Someone…He grimaced. Not only had he lost Maria’s love and respect, he’d managed to estrange most of his family. He’d been too hurt and angry to be civil to anyone. And he hadn’t allowed himself a romantic liaison—a romantic anything—since he’d gotten drunk two years ago and let Selena, the divorcee next door, coax him into bed.
“So…are we going to drive the whole way without speaking?” he asked, eager to interrupt his own thoughts. He berated himself over that mistake often enough without starting in well before the usual sleepless night.
“I’m thinking,” she said.
“I hope you’re thinking about telling me what you know of the day your father disappeared. Or is that part of the test to see if I’m any good?”
“Funny.” She came up on a van, slowed, then switched lanes.
He knew they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, that he should do what he could to relieve the tension that had sprung up the moment they’d met, but he was tired and cranky after the long flight and already regretting the trip. “You know how irreverent some of us young Californians can be.”
“At least you haven’t ended any of your sentences with dude or awesome,” she retorted.
His irritation level spiked. “I didn’t want to come here in the first place. This was your idea.”
She immediately backed off. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you. But…I was desperate.”
And now she was disappointed. He could hear it in her voice.
Hunter didn’t want to care—some of what she’d said made him angry—but the slump of her shoulders bothered him. Cursing silently, he dragged his eyes away from her and watched the wet pavement rush under their tires. “Don’t give up on me too soon, okay?” he said. “I can’t promise that I’ll solve your father’s murder. If it was a murder. Maybe no one can. But I’ll make every attempt.”
“In between working on your tan?” She’d mumbled the words, but he could still decipher them.
“You’re just mad that I said I wasn’t attracted to you,” he snapped.
“Why should that bother me? You’re not attracted to anyone, remember?”
“I remember,” he said. But he had to admit she was pretty. Tall, though maybe a bit too thin, she had very distinguished features—wide green eyes that tilted up at the edges, thick dark lashes, high cheekbones and a full, sensual mouth. She had a few freckles across her nose, but the rest of her skin was as smooth and unblemished as porcelain, and she seemed confident yet vulnerable. It was an odd mix, but it definitely worked.
“I wanted someone I could take seriously,” she explained.
He shook his head. “You wanted a savior, and you got a carpenter. As history suggests, they don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
Her gaze slid his way. “Now you’re telling me you have a Christ complex?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m done talking to you. I hope you feel like an idiot when you’re finished with this tantrum.”
“Tantrum? I’ve never thrown a tantrum in my life.”
Hunter told himself to ignore her until she could come to grips with her roiling emotions. He’d been where she was—pushed beyond his normal ability to cope, desperately searching for a way to avoid the pain of his situation. He’d created his own problems while, as far as he could tell, she’d done little to deserve hers. But these days his own temper lurked too close to the surface.
“What do you call this?” he asked. “Good old-fashioned Southern hospitality?”
“Try abject despair,” she replied. “Do you know how many people think I’m foolish for bringing you to town? Only my cousins approve, which is reason enough for concern. When Clay and Grace see you—” She threw up one hand while keeping the other on the wheel.
“Maybe those who are least happy about my involvement are the very people who have something to hide,” he retorted. He was taking a big leap. But he wanted to provoke her, to find or create reasons to dislike her so he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping an appropriate distance between them. He’d already found one reason: he’d expected her to be grateful he’d relented and taken her on as a client. Instead, she acted as if she’d made a big mistake in hiring him.
“Whose side are you on?” she asked.
“My own,” he said. “That’s the way it has to be.”
She didn’t say anything for nearly twenty minutes, wouldn’t even look at him. Finally, he broke the silence. “Is this going to continue, or are you ready to tell me what you know about how and why your father disappeared?”
She lowered the volume on the radio. “I owe you an apology,” she said stiffly. “I’ve been trying to formulate it for the past fifteen miles, but I’m not really myself right now. And I have no explanation for my poor behavior except—there’s a lot riding on this for me, you know?”
He didn’t want her to apologize. Then he couldn’t hold her comments against her. “Not the best apology I’ve ever received,” he said, although it’d sounded sincere.
“So you won’t forgive me?”
The entreaty in her voice made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time—genuine compassion. She was so exhausted. He could hear it in the way she talked, see it in the way she moved. Still, he didn’t want to experience her pain; he had enough of his own.
“Give me some background on your father,” he said instead of addressing the question.
“Where should I start?”
“What was his name?”
“Lee Barker.”
“What did he do for a living?”
“He was a pastor, very devout, but also popular.”
“When and where was he last seen?”
Lightning flashed, illuminating the silvery glow of the rain-slicked hood as well as Madeline’s classic profile. “It’ll be twenty years on October fourth. He went to church to meet with a couple of ladies who were planning a youth activity, and he never came home.”
He refused to consider the emotional consequences of what she’d been through. Distance—that was his first priority. Solving this case came second. “Has someone checked out these ladies?” He knew it was probably a stupid question, but he had to begin at the beginning. Being methodical kept his focus where he wanted it to be—on the facts.