter is receiving my full attention.”

  His words were a gross understatement. Generally, he could leave his work at the station and sleep at night. Not so when Dana was involved. Both Sunday and Monday nights had been wasted attempts at rest.

  What had happened to Dana was personal—not just in the vindictiveness of the act aimed at her, but in the way it had affected him. Just now, Cal couldn’t afford the career risk of being seen with someone as flamboyant as Dana, but the night they had shared still linked them…maybe forever.

  Cal pulled out of his thoughts to see MacNee scrutinizing him in the way only a cop—or in Dick’s case, former cop—can. His smile slowly returned, then grew. It had a voyeuristic edge to it, like some lowlife’s at a peep show.

  “I can’t imagine Miss Devine having any less than a man’s full attention.” Whistling an off-key, annoying-as-hell tune, MacNee turned on his heel and walked out of the station.

  Furious, Cal wrestled with the idea of chasing him down and arresting him for the sheer satisfaction, but knew he couldn’t get away with it. He also asked himself whether he’d given something away, whether he’d let something slip from behind the impassive expression he’d schooled himself to wear while on the job.