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For a fickle industry without much of a memory, the entertainment machine had held his reputation hostage following the disaster in Florida. No matter how hard he worked, for years someone always brought up the show. Even when he’d finally moved past it, proven himself a decent reporter, the memory of that summer still haunted him.
“I see what you did there.” He jerked his chin toward her.
“What did I do?” She feigned innocence.
“Answered a question with another question. Anything else you learn in journalism school?’
She squinted his way. “Oh, tons. What did they teach you?”
“A little of this. A little of that.” He chuckled.
“What’s your plan when we get to the lakes?” She held up the brochure she’d studied so thoroughly.
“Figured we’d lay out some obvious cash and then some not-so-obvious cash. I snagged a few pieces of jewelry to tuck in our suitcases when we get there, too.”
“Hidden cameras. Lay the bait. What else do we need to do while we’re there?” She unclipped her hair, ran a hand through it, and tucked it back up.
“Listen, discreetly ask around, but, mostly, lay the trap and see if anyone falls into it. That leaves a lot of time for us to…talk.”
God as his witness, before the trip was done he’d squeeze out more about her.
The truck hit a pothole and a boom echoed through the cab of the truck. Lucy screeched. Her body went stiff. She grabbed his thigh.
He hit the brakes and pulled to the shoulder of the road. Shit. He’d blown a damn tire.
If she moved her hand up any farther, he’d blow something else, too.
“What the hell was that?” Her hand squeezed tighter through the fabric of his slacks.
“Pothole. The tire blew.” He closed his eyes.
She hadn’t moved her hand. She needed to move her hand.
“Lucy?” He dropped his head against the headrest.
“What?” Her fingers still held a death grip on his thigh.
“Could you move…your…uh, hand?” He covered her fingers with his own to shift them closer to his knee.
They locked gazes and the cab of the truck shrunk between them. Neither of them moved. Her lips parted. His followed suit.
She jerked her hand off of him. “Oh my God. I’m sorry.”
He glanced to her. She’d gone red again.
His lips twitched.
“No worries. Let’s just get this fixed.”
“Do tow trucks even come out this far?” There wasn’t much around them except a great deal of trees, a meadow, and a speed limit sign. A few cars splashed by, but the nearest town would be an hour out.
“I don’t need roadside assistance. I’ve got a jack and a tire iron.” He swung open his door and dug behind the seat for his tools. He may have had a privileged childhood, but his dad made sure he knew how to change a tire. One of those life skills that came in handy. Before his mother passed away, his father had actually been a decent guy. Taught him a lot of shit that came in handy, even now.
She scooted out the passenger door and pushed it closed. “How can I help?”
He knelt beside the tire in question and went to work. “Cheer me on?”
She did a little jazz hands number. “Go, Will.”
