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“I have no idea about that, ma’am. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I guess it makes sense. The boy sure didn’t have time to be out meeting folks in the community.”
Ramsey thought back to the list of Jack’s classes, a copy of which was in a folder in Lucy’s car. Instructors were listed by last name only, but they had a staff directory from 1985.
“Well, listen, thanks for your time,” he told Chester Brown, pulling a card out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
The man hesitated, but a few seconds later opened the screen door and took Ramsey’s card. He shook his hand, too.
“If you see Jack, tell him I said hello,” the older man called as they headed down the walk and back out to the curb where Lucy’s white Rendezvous was parked.
“Will do,” Lucy called back, turning to smile at the old man.
“Jack Colton’s a saint, isn’t he?” Ramsey muttered.
He wished he could blame his sour mood entirely on the continual dead ends he was up against in the Sanderson case. While the frustrating lack of a break in the case wasn’t helping his demeanor any, it was the fact that he kept picturing Lucy Hayes without clothes on that had him most on edge.
He never had trouble separating work from pleasure. Never had trouble keeping pleasure impersonal, either.
Or keeping mental clothes on women.
His captain might just have been right about him working too many hours without a break.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I f Ramsey had been a female visiting detective, Lucy would have shown him around Aurora, maybe driven him by the schools she’d attended, taken him down by the Ohio River, perhaps even stopped for a glass of wine and some steak at her favorite riverside bar—not that any of it compared to the unique coastal town on the Atlantic Ocean where Ramsey lived, but apparently hadn’t grown up in.
If he’d been female, she’d have taken him to the office to meet Davis, the fourth member of the Aurora Police Department detective squad. He’d already met Lionel and Locken the day of the first Wakerby interrogation.
If he’d been female, she’d ask him straight out where he was born instead of letting her curiosity as to why he wouldn’t tell her get the better of her.
If he’d been female, she wouldn’t need to lick her lips so often in his company.
“You want to order pizza for dinner?” They were still on the highway—three lanes each way—that was also the main street of Aurora.
“I’d have figured you for salad. Or a frozen entrée.” Ramsey’s smile eased her tension a bit.
She was making too much of this—bringing him home with her. Everything was going to be just fine.
“I’m not much of a cook,” she admitted. “After the day we’ve had, I’d go for a steak at this little place I know on the shore of Ohio River.”
“It’s a lot bigger than I pictured,” Ramsey said, looking out at the river as they drove.
“It used to be a major tributary, back when all of the coal mines and tobacco farms were using barges to ship their goods. It’s actually the largest tributary on the Mississippi River. It runs from Pittsburgh to Cairo, Illinois.”
“How long is it?”
“Nine hundred and eighty-one miles. It was on the edge of the Mason-Dixon Line and was a dividing line between the North and the South during the Civil War. But its history dates back to the seventeenth century and beyond.”
“You know your history.”
“I paid attention in school,” Lucy said drily. If they were going home, her right turn was in less than a mile and she had to get over. If steak was their destination, she was fine right where she was.
Ramsey was analyzing the town the same way she’d seen him analyze case files, his eyes focused, his gaze everywhere at once. He wasn’t missing anything. His scrutiny felt far too personal. Like he was seeing a part of her that he shouldn’t be seeing.
And he was far too impersonal. Like he wasn’t fazed a bit about spending the night with her.
Had he ever wondered, even once, what it would be like to kiss her? Or was she the only one losing her mind here?
“Wakerby agreed to meet with me without his lawyer present.” She’d had a voice mail from Locken.
