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While she waited for a break in traffic in order to pull onto the beach road, he gave a short blast on his horn. She acknowledged him with the best of her repertoire of acerbic glares, which did not detract one whit from the attractiveness of her features.
He reciprocated with a two-fingered wave. If she was that seductive in anger, what a wonder she must be in passion. The idea generated notable heat and some incredible fantasies. But while he entertained a fleeting daydream, she managed to slip into the traffic and leave him behind.
Once in the housing subdivisions, traffic was lighter, more so on the sandy lanes, and he had no problem staying within a car length or two of her. He did as she did, following the garage sale signs posted on street corners. He watched her buying up all manner of things, from stuffed toys to out-of-date clothes.
Though he often parked right behind her at the curbs, not once did she acknowledge his presence by word or gesture.
But Liane and Janelle did. Between stops, the little girls were on their knees in the back seat, making all manner of faces at him out of the rear window. He joined in the game, giving as good as he got. At a stop sign, he offered hispièce de résistance—thumbs in ears, fingers flapping, and tongue drooping out the side of his mouth. He watched the girls fall into such a spasm of giggling that Stormy caught them at it. So did the man in a car in the lane next to him. The guy looked at him as if he were nuts.
After working the next sale, Stormy buckled both girls in the front seat with her, and Tyler had to find another way to amuse himself.
Which he did by doing a postmortem on the events of the past week. He still hadn’t a clue where the money might be. Sitting in some old trunk somewhere, gathering dust instead of interest, perhaps. Of course, he wanted to find it. He had a reputation for closing cases from Atlanta to Miami. He did not want to jeopardize that reputation.
However, it was the matter of Stormy Maxwell that now took priority in his mind.
Though loathe to admit it, he experienced a constant, imperative impulse to touch her, to hold her, to explore every inch of her, down to counting her lush eyelashes.
If he closed his eyes, he could, with the utmost clarity, recapture the texture of her skin against his lips, the taste of her mouth on his. Recovering the money and his desire were at war with each other. He could not continue to act like a love-sick puppy. Something was off; he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Still, going to bed alone at night with only the thought of her to keep him warm was deprivation of the worst sort.
The question was how to make Stormy see eye to eye with him on this.
Subtle persuasion was probably the ticket. But what form?
An idea came to him. Stormy was a single parent with a deep attachment to her daughter. Therein lay the key. He’d win Liane over. Hell, he liked her already, and the kid didn’t seem to mind him, either. Stormy was bound to notice if Liane was on his side. He was a little bit out of practice with children, but everything would come back to him.
The main thing was not to be pushy. Kids got ticked off at pushy, know-it-all adults. His best bet was to be alert for opportunities to win Liane over, not contrive them.
Strategy plotted, he felt a rush of pleasure that stayed with him all afternoon. Oddly, even the pain he suffered at comparing Liane with Priscilla began to abate.
He was trailing only a car length behind when Stormy stopped in front of a modest house that had obviously been the site of a successful yard sale.
Several women were busy folding tables and packing scattered remnants of clothes and toys into cardboard boxes. One woman went to remove theYard Salesign propped against the mailbox post.
Tyler watched Stormy and the girls approach the woman. They chatted a moment, then the woman waved to her friends on the lawn and escorted her visitors into the house.
He settled down to await Stormy’s reappearance.
Janelle’s mother,Noreen Byers, was blond, buxom, and bubbly, yet there was something in her carriage that spoke of steel and substance. Stormy liked her at once.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your taking Janelle this weekend,” Noreen said. “It’s been a madhouse around here. You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?”
“Can we, Mom?” Liane pleaded. “Janelle wants to show me her new tablet.”
“It’s just black beans and rice and cornbread,” Noreen put in. “The beans have been in the slow cooker all day.”
“I love black beans and rice,” said Liane.
Stormy laughed. “Since when?”
Janelle grabbed Liane’s hand, and they disappeared into the depths of the house.
Three other women soon made an appearance in the kitchen, introducing themselves as Sandy, Thelma, and Janice.
Two of them sat down at the scarred old table with Stormy. Small and birdlike, Sandy reminded Stormy of the beach plovers. She watched Sandy move serenely about the kitchen, removing dishes from cupboards, laying out condiments, and pouring iced tea with solitary deliberation. Stormy grasped the familiarity in those ordinary but cherished tasks, recognizing that Sandy, too, had recently been released from jail.
Thelma caught Stormy’s eye. “We all went through that phase.”
“You’re the group,” Stormy said.
