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Especially today.
I was surprised to see them walking out of the building together. Then she pulled her car behind his as they drove out of the parking lot. That raised my eyebrows. Wouldn’t it have raised yours? I mean, the scenario is captivating. One bullet. His arm. Her kid. Talk about titillating!
And, in light of his relationship with the TV reporter, which she made certain everyone knew of, doesn’t this Hudson-Portman pairing feel a bit clandestine? It does to me. I’m intrigued. So I’m going to follow them and see where this leads.
Chapter 12
As they left the office building, Elle said she would follow him in her own car. Calder didn’t contest that plan, although he kept one eye on the rearview mirror, fearing she might change her mind and veer off.
He didn’t want to go to a well-lit, highly trafficked place.
Instead, he drove to a bar near the Southern Methodist University campus that was on a side street off the beaten path. It was a neighborhood hangout, as old as time, not chic or trendy.
But what really recommended it was that he’d never brought Shauna here.
It was a stone structure with ivy-covered walls and mullioned glass windows. It could have been mistaken for the home of a tenured professor. Only a small neon sign above the arched doorway designated it as a tavern.
As Elle alighted from her car, he noticed her wariness. He said, “Yes, they make a mean old-fashioned. But also, superior coffee.”
The interior was pleasantly dim, redolent with the yeasty aroma of beer. He ushered her to a corner booth, then went over to the bar and ordered two coffees.
As he slid in across from her, she said, “Cozy spot.”
“I used to come here when I was at SMU, ostensibly to study.”
“And instead?”
“Drank beer and chatted up coeds.”
“What was your major?”
“Drinking beer and—”
“Chatting up coeds.”
They laughed; then he asked her where she’d gone to university. “Michigan, but I came to Dallas as soon as I graduated, encouraged by my friend Glenda, whose father owned a residential real estate company here. You probably know it. Foster Real Estate.”
“Of course.”
“Glenda and I got our licenses. I never had much heart for it, but Glenda excelled and took over the agency when her father retired. She’s very successful. Glamorous. She’s married and divorced two of the wealthy men she’s sold houses to.”
“Presently looking for number three?”
“Always.”
“Are you still in real estate?”
“No. I happily got out of it when I moved to Fort Worth and had Charlie.”
“What do you do now?”
“I write children’s books.”
He hadn’t expected that. Nothing even remotely like that. His amazement must have shown, because she laughed. “What?”
“I’ve never met a writer before. No, I take that back. I met a sportswriter who was hanging out in the nineteenth hole during a golf tourney. He smoked cigars and drank a lot and looked nothing like you.”
“I don’t have the luxury of hanging out in the nineteenth hole. I toil at a computer and a drawing board.”
