It took a few seconds for Reggie to process Brayden’s statement. And even when he repeated it, and she was sure she’d heard him right, she still couldn’t really believe it.
“I don’t understand. Nadine more or less grew up here,” she said.
“Did you know her personally?”
“Not really. I mean, we weren’t friends, and I can’t say I’ve talked to her since she came back. But Whispering Woods only has the one elementary school—where I heard Nadine took a job, actually—and the one high school, so we crossed paths lots of times.”
“Weird that she happened to turn up again now.”
“It’s been a month or so, I think.”
“So maybe a coincidence.”
“Maybe.”
“What about this guy?” Brayden swiveled the laptop on the bed. “You recognize him.”
“Yes. That’s her dad. He came into the diner occasionally before he died.”
“He’s the shared parent. This man is definitely Tyler Strange’s dad, as well.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“So...”
“The man had two families.”
“At the same time?”
Brayden shrugged. “There’s a six-year gap between Tyler and Nadine. I didn’t see any divorce papers myself, but I do know the split came well after Tyler’s sixth birthday.”
Reggie studied the screen for another moment. “So this probably means that the whole reason for Tyler’s visit to Whispering Woods was that he found out.”
“Seems likely.”
“So what now?”
“I question Nadine. Try to figure out if she’s also the reason he came back, and see if she can connect her brother to Garibaldi.”
Reggie sat on the edge of the bed, grabbed Brayden’s coffee and held it out as she asked, “How?”
“Thanks.” He took a small sip. “How do I question her, you mean?”
“Mmm-hmm. I mean, it’s not like you can walk up to her in an official capacity, right?”
“No. But I did tell you once before that I have some experience with subtlety. I promise it wasn’t a lie.” He threw her a wink that was distracting in the sexiest way possible.
She pushed aside the immediate need to let her toes curl pleasantly and instead picked up her own coffee and replied, “I know it wasn’t, Detective. But I’m just trying to think of an easy way to get her to talk to you without a need to fabricate another story about how we met.”
“We could tell her we’re thinking of having a baby and want to ask some questions about the school.”
Heat crept up Reggie’s cheeks. “Yeah, I’d prefer to take a route that doesn’t make her think I’m crazy.”
He slid sideways and wrapped his free arm around her waist. “Do I have to remind you so soon that I need crazy?”
Reggie rolled her eyes, but still pressed her face to his bare shoulder, a question popping out before she could stop it. “Was she not crazy enough for you?”
“Who?”
“Your worse-than-mine story. I assume it was a woman?”
“Oh. You actually want to hear it?”
“Of course. I showed you mine. You have to show me yours,” she teased.
“Guess I should give you the background first. Through most of high school, I dated this girl named Chandra. Off-again, on-again kinda deal. At the end of our senior year, we were on. Or at least I was on. About two months after we graduated, she told me she was pregnant. Then she told me it wasn’t mine.”
“Okay, that’s far more scandalous than my hippie wedding.”
“See? I hate to use that phrase you don’t like but...I told you so.”
“Ha ha. Funny.” She ran her hand along his forearm. “Sorry that happened to you.”
“Not too sorry, I hope.”
“Well. For selfish reasons...yes, I’m glad you’re single. But I’m still sorry.”
Brayden shrugged, then smiled. “Twelve years have given me enough time to acclimatize to being practically cuckolded.”
“Practically cuckolded? Really?”
“If I’d married her like I thought I might, it’d be the right word.”
“If you married her like you thought you might, it’d still be a weird word.”
“Well. Now they’re married. With five more kids. So practically cuckolded or not...things turn out the way they’re supposed to sometimes.”
“But you never regretted that it wasn’t you? Never wanted to go that route yourself?”
“Nope. Never really made the time. Zero kids, zero hippie weddings. Of course, I also never met another woman crazy enough to take me on.” She could feel him grinning even though she couldn’t see his face. “Until we started planning our baby five minutes ago, of course.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s not actually a bad idea, though.”
“Are you drunk? Did I put whiskey in that mug instead of coffee?”
“I meant pretending to have one,” Brayden amended. “Like, a preexisting kid.”
“You want to create a fake kid?”
“I want to imply that I might be looking to place one in school here in Whispering Woods.”
“Okay. But it’s Saturday,” Reggie pointed out. “The school’s closed, and Monday seems awfully far away at the moment.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“Sort of.”
“Anything nearby that would allow us to coincidentally run into her?”
Reggie thought about it, trying to remember if she’d heard what area the other woman had moved to. She was pretty sure it wasn’t far from her own place. Maybe a block over. But there wasn’t anything other than housing nearby. Not even a park or playground.
“I don’t think so,” she said after considering it.
Brayden didn’t seem discouraged. “So we’ll come up with something else.”
“Like what? Getting her into the diner somehow while I’m at work?”
“Putting aside the fact that I’d rather you didn’t go to work, that’s not a bad idea.”
“Yeah, out of our two jobs, mine is definitely the scarier one.” Reggie made a face at him, then sighed. “Seriously, though. I’m scheduled for an opening shift tomorrow, and I have to go in since I already got today’s shift covered. I’m the boss.”
“I know. But I should warn you...I’m going to be sitting in a corner booth...brooding.”
“Oh, good. My own personal stalker.”
“Bodyguard,” he corrected. “And only because I care about you.”
Warmth blossomed in Reggie’s chest. “I care about you, too.”
“Which is exactly why we need to sort out a plan.” Brayden strummed his fingers on her sheet-covered thigh. “What would make you come to the diner to meet a strange man?”
“Nothing.”
“Literally nothing?”
She set her coffee back on the nightstand and slid back on the bed to a more comfortable position. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess it’s a public place. If I’d lost my wallet and some guy found it or something, I might come in and meet with him. But I’d probably ask Jaz to come with me.”
“What if it was a woman? Would that change it?”
“Probably,” Reggie admitted.
“So then it has to be you who finds her wallet. She has more reason to trust you anyway. At the very least, she knows who you are, where you work...”
“Sure. Except for the problem of neither of us actually having her wallet.”
“Yeah. We need a stand-in for the wallet. Something she’d want to come and get.”
An idea popped into Reggie’s head. “A contest!”
“A contest?” Brayden echoed.
“We run a draw every now and then at the diner. Usually for a gift card that’s good for any of the businesses in the Whispering Woods Downtown Association. I’ll call and tell her she won, and when she tells me she didn’t enter, I’ll convince her that someone else must’ve entered her name, and get her to come down during my shift. No one says no to free stuff.”
“True enough.”
“Here, slide me the computer and let me borrow your phone again. I’ll look up her number and call her now.”
As Brayden handed her both the electronic devices, Reggie felt an undercurrent of relief buoy her mind. She wasn’t fully ready to let go of the tension that’d been plaguing her since witnessing the shooting the day before—how could it have just happened yesterday? It already seemed like so much had happened since then!—but she was undeniably glad to see progress. They weren’t in the clear from Chuck himself. But they’d figured out who was on the wrong end of the gun. And now they had a means of gathering even more information.
Thankfully, Nadine Stuart already had her phone number listed in the Whispering Woods online directory. Using the call-block feature to mask Brayden’s number, Reggie dialed and waited, telling herself not to be nervous. The woman on the other end wouldn’t have a reason to suspect anything was amiss. But four rings in, it was an answering machine that picked up rather than a person anyway. So in a quick and cheerful voice, Reggie left a message with the details, then hung up and turned back to Brayden.
“All right,” she said. “That’s done. What now? We’ve got a few hours until the Garibaldi Gala dinner. Assuming we’re still going.”
“We’re still going,” he confirmed.
“What should we do until then? More sleuthing?”
“Actually...” He set down his mug beside hers. “I’ve got a better idea.”
“What?”
He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile lifting both sides of his mouth. And even before he leaned closer and tugged off her sheet, a delicious shiver of anticipation pushed thoughts of the case to the back of her mind.
* * *
Brayden held Reggie’s hand tightly as they moved through the hall and down the stairs, and when they reached the lobby he pulled her close. Part of it was because he just plain wanted to. The dress she’d picked—above the knee, snug around the waist and with a temptingly scooped neckline—added more than a hint of sex appeal. Her makeup job was subtle, but elegant. Being close to a woman who looked like that was a privilege. But it was an instinctive need to protect her that made him tuck her under his arm and hold her tight. So once again, he made himself compartmentalize.
As they stepped into the cool night air, he scanned the area, then tugged Reggie along quickly. Though he saw no one, there was no doubt in his mind that someone could be watching the apartment. Maybe it was even likely. Either way, he didn’t want to leave himself and Reggie exposed for any longer than he had to. Though he was convinced that public exposure wasn’t on the agenda, he couldn’t quite dismiss a nagging paranoia about long-range weapons and the surrounding buildings. He didn’t breathe easy until they’d reached the car and Reggie was tucked safely into the passenger-side seat.
“You good?” he asked as he settled into his own spot and buckled up.
“Good as I can be.” She gave a small, nervous smile. “You know where Garibaldi Hall is?”
“Yep. On the outskirts of town. Big building. Big sign.”
“That’s the one.”
Brayden pulled the car out of the lot, and they rode in companionable silence through the streets of Whispering Woods until he finally spied the sign for Garibaldi Hall. He hadn’t been kidding when he said it was big. The bright background was billboard-sized, and the red lettering emblazoned on it was an obnoxious set of slashes across the front. Seeing the company name, large and proud, made him grit his teeth, and he was sure there was something ironic to be said about the logo. It was a G turned into a paint palette, and there wasn’t an artistic thing about the man.
Unless you count escaping from the law as art, Brayden thought, his hands tightening on the wheel.
“You okay?” Reggie’s soft question brought his attention away from the sign and back to the moment.
He nodded, then flicked on his signal and turned into the lot, which seemed to be at overflow capacity already. People flowed in and out of the barn-shaped building. No one seemed bothered by the fact that their fancy clothes were oddly out of place with the otherwise-rustic feel of the place.
“Busy,” he observed as he wove through the parked cars to the very end of the paved area and found an empty space.
“It is kind of a big deal,” Reggie replied. “The food’s good. Garibaldi gives out crazy prizes... No one who’s invited wants to miss it.”
“How many people are on the list?”
“Well. Garibaldi owns about seventy percent of the commercial real estate in Whispering Woods. That’s gotta be fifty people. Plus the hotel. They have a decent-sized staff, and he includes them, so...a lot?”
Man’s sure got ahold of this town. He didn’t realize he’d muttered it aloud until Reggie responded.
“He does,” she agreed.
Together, they stared silently out the front windshield. Worry hung heavy in the air, until a sharp rap on the window cut through it. Automatically, Brayden lifted his head, one hand nearing his weapon as he peered out the window. A smiling man—not much more than a kid—stood outside. He wore a red-and-black uniform, and Garibaldi’s logo was stitched into the pocket of his vest. He offered a cheerful wave and mouthed something incomprehensible.
“What does he want?” Brayden grumbled.
“I think he’s a parking lot attendant or something,” Reggie said.
He let out a breath. She was probably right. He dropped his hand from the general vicinity of his gun and opened the window instead. When he greeted the kid, though, his voice still came out a little on the defensive side.
He is Garibaldi’s valet, after all.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
The attendant continued to smile. “Sir. Ma’am. It’s starting to rain. Would you care for an umbrella to use while you walk from the car to the hall?”
“Thank you,” Reggie replied, then swung open her door before Brayden could argue.
Moving so quickly that the kid had to jump back, he pushed out of the car and hurried to the other side so he could offer Reggie his arm as she stepped to the ground.
She lifted an eyebrow at his hand and said in a whisper, “I think you can hold off protecting me from the umbrella.”
“Kid looks clumsy,” he whispered back. “Might poke your eye out.”
“Really? That’s your excuse?”
“Yep.”
She shook her head and tipped her head toward the valet, her face one part amused and one part doubtful. As if on cue, he slid open the umbrella in question, fumbled it, almost dropped it, managed to grab it before it hit the ground, then jabbed himself in the stomach before finally getting it opened. Brayden turned a knowing look Reggie’s way, then held out his hand again. With a muffled laugh, she took it.
The kid turned out to be right, though. Before they made it more than a few steps, the sky opened and thick raindrops rat-a-tatted onto the umbrella. They huddled underneath it and hurried toward the hall, where the crowd was already pushing through the door in an attempt to escape getting soaked. A minute or two of organized jostling brought them inside, too.
A middle-aged woman with a carefully cultivated tan stopped them almost immediately, placing her hand on Reggie’s arm with easy familiarity while her eyes kept flicking to Brayden.
“Hello, Ms. Frost,” she greeted. “You coming in your father’s place this year?”
“And every year from here on out, I hope,” Reggie replied.
“You’ve finally talked him into retiring, then?”
“Working on it.”
The woman eyed Brayden again, then released Reggie’s arm. “Well. I wish you much success, dear. Don’t forget to sign in at the table in the corner.”
“You bet.”
They got stopped a few more times on the way to the table in question, but no one asked Brayden who he was, even when they spoke to him directly. When they stepped into the small lineup of people waiting to sign in, he finally leaned down to query Reggie about their lack of curiosity.
She smiled. “Oh, they’re curious. But half of them probably heard something about you today at the fair. The other half are keeping in mind that they’re business owners in a tourist town. They’re either too proud to admit that they don’t know who you are already, or too polite to consider asking. Plus. You’ve got to factor me in.”
“You?”
“They’re probably more focused on whether or not I’m going to run off and get married again than who you are.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You really think they’re holding on to that?”
“I really do,” she said solemnly.
“You want to keep them on their toes? Because I can think of a few ways to do that.”
“Aren’t we trying to keep a lowish profile?”
He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Should we sign in? Maybe give me an appropriate pseudonym to make them talk even more?”
“I do like to keep people guessing.”
“So what should we call me?”
“Hmm. How do you feel about Elvis?”
“Costello or Presley?”
“I’m leaning toward Jones, actually.”
“Elvis Jones it is.”
He gestured to the small line around the table, and as they headed that way, he was glad for a moment to more thoroughly assess his surroundings. The room was big, with high ceilings and white decor. Numbered tables lined the walls, and a hardwood dance floor made up the middle. At the far end was a stage. Heavy purple curtains framed it, and a mirror ball hung above. It was the kind of setup that could be used as a catchall for every event people in the town wanted to host. For weddings. Or funerals. School functions and church pageants.
Pretty typical.
Except Brayden couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He swept his gaze over all of it again, frowning. He tried to focus on some of the smaller details, searching for the source of the prick at his nerves. People milled around, laughing and talking, sipping wine and eating the delicate appetizers that were being served by the catering staff. Music—subtle and generic—carried from the small speakers overhead. Everything looked perfectly in place. Suits and dresses. Lively conversation.
He was about to give up and dismiss the feeling as a paranoid one when a flash on the stage caught his eye. For a single second, a stock-still hooded figure stood at the edge. Then one of the purple curtains flicked, and the person was gone. The same couldn’t be said for Brayden’s apprehension. His gut screamed a warning at him. And three seconds later, the worry came to fruition.
The empty space which had held the hooded figure was once again full. This time, it was occupied by Chuck Delta. The cop tossed a loose glance over the hall and its occupants, then slipped in behind the curtain, as well.
Brayden’s instincts told him that things were about to go bad, and he knew he had two choices. Either chase down the hooded man or flee. And Reggie’s hand in his ultimately made the decision for him anyway. The moment they could leave safely and unnoticed, they should.