Restore My Heart

ee

Cheryl Norman

R STORE my H ART

Jewel Imprint: Emerald Medallion Press, Inc. Printed in USA

DEDICATION:

This book is in memory of Mom and Dad. Dad taught me to love cars from the time I was walking and talking; Mom allowed me to be a tomboy. I miss you both. Published 2007 by Medallion Press, Inc. The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO is a registered tradmark of Medallion Press, Inc. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.” Copyright © 2007 by Cheryl Norman Cover Illustration by James Tampa All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Typeset in Adobe Caslon Pro Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 First Edition

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Wilson Pickett (1941-2006), who immortalized “Mustang Sally” in song. Mazzoni’s in Louisville, Kentucky, for introducing me to rolled oysters. For critiquing my manuscript in its various stages: Sue Swift, Monette Michaels, Jennifer Skully, Janet Shirah, Judy Peters, and Susan Sweet. For help in specific areas of writing: Vicki Hinze, Deb Dixon, and Elizabeth Sinclair. For research help, I thank the following: Members of the Kaiser-Frazer Owners Club International (in particular Norman Clark, Art Griffin, and Mike and Beth Devlin); Jo Frye; Linda Weixler, R.N.; Dolores J. Wilson, Wilson’s Body Shop; Liz Curtis Higgs, writer/ motivation speaker; Faye Thielen, Client Associate with Merrill Lynch; Leslie Frye, Tae Kwon Do student; Moni Draper, attorney; and the Kentucky Romance Writers and Louisville Romance Writers chapters of RWA®. For providing me inspiration and/or chocolate: Tami Sandlin, Sally Clay Smith, Kris Anderson, and Rachel R. Stone. Most of all, thanks to the world’s best husband, who brainstorms plots with me and cheerfully tolerates the peculiar habits of a writer/wife. I couldn’t have written this book without him!

Table of Contents Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two

Prologue

Light from the computer screen spilled over the darkened office, glowing through a spreadsheet’s grids. A mosquito buzzed the monitor. Where had it come from? The insects rarely swarmed in April, at least not in Kentucky. Batting away the mosquito, Leo Desalvo released his pent-up breath in a loud groan. He lowered his head and dug his thumbs into his temples to massage a growing headache. Condensation slid down the can of his forgotten soda, forming a wet circle on his month-at-a-glance calendar. Earlier, to stretch his tired muscles, he’d made the short trip to the customer waiting area, I

where the vending machines offered the room’s only light. The dealership’s new commercial carpet silenced his footsteps. Thinking the cold caffeine of a Coke would ease his fatigue, he’d taken one long drink before returning to his office. But there was no cure for what plagued him tonight. His gaze returned to the monitor. Scowling, he reread the entries, entries that shouldn’t be, in a hidden fi le that shouldn’t exist. The data confirmed his worst fears. Rage at the betrayal engulfed him. He studied the accounting record again, searching for a mistake. An explanation. But the same damning numbers glared back at him, and dread settled over his slumping shoulders. As much as he hated it, he knew what had to be done. All his life, he’d tried to do the right thing. He wouldn’t stop now. Couldn’t stop now, even if it cost him everything. “You’re here late.” Recognizing the voice behind him, Leo stifled a gasp. The odor of the intruder’s stale cigarette smoke should have alerted him, but everyone was supposed to be gone. Besides, the entire building reeked of stale cigarette smoke, in both the office and the shop. Still, he should’ve stayed more alert. He’d waited for everyone to leave, then relaxed his guard. He tried to keep the anger and suspicion from his II

voice. “I had a few things to finish.” “Anything wrong?” Clicking the mouse, Leo closed the screen, exited the program, then removed the USB drive without turning to face his unwelcome guest. “Nothing I can’t handle.” The mosquito punctured the flesh beneath his collar. He swatted at it. What the hell? Not a mosquito, he realized, but a needle. He grabbed for the hypodermic, but his hand thudded uselessly onto the desk. Terror gripped him as numbness claimed his body. A second hypodermic pierced his arm, then emptied into his vein. As a detached observer, he stared at his arm. He’d underestimated his enemy. His head grew heavy. His vision blurred. Air froze inside his lungs. With considerable effort, he focused on the framed photos displayed on his desk. His precious children. His daughters. His son. If only he could see Joe one more time. It’d been so long. Now what would his family think? Wanting to protect them, Leo had spared them his recent troubles. Would they ever uncover the truth? Darkness narrowed his vision to the largest frame, the portrait of the woman he loved, the woman he would always love. The woman he’d never see again.

III

Chapter ON

e

One Week Later

“There’s a man here to see you.” Switching off the wire-brush wheel, Sally Clay balanced the generator housing on the work table, pushed her safety goggles to the top of her head, then grabbed a shop towel to wipe the black grit from her hands. Abandoning the towel, she pumped a generous dollop of waterless hand cleaner into her palm. “All right, Roy. Send him back.” God knows she could use a customer right now. The steps from hard-soled shoes echoed against the barren concrete floor, then stopped. She leaned against the counter and turned toward her visitor. Her 1

gaze traveled from the man’s oxblood leather loafers and pinstriped trousers to his dark brown hair, pausing along the way to admire the solid chest and flat abs beneath his starched shirt. His piercing brown eyes deserved an encore stare so she stole a second look. Not bad. “Excuse me. I’m here to see Sal Clay.” Nice voice, too. Definitely a man out of his element in her greasy garage. Picking up the shop towel again, she wiped the emollient from her fingers, then offered her hand. “I’m Sally Clay.” He hesitated at clasping it, probably gauging the risk it posed to his wardrobe, and she instantly regretted the grease beneath her nails. “You’re Sal Clay? The owner?” He wore a quizzical frown as he gripped her hand. She should’ve been used to this reaction by now. “I bought Mustang Sally’s from my Uncle Sal seven months ago.” This guy should never play poker; his change in expression was obvious. Clearly disappointed that Sal Clay was a Sally, he released her hand. “What can I do for you, Mr.—” “Desalvo. Joe Desalvo. I need help restoring a classic.” “Desalvo?” She quickly made the connection to one of Mustang Sally’s regular customers. “You’re 2

Leo’s son.” A shadow of sadness crossed his face. “That’s right.” It had been only days since Leo Desalvo’s funeral. “Please accept my condolences.” He nodded. “You knew my dad?” “Sure did. We do restoration work for Bloom Desalvo Motors. I still can’t believe he’s gone.” “I know the feeling.” When she saw the bleakness in Joe Desalvo’s eyes, she could’ve kicked herself. But recovering quickly, he adopted a strictly business demeanor. “Dad’s partner recommended you to me.” “Vic? Well, good.” Vic Bloom had never darkened her door. She knew him only through Leo and Uncle Sal. “Dad left me his classic-car collection, which I’m liquidating, except for a couple Mom said were his favorites. Do you know anything about a Kaiser Darrin?” “Leo had a Darrin?” She didn’t mask her surprise. “He didn’t tell me. Wow.” “Then it’s something special?” “And valuable, if in original condition.” “It looks original, but I’m no authority. That’s why I’m here. I need an expert opinion. Do you know anyone who can help me?” She clenched her fists, backing against the counter. “How ‘expert’ do you need? Mustang Sally’s is the best in Louisville.” 3

“I meant no offense, ma’am.” Ma’am? Hell, she was only twenty-seven. He had to be in his mid-thirties. “You question my credentials?” “With all due respect.” He shrugged, then offered her an apologetic smile. “I’ve been away from Louisville for many years.” If only he hadn’t smiled. Something peculiar clutched her windpipe, a cross between a squeeze and a flutter. Attraction? Don’t go there, Sally. First of all, a successful and handsome guy like Joe Desalvo had to be married, although he wore no ring. Secondly, she couldn’t give in to a handsome face or a sexy smile. It wasn’t as if she could attract a man like Joe. She’d learned that lesson long ago. She forced herself to ignore her body’s reaction. “I’ve been restoring automobiles for ten years, Mr. Desalvo, and I’ve been working on them since I was big enough to hold a torque wrench—” “Joe.” He widened the smile. “Call me Joe.” She finger-combed her short hair from her forehead, knocking off her goggles in the process. Moving closer, he caught the goggles before they fell to the concrete. “Thanks,” she murmured, bordering on breathless from his nearness. What were they talking about? Oh, right. Her qualifications. “Just for the record, Joe, I’m certified to—” 4

“Enough.” Frowning, he handed her the goggles, then retreated a step. “I know you’re qualified or Vic wouldn’t have sent me here. Forgive my skepticism, but you weren’t what I was expecting.” “You mean because I’m a woman?” “Vic led me to believe Sal Clay was a guy his age.” “Uncle Sal is.” “So you’ll forgive me?” “You’re forgiven for your skepticism, but never for your sexism.” “Innocent as charged, ma’am—” “Sally.” She grinned. “If you call me ma’am one more time, I’m applying for social security.” “Okay, Sally.” His smile returned. “Old Sal turning out to be an attractive young woman is a pleasant surprise. That doesn’t make me a sexist.” “Fair enough. And thank you for the compliment.” Of course, he hadn’t meant his words of flattery, but she enjoyed them just the same. “When can I bring over the Darrin?” “As soon as you can. Frankly, I’m drooling to get my hands on it.” Or was it Joe Desalvo making her drool? Maybe she was eager to get her hands on him as well. Settle down, Sally. She couldn’t afford to let a handsome face oust her good sense. “Does it run?” “Not well. The engine kind of jumps so I’m guessing a tune-up. You can tell me what else it needs.” 5

“Is it tagged?” “Yes, but I won’t drive it. I’ll trailer it. Will tomorrow be convenient?” “Tomorrow will be fine. Just pull around back and we’ll bring it in the garage. Meanwhile, I’ll dig up the book value and statistics for a 1954 Darrin.” He stepped back, turned as if to leave, then hesitated. “How’d you know it was a fifty-four?” “Kaiser only made the Darrin one year.” His eyes widened. “Impressive. I guess you do know your classics.” She nodded, but didn’t offer to walk him out. Her bad leg throbbed from standing. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Joe.” “I look forward to it.” Not as much as I do. She frowned at his back, feeling less attractive than ever in her wardrobe of grimy overalls and the fragrance of Eau de Engine Cleaner.

Strains of Dead Man’s Curve blasted from the reproduction Wurlitzer crammed between the door and the cigarette machines at the Universal Joint. Located in an old frame storefront on the restored town square of Jeffersontown, the Universal Joint catered to the car buffs and nostalgia seekers in Louisville’s east end. 6

Greeted by the odor of cigarette smoke and old wood, Sally wrinkled her nose as she made her way to the bar. Her gaze searched the room before zeroing in on her favorite bartender—Uncle Sal. He smiled, waving her over. “You’re late!” “I’ve been doing battle with the transmission on a Pontiac Tempest.” She slid onto the vinyl covered bar stool. He fi lled a pilsner glass from the tap. “A sixtytwo? With the rear transaxle?” “You got it. That was after I rebuilt the generator.” She sighed, reaching for the beer. “Thanks.” “You work too hard.” “Look who’s talking. You’re supposed to be retired, Uncle Sal, not tending bar every night in this dive.” He grinned. “This? This ain’t work. This is fun.” “Mustang Sally’s would be fun if I could just break even.” He frowned. “You still losing customers?” “Let’s face it. The new competition is cleaning my clock. It’s almost like Dan Alsop timed the opening of his business for when you retired.” “Dan Alsop? He still taking away your customers?” Except Joe Desalvo. “Well, I do have a new job coming in tomorrow. A real classic.” “That’s great, honey. What is it?” She swallowed the cold beer, then took another 7

sip. “Leo Desalvo’s Kaiser Darrin.” “Leo had a Darrin? He never said.” “Apparently he acquired it right before his—” “Yeah.” Sal nodded. “I sure miss the guy. He’d stop by here at least once a week.” She fingered the condensation on her glass. “I know. I miss him, too.” “In the old days, the three of us would meet up after work for a few beers.” “Three of you?” Jennifer, one of the waitresses squeezed into shortshort overalls and a clingy Universal Joint T-shirt, rattled off a drink order, interrupting their conversation. “How’s it going, Jennifer?” “Same old same old, Sally.” The blonde tapped bright pink fingernails against the Formica. “Has Sal gotten your sandwich yet?” “No hurry.” “If she didn’t hang out at the Universal Joint, half the time she’d forget to eat dinner.” Sal handed Jennifer her drink tray. “Bring her the usual.” “Grilled hot pepper cheese on Texas toast, right?” At Sally’s nod, Jennifer hoisted the tray and left. “What were you saying about the old days?” Sally prompted Sal back to their discussion. “Me, Leo, and Vic Bloom. Speak of the devil.” Sal nodded toward the door. 8

Vic Bloom, a man of considerable girth, loomed at the entrance. He squinted— although he always appeared to be squinting—then ambled toward a vacant booth against the wall. Sal caught Vic’s attention and waved. Vic’s thin mouth curled at one side. He nodded in their direction before plopping down onto the bench. “Looks as if he’s still waiting for Leo, doesn’t he?” Sally shook her head. “He seems lost now.” “You’re right. He’s waiting for somebody or he’d be over here giving me a hard time.” Another waitress, dressed in the uniform of overall shorts and tight T-shirt, barked an order for drinks, then smiled at Sally. “How’s it going?” Sally struggled to remember the woman’s name. Lynette? No, Monette. “Can’t bellyache about much. How about you?” “Not bad tonight, since Sal’s tending bar.” “He always did make work fun. He was my boss for years, you know.” Monette elbowed her. “Ooh, baby. Get a load of the stud muffin making his way to Vic’s booth.” Sally twisted on the bar stool for a better look. Her pulse accelerated. “The stud muffin is Joe Desalvo, Leo’s son.” “Joey’s here?” Sal handed the tray of drinks to Monette, then stared at the two men. “So that’s who 9

Vic was waiting for.” Monette slipped away to deliver drinks, then hurried over to Joe and Vic to take their orders. Along the way she smoothed her T-shirt against her ample breasts, then tugged at her shorts, exposing even more of her thighs. Sally chuckled. “I see Monette’s trolling.” “Monette’s okay, Sally. At least she has a social life.” Sally choked on her beer, then coughed. “Social life?” She carefully placed the glass on the bar. “Is that a euphemism for sex life?” “Euphemism? How you talk, young lady.” Sally grinned. It was just like Uncle Sal to fuss about the word euphemism instead of the word sex. “Anyway, you could use a social life, honey.” “I get out every night.” “You come here.” He swept his hand through the air, his wave encompassing the smoke-fi lled bar and grill. “You go work out. That ain’t no social life. Maggie says she never sees you. When’s the last time you called her, huh?” Sally had seen too little of her cousin, and she missed her. They’d once been best friends. She should at least give Maggie a call. Jennifer returned with another order for drinks, sparing Sally from answering her uncle. “Look out, Sally. Here comes Orel.” 10

Sally groaned. “Just shoot me, okay?” “Hey, the guy likes you. What can I say?” “I look good to him only after a few beers.” Orel Baxter, a skinny mechanic with a teenager’s case of acne and a head of flaming red hair pruned into a flat top, claimed the bar stool beside her. “Hi, Sally.” She tried for a smile. “Hey, Orel.” “Buy you a beer?” “No, thanks. I have one.” She looked past him at two former co-workers who approached the bar. “Hey, Mitch. Hey, Lamar. Come join us.” “Howdy, Miss Sally.” Mitch answered. Lamar followed with an identical response. The two African-Americans had been loyal employees at Mustang Sally’s before Sal had sold it. When they’d moved on to jobs at a nearby franchised transmission shop, there were no hard feelings. Sally couldn’t afford to keep them, nor could they afford the uncertainty of new management. Sally knew the job change wasn’t personal. She adored both men, who had patiently taught her most of what she knew about transmissions. Mitch’s sister, Laquita, gave Sally great haircuts at a discount. Sally grinned. “Grab a seat and tell me in twentyfive words or less everything I need to know about the flexible drive shaft on a Pontiac Tempest.” “A sixty-two?” asked Lamar. 11

“Rear transaxle?” asked Mitch. Orel swiveled on the bar stool. “Stick or automatic?” Grinning, she reached for her fanny pack. “Bartender? Three drafts for these guys.”

Joe pulled his gaze from the waitress’ uniform, no easy task considering the woman’s appreciable attributes. Vic Bloom had picked this place to meet. Having seen the hired help, Joe could guess why. The decor and atmosphere with its hot rod theme and classic car memorabilia were right up Vic’s alley, too. Strains of Hey, Little Cobra drifted from the jukebox. “Make mine a cup of coffee,” Joe said. “Black.” “Sure I can’t get anything else for you, sugar?” “Not right now, thanks.” As she moved away, Vic winked. “Monette has the hots for you, Joey.” “I think she’s just being friendly.” “Wish she’d give me some of that sugar.” Vic wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Down, boy. You have Barbara waiting at home.” The older man shook his head. “Not tonight. She’s taking a class at Shelby campus. She’s on another one of her self-improvement kicks.” “Can’t fault her for that.” 12

Vic grunted in response, stuffing a cigarette between his lips. Joe dropped the subject of Vic’s wife. His gaze swept the room, then boomeranged to the bar, where female grease monkey Sally Clay appeared to be holding court. Her baggy overalls in stark contrast to the costumes the waitresses wore, she moved her hands in animated discussion. Several men, including the bartender, leaned toward her, joining her in laughter at whatever she said. Although his first impression of the woman had been that of a plain Jane, something about her had invited a second look. Flecks of paint and streaks of grease hid an interesting face. Cocoa-brown eyes with thick, curly lashes devoid of that gunk most women painted on, impressed him until he’d discovered those plump lips. Luscious, kissable lips, not that he’d be doing any of that with her. But she had a mouth like that movie star, Angelina something or other. Her short hair, so different from the hairstyles of the powersuited women in his office, had been flattened against her head by a pair of smudged safety goggles. Tonight she’d cleaned up and ditched the goggles, showcasing a head of thick brown hair. Although he’d come here to talk to Vic about his mother’s half of the business, Joe tuned out the man, straining to hear the banter at the bar. Though certainly not his type in the romantic sense, Sally Clay piqued his curiosity. 13

A commotion at the jukebox halted conversation in the room, including Vic’s. “It’s nine o’clock,” one of the waitresses yelled. “So?” Joe looked to Vic for an explanation. “Time for the song.” With a half-smile, Vic rubbed out his cigarette butt in the ashtray. One of the waitresses cranked up the volume on the jukebox and the crowd at the bar began to sing along to a song about a GTO. Sally led the group, obviously familiar with all the lyrics. Judging by the singing scattered throughout the room, there were a lot of regulars at the Universal Joint. Even Vic joined in, his voice off-key. After the sing-along, the volume on the jukebox returned to normal. Joe asked, “Did Dad come here often?” “Your dad loved this place, Joey, but he rarely stayed late enough to sing the song. He’d have a cold one, talk cars with a few of the guys, then hurry home to Lucinda.” Joe nodded toward the bar. “Guys and Sally. Right?” “Sally’s just one of the guys.” Vic waved a dismissive hand. Joe’s gaze returned to the bar. “I wouldn’t say that.” The brunette waitress he’d called Monette returned with their order and smiled at Joe. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?” 14

“No, thanks.” She patted Vic on the shoulder. “I’ll be back to check on you.” “You do that, honey,” Vic answered around a mouthful of fries. “So what’s the story on Sally Clay?” Vic swallowed. “She’s a qualified-enough mechanic, if that’s what you mean. Her daddy raised her to be one. She was working in the pits by the time she was a teenager.” “Pits?” “Yeah. Car racing pit crew. Damn, boy, didn’t you learn anything about automobiles from Leo?” Joe squeezed his eyes shut against the censure in Vic’s voice. He’d learned nothing about cars from his dad except that they made his family a living. It shamed him to realize how little he’d known about the man. Now it was too late. “I didn’t mean to bring up Leo.” Vic softened his tone as much as he could above the cacophony of music, laughter, and conversation. “It’s hard for me, too, Joey. Everything I do, I think to myself, ‘I need to run this by Leo,’ or ‘Wait till I tell Leo.’ Then I remember Leo’s gone and I’m never gonna talk to him again.” Vic pounded his fist against the table. Joe blinked. “You sound angry.” “I’m mad as hell at Leo for dying.” 15

Joe was mad as hell, too, but at himself. How could he have missed the signs? He’d distanced himself from his father to the extent he hadn’t seen anything was wrong. He’d had no idea how the man must have suffered. Shoving the thoughts aside, he returned to business. “Well, we didn’t come here to mourn Dad tonight. We need to discuss Mom and her role at Bloom Desalvo Motors.” Vic nodded, stuffing another French fry into his mouth. “I’ve promised to help Mom understand the business. Dad pretty much left work at the office, so she has a lot to learn.” “Is she gonna sit in when Barbara shows you the books tomorrow?” Joe sipped his cooling coffee. “That’s a good idea, since they’ll be working together anyway.” Vic’s eyes clouded. “I’m just a salesman, Joey. Leo was the brains of the outfit. Somehow, I’d hoped you’d be the one to take the job.” “Dad left his interest in the business to Mom. I got the classic cars, and I’m not complaining. Trust me. Mom is the better choice for making business decisions.” “Come on! You’re the financial wizard.” “A financial advisor. I develop retirement packages targeting a specific market, and make recommendations to clients for money managers, that sort of thing. 16

That hardly makes me a wizard.” “Not to hear Leo tell it. He bragged about you all the time.” Anguish ripped Joe’s heart. His dad had been proud of Joe and his career. Regret for opportunities lost tormented him as it had every day since he’d gotten his mother’s phone call. She’d had to track him down last week with the terrible news of his dad’s death. “Don’t underestimate Mom. She may not have had a career outside the home, but she has the requisite management skills.” “You sure she’s ready? I mean, she took Leo’s— death really hard.” Joe didn’t miss Vic’s hesitation at speaking of his dad’s death. Everyone seemed to tip-toe around the word suicide. “I think work will do her good. Give her a purpose.” “I guess that’s it, then. Barbara will keep books. I’ll sell cars on the used car lot, and Lucinda can manage the office. Dan Alsop’s been handling the classic car brokering.” “Dan Alsop? Who’s he?” “He opened that new garage about six months ago, off Frankfort Avenue. He does restoration work, although he has a knack for finding good buys on antique autos. So far he’s been lucky enough to find whatever our clients are looking for.” 17

“But you think Mustang Sally’s is the better garage, right?” “She does the best work. But Alsop’s faster and does brokering, too.” Joe digested this, then changed the subject. “Are you interested in buying out Mom’s share?” Vic shook his head. “We’ve been over that. Even if I thought I could pull it off without Leo, I don’t have that kind of money. Besides, Lucinda said she wouldn’t sell.” His mom wouldn’t sell? That was news to Joe, but he didn’t let on. Vic lit up another cigarette. The strong smoke had taken its toll on Joe’s tired eyes and scratchy throat. Stress from the funeral, the legal problems, and the battle with the life insurance company all weighed heavily on him. He longed to stretch out and relax at home. Home? For now, he was staying in the quarters behind the stables at his parents’ house. He’d promised himself to take one day at a time. As long as he had his laptop, he could work with his clients from Louisville as well as he could in his Atlanta office. Besides, after years of marriage to his career, he was due a break. “I’d better get back to Mom’s. See you tomorrow.” Joe slid a five dollar bill toward Vic. Vic pushed away the money. “It’s on me, boy.” 18

Joe nodded his thanks, slid out of the booth, then pocketed the money. He meandered through the growing crowd and headed toward the door. Negotiating his way through tray-laden waitresses, smokers and body-clenched dancers, he reached the jukebox that now played a soft Beach Boys tune. He moved on into the night and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. Sally Clay stumbled across the tiny parking lot toward a vintage Mustang convertible. Mustang. Sally. Of course. Well, Mustang Sally had over-imbibed, judging from the difficulty she had walking to her car. Surely she had more sense than to drive. She reached the car, then rested against the driver’s door, her keys dangling from one finger. Using both hands to push herself upright, she inserted the key in the lock. Joe reached her side in three strides. “Need a ride, Miss Clay?” Gasping, she clutched at her throat. “You startled me. No, as you can see, I have my car.” Joe counted to ten. “You’re in no condition to drive.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “What are you talking about?” “No offense, ma’am, but you could hardly walk a straight line coming across the parking lot.” “So you think I’m drunk?” Her eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. “I’m offering you a ride, ma’am.” He lifted his 19

hands, palms up. “No need to take offense.” “But I do take offense. I drank exactly one beer tonight.” The harsh lights from the street lamps revealed a face fi lled with humor, not anger. Judging from her quick words, she was as sober as he. But what accounted for her swaying? She shrugged, then smiled. “As for my walking a straight line, it’s a miracle I can walk at all, Joe.” She gestured toward the Mustang, where a handicapped parking permit dangled from the rearview mirror. “I’m a cripple.”

20

Chapter TWO

Sally figured she might as well use humor to get her disability out in the open. Even in the web of shadows she could see the shock in Joe’s eyes. Better he be repulsed now, before she learned to like the guy. Before she forgot to ignore her attraction to him. “It doesn’t affect my competence as a mechanic.” “Why would you call yourself a cripple?” She fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping them. Not the first time she’d turned clumsy around this man, she thought, silently cursing herself. Giving up on the keys, she turned to face him. “It’s my way of putting others at ease. By making fun of myself, I 21

voice what they’ll be thinking when they see my disfigured leg.” Joe met her gaze and shook his head. “Not everyone is that shallow.” “You have no idea.” Even her own father couldn’t bear the sight of her scars. “Want to talk about it?” “No, I don’t.” Especially with a guy who hardly knew her. Joe walked to the front of her car, running his hand along the fender. “What year Mustang is this?” Thank God, he’d changed the subject, and to one of her favorites. “This baby’s a 1964½ with the 260 V-8.” He gave her a questioning look. “Now you’ve lost me.” Lost him? With a father in the automobile business, Joe should’ve had a working knowledge of engines. Was he testing her? Then she remembered Uncle Sal’s remark that Joe worked in finance. Or maybe it was investments. Whatever, he was too white collar for the likes of a greasy mechanic—as if she needed reminding. “The engine is 260 cubic inches. It has eight cylinders, arranged in a vee. Most V-8 Mustangs were 289s, starting with the 1965 models.” “Did you restore it?” “You bet. My dad found it for me for my sixteenth birthday. You should’ve seen it. What a rag!” She 22

grinned at the memory. “He got it for a couple hundred bucks from a guy ready to junk it.” Joe circled the car, peeking through the windows at the interior. “You did a great job. How long did it take you?” Warmth flushed through her at his words of praise. “Off and on, ten years and about three thousand dollars. But it’s worth a lot now. Not many 260s around.” He straightened, pinning her with a frown. “You aren’t selling it, are you?” If business didn’t pick up, she’d have little choice. “I don’t want to sell it.” “Good.” He caressed the rag top with his fingers. “Automatic transmission?” “Yes. I couldn’t manage a clutch with my bum leg.” Joe smiled, shaking his head. “I can barely manage a clutch myself. Dad gave up trying to teach me to drive a stick shift. My older sister finally taught me.” “Really?” Score one for the females. “So what do you drive, Joe?” He pointed toward a white Dodge Intrepid parked alongside a gaslight on the square. “That’s mine.” “I figured you for a Beemer.” Joe chuckled. “Should I feel insulted or flattered?” “Neither.” She suppressed a groan. Since when did she mock her customers? “As you said, no need to take offense.” 23

“None taken.” He glanced at his designer wristwatch. “It’s late. See you tomorrow.” “Good night, Joe.” She pushed the key into the Mustang’s door lock. His retreating footsteps halted. “Sally?” “Yes?” The gaslight spotlighted his lopsided smile and his expressive eyes. “You may have trouble with your leg, but you’re the last person I’d call a cripple.” Joe had driven off before Sally found her voice. She leaned against the door, still clutching the key, staring at his vacant parking space. Their brief exchange surprised her. Joe wasn’t like any guy she’d been around, not that there were many. He’d treated her with—what? Respect? No, it went beyond respect. Admiration. “Now why did you have to go and say a nice thing like that, Joe Desalvo?”

The aroma of cinnamon and melted butter pulled Joe’s attention from the breakfast room window. Just outside were his mother’s full crop of tulips, ablaze in yellows, reds, and whites, bordering the bluegrass lawn. Two cinnamon rolls, hot, drizzled with glaze, beckoned from a china plate in front of him. 24

Biting into the warm pastry, he studied his mother’s pale face. Still trim and beautiful at fifty-seven, she handled her current crisis like any other. She cooked. As far back as Joe could remember, his mother’s freshly baked pies or cookies would appear amidst the worst of catastrophes. It amazed him that no one in the family was overweight. Between him and his two sisters, there had been a good many crises. His mother refi lled both their china cups with coffee. “You’ve been quiet this morning. Is anything wrong?” He wiped away warm icing that had dribbled onto his chin. “You still make the world’s best cinnamon rolls, Mom.” “Don’t dodge my question. What’s on your mind?” “Too much to worry you with.” He wasn’t ready to talk about the ever-present specter of his father’s death. Nor did he want to discuss his preoccupation with a certain attractive brunette who thought of herself as a cripple. Joe’d bet that beneath Sally’s tough act and self-deprecating humor hid a vulnerable and sensitive woman. “Joey.” She spoke his name like a warning, as if he were four years old instead of nearly thirty-two. “I’m your mother. I’m supposed to worry.” “You have enough on your plate, Mom. By the way, how did it go at the bank?” 25

She sipped at her coffee. “Fine. I had to wait for the state people to get there. After they peeked inside the safe deposit box, satisfied themselves that Leo hadn’t stashed a bundle of money in there, they had me sign some papers. Then they lifted the freeze.” “Good.” “So what’s on the agenda for me today?” “Vic thought you’d benefit from going over the books with me and Barbara Bloom.” Her hand trembled as she settled the cup onto the saucer. “Yes. That will be helpful.” “Mom, are you sure you’re ready to go to work?” “I have to.” “No, you don’t. I told you, we could work out a deal to sell your half to Vic. He says he can’t swing it, but you could hold—” “I have to pick up where your dad left off. Otherwise, I’ll never get to the bottom of his death.” His cup clattered against the saucer. “What?” “I have to do this.” She fi xed him with a steely gaze, filled with determination and resolve. And something else. Anger? He’d never seen this side of his mother. “Mom, look. I know Dad’s suicide is hard for you. It’s hard as hell on me, too. How do you think I feel? I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve been here for him.” He swallowed the unbidden sob. “I should’ve stopped it.” 26

“Is that what you think?” Her eyes fi lled. “You have your own life, son. Your father understood that. He was so proud of you. Don’t think for one second you failed him.” But Joe had failed him. Nothing his mother said could absolve him. The cinnamon roll knotted into a painful lump in his stomach. “You think it had something to do with money? With the business?” “I don’t know. He seemed troubled last week. Something was on his mind. But suicide?” She shook her head. “Nothing was so bad Leo would’ve taken his own life. He devoutly believed that life was only God’s to take.” “I know. I use to attend mass with him, too, Mom. But if he was deeply depressed or not in his right mind—” He shook his head, disturbed by his mother’s denial. “The fact remains, we can’t ignore the evidence. The police—” His mother interrupted him with an expletive he’d never heard her use before. “Leo didn’t kill himself, Joey, no matter what the police say. Your father was murdered.”

Roy Bishop, Sally’s mechanic, guided Joe as he backed the Darrin into one of the garage bays at Mustang 27

Sally’s. The late afternoon sun sliced through the side window, spotlighting a flurry of dust motes that drifted over the car’s mint green satin finish. Turning off the engine, Joe sighed. It had been a long day. His mother’s words had not ventured far from his mind. Your father was murdered. Joe’s thoughts ricocheted between concern for his mother’s mental health and a distorted hope that she was right. Murder left his devout Catholic father just as dead, but at least with his soul intact. Maybe his own soul, too. But nothing could change Joe’s profound sense of loss. He’d wasted years he could’ve spent with his father. Now it was too late. “Mr. Desalvo?” Sally’s voice broke through his reverie. She leaned against the back fender and ran her fingers over the convertible top. Beneath her denim overalls, a black knit top hugged her trim body. Joe tried to work out why the utilitarian clothing looked sexy on her. He smiled, sliding open the Darrin’s door. “I thought we settled that. You’re to call me Joe.” “I did. Twice.” She shrugged. “You seemed to be on another planet.” “Sorry.” Stepping out of the sports car, he closed the door. “I love these doors.” “Neat, aren’t they?” She opened the door, sliding it into the front fender, then pulled it closed again. 28

Excitement flushed her cheeks. “Do you know this is the only car to have pocket doors?” “That’s probably why Dad wanted this car. It’s very innovative for 1954.” “Like this top. It has three positions: Convertible, full top, and a half-top, or what Kaiser called the landau top.” “Cool.” He cringed. Why had he said that? He sounded like his kid sister. Why did he turn into a fumbling adolescent in Sally’s presence? “It’s as sporty a car as they made back then, even counting the Vette.” Sally’s enthusiasm for the old car charmed him. Or was it Sally herself? She pushed away from the car, motioning him to follow. Resisting the urge to grip her by the arm and help her, Joe matched her slower pace as he accompanied her through the stark concrete garage to the equally stark office. Vintage car posters adorning the office walls offered the only relief from the Spartan furnishings. Using the old metal desk for support, Sally worked her way to her chair. She motioned toward a metal folding chair opposite the desk. “Have a seat. Let me tell you what I know so far.” He slid the keys and owner’s registration onto the desk before sitting. “Here’s the only paper Dad had on the car.” 29

Sally picked up a lined tablet filled with scribbled notes. “Out of only 435 Kaiser Darrins built, 385 are known to still exist. They’re registered with the KaiserFrazer Owners Club International. We can check your serial number against the list on the KFOCI website.” “I can log on with my laptop.” “Good, because Mustang Sally’s hasn’t gone cyber yet.” “How soon can you give me an estimate on repairs?” She gave him a smug grin. “Is tomorrow soon enough?” “Tomorrow’s great.” He matched her grin and his heart flopped against his chest. What was it about this little grease monkey that drew him? Capable and unpretentious, she cut through his dark cloud of grief like a sunbeam. “Why don’t I stop by around closing time and take you out to dinner?” “Dinner?” Her smile vanished. “We can discuss business right here.” Joe shrugged. “True. But I thought we could work in a little pleasure with business.” She blinked. “Pleasure?” She looked at him, frowning, as if genuinely perplexed. Or offended? Maybe pleasure had been the wrong word. “Socializing, Sally. I’m asking you out. Will you accept?” 30

“Asking me out?” Her voice wavered, but he couldn’t read her mood. “I don’t think so.” “Why not?” “I hardly know you, for one thing.” “That’s the idea. We go out to dinner and get to know each other.” Slowly, she shook her head no. “Trust me, you don’t really want to take me out.” “I see.” Joe tilted the chair onto the back two legs and leaned against the wall. “Because you have a really jealous boyfriend?” “Are you kidding?” “No.” He settled the chair on all fours, pinning her with a stare. Her protests only made him want to press the issue. “I’m not. So why won’t you go to dinner with me?” “Do I have to spell it out for you?” Looking away, she twisted her hands together. Why did she seem agitated? “Yes, I guess you do.” Sally closed her eyes and sighed. “Guys like you don’t ask out girls like me, okay?” “Uh uh. Not okay.” He leaned forward, fighting the urge to reach across the desk, to touch her chin and tilt it until she met his gaze. Instead, he gripped the edge of the desk. “What do you mean by girls like you?” “You know. Crippled.” 31

“That again?” He straightened in his chair. This time there was no hint of humor in her voice. Did she really think he was a shallow jerk? Rather than insult him, it worried him. What had happened to this young woman? What made her use the word cripple as if it were profanity? Sally’s hands clenched together. “I’m not into pity dates, Joe—” “Neither am I.” She squirmed in her seat, still averting her eyes. “Let’s just drop it, okay? You’re my client, I’m your mechanic.” This time he followed through on his impulse to reach for her. With the barest touch of his index finger, he lifted her chin. Like a spooked kitten, she fl inched, but didn’t pull away. A becoming blush flooded her cheeks. “I’ll drop it for now, but be warned, Sally Clay: I’ll be asking again.” “I’d rather you didn’t.” He let it go for now. Why he’d pressed her for a date in the first place baffled him. What was it about her that had gotten to him, anyway? She was so different from his usual choice of a date. Dismissing him, she picked up the owner’s registration and frowned. “This is strange.” “What?” He leaned across the desk, his head 32

nearly touching hers and sniffed. Oil? “Not too close, Joe.” She wrinkled her nose, as if reading his mind. “You’ll get ninety-weight gear oil on you.” Joe didn’t retreat. The scent of peppermints mixed with the gear oil. Breath mints? His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, the plump lips so like Angelina what’s-her-name’s, the movie star. He’d never expected to be turned on by a woman doused in gear oil. “Look at the date.” Sally pulled his attention back to the owner’s registration form. “What about it?” “Leo just bought this car.” Sally ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but—” “Let me see that.” He looked at the bill-of-sale date, then at Sally’s stricken face. The owner, a Howard Steele of Carmel, Indiana, sold the Darrin to Leo Desalvo the day before Leo’s death. The words echoed again through his head. Your father was murdered. The bill of sale slipped from his shaky hand. “I see what you’re getting at, Sally. Why would Dad buy a car he’d always wanted, then blow his brains out the next day?”

33

Long after Joe had driven off in the Bloom Desalvo Motors service truck, his troubled words preyed on Sally’s mind. Joe was right. Buying a unique and rare find like a Darrin didn’t square with the behavior of a man distraught enough to take his own life. Was Leo Desalvo’s suicide somehow connected to the Darrin? If so, Sally was in a position to find out. As for Joe asking her to dinner, well, she’d think about that later. He’d seemed nice and sincere, but so had Corky Martin when he’d asked her to the senior prom. She knew better than to waste energy getting her hopes up. Romance and love weren’t in her future, no matter how much Joe Desalvo revved her motor. Eager to get started on the Darrin, she left Roy Bishop to finish up the Pontiac Tempest and headed for the mint green sports car. The interior, upholstered in pale green satin vinyl, appeared original and in good condition. The mileage on the odometer read 46,209 but had probably spun around once or twice. Sally moved her inspection to the fiberglass exterior of the Darrin and found it to be nearly perfect. She’d need to roll under the car to check for body work. So far, so good, Joe Desalvo. She opened the Darrin’s hood. To the untrained eye, everything appeared to be in order. But Sally Clay considered herself an expert, schooled by her father and uncle. Justin and Salvatore Clay were two brothers whose combined knowledge of 34

automobiles surpassed anyone’s in Kentucky. She immediately recognized trouble. “Roy, can you take a look at this?” Roy Bishop had worked for Uncle Sal for thirteen years before Sally had taken over the garage. She considered it her good fortune that Roy agreed to stay on at Mustang Sally’s. He often put in ten-hour days, but never complained. His stocky build and wide, thick shoulders seemed at odds with his gentle blue eyes and kind mouth. Prematurely bald, he appeared at first glance older than his thirty-five years. “Whatcha need, Sally?” “Sanity check. Look at this and tell me what engine you see.” Roy ducked his head beneath the hood. “A sixcylinder overhead valve engine. I should be looking at a Willys F head.” “Yeah. Doesn’t it look like a Ford?” “Sure does. Could be the 170 but we’d need to drop the pan and look underneath.” Roy backed away from the front of the car. “Want me to put it on the lift?” She chewed at her lower lip. “Tomorrow. For now I’m going to check the serial number on the engine plate. Then I think we can both call it a day.” “I was just cleaning up. The Tempest is good to go.” “Thanks, Roy,” she murmured, already focusing on the engraved number plate attached to the engine. 35

It looked authentic, but she’d need to verify the codes in the serial number. She limped back to the office, reciting the number repeatedly until she had a chance to write it down. A sudden cramp in her calf muscle reminded her she had been on her feet too long today. She hoped to work out some of the kinks later at rehab. A comparison of the serial number against her list of codes confirmed Sally’s suspicion. She grabbed her Polaroid from the fi le cabinet, checked for fi lm, then hobbled back to the garage to photograph the engine and engine plate. Someday she’d buy one of those digital cameras—just as soon as Mustang Sally’s joined the information age and could afford a computer. Back at her desk, she rummaged through her middle drawer until she found the government bulletin she’d received the previous month. Debating whether she should talk to Joe first, she read through the notice again. Leo Desalvo had bought the Darrin then killed himself. Sally couldn’t ignore the possible connection. What if Leo had been involved in interstate fraud? No. She couldn’t dump that on Joe without more information. She called the contact number on the bulletin, certain that everyone had long since left the office. “Ferguson,” answered a mechanical voice. She waited for a voice mail or answering machine announcement. 36

“Hello?” “Uh, is this a live person?” Sally asked. Duh! Without inflection, the voice answered, “This is Special Agent Adam Ferguson. How may I help you?” “Actually, I may be able to help you.” Sally identified herself and her auto restoration business. “About the flyer you sent out.” “Irregularities in expensive collectible automobiles?” An excited voice replaced the man’s monotone. “Have you found one?” “Yes, sir.” Her heart sinking, she thought about Joe. “I’m afraid I have.” When she described the counterfeit engine plate and mentioned Leo Desalvo’s name, the FBI man said, “I’m going to need your help, Miss Clay.” “Of course, but how can I help?” Even as she said the words, a knot of dread formed in her stomach. She had a feeling she wouldn’t like his answer.

37

Chapter THR

ee

Sally entered the kitchen, locked the deadbolt on the back door, then dropped her gym bag by the washing machine. The house she shared with her father was in old J-town, less than a mile from the garage. Called a story-and-a-half, it had once been a neat, cozy house. Sally’s father slept upstairs in the master bedroom, leaving her the downstairs bedroom and bath. In recent years, clutter and neglect reigned. Clothing piled on the linoleum floor begged to be washed, but would have to wait. First a shower. “Dad?” No answer. Drifting in from the living room, an announcer’s voice spoke over sounds from a tele38

vised basketball game. Sally tracked down her father slouched in his recliner in the living room. “Dad? Have you eaten?” He gripped a beer can. “I drank my supper.” She bit back a reprimand. If she lectured her father about his health, they’d end up in an argument. She couldn’t bear quarreling with her dad. His drinking disgusted her, but she could hardly blame him, not when it was her fault he drank. “Let me make you a sandwich. I’ll bring it in here, and you won’t miss any of the game.” He shrugged, then took another sip of his beer, his eyes staring at the television screen. Dumping her fanny pack and keys on an end table, Sally limped back to the kitchen. She scrubbed her hands at the sink, while her mind wandered. She wasn’t sure what to make of Special Agent Ferguson’s revelation. The FBI’s investigation had led to Leo Desalvo before his death. She assembled her dad’s favorite, boiled ham and baby Swiss cheese on rye, not that he’d notice. His Celexa pill lay untouched where she’d set it out that morning. Sometimes he took it, but usually he didn’t. She’d stopped nagging him about it, afraid he’d refuse to take it just to be contrary. She wasn’t qualified to treat his illness, and long ago he’d stopped his therapy. She longed to talk with him about the FBI’s request, to seek his advice. But Justin Clay seemed to 39

want as little conversation with his daughter as he could manage, although they lived under the same roof. Was she a disappointment to her father? Is that why he’d been unable to break free of his depression? She’d pushed herself at rehab, proud of her progress with her upper body muscles. Her leg was a different matter. Her physical therapist assured Sally she had exceeded even the most optimistic prognoses. Translated, she should be thankful she wasn’t in a wheel chair. But Sally had defied the odds nine years ago, and she’d defy them now. She’d go the distance to strengthen what leg muscles she still had. Taking careful steps to balance the tray, she carried her dad’s meal into the living room. “Here you go. Need anything else?” He shook his head, still avoiding her gaze, and mumbled a “thanks.” “Well, I’ll be in the shower.” She shrugged at his lack of response, then made her way down the short hall to her bedroom. She carried her gown and robe into the bathroom, closed the door, then leaned against it and blew out a lengthy sigh. Ever since that damned accident, her father had deteriorated every day, sinking deeper into apathy. The doctor called it clinical depression, prescribed anti-depressants, and recommended therapy, both of which her dad said they couldn’t afford. 40

She pushed away from the door, slipped her arms through the straps of her overalls, then grabbed the vanity so she could step out of her clothes without falling. Although Sally knew she could never make things right for her father, she intended to take care of him. That’s why she’d bought Mustang Sally’s. Even Uncle Sal didn’t know the real reason she needed the business. Somehow, someday, she hoped to rekindle her father’s interest in automobiles. In life. So what if the Kaiser Darrin job hadn’t panned out. She’d find more clients. After adjusting the water to a hot spray, she grabbed the safety bar and pulled herself over the side of the tub. The welcomed heat pelted her aching shoulders, pulsating against the tightness from her workout. She closed her eyes, moaning as the water sluiced over her scalp. From out of nowhere, a vision of Joe Desalvo invaded her mind. For a brief and insane moment, Sally allowed herself to fantasize. Remembering the light touch of his finger skimming her chin, she imagined Joe stroking the skin along her jaw and neck, then lower. The shower spray became his tongue, licking the points of her breasts to rigid peaks. She moaned again, this time from the deliciously painful sting of his teeth grazing her nipples. She shook off her erotic thoughts. You’ve been without sex too long. She may have crushed her leg 41

in the accident, but not her libido. If only Joe hadn’t asked her out. It wasn’t as if she’d never been asked out before, although, remembering Orel, she had to remind herself that Joe had been the first sober man to ask her out in nine years. And it had stuck in her mind all day, all evening, triggering a multitude of dangerous thoughts. Tempted to turn the temperature to cold, she roughly soaped her body, then rinsed away the suds. Instead of shaking free of her fantasies, she indulged in another, with Joe sharing the shower, slowly rubbing shower gel across her fevered flesh. Get a grip, Sally! As she toweled off, she focused on the ugly scar tissue marring her leg. What man would want to join her in the shower and look at that? Sight of her disfigurement jerked her from her erotic daydreams, dousing her with an icy torrent of reality. Composed and dressed, Sally later flung clothes into the washing machine, then joined her father in the living room. He didn’t acknowledge her presence, which wasn’t unusual. During a muted commercial break, Sally made a stab at conversation. “Leo Desalvo’s Darrin doesn’t have an original motor, Dad. But somebody went to a lot of trouble to fake it.” “They faked it?” Her father glanced at her, frowning. 42

So she’d gotten his attention. “How?” “Somebody forged an engine number plate, even engraving an authentic-looking serial number. It’s not a valid number, but close enough the average collector wouldn’t catch it unless he checked.” “Any AACA judge would question it,” he said, referring to the Antique Automobile Club of America inspection. “I hope Leo didn’t pay much for it.” “Me, too.” Would it have caused enough of a financial loss to make Leo kill himself? “Have you told his son yet?” Her father’s attention drifted back to the TV. “Not yet. I’ll tell him tomorrow. Roy’s going to put it on the lift and identify the engine first. It looks like a Ford.” He un-muted the basketball game, shutting her out by remote control. Sally wanted to talk about the FBI investigation, especially her part in it. If only things were different, she could ask for her dad’s guidance. Unable to get interested in the game, she dug through the stack of magazines on the floor beside the sofa until she found her latest issue of Healthy Body. She’d try again with her dad during the next commercial if he hadn’t fallen asleep by then. When she blinked open her eyes to an empty room an hour later, she realized she’d been the one to fall asleep. Closing the forgotten magazine, Sally 43

limped to the washing machine. She needed to stay awake until the dryer stopped, so her unplanned nap was probably for the best. Her dad’s footsteps overhead told her she’d lost her opportunity to seek his advice tonight.

The next day, Roy lowered the hydraulic lift and gave Sally a quick nod. “We were right. It’s a Ford 170.” “What does the car need to run right?” He shrugged. “Just a tune-up. Except for the motor discrepancy, it’s in good shape.” The telephone rang. “I’ll get it, Roy.” Pleased with her faster gait, she hobbled to the office and answered on the third ring. The additional leg exercises were paying off. “Mustang Sally’s garage.” “Sally? It’s Joe Desalvo.” His smooth baritone shot a jolt of pleasure through her. “Hi, Joe. We’re just taking your Darrin off the lift.” “So you’ll be able to give me that estimate this evening?” “Evening?” “I’m asking again, Sally. Will you have dinner with me tonight?” “And I’m telling you again, no.” Then she added in her sweetest tone, the one she saved for telemarketers 44

who called at dinnertime, “But thank you for asking.” “You have to eat, don’t you? Couldn’t we grab a couple of rolled oysters at Mazzoni’s?” God, she loved rolled oysters, and Mazzoni’s had the best in the world. Besides, hadn’t Special Agent Ferguson asked for her help? She’d agreed to find out what she could about the Desalvo family’s business. She needed to spend time with Joe, gain his confidence, if she wanted to learn what he knew about his father’s activities. “Okay.” “Okay?” A pause. “Is that ‘okay’ as in ‘yes, I’ll have dinner with you, Joe’?” “You played upon my one weakness.” “Hmm.” She cleared her throat. “Rolled oysters.” “Darn. And I thought it was me.” He sounded so wounded she burst out laughing. She still laughed hours later as she scrubbed her face in Mustang Sally’s small restroom. Looking into the tarnished mirror, she pulled a stern face. “You are acting like an adolescent, Sally Clay. You know nothing will come of this. It’s way dumb to go out with the guy in the first place.” She doubled over in laughter again. A quick appraisal of her stained work clothes sent her home for something decent to wear. Her father 45

wasn’t in the house when she arrived. He was probably cloistered in the old garage workshop in the rear, where he repaired lawn mowers and trimmers to earn beer money. She didn’t want to leave Roy alone at the garage too long, so she rushed. She’d finished a load of laundry last night and had clean clothes, but they were mostly jeans and coveralls. Digging through her closet she discovered an almost new pair of navy slacks, a Christmas present from her cousin Maggie. A pale yellow shirt and her tweed blazer, usually saved for church, completed the ensemble. She stole a quick glance at her reflection in the dresser mirror as she turned to leave. “You clean up fairly well, Sally.” Maybe the fashion police wouldn’t arrest her, after all. Sally’s giddy mood vanished when Joe Desalvo strolled into her office at six o’clock. His leather loafers and Rolex wristwatch reminded her she was in over her head. What had she been thinking, anyway? The guy just invited her to dinner, probably a one-time thing. She had no reason to be grinning like a lovesick puppy. As if an omen, the sky darkened, then dumped sheets of rain.

46

At Mazzoni’s, Joe bit into crusty cracker breading, savoring his first rolled oyster in ten years. “Yum-m-m.” “As yum as you remembered?” Sally asked. He nodded, his mouth full from stuffing the rest of the deep-fried treat into his mouth. Sally’s gusto matched his as she indulged in her meal of rolled oysters, French fries, and coleslaw. “Thanks for letting me drive your Mustang tonight. It would’ve been even better if we could’ve lowered the top.” “It’s a little chilly, even if the rain stops.” Taking a sip of her soda, she shrugged. “Although, my cousin Maggie and I rode around in it with the top down in February the fi rst time I had it running right. Of course, we had the heater on full blast.” Joe chuckled. “April’s not much warmer.” Sally swallowed another bite of rolled oyster, then lowered her fork. “We have to talk.” “Sounds serious.” Her troubled frown sobered him. “What is it?” “It’s the Darrin, Joe. It isn’t authentic. Someone’s forged the engine identification number plate.” All air left his lungs. He bristled at her unspoken words. “And you think Dad did it?” “No!” Reaching across the small table, Sally patted his arm. “Your dad was a stand-up guy. Besides, he didn’t own the Darrin long enough to do anything 47

like that.” “The guy in Indiana he bought it from, then? What was the name on that bill of sale?” Staring at her hand on his arm, Sally plucked it back as if she’d touched a hot griddle. “Howard Steele? Maybe.” “But—?” Joe dragged out the word. He’d known Sally Clay all of two days, but he sensed more trouble. She shrugged, her eyes downcast. “Leo wouldn’t have bought that Darrin, Joe. He’d been in the business too long not to recognize the difference between an F head Willys 161 and an overhead Ford 170.” Say what? But he didn’t ask for a translation. “Dad did buy the Darrin, though.” “That’s what bugs me.” Sally picked up her fork, punching the air with it. “Why?” “I guess we’ll never know. Just another mystery he took to the grave with him.” He fl inched at his own words. Sally’s uplifted fork froze. Her liquid brown eyes gazed at him with concern. “Joe, I’m sorry. You’re still getting used to the fact that your dad is gone. I hate that I’ve added to your grief.” Joe nodded, finding comfort in her simple words of sympathy. His mind flashed briefly to the women he’d dated in Atlanta. His latest, Tracy Steadman in Client Services, had told him to call her after he’d had time to 48

process his grief, whatever the hell that meant. “It’s okay, Sally. I got you into this.” Whatever this was. “You’re doing the job I asked you to do.” She looked away, as if he’d said something to make her uncomfortable. “The only job you need me to do is a tune-up. The Darrin’s engine may not be original, but it’s still a neat car, if you’d like to drive it for fun.” Fun. Now there was a concept. Right now Joe doubted he’d ever have fun again. As if reading his mind, Sally wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “I know you can’t think about having fun and enjoying life. For what it’s worth, I know what it’s like to lose one of your parents. I won’t tell you you’ll get over it. I never have. But it will get easier.” “You lost a parent?” She nodded. “My mother.” “I’m sorry.” “It was a long time ago.” She released her grip on his wrist, returning her attention to the remaining rolled oyster on her plate. “How long ago?” “I was six.” “What happened to her?” “It was sudden. She’d had this bad headache all day. I remember her lying down after meeting me at the school bus. She coaxed me into taking a nap with her, just until Dad got home. By then, she was in 49

terrible pain and we rushed her to the hospital. Uncle Sal and Aunt Susan met us there and took me home with them. “Later, Dad came and held me, and we cried together that we’d never see Mommy again. I didn’t understand words like aneurysm at the time, but later found out that was what killed her. An aneurysm of the brain.” “That must have been rough for you.” “Yeah, it was. Dad sank into a deep depression. She was just so young to be gone from our lives. He never remarried.” “So you have no brothers or sisters?” “No. It’s just me and my dad.” He’d glimpsed the sadness in her eyes before she looked away. Was it grief for her mother or something else? He wondered about her leg, whether she had suffered an injury, disease, or birth defect, and hoped in time she’d tell him about it. In time? Too undecided about his future, he shoved the thought aside. He had a career and a condo waiting in Atlanta. But his mother needed him in Louisville, and he vowed he’d take whatever time was needed. He wouldn’t be too busy for his family. Not anymore. He and Sally ate the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence. Many women were uneasy with lapses 50

in conversation, a trait he found annoying. He relaxed more with Sally than with the other women he’d dated. Women he dated. Was he dating Sally Clay? The prospect of knowing her better filled him with unexpected pleasure. A pang of guilt seized him. Pleasure? How could he feel anything remotely like happiness when his father had killed himself the previous week? Or had he? Your father was murdered. Brushing aside his confusing thoughts, Joe settled the check, then held Sally’s blazer as she slipped into it. Grabbing his nylon windbreaker, he guided her through the small restaurant, cupping her elbow with his hand. Heads turned as they passed, but not because of their slow pace. Men were eyeing Sally, with her rich brown hair, exotic mouth, and vibrant eyes. He wondered if she was aware of their appreciative stares. He pulled into the stream of Friday night traffic on Taylorsville Road. Sally seemed comfortable with the silence in the car, leaving him to concentrate on the slick streets and other cars. As he neared Jeffersontown, Joe switched off the windshield wipers. The rain had stopped. Sally directed him down a side street shortcut to the garage’s rear entrance. Except for the convenience store, businesses like Mustang Sally’s that faced 51

Watterson Trail were closed for the evening. Joe and Sally met few cars on the side street except a speeding pick-up splashing through the puddles. Pulling the Mustang behind his Dodge, Joe parked on the deserted street, then shut off the engine. “Thanks for dinner, Joe.” Sally seemed absorbed in unbuckling the old-fashion lap belt. “I’d like to do this again.” He unfastened his safety belt and twisted in the seat to face her. “Could we?” “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Look at me, Sally.” He waited until she lifted her head to face him. Even in darkness, he sensed her anxiety. “Before you dismiss me, get to know me better.” She slowly nodded. “I suppose that’s only fair.” He smiled, suddenly struck by inspiration. He knew just what Sally needed. Nina, his irrepressible younger sister. “Great. Let me take you with me to Mom’s for Sunday dinner.” “Oh, Joe. I-I don’t know about that.” “Think it over before you refuse. She’d really like to meet you.” “This must be a rough time for her. Are you sure she’s up to company?” “Trust me. It does her good.” “Okay, I’ll think about it.” A short silence followed. “Do you want me to tune up the Darrin? I can have it ready Monday afternoon.” 52

“Sure. I’m thinking about driving it. My lease is almost up on the Intrepid, and the Darrin is a unique car. The average person won’t know it’s a fake.” He opened the car door and the dome light came on, giving him a clearer view of Sally’s pensive face. After hurrying to open her door and helping her from the low-slung bucket seat, he offered her his arm, guiding her around to the driver’s side of the Mustang. “You don’t think I should drive the Darrin as an everyday car?” Sally didn’t answer immediately. Biting her bottom lip, she either needed all her concentration to control her leg or she was considering his question. “It’s still a valuable car. Unfortunately, it’s worth a lot less than what Leo paid for it.” “Yeah. I need to get to the bottom of that. Think I’ll run up to Carmel, Indiana and pay this Howard Steele a visit.” Sally’s eyes widened with alarm. She pointed behind him, all the while moving her mouth without sound. “What is it?” He spun around, following her gaze, and swore. She pushed away, hobbling at an impressive speed toward the back door of Mustang Sally’s. A ribbon of smoke curled from the edges of one garage door, flames dancing behind its narrow window. 53

Chapter FOUR

“Sally, wait!” Joe shouted. Sally ignored him. Mustang Sally’s was her livelihood. Her life. She wouldn’t let fire or anything else destroy it. Her hamstring muscle burned in protest, but she pushed on. Judging from the glow through the garage door windows, the fire was confined to one service bay—the one with the Darrin! If she hurried, she had time to contain the damage. She made it to the back door, grabbed for the handle and cursed. “Joe, the keys,” she yelled. “Bring me my keys.” Joe raced back to the Mustang, returning seconds 54

later with her key ring. Shaking, she fumbled with the keys. Identifying the correct one, she couldn’t steady her hand enough to insert it into the door lock. “Let me try.” Prying the key from her quivering fingers, Joe unlocked and opened the door. “Where’s your fire extinguisher?” “Right here.” She pushed ahead of him, then hoisted the cylinder from its bracket by the door. “Sally—” Joe coughed from the mounting smoke. “Got it!” Thank God Uncle Sal had drilled his employees on fire safety. She pulled the pin. Inhaling and holding a deep breath, she headed toward the flames, aimed the nozzle and stumbled. “Damn leg.” Joe rushed to her side, grabbing the heavy cylinder. “Here. I’ll hold it and you shoot.” Together, they spewed dry chemicals over the flames, extinguishing the fire in minutes—minutes that seemed like hours. Sally’s eyes burned. Her leg buckled, careening her to the concrete floor. Landing on her elbow forced all air from her lungs. Joe abandoned the fi re extinguisher, then stooped beside her. “Sally? Are you hurt?” She shook her head, unable to talk, both the smoke and fall robbing her of breath. Gingerly, she pushed herself from the concrete, then tested her breathing. Her ribs ached from the impact, but nothing seemed broken. 55

Joe reached for her, then hesitated. “Let me help you up?” She smiled in spite of the trauma of the fire. Most men would take charge of a woman in distress. Give orders. Not Joe. He asked. “Yes,” she managed. Joe snaked one arm under her and lifted, pulling her against him as he stood with her. “Okay?” She nodded. “Help me turn on the lights.” With Joe’s support, she negotiated the distance to the wall switch. The dozen fluorescent bulbs fl ickered and hummed to life, flooding the garage with light. She zeroed in on the heap of ashes and foam. “The Darrin! Joe, is the Darrin all right?” Leaning against Joe, she scuttled over to examine the fire’s remains. Fortunately, the flames had not reached the Darrin, but had left a filmy layer of soot. “Thank God. These old gas tanks aren’t sealed the way new ones are. A minute or two more and—” “Sally, this was deliberately set.” She followed his gaze to the burnt rubble. Sniffing, she caught the odor of lighter fluid. She shuddered. “And only in the last few minutes. But, why?” “Good question. I’m calling the cops.” He started toward her office, then faltered. “You want to go with me?” The concern in Joe’s eyes chipped away a little more at her defenses. “No, I’ll be fine after I let this smoke out.” 56

He hesitated. “I’ll be right back.” She waved him on. “I’m not going anywhere.” “Uh, Sally? I wouldn’t touch anything that might be evidence.” Until Joe mentioned evidence, the reality hadn’t sunk in. Someone had been in her garage. Someone had deliberately set a fire close to the gas tank in such a way that the Darrin would combust. If she hadn’t come back tonight, her entire business and Joe’s Darrin would have been destroyed. Which had been the target? Sally propped open the entrance door. Cool evening air flushed away much of the smoke. She ignored the stinging pain in her leg as she traversed the distance to her work stool. She sank onto the seat, then tried massaging her tight leg muscles. Knowing she had pushed herself lately in her workouts, she planned a nice soak in the rehab center hot tub the next morning. She’d never achieve her goal of walking normally if she injured her good muscles, too. “The police are on their way.” Joe’s gentle voice echoed from the cavernous garage. “How are you holding up?” She tried to smile. “I’m fine. But I think I’m going to be sore.” Joe stood beside the stool where she perched. “You must be running on pure adrenalin, Sally. You lifted that fire extinguisher like it was Styrofoam and that 57

sucker weighs a ton.” She curled her arm. “Muscles, Joe. I work out.” His fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “Hard to tell through this thick material.” “Wait. I’ll show you.” She slipped out of her blazer, then curled her arm again. “See?” “I’m impressed.” Joe’s grip became a caress—or was that her overactive imagination again?—as he massaged her arm muscle. “Guys were admiring you tonight at the restaurant.” “Get out of town.” She tried to ignore the movement of his fingers. “Didn’t you notice?” “You’re high on cocaine.” And she was high on arousal. Her breasts tingled, and he’d only touched her arm. “I beg your pardon?” He continued to knead the muscle in her arm. “If men stare at me it’s because of my limp. Didn’t you do just that at the Universal Joint?” She glared at him. “Thought I was drunk, remember?” “Guilty as charged.” He released her arm. “But that wasn’t the case tonight. Stop worrying about what people think of your leg, Sally, and focus on your many assets.” “Thank you, Oprah Winfrey.” She immediately regretted her tone. Joe had a habit of saying sweet things. He didn’t mean to be insincere. “I’m sorry. 58

That sounded snotty, and I’m sure you’re only trying to be nice.” “I’m not saying anything to be nice. It happens to be the truth. But you really don’t know, do you?” “Know what?” “Your many assets.” Who did he think he was fooling? “I’m not fishing for compliments, Joe, so let’s drop it. Please?” “I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I?” He lowered his face even with hers and smiled. “That wasn’t my intention. I really do think you’re an attractive lady.” Attractive for a disfigured woman, maybe. “Thank you, Joe. I’ll try to be more gracious next time you pay me a compliment.” “You’re so strong and capable, confident in your business. Why are you insecure about your leg?” She shrugged. “History, maybe?” Something in his expression changed. All charm and teasing evaporated. “Someday, Sally, I’d like to hear about the guy who stomped all over your self esteem.” She turned toward the window. “Try guys.” “Plural?” When she faced him again, he grinned and winked. “That’s going to make it more difficult.” She returned his grin, but couldn’t keep the wariness from her voice. “Why do I feel a punch line coming?” “You’re supposed to say, ‘Make what more difficult, Joe?’ ” 59

Sally laughed at his falsetto voice, then imitated it. “Make what more difficult, Joe?” “Beating up the offenders.” She shook her head. “You’re full of baloney, Joe Desalvo, but a nice guy for trying.” Pulsating blue light flashed through the narrow windows of the four garage doors, drawing her back to disturbing thoughts about the fire. “That was quick. Must not be any crime in J-town tonight.” Joe turned to stare at the pile of burned debris. “I wouldn’t say that.” Joe wasn’t sure how much help he’d be, but he wasn’t leaving Sally’s side. The Jeffersontown Police questioned him and Sally, gathered the charred evidence, and promised they’d be in touch. After Joe helped Sally tape a piece of scrap aluminum over the front window—where police discovered a pane had been cut and removed, providing entry for the arsonist—he offered to drive her home. “Aw, Joe, it’s just a few blocks from here.” “Then it won’t be any trouble. Come on.” She smiled at him, her eyes droopy with exhaustion. “You got more than you bargained for when you asked me to dinner.” He wrapped one arm around her, supporting her weight as she stood. “I wouldn’t call it a dull date.” “Ow!” She stopped, grimacing in pain. “I sat too 60

long. Give me a minute.” “Is it your leg? Can I do anything to help?” Flooded with protective instincts he didn’t know he possessed, Joe longed to erase the furrows above her eyes. “Yeah, it’s my leg. Just let me stretch it.” Leaning against him, Sally flexed her foot and bent from the waist. Several repetitions later, she looked up and smiled. “All better?” She nodded. “All better.” He curbed his curiosity about her leg. After turning out the lights and locking up, they walked to the Mustang. “Want to take your car?” “But how will you get back to yours?” she asked. He shrugged, then opened the passenger door for her. “You said it’s just a few blocks. I’ll walk.” She started to say something, but stopped. Whatever internal debate she waged, Joe’s side must have won. “Okay.” She directed him through the old residential neighborhood where the narrow lots had no room for driveways and the garages faced alleys in the rear. Most of the homes, he guessed, were fifty or sixty years old, small by today’s standards. “This is it. We can go in around back.” He turned at the corner, then entered the alley. Pointing to a white wooden garage, Sally showed him 61

where to park. The garage had been built in the last twenty years, he’d bet, and stood out among the older, narrower ones along the alley. As he nosed the Mustang beside a pick-up truck, a floodlight from the garage’s eave suddenly blinded him. “Motion sensor,” Sally said. He nodded. After he’d helped her from the car and locked up, he followed her down a narrow sidewalk squeezed between the garage and the fence. Ducking to dodge an overgrown shrub, they made their way across a brick patio, then up a plywood ramp that had been erected over the steps. A second motion sensor light clicked on as they stepped onto the ramp. After Sally unlocked the door, Joe grasped her arm. “Are you going to be okay?” She nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” “You’re really walking?” She looked up at him, frowning. “I’ll see if Dad can drive you back—” “No need. I could use the exercise and a little fresh air after all that smoke tonight.” “I hope it doesn’t start raining on you.” Grinning, he winked. “It wouldn’t dare.” Sally squeezed her eyes shut. She sucked in a ragged breath as she backed into the door jamb. “Ow, ow, ow!” “What is it?” Even in the shadows he could see 62

the color drain from her face. He rushed to catch her as she started collapsing. “Sally?” “A muscle—spasm.” From her pained grimace, it was one hell of a cramp. He scooped her into his arms, pushed the door open with his backside, then carried her into the house. The stench of stale beer and pizza assailed him as he stepped into the kitchen. “Which way?” Sally had grabbed his shoulders when he’d lifted her into his arms. Loosening one arm, she pointed to the end of a short hallway. Passing the open bathroom door, he carried her to the end of the hall, using his elbow to nudge open the door of a bedroom. She hardly weighed a thing. Holding her, carrying her felt too good. As he lowered her to the bed, a long shadow and a whiff of beer alerted him to her father’s presence. Joe hardly blamed the guy for his wariness, considering a stranger had just rushed in carrying Sally to her bedroom. If her agony hadn’t concerned him so much, Joe might have laughed. “Leg cramp,” Joe muttered without turning to look at him. “Let me help you take off your pants.” “What?” Sally’s eyes widened into saucers. “W-why?” “So I can work out the knot in your muscle. Come on. This is no time for modesty.” He reached for the buckle on her fanny pack. “What the hell’s going on?” 63

“Dad, this is—” Sally sucked in another breath, unable to finish the introduction. “Sir, I’m Joe Desalvo. Sally has a muscle spasm. She’s in a lot of pain. Could you help me here?” The man’s shadow didn’t budge. “What’s wrong with her clothes?” Joe had forgotten the damage from fire fighting and falling. A tear and stains marred her slacks. Her blazer sleeves had soot marks as well. “Someone set fire to Mustang Sally’s.” “Fire?” The man glared at Joe as if he were the arsonist. “It’s all right, sir. We arrived in time to put it out.” Her father just stood there. Joe cleared his throat. “Right now we need to help Sally.” Joe didn’t take time to analyze the guy’s lack of response. As Sally removed her fanny pack and tossed it aside, Joe unsnapped the waistband of her fly. “Sally can undress herself,” her father said. “Please!” Sally muttered, pushing away his hands. She unzipped, started to slide the waistband over her hips, then froze. “Dad?” Joe turned to face the man. He guessed the disheveled man to be younger than he appeared, which was at least sixty. The man’s gray eyes glared at Sally’s leg, his unshaven face twisted by a grotesque frown. Sally’s father spun from the room, his behavior puzzling Joe. 64

Damn the man! His daughter lay writhing in pain and he ignored her? Joe tamped down his curiosity to concentrate on Sally. He tugged her pants free. Bracing himself for the sight of a shriveled or scarred leg, he schooled his features to show no reaction. Thick scars ran beneath, beside, and over one knee. “Don’t mind Dad. He’s—” “Sally, where is the cramp?” “Ham-hamstring.” Humiliation fi lled her eyes while the pain quickened her breath. Joe sat on the bed and went to work on the backside of her thigh, kneading the stubbornly tight knot in the muscle. He focused on the massage, while his heart ached for the young woman ashamed for her imperfections, embarrassed by her father’s odd behavior. In truth, Sally’s leg muscles surprised him. Instead of the atrophy he’d expected, he found development. Curves. He’d better ignore the curves, he warned himself, especially in the intimacy of her bedroom, where all he’d have to do is peek beneath the crumpled blouse and blazer to see her underwear. Stop it, pal. The scars weren’t the hideous marks he’d prepared himself to see. In fact, he figured these scars were several years old as they’d faded to match the pigment of the surrounding flesh. He’d better not think about Sally’s flesh, either. If she thought her leg repulsive, 65

she had another think coming. He had to concentrate on his mission and rein in his lustful thoughts. The massage took several minutes to relax the spasm in her hamstring. Sally’s breathing began to deepen, the suffering easing from her face. Joe wondered how much the hurt in her eyes had to do with her father’s shabby treatment. “Better?” Sally nodded without looking up. Standing, Joe lifted a corner of the worn cotton bedspread and covered her bare legs. Then he pulled out the two pillows, arranging them behind her back. “There. Now you can be modest.” “Thank you, Joe. You’re very kind.” Joe started to reply, “My pleasure,” but reconsidered. He didn’t want to say anything that could be misconstrued and add to Sally’s distress. He eased down onto the bed beside her, facing her. She continued to avert her eyes. “Is your father angry about something?” She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “No. He can’t stand to look at my scars. They’re too repulsive.” “Repulsive?” One piece of the Sally Clay puzzle locked into place. No wonder Sally’s self-esteem was rock bottom. How different from the way his own family treated his sister after an accident sentenced her to a wheel chair. “Nothing about you is repulsive, Sally.” With his thumb and forefinger, he tugged at her 66

chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, determined to leave no doubt as to the sincerity of his words. Her chocolate-drop eyes stared at him, fi lled with questions. A spark of desire soon heated the chocolate into molten liquid. He couldn’t pull himself from their temptation. He searched for the words he needed to reassure her, but his voice stopped working. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as if it were an icy flagpole. His lips parted, hungry for— He didn’t remember dipping his head. Suddenly, so close her breath mingled with his, his mouth drifted lower, closing the remaining distance. He needed to taste the sweet, luscious mouth— “Telephone, Sally.” The gruff intruding voice broke the spell. Sally blinked, as if emerging from a trance. Join the club, Joe thought, bolting from the bed. Sally accepted the cordless telephone from her father, while Joe waved and mouthed “good night.” He made polite noises to her father as he left, none of which he could later recall, then hurried into the night for the walk back to his car. Just as he stepped outside, it started to rain.

“Hello,” Sally murmured, still dazed from whatever 67

had happened, or almost happened, with Joe. She slapped her free hand across her racing heart, willing herself to relax. “Sally? Uncle Sal. We missed you tonight.” The familiar noises of the Universal Joint competed in the background. “I went to dinner with Joe Desalvo.” “A date? Honey, that’s great.” “No, Uncle Sal, it was business. I’ll tell you all about it later.” “You’re still open Saturdays, aren’t you?” Sally postponed telling her uncle about the fi re at Mustang Sally’s. Tomorrow would be soon enough. “Yes, we’re open. Why?” “There’s a guy here who needs work on a sixtyseven Corvette. Should I send him over tomorrow?” “Sure. A complete overhaul?” Visions of dollar bills danced in her head. “Most likely. Says he has low compression and smoke coming out of the oil fi ller.” “Probably blow by.” Lost compression from the upstroke of the piston around the rings produced smoke, requiring an engine rebuild or a replacement engine block and components. “Depending on the wear, it may require a long block.” “At the very least. Don’t worry. He can afford it. Hang on a sec.” 68

Sally rubbed the skin on her leg, still warm and tingling from Joe’s touch, and waited for Uncle Sal. Pushing aside thoughts of the fire, her mind replayed the scene with Joe. Recalling his invitation to go to his mother’s for dinner, she wondered how she could refuse such a gentle, compassionate man. She didn’t want to offend him. But the more she was with him, the closer he got to her heart. “See you tomorrow?” Uncle Sal asked when he came back on the line. “After rehab and work. You tending bar?” “All afternoon. Gotta go now, sweetie.” “Okay. And thanks for drumming up business.” After she’d disconnected, she lay across the bed, her thoughts returning to Joe. He’d seen her scars, touched them. He’d looked at her with acceptance, not revulsion. Her cheeks warmed, remembering how his heated gaze fi lled her with longing she couldn’t conceal. He had to know she’d yearned for his kiss. He’d been so close, a whisper away. The desire in his eyes had matched hers. Would she have let him kiss her? Who was she kidding? Would she have had the strength to turn away? She didn’t want to question why a super guy like Joe would want to kiss her when he could have his pick of women—whole, healthy women. Nor would she think about her mission for the FBI, the success of which might revive her business. 69

Tonight Sally would pretend she was a normal, attractive woman who’d had a guy want to kiss her. She seriously doubted she’d get much sleep.

A steady rain greeted Joe when he woke up Saturday morning. He quickly dressed, dashed across the driveway, then let himself into his mother’s house to bum a cup of coffee. Even if she wasn’t awake, she’d have coffee set up to brew automatically. “Good morning, Joe.” His mother breezed into the kitchen, in full makeup and dress. “You’re the chipper early bird, Mom.” Joe looked closely at his mother as she poured a cup before joining him at the table. Dark crescents beneath her eyes told a different story. His mother was neither chipper nor rested. “Mom, are you all right?” Her answering smile collapsed. “I’m surviving.” “Did you get a chance to go through Dad’s desk yesterday?” She sighed. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet. Maybe next week.” “I could do it.” Her eyes brightened. “Oh, would you?” “If it’ll help, you know I will.” 70

“I’m looking for any clue—” Her uplifted hand made a swiping motion. “Oh, you know. Anything that will help us understand what happened.” Joe hesitated. His mom wanted clues pointing to a murder. What if his father’s papers and fi les supported the case for suicide? “You may not like what I find.” “Don’t keep anything from me. I can stand the truth.” Steel was back in her voice, determination back in her eyes. Joe finished his coffee, accepted a refi ll, while he debated telling her about the counterfeit engine in the Darrin. Another glimpse at the rigid set of her jaw, the eyes that missed very little, and he knew he had no choice. “I need to talk to you about Dad’s Kaiser Darrin.” She stared past him and clenched the delicate china cup. “That damned Darrin.” Curious. Joe gave his mother a quick rundown on the forged serial number plate and the Ford engine, then asked, “What did you mean by ‘that damned Darrin’?” “The Darrin started the hard feelings between your dad and Vic—” “Whoa! What hard feelings?” Joe’s mind reeled. “Tell me the whole story.” “Well, you know how your dad was about orphans—” “Orphans?” Joe interrupted. Was there no end to what he’d missed by not spending time with his father? 71

Leo Desalvo had three children of his own. A loving, involved father, had he needed more? “Orphans are cars that are no longer manufactured, like Studebaker, Hudson, or Kaiser. Remember his Hudson Hornet?” Joe smiled, indulging in a side trip down memory lane. Why his father wanted an old car the size of a boat baffled the thirteen-year-old boy he’d been that summer. “I remember. He sold it and bought that other old car—what was it?” “A thirty-six Packard,” she said. “It took him about a year to get it restored.” “Then he sold it for ten times more than he paid for it, don’t forget. Until then, I thought of his fascination with orphans as a hobby.” Joe sensed his mother’s need to reminisce, so he didn’t press her. They chatted a few minutes about his dad before she stood, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. She returned to the table with the coffee decanter. “I digress.” After refi lling their cups, she settled at the table and continued. “Your father had been looking for a reasonably-priced Darrin for months. When Vic found one, he wouldn’t sell it to Leo. He claimed he’d bought it for a client.” “Did Vic know how badly Dad wanted a Darrin for his collection?” “Of course he did. That’s what hurt.” 72

“Then Dad found this Darrin and bought it.” She harrumphed. “Right. And for this Darrin he paid full price.” Joe needed time to digest this information. Why would a man in the business of brokering classic automobiles pay full price for the Darrin? And why kill himself after he did?

Things are looking up, Sally thought, as she rose from her office chair. Uncle Sal’s referral brought in his Corvette before Sally had arrived from her rehab visit. Roy had already written up the service order when she arrived. Later, one of Mustang Sally’s repeat customers brought in a 1959 Ford Skyliner for a complete restoration. Counting the Darrin, three of Mustang Sally’s four service bays held jobs. Sally headed back to finish the Darrin’s tune-up. Roy busied himself with the Skyliner. She’d had to explain the missing window and the fire as soon as she’d arrived. Roy had seemed troubled. “Do you think someone knows you’re working with the feds?” he asked. “I don’t think so. I haven’t told a soul about that but you.” 73

“I know. But the timing seems odd. And it appears the Darrin was the target.” Roy’s words unsettled her. She didn’t put much stock in coincidences. That’s why she’d described the Toyota Tacoma she’d seen speeding down the street when she’d talked to the police. Could it have been the arsonist’s vehicle? She measured the gap on six new spark plugs and installed them in the Darrin. Taking a break, she wiped grease from her hands, then wandered over to the cooler where she pulled out two bottles of water. Swigging a long drink from one, she carried the other bottle to Roy. “This one’s going to be a bitch.” Frowning, Roy slammed the Ford’s trunk. She handed him the water before straddling one of the work stools. “Why?” “Finding relays for retractable hardtops is next to impossible. And this one needs relays.” She ran her fingers through her bangs and sighed. “We’ll just have to try.” “Yeah.” Roy downed half of his water, then swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Do you mind if I bring Janet’s car here tomorrow to change the oil? It’d be easier if I put it on the lift.” “Sure. Using the garage when we’re closed is one of the few perks I can give you.” 74

“I like working here. Wages are the going rate and you don’t breathe down my neck like some bosses.” Sally laughed. “I guess I’m unaccustomed to being called boss. Just trying to keep up the business.” Roy drained the bottle of water. “Have you thought about adding a side line for quick oil changes?” “You mean, like those ten-minute places?” He nodded. “More and more people, more and more cars—there’s a market, Sally.” “Okay. Let me think about it.” She’d consider all options before she’d sell her treasured Mustang convertible. She had to admit restoring antique autos limited her customer base. Of course, restoration yielded a lot more profit than maintenance work. “Is the Darrin finished?” he asked. “I need to hit it with the timing light. Then it’s out of here.” She slid from the stool, her thoughts on the counterfeit engine. She’d learned nothing so far that would help Special Agent Ferguson. After she finished the Darrin’s tune-up, she’d have no reason to see Joe Desalvo again. Unless— If she could locate another Willys F head engine, she could restore the Darrin to original condition, qualifying it as an original-condition model. Would he want to invest additional money? In spite of her initial misgivings, Joe had turned out to be a decent guy. She hugged the memory of his 75

tenderness and concern to her heart, ignoring the little voice warning her to keep her distance.

Joe switched off the cordless telephone and tossed it onto his bed. He’d been thinking about Sally all day. No denying it. And he needed to talk to her about this latest piece of information about Vic Bloom. Why? That question baffled him. His father’s death didn’t concern Sally. She wasn’t part of his mother’s search for answers. Strictly speaking, Sally was nothing more than Joe’s mechanic. But he knew better. He needed a friend, a confidant. Someone other than family. In a very short time, he had come to view Sally as his friend. Okay, so he saw her as an attractive woman, too. He hadn’t forgotten how dangerously close he’d been to kissing her last night. She may have wanted it, too, but instinct told him she was afraid. Insecure. After meeting her father, Joe didn’t wonder why. What an insensitive jerk. So Joe’d made his escape before he wound up taking advantage of her vulnerability. Instinct also told him Sally would shoot straight with him. He didn’t need to interpret every nuance, every phrase for hidden agendas. Her honesty and candor made her good friend material. Furthermore, 76

he wanted to be her friend, too. When Sally tuned up the Darrin, he’d have no excuse to spend time with her. That’s why he wasn’t taking chances on her coming to Sunday dinner. He wanted her to meet Nina, and Nina would be at Mom’s tomorrow. He’d go see Sally. Rejecting him in person would be harder than over the phone. Mustang Sally’s stayed open until five o’clock, giving him ample time for the drive. Pulling a nylon windbreaker over his head, he darted into the rain toward his car. He drove through the community of Anchorage, past the split rail fences and horse barns, then headed west toward Shelbyville Road. The shortcut through Middletown, another community east of Louisville, took longer than he’d expected. The changes in the past ten years astounded him. What he remembered as shortcut county roads were now congested four-lane parkways. He reached Jeffersontown—J-town to the locals—and turned a block short of Watterson Trail to circle the block. Joe rolled to a stop in the rear parking lot at Mustang Sally’s. Before he got out, he caught sight of movement at the back door. Was he too late? He slid out, searching the parking lot for signs of Sally. Then he saw her. Sally waited at the corner to cross Watterson Trail, headed in the direction of the convenience store. 77

Slamming the car door, Joe jogged to catch her. Before he could reach her, the signal changed to WALK. Sally started into the street in her careful, slow gait, her head lowered against the rain. She couldn’t see the pick-up truck speeding toward the intersection.

78

Chapter

e

FIV

The pelting rain and passing cars drowned out Sally’s heavy breathing as she concentrated on her leg muscles. Thanks to her grueling strength training, her leg grew stronger each week. When rested, Sally could walk at an almost normal pace now. With renewed determination, she indulged in a smug grin as she waited. The Walk light flashed. Checking first left, then right, she moved into the intersection. The next instant, two strong arms ensnared her, dragging her from the road. What in the world— ? Her heart in her throat, she fought to free herself. She tumbled into the wet grass, pinned down by her brutal 79

assailant. Mugged in J-town? She struggled again to dislodge the attacker, but managed only to dig herself into the gritty mud. Anger replaced fear. She growled at the man, ready for battle, when he suddenly released her. “Are you all right?” “Of course I’m not all right, you insane terrorist—” The woodsy cologne and baritone voice penetrated her scrambled senses. Her heart thudded a frantic tempo against her rib cage. “Joe?” He’d pulled her to her feet. “I’m sorry I tackled you like that, but it happened so fast—” “What happened so fast?” She wiped mud from her chin. “Just what are you doing here, anyway?” Joe nudged her toward the convenience store. “Could we get out of the rain?” Sally was in no hurry to escape the shower. It rinsed the mud from her clothes and cooled her flushed skin. She warmed from his closeness, although the adrenaline rush from her pseudo-mugging hadn’t helped. They stopped beneath the overhang at the store’s entrance. Joe kept his voice low. “A pickup truck almost ran you down. He ran the light.” Her breath caught in her throat. “What? I didn’t see—” “I know.” He nodded toward Watterson Trail. The tightening around his mouth, his rigid jaw sent shivers 80

of alarm up her spine. “I think it was deliberate.” “Running the light?” “Hitting you. The fire, and now this.” His sable eyes bore into her. “Someone means you harm.” She chewed at her lower lip, unable to deny his logic. “Look, Sally. Get whatever you came for and let’s get back so we can report this.” “Report what?” she muttered under her breath. Just because a truck ran a red light didn’t make it attempted murder. Either way, though, she’d be just as dead. Dead? She swallowed against the terrible realization. Pushing through the door with Joe on her heels, she tried to shake the frightening coincidence of being a victim of both an arsonist and hit-and-run driver. She’d never trusted coincidence before. Her trembling fingers dug through her fanny pack for change. After she paid for her carton of milk, she remembered Joe hadn’t answered her original question. Just what are you doing here, anyway?

“Good thing it’s not a hard rain.” Back at Mustang Sally’s, Joe dried off with paper towels. “Do you want to call the police or shall I?” Sally’s casual shrug failed to hide her anxiety. “You can. You’re the eye witness.” 81

Joe nodded. “Okay, I’ll call.” “And tell them what? That a pickup truck tried to run me down? What make, model, color pickup, Joe? Can you give a description of the driver?” Straddling one of the work stools, she offered to share the pint of milk with him. He needed a stronger drink than milk, something to dull the tension coiled inside his chest. “You’re right. We have nothing to give them. But I’ll report it.” He studied her face, where a raspberry-colored bruise marked her chin. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Just sore. And that’s mostly from last night.” She stared at him with troubled eyes. “What’s happening here, Joe?” Roy Bishop worked two bays down on an old Ford. Joe cut his eyes toward the man. “Let’s talk in your office.” “Sure. I’d just as soon not worry Roy.” Joe offered Sally his arm. “Need some help?” She slid from the stool. “I can manage. By the way, I never did thank you for saving my life.” Joe chuckled. “No, but you called me an insane terrorist.” “Sorry. I thought someone was mugging me.” She led him into her office and the folding metal chair. She sank into the chair behind her desk. “A cripple is an easy target.” 82

Something snapped inside Joe’s gut. “Dammit, Sally, stop referring to yourself as a cripple.” He instantly regretted the outburst. Seeing Sally almost killed by the truck had robbed him of patience. Or maybe he needed to distance himself after last night’s near-kiss. For whatever reason, he’d lost it. He braced himself for Sally’s angry rebuttal, or at least a defensive remark. An indignant you’re-way-out-ofline, mister. Tears. Anything but a smile. A genuine, heart-stopping smile. “Self-pity is tiresome, isn’t it?” “It’s more like self-deprecation.” He shook his head. “Why do you do it?” “The best defense is an offense.” She scrunched her shoulders, then released them, a movement that almost passed as a shrug. “You expect comments about your leg, so you just beat people to the punch?” She nodded, gnawing at her bottom lip—her rich, dewy lip. The nervous gesture conjured up erotic visions he struggled to ignore. “But you’re right,” she said. “I can’t expect others to see me as a normal woman until I see myself as normal and whole. I’m working on it.” “You are a whole woman, Sally. And an amazing one, too.” And intriguing. And sexy. Ooh, boy. “Uh, so how are you working on it?” 83

“Do you really want to talk about this?” She gave him a puzzled smile. “Why not?” “I thought we were going to discuss why anyone would want to burn up the Darrin or my garage or put tire tracks across my back.” “You’re right. Let me call the cops.” He punched in 9-1-1 from her desk phone, then reported the attempted hit-and-run. Later, while they waited for the patrol car to arrive, Joe returned to the subject of Sally’s fitness program, hoping it would lead her to talk about her injury. Right now he wanted—no, needed—to know what made Sally Clay tick. He hadn’t succeeded in understanding his attraction to her. His life had become entangled with hers in a short time, even though he didn’t need entanglements. “Last night you said you work out, and it shows. Is that part of your program to see yourself as normal and whole?” “Yeah. You know how a blind person develops her other senses to compensate for the missing one? Well, I do that with my leg. I have severed muscles that will never work, but I also have good ones. I work the good muscles extra hard to compensate for the missing ones. It’s aggressive physical therapy beyond what the doctors recommended.” 84

In other words, the doctors had given up and the insurance company wouldn’t authorize payment for continued therapy. His family had experienced that dilemma, too, with Nina’s years of therapy and treatment. Sally would exhaust every avenue before accepting defeat. “You’re missing the point, though.” She pursed her lips. “Which is?” “You’re trying to fi x what’s wrong so you’ll feel worthy. I’m saying you’re worthy now, if only you’d stop crippling yourself.” Unconvinced eyes stared back at him. “What makes you the psychologist?” “I’m no psychologist, Sally, but I’m a brown belt.” “Karate?” Furrows deepened across her forehead. “You’ve lost me.” “Tai Kwon Do.” Balancing on the chair’s back legs, he leaned it against the wall. “One semester we were signing up new students. An overweight freshman asked me all sorts of questions at orientation, clearly wanting to join the class. But she held back, saying she’d have to lose weight before she enrolled.” “Did she? Lose weight, I mean?” He shook his head. “No. Master asked her why she thought overweight people hadn’t the right to defend themselves. Two years later, she beat my butt in a tournament, and still outweighed me by several pounds.” Sally laughed. “Good for her.” 85

“And now I’m asking you: Why would you think a person with an injured leg deserves less than anyone else?” Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, reminding him of a filly during a thunderstorm. “I don’t think that!” “Okay.” He held out supplicating hands. “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.” “You do have a point.” She sighed, the fire in her eyes abating. “My life’s a lot more complicated than you know. And I’m not going into it.” “Fair enough. I didn’t mean to pry.” Liar. He did want to know what demons she battled. He could be patient. “Tell me about your upper body strength training. Is that part of your aggressive physical therapy?” “That’s job related.” She flashed him a cocky grin. “I can’t have customers thinking I’m a weak mechanic. There’s a lot of muscle required in auto work. Some of my hardest labor is lying beneath an engine working with my arms held up over my head. Several hours of that tend to wear you down.” Joe pushed aside the image of Sally lying with her arms held up, an image without an automobile or overalls covering her body. Down, boy! “I’d never call you a weak mechanic. You’re anything but weak, lady.” She ducked her head, murmuring “thanks.” Embarrassed again? Didn’t anyone ever feed this woman praise? Sally presented a curious puzzle, one he’d like 86

to solve. “Does your regimen include a special diet?” “No. I take extra calcium and vitamins to strengthen my bones. Liquid minerals help boost my energy and immune system.” Her lips turned up in a smile that failed to mask the strain in her eyes. “You must think I’m a health nut.” “Not after watching you wolf down two rolled oysters and a mountain of French fries.” His teasing remark eased the tension, earning him a smile. “Watching me? Ha! You were too busy stuffing your own face—” Roy Bishop stuck his head inside the door, interrupting her. “Excuse me, boss.” “Hey, Roy.” Sally beamed at the mechanic. The easy camaraderie between the two suggested a long working relationship. “Aren’t you due home by now? Janet will have my hide working you late on a Saturday.” “I’m gone. I have a call in to that guy in Moultrie about those relays, in case he calls back this afternoon.” “I’ll handle it.” Sally waved him away. “See you Monday.” Roy’s retreating footsteps faded, followed by a door banging shut. “I didn’t realize it was this late,” Joe said. “Where are the cops?” “You told them it wasn’t an emergency. And I told 87

you it was a waste of time.” “We’ll see. You need to lock up while we wait.” Sally looked at the electric clock on the wall opposite her desk, a clock reminiscent of grade school. “Yeah, I need to clean up before heading to the Universal Joint. Uncle Sal doesn’t usually work Saturdays, but he’s there today and I told him I’d stop by.” Joe wasn’t ready to leave. They hadn’t discussed the attempt on her life with the police, nor had he broached the subject of tomorrow’s dinner at his mother’s. He’d hoped to bring up the subject of Vic and the Darrin, too. Sally must have read his mind. “You want to follow me over there? We could grab some health food.” “Health food. Right.” Her invitation cheered him, more than he’d expected. “I don’t mind if I do.”

Just as Sally suspected, the police report didn’t take long. Joe had little to give them in the way of details. In turn, the police had nothing to offer. Still, the attempted hit-and-run was now a matter of record. She locked up after the two officers left, then headed for the Universal Joint, Joe behind her in his Dodge. Too early for the typical Saturday night crowd, the tavern held only a few customers when Sally and Joe 88

walked in, and none were regulars she recognized. A small group crowded the bar, watching the suspended TV set. Noises of a NASCAR race and an occasional cheer seemed muted compared to the rowdy late crowds. The jukebox was blessedly silent. Joe ushered Sally to a booth against the wall, far from the TV. Monette whisked over to the table, smiling. “Hey, Sally. You ready for your usual?” “I sure am.” Joe cocked his head quizzically. “What’s your usual?” Monette crowded her considerable charms into Joe’s face. “One draft beer and a grilled hot pepper cheese on Texas toast sandwich.” Joe kept his gaze locked on Sally. “Sounds like good health food. Make that two.” Sally suppressed a grin. Monette had suffered a serious setback when a guy ignored her for a crippled— No! Joe was right. She had to stop the negative self-talk. “Monette, have you met Joe Desalvo?” “Pleased to meet you, Joe.” Monette seemed to take his disinterest in stride. Winking at Sally, she hurried toward the kitchen with their orders. Joe nodded toward the bar. “Is that your uncle?” “Yep. That’s Uncle Sal, tending bar. You’ve never met?” Joe shrugged. “Probably when I was a kid. I know he 89

was friends with Vic and my dad. Tell me about him.” “Uncle Sal and Aunt Susan took me under their wings when Mom died. Their daughter Maggie is my age and the closest thing to a sister I have, although we aren’t as close as we once were.” “Why’s that?” “Oh, you know. She has a different life now. Married, a three-year-old plus another kid on the way.” All the things Sally shouldn’t dream about, but did. “We keep in touch still.” Monette returned, sliding two pilsner glasses of beer onto the table. “Here you go. Your sammies will be up shortly.” Sally sipped the cold brew and watched the waitress sashay back to the bar, her auburn tresses swaying in her wake. “Uncle Sal and my dad have worked on cars as long as I can remember. They were Clay Enterprises, a racing team. Later, when Sal opened Mustang Sally’s, he hired me. He knew he’d like my work because he’d help train me. I eventually bought him out and you know the rest.” Joe fingered designs into the condensation outside the pilsner. “Your dad raced?” “He used to.” Shame consumed her just thinking about what her father had sacrificed because of her. “What kind of racing?” “NASCAR, Busch division.” She needed to change 90

the subject without arousing Joe’s curiosity, to steer the conversation away from racing or her father. Talk that would lead to the accident. She wouldn’t discuss the accident, not with Uncle Sal, not with her dad, and certainly not with Joe Desalvo. Besides, hadn’t she agreed to find out all she could for the FBI about Leo? So far, she had zilch. “Joe, you’ve done an admirable job of distracting me from my troubles, but enough.” She waited as Monette appeared with their sandwiches, ensured Joe and Sally had everything they needed, then scurried off to greet two arriving patrons. “As I said earlier, what’s happening here?” “And as I said earlier, someone means you harm. Ticked off anybody lately? Disgruntled customers?” He winked. “Jealous ex-boyfriends?” She gave him her best you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “No. Besides, Roy seems to think your car was the target. No pickups tried to run me down before you brought me the Darrin.” “You think it’s connected to the Darrin?” She didn’t really blame Joe or the Darrin. She couldn’t finger anyone else, either. “The fire was probably a gang initiation. Why not set it behind the Darrin? It was the only car in my garage Friday night. The reckless truck driver is unrelated.” Joe’s half-eaten sandwich froze in mid-air. “Sally, 91

that was not just a reckless driver.” “Joe, even the cops aren’t buying that.” “The cops didn’t see the truck. I did. And I’m telling you the guy deliberately tried to hit you.” The bite of grilled cheese lodged in her throat. Joe’s words chilled her, but made no sense. Why would anyone want her dead? Only a few trusted people knew she’d reported the fraudulent Darrin to the FBI, unless— Was there a leak at the FBI? Had the bad guys found her out? Something in her face must have betrayed her rising fear. “Sally, are you all right?” Concern filled his rich baritone voice and his dark eyes. “You’ve turned pale.” “What’s the matter?” boomed another deep baritone voice as Uncle Sal’s shadow draped over her. “No hug for your favor-right bartender? And what the hell happened to your chin?” Without waiting for her reply, he leaned into the booth for a hug. Sally locked her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Hey, Uncle Sal.” “Hey, yourself. What did ya do to your chin?” “I fell.” Sally scooted over so Uncle Sal could join them. “Take a break, bartender. Have you met Joe Desalvo?” “When he was still in diapers.” He shook Joe’s hand. “How ya doin’?” “Nice to meet you again, Sal.” 92

Uncle Sal slid in beside her. “I’m real sorry ’bout your dad, Joey. He was a good man.” “Thanks,” Joe murmured. His neutral expression didn’t mask the fl icker of pain in his eyes. “Do you remember if Dad came in here the week he died?” Joe had his reasons for asking, she supposed, but Uncle Sal appeared as surprised by the question as she. “He did.” Frowning, he rubbed his chin. “He seemed unusually quiet, come to think about it. Troubled, maybe. But nothin’ that led me to believe he’d—” “I know. That’s what Mom says.” Uncle Sal shook his head. “Nobody was more surprised than me to hear what happened to him. That just ain’t Leo.” Joe nodded, but must have decided to change the subject. He gestured toward Sally. “Your niece almost got run over this afternoon.” She groaned. Good going, Joe. Now Uncle Sal would be overprotective more than ever. “Some guy just ran a red light. Joe tackled me or I might’ve been road kill.” Her attempt at levity fell flat with both men. “Where was this?” She shrugged, faking a lack of concern. “Right in front of the garage. I was crossing Watterson Trail.” “Did you call the cops?” “We reported it, yes, but there’s nothing they can 93

do. Joe wasn’t able to give them a description of the truck.” “Tell him the rest, Sally.” Joe pinned her with his piercing dark gaze. She frowned at Joe, futilely trying to shut him up. “What?” roared Uncle Sal. “Okay. Joe thinks it was intentional.” She sighed. Here it comes, she thought. “Why?” He directed his question to Joe, who was more forthcoming with information. “In view of the fire—” “Fire?” He glared at Sally. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, Uncle Sal.” She described the fire, then remembered she hadn’t told him yet about the forged engine number on the Darrin. She fi lled him in on the discrepancy, along with the puzzle of why Leo would buy a fake. She didn’t tell him everything. Now wasn’t the time to mention the FBI bulletin or Special Agent Adam Ferguson. “This is working into a real mystery, Sally,” her uncle said when she’d finished. “I thought it was strange Leo didn’t say nothin’ about gettin’ a Darrin. Then for him to—” He shot an apologetic look toward Joe. Joe cleared his throat. “That’s all right, Sal. You aren’t voicing anything we haven’t already thought. Why would Dad pay full price for a collectible knowing it’s a fake, then kill himself?” 94

“What do you mean by full price, Joe?” Sally asked. Joe’s frown deepening, he hesitated. “Th is may sound crazy, but—” “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked.” Reaching across the table, Joe covered her hand with his. She liked the warmth of his smooth palm, the feel of his tapered fingers. She liked it too much. But she didn’t pull away. Their gazes met and locked, connecting them. His eyes searched hers as if pleading with her, but for what? Understanding? Acceptance? Help? Uncle Sal cleared his throat, a reminder that they weren’t alone. “Y’all want me to leave?” Heat suff used her body, flushing her skin. Again. She found her voice, finally, but not without a struggle. “No, Uncle Sal.” Joe’s eyes remained fi xed. “Stay, sir. You may be able to help.” “What is it, Joe?” Sally asked. His hand still gripping hers, he turned to face Uncle Sal. “Did you know anything about a falling out between my dad and Vic Bloom?” Uncle Sal averted his eyes. “They had words here one night, about a month ago.” Sally stifled a gasp. “An argument? Was I here?” “No, honey. You musta been workin’ out. And I wouldn’t call it an argument. More like hurt feelings. 95

It was over some car, but I didn’t get the details.” “You’d never eavesdrop. Right?” Sally teased. “Hell, yeah, I’d eavesdrop, especially with those two. We were pals. But it was a busy night.” “How long have you known Vic and my Dad?” “Lordy, almost thirty years. We hooked up in the army out at Fort Sill. We were all from this area, so that brought us together. We stayed in touch after we got out ‘cause Leo had this idea of us all goin’ into business together.” Uncle Sal ran a hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “But I’d made plans with my brother to open a garage and build hot rods.” Joe’s eyebrows lifted. “Hot rods?” Monette wiggled up to the table. “Um, Sal?” “Duty calls, folks.” He slid out of the booth. “Sorry I wasn’t no help to ya, Joey.” “I wouldn’t say that.” Joe lifted his glass in salute. “Maybe we can talk another time.” “Sure thing,” he called over his shoulder. What was that about? Sally wondered. Something happened between Vic and Leo before Leo’s suicide? A falling out, Joe had said. Even more disturbing was Joe’s hand still enveloping hers. And, God help her, Sally didn’t want him to let go. Joe realized his faux pas. He’d held Sally’s hand publicly and in front of her uncle. Had he no discretion? On the other hand, why should he hide his new 96

friendship with Sally? She hadn’t seemed to mind. Au contraire. Her blush spoke volumes. Pleased that his touches and gazes affected her, he risked asking her the question that had brought him to Mustang Sally’s that afternoon. “Will you come with me to Mom’s for Sunday dinner?” He gave her hand a quick, gentle squeeze. “Look, Joe. I’ve thought about it. I’d feel like an intruder.” “Not good enough.” He smiled. “My mom always encourages us to invite our friends to Sunday dinner. You’ll need a better reason than that.” She shrugged. “Here’s a good one. I have nothing to wear. My only good jacket and blouse reek of smoke. My one good pair of slacks is probably ruined.” “You have no blue jeans? No T-shirts? We don’t ‘dress’ for dinner, Sally. In fact, my older sister will probably come straight in from riding.” He went for the close. “So I’ll pick you up around twelve.” “Blue jeans and T-shirt, eh? You’d better be telling the truth or I’ll hold the Darrin hostage.” “Actually, I thought we might drive the Darrin. I’d like to try it out.” She laughed, a deep throaty laugh. A bedroom laugh. Geez, where was his mind? He wanted a friend, a confidant. But the honeyed timbre of her laughter struck a chord inside him way beyond friendship. 97

“Right,” she said. “You want to drive it while you have a mechanic along for the ride.” He gasped. “The thought never crossed my mind!” “I’m sure.” She laughed again. In spite of his best efforts, the bedroom image returned. He swallowed, ignoring the curl of heat in his groin. “You know, you should laugh more often.” She lifted her beer for another sip before answering, as if unsure of what to say. “Why do you say that?” He blurted the truth. Not the whole truth, of course. He left out the bedroom part. “I like it.” “Just one question, Joe.” She leaned across the table toward him, favoring him with another stunning smile. “How much longer are you going to hold my hand? I’d kind of like to finish my sandwich.” “Sorry.” Not. He’d enjoyed touching her, even if it was innocent hand-holding. He lifted his hand from hers, already missing the contact. “So you’ll go with me tomorrow?” She nodded, then bit into her sandwich. Lucky sandwich. He’d like for her to take her mouth to him like that. He banished the fantasy to the back of his mind—for now. His lust attack cooled when thoughts of his father’s death resurfaced. Myriad questions swirled in his head. Incredibly, he needed to talk more than he needed sex. “I’d really like to run something by you.” 98

“Sure.” “Mom says Vic found a Darrin for one of their collectors and wouldn’t let Dad have it, even knowing Dad had been searching for one. That may have been what Sal overheard. It concurs with what Mom says about his refusal hurting Dad.” “So Leo found a Darrin on his own, but was forced to pay full price for it?” “Looks that way.” “But, Joe, that’s no reason to commit suicide.” “That’s just it. Mom can’t accept Dad’s death as a suicide. She believes my father was murdered.” He paused, studying Sally’s facial expression, bracing himself for her to scoff at the theory. He should’ve known by now to expect the unexpected from Sally. She leaned forward, her face a grim frown. “Did they do an autopsy?” “Yes, but—” “I’ve been around depression, Joe. Right after Mom died, I worried that Dad would do something to hurt himself. I was too young to understand his illness but I heard worried whispers between my aunt and uncle. Years later I learned that they had feared Dad would take his own life. So I have an idea of what to look for.” “What about Dad? Did you see signs of depression in him?” 99

“Never.” She shook her head. “I think your mother may be right.”

100

Chapter SIX

Sunlight slipped through layers of gossamer clouds, tingeing the sky a grayish blue. Sally gazed through the Darrin’s windshield, wishing for warmer temperatures, for the sting of wind against her skin. She’d grown up riding in convertibles, weather permitting and other times too. Joe shifted gears smoothly, in spite of his earlier complaints about managing a clutch. His sister had taught him well. Thoughts of his sister resurrected her anxiety about visiting his home and meeting his family. “Who all will be there today?” “Mom, of course, Grandma, then my sisters and 101

their entourage.” “How many sisters?” “Two. Sofia, my older sister, and Nina, the baby. She’s 28. Nina is training for the half-marathon, so she and Terry probably dumped my niece with Mom.” “The Kentucky Derby Mini-marathon?” The road race that kicked off Derby Festival Week was held the Saturday preceding the running of the Kentucky Derby. “That’s the one. More than thirteen miles starting at Iroquois Park and finishing downtown. Too ambitious for me.” Sally sighed. So many took their abilities for granted. She’d gladly do the training if she were able to run in a road race. “So Nina is married?” “Yes, to Terry Simpson. They were high school sweethearts.” “And your other sister?” “She and Brendan, her fiancé, will probably be riding the horses.” “And your mom is busy cooking and babysitting all this time?” He grinned. “And loving every minute of it.” “Sounds like a nice family you have.” She cleared her throat, hoping to cover the wistfulness in her voice. “Tell me about your niece.” “Samantha’s three, and has everyone wrapped 102

around her precocious little finger.” Sally laughed. “Including Uncle Joe.” “She would if I was around her more.” He flashed her a quick smile. “Seems like she was just an infant the other day.” “And your other sister?” “Fia’s the veterinarian. Didn’t date much until she got her career secured.” A frown settled over Joe’s face. “Sort of like me.” “Is Sofia the one who taught you to drive a stick?” He nodded. “We call her Fia. Did I mention she’s extremely patient?” “I see. So now she’s engaged to a guy named Brendan?” “Yeah.” He sighed. “Whom you don’t like.” She suppressed a smile. Joe grunted. “I never said that.” The smile escaped. “Yes you did.” Joe’s gaze left the road just long enough to flash Sally a wry grin. “Okay, I don’t like him. What gave me away?” She shrugged. “Women’s intuition?” Joe slowed to a stop at the traffic light in J-town. “Brendan seems too old for Fia, although he’s only about forty-one or forty-two. His attitude is old, if you know what I mean. He’s not all that bad, I guess. It’s just—” 103

“Well, she hasn’t married him yet.” And what about you, Joe Desalvo? she wanted to ask. Why haven’t you married? Nice as he’d been to her, Sally knew better than to think marriage would ever be an issue between them. “Grandma doesn’t think Fia should marry Brendan, either.” “She said that?” “Right in front of him, in the middle of Christmas dinner.” Joe chuckled. “She said ‘You don’t want to marry this guy.’ Fia demanded an apology, although by now she should’ve known better. Grandma just waved her turkey drumstick around in the air and said, ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn ya!’ “ Sally laughed at the way he pitched his voice to imitate his grandmother. “I can hardly wait to meet Grandma.” “She’s a trip.” Joe accelerated when the traffic light changed. “Be prepared for anything.” “Hmm. Funny you didn’t mention Grandma until you had me in the car.” Sally watched as Joe shifted through the gears. “How does the Darrin handle?” He snorted. “Very different from the Dodge.” “Well, for one thing it’s rear wheel drive. You’re used to front wheel drive.” “I’m also used to power steering, power brakes, and an automatic transmission. And get a load of this 104

huge steering wheel.” Sally grinned. “Eighteen-and-a-half inches. All the older cars had big steering wheels. You might want to use overdrive now. Just let up off the gas until you feel it engage.” “Got it.” His grip on the steering wheel relaxed. “Thanks.” “The Darrin won’t be as powerful as your Dodge, either, although in its day it was peppy.” “It’s a progressive car for 1954. Mom said Darrins were my dad’s favorites.” Even in profi le, bleakness darkened his face. Sally saw grief and sadness, and a glimpse of something else. Regret? He shrugged. “Thinking this was his favorite was the main reason I wanted to keep it.” Sally touched his arm with a light pat. “I’m sorry. Finding out the Darrin isn’t authentic must be doubly disappointing for you.” “Yeah.” Joe slowed for a curve, frowning in concentration, or perhaps to compose himself. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed didn’t escape her notice. “Doubly puzzling, too.” “You know, if you’ve a mind to, we could restore the Darrin to original condition.” “Not without its original engine.” “We could get it to original condition, which would 105

restore it to its collectible status. Just say the word and I’ll start the search for a Willys F head engine.” “Let me think about it. I really don’t know enough about collectible cars.” Sally couldn’t think of anything to else to say. Joe seemed to withdraw, lost in his thoughts. Was he considering the cost of restoring the Darrin? Perhaps he puzzled over the circumstances of his father’s death. Had Leo killed himself, or could the suicide have been staged? What if, in his digging around, Joe uncovered evidence that Leo had committed suicide? He’d found nothing helpful in the autopsy report. Cause of death: bullet wound to the head. Well, duh. The FBI’s interest in Leo only muddied the waters. After all, Leo had bought the misrepresented Darrin, not sold it. In joining the Desalvo family for dinner Sally might find out more about Leo’s activities. She suddenly felt like an interloper. She glanced at Joe, whose preoccupied frown worried her. Guilt and regret tormented his eyes. No stranger to those two demons, Sally tried everyday to atone for her failure as a daughter. Did Joe and his father have unfinished business? Things that should’ve been said? Powerless to help him, she vowed instead to do all she could to help in his quest to solve the mystery of Leo’s death. She turned to gaze at the passing cars, the fi lled 106

parking lots of chain restaurants, the landscaped sidewalks and medians. Instead, she studied Joe’s profi le reflected from inside the glass. Whatever he was thinking, his pensive glower did nothing to detract from his chiseled handsomeness. She fooled only herself if she thought she sought his company for information. Joe Desalvo’s attentions lifted her spirits like nothing had in nine years. Sure, he was a fantasy guy, offering her lonely heart nothing to be taken seriously. She’d just enjoy his company while she could, ignoring her head’s nagging little voice, the warnings that she was setting herself up for heartache. She just hoped the urge to help Joe wouldn’t lead to a confl ict of interest with her promise to help the FBI.

Absorbed in his thoughts about his dad, Joe lost track of the miles. He turned down the tree-canopied lane that led into the village of Anchorage, then grimaced. Damn. How long had he ignored Sally? He slowed for the railroad crossing, stealing a glance at her. She smiled. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You have a lot on your mind, Joe. I understand.” Her sincerity touched him. Not many women, his 107

sisters included, could sit quietly for a twenty-minute drive without feeling slighted. “You’re amazing.” Sputtering a response, she cocked her head to one side and gave him a baffled half-smile. “You’re not like other women.” “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” “Now, Sally. That’s not what I meant—” “I know.” She grinned. “I’m yanking your chain. Lighten up.” “Lighten up?” He shook his head. Now it was his turn to be baffled. Downshifting, he turned onto his mother’s street. “Before we go inside and I subject you to my family, I’d like to ask you a favor.” “Sure. What is it?” “After dinner, would you go with me up to Carmel, Indiana? I want to see if we can catch this Howard Steele guy at home.” “The man who sold Leo this car?” At Joe’s nod, she said, “I’ll go, but in the Darrin?” “Of course. You do stand behind your work, don’t you?” “Absolutely. Carmel is about 100 miles from here, though. Are you sure you’re comfortable driving it that far?” He pulled into the long driveway, eased to a stop beside the main house, then parked. Lighten up, she’d said. He’d show her. Setting the emergency brake, he 108

turned to her and winked. “I’m comfortable as long as I have my mechanic along.” My mechanic. How silly to find pleasure in Joe’s teasing words. Yet Sally hugged them to her heart. My mechanic. He’d made the words sound proudly possessive, as if he were saying my very own private mechanic. She accepted his arm as he helped her from the car. He walked her through a garden of tulips, his hand pressed against the small of her back. That, too, felt possessive and intimate. Thanks to a long inclined walkway, which reminded Sally of a wheelchair ramp, she walked an almost normal gait toward the house. The huge rambling home with its gables and multi-pane windows seemed to be patched together from three different houses. The effect was not unattractive, and, in fact, added to its hominess. A slender, middle-age woman emerged from French doors that opened onto the patio. “You must be Sally.” She offered a manicured hand. “I’m Joe’s mother, Lucinda Desalvo.” Sally slipped her hand into hers, accepting the brief-but-firm handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Desalvo.” “Call me Lucinda, please.” The older woman’s silver-tipped hair almost matched her ashen complexion. 109

Make-up around her expressive gray eyes failed to camouflage the shadows of grief. She motioned them inside before exchanging cheek kisses with her son. “I’ve made iced tea. Would you care for a glass?” “Yes, thank you.” Sally surveyed the bright breakfast room, with its multi-pane windows and pastoral view. The aromas of garlic and roast beef beckoned from the kitchen. “I love this room. What a view.” “Thank you, Sally. It’s my favorite.” Lucinda rolled one of the white upholstered chairs from the table. “Have a seat, both of you. Let’s visit before your grandmother discovers I’ve left her babysitting.” As Lucinda poured tea over ice in tall, pastel tumblers, Sally caught the low murmurs from another part of the house. A sudden burst of giggles erupted. “How’s Grandma entertaining Sam?” Joe asked. “I don’t even want to know.” As Lucinda joined them at the table, her poise and grace struck a chord with Sally. A classy lady, Lucinda wore a plain cotton blouse and baggy jeans with elegance. She fi lled Sally with a long-suppressed aching for her own mother, a lady she barely remembered. “I hope Joe warned you that our Sunday meals are very casual. I usually have stew or a pot roast slow cooking while we go to church. I brown some refrigerated rolls, toss a salad, and that’s about it.” Smiling, Sally sniffed. “Smells delicious. I’m sure 110

I’ll enjoy it more than my usual sandwich.” “What Mom hasn’t told you is Sunday is the only day she makes dessert. And it’s always something decadent.” “I hope you like pecan pies.” “And I hope you don’t,” Joe quipped. “More for me.” “Son!” Lucinda cast him a stern look, which earned her a smug grin in return. Shaking her head, she faced Sally. “Joe tells me you’re an expert mechanic.” Sally hesitated as pride warred with modesty. “I’ve benefited from working with the best.” Lucinda smiled. “I’ve met your uncle. Leo thought highly of him.” Sally started to ask when she’d met Uncle Sal, but Joe asked, “Nina’s out training this morning?” Lucinda nodded, then sipped her tea. “I expect them anytime now. Terry’s riding his bike alongside her so they’ll both probably want showers before dinner. Fia called to say she’d be out later. Brendan’s not coming.” Joe muttered, “That’s too bad.” Sally took a sip of iced tea to hide her smile. The sugary drink surprised her. Lucinda’s version of iced tea resembled beige lemonade, a far cry from the dark plain tea Sally grew up drinking. Lucinda rolled her chair from the table. “Here’s Nina.” Sally turned toward the large windows, expecting 111

to see a female athlete jogging toward the French doors. The sight gave her pause. Now that she thought about it, neither Joe nor his mother had said Nina was running. Just training. The woman, her dark hair pulled from her face in a short ponytail, appeared to be about Sally’s age. Perspiration spotted her thin shorts and tank top. Her companion, a stout, red-haired guy with a pleasant smile, walked behind her as they entered the kitchen together. He walked, while she maneuvered a lightweight bare-bones wheel chair. “I’m Nina,” she said, releasing one wheel to offer Sally her hand. Judging from the strong muscle definition in Nina’s arms, she’d been training in earnest. Sally shook hands. “I’m Sally Clay.” “Nice to meet you, Sally Clay.” “Terry Simpson.” The man offered Sally his hand. “I heard you’re training for the Mini, Nina.” “Nina’s a wheelchair athlete.” Joe’s voice fi lled with pride. “Last year she placed in her age group in the wheelchair division.” Nina grinned. “Last year’s winner turned thirty, so she’ll be in a different age group this year.” “I hope you win,” Sally said. “Come on, Nina. Let’s take our showers before we stink up the house.” Terry gave the wheelchair a nudge. Nina spun the wheels on her chair, heading into the 112

hall. “Right. And before Samantha realizes we’re back.” Lucinda scurried after them. “Let me get extra towels for you.” Sally stared after them, then faced Joe. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “You had to meet Nina to get the full effect.” The full effect? No wonder he’d been insistent that she come here. Her eyes fi lled. “I — I’m humbled by her. And ashamed.” “I was trying for inspired, Sally.” His softly spoken words only increased her embarrassment. “Oh, God. What you must think of me.” Groaning, she buried her face in her hands. The wheel chair. The one fate Sally resisted, the one option she’d refused, afraid a wheel chair was a life sentence as an invalid. “Nina is an inspiration. She’s excelled in a sport, married, has a baby, while I’ve felt sorry for myself for a measly limp.” “Look at me.” Reaching across the table, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She lowered her hands. His dark, probing eyes held no reproach, no pity. He shook his head, his mouth curling into a sad smile. “What I think of you, Sally, is how much you remind me of Nina. You’re a fighter. You expect no special treatment. I don’t see self-pity in you. The major difference in you and Nina is family.” 113

Sally blinked. “What do you mean?” “Since the riding accident that put her in a wheel chair, Nina’s had the unconditional love and support of every one of us. You have a father who won’t even look at your leg.” Jerking her arm free, Sally bolted from the table. “My dad has good reason for hating my scars.” Tears scalded the backs of her eyes, but she held them at bay. “I— I have to go.” She stumbled outside before Joe could circle the table in pursuit. Why in the world had she let him drive the Darrin? She should’ve driven herself. Stranded, she had no choice but to endure his judgmental gazes all through Sunday dinner. He had no right to accuse her father like that. An explosion of memories rocked her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she blocked the image of her dad’s face when he’d fi rst crept into her hospital room. Joe’s footsteps crunched through the gravel toward her. “Sally, wait. Please.” As if she had anywhere to flee. She stopped but didn’t turn to face him. Blinking back the tears, she struggled for composure. He stepped beside her, linking his fingers through hers as if holding hands was common practice for them. “Please forgive me.” His worried eyes searched hers. “I spoke out of turn about your dad and I’m sorry.” 114

She didn’t pull away, didn’t want to. Holding hands with Joe eased the pain of remembering. “I don’t want to talk about Dad, okay?” “Okay.” He squeezed her hand, then tugged her toward the stable. “Want to see the horses?” “Horses? Absolutely!” Grateful for the change in subject, she let Joe lead her toward a log outbuilding, surrounded on three sides by rail fencing that formed a corral. The inside of the small barn smelled of hay and leather. Three large stalls took up most of the space, with a tack room opposite. Joe clucked his tongue to get the horses’ attention. “Sally, meet Cassidy and Sundance.” He rubbed each of their faces. “Guys, this is Sally.” The horse he called Cassidy had huge black eyes and a coat the color of buttermilk. Sundance’s shiny mane reminded her of Monette’s reddish brown hair. Sally hesitated. “Will he bite?” Joe didn’t laugh at her. Still clutching her hand, he raised it to Cassidy’s neck. “Just stroke him, gently. No sudden movement. Horses are sensitive to your touch.” She let Joe’s hand guide hers in rubbing Cassidy’s neck. Coarse hair covered hard, corded muscle. Apprehension about the horses faded, replaced by a sharp awareness of Joe’s body squeezing her between him and 115

the stall’s gate. The rhythmic stroking turned erotic, fi lling her with a strong dose of lust for the man guiding her hand. “Uh, what about Sundance?” “What?” Joe jerked as if snapping out of a trance. “Oh, right. Sundance will get jealous.” He didn’t release her hand. Guiding her to the other stall, he placed her hand along the horse’s neck. “Do you ride?” she asked. “I can, but don’t. Mom and Fia are the true equestrians in the family. Nina doesn’t ride since the accident.” Sally bit back the question. To ask about Nina’s riding accident opened herself up to questions about her own. Sally had relived that scene too often to go through telling it again. No way. “The third stall’s empty.” “Yeah.” He sighed. “That was Etta’s. She had to be destroyed several years ago.” Without asking, Sally knew Etta was involved in Nina’s accident. Again, she resisted the question. Joe released her hand. “Want to see where I live?” “Sure.” With his hand at the small of her back, Joe guided her through the tack room to the other side of the building, to what appeared to be servant’s quarters or a guest house. Exposed beams and unfinished log walls gave the place a rustic, masculine look. A large bedroom, tiny kitchenette, and bathroom made up Joe’s 116

apartment, along with a door to what she presumed was a closet. “You live here?” “For now.” He plopped down on the plaid flannel bedspread, motioning her to join him. Not a wise move, Sally thought, as she perched on the edge of the bed. Although she avoided touching Joe, a powerful intimacy lurked, reminding her of the night on her own bed when he’d massaged her leg. “Thank you for agreeing to go to Indiana with me today. It’ll be late when we get back.” “That’s okay.” She shrugged. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do. She’d left her dad sandwich supplies. And his anti-depressant, if he’d bother to take it. “I hope you’re able to find out something.” “Yeah. I just wish I knew what to ask him about the engine without offending him. I don’t want to accuse him of defrauding Dad. As you pointed out, Dad should’ve known better.” “Maybe I can help. Let me fish around to see how much Mr. Steele knows about Darrins. Could be, he was duped by the person he bought it from.” “You’d do that? Oh, Sally, that’d really help me.” His eyes brightened, the tight lines at their corners relaxing. “I’m glad to help.” “I meant what I said earlier. You aren’t like other 117

women.” Joe slid the back of his hand along her cheek. Sally closed her eyes, biting back a moan. Danger, danger, her little voice cried. The bed shifted with his weight as he moved closer, cupping her face in both hands. Her heart slammed into her ribs, robbing her of oxygen. “Look at me,” he whispered. She blinked open her eyes. His face fi lled her vision, his breath fanned her face. She couldn’t have pulled away from the seductive pull of his dark eyes, even if the building were on fi re. Maybe it was. Her body certainly felt like it. “I don’t know what those men in your past did, Sally, but I’m not like them. Do you understand?” He searched her eyes, demanding an answer. She barely managed a whispered “Yes.” “You are a desirable woman. I desire you.” Her heart kicked into passing gear. His eyes blazed with blatant desire. It shocked her. It thrilled her. Feminine power she hadn’t known existed buoyed inside her. Robbed of speech, she simply stared. His face lowered to hers, his mouth pausing mere inches from her lips. His gaze questioned her, allowing her a refusal. A delay. In answer, she lifted her chin ever so slightly and closed her eyes. His lips touched hers, a whisper of a kiss. With gentle pressure, he angled his mouth 118

and pulled closer. Sliding his hands along her shoulders and arms, he slipped them around her waist. Exposed, vulnerable, she told herself to pull away. But she wasn’t listening to the nagging little voice. Her mind spinning, her hands swept over his shoulders, snaked around his neck, urging him closer. He moaned his approval and slid his tongue between the seam of her lips. Raw need ripped through her. She forgot about Joe’s family, dinner, her leg, everything except having this man’s body against hers. Drunk with passion, she groaned a protest when Joe ended the kiss. She forced her heavy eyelids open. Joe rested his forehead against hers. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” Exactly what had he not expected? To kiss her? Or had he been as affected by it as she? Had he, too, been rocked off his foundation? “Me, either.” He sighed. “If I don’t take you back inside to meet the rest of the family, I might kiss you again.” “That would be a bad thing?” He planted a soft kiss on her forehead as he pulled away. “Bad timing is all. Grandma’s probably organizing a search party as we speak.” “Then we’d better hurry.” Joe helped her up from the bed. “Yeah. Grandma’s sharp. This’ll be the first place she’ll look.” 119

Kissing Sally hadn’t been on Joe’s agenda. His surrender to the powerful temptation of her lips was as surprising as the aftershock. He liked Sally, considered her a friend. He’d even found her attractive. But never in his wildest imaginings did he expect her to kiss like that. Wow didn’t begin to cover it. Grandma’s running narrative on the Casale and Desalvo families monopolized Sally’s attention. Sitting across from her, Joe struggled to follow the dinner conversation. That kiss had his insides pulled tighter than a saddle cinch. He grew hard just thinking about the taste of her. “—and all Brendan worries about is security.” Fia sniffed, plucking a dinner roll from the basket. “Huh?” Joe turned to his sister. “What was that about security?” Fia leaned closer. “You aren’t listening, Joey. I’m talking about the break-in.” “Break-in?” Grandma squawked. “Where?” “At Brendan’s clinic, Grandma. Somebody stole drugs from the cooler.” “Is this common?” Joe asked. “I mean, are veterinarian drugs popular on the street now?” “Not really.” Fia shrugged. “Brendan’s overreacting.” It wouldn’t be the first time. The guy was the world’s 120

biggest worrywart, the last thing his serious sister needed. Joe had hoped Fia would meet someone who’d show her how to relax and enjoy life. “Is your fiancé a vet, too?” Sally asked. Fia nodded while chewing. “Is that where you practice?” “Yes.” Fia sipped her iced tea. “Anyway, Brendan’s obsessed with improving the alarm system.” Their mother frowned. “I didn’t realize you’d been burglarized, honey. When was this?” “Uh, two weeks ago. Right before—” A hush fell over the dining room. Even his chatty three-year-old niece, with her red curls and large brown eyes, quieted. Grandma sighed into the strained silence. “Say it. Right before Leo died. It’s all right to remember your dad, Sofia.” “Grandma’s right.” Joe glanced at each face in the dining room. Fia to his right, Nina, Mom, then Terry and Samantha sitting beside Grandma and Sally. His gaze settled on the empty chair at the head of the table. “We need to talk about Dad. To remember him.” “I loved him like a son,” Grandma said, facing Sally. “Did you know he invited me to move in here? Imagine that! A man wanting his mother-in-law to move in.” “He meant it, Mama. Why don’t you? I could use the company.” 121

Grandma shook her head, her white poodle-perm hugging her scalp, then leaned toward Sally. “They mean well, you know. These kids. But I’d be bored here. Miss all my outings, my friends.” Lucinda cleared her throat. “Speaking of outings, Mother, what time is your doctor’s appointment tomorrow?” “Three o’clock. If you ask me, it’s silly I can’t drive myself. Said I might be woozy, of all things.” She huffed a breath. “I could pick you up, Grandma,” Joe said. “I’ll be going into the office with Mom in the morning, but my afternoon’s yours.” Grandma perked up, then winked at Sally. “Good deal, Joey. Could we ride in your Kaiser?” Before he could answer, she plowed ahead, telling Sally about the Stutz Bearcats, Studebakers, and Huppmobiles she’d ridden in years ago. “Has Sally seen Leo’s collection, Joe?” “Not yet.” “She can see it next Sunday when you bring her back.” Fia leaned close and whispered, “Grandma’s usual subtlety.” Lucinda passed the pot roast to Terry. “Seconds? I don’t want leftovers.” “How are the plans going for the Derby Ball, Grandma?” Fia asked. 122

“Fine, although it won’t be the same without your father. I could always count on him, you know, to crown the queen for me.” “Count me out this year, Mama,” Lucinda added. “I’m not going without Leo.” “No one expects you to, dear.” She turned to Sally. “What got you into restoring old cars?” “It’s in my blood, I guess. Today’s cars with their computers and electronics bore me.” “Joe says he’s going to drive the Darrin. Give up his lease,” Fia said. “Really, son?” Lucinda stared at him. “That’s right,” Joe said. “How’s the old Darrin going to stand up to Atlanta traffic?” Nina asked. “Didn’t you tell us rush hour moved at eighty miles per hour?” Joe shrugged. “Sometimes eighty, sometimes eight. That’s why I often telecommute.” “Telecommute?” Grandma crinkled her eyes. “Seems to me you could telecommute from Louisville. You wouldn’t have to go back down there—” “Mama!” His mom shot Grandma a warning glance, which the older woman ignored. “You live in Atlanta?” Sally’s soft question stopped all conversation. When he met her stare, she quickly looked away, but not before he glimpsed the hurt. He gave himself 123

a mental kick in the butt. He’d told her his home was in Atlanta, hadn’t he? He remembered her asking him if he lived here. For now, he’d said. Damn. She didn’t know. He felt seven years old again, plagued by remorse over exposing the tooth fairy to Nina, ruining the fantasy for her. What fantasy had he spoiled for Sally? It wasn’t as if he’d led her to believe — Memories of that kiss surfaced. Uh oh. He hadn’t planned to mislead her, but he hadn’t planned for that kiss, either. “Joey lived in Atlanta, dear.” Grandma patted Sally’s hand, as if sensing her hurt. “But I have a feeling he’s not going to want to go back.” Joe shook his head. Sally didn’t know it yet, but Grandma had tucked her securely under her wing, endorsing the woman for future family membership. Hell, sponsoring her was more like it. He expected Grandma’s matchmaking efforts to be in full swing by tomorrow when he picked her up. “You don’t just walk away from a vice-presidency, Grandma,” Fia said. “What? They offered you a promotion?” Grandma’s interest piqued, she temporarily abandoned her matchmaking. “Doing what?” “I’ll coordinate marketing, with financial advisors reporting to me.” Grandma smiled at him. “You’ve settled into your career, Joey. I’m proud of you.” 124

Yeah, right. He heard the unspoken hint. Settled was the operative word. He wouldn’t spoil Grandma’s fun, even though he wasn’t in the market for a wife. His new responsibilities demanded all his energies now. He needed a friend and Sally made a good one. Now all he had to do was erase his memory of that hot kiss.

125

Chapter

ee

S V N

Sally’s attempts at casual conversation during the drive to Carmel hid the disappointment gnawing her insides. She hoped. Joe mustn’t know how his surprising kiss had affected her, fueling unrealistic dreams of a future. Joe’s future lay in Atlanta, not Louisville. She had to remember that. Meeting Nina inspired Sally that she, too, could have marriage and family, even with a disability. Just not with Joe. Damn him for that kiss! Worried she’d damage the Darrin’s interior, she loosened her grip on the vinyl armrest. She would resist Joe. She would. No more kisses or longing gazes. No 126

sir-ee. This way Joe wouldn’t have Sally to toy with anymore. “I hope Grandma didn’t overwhelm you.” Sally couldn’t help but smile at thoughts of Joe’s colorful grandmother. “Not a bit. She’s a sharp lady. I can’t believe how much she knows about cars.” “Yeah.” Joe frowned. “She enjoyed listening to my dad’s car stories. I think she knew more about the antique auto side of the business than anyone else in the family.” “Probably because she remembers the cars before they were antiques. How old is Grandma?” “Eighty two. Still drives, lives alone in one of those independent living apartments, belongs to a reading club, a bridge group, and volunteers on the Derby Festival committee.” “She certainly loves working that Derby Ball, doesn’t she?” “Lives for it. Have you ever been?” he asked. “Puh-leeze. I’m hardly part of the charity ball crowd, Joe. While the first weekend in May is the Kentucky Derby to your family, it means Busch and Winston Cup races in Richmond, Virginia to us NASCAR fans.” Just another reminder that she and Joe lived in different worlds. If Leo hadn’t been a customer, Sally doubted their paths would’ve crossed, even if Leo had known Dad and Uncle Sal in the army. 127

“Grandma likes you, you know.” “I like her, too. I think we bonded the moment she told me she drove a P.T. Cruiser.” Sally chuckled. “Said she’s into that retro stuff.” “She’s an original. I hope I’m as active when I reach my eighties.” Joe’s voice showed genuine affection for his grandmother. “I’d settle for being as active right now.” Sally and Joe both laughed. “You’re lucky to have her.” “What about your grandparents, Sally?” “All of them have passed away. Mom’s parents died in a pile-up on U.S. 42 before I was born. Dad’s died when I was a teenager.” She shrugged. “I didn’t visit them as often as I should’ve. I always thought I’d have time. Suddenly it was too late.” “I know the feeling.” Bleakness returned to Joe’s face. “I didn’t mean to—” “It’s all right. I’m just taking a while to come to terms with Dad’s death.” “It’s only been what, two weeks? You’re entitled to some grieving time, Joe.” Joe dropped his hand over hers, giving it a quick squeeze. What was that about? And why did the simple gesture send her heart hammering into her ribs? She would resist him. She would. “We’re coming into Indianapolis now.” Joe slowed 128

for the bypass exit. “Okay, navigator. You’re on.” Sally read the directions to Howard Steele’s house while Joe searched for landmarks. When Joe had called the man, Steele had been agreeable to meeting them. Sally’s eagerness to interview him matched Joe’s. The sooner she figured out what was going on, the sooner she’d finish her business with the FBI. And Joe Desalvo. Then she could return to her normal life. She couldn’t deny that meeting Joe had added spice to her lonely existence, if arson, fraud, and hit-and-run attempts counted. Not to mention one jalapeño pepper kiss. No. She’d pretend it never happened. But she’d never forget it.

Howard Steele gripped Joe’s hand, greeting him with a broad smile. His wiry red hair matched the twin crescents arched over pale green eyes. Joe guessed the man to be in his mid-fifties, although not a hint of gray hair mingled with the red. “Come in, come in.” He waved them inside into a wide foyer. “Vicki’s made coffee.” A tall woman with silver-blond hair entered the cavernous foyer toting a silver coffee service. There was no mistaking Vicki Steele for a servant, as she still 129

wore her Sunday-go-to-church clothes, as Grandma would say, and diamonds galore. “Let’s sit in the den.” Vicki Steele led them to a curved leather sofa in the sunken wood-paneled family room. Sally murmured her thanks for the coffee, which Joe doubted she’d drink. She’d seemed edgy during the drive and would shun the caffeine. Funny how he’d begun to learn her habits. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble, Mrs. Steele.” Joe accepted the china cup and saucer after she’d poured him coffee. “Vicki loves company, especially with our kids gone.” Vicki and Howard gave them a brief rundown of their offspring’s whereabouts and careers, but Joe hardly listened. He needed to get to the point of their visit without being ill-mannered. Sally rescued the mission by asking Howard if he collected automobiles. “I’m starting to.” Vicki interrupted. “Howard needs a hobby, now that the boys are gone. He’s semi-retired, you know.” No, Joe didn’t know, nor did he care, but reined in his impatience. “My dad collected what they called ‘orphans.’ ” “That’s what he told me when he came for the Darrin.” Howard nodded. “I’m sorry to hear he passed away. He offered to find me a Muntz Jet convertible 130

coupe to replace the Darrin.” Joe hadn’t a clue what a Muntz Jet was, but Sally nodded. “I worked on a Muntz Jet once for Leo.” “So, what was it the two of you wanted to ask me?” Howard leaned back in his La-z-boy. Joe looked to Sally for help. “Joe is trying to piece together the last few days of his father’s life. We’re just wondering about his buying the Darrin from you.” She shrugged. “Leo usually bought his own collectibles wholesale.” “I wondered the same thing.” Howard shrugged. “I couldn’t refuse his offer, though. He really wanted that car. I see you drove it up here. How does it handle?” “No different than the last time you drove it, Mr. Steele. All I did was tune it up for Joe.” “The thing is, I’ve never driven it. I’d just acquired the Darrin and made arrangements for Dusty Dixon to check it out when Leo bought it back.” Sally eyes widened. “The Dusty Dixon?” Joe said nothing. He had no idea who Dusty Dixon was. “That’s right. He retired from racing. Owns an auto shop in north Indy.” “Did you mention to Leo that Dusty Dixon would be working on the Darrin?” Sally asked. Puzzled, Joe let Sally lead the interview. But something nagged at him. Something was amiss. 131

What was it? He searched his mind. “I mentioned it. Mr. Desalvo knows Dusty— knew Dusty.” It hit Joe like a spring tornado. When Leo bought it back. “Excuse me, Mr. Steele, but you said my dad bought the Darrin back?” “Sure.” “You bought the Darrin from Bloom Desalvo Motors?” Howard nodded. “I’d just applied for its title. But your father was very anxious to buy it back. He paid me a profit for my trouble.”

“I just don’t get it,” Joe murmured for the third time during the drive back to Louisville. He turned on the headlights as the charcoal sky blanketed the dusty rose horizon. Sally held back. If she shared her suspicions with Joe, he’d either be angry or hurt. The facts added up to only one scenario in her mind. Leo knew about the forged engine number. With an expert like Dusty Dixon examining it, Leo had to get the Darrin back, pronto. Recover the evidence of wrongdoing. But whose wrongdoing? Leo’s? Remorse for bilking customers could lead a man to 132

suicide, particularly a man as respected and honorable as Leo Desalvo. She hated her line of thinking, hated what it would mean to Joe and his family. Hated that she’d have to reveal everything she’d learned today to Special Agent Adam Ferguson. “Remember your uncle saying Vic and Dad had a disagreement one night at the Universal Joint?” “I remember. Why?” Joe shrugged. “Just a theory. What if Dad knew Vic was selling a modified car as an original and retrieved the Darrin from Howard Steele, before he had it examined—and exposed —by Dusty Dixon, to protect the company’s reputation? Or Vic’s?” “Or to keep Vic out of jail. That’s interstate fraud, you know.” “To keep them both out of jail. Regardless of Dad’s involvement, he would have been held accountable.” Joe glanced at her. “I guess you have to keep up with the laws concerning automobiles.” Her insides tightened into a coil of nerves. Dreading Joe’s reaction if he knew she fed information about his family to the FBI, she faked a nonchalance. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse.” “Right.” His tight grin came across as a grimace. “Anyway, we now know Dad paid full price to recover a misrepresented product, not because he yearned to own a Darrin at any cost.” 133

“Where does this lead? Are you thinking Vic killed your dad or had him killed?” Sally doubted Vic had the shrewdness to stage a convincing suicide. “They’re best friends, for crying out loud.” Joe’s hands whitened against the steering wheel. Sally watched the steady tic below his ear. His anguish tore at her heart. “Best friends who had words one night, according to Uncle Sal.” “According to Mom, there were hard feelings between Dad and Vic over the Darrin. She just assumed it was because Dad wanted to buy it.” A lengthy silence stretched between them, like the Sunday evening traffic, sprawled ahead on the interstate. Taillights bunched up around the construction area outside the city of Clarksville as traffic slowed. Fatigue seeped into Sally’s bad leg. The evening’s weariness had more to do with the day’s emotional roller coaster ride than from physical use. Between Joe kissing her senseless and his family reminding her he belonged in Atlanta, her feelings had run the gamut. She’d hoped their visit to Howard Steele would’ve answered Joe’s questions. Instead, it raised new ones. Tired of fighting her attraction to Joe and worrying about the FBI, Sally suddenly longed for home. At least there she could stretch out in the privacy of her bedroom and unwind. Joe accelerated the Darrin over the John F. Kennedy 134

bridge, leaving the Ohio River and Indiana behind, then headed east on I-64. “Are you hungry?” “Hungry?” She snorted. “After all we ate at your mother’s?” “Yes, hungry, as in would you like to grab some supper?” A slow grin escaped. “Sure.” She laughed as much at herself as at Joe. Who was she kidding with thoughts of going home? She’d take advantage of every opportunity to be with Joe, knowing he was going to break her heart. As if she’d ever really had a choice. She would resist him. Yeah, right. Joe drove to a new retro diner, complete with car hops, rock-and-roll oldies, and curbside service. “How’d a guy from Atlanta come to know about this place?” she asked. “Grandma. She’s into the retro stuff, you know.”

By the time Joe pulled into Mustang Sally’s and parked behind his Dodge, it was after nine. He knew he needed to let Sally go home and rest, but he hesitated. He admitted to himself he’d had fun tonight. Sally had given him a rundown on all the muscle cars depicted in the diner’s wallpaper. The poodle-skirted 135

waitress laughed with them over her own ignorance of the era. Retro, to the teenage girl, meant back in the nineties. Sally proved again to be just what he needed to lighten his mood. But the lightness evaporated after they were back in the car. Something had changed between them. Except for their time at the retro diner, the close friendship he thought they’d forged seemed strained now. Ever since the kiss. Compelled to fi x whatever had gone wrong, Joe needed to stay with her to talk it out. Lights blazed from the garage. “You don’t usually leave those lights on, do you?” he asked. “Roy must’ve gotten a late start on Janet’s oil change. I let him use the lift to service his own cars.” Joe turned off the motor. “You sure you don’t mind driving my car home? I could just as easily drop you off and leave it here.” “I’d feel better taking it home, especially after the fire.” Sally hid behind her hand as she yawned. “Besides, we’re here now.” Sensing her exhaustion from the long day, he still hesitated leaving. “Thanks again for going with me today. It made the trip less unpleasant.” “I wish you had your answers.” She raked fingers through her hair, a habit he suspected formed from nervousness. “Sally—” 136

“Joe, I—” “You, first.” Sally shrugged. “I was just going to suggest something. Can you get into Leo’s customer fi les, the ones for the classic car division?” “Sure. What’s your plan?” “I’m wondering if there are more Howard Steeles out there.” “Other victims?” She nodded. “As long as I’ve worked at Mustang Sally’s, and even after I’d bought it, Leo sent us his restoration work. But I never laid eyes on this car until you brought it in.” “I remember your surprise that Dad owned a Darrin.” “Right. Even if it didn’t need work, he would’ve bragged to me about finding one whenever he came by or we bumped into each other at the Universal Joint. Something’s not right.” Joe studied her in the shadows of the security lamp as she chewed on her lip. The urge to cover her mouth and pull her lip between his own teeth staggered him. Why was he getting these impulses? Her mouth moved again, pulling him back into the discussion. “If you could print out a list of classic car transactions, say, for the past six months, we could match it against my books. We’d check out the buyer of any cars not on my list, try to get a look at their cars to see 137

if anything is irregular.” Did he want to know if Bloom Desalvo had been running a scam? He had no choice. His mother needed the truth. He needed the truth. “I’ll pull it in the morning.” “Now, what were you going to say earlier, when we both started talking at once?” Joe drew a deep breath. “You’ve seemed tense all evening. Is something wrong?” Sally stiffened. “No.” “See? Like now. You seem edgy.” He considered taking her hand, but hesitated. Sally’s body language screamed “Hands off.” She shrugged, but said nothing. “I thought we’d become friends, Sally. If kissing you this afternoon has jeopardized our friendship, I’m sorry.” “Let’s just pretend it never happened, okay?” Sally extended her hand toward him, palm up. “I’ll need the key.” Pretend it never happened? Was she nuts? “Uh, key?” “Yeah, for your car.” “Oh, sure.” He dug into his pocket for the car keys. “I’ll just wait here until you’re safely inside with the doors locked.” Even in darkness, he could see Sally roll her eyes. She plucked the key from his hand. “Please. I’ll be 138

fine. Besides, I’m going to pop inside and check on Roy. This is kind of late for him.” “I’ll stop by here tomorrow afternoon with that list, if that’s agreeable.” “That’s fine.” She slid open the door. “See you tomorrow.” Practically leaping from the car—afraid of a repeat performance of the kiss?—Sally walked across the parking lot toward the door, her limp more pronounced than it had been earlier. She unlocked the door, pushed it open, then disappeared inside. Let’s just pretend it never happened. Sorry, Sally. He’d kissed a lot of women in his life, but none had fevered his brain like Sally Clay. Who’d have thought that beneath the surface of the plain-Jane tomboy mechanic simmered so much passion? He hadn’t imagined it. He wouldn’t deny it. Pretend it never happened? Not in this lifetime. And he doubted she could, either. He reached for the ignition. Sally’s gut-wrenching scream catapulted him from the car.

139

Chapter

eIGHT Sally choked back another scream. Dark blotches of blood soaked Roy Bishop’s denim shirt. His lifeless eyes stared at her, his mouth frozen in an O of surprise. Despite his gray color and stiffened body, Sally leaned over to check for a pulse. “Sally, don’t touch anything.” Joe. Thank God! She didn’t know when he’d come into the garage. She didn’t care. He was here. She plowed into his outstretched arms, burying her face into the nylon of his windbreaker. Sobbing, she absorbed his tender stroking of her hair, his fi rm and safe embrace. Murmuring reassurances against her 140

head, he tried to calm her. But Sally would never be calm, never feel safe. Her life had been violated from the moment someone had set fire to Mustang Sally’s. Why? And why kill a fine man like Roy Bishop? “We need to call the police, Sally.” She nodded against his chest. “I know.” “I’m not leaving you here. Come on.” He urged her to walk with him to her office, his arms supporting her against his firm body. “Oh, God, Janet! I have to let her know—” “Janet?” “His wife. I don’t know how I can tell her.” “Better let the police handle that, honey.” Grateful for the reprieve, Sally didn’t argue. Poor Janet. How would she cope with losing Roy? Sally would miss him, but Janet would be devastated. Sally seldom saw her but often chatted with her on the phone. Roy and Janet had a solid marriage, one for the record books. Flipping a switch, Joe flooded the darkened office with glaring lights, then grabbed for the telephone. Sally drew a shattered breath. Planting a hip on the corner of her desk, she watched in a daze as Joe punched in 9-1-1. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image of Roy’s body lingered. How could he be gone? So young, so vital, he’d 141

worked right along Sally when Uncle Sal had hired her as a teenager. Most doubted she’d make a mechanic, but she’d proved them all wrong, thanks mostly to Roy’s patience and encouragement. He’d come through for her again when she bought Mustang Sally’s, showing no inclination to seek secure employment. Without complaint, Roy had worked at whatever jobs came in. She didn’t know how she’d get along without him. She didn’t know how she’d get along without him! The horror sank in. It wasn’t an expression, it was fact. Sally had lost a dear friend, a loyal employee. Janet Bishop had lost her devoted husband. Sally sniffed back new tears. First the fire, then the hit-and-run attempt. Now this. Was Sally somehow responsible for Roy’s senseless and tragic death? Hours later, after giving her statement to the police, Sally escaped outside. She’d waited to tell the police about the Darrin’s forged engine number or the FBI until Joe was out of earshot. Special Agent Ferguson hadn’t wanted her discussing the investigation, which probably included the local law enforcement. First thing tomorrow she’d call Ferguson and explain. She’d also fi ll him in on what she’d learned so far. Leaning against the gray police cruiser, she tuned out the buzz and hum of activity around her shop. She focused on the brown and cream striping, the Jeffersontown Police shield on the door. From habit, she calculated the 142

Ford Crown Victoria’s engine size and horsepower. Mentally pushing aside the crime scene and the activity inside, she refused to dwell on Roy’s wounds exposed for photographs, his clothes and skin combed for evidence, the necessary indignities delivered to the victims of murder. Murder. The hamburger and malted milk roiled in her stomach. It seemed a lifetime ago she and Joe had eaten at the retro drive-in. Joe appeared in the garage doorway. Backlit by fluorescent fi xtures, his shadow painted a path through the parking lot. He strolled over to the police cruiser. Backing against the fender, he crowded beside her, favoring her with his warm, masculine scent. “Are you all right?” He held up one palm in a halting gesture. “Scratch that. Dumb question.” “Thanks, just the same.” She worked at conjuring up a smile, but failed. “Oh, Joe, what does this mean?” “It means you’re not safe here. Why, I don’t know.” “Yeah. Why seems to be the big question.” She blinked back a new wave of tears. A shiver of dread traveled the length of her spine. “Do they think I was the intended victim?” “It’s one theory. I think they’re leaning toward a surprise during a break-in. Nobody’s supposed to be here on a Sunday.” 143

“Sure. Somebody breaks in carrying a loaded gun, although nobody’s supposed to be here. Do you buy that?” “Afraid not. Someone wants you out of the picture. I just can’t figure out what that picture is. Do you have a past you haven’t told me about?” She tried to smile at his teasing words. “A very boring past. No underworld connections. I’m not in the witness protection program. Nothing like that.” Except I’m spying for the FBI. But no one knew about that. No one except Roy. “I’m an ordinary, nondescript citizen.” “I’d never call you ordinary or nondescript.” She brushed aside the pleasure his words of flattery evoked. “What about you? You’ve been spending a lot of time with me. Any jealous girlfriends? Any fatal attractions in your closet?” “Honestly, no. The closest I’ve come to a serious girlfriend is Tracy Steadman. Her fatal attraction is her career, not a man she’s had a few dinner dates with. I doubt she’s aware I’m still out of town, for that matter.” Great. Sally knew where she stood, if she hadn’t before. She certainly wasn’t close to a serious girlfriend. “How soon will they let me leave?” “I’ll go ask.” Pushing from the car, Joe hesitated, then pulled her to him. He murmured against her ear, “I’m driving you home, Sally. No argument.” 144

His breath against her cheek, his gentle hug dizzied her with emotion. She couldn’t remember feeling so cared for, so protected, even in the turmoil of Roy’s violent death. Nuzzling his strong, fi rm body, she nodded her agreement. After planting a soft kiss at her temple, he left in search of the detective in charge. Dumbfounded, she fingered the spot where his lips had brushed her skin. Now, why’d he have to go and do a thing like that? Why treat her with gentle affection, just when she’d figured out she meant even less to him than Tracy, the babe in Atlanta? Joe made Sally feel too cherished for her own good. She knew better than to get used to it. When he returned to his Atlanta life, Sally’s broken heart would have nothing but these few treasured days with him. The tragedy of Roy’s murder trivialized her wounded heart. She had a business to run, a living to make, a father to help support. And her life was in peril. Truly on her own now, how would she run Mustang Sally’s without Roy?

When they arrived back at Sally’s house, it was close to midnight. Joe cringed as he followed her through the kitchen of her house. Dirty glasses and plates were crammed into the sink. A dozen beer bottles sur145

passed the waste basket’s capacity. Sections of the Sunday Courier Journal lay scattered across the top of the kitchen table. Couldn’t her lazy bum of a father at least haul out his trash? In the living room, the stench of cigarette smoke and beer thickened. Sally approached her father’s supine figure. She plucked the remote control from his hand and muted the television. “Why’d ya do that?” he grumbled. Joe pinned him with a glare. “We need to talk, sir.” “Dad?” Sally sank wearily into the sofa. “Something bad’s happened. Roy Bishop was— was murdered today—” “Murdered?” Sally’s father pushed his recliner upright, his bleary eyes sobering. “At the shop, Dad. We just found him tonight.” Sally buried her face into her hands and groaned. “I still can’t believe it.” Joe settled beside her on the sofa while keeping his eyes on her father. “There’s more I think you need to know.” Sally’s head jerked up. “Joe, don’t.” Did she fear her father’s rejection, his lack of concern? If Joe had to beat some sense into the man, he’d do it. He was determined Sally’s family understood the need to keep her safe. Joe recounted the fire, the attempted hit-and-run, 146

and finished up with Roy’s murder. “Sally shouldn’t be alone at the shop, sir—” Sally’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start that. I have to keep Mustang Sally’s open or I’ll lose my business. That’s my livelihood.” Joe met her gaze. “Then hire someone to take Roy’s place immediately.” “The police said they’d let me open later tomorrow. How can I run an ad, interview applicants, and hire someone, all in a day?” Her father cleared his throat. “Is this all because of that forged serial number in Leo’s Kaiser?” Sally shrugged. “Yeah, the Darrin I told you about. But we don’t know that’s the reason—” “Of course, it’s the reason.” Her father’s face reddened, his breathing labored. “Stay away from that Darrin, Sally.” Joe bristled. “Sir—” “The name’s Justin Clay. Stop calling me sir.” To Joe’s amazement, Sally smiled. What in the world did she have to smile about? Shaking her head, she arose from the sofa. “That’s another story, one you’ll have to wait to hear until morning. Sally’s going to bed,” she said. Joe stood to allow her room to pass, fighting the impulse to follow her. Tuck her in. Kiss her goodnight. He swallowed, reining in his wayward thoughts. “I’ll 147

see you tomorrow.” Favoring her weaker leg, Sally walked toward her bedroom. “Thanks, Joe. Don’t forget to pull that customer list. G’night, Dad.” Justin Clay ignored her. After the whirlwind of the day’s events, Joe had run out of patience. He perched on the edge of the sofa. “Justin Clay, sir, it’s none of my business if you choose to be rude to your daughter, but you’ll treat her with respect when I’m around.” Justin glowered at him. “But you ain’t gonna be around. So, like you said, it’s none of your business.” Joe nodded. “Maybe you’re right. But Sally needs you, don’t you see? You two are wasting valuable time. Having just lost my dad, I’m well aware of how fragile life is.” He let out a huff of air and stood, turning to leave. “Never mind. I’ll see myself out.” “Sorry ‘bout Leo,” Justin mumbled. Joe spun to face him. “You knew Dad?” “I met him a few times.” He snuffed out his cigarette in the overflowing ash tray. “As for me and Sally, there’s just things you don’t understand. Sally lost her dad, too, a long time ago.” Joe refused to play his self-pity game, or whatever game Justin played. “The difference is, I can never get my dad back. You do have a choice. For Sally’s sake, I hope you’ll remember that.” Figuring he’d already said more than he should’ve, 148

Joe picked his way through the messy kitchen to the back door. He let himself out, followed the path through the alley, then slid open the Darrin’s door and crawled into the low-slung seat. Justin Clay deserved a punch in the gut. Joe hoped he hadn’t made things worse for Sally by speaking his mind. Justin’s taunt lingered. But you ain’t gonna be around, he’d said, and he was right. Sooner or later, Joe needed to get back to his apartment in Atlanta and his hard-earned client list. Yet, returning to his former life no longer consumed him. From the moment he’d received news of his father’s death, he’d been haunted by a need to re-prioritize his life before it was too late. To care about somebody or something more than his promotion to vice-presidency. But he couldn’t. He’d worked too hard. Now he’d gotten his break. He couldn’t blow it. The image of Sally trembling in his arms from one kiss intruded on his thoughts. He admitted leaving her wouldn’t be easy. In fact, it may be the most difficult thing he’d ever done. And wouldn’t Grandma just love this line of thinking!

Sally lay staring at the slit of light beneath her bedroom door. Exhausted, she needed her sleep, but 149

couldn’t relax. She couldn’t shake the horror of Roy’s lifeless body, caught at the wrong end of someone’s gun. But whose? Who’d want to kill Roy? Or, as Joe suspected, who wanted to kill her? Roy was in the proverbial wrong place, if Sally was the intended victim. Shivers coursed through her body. How safe was she here, in her home? How safe would she be anywhere, if some killer wanted her dead? Yet she felt less vulnerable now, here with her dad, than she’d expected, though she couldn’t explain why. Could it be—? She smiled, remembering her dad’s frown. “Stay away from that Darrin, Sally,” he’d said. Then he’d dressed down Joe for calling him “sir.” Joe couldn’t understand the importance of her dad’s reaction. Sally’s dad hadn’t shown concern, anger—any emotion except boredom—in the last nine years. The walking zombie reawakened. It was a little step, but it was a start. Dad was ill, not mean. The doctor called it clinical depression. But would he struggle to get through life if she hadn’t been in that accident? She closed her eyes and offered a prayer for her father, the one she’d prayed every night. Maybe some miracles took time. As far as she and her dad were concerned, they’d need one impressive miracle. Maybe they were due. For the first time in nine years, Sally hoped. 150

The next morning, Joe arrived at Bloom Desalvo Motors an hour ahead of his mother. She’d agreed to drive her own car so Joe could pick up Grandma after her doctor’s appointment. Without discussing it, both Joe and his mother knew he’d use the extra time to go through his father’s desk. He’d also use the time to download the customer information from the classic car division for Sally to compare to her records. Seated at the desk, Joe fingered the scarred wood, its finish slick with polish. Imagining his father seated in the creaking leather chair, his gaze swept the scribbled-on desk calendar. His mind pictured automobile wheeler-dealer Leo Desalvo talking on the old six-button telephone while drawing nonsensical doodles. No clues in these etchings. Joe sighed. He swiveled to the side of the desk, where an inkjet printer was crammed beside a monitor and keyboard. Reaching down to the surge protector power strip, Joe flicked on the processor. While the computer booted up, he searched each desk drawer. Computer diskettes, business cards, paper clips, the usual office paraphernalia offered no clues to either suicide or murder. The framed portrait of Joe’s mother that dominated the corner, and several small frames with snapshots of the family, gave the desk a personal tone. 151

Turning his attention to the computer, Joe scanned the various files, looking for the information Sally needed. In the customer directory, organized by calendar year, was a file named CLASCUS. Joe opened CLASCUS for the current year, confirming his hunch that the file was a list of customer transactions for the classic car division of his dad’s company, then printed it. “Good morning,” Barbara Bloom greeted him from the doorway. “You’re here early.” Joe spun toward the door and smiled. “Hello, Barbara. Got a minute?” “Sure.” The diminutive blonde strolled over to one of the two customer chairs in front of the desk. “Coffee’ll be ready soon.” “Great.” “Where’s your mother this morning?” Barbara crossed her lean legs, then smoothed the skirt of her business suit. Joe guessed Barbara to be the same age as his mom, and just as attractive, although Barbara tended to be heavy-handed with her makeup. “We’re driving separate cars.” “Vic and I do that. He’s usually running late and I’m taking night classes at U of L.” Joe nodded, remembering Vic’s words about her self-improvement pursuits. “I have to pick up my grandmother after her doctor’s appointment today.” “You’re picking her up in that old Darrin?” Bar152

bara asked. Joe grinned. “Grandma insisted.” “I see.” She frowned. “How will she get there?” “Oh, Mom can drop her off. It’s just over here at the Warren Clinic in St. Matthews.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Anyway, I wanted to talk with you before it got too busy.” Barbara nodded toward the printer. “What’s that?” “Just a customer file I’m printing out.” He didn’t want to explain his or Sally’s suspicions. Improvising, he said, “Sally Clay seems to think she’s losing work from Bloom Desalvo since she took over Mustang Sally’s.” “She is.” “Why is that?” Barbara shrugged. “Since Dan Alsop started dealing with us, we haven’t needed much restoration work. He finds classics in great shape at good prices.” “That’s great.” And incredibly lucky, from what Sally said. “He’s also cheaper.” “But Vic says Sally does better work.” “She getting under your skin?” Barbara winked. She hadn’t bothered to deny Vic’s claim. Joe sighed. “A little. Do you know her?” “Not well, although Leo seemed impressed with her. Said she could fi x and maneuver things with her small, nimble hands that men mechanics couldn’t 153

reach. Too bad about the accident.” Joe couldn’t hide his interest. “Accident?” “Yeah, the one that crushed her leg. Sal says she’ll never walk right, poor thing.” “What happened?” A smile widened across Barbara’s face. “She is getting to you, isn’t she?” “We’ve been spending some time together. Nothing serious.” If you don’t count murder, arson, and fraud as serious. “It’s been ages. I really don’t remember now. Ask Vic. Or, ask Sally. Won’t she tell you about it?” “I suppose so.” Joe didn’t want to further discuss Sally. The feel of her in his arms still haunted him. He had to stay focused. First, he needed to get to the bottom of the forged engine number, especially if its discovery had put Sally’s life in danger. “Barbara, do you get involved with the customers in your job here?” “No. That was for Leo and Vic. I’m the bookkeeper, same as always.” “What about hiring and fi ring?” She snorted. “No, not that we have many employees.” “Why is that?” “Your dad and Vic aren’t into growing the business.” She winced. “I’m sorry. I should say, they weren’t. I guess it’ll be a while before any of us are used to talking about Leo in the past tense.” 154

“That’s true. But what do you mean about growing the business?” “They’re satisfied with modest earnings.” “Modest earnings, eh?” Joe didn’t have to ask what Barbara was studying in night school. “You don’t share their philosophy?” She shrugged. “I see potential. We could make a lot more profit if we’d take a little risk.” Interesting. “Such as?” Her green eyes fl ickered to life. She leaned forward, tapping her nail against the desk top. “For starters, charging more. We’ve paid as much as a hundred grand to Sal to restore a rare car to original condition. These rich clients would pay us double that without complaining, plus original cost.” “Sounds reasonable to me.” And greedy. “I had no idea the classic car division was so lucrative. What about the used car lot?” “It’s doing great, thanks to Leo. They rarely attend auto auctions since he’s built up alliances with the new car dealers in town. We get the best of the tradeins at wholesale prices.” He ignored her continued use of the present tense when speaking of his dad. Joe figured they’d all be doing it for awhile. “So it’s not the used car lot that needs growing.” “No, just the collectibles. There are a lot of wealthy 155

clients out there.” “I had no idea.” Until he’d met Howard Steele yesterday. “Mind if I smoke?” At Joe’s go ahead, Barbara shook out a slim cigarette, stuck it between her glossy pink lips, then rummaged in her jacket pocket until she found a lighter. She blew smoke at the ceiling. “Vic says price-gouging would damage his reputation.” “Hmm. What did Dad say?” “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.” She barked out a laugh that degenerated into a coughing fit. Clearing her throat, she continued. “You know Vic always followed Leo’s lead.” No, Joe didn’t know. He knew precious little about his dad’s business. If only he’d talked more with his dad. His father’s last phone call would forever haunt him. “So I guess I’ll work as a bookkeeper the rest of my life.” Bitterness laced her voice. “You sound resentful.” “Sure I am. I resent the hell out of it. Your mom ends up with half the business and what did she do to earn it?” She puffed at her cigarette, then added, “She stayed at home and had Leo’s babies and cooked wonderful meals and kept the perfect house. All I ever wanted and couldn’t have.” Her eyes reddened. Joe panicked, not sure how to handle this Barbara Bloom he’d never before encoun156

tered. Envious of his mother? He’d had no idea. “I’m sorry, Barbara. I knew you and Vic never had kids—” “Couldn’t have kids. Jeez! I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so bitchy. It’s PMS or something.” PMS? More likely menopause. She finished her smoke. “Vic never complained. As far as I know he didn’t mind not having a family. But most men do.” “Vic’s crazy about you,” Joe said, although he was guessing. In spite of Vic’s roving eye, Joe sensed the man’s faithfulness. “Vic’s a good man. Jeez, we’re getting schmaltzy. What else do you need to know?” “I guess I’m trying to understand what was going on with Dad to drive him to suicide. You were around him every day. Any theories?” “Not one I’d want to talk about.” Barbara examined her manicure. “Let it go, Joey.” “If you know something—” “Let it go, I said.” Barbara stood, smoothed her skirt, and sighed. “You can’t bring him back. Let’s grab a cup of that coffee. Okay?” No, it wasn’t. But Barbara’s closed expression signaled a dead end for now. He’d just have to bide his time, then try again. An emotional and expressive woman like Barbara would reveal more eventually. 157

Chapter NIN

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“Why would someone want to kill me?” Sally asked Special Agent Ferguson on Monday afternoon, after she’d brought him up to date. “This is growing more serious. You’re a witness to the forgery.” “So was Roy. Oh, my God!” “Roy Bishop could’ve been the intended victim, which means you are, too. We need that car as evidence, Miss Clay.” Great. If the feds needed to impound the car as evidence, she couldn’t pursue her idea to restore it. She’d hoped to at least salvage a job out of this mess. 158

“I took Polaroids. Won’t they do?” The FBI man paused. “Send them to me. Got a pencil?” He dictated his address in Washington, D.C. “I don’t want you doing any more. Let us handle it from here. Stay away from Bloom Desalvo.” “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it? Whoever’s behind this won’t stop now.” “I’ll talk to the local police.” “Ha! A lot of good that’ll do.” She told him about the hit-and-run attempt and her description of the fleeing Toyota truck. “They don’t seem to take me seriously even after Roy’s murder.” “They will now,” he said, and hung up. Sally rummaged through the papers in her middle drawer in search of the Polaroid prints of the Darrin’s engine number plate. She pushed her chair away from the scarred metal desk and cursed. The photos were missing. When had she last seen them? The answer hit her with chilling clarity. Friday afternoon. Before the fire. Without the Darrin or those photos she had no proof of the forgery. Maybe that was the point. Her father’s words echoed in her mind. Is this all because of that forged serial number in Leo’s Kaiser? Gooseflesh pebbled her skin. Had Roy been killed to get to the photos? A fresh wave of sadness engulfed her. Roy was 159

dead. She’d tried calling his wife to offer condolences, but reached an answering machine. So far, Janet hadn’t returned her call. And Sally didn’t want to leave a taped sympathy message. At noon, the J-town police had allowed her to reopen Mustang Sally’s. Now alone and defenseless, she debated staying open for business. She had a Corvette in the back to overhaul and a Ford Skyliner to restore, jobs she badly needed to pay the bills. Dare she leave the front door unlocked for customers? For killers? The ancient telephone on her ancient desk rang. Its sudden shrill accelerated her pulse to a dangerous speed. If her heart had been an engine, it would’ve red-lined as she grabbed for the phone. “Mustang Sally’s garage.” “Is Roy Bishop there?” Sally didn’t recognize the gravelly voice. “Who is this?” “This is Bobby Earl down in Moultrie. We located a couple of relays for him for a retractable hardtop Ford.” The tension in her rigid spine eased. “Oh, thank you. That’s great.” She made shipping and payment arrangements as if Roy would step inside the garage any minute now. As if he’d just run to the Sonic for hamburgers. Or to 160

the convenience store for a Coke. For an instant, she forgot he wouldn’t be strolling into her office, asking her if a Bobby Earl had called from Georgia. Reality intruded. Roy would never know they were getting the hard-to-find parts to repair the Skyliner. She’d never again talk to him, never discuss the best technique to tackle a job. He’d never know she’d taken his suggestion to heart about expanding her business to include tune-ups and oil changes. Huge drops leaked from her eyes. Sobs shook her body. God, she hated to cry! She’d known for a long time life wasn’t fair, but did it have to be so unfair? Poor Roy. Nothing he’d done in his short life had earned him a violent, senseless death. Sniffl ing, she straightened with new resolve. She wouldn’t close Mustang Sally’s. Whatever it took, she’d find out who had killed Roy Bishop and who had tried to burn down her garage. But she couldn’t do it alone. Sally picked up the phone and re-dialed Special Agent Ferguson’s number.

Joe dropped the printouts into his laptop case. A quick glance at his watch reassured him he’d have time to spare to pick up Grandma at the clinic. He rounded 161

the corner, heading past Vic Bloom’s office on his way out, when the sound of his own name stopped him. Riding a plume of cigarette smoke, hushed arguing between Vic and Barbara wafted into the hall. How either one could breathe for the fumes amazed Joe. He started to ease past the doorway, but curiosity overcame his manners. Eavesdrop on his mother’s business partner? Why not? His father’s death left questions that were eating away at Joe’s mom. He’d blatantly spy if necessary. “Joey’d agree with me. We talked earlier about the business.” From the break in conversation, Joe surmised Barbara was taking a draw from her cigarette. “We could double our money on that old car.” “The Packard’s for Ellen Kennedy,” Vic muttered. “It’s exactly what she wants.” “Ha! What she said she wants. We both know what she was after, and it had nothing to do with the Packard.” “Lower your voice, dammit. You don’t want Lucinda to hear you.” Joe strained to hear Barbara’s hushed reply. “That Kennedy woman always insisted on dealing with Leo. Only Leo. How often were they in his office together? She even brought him lunch, remember?” “Once. I don’t think he returned her, uh, interest.” “You expect me to believe he was immune to her 162

charms? How dumb do you think I am?” Vic expelled a loud sigh. “I’ve never thought you were dumb, Barbara. You don’t have to prove anything with all this night school business, either.” “It’s not called proving myself, Vic. It’s improving myself.” “You’re a lot smarter and better-looking than Ellen Kennedy, that’s for sure.” “Flattery will get you anywhere, big boy.” Barbara’s voice grew louder as she reached the door. “You win. I’ll call Ellen Kennedy about this Packard.” Joe made noisy steps to announce his approach. “See you all tomorrow.” Barbara seemed too distracted to pay Joe much attention. Vic waved from his desk as Joe hurried past. Escaping to the parking lot, Joe gave in to the mix of emotions bombarding him. Who was Ellen Kennedy? What did she have to do with his dad? He intended to find out, but feared he wouldn’t like the answers. Was Ellen Kennedy the theory Barbara wouldn’t share that morning? Damn, he hoped not. But what else could it be? The questions continued to plague Joe as he drove to the Warren Clinic. He circled the crowded parking lot three times before settling for a curbside spot a half block from the clinic’s entrance. He hated for Grandma to walk so far while sedated. 163

He grinned at the image. Sedate and Grandma didn’t belong in the same sentence. She’d buried Grandpa Casale, then two other husbands in her eighty-two years. Joe figured she’d talked them all to death. Checking with the receptionist, Joe learned that he’d have another hour to wait. An hour to think about his dad and a woman named Ellen Kennedy. Until he knew more, those thoughts would be just borrowing trouble, as Grandma would say. Hell, he had enough problems without taking out a loan. An hour also gave him time to swing by Mustang Sally’s and drop off the printouts. The prospect cheered him. He jogged through the parking lot toward the Darrin.

“Hey, Sally. I’m glad you’re here early today.” Sal opened a package of beverage napkins to add to his stack beneath the bar. Sally took her time negotiating her way through the Universal Joint. She slid onto a vinyl covered bar stool, sighing. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Got somethin’ for you. Wait right here.” Sal pushed up the hinged section of bar, squeezed past Sally, then headed for the back of the tavern. The front door opened, grudgingly admitting a 164

beam of afternoon sunlight into the dim room. The waitress named Jennifer hurried in toting a textbook and a couple of plastic bags. Sally marveled at the change in the young woman’s appearance. Wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, Jennifer plopped her book on the bar, looking every bit the role of college student. “Hi Jennifer. You’re here early.” Jennifer smiled. “After my physics test today, I could use a drink myself.” “Tough one?” Sally glanced at the thick textbook. Advanced Anatomy? “Yes. I’m sure I did all right, but I wanted to ace it. Anyway, I have an anatomy exam tomorrow. No rest for the wicked.” Jennifer breezed toward the restrooms. “Be right back. I have to go transform myself from a plain-struggling-student into a cocktail-waitress-vamp.” As if. Jennifer Van Zant didn’t have a plain bone in her gorgeous body. Sally wanted to resent the younger woman for her perfect beauty, but couldn’t. Jennifer had a generous heart and unbeatable good humor, an inner beauty that exceeded the lovely exterior. Industrious and smart, Jennifer hoped to qualify for medical school. Uncle Sal marched back to the bar, gripping a package the size of a one-pound box of candy. “I ordered this for Maggie, but I’ll order her another one. Here.” 165

Sally studied the package. “What is it?” “Open it.” Sally lifted the top off the box and stared at a palm-size transmitter with a red button in the center. “Is this legal?” “In every state but New Jersey. Take it out.” “I’m afraid to touch it.” She studied the device. “It’s a stun gun?” “Not exactly.” Reaching across her, Sal lifted the device from its Styrofoam nest. “It’s smaller and five times more powerful than the best stun gun. Read the instructions.” Sally unfolded the paper, squinting at the tiny print. A device offering a new level of non-lethal personal protection. “I can’t accept this, Uncle Sal. It’s an expensive weapon.” “The ATF doesn’t classify it as a weapon because it won’t cause bodily harm. But it will disable an attacker long enough for you to get away.” He gripped Sally’s shoulder and squeezed. “As for expense, let me worry about that. You’re my favorite niece—” “I’m your only niece, Uncle Sal.” “—and I want you to be able to defend yourself.” “Defend myself?” Sally shook her head. How would carrying a stun-type weapon defend her against a speeding pick-up truck or arson? “I heard about Roy.” He gave her shoulder a second 166

squeeze before letting go. “I’m so sorry.” The guilt escalated in Sally’s heart. If only she hadn’t called the FBI. If only she had let Roy change the oil during business hours. If only, if only. Dammit! “Maybe I’m the one who got him killed.” “Honey, no. Don’t do this to yourself.” Sal pinned her with a grim stare. His sad eyes exposed his own grief. Poor Uncle Sal suffered from Roy’s death, too. Roy had worked at Mustang Sally’s for years and had been Sal’s friend. “I closed down the garage today. I don’t have the heart to go on, Uncle Sal, but I have to.” “It’s not failure, Sally, but a show of respect to close the business in Roy’s memory. You’ll want to close for the funeral, too.” “I tried calling Janet again to find out the arrangements, but she wasn’t taking calls. Her mother said they’re waiting for the coroner to release the body.” “Yeah, they have to do an autopsy.” Sally blinked back a new wave of tears. “I hope they nail the guy who did this. I’d like to take this stun gun to his testicles.” Sal chuckled. “Yeah, me, too. But it’s not a stun gun. Remember that. Be sure you read all the directions and know how to use it.” “I promise.” She stuffed the device and leaflet of instructions into her fanny pack. “Thanks.” 167

“You’re welcome. Just take care of yourself, honey.” Jennifer emerged from the Ladies Room, painted and costumed for the after-work patrons. “I’m ready to punch the clock, Sal. Want me to make Sally’s sandwich?” “That sounds great,” Sally said. “I skipped lunch.” “So what else is new?” grumbled Sal as Jennifer headed for the kitchen. “And how about a beer, Uncle Sal?” He reached for a pilsner. “It’s just four o’clock.” Sally patted her fanny pack and winked. “Don’t make me have to hurt you!” Grinning, he fi lled her glass from the tap. “Any theories you’d care to share with me as to why Roy got killed?” “Same person who tried to set fi re to my garage and probably stole my Polaroids of the Darrin from my desk.” “Wanna run that by me again?” “There’s more to the forged Darrin than I’ve told you. Can you keep this to yourself?” “You know better than to ask that!” “Sorry.” Of course, Sal could keep a confidence. He’d kept plenty of hers through the years. “A couple of months ago I got a bulletin warning about a string of irregularities in collectible autos. Leo’s counterfeit Darrin fit the modus operandi—” 168

“How you talk, young lady!” Sally shook her head. Uncle Sal watched enough TV to have heard modus operandi. “Anyway, I took photos of the engine plate and called the number on the bulletin, which turned out to be the FBI.” He lowered his voice. “Did you tell the cops any of this?” “Last night. Today I talked to Special Agent Ferguson and he agreed the local police needed to know. He called them and they’re working together.” “Why didn’t you say somethin’ sooner?” Sally studied the condensation ring from her untouched beer. “I, uh, was sort of working undercover.” Uncle Sal snorted. “Special Agent Ferguson had asked me to get friendly with the Desalvos, see if I could find out anything. Leo had been under investigation.” Sal swore under his breath. “I ain’t believing this. You spied for the feds?” “At first. But it didn’t take long to figure out Joe was clueless about any fraudulent activities at Bloom Desalvo. Heck, he’s clueless about anything to do with cars. He couldn’t be involved.” “Yeah, but are you?” “Huh?” “Are you and Joey Desalvo involved? I saw how you two looked at each other, holding hands and all. 169

Was that part of your spy game?” “We’re friends.” Sally picked up her beer and sipped, averting her gaze. “And he now knows about the FBI’s interest in his dad, right?” “No!” Sally lowered her voice. “Special Agent Ferguson said I mustn’t let anyone at Bloom Desalvo know they’re under suspicion. That’s why I couldn’t even talk about it with the police while Joe was there with me.” Sal wiped down the bar counter, although Sally couldn’t see a speck of dust. “So who have you told?” “Just Roy.” Sally swallowed, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t budge. Her uncle grunted. “Just Roy, huh? And now he’s dead. Is that what you’re thinking?” “Dad thinks Roy’s death, the fi re, all of it is related to the counterfeit Darrin. So, yeah, that’s what I’m thinking, too.” He stilled. “You talked to your dad about it?” “Some.” “Isn’t that unusual?” “Yeah.” She grinned. “It’s a start, eh?” “About damn time.” “You know he’s not well.” “Huh.” She sipped her beer, then steered the conversation 170

away from her dad. “Ferguson agrees that the Polaroids were most likely the target. His biggest obstacle in this car fraud case has been lack of evidence. He needs proof, like those photographs. If only I’d mailed them right away. Whoever broke in wasn’t expecting Roy to be there.” Sal frowned. “It can’t be worth killin’ for.” “On the contrary. Ferguson says people often find millions of dollars in interstate fraud worth killing for.” “Millions?” Uncle Sal gave a low whistle. “You know better than I do that if the serial numbers don’t match the title or the manufacturer’s specs, the car’s value greatly diminishes. It’s like John Doe doctoring up a Rembrandt.” “So if they’re selling enough fakes as originals—” “It’s bigger than just Bloom Desalvo, he says.” Uncle Sal frowned. “So why ain’t the feds already down here checking out the Darrin?” Sally wondered that, too. “I got the impression that Ferguson is handling more than just this case. He seems overworked.” “When do you plan to tell Joey about the feds?” She’d already come to a decision. “I don’t. He lives in Atlanta, so his stay here is temporary. Why ever tell him?” He shook his head. “That’s too bad. I’s hopin’ he’d stick around. He’s good for you.” 171

Yeah, right. Good for breaking my heart. “If you say so.” “For one thing, he’s dating you. How long has it been since you’ve been out with a guy, huh?” Jennifer carried a plate with Sally’s grilled pepper cheese sandwich toward the bar. “Yeah, Sally, tell me about this guy you’re seeing. Monette called him a hunk-a-roonie.” Sal grimaced. “Hunk-a-roonie?” The flesh in Sally’s cheeks warmed. “He’s a friend, is all.” “Monette said you two were in here holding hands and looking starry-eyed at each other.” Jennifer slid the plate in front of Sally. “Monette exaggerates.” All right, so they were holding hands. But starry-eyed? “How you girls talk.” Uncle Sal pushed up the hinged counter. “Jennifer, I’ll be back in a sec if anybody comes in. I need to get a couple of more bottles.” “Okay, Sal.” Jennifer perched on the edge of the adjacent stool. “Now you can tell me. Is he a good kisser?” Sally’s already warm cheeks burned. “Very good. But it was just once. And please don’t say anything. There’s no future for us.” “Whatever you say.” Jennifer bounced off the stool to greet a customer, leaving Sally alone to chew on both her sandwich and her thoughts. She dismissed memories of kissing Joe 172

Desalvo. That line of thinking would get her nowhere. Instead, she concentrated on getting to the bottom of Roy’s murder. If Roy was killed to destroy the Polaroids, if the Darrin was no longer in the garage, did that mean Mustang Sally’s wasn’t at risk anymore? Sally no longer had evidence of tampering with the engine number plate. Was she still in danger? She liked that theory except for three troublesome thoughts. First, running her down on Watterson Trail wouldn’t have eliminated the Polaroids. Second, Joe Desalvo was now at risk because he had the Darrin, which the feds now needed to impound as evidence. Finally, Special Agent Ferguson said Sally could testify as an expert witness. Talking with Special Agent Ferguson earlier had eased Sally’s anxiety about sharing information with the J-town police. He’d also endorsed her plan to check Bloom Desalvo’s classic car customers against her invoices, asking to see a report of her findings. But he cautioned her to be ever-vigilant of her surroundings. She stuffed the last of her sandwich into her mouth. She needed to warn Joe to get the Darrin out of sight. As long as it existed, Joe could prove the engine had been faked to look like original Kaiser equipment. Who knew what the FBI could come up with from the motor, such as fingerprints on the engine plate number? But how did she warn Joe without telling him 173

about the FBI’s case? The door swung open as another afternoon patron wandered in. Sally’s thoughts scattered. Nearly choking, she abandoned the half-empty glass of beer. As if her mind had summoned him, Joe Desalvo fi lled the doorway and squinted toward the bar. She waved him over. “What brings you here?” Joe slid his briefcase onto a barstool, then unlatched and opened it. “You weren’t at the shop, so I thought I’d try here. I brought those fi les.” He handed her a stack of printed pages. “Thanks. I’ll start checking these tonight.” “Tonight?” He frowned. “At Mustang Sally’s?” “That’s where I keep my records. It’ll be easier to take the printout there.” “Not by yourself. It’s not safe.” She nearly grinned. His concern sounded almost territorial. Possessive. Not nearly as off-putting as she’d have expected. “Want to help?” Closing his briefcase, he grabbed the handle. “I do. First, I need to pick up Grandma. Will you wait here for me?” No! She had to stop him from driving the Darrin. “Actually, I’d like to ride with you.” He shook his head. “I’d like that, too, but I promised Grandma a ride in the Darrin. It seats two, you know.” “Uh, Joe, I don’t think that’s a good idea in light 174

of what’s happened to Roy. Let’s take the Mustang. I can scrunch up in the backseat.” “No way. If I don’t pick her up in the Darrin, she’ll tan my hide.” He chuckled. “You don’t want to cross Grandma. Things can get ugly.” Sally didn’t share his laughter. “I’m serious, Joe. Get that car out of sight before somebody else gets hurt.” He clutched the briefcase handle with both hands. “Sally, nothing’s going to happen in broad daylight during rush hour.” “Maybe so. Please be careful.” “Worried about me?” Grinning, he winked. Any other time, his sexy grin would’ve dissolved her composure. She’d retort that his grandmother’s safety was her true concern. But the image of Roy Bishop’s corpse lingered in her mind. “Yeah, Joe. I am.”

The day’s mild weather turned chilly in the afternoon shade. Long shadows darkened the Warren Clinic parking lot, making its winter damaged surface difficult to see. Joe gripped his grandmother’s elbow, guiding her through the minefield of potholes and broken pavement toward the street. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Don’t wobble, 175

Grandma, or people will think you’re drunk.” “Good. It’ll improve my reputation.” Her speech slurred but not enough to keep her quiet. “Why didn’t you bring that nice young woman with you?” “The Darrin’s a two-seater, Grandma.” “Are you seeing her tonight?” She squinted up at him. Chuckling, he nodded. “As a matter of fact, I am. But don’t go match-making. Sally’s a friend.” “Friend, schmend!” “That’s what I love about you, Grandma. You don’t stick your nose in other people’s business.” “Don’t be a smartass, Joey.” “Runs in the family.” Joe directed her toward the Darrin. “I’m sorry about the distance, but this is as close as I could park.” “I’m capable of walking. That medicine didn’t faze me. Still don’t know why I couldn’t drive myself.” “How’d the test go?” “The test was nothing. It was fasting and drinking a gallon of paste last night that nearly did me in.” Joe grinned at that. “You drank paste, Grandma?” “Well, that’s what it tastes like. It didn’t hamper my driving skills any. They treat me like I’m some feeble old woman, telling me not to drive.” “You know how these doctors worry about liability. Not everyone’s as tough as you.” He didn’t remind 176

her that she’d also been anesthetized. “That’s it, I guess. It takes a sturdy woman to go without eating all day. I’m about to starve, but otherwise feel fine. Some people would wimp out from a little ol’ colonoscopy.” He reached ahead of her to slide open the Darrin’s door. “I’ll bet that colonoscopy was a pain in the—” A thunderous cracking of glass interrupted his joke. Joe reacted instinctively, diving into Grandma, pushing her to the pavement as a second shot ripped into the Darrin’s fender. Grandma lay quiet beneath him, for once not arguing or complaining. No more shots. The blaring of horns and squeal of tires in the rush hour traffic suggested their assailant had fled. Joe risked raising his head to look. No shooter in sight. But something just as terrifying seized his attention. Blood. Lots of blood. Soaking through the side of his windbreaker.

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When the elevator doors opened, Sally pushed her bad leg to a painful stride, then hurried toward the ER waiting room. Her worst fears realized, someone had shot at Joe. A shudder wracked through her just thinking about the desperation behind the shooting. What secrets did the Darrin hold, that were worth such violence? Joe stood near the door, hands shoved into his pockets. His hunched shoulders showed his anxiety. His dark eyes lit with recognition, his gaze locking with hers. Without a word, Sally stumbled into his arms and hugged him. Burying her face into his shirt, 178

she inhaled the scent of his cologne, a spicy sandalwood fragrance. “How’s your grandmother?” He lifted his shoulders, shrugging. “She’s still back there.” “I’m so sorry.” “Damn, Sally,” he murmured into her hair. “I wish to God I had listened to you.” “I wish to God I’d been wrong.” What began for Sally as a hug of comfort soon turned into an awkward embrace. She pulled away, averting her eyes, noticing the people gathered in tense groups throughout the waiting room. “Where’s your mother?” “She’s on her way, but there’s still a lot of traffic.” He gestured toward the chrome-and-upholstered settee. “Let’s sit.” The distinctive sounds and smells of a hospital crowded Sally’s senses, resurrecting unpleasant memories. She plopped onto the settee’s hard cushion. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down bad memory lane. Joe needed her. He’d said so. He’d called her at the Universal Joint, telling her that Grandma had been shot in the shoulder. He’d asked her to drive over to Baptist East Medical Center. “I need you here with me. Please?” Refusing him never entered her mind. 179

Joe settled beside her on the settee, his thigh touching hers. Much too close. The chill of air conditioning did nothing to cool her body. She wasn’t sure why her body’s radiator overheated when he was near. She was hardly one to blush, and it hadn’t happened when any other guy paid her attention—although few did. But Joe wasn’t any other guy. He was the man who’d be leaving soon for Atlanta. Why couldn’t she remember that important fact? Now wasn’t the time to analyze her feelings for Joe. She asked about the shooting. He described the brazen attack that had left his grandmother bleeding from a bullet wound. “The police were still there when the ambulance left. The Darrin’s safe enough with cops crawling all over it.” Was it? How could she safeguard it until the feds arrived? Of course, that was Ferguson’s problem, not hers. But she wanted Roy’s killer caught and the Darrin could be the key—or the bait. “They let you ride with Grandma?” “Yeah. She wasn’t moving. I thought—” He swallowed. “I know.” He’d thought she’d been killed. Poor Joe. First his father, now Grandma. She placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of empathy. “It looked like a lot of blood.” 180

Lucinda Desalvo rushed into the waiting room, making a beeline for Joe, who rose to greet her. Sally’s heart squeezed for the woman who’d recently lost her husband and now worried for her mother. Sally scrambled to her feet. “Sit here.” “I don’t want to take your seat—” “I need to find the Ladies Room.” Sally knew the family needed a few moments of privacy. “Can I bring either of you some coffee from the cafeteria?” Gratitude shone from Lucinda’s eyes. “Oh, Sally, that would be very nice.” Joe pressed a folded bill in Sally’s hand. “This should cover it. Thanks.” Sally shrugged. “I only wish I could do more.”

Later, when Sally crept into the waiting room balancing a cardboard tray of coffee cups, more of the Desalvo clan had arrived. Fia and Nina flanked Lucinda, murmuring softly. Joe sat in silence. “I should’ve brought more coffee.” Sally placed one of the Styrofoam cups in Lucinda’s trembling hand. “Thank you, Sally,” Lucinda murmured. “I don’t drink coffee. Don’t worry about it.” Nina said. “I couldn’t swallow a thing right now.” Fia swiped 181

at the tears trickling down her face. “Not until I know Grandma’s all right.” At a loss for an appropriate response, Sally merely nodded, while digging into her pocket for packets of creamer and sugar. She carried the last cup to Joe. Rising, Joe took the tray from Sally. “I should’ve gone with you to help.” “You were needed here.” Sally tossed the remainder of the packets onto the tray. “Have you heard anything?” “Not yet.” He lifted the lid off the coffee. The waiting room grew noisier with the arrival of Nina’s husband, then Fia’s fiancé, a slightly built blond man in his early forties. He marched over to Fia, a frown marring his attractive Nordic features. “I had to close early. How’s your grandmother?” Nice to meet you, too. Sally battled her prejudice against the man, an opinion based only on Grandma and Joe’s remarks. Perhaps if the guy rushed to Fia’s side, gathered her in his arms and comforted her, he’d redeem himself. It’s what Joe would do. Sally knew without a doubt Joe’s first words of greeting wouldn’t be a thinly veiled reminder of his inconvenience on her behalf. Then the man shook his head, murmured something, and gave Fia a hug. That’s better, Sally thought. “Oh, Brendan Price, meet Joe’s friend, Sally Clay,” 182

Fia added after explaining Grandma’s injury. Brendan nodded at Sally’s pleased-to-meet-you. Joe stood, motioning the man to sit. “Take my seat. I need to get some fresh air anyway.” With his hand grasping her elbow, Joe led Sally past his family, into the hall, barely taking time to tell his mother where he’d be. “What’s wrong?” Sally asked when they’d reached the elevator. “Just claustrophobia. Do you mind?” “Not at all. Hospitals—” She swallowed the words bring back bad memories. This wasn’t about her. This was about Joe. He needed her support, not her problems. His beloved grandmother lay in the emergency room with a gunshot wound. “Um, hospital walls seem to close in on you, especially when waiting for news.” Joe ushered her toward the lobby, past a patient attached to an IV pole. Poor man wore the skimpiest of hospital gowns. Sally avoided looking at him, just in case he exposed any vital body parts. Once they reached the lobby, Joe guided her through a glass door outside to an atrium courtyard. Darkness hid the budding trees, but Sally admired the tulips and jonquils skirting their trunks. Joe gestured toward one of the concrete benches. The cold seeped through her jeans as her bottom met concrete. 183

A shiver of awareness danced over her skin as Joe sank beside her. “Cold?” he asked. “It’s a little chilly, but refreshing.” “Yeah. I’d offer you my jacket but it’s covered with blood.” She chanced a glimpse at his profi le, rigid and grim. “Joe, don’t blame yourself. Grandma wouldn’t want you to.” His sigh came out almost a sob. He swallowed. “My head hears you.” “I know. But Uncle Sal says guilt is a waste of energy.” “What do you suggest I do with my energy?” If she hadn’t seen the tortured look in his face, she would’ve smiled at the suggestive words. “We need to find out who did this.” “Let the police handle it, Sally.” “We can help the police.” She gripped his wrist. “We both know Grandma wasn’t the intended victim, Joe. Someone wants you out of the way, too.” “But, why?” “We’re witnesses. We can testify that we saw a Ford 170 passed off as an original Kaiser Darrin engine.” He snorted. “You could. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know a Ford 170 from a lawnmower motor.” “But the killer doesn’t know that. So we’re both 184

targets.” Releasing her grip on his arm, she held up her palm. “I’m not suggesting anything dangerous.” Joe pressed his lips together into a tight line as he looked into the courtyard. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right. We can do our own investigation as long as we play it safe.” “Soon as we know your grandmother’s condition, we’ll go back to the garage and compare job lists.” “After dinner.” Joe slid his hand along her arm, then captured her hand. “Partners?” His touch poured warmth through her veins, flushing her with a self-consciousness as primitive and innocent as her very first crush in middle school. She knew better than to pin her hopes on mere handholding. No future in bonding with Joe Desalvo, she reminded herself. But her heart turned mute, her dreams broke free and raced ahead. “Partners,” she murmured, squeezing his hand.

Relief both energized and drained Joe when the doctors patched up Grandma’s flesh wound before she’d been wheeled into intensive care. “She’s a fighter,” the doctor said, after assuring the family she’d recover from her bullet wound. Intensive care was precautionary because of her age. “It frightened her more than anything.” 185

Joe shuddered at the memory of his blood-soaked windbreaker. It could’ve been so much worse. Just a couple of inches lower and— Sally touched his arm. “Let me take you to your car.” “I promised you dinner.” It was hours beyond dinnertime. Her shrug seemed to say she wasn’t hungry. Her eyes searched his, revealing her concern. “The coffee shop’s still open. Let’s grab something there.” He sighed. “You’re on. I still owe you a proper dinner.” “What about your mom? Has she eaten?” “Nina and Terry are bringing back belly bombs.” He pushed himself from the scratchy upholstered settee, then pulled Sally to her feet. Later in the coffee shop, they ate the last of the day’s vegetable soup stretched with oyster crackers. Except for the waitress, the small café was deserted. Sally pushed aside her empty bowl. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought.” “Me, too.” “Joe, listen—” Sally leaned across the small table and gripped his arm. “We need to get your Darrin out of sight. It’s evidence. Any ideas?” “Only the stable. It’ll be a close fit.” Her face clouded. “No. That’s too close to family. We need to hide it away somewhere.” 186

That afternoon he’d thought she was overreacting. Now he worried, too. The damned car did attract trouble. Violence. “Why not hide it tonight at the house, then stash it tomorrow in a rental storage unit?” “Okay. I’ll follow you.” He smiled at her thick brown eyebrows wrinkled in determination. Fiercely protective, she intended to play body guard, as if she were a match for a killer. Body guard. Now there was an image. “It’s late. I’ll be fine on my own.” “I insist. Older cars have too much that can go wrong. Carburetors aren’t dependable like the electronic fuel injection you’re used to.” “Okay, but then I’m following you home. It’s late to be out by yourself. And your vintage Mustang has a carburetor, too, doesn’t it?” “Yeah, but—” “No arguments.” Sally’s lips twitched. “Fine. Then I’ll follow you back home in Dad’s truck to be sure you get home in one piece.” “Let’s see. Then I’ll have to follow you home again.” At the rare smile Sally flashed him, he couldn’t resist teasing her. He dropped his voice. “Or, you could spend the night.” Her smile slipped. “Uh, you mean like a sleepover when you’re mom’s not home?” 187

“Exactly. She’s staying here tonight. So what do you say? It’d be fun.” “Fun?” she croaked. “Uh, I don’t think so.” Joe’s stomach knotted beneath his breastbone. He’d been teasing, but suddenly longed for Sally in his bed. Desire for her pooled deep in his loins. Memories of that kiss flashed, reigniting his fantasy of having her back on his bed, on her back, her firm body beneath his. Why? Sally differed from any woman he’d dated, anyone he’d been involved with. She wasn’t exactly pretty, with her boyish haircut and unflattering clothes. But her beautiful eyes made up for lack of glamour. And those lips. Those luscious lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “No joke, Joe. Until we know who feels threatened by the Darrin, no one’s safe around it.” “I know.” He sighed, dismissing his sexual fantasies. Or trying to. “The last thing I want is for anyone else to get hurt.” The anguish on Sally’s face tore at his gut. She had to be thinking of Roy Bishop. He’d paid the ultimate price. Thank God Grandma would pull through. Mom’s denial of his father’s suicide haunted him. Had Dad paid the ultimate price, too? Was the Darrin the root of all the trouble? And what role did Ellen Kennedy play? 188

The morning sun played peek-a-boo with gray clouds and around the aluminum-patched window in Sally’s office. She’d arrived home late last night, but her dad had waited up for her. His Celexa pill wasn’t where she’d set it out for him. In its place was a tattered, worn doctor’s appointment reminder card. She hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, but now wondered. Had Dad pulled it from his wallet to make an appointment? Not wanting to set herself up for another disappointment, she tamped down her hopes. For all she knew, Dad had simply cleaned out his wallet. But he had taken the anti-depressant. She’d replaced the missing pill this morning. If only he’d follow through this time with his treatment. Sighing, she returned to the customer list. Uncapping the yellow highlighter, she drew through another set of names. Of the seventy-nine classic or collectible automobiles sold by Bloom Desalvo during the last six months, Mustang Sally’s had restored or repaired eight. Rarely was a vintage car purchased ready to sell. So who had worked on the rest? The marked increase in sales surprised Sally. She’d had no idea the collectibles division handled such a volume of business. The past four months showed a 189

doubling in transactions, but Mustang Sally’s shared little of Bloom Desalvo’s prosperity. She was thankful Uncle Sal sent business her way. This morning a retired colonel, one of the Universal Joint’s regulars, had delivered a 1955 Chrysler 300 that wouldn’t run. Rebuilding and adjusting the two fourbarrel carburetors, a routine job for Sally, would earn enough to pay this month’s electric bill. The sharp trill of the telephone jolted her from her thoughts. Answering the call, she heard Joe’s warm baritone mixed with the background noise of the hospital. An intercom page repeatedly called for a Doctor Campbell. “Good morning, Mustang Sally. Anything to report?” “I’m going over the printouts you gave me. What about you? How’s Grandma?” “Feisty as ever. She’s in a regular room now and can have visitors, hint, hint.” His smile was in his voice. The tense muscles in Sally’s back eased. “Oh, that’s great. Tell her I’ll get by after ther—, uh, after I work out tonight.” “Are you too busy to let me take you to lunch? That way we could swing by here with a ready excuse for not staying too long.” “Joe, that’s a tempting offer, but I’m alone. I can’t very well shut down business to go to lunch.” 190

“Well, you can’t very well skip eating. You need your strength, partner.” “Speaking of partners, has Vic Bloom said anything to you about increasing the classic auto side of the business? The list you gave me makes it look like more than a sideline.” Joe hesitated. “Barbara Bloom hinted at growing the business, as she put it. She mentioned a new source for classics, a guy named Dan Alsop.” “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s the new competition in town.” She’d heard too much of him lately and wondered how he’d managed to lure away much of her business. “Ever hear of an Ellen Kennedy?” Joe’s voice tightened on the name. “Ellen Kennedy? No. What’s her connection?” “She isn’t on the customer list?” Sally scanned the printout. “Uh, sorry, no Kennedy.” Joe exhaled. “Never mind. I’m going to find out more about this Dan Alsop. He finds great buys on classics that need little or no restoration.” “Seventy-one in six months? That’s a little hard to swallow, Joe.” “I thought so, too.” “Did you hide the Darrin?” “Sure did, far from the family, in a horse barn in Simpsonville.” 191

From the service area a door squeaked open. Instantly on alert, Sally stiffened. Her hand choked the telephone, while her heart hammered a frantic tattoo. “Someone’s here,” she whispered. “I’ll let you see your customer—” “No! I mean, someone’s in the back. I deliberately kept the door dead-bolted.” Three people had keys to her shop and one of them was dead. “Call 9-1-1, Sally. I’m on my way.” Joe hung up. Whispering into the phone, she reported the break-in. Both police and Joe were en route. The intruder made no attempt to mask his or her presence. Tool boxes creaked open, a mechanic’s creeper scooted across concrete. The distinctive sound of a hood latch echoed as if Roy’s ghost had returned to finish the Corvette. Sally searched the office for a weapon. A ridiculous notion. She didn’t keep a revolver in her fi le drawer. The most lethal item around was the metal chair. Her breathing labored, her pulse raced as she slipped open the desk drawers one by one. Her fanny pack lay in the bottom, mocking her. Guess I could throw it at him. Then she remembered the contents of her fanny pack. Uncle Sal’s gift, though not officially a weapon, offered the only protection available. Silently thanking him, she unzipped the pack. Just as her fingers closed around the slim 192

transmitter, soft footsteps grew louder. Closer. From behind the desk, Sally crouched, arms extended, poised to zap the intruder.

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Sally’s heart jack-hammered her ribs. Her breath froze as unhurried footsteps brought terror toward her office. She tightened her grip on the transmitter. Stained white coveralls fi lled the office doorway. Familiar coveralls. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, the wiry man shrank from Sally’s weapon. “Dad!” Her father grimaced. “What the hell’s that?” She lowered her arms, relaxing the tensed muscles gripping the stun device. “Uncle Sal gave me this for protection after Roy’s murder. You frightened me.” “If you’re that spooked, it’s a good thing I came in.” 194

“Why are you here?” she asked, realizing her father rarely darkened the door at Mustang Sally’s. At first, he’d been diagnosed with something called agoraphobia and never left the house. Treatment and medication eventually helped, although he rarely left the neighborhood. “You still looking for a replacement for Roy?” “Yes, of course. Tall order, I know.” She sank back into her chair, willing her quivering leg muscle to slacken. “Why? You have someone in mind?” “Yeah. Me.” “You?” Dad was asking her for a job? She forced her gaping mouth closed. “You want to work at Mustang Sally’s?” He visibly bristled. “I’m plenty qualified.” “Of course you are, Dad. I didn’t mean—” “I can stay sober, if that’s worryin’ ya.” “Frankly, it worries me plenty. What you do in your house is your business, but I can’t have beer on your breath at my shop.” Her father worked his mouth, then clamped it shut. Sally knew her words and tone surprised him. Here she couldn’t be the dutiful daughter, riddled by guilt and old hurts. She was Mustang Sally, fighting to survive, to preserve the business into which she’d invested every one of her hard earned dollars. He gave a tight nod. “Deal.” 195

“And I need your promise to take your Celexa tablet every morning.” Another nod. “I took it. Now, put me to work.” “You know Corvettes. You can take over— “ Pounding on the front door by the J-town Police cut her off. “It’s okay. False alarm,” she shouted, grimacing at her father’s frown. “You called the cops on me.” She hobbled past him toward the entrance. “I didn’t know it was you, Dad.” “Good thing it was me,” he muttered. “Or you’d be dead.” Not what she needed to hear. She welcomed the police, who were followed by a pale Joe Desalvo. “I’m sorry about the call, officer—” The young patrolman waved away her apology. “Ma’am, we’d rather you call and let us check things out.” “Better safe than sorry,” added the second police officer. “Are you all right?” Joe mouthed behind the policemen’s backs. Sally nodded. Her explanation of her father’s unexpected arrival satisfied the police, so they left. Joe hesitated by the door. “I’m sorry I panicked, Joe.” His half-smile revved her pulse. “After all that’s 196

happened, you had a right.” “What do you mean? What else has happened?” She’d forgotten her father stood nearby. Funny how Joe’s presence clogged the fi lters to her brain. “Uh, Joe drove the Darrin to pick up his grandmother yesterday. Someone fired a shot, hitting Grandma.” “She’s going to be all right,” Joe added. “She didn’t even need surgery. But it certainly gave us a scare.” “That’s why I was so late getting home.” Not that he’d notice. Joe’s clouded gaze settled on her. “I need to get back, but I hate leaving you here alone.” “Dad’s staying. I’ll be fine.” He nodded, his gaze darting toward her father. “Good. I’ll call you later.” She lingered at the threshold and watched Joe stride to his grandmother’s PT Cruiser, his leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders. She’d like to hug his shoulders and more, she thought, fighting a smile. Shutting the door, she turned to face her father. He was gone. She found him rolling under the Corvette, flattened atop the creeper. The familiar motion seemed alien now. How many times had she seen her father slide under cars or dive beneath the hood? But not lately. Not for nine long years. The enormity of his commitment hit her. Justin 197

Clay had come to help her. Regardless of motive, he’d involved himself in her life. For the fi rst time since the accident, Sally and her father were working side by side. Wasn’t that what she’d dreamed about? Why she’d risked so much to take over Sal’s business? Sure, she needed to make a living. Except for a few groceries, her dad’s lawn mower repairs paid none of the bills. But secretly, she’d nurtured a tiny hope that someday he’d be tempted by Mustang Sally’s. Someday he’d renew his interest in automobiles, emerging from his Rip Van Winkle escape from living. Cautious not to raise her hopes, she pushed her thoughts back to business and turned toward the office. Back at her desk, she dialed the number for the CourierJournal classifieds to cancel her help-wanted ad.

“Grandma must be doing better if she can have visitors,” Sally murmured to Joe as they got off the hospital elevator. He guided her left, down a corridor of patient rooms, slowing his stride so she could keep up. “To hear her tell it, her hospital stay is unnecessary.” “A bullet in the chest? Unnecessary?” Joe chuckled. “Shoulder, not chest—thank God.” “I really should wait outside.” Sally halted at the 198

door to Grandma’s room. “I’m not family.” Joe tugged at her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. She specifically asked to see you.” “Me?” “Both of us.” He lowered his voice. “Prepare yourself. She’s up to something. I don’t know what, but we’ll soon find out.” “Come in, you two, and stop whispering about me.” Joe and Sally crowded between the high bed and the curtain drawn to add privacy to Grandma’s roommate. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Casale?” “If you think I’m too old to address as Elinor, call me Grandma.” She winked at Joe, then extended her hand to Sally. With its IV needle taped to her papery-thin flesh on the back, her hand resembled a marionette’s. “I’d be a lot better if they’d stop pumping me full of drugs.” Sally cradled the older woman’s hand in her palm. “Are they giving you pain medication?” “Plenty of that, plus antibiotics and who knows what all.” “How long will they keep you here, Grandma?” Joe asked. She grunted her disgust. “Doc says maybe a week. A week! He thinks ‘cause I’m old, I don’t have commitments and obligations.” “Is there anything Joe or I could take care of for you?” 199

Joe braced himself. Recognizing the gleam of satisfaction in Grandma’s eyes, he knew Sally had flung herself into the net. “As a matter of fact, there is. Something really important, which is why I’m so glad you came to see me, dear.” “We’ll do our best to help.” Sally patted Grandma’s arm in reassurance. “I’m a Filly, you know. The Fillies put on the Kentucky Derby Ball, which is Friday. This year, I’m in charge of the Derby Queen crowning ceremony.” Joe swallowed. “This Friday?” “Right. When I took on the job, I’d assumed Leo and Lucinda would attend, with Leo organizing the crowning. I need you and Sally to stand in for them, Joe.” Sally shook her head, the deer-in-headlights panic twisting her face. “No. Not me, Grandma. I—I can’t attend some fancy ball.” “What about Fia and Brendan? I thought they were going?” “They are, but I don’t want Numbnuts doing the honors.” “Grandma!” Numbnuts? Joe smothered a laugh. “I’m serious, Joe. Don’t let me down. And you, young lady,” she said, pinning Sally with her stare, “would fit right in at the Derby Ball.” “Sally and I will talk it over, then let you know 200

what we decide.” Grandma wheezed, then clutched at her bandaged shoulder. “The—the nurse—get the nurse—” Before he could react, Sally reached into the bedside railing and pressed the call button. When a voice answered, she asked for a nurse. “This woman needs help, please. Hurry!” Joe led Sally from the room as the nurse and an aide rushed in. He caught the barest hint of a smile on his grandmother’s face. “Let’s leave and let her rest.” “Leave?” Sally dug in her heels, shrugging off his hand. “Don’t you want to make sure she’s going to be all right?” Joe chuckled. “She’ll be all right, Sally, just as soon as we both agree to attend the Derby Ball.” “You don’t think—” “Are you kidding? Grandma’s a master at manipulating people.” Sally glanced back toward the room, shaking her head. “Her distress seemed genuine to me.” “That’s why she’s a master.”

Joe rushed from his morning shower to grab the ringing telephone. 201

“Joe? How’s it going?” Great. Paul Grimsley, his boss, wasn’t phoning to discuss the odds of the favored horse in the Kentucky Derby. “Uh, could you hold on a sec?” Joe rubbed at his dripping body with a bath towel, then stepped into his Jockeys before returning to the call. After a few minutes of small talk, Paul zeroed in on his real purpose in calling. “How soon will you be coming back?” This from the guy who just last week told him, “Take all the time you need.” Joe took a calming breath. Then another. “Is there a problem, Paul?” “Not exactly.” “I’m keeping in touch with my clients. I check voice mail, return calls, check e-mails. Has there been a complaint?” “You’re doing fine with your clients, actually.” Paul paused, cleared his throat, then coughed. “The thing is, your existing clients aren’t the problem. Your job also includes bringing new business to the fi rm. I don’t have to tell you this promotion depends on that.” “I realize that, sir, and I have brought in new clients.” Joe’s thoughts flashed to the song What Have You Done For Me, Lately? “What’s the bottom line, here? When are you telling me to return to Atlanta?” “Can you finish up your family obligations and be back the end of next week? That gives you about ten 202

more days. That’s reasonable, don’t you agree?” But Joe wasn’t ready to go back to Atlanta. The cutthroat pace of the investment world had provided him with a healthy income, a bright financial future. It had also cost him valuable time, time away from his family. Time away from his father. “Yes, sir. That’s reasonable.” Reasonable for his boss, perhaps. For the first time in his career, Joe Desalvo was no longer driven to be lead horse on the track. He had no idea what he could do about it. Decision by indecision? If he stuck it out in Louisville until he’d solved his father’s death to his mother’s satisfaction, he’d lose his promotion, possibly his job. Or else he’d have to unravel the mystery by the end of next week.

Tuesday afternoon found Sally back at the Universal Joint, the Fillies Ball foremost in her mind. Thrilled that Joe’d asked, she couldn’t seriously entertain going. She’d be like a hillbilly in Manhattan. Besides, Grandma had engineered the whole thing. How could Joe gracefully refuse when she’d put him on the spot? He had to ask Sally. It just wasn’t in his nature to hurt or offend anyone. 203

Uncle Sal settled a frosted pilsner atop a cardboard coaster on the bar. “You close early?” Sally plopped her elbows on the counter, ignoring her beer. “Justin’s closing up for me.” “Justin?” His mouth dropped open. “As in Justin Clay, your dad?” “I thought I’d better call him Justin at work. It’d sound more professional to customers.” “At work?” Sally clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I forgot to tell you last night. He came in and offered to replace Roy. Can you believe it?” Her uncle’s eyes brightened, suspiciously moist. “Uh, that’s great, honey. Ain’t it?” “So far. This is Day Two and he’s sober and productive. As an employer, I can’t complain.” She lifted the glass for a sip. “So what’s got you down, sweetheart?” Sally sighed. “Joe’s pressuring me to be his date at the Fillies’ Derby Ball Friday night.” Monette whistled from behind her. “Girlfriend, that shouldn’t get you down. That should make you glad. Very, very glad!” Jennifer breezed in, clutching her textbooks to her chest. “What did I miss? What should make Sally very, very glad?” “The Desalvo hunk wants Sally to go to the Derby 204

Ball with him, as his date.” Jennifer shoved her books beneath the bar. Clucking her tongue, she shook her head. “I should have such problems. Poor Sally.” “Get real, you two. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a grease monkey, not a debutante.” “You aren’t entering the pageant, Sally, just mingling.” Reaching across the bar, Uncle Sal lifted Sally’s head with his forefinger. “You’re as good as any of them snobby society types.” Jennifer moved beside Sal. “Besides, the ball guests aren’t necessarily the upper crust of society, just people who can afford the three-hundred-dollar tickets. Sal’s right. You’ve as much a right to go as anyone.” Sally shook her head. “First, it’s formal. I don’t exactly have a closet full of elegant—” “I have the perfect gown!” Monette rushed forward, her table cleaning forgotten. “It’s floor-length, with a heart-shaped bodice that shows just a little—” “On you, maybe. You have more curves for your bodice than I do.” Sally straightened, giving her bust line a rueful glance. “The only cleavage I have is under my arm.” “Haven’t you heard of underwire, dear?” Jennifer whispered. “That’s it. I’m outta here. I’ll be in the back if you ladies need me.” Uncle Sal fled. 205

“Secondly, in case it’s escaped your notice, I can’t dance. I’m lucky I can walk.” “Honey, you don’t have to dance or walk. Just let that hunk wrap you in his arms and sway you back and forth.” “Monette’s right. Nobody does the electric slide at the Derby Ball. Even if they did, you’re too dignified for that.” Jennifer winked. “It’s not going to happen, girls, so forget it. I don’t even own makeup or jewelry. I’d need a week to remove the grease stains from my fingernails.” “All you need is a manicure and a makeover. Right, Jen?” “It’s Jennifer.” Jennifer tolerated no nicknames, something the newer waitress had better learn quickly. “Whatever.” “With the right underwear, Monette’s dress, and Laquita to do your hands and hair, you’ll be a smash. What color’s the dress?” “Robin’s egg blue,” Monette said. “Perfect. I have eye shadow to match. Fuchsia lip color, I think.” “Fuchsia. Yes!” Wouldn’t these two give up? “What am I, your science project?” “Project!” Monette squealed, clapping her hands. “I think you’ve seen Clueless too many times,” Sally 206

grumbled. “Leave everything to us, Sally. We’ll be at your house at four Friday. Four okay with you, Monette?” “Sure. We’ll have plenty of time before our shift starts. Laquita may be a problem, though. Friday’s her busy day.” “I’ll talk to Laquita. We’ll get this worked out,” Jennifer said. “Wait, you two!” “No, you wait, girlfriend.” Monette stood before her, hands on curvaceous hips. “You’re not going to pass up this chance, not if we can help it. So just get that through your thick head. Right, Jen?” “Right, Mon. We’re giving you no choice.” Good grief. So caught up in their plan, Jennifer ignored Monette’s use of the dreaded nickname. “Now, call up this guy and tell him you accept his invitation.” “She won’t have to call,” Jennifer whispered. “He just walked in.”

A few customers were scattered at booths or tables throughout the Universal Joint when Joe stepped inside. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, then squinted in search of Sally. She leaned against the 207

bar, watching him. The two waitresses at her side hurried away, as if understanding his need to talk to her. “Hey, cowboy. How’d you know I was here?” She lifted her beer in a salute. “Well, ma’am, yore Paw sent me.” Sally giggled, a rare sound to his ears. “You do a decent John Wayne.” “Well, thanks, little lady.” He slid onto the bar stool beside her. “Your dad said you left early to grab a bite to eat since you’d worked through lunch.” Her smile disappeared. Had she been surprised her father had noticed she’d missed lunch? Joe didn’t understand the family dynamics of the Clay household, but one thing was clear: Sally desperately wanted her father’s love. One day maybe she’d tell Joe the whole story. Her father’s words echoed in his head. But you ain’t gonna be around. Why did the thought bother him, even more than it had this morning when his boss had called? “So how’s Grandma?” “Growing weaker and weaker, she says.” Sally’s face clouded. “Is she?” “Nope. Mom says she’s rambunctious as ever when her audience isn’t there, audience being you and me.” “I see. And what have you decided?” “Me? No way, lady. The pressure’s on you. I pled 208

my case last night. I’d be proud to escort you as my date to the Derby Ball, where I’ll be delighted to officiate at the ceremonies. What have you decided?” “Joe, I told you I’ve never been to the Derby Ball.” “Neither have I. Grandma had better coach me well.” “You also know I can’t dance.” “We’ll manage.” “I can’t wear high heels.” “Good. Those dangerous things should be government-regulated.” “So you’re caving in to Grandma?” Joe placed his hand on her arm. “I’m not inviting you to get Grandma off my back. I’m asking you because you’re the only woman I want to take.” Sally blinked. Swallowed. “Seriously?” “Seriously.” A reluctant grin pulled at her lips. “Okay, Joe Desalvo. I think I can work it into my busy social calendar.”

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Sally gripped the edge of the bar. There. She was committed to the ball. Giddy and nervous, she smiled at Joe. His own smile slipped. “What’s wrong?” “There’s something else I’d like you to make time for, if possible.” “Must be serious. You look so—so grim.” Joe shook his head, as if reluctant to continue. “It’s one of Bloom Desalvo’s clients, one missing from the list. I’d like for you to go with me to interview her.” “Her?” “Yeah. Ellen Kennedy.” Ellen Kennedy? Sally vaguely remembered the name. 210

Joe had asked her about it when she’d reviewed the printouts from the classic car customer list. “Right now?” “Yeah, right now.” He waited as she slid off the stool, then escorted her to his car. She studied Joe’s profi le in the dim interior of his Dodge. His expression gave nothing away. His voice had. Ellen Kennedy. Joe couldn’t hide the tightness in his tone when he said her name. And Sally could no longer hide her curiosity. “Where’d you come up with the name Ellen Kennedy?” “Eavesdropping. Vic has a car for her, a Packard. Yet, she’s not on the list and I can’t find her file.” He shrugged. “May mean nothing.” “If she’s not in the fi les, how did you come up with her address?” His lips thinned. “Vic had her phone number jotted on his desk blotter. I did a reverse listing check on the net.” “A Packard, you say.” She gnawed at her lip. “Leo never brought me a Packard. I didn’t know he was looking for one.” “Would Dad tell you if he was looking for a particular model car?” “Usually. If I got a lead, I’d pass on the info to Leo. Come to think of it, he never told me he was looking for a Kaiser Darrin, either. Leo sent work my way, but I 211

hadn’t seen as much of him in the past few months.” “From what I’ve learned, that’s because that new guy, Dan Alsop, has been handling acquisitions. Both Vic and Barbara confirm that he’s really shrewd at finding great classics in good condition.” Sally grimaced. He’d certainly put a dent in Mustang Sally’s business. “Such as? Did they give you some examples?” “Sure. He found a Ford Skyliner, one of the first to come out, that the actor James Dean bought new.” “James Dean?” Excitement buzzed through her. She was certain the dates were wrong. If only she could remember. “When did he die?” “I don’t know. Sometime in the fifties. Why?” “I have a Skyliner in the shop. That model came out in ’57. Find out when James Dean died.” “Sure, but the car came with documentation.” Celebrity ownership was a popular claim in classic cars. It was also the easiest to fake and the most difficult to prove. “Okay, what else did wonder boy find? A Lexus that Elvis drove?” “Look, Sally, I know you’re upset because Alsop has cost you business, but the man’s innocent until proven guilty.” She sighed. “You’re right. I’m being petty.” “Well, maybe this will impress you. He picked up a Tucker in original condition and sold it to Steven 212

Spielberg. There were only fifty made.” “Fifty-one. Okay, I’m impressed, especially with your knowledge of Tuckers. Thought you didn’t know classic cars.” “When I was about thirteen or fourteen, Dad took us to see Tucker.” “Uncle Sal bought the video as soon as it was released.” Before the accident. Back in the days when she and her dad, along with Sal, Maggie and Aunt Susan, were a stock car race family. “Dad was into orphans.” Orphans? Joe shouldn’t know the term if he were as clueless as he claimed. Some undercover agent she was, although she’d been thinking too much lately about working with Joe under the covers. “What do you know about orphans?” “What can I say? I’m a quick study.” Joe’s tone was light, but he wasn’t smiling. He exited the freeway onto Shelbyville Road and headed toward Eastwood. “Impressed?” “Sure.” He chuckled. “Don’t be. Mom had to explain orphans to me.” “You’re right, though. Leo loved to discuss the orphans.” As traffic thinned, Joe said, “Maybe I should’ve called the woman first.” 213

“I remember suggesting that,” Sally teased. “Is that an I-told-you-so?” “No. I like the element of surprise, myself.” What had gotten into her? Always serious, Sally couldn’t remember when she’d felt so jovial and, well, downright giddy. Earlier at the Universal Joint, Joe had said I’m asking you because you’re the only woman I want to take. Ever since, she’d been floating. He’d be returning to Atlanta, leaving her heart in pieces. She understood that. She accepted that. But first he’d take her to the Kentucky Derby Ball. He’d give her more than she’d dreamed of experiencing since the accident. He’d give her one magical night. No one could take that away from her.

They should’ve called first. Ellen Kennedy stared at Joe when he introduced himself. “Mr. Desalvo’s son?” “That’s right.” Then she peered at Sally, as if she thought she should know her. Sally extended her hand. “I’m Sally Clay, of Mustang Sally’s. I do restoration work for Bloom Desalvo and we’re following up to see that the Packard meets your expectations.” “That’s right, ma’am,” Joe added, following Sally’s 214

lead. “That’s fast follow-up.” Shaking her head, she invited him and Sally inside her lavish home. Squeezed between two equally-towering houses as if fighting for position, her split-level contemporary bordered an exclusive golf course. Last time Joe remembered, the development had been a dairy farm. “It’s amazing how much you resemble your father,” the woman said. “Please accept my condolences.” “Thank you.” Joe tried to view the woman through his father’s eyes. Classy, understated makeup, Ellen Kennedy had shoulder length hair pushed away from her face with a thin scarf. She glided across the floor with perfect grace and poise. Slender, like his mom, she appeared to be about his mother’s age. Pretty. But had his father been tempted? “I’m pleased with the Packard, by the way.” She folded her manicured hands in her lap. “It’s everything you expected?” Joe asked. She smiled. “I don’t know enough about these old cars to tell you.” “May we look at it?” Sally asked. “I’ll be happy to answer any questions.” “Certainly. The garage is through the kitchen. Follow me.” As they stepped inside the cavernous four-car 215

garage, the Kennedy woman fl ipped on the light, treating them to an orderly and clean space. “Ah, the Caribbean Convertible.” Sally’s limp had all but vanished as she scurried to the car. “What year is this?” “According to the registration, it’s a 1954. Isn’t it lovely? Mr. Bloom says these are rare.” “Yes, ma’am, they are.” Sally nodded at the hood. “May I?” “Be my guest. I can’t tell you a thing about engines and such. I’ve joined the American Antique Car Association and intend to learn more.” “That’s a good idea,” Joe said, just to make polite noises. The woman probably knew more than he did about classic cars. The three circled her Packard, taking in the large, two-door convertible with an elaborate front grill, single rounded headlights, and vintage tail fins. “After my husband died, I found it so hard to be involved in the activities we shared. We were both doctors, you see.” “Are you retired now?” Joe asked. She nodded. “We both retired early. And now I’ve decided I needed a new interest. Your father helped me a lot.” Joe didn’t want to ask what she meant. Lonely widow, attractive—damn! He didn’t like this line of 216

thought. Sally raised the hood but said nothing. Joe suppressed his eagerness to know what she learned. He’d find out later, on the drive home. “He helped me decide on a Packard. According to Mr. Desalvo, Packards are good collectibles as well as good investments.” “They’re orphans, which means they’re no longer manufactured.” Joe allowed himself to be cheered by the fact she didn’t refer to his father as Leo. “That’s what Mr. Desalvo said. He told me to take my time in finding a good collectible and to have an independent mechanic check it over. He didn’t want to see me taken advantage of. But I knew a reputable businessman like your father would never misrepresent a product.” Joe nodded. As far as he knew, his father had been scrupulous to the extreme. It’s how he’d raised Joe and his sisters. But Joe hadn’t been around the last ten years, except for special holidays. He didn’t really know his father anymore. And his father’s words during that last phone call haunted him. Your mother can’t help me with this, son. Sally’s head emerged from the engine. “Mrs. Kennedy, will you be showing this car?” “Showing? You mean, entering it in some competition? That’s not my intent.” “Just wondering.” Sally lowered the hood. “Let 217

me give you my card. I’d be honored to maintain this beautiful piece of machinery, when the time comes for a tune-up or repair.” “I appreciate that.” Accepting the business card for Mustang Sally’s, the woman turned to Joe. “I bought the car to belong, is all.” “Belong? Oh, to the Antique Car Club.” As the woman ushered them to the door, Joe couldn’t help but think she’d meant more, much more. During the drive home, Sally seemed preoccupied. The suspense got to him. “Are you going to tell me?” Sally shook her head. “I don’t want to say anything until I check my manuals.” “Manuals?” “References. I keep ‘em at the shop.” “Want to go by there tonight?” He didn’t like the idea of taking Sally to the garage at night. What would be waiting for them this time? Another fire? A corpse? “Not tonight. I’m exhausted. I didn’t get much rest after last night’s work out. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Where will—” “No you don’t. Tell me what’s bothering you. If it doesn’t check out, no harm done.” Sally sighed. “Packard made few of the Caribbean Coupe Convertibles, and they’re extremely valuable if all original. But the Packard name isn’t on Ellen Kennedy’s 218

engine. It appears to have been sanded down, then smoothed and painted over. So I took a closer look.” “And? You don’t think it’s the right motor?” “Well, I was expecting a larger engine, 359 cubic inches with a four-barrel carburetor. This one had a two-barrel.” “How can you look at an engine and tell its size?” “To be sure, I’d have to pull the head and measure the bore. But I can count the number of jets in the carb to know it’s only a two-barrel.” She’d lost him again, but Joe understood the gist of it. As with the Darrin, his father’s company had sold a collectible as an original—with an engine that wasn’t.

“Here’s the deal, Sally.” Sally struggled to recognize the voice. She’d answered “Mustang Sally’s” while juggling a bottle of water. “Uh, Laquita?” “Right. I know your predicament. Jennifer and Monette fi lled me in. But I have to do your nails and hair Thursday night, see? Can’t be during the day. I’m booked solid. So you gotta wear gloves to work and keep your fingernails outta grease and oil. Ya hear?” “Whatever you say.” “And get you a satin pillowcase to sleep on so you 219

don’t mess up the hair—” “Uh, Laquita? There isn’t much you can do to the hair. It’s short and—” “I’m the expert. Let me worry about it. See you at your house at eight. Ya dig?” “Bless you. I’ll be here. You can double your fee.” “Not this time, girlfriend. Just pay for the nail polish and we’ll call it even. Jennifer says fuchsia. Later!” She hung up before Sally could protest. Well, Laquita would need an oil change soon. Sally would pay her back, one way or another. She smiled at the dust motes spinning through her office. Suddenly she’d become The Cause. The Project. Uncle Sal could accuse her of having no social life until Doomsday, but the Universal Joint had given her good friends. The telephone rang again, this time with Joe Desalvo on the line. “What did you find out?” Sally sank into her chair, her gaze dropping to the opened Encyclopedia of American Cars. She’d been dreading this conversation with Joe, knowing how bad it looked for his father. “My suspicions were right, Joe. The 1954 Packard Caribbean Coupe Convertible had a straighteight 359-cubic-inch engine with nine main bearings. All Packard 359s had four-barrel carburetors.” “Translated, we have another forged engine.” Sally grimaced. “This is fraud, Joe, and it’s on Bloom Desalvo’s shoulders.” 220

“I know.” He exhaled a long sigh. “I saw the paperwork, Sally. The woman paid megabucks thinking she was buying a restored-to-original-condition classic.” “Paperwork? I thought you didn’t find a fi le.” “Guess Barbara hadn’t set it up yet. There’s one now.” More than one fi le, Sally thought. She knew she had to call Special Agent Ferguson and report her findings, adding to the FBI’s fi le. She’d agreed to help. As a businesswoman, she was obligated to assist the FBI. So why did she dread making the call? Worse, what would Joe think of her if he found out she’d been helping to build a case against his father? As if reading her mind, he added, “At least I know Dad wasn’t involved with this one. Ellen Kennedy took delivery on the Packard yesterday. That’s the good news.” “Uh oh. That means there’s bad news?” She sank back into her chair. “Afraid so. Remember asking me about the actor James Dean?” “The one you said once owned a fifty-seven Skyliner that Dan Alsop made a buy on?” “Right. I looked it up. James Dean was killed September 30, 1955.”

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After locking up the shop for lunch, Sally drove home and changed into her most decent slacks and sweater. Three days on the job, her dad was proving to be dependable. He seldom spoke to her, or to anyone else who came into the garage, but he worked. He put in as many hours as Roy had, with no complaints. She kept telling herself it was a start. Could he finally be on the road to recovery? Pushing aside thoughts of her dad, she scrubbed her face and hands to get ready for Roy Bishop’s funeral. Joe had offered to take her to the grave-side service. Gratefully, she’d accepted. She’d yet to talk to Janet, Roy’s widow.

Joe coasted the Dodge to the front of her house, where Sally waited on the stoop. By the time she’d made it to the street, he had the passenger door opened to help her in. Always the gentleman. She knew without a doubt this man couldn’t be a part of anything shady or illegal. Nor could his family. She just hoped the FBI saw it her way. The service was blessedly short. Sally kept her tears to a minimum. She’d already sobbed her heart out in private over the loss of her friend Roy. Still, Joe’s strong arm across her shoulder steadied her. 222

“Thank you for doing this with me,” she murmured, as the mourners drifted away from the grave. “I know this isn’t easy for you, so soon after—” “Shh.” He hugged her gently. “It’s all right.” “There’s Janet.” Sally walked up to Roy’s widow, stunned to see her wearing a black maternity dress. My God, she was pregnant? She’d had no idea Roy and Janet were expecting. Roy hadn’t said a word. “Janet, I am so sorry about Roy.” Janet glared at her, ignored Sally’s outstretched hand. She walked past her without a word. Why was Janet shooting daggers at her? Did she blame Sally for Roy’s death? She had returned none of Sally’s calls. In a way, Sally blamed herself for Roy’s death. She could hardly fault Janet for feeling the same way. “I guess she’s upset,” Sally murmured. “No excuse for rudeness. Where to now?” Joe asked, helping her to the car. “Lunch?” Sally banished the disturbing encounter with Janet to the back of her mind. “I’ll take a rain check, Joe. I need to get back to work.” “Dinner, then?” “I work out tonight. It’d have to be after that, and someplace super casual.” He opened the passenger door for her. “Mazzoni’s again?” She slid into the car. “You know my weakness. 223

How can I refuse?” “There’s more.” She waited while he rounded the car, then scooted behind the wheel. “I have another favor to ask.” “What is it?” “I want to do some snooping around Dan Alsop’s place. No breaking and entering, just prowling. Are you game?” Sally shook her head no. “Are you kidding? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a slow mover. If you had to make a run for it, I’d only slow you.” “I’m not planning anything dangerous. I’d just like to see where the guy lives, get a feel for his set-up. You’d know more about what to look for.” “Look for? What are you thinking?” “Well, wouldn’t he have to have some kind of building or garage to modify engines, grind off engine numbers, stuff like that?” “You’ve made quite a leap, Joe, from innocent until proven guilty to let’s find evidence.” Joe started the engine. “I’m running out of time. Mom thinks Dad was murdered. We know Roy was murdered, and somebody shot at me. You were nearly run over by a speeding truck. I don’t believe in coincidence.” Running out of time? He must be thinking about returning to Atlanta. Of course. She knew he’d not be around forever. Joe Desalvo, handsome financial 224

wizard, probable ladies’ man, wasn’t a forever kind of guy. She’d always known that. “I want to get to the bottom of this, too. I want to nail the sucker who killed Roy if it’s the last thing I do,” she said, remembering the pain and hatred in Janet Bishop’s eyes.

Back at Mustang Sally’s, Justin scowled as Sally entered the service area. “Did you go home to change?” “I had to. Why?” “Alone?” Sally fought a smile. “No, Dad. Joe waited with me until I got safely into my car.” “Good.” He spun on his heel and returned to the engine stand, where he’d pulled the Corvette’s engine. He removed the head bolts. “Want me to help move the heads to the work bench?” Sally asked. “Yeah.” Sally snapped on a pair of chemical-resistant nitrile gloves, then moved to the back side of the V-8 engine. With her dad at the front, she grabbed a rocker arm and lifted the first head from the block. They hoisted it to the worktable, where he could remove the valves. Working together, they moved the other head. 225

She pulled off one glove to grab a shop towel, then patted perspiration from her face. “Thanks,” her dad mumbled, then turned to the work bench. Sally returned to the carburetor she’d been rebuilding before she’d left for Roy’s funeral. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but her dad seemed more energetic than he’d been in years. Could it be the work? He’d once loved cars. Had he begun to heal?

Joe studied the address he’d scribbled on the sticky note. Dan Alsop, according to the accounts payable fi le he’d accessed at Bloom Desalvo’s, lived across the county line in Taylor County. Few of the rural homes displayed house numbers. After three passes down the narrow county road, Sally called out, “There it is.” Joe pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. “It’s dark. I think no one’s home.” “Don’t park here. Pull down to that closed gas station and park. We’ll walk.” “It’s too far for you.” “Do it. We don’t need to arouse suspicion.” She had a point. The last thing he’d need is for a neighbor to call the cops. In isolated areas, neighbors 226

could be too vigilant. “I don’t plan to get too close. He may have a Rottweiler.” “Great. You have your flashlight?” She held up her small Maglite. “Yes. We’ll take yours for light, mine to knock out the dog.” A few minutes later, Joe led Sally down the sloping driveway of an old frame house. The driveway led to the garage, located in the basement. Joe studied the wooden garage door. “Locked.” “Hey,” Sally whispered. “You said no breaking and entering, remember?” “I know. Shine your flashlight into the window. I’ll peek inside.” The windows were too high for Sally to see, but she managed to hold the light for him. Stretching, Joe peered into the shadows. “Good girl. Hold it steady.” “Tell me what you see.” “I see a bunch of books, like in your office at Mustang Sally’s. And, uh, some kind of press. A metal press, I think, with sheets of blank metal. Aluminum, maybe?” “Engine plates. He’s stamping out fake engine plates.” The flashlight’s beam danced with Sally’s excitement. “Hold the light still. I see—” Joe stretched, staring into the dim interior. “There’s an old typewriter, 227

pans like you’d see used in fi lm developing—” “For faking documentation. What else?” “Nothing, except some tools, like some of yours.” “Hurry. I hear a car on the road.” “That’s all I can make out with the flashlight.” The approaching car’s headlights swept the yard. Sally fl icked off the flashlight. “It’s turning in here, Joe. We have to hide.”

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Chapter

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THIRT EN

Joe grabbed Sally around the waist, lifting her as he backed beside the wall. “Be very still.” Sally pressed against him so close he felt her hammering heart against his arm. Or was that his pulse, drumming inside his head? What the hell were they doing? What had begun as a peek at Dan Alsop’s lair had turned into trespassing. Alsop could have them arrested as prowlers. Sally didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Joe was holding his own breath, straining to hear, while he squinted into the darkness to watch. The slamming of a door covered Joe’s sudden gulp for air. A lone 229

man climbed from a pickup truck. He headed up the wooden steps to the back door on the main floor of the house. Go inside. But the guy halted on the steps. Had he spotted them? Joe pressed deeper into the shrubbery, again holding his breath. Sally froze against him. The man backed down the stairs, his steps growing louder as he crossed the driveway. Closer. After an interminable minute, he returned to the stairs. He climbed the steps, then disappeared inside the house. Joe’s heartbeat steadied, his breathing kicked in again. Sally exhaled, her warm breath a whoosh across his arm. He helped Sally up the driveway. They stuck to the edge, hiding in the shadows. Good thing Dan Alsop, or whoever, hadn’t lingered outside or carried out his trash. And didn’t have a Rottweiler.

“Close call,” Sally murmured as they drove toward Jeffersontown. “I’m not cut out for detective work.” Or criminal trespass. “Can’t say that I am, either. I nearly went into cardiac arrest when that truck pulled in the driveway.” Sally puzzled over Joe’s observations. If what he’d seen had been forging equipment for engine plates and 230

documentation, they might be able to link Dan Alsop to Ellen Kennedy’s Packard. “We need to get inside.” “What? Are you crazy?” “Okay, not us, but the authorities. I bet an expert could match the keys on that old typewriter to the documentation showing James Dean’s ownership of that Skyliner.” “What, exactly, do you mean by documentation?” Joe asked. Sally shook her head. He really didn’t know squat about his father’s business. “A copy of a bill of sale, with the original purchaser’s name, a notarized copy of a title, or a license receipt. Those can all be forged and made to look aged.” “I don’t even know who bought that James Dean car, or if it was handled through Bloom Desalvo.” “How about linking that metal press to the forged engine plate on your Kaiser Darrin?” “We’re in over our heads, Sally. Law enforcement knows how to collect evidence so it stands up in court. What good is it if we prove Dan Alsop is counterfeiting classic cars if he doesn’t go to jail?” “Think about this, Joe. We’re not just concerned with a scam here. We’re trying to find out who’d kill to cover their tracks. Doesn’t it make sense that if I thought of tying Dan Alsop to the Darrin, he thought of it, too? That’s why the Darrin and anyone who can 231

testify that it was misrepresented when sold would have to be eliminated.” “Eliminated.” “It’s the only thing that makes sense of all that’s happened.” The logic did nothing to calm the rolled oyster churning in her stomach. “We can’t depend on the local authorities. It takes time getting search warrants and gathering evidence.” Just like that FBI agent. Adam Ferguson had told her to drop out of it, to let him handle it now, but where was he? “What can we do? I told you I won’t do anything dangerous.” “Unfortunately, we’re in danger either way. So why not take the offensive?” “I don’t like what you’re suggesting. Let’s give the cops a chance first.” “Meanwhile, we’re still targets.” “You’re tired. Why don’t you sleep on this and we’ll discuss it tomorrow after work.” “Tomorrow after work. I have to be home by eight.” “Or you’ll turn into a pumpkin?” Sally grinned in spite of her anxiety. “Just the opposite. My friend Laquita is a beautician. She’s going to try to turn me into Cinderella before the ball.” Joe pulled up in front of the house, then killed the motor. Leaning toward her, his arm on the back of her seat, he murmured, “That won’t be much of a stretch.” 232

“Thanks, Joe.” Sally needed only to turn her head a few inches before her lips would be against his. Heat suff used her body. “I—I promise I won’t embarrass you tomorrow night.” “Look at me.” His finger tilted her face to his. “It never crossed my mind, Sally Clay. I wish you’d take my word for it. You’re a desirable woman.” His breath warmed her face. His lips followed, gentling against her mouth in the most tender of kisses. The next few minutes passed in a fog. With Joe’s help, she made it to her door, then inside. So dazed from his kiss she couldn’t remember what she said to him, she sobered at his parting words. “Watch your back.”

Thursday morning, Joe poked his head through the door to Vic Bloom’s office. Vic scowled at a sales contract until he noticed Joe. Recognition instantly transformed his face into a relaxed smile. “Got a minute?” “Sure, Joey. Come on in.” Joe took one of the two vinyl chairs usually reserved for customers. Except for the overflowing ashtray, Vic’s desk was tidy and clean. His office exuded a professionalism sadly lacking in the man’s own appearance. 233

It hadn’t always been so. Joe remembered a younger Vic Bloom, dashing and slick in his business suits and wing-tipped shoes. He’d bought himself and Leo copies of John Malloy’s Dress For Success about the time Joe started high school. Joe still had his dad’s copy. “What’s on your mind?” Joe cleared his throat, unsure where to begin. “I wanted to talk to you about the classic car division, Vic.” “What about it?” “Barbara says you’re growing that side of the business. Mom hasn’t really gotten involved with it yet, but I need to bring her up to speed.” “Actually, that side of the business is going great. We’ve brokered a fair number of high price deals lately.” “Really? Sally Clay says her restoration business with Bloom Desalvo has declined, so I’d wondered.” Vic shrugged. “Haven’t needed much restoration work. Like I told you last week, we’re getting some great finds since we hooked up with Dan Alsop.” “So you said. How well do you know Dan?” “Never heard of him before, but Barb met him in night school. She’s the one introduced us, but Leo wanted to hire him.” “That’s what puzzles me. Why? Dad loved that part of the business.” “I know, I know.” Vic lit up a smoke. “All I can say is your dad was winding down. He’d started wanting 234

more time off, more time with the grandchild. I think he was looking to retire early, at least that was my impression before—” An awkward silence hung between them. Joe knew what Vic had been about to say. Before Leo blew his brains out. Vic coughed. “That’s all right, Vic. I’m just trying to get a feel for where Mom fits in now.” “She’s the office manager. You were right about her, you know?” “You mean about being ready to come to work?” “I mean about having the management skills. She’s an asset already, Joey. Even taking time off to see about her mother in the hospital, she’s been handling business.” “That’s great.” “We like having her around. Barb says she’s a real help.” “What about Dan Alsop? Is he worth his price?” “Dan ain’t salaried.” Vic’s cigarette hung from his mouth. “He works strictly off commission. We’re lucky he hooked up with us.” “No complaints on any of his deals?” Joe slid the question in casually, watching Vic’s face for a reaction. A trace of irritation fl ickered, just a hint of discomfiture. Joe would’ve missed the tightening around the mouth if he hadn’t been studying Vic’s face. The 235

man quickly recovered his poise, but Joe had struck a nerve. He knew it. “Heck, no. Only praise for the man. I just hooked him up with a lady who’d been searching for a Packard. She’s happy with the deal.” “Ellen Kennedy?” “How’d you—” “Barbara said she’d been working with my dad.” This time, Vic failed to mask his discomposure. “She had no business telling you about that.” “About what, Vic?” Joe leaned into Vic’s desk, crowding his space. “I need to know the truth.” “We may never know the truth.” Vic shook his head, stubbed out his cigarette, then sighed. “The Kennedy woman wouldn’t leave Leo alone. She insisted on speaking only with him when she dropped in, which was frequent. Sometimes—sometimes she’d still be here when we locked up for the night.” “So you think they were having an affair?” Joe forced the words. “I don’t know. She sure had a thing for him. Anybody could see that.” Vic shook his head. “Leo never had eyes for any woman but Lucinda. I figured it was a one-sided crush until—” “Until Dad’s suicide,” Joe finished. Bleakness fi lled Vic’s eyes. “Yeah.” “And you and Barbara think that guilt over infi236

delity led my father to put a gun in his mouth?” “If I thought that,” Vic paused to stick another cigarette between his lips. “I’d personally strangle the Kennedy woman.”

Sally arrived at Mustang Sally’s later that morning. “Thanks for opening up, Dad. I mean, Justin.” “No problem.” Justin rolled his mechanic’s creeper from beneath the Chrysler 300. “You’re all gussied up.” “I’m going to the Fillies’ Derby Ball tonight.” “Desalvo takin’ ya?” “Yes. Joe’s grandmother is a Filly. Which reminds me, I’ll be leaving a bit early today, too. Hope you don’t mind closing again.” Justin gave her a quick nod. “No problem. What time is he picking you up?” “Six-thirty.” “I’ll be home before you leave.” With that, he disappeared beneath the vintage Chrysler, leaving Sally flabbergasted. He’d acted almost—interested. Like a father. With his monotone and expressionless features, though, who could tell? Sally gave in to a smile as she limped toward the office. She grabbed nitrile gloves from the dispenser in the counter to protect her manicure, a concession 237

she’d made to Laquita. She’d vetoed fake acrylic nails, though. No way the proprietor of Mustang Sally’s would be caught wearing those long claws. Besides, how could she reach inside a carburetor? Working today wearing gloves would be awkward enough, but at least her nails looked uniform. And clean. And very fuchsia. She had no idea what finishing touches Monette and Jennifer had in store for her. For so long the tomboy, Sally had done little primping in her life. After the accident, her appearance had mattered even less. She focused on her health, fitness, and skills as a mechanic. It surprised her now, at age twenty-seven, to discover the fun side of primping. Settling behind her desk, she pulled open the tummy drawer, rummaging for the flyer with Special Agent Ferguson’s phone number. She’d been procrastinating enough. Swallowing, she picked up the receiver. In deference to her manicure, she punched out the numbers with the eraser end of her mechanical pencil. Sally identified herself and brought the special agent up to date, including the suspicious contents of Dan Alsop’s garage. “Ma’am, you’ve been a big help, but drop your amateur investigation at once. I can’t allow you to put yourself at risk.” “Can you get a search warrant for Dan Alsop?” 238

“Are you willing to offer expert testimony that an automobile he brokered had been misrepresented?” “Yes, sir, I am. I’ll cooperate any way I can. I don’t know if Alsop’s the killer. But somebody killed Roy Bishop in my place of business for the photos I took for you of the Darrin’s engine.” “You don’t know that for sure.” “Yes, I do. I just can’t prove it.” She held up her gloved hand, as if Ferguson could see the gesture. “I know. You have to have evidence. Well, we still have the Darrin.” “Where?” “Joe Desalvo has it hidden in the next county in a horse barn.” “Did you see it there? Or are you taking Desalvo’s word for it?” Sally bristled, biting back a retort. She’d gotten to know the Desalvos. Special Agent Ferguson hadn’t. “I have no reason to doubt him. He’s been shot at, remember, and his grandmother wounded. I don’t think he’s your suspect.” “Everyone connected with Bloom Desalvo Motors is a suspect. We’ve had another report of fraud in Tennessee. The car was purchased from Vic Bloom.” “I see. Well, if you’re finished with me, I’ll quit snooping around.” Sally knew she was lying. She saw no other recourse, however. The FBI took longer to 239

build cases than the locals. “This case is far from over, Miss Clay. I’m just saying stay out of danger. We’re paid to take the risks, not you. I appreciate all the information you’ve given us. I’m making the arrangements now to come to Louisville.” “Good. When?” “Monday. Thanks for your help. We’ll be in contact.” Sally wasn’t sure what to tell Joe. If the FBI didn’t need her to snoop anymore, but Joe did, how could she sit and wait until Monday? She doubted the killer would back off until the posse arrived.

“Eeooow!” Sally yelled. “You big baby. Haven’t you ever had your brows shaped before?” Jennifer murmured. “Is that what you’re doing? I thought for sure it was the latest in terrorist tortures.” Monette giggled. “I’ll be right back. What size did you say to get, Sally?” Monette was doing the underwire shopping at the nearby discount store. “Th irty-four B.” “You don’t look thirty-four. Must be your workouts.” “Yeah. It’s all in my back, believe me.” 240

“Hey, that’s cool. Wait until you see what a pushup bra can do.” Jennifer yanked another eyebrow hair with the tweezers. “Ouch! Did she say push-up bra? Wait!” “She’s gone. Don’t worry. We have a method to our madness.” “You’ll need a lot of method to turn this ugly duckling into a swan, Jennifer. But thanks for trying. Yeeeoooow!” “Sorry.” Jennifer frowned in concentration as she came at Sally again with the tweezers. “Brace yourself.” “How many more of these do you have to pluck?” “Several. I’ve been dying to get at your eyebrows since I met you. Shaped right, they can really accent your beautiful eyes. But thick and hairy, they detract.” Sally chuckled. “That was tactful.” “We don’t have time for tact. As soon as we’re finished, you need to soak in a bubble bath and rub scented lotion everywhere.” “I don’t have any bubble—” “Ta da!” Jennifer pulled a bath set from her tote. “I brought mine. Hope you don’t mind a hint of roses. It’s subtle, but alluring. You can keep it. I have more.” “You two have thought of everything. How can I ever repay you?” “Just knock him dead tonight, Sally. We all really 241

want this for you.” An hour later, showered and freshly scented, Sally slipped into her Wonderbra. It wasn’t the foam-laden pushup contraption she’d feared. With just a hint of padding and underwire, the Chantilly lace and satin trim made her feel feminine and curvy. She called her friends back to her bedroom. “I have boobs!” Both women nodded. Jennifer said, “See? It pushes what you have into a nice package.” “Okay, I’m ready to try on the dress.” “I brought needle, thread, and safety pins, just in case.” Together, Monette and Jennifer dropped the dress over Sally’s shoulders, letting it settle against her enhanced bosom. Monette pronounced it “just a tad loose,” pinning a tuck under each arm. They lifted the dress, taking care not to touch the hair, then draped it across the bed. Monette busied herself with alterations, while Jennifer opened her makeup kit. “Now for the war paint.” “Please, keep it subtle.” “Not a chance. You can be vibrant and still look classy, Sal,” Monette explained, while biting off a piece of thread. “She’s right. A splash of color doesn’t cheapen the look. Besides a Wonderbra, you also paid for a tube of 242

moisture-rich, collagen-enriched Uptown Fuchsia lip color, complete with SPF 12,” Jennifer read from the package. “Also a bottle of foundation to smooth over your scraped chin.” “Sal said you fell. What happened?” Monette asked. Sally didn’t want to spoil the evening by thinking about the hit-and-run attempt. “It’s a long story, but Joe tackled me.” This earned her whoops and chiding from her friends, especially when Sally didn’t elaborate. Then Jennifer made her hold still for the rest of her makeup job, sparing her from further explanation. Monette looked up from the bed, where she stitched the dress. “You don’t need any mascara or eyeliner, girlfriend. I hate you for those eyes, by the way.” “But we’re rubbing pale aqua over your lids, with a darker aqua at the orbital bone. That’ll highlight your natural dark lashes.” “Trust us,” Monette added. The second fitting of the dress worked. “This looks so pretty,” was all Sally could manage to say. The skirt brushed the floor, as she was a couple of inches shorter than Monette, completely hiding her scarred leg. “That’s perfect, actually. It’ll hide my slippers and won’t broadcast that I can’t wear high heels.” “It is perfect. But we’ve got to run.” Jennifer checked her watch. “We’re running late, 243

although Sal promised to cover for us.” Sally smiled, then hugged her two friends. “It’s the least he could do since you’re going to so much trouble for his niece.” “Be sure to buy one of those photographs so Sal can see the end result,” Monette added as they scurried toward the door. Sally followed the two women and watched as they squeezed past the garage on their way to the alley, passing her dad on his way in. Sally’s breath caught. He had made it home before she left. Without getting her hopes too high, she pulled open the door and waited. Her father stepped through the door and froze. “My God, Sally. You look—beautiful.” Tears threatened her makeup, but she held them back with burning eyelids. “Thank you, Dad.” He shook his head, his expression softening. “You almost look like Maria. Your mother.” “Do I?” Sally had often been told her eyes were like her mother’s, but the rest of her was Justin Clay, through and through. “Don’t leave yet. I’ll be right back.” “Okay. I’ll be in my room.” She needed to search through her keepsake box to see if she had anything to pass for jewelry. A good necklace and earrings would add the perfect touch to the gown and makeup. She sat down at the bench in front of her old pine 244

desk, which doubled as a dressing table. The mirror overhead caught her father’s image as he came into the room. His hands cradled a small box. “These were your mother’s. She’d want you to wear them tonight.” He averted his eyes when Sally gazed up at him. With trembling fingers, she accepted the box, a hinged jeweler’s case. She opened it. A gold serpentine choker lay beside dangling gold clip-on earrings. Sally fingered the earrings first, then attached one to each earlobe. They caught the afternoon sunlight fi ltering in the room through the window, the perfect accent to her swept-back hairstyle. The necklace weighed heavily against her neck as she struggled to close the clasp. “Help me.” Her father moved behind her, taking the gold ends and securing the clasp. His hands then settled on her shoulders. “I—I’ve been saving them for you.” “Thank you. They’re lovely.” “You’re lovely.” Sally wasn’t certain she’d heard him right. But before she could respond, her father had fled the room. His footfalls on the steps announced his retreat upstairs. He had said she was lovely. With her repulsive leg hidden from view, her father could see her as attractive. He seemed—oh, but it was hard to tell with him— proud of his daughter. But Sally knew better than that. 245

Too many times in the past nine years she had wanted to hope. Too many times she’d been disappointed. By the time Joe rang the front doorbell, Sally had convinced herself the exchange with her father hadn’t even happened.

Joe clutched the florist box, feeling like a kid picking up his prom date. After a minute, Sally pulled open the door. Joe worked his mouth but without sound. Sally looked absolutely stunning. Her dark hair was swept away from her face, pulled back in what might have been a severe look on anyone else. But with her distinctive widow’s peak, Sally looked regal. Her creamy skin, plenty of which to look at with that slip of a gown, showed off her upper body muscle definition. Those workouts had paid off in athletic curves. Incredibly sexy. His perusal took in her distinctive eyes, glossy pink lips, then dropped where the aquamarine gown offered a tantalizing peek of her breasts. Gold earrings clipped to her earlobes matched the necklace that rested at the hollow of her throat. “Come in, Joe. I guess I’m ready.” He swallowed the lump stuck in the back of his 246

throat. Following her into the living room, he finally found his voice. “You look fantastic.” “Thank you.” “This is for you.” He offered her the florist box. “It’s a wrist corsage.” She opened it. Smiled. And his heart did a funny flop against his rib cage. Mustang Sally had morphed into one sexy siren. “Roses.” She lifted the flowers from the box. “Can you give me a hand here?” He held the white box while she slid her manicured hand through the elastic wrist band. “Since the Kentucky Derby is the run for the roses, I thought a rose corsage appropriate.” “It’s perfect, Joe. Thanks.” She held her hand out to admire the delicate white roses and white satin ribbon. “I guess we’d better leave. The dinner is at seven forty-five. Do you have a wrap?” “No, but I don’t need one. It’s warm and we’ll be inside.” And if she got cold, he’d wrap his arms around her and keep her very warm.

247

Chapter

e

FOURT EN

Joe and Sally sat at one of the round banquet tables in the cavernous ballroom. Brendan pulled out the chair beside her for Fia. Fia, willowy and glamorous, smiled. “Hello, Sally. I’m so glad you came.” “Me, too. You look very elegant.” “As do you. I was afraid we’d be stuck here by ourselves. It’s good to see Joe with a date.” Sally bit back questions. The man was a magnet for females. Surely his sister didn’t mean he seldom dated. No, Fia meant she seldom saw her brother. He lived in Atlanta, a fact Sally needed to keep in mind. “It’s not exactly a date, you know. Grandma can be 248

very persuasive.” “She is that.” Joe reached across the table and patted Fia’s hand. “Grandma loves us all, but feels closest to you, Fia.” Fia nodded. “Maybe because I was her first grandchild. I’m so relieved she survived the shooting.” Sally’s mood darkened. She’d hoped to enjoy tonight without tainting it with thoughts of shootings, murder, and arson. “So am I, Fia.” Brendan settled a hand over Fia’s. “Me, too, honey, although the woman clearly disapproves of me.” Sally’s gaze zipped to Brendan’s. To her surprise, he was smiling. “Why do you think that?” Fia and Brendan both laughed. “Grandma said so,” Fia said, then chuckled again. “She’s not one to mince words.” “She thinks I’m anal retentive.” Fia gave him a pointed stare. “Well?” “All right, so I can be a bit focused.” “A bit?” Sally glanced at Joe, who stared at his sister and her fiancé. Fia and Brendan were bantering. Maybe Brendan was a selfish boor, but his and Fia’s relationship seemed to work for them, although Sally was no expert on relationships. Far from it. “Did I understand Fia to say you owned the animal 249

clinic?” Sally asked. “Yes, it’s a large animal veterinary clinic. Fia thinks I should re-name it The Horse-pital.” “That’s clever. Why don’t you?” Sally asked. “Because it’s not serious enough for Brendan,” Fia said. “All right. I’ll think about it. I’ve worked hard to establish myself as a reputable veterinarian. I didn’t think ‘Horse-pital’ would sound professional.” Joe spoke up. “I see a lot of catchy names like that on the most reputable of businesses. There’s a glass cutter in Atlanta who’s famous as the Glass Doctor who will fi x your panes.” Brendan groaned. “You aren’t serious.” “Yes, I am.” “ ‘Horse-pital’ is better than ‘Horses R Us,’ ” Fia added. “Besides, you have an established clientele, don’t you?” Joe asked. “He does.” Fia turned an admiring gaze toward Brendan. “I think the burglary has him worried about his image now.” “How’s that?” Joe asked. “How would you feel about leaving your valuable saddle bred overnight at my clinic knowing the alarm system had been compromised?” Brendan said. Joe nodded. “I see your point. But wasn’t it a drug 250

theft?” Fia answered, “An odd one. Just two vials were missing from our supply. We inventory every drop of medication on premise.” Sally fought a smirk. I just bet you do. Grandma would say it squared with “anal-retentiveness.” No wonder Joe thought the guy too old for Fia. “What was in the missing vials?” Joe asked. “Succinylcholine chloride, or SCH. Not a popular street drug. I think some punks lifted the wrong merchandise.” “How did punk kids know how to bypass the alarm?” Brendan asked. “Believe me, punk kids with time on their hands can hack into sophisticated computer systems.” Joe spread his upturned hands. “A simple burglar alarm circuit is a piece of cake to these guys.” “Is the burglary common knowledge? I mean, do many of your clients know it happened?” Sally asked. “Only if they read the police blotter in the newspaper.” Brendan sighed. “Nobody’s mentioned it.” “And the alarm company’s upgraded the security system,” Fia added. “All right, maybe I am overreacting. I concede.” He held up his hands in surrender, a sheepish grin curving his mouth. Sally applauded and cheered. Joe and his sister 251

joined in. Anal-retentive Brendan could laugh at himself and compromise. Perhaps Grandma had been premature in her judgment. Brendan waved his hand, taking in the ballroom and decorations. “The Fillies do a good job of dressing up this barn, don’t they?” Barn? Caught up in the formal dress and excitement of the occasion, Sally had taken little notice of the ballroom in the river-front hotel. The long, plain room with a row of doors off the corridor did resemble a barn. Clatter from the kitchen escaped into the ballroom with each swing of the door, reverberating off the high ceiling and windowless walls. But the curtained stage at one end, adorned with thousands of miniature white lights, gossamer drapes, and silvery celestial mobiles dangling from the chandeliers, transformed the ordinary room into a glittering fairyland. “This is my first Derby festival event.” Except the time Mom and Dad had taken her to the Pegasus Parade. Sally barely remembered it, except that it was downtown. “Yes, the Fillies are creative and hard-working,” Fia said. “This year’s theme is Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Sally smiled. Tonight was her dream night, midApril if not mid-summer. Tonight made up for the fiasco of her senior prom, her last foray into formal events. Just for tonight, she’d be belle of the ball. Just 252

for tonight, she’d be Joe’s. She met his heated gaze and blushed. Could he read her mind? During dinner, couples lined up for professional photographs. Remembering Monette’s request, Sally agreed to pose with Joe for their Derby Ball portrait. Her senior prom date hadn’t bothered with having their prom picture taken, so this was another first for Sally. Joe wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him beneath the rose-laden trellis. The photographer announced the pose perfect, but Joe didn’t release her. Prolonging the embrace, he kissed her lightly at the ear. He escorted her back to the table in a way that felt proprietary, possessive. God help her, Sally enjoyed every moment. She wouldn’t spoil her fairy tale evening with thoughts of Joe’s return to Atlanta. “When does the dancing start?” Fia asked later, as waiters cleared away their dishes and utensils. “After the Queen’s Coronation.” Joe winked at Fia. “You and Brendan eager to rock ‘n’ roll?” Fia waved off her brother. “I’d rather rumba, if they’ll play anything with a Latin beat.” “I don’t think I’m ready to rumba, Joe.” Heat crawled up Sally’s neck. She’d made rumba sound like a euphemism for the horizontal tango. Joe wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Well, you just let me know when you are ready to rumba and we’ll flee this joint!” 253

Sally giggled in spite of her embarrassment. “We can’t leave until the Queen is crowned.” “Darn, I forgot.” Joe turned toward the five princesses seated near the stage. “I have to do the honors.” Sally followed his gaze. “Your grandmother says the lucky winner is chosen by a spin of a wheel.” “That’s what she said.” Joe glanced at his watch. “It’s almost ten now. Guess we’d better make our way up there.” “We?” He helped her up, then whispered against her hair, “Don’t make me do this by myself. Partners, remember?” After crowning the Derby Queen and Knighting two people to the Court of Pegasus, Joe breathed a sigh of relief. His duty performed, he could now enjoy the evening with Sally. The Kentucky Derby Festival had always been a big deal to his family, but not to Joe. Only Sally made his duties tolerable. Fia’s expressions throughout dinner told him she’d seen the way he could hardly keep his hands off his beautiful date. He’d tried to conceal his body’s response. Sally was his friend, his cohort. He’d hurt her for sure if he allowed his hormones to take over. She deserved a happily-ever-after ending. Joe couldn’t give anyone happy-ever-after. His head knew that. But he had to keep reminding his body. The combo orchestra announced its first dance 254

number, a lively swing. For Sally’s benefit, Joe chose to sit that one out. Sally turned to watch Brendan and Fia glide to the dance floor. “He’s not so bad, Joe.” “I know. I think I just need to get to know him better. It’s like your Dad.” “What?” Sally stiffened. “I misjudged him. I don’t pretend to understand the undercurrents between you two. But one thing I do know. He’s very protective of you. He made that clear.” “What do you mean?” she asked, unable to mask her curiosity. “The other day when I dropped by Mustang Sally’s looking for you, he and I had a chat.” “Dad? A chat?” “Not that he said all that much,” Joe added with a shrug. “He’s, er, economical with his words.” Sally smiled. “That’s one way of putting it.” “He doesn’t intend to leave you alone at the shop. I don’t know if he’d want you to know that, but he’s worried about you. He warned me off, too.” “What?” Joe smiled. “He said, and I quote, ‘I don’t want Sally hurt.’ That’s all he said. He gave me one of those father’s looks. He’s worried I’ll break your heart.” “Yeah, right. Believe me, Dad doesn’t care about my love life, not that I have one.” 255

“What makes you think that?” Sally harrumphed. “History.” Joe leaned closer, to be heard above the band. “I wish you’d give me a history lesson.” “No big deal. I found out Dad paid Corky The Jerk Martin a hundred bucks to take me to my Senior Prom. I overheard Corky The Jerk bragging about it with his pals. He danced with every other girl at the prom.” “Corky The Jerk didn’t dance with you?” Sally closed her eyes. “It was right after the accident. I was on crutches.” Suppressing his curiosity about the accident, Joe slid an arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “Your father’s plan was to help, not hurt you. He couldn’t know this Corky guy would be indiscreet.” “Indiscreet. That’s putting it mildly.” “Where is Corky The Jerk these days? I’ll punch out the bastard.” Sally laughed. “You’ve given me a different slant on the experience. The way you put it, I don’t feel quite so humiliated.” “Adolescence is rough. Put that time in your life behind you. Forgive your father.” Sally jerked away. “Forgive my father? There’s nothing to forgive. It’s not his fault I couldn’t get a date to the prom. I only wish—” “You only wish what?” 256

Sally shook her head. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to get all gushy.” Joe noted the band’s change in tempo. “Hey, this is a nice, slow song. Let’s dance.” “Okay, I’ll give it a try. But you’ll have to do all of the work.”

Sally concentrated on walking normally as she followed Joe to the dance floor. He assumed the traditional dance position—nothing like Monette’s description —and clamped one arm firmly around Sally’s waist, plastering their bodies together. His arm supporting most of her weight, he waltzed her around the dance floor. Sally struggled to keep up until she found her pace. “You all right?” he murmured in her ear. “Don’t talk. I’m concentrating.” Joe chuckled, turning with her to revolve around the floor with the other dancers. Sally amazed herself. With Joe’s help, she was dancing. Really dancing! Cinderella at the ball. Paying close attention to her steps took far more effort than it should have. But Joe’s electric touch against her skin triggered a flash of awareness that derailed her concentration. The barriers of clothing did little to throttle the effect of their dancing. Like a 257

well-tuned engine, their bodies slid and moved against each other in a potent rhythm. The waltz ending, the band segued into another slow song. Without a pause, Joe clung to Sally and danced. He seemed to know how to carry the weight for Sally’s weak leg, securing her in his strong arms. She closed her eyes, nuzzling Joe’s neck, letting herself drift with the music. His woodsy cologne fi lling her senses and his warm breath caressing her cheek, Joe transformed Sally into a boneless, dancing rag doll. “Thank you,” she said a few minutes later, catching her breath as Joe led her back to their table. After pulling out Sally’s chair, Joe bowed. “The pleasure was mine.” “You two looked very graceful together.” Fia smiled as Sally settled in her chair. “Thanks to your brother. He made me look good.” “It’s the women who make us men look good. Right, Brendan?” Joe smiled and winked at Sally. “That’s what they say.” The band broke into a Latin number. Fia smiled at Brendan. “Want me to make you look good doing the rumba?” Rising, Brendan held Fia’s chair. “Lead the way.” “I think we’ll wait for another one of those slow, seductive tunes.” Joe covered Sally’s hand and smiled. Sally returned his smile, unsure of what she should 258

say. He was fl irting with her again. She doubted she’d ever feel comfortable with it. As much as she’d love to be more to Joe than a friend, she couldn’t handle it. The proverbial fish out of water. Still, she had promised herself this night. She’d go with the flow, not analyze it. Turning her attention to the dance floor, she watched Fia and Brendan rumba. Later, Sally managed one more slow dance before her bad leg threatened a muscle spasm. “I’m sorry. I think I’d better stay off my feet now.” Joe’s smile crumbled. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to overdo it.” “My fault. I was just having so much fun, you know?” She smiled at him, unable to hide her high spirits. And more than her leg muscles had been taxed. She didn’t know how much more her aroused body could stand being in Joe’s embrace. “Dancing. It’s not something I’ve been able to do, Joe. Thank you.” “You look tired. You look beautiful, but tired.” “I am tired, a little.” Her languor had more to do with arousal than fatigue. “It’s after midnight. Want me to pick up our pictures and take you home?” Excitement hummed through Sally’s veins. She wanted him to take her home with him. Knowing she’d set herself up for an even bigger heartache, she still wanted his hands on her. His mouth. She wanted, 259

just once in her life, to have a man make love to her. No. Not a man. Joe. It seemed she’d been waiting for only him to awaken the long-dormant desires locked inside her disfigured body. Not disfigured. Joe made her feel normal. Sure, she wasn’t a woman he could spend his life with. But she could be the woman he could spend this night with. She wasn’t so inexperienced that she hadn’t noticed his obvious arousal when they’d slow danced. He’d take what she offered. And Sally intended to offer. Heady with her bold resolve, she locked her gaze with Joe’s. “Take me home with you.” Joe took both Sally’s hands in his. “What are you saying?” “Exactly what you think I’m saying.” Her cocoa eyes unfl inching, she held his gaze. Hadn’t he been wanting this all evening? Sally had to know. Their bodies pressed against each other as they moved intimately in rhythm had been more than his libido could take. Expecting his hormones to remain neutral had been asking too much. Yes, he’d been coming on to Sally, whether he’d intended to or not. With her sultry eyes offering him what any healthy male would want, Joe was powerless to resist. His gaze dropped to those lips, slightly parted, plump and pink. The need to press his mouth to hers became an obsession. He had to get her out of here, had to devour that 260

sexy mouth. “Come on.” The hoarseness in his voice betrayed his aroused condition. Springing from the chair, Sally’s fatigue seemed to have vanished. She kept up with him as he helped her outside, then to the parking garage to wait for his car. He barely remembered tipping the valet in his haste to leave. He drove a block, then pulled over beneath the expressway ramp. River Road was deserted except for the passengers who partied aboard the Belle of Louisville, the sternwheeler docked nearby on the Ohio River. Joe set the emergency flashers, unsnapped his seatbelt, and flung himself at Sally. Pulling her into his arms, he released her seatbelt. His lips were on hers, his tongue invaded her mouth, his breathing nearly stopped as he kissed her. And kissed her. She gave as good as he, stroking his neck, his hair, tugging him ever closer. Forgetting the running motor, the beep of the flashers, he lost himself in the tender flesh behind her ear, along her neck, then lower. Murmuring her name, he brought his hands up either side of her ribs, his thumbs moving closer and closer to her nipples. His thumbs reached their destination. As he rubbed them into hard pebbles, he was rewarded by Sally’s soft cries of pleasure. “Joe, please,” she whimpered. 261

What was he doing? He quickly broke away, pushing himself behind the wheel. “God, Sally, I’m sorry. I got carried away.” “S-sorry?” Ignoring the ache in his groin, Joe forced his attention to driving. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was rough.” “I’m not made of porcelain. And you didn’t hurt me. I was begging you to—to—” She broke off, as if emerging from a daze. “Jeez, I guess I forgot where we were.” “Me, too.” “I hope you intend to finish what you started.” She clicked her seatbelt buckle, reminding him he needed his fastened, too. “Nothing would please me more, Sally, but I don’t want you to have regrets.” “I’m a consenting adult. I won’t whine and cry in the morning. It won’t spoil our friendship.” Sally wasn’t a game-player. Her straight shooting had appealed to him from the start. And she thought she meant what she was saying. But a woman like Sally deserved more than a fl ing, which was all Joe could offer. Much as he wanted her—which was more than he’d ever wanted any woman—he couldn’t hurt her. He also knew he walked a tight rope between taking advantage of her and rejecting her. Sally’s fragile 262

ego wouldn’t take rejection well. He’d have to strike a balance. And he’d need to exercise superhuman control over the powerful longing he had for her. He couldn’t take her, no matter how much he yearned to.

Sally winced when Joe fl icked on the light in his room in the Desalvo’s stable. “Can we please keep the lights off ?” Joe reached for the wall switch. “Okay, Sally, but I don’t want us in total darkness.” “Please?” “No.” He moved closer. Reaching for her hands, he pulled her against him. “I want to see you. You’re beautiful.” “I’m—thanks.” She turned away before she blurted out the truth. “I’m afraid.” “We don’t have to rush this, you know. I meant what I said. I don’t want you having regrets.” “I’ll be fine if you leave off the lights.” She swallowed as he turned her face toward his with a light touch of his finger. “It’s— since the accident, I’ve— what I’m trying to say is—” “I’m the first man you’ve been with?” “Well, yes—since the accident.” She said, relieved he couldn’t see the red heat crawling up her neck and 263

ears. He had to know she wasn’t experienced or sophisticated like the other women he’d bedded. Still, she wanted desperately to be good for him, to please him. “I wish you’d tell me about the accident.” “Why?” Please, Joe, not now. “I want to be intimate with you, Sally, not just have sex. That’s not what I’m about.” “Don’t make it more than it is.” “Now you’re making me angry. You aren’t one to pretend. Don’t start now.” He pulled her down beside him on the bed, still holding her hand. “You deserve more than a fl ing. And I can’t offer you more.” “I didn’t ask you for more. As I said, I’m a consenting adult.” “I hear you. So I mean nothing more to you than a roll in the sack?” “That’s not what I meant!” Pulling her hand free, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What more do you want from me, Joe?” “Trust.” “What does that mean?” “Trust me enough to tell me about the accident, about why you and your father have such a strained relationship when it’s obvious you’re both hurting.” “Hurting? You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “That’s right, I don’t. I’m asking you to open up to me. Trust me.” 264

“How’d we get from Sally-gets-laid to Sally Jesse Raphael?” Even to her own ears, the words sounded bitter. Coarse. No wonder Joe recoiled. “Come on.” He stood, dug into his tuxedo pocket, jingling keys and change. His soft tone didn’t hide the hurt. “I’ll take you home.” Remorse fi lled her. Joe had been the perfect gentleman tonight. He’d given her a storybook evening, complete with flowers, dinner, and a queen and knights. He’d given her dancing, no small physical feat for him. He didn’t deserve for her to shut him out. “Wait.” He sighed into the darkness. “Yes?” “I’ll make you a deal. If you’ll leave the lights out, I’ll tell you about the accident.” “Deal.” He slipped out of his shoes, then tossed his jacket and cummerbund across a chair. “But let’s get comfortable.” Sally toed off her slippers and joined him on the bed. Side by side, they pressed their backs against the headboard. “I don’t know where to begin.” Joe enveloped her hand in his, giving it an encouraging squeeze. “Vic said you worked in the pits when you were still in high school. Start there.” “Dad and Uncle Sal built race cars and raced with 265

some success. They had sponsors, a few wins, and had made it to the Busch circuit. Do you know NASCAR?” “Not much. It’s stock car racing, right?” “Right. There’s Busch, then Winston Cup. Winston Cup is like the major league to Busch’s minor. It takes lots more money, sponsors, and impressive driving to get into Winston Cup. The engines are bigger, the wheel bases longer, and the competition tougher.” “I see.” “Okay, so Dad was the team driver. Uncle Sal was his mechanic, although we all worked on the cars. Dad raised me in the garage, so I couldn’t help but be a mechanic. He gave me trivial chores at first, just to keep me out of trouble.” She grinned into the darkness at the memory. “Cheap child care.” “No wonder you know everything about cars.” “Not everything. But I learned a lot from two of the best car buffs in Kentucky. Later, Dad saw the value in keeping me on his crew. Cheap labor. Don’t get me wrong. I loved it. There was no place I’d rather be than at the tracks helping Dad race. He was phenomenal. “Clay Enterprises attracted the attention of a big corporation that wanted to sponsor us in Winston Cup. The Busch Race in Rockingham was like an audition. If the Clays could win that one, or at least come in the money, we’d have the contract.” This was where the story got dicey. Sally drew a 266

shuddering breath. “I was in my senior year. I’d kept up my grades so I could miss school to travel with the crew. Dad wanted me with him.” Her voice broke. A sob lodged its way into her throat, robbing her of speech. “Honey, take your time.” Joe slid his arm around her shoulders and hugged her, whispering soothing words into her hair. She hated the tears. After a difficult struggle, she blinked them back and swallowed. “I was working the pits, same as always, being the gofer for the guys. During a yellow flag, Dad pitted.” “Uh, pitted?” “Took a pit stop for a tire change. Tire changes take seconds, a routine thing. We’d done it hundreds of times. But before all the tires were wheeled out of the way, Dad took off. He must’ve clipped a wheel as he sped away.” “What happened to the wheel?” “It’s a freaky thing, really. It shot into the pits. I—” she swallowed. “I was in its path. Talk about wrong place at the wrong time. It took out my knee and nearly my whole leg.” “Oh, no.” “Several surgeries later, the doctors gave up on my walking again. But I showed them.” “Yes, you did. You’re a strong, courageous woman.” 267

“Well, thanks. But I ruined Dad’s life in the process.” “I don’t understand.” “I shouldn’t have been out by the car. That wasn’t my job. But I was so excited for him and wanted to cheer him on. Because I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, I nearly lost my leg. I wouldn’t let them tell Dad about the accident. He needed to focus on driving. But when he saw the ambulance, he pulled into the pits, found out what had happened, and quit the race.” “So he didn’t make Winston Cup?” “He never raced again. He was old by racing standards, anyway. That was his last shot, his only shot. He and Uncle Sal liquidated, dissolved Clay Enterprises, and Sal opened Mustang Sally’s. None of us were ever able to coax Dad back into the business, or into much of anything else except a bottle of beer. He’s not been well.” “So you blame yourself for that?” “You didn’t see his face when he came into the emergency room. He took one look at my mangled leg and fled, a look of absolute revulsion on his face.” “Yeah, I saw that look, the bastard.” “Joe, don’t.” “I’m sorry. But so far you’ve told me nothing to justify his shabby treatment of you.” “Shabby? I ruined his life! Don’t you get it? 268

Thanks to me, he lost his one shot at Winston Cup. He couldn’t stay on the racing circuit with a daughter needing expensive surgery and physical therapy.” “Are you sure that’s what happened?” “What do you mean? Of course, I’m sure.” “Did he tell you that?” “Tell me? No, but he’s been ill. Clinical depression. He didn’t always get the treatment he should because mine cost so much. He skipped doses of his medicine to stretch his prescriptions.” “Sally, I’m in your corner here. But maybe you jumped to conclusions, which is understandable if your dad won’t discuss it with you.” “What other conclusion is there?” “Guilt is a strong emotion. It’s a classic cause of depression.” “What do you know about guilt?” There was no humor in Joe’s chuckle. “Every day I blame myself for Dad’s suicide.” “Alleged suicide. But, why?” “I’ve been the classic workaholic, too busy building my career to spend time with family. With Dad. I should have seen it coming.” He was silent a moment, as if waging an internal debate. “You really believe you could’ve saved his life, Joe?” “I’m not saying it’s logical. I just have this overpowering conviction that had I been involved in his 269

life, if we’d been closer, I could’ve saved him.” “Even if he was murdered?” “Especially if he was murdered.” “Why do you say that?” “Because—because he called me, asked me if I could come home for a visit. He said he needed my advice.” Sally squeezed his hand. “When was this?” “Maybe four weeks ago. He said, ‘Your mother can’t help me with this, son.’ I told him I’d be up as soon as I could. I was pushing myself at work, bringing in new clients. I want to be the fi rm’s youngest vice-president. The day they offered me the position, I planned to come here that weekend to see Dad. That’s the day Mom called.” He stopped talking, and Sally sensed he struggled with his emotions. He drew a shuddering breath. “I didn’t make it in time.” “Leo understood, Joe. Uncle Sal said he bragged about your success. He’d never have wanted you to jeopardize your career.” Joe shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense. Guilt seldom does. But for the rest of my life, it’ll haunt me that I didn’t help my dad the one time he asked me to.” Sally had no response to that. “I feel your pain” sounded trite, even if it was the truth. “But we were talking about your guilt, not mine,” Joe continued. “In the case of your father, it’s possible 270

that the sight of your injury fills him with guilt and self-loathing. You think you’ve ruined his life. Maybe he thinks he ruined yours. Think about it.” “I—I never even considered that.” Sally’s head spun. Joe’s theory rocked the foundation of the last nine years of her life. “His withdrawal wasn’t just from me, but all of the family. Uncle Sal, too.” “Don’t you think it’s time you and your father had a conversation? Maybe you need neutral ground, like a therapist.” Who could afford a therapist? Yet recently, she and Dad had made progress without a third party, hadn’t they? “He’s reached out to me a couple of times. I was afraid to hope, but—” “What happened? I mean, I know he’s come to work for you. That’s a huge step, right?” “It sure is. But tonight—” Unbidden tears choked off her words. “Don’t keep this bottled up, honey.” Joe held her close, letting the tears soak his shirt. “You’ve had nine years of it. Let it go.” Pulling away from Joe, she fingered the gold choker, heavy against her skin. “My jewelry. He gave me this to wear tonight. It was Mother’s.” “The guy couldn’t have seen the way you look tonight and be unmoved. He cares about you, don’t you see?” 271

“He—he said I was lovely.” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry. I came here thinking we’d share a night of wild sex. Instead, I’ve dumped the sad story of my life on you.” “I insisted.” Joe placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for telling me.” “Thank you for listening. I had no idea how much I needed to unload.” He gathered her in his arms and pulled her back against his chest. “You let me do unloading of my own.” “We’re a sad pair.” “We’re friends. And we probably needed to unload more than we need sex.” “Maybe.” But Sally intended to make the most of her fantasy evening. She slid her hand inside his shirt, stroking his chest with her fingertips. His sudden intake of breath was all the encouragement she needed. “Kiss me.” Joe lowered his mouth to hers. The touch of his lips chased reason from her brain. Her bold tongue stroked his, inviting him to take her. He responded— oh, how he responded!—with hands that knew their way around removing a woman’s dress. The stroke of his fingers against her flesh as he slipped away her Wonderbra hurtled her into mindless abandon. “I can’t think,” she whispered. “Do you need to think, sweetheart?” “I don’t remember.” 272

His chuckle rumbled through his chest as her fingers kneaded his hard pectorals. Soon she lay there completely nude, vulnerable and exposed. Although very little light fi ltered in through the curtained window, she could make out shapes and shadows. She fiddled with Joe’s cuffl inks, removing them, tossing them to the floor. Next, she tugged off his shirt. Joe pushed her back onto the bed, then lay beside her, kissing her mouth, her neck, the sensitive tips of her breasts, driving her crazy with want. His mouth traveled lower, over her abdomen, the sensitive area on the inside of her leg. His thumb teased at the apex of her thighs. Sally closed her eyes against the white stars that danced in her vision. Mounting tension held her rigid. On the precipice of release, she heard her own voice begging Joe, for what, she wasn’t sure. She just knew he had the power to relieve her of this overpowering ache inside her. Instead, Joe took his time, his lips moving lower still, all the way down the inside of her thigh. With his hand beneath her knee, he lifted her leg, his mouth finding the scar tissue, the ugly remains of her painful injury. “Joe, no.” She tried to pull her leg away. “Shh. Lie back. Let me make love to all of you, Sally.” He placed a tender kiss at her massive scar. 273

“You’re a beautiful woman. All of you.” He alternated gentle strokes and reverent kisses over her scarred leg. Silent tears leaked from her eyes. Robbed of speech, she could only marvel at this gentle, caring man and his acceptance. She’d been able to open up to him about the accident, and now as a lover. She knew she had a long way to go. She also knew, beyond a doubt, that she’d fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with Joe Desalvo. Then her thinking derailed when Joe’s hands traveled north. His fingers and lips found her most intimate spot, licking and caressing her until she quivered like a tightly coiled spring. Clenching her muscles, she focused on that elusive feeling of completion until she thought she’d shatter. Then all tension broke free in one glorious spasm. She surrendered to wave after pleasurable wave of her climax.

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Chapter

e

FIFT EN

Joe gazed at Sally, her naked body spread out in the dark shadows of his room. His body ached for her, but he couldn’t take what she offered, no matter how tempting. She deserved a commitment. She might not realize it, but making love without a future would destroy her. Joe couldn’t be the man for her, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be the one to hurt her. Forcing his mind on a thousand different subjects, he summoned his self-control. Scooting back into a sitting position against the headboard, he gathered Sally in his arms. “What about you?” She gazed at him in the dim 275

shadows of his room, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire. “I, uh, don’t have a condom.” He had no hope of explaining his real reluctance. She’d probably not find it noble. “I can’t protect you.” “Okay.” She ran her hand over his torso, then lower, cupping him. “My turn.” Her unexpected boldness nearly cost him his resolve. “Uh, Sally—” She reached for his belt, making quick work of his zipper, then pulled down his trousers. When he started again to protest, she silenced him with a kiss. Her lips moving with his until he suffered mental meltdown, she proceeded to tug at his briefs. She trailed kisses across his chest, then lower. He writhed and moaned, unable to stop his response to her if he’d wanted to. And he sure as hell didn’t want to. So much for nobility. “Does that hurt?” Her question was sincere, not a playful taunt. A slight tremor hinted at her inexperience. His voice a hoarse whisper, he managed to say “No.” “Tell me what feels good,” she murmured, stroking his length. “That. That feels good.” He reached for her shoulders, pulling her toward him for a kiss. A long, thorough kiss. Her fingers massaged his hardness. God, he could take her. It’d be so much easier than 276

resisting. His body yearned to possess her. “You’re testing my self-control.” “I don’t want you to control yourself.” She pulled away, then lowered her head, her mouth covering his penis in one swift, commanding move. She licked, squeezed, and tantalized him until he thought he would climax. And then he did. He started to push her aside. Sally clung to him, fearlessly taking him in a way few woman dared. He was lost. Her warm mouth and caressing hands hurtled him into orbit, the sensations so powerful, he didn’t think he’d ever return to earth. Nor did he care. After his heart rate returned to normal—well, close to normal—Joe reached for Sally, hugging her next to him, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Wow.” “I’ve never done that before,” she murmured. “Well, don’t try to improve on it.” “Really?” “Yeah, really.” “I wanted you to enjoy it.” “Oh, I enjoyed it, honey.” She could easily arouse him again. “Are you all right?” “Yes, of course.” She lay in his arms, her breathing slower and steadier now. He thought she’d fallen asleep until she finally spoke again. “Joe?” “Hmm?” 277

“Tell me about your life in Atlanta.” He reached for the edge of the bedspread. Covering them, he pulled her closer to cuddle. “I have a condo near town, where I work for an investment firm. What is it you want to know?” “What do you do for fun? Do you have friends? Go to Braves baseball games? I know so little about you.” “Not true. You know secret stuff nobody in Atlanta would guess.” Her breath tickled his skin. “Like what?” “You know I feel guilty about my father. You know I regret not spending more time with my family. You know my grandmother has me wrapped around her little finger. And you know I have a weakness for sexy female mechanics.” “And Mazzoni’s rolled oysters.” “You probably know me better than anyone in Atlanta. I work seventy hours a week, play racquetball, and spend the rest of the time trying to catch up on my sleep. Sometimes I eat, but it’s usually a business luncheon. What social life I have revolves around people I work with because I haven’t time to meet people anywhere else.” “Doesn’t sound like much fun to me.” “Look who’s talking? You put in long hours, work out, and network at the Universal Joint.” 278

“Network. Is that a euphemism for drinking?” Joe chuckled. “Probably.” “I’m doing what I want to, though. I chose this life.” “Don’t you have any dreams, Sally, besides running a successful business?” “You mean, like marrying and raising a couple of little grease monkeys? That’s not in my future. I’ve accepted that.” There was a wistfulness in her voice that said otherwise, but Joe let it drop. “What about you, Joe?” “I know better than to have those dreams. With my career, I’d make lousy family material. Most of the men in the firm who married are already divorced, their marriages casualties of the business.” And he dare not back off now, when he’d been offered the golden egg, a vice-presidency with the firm. “Your career is in financial planning, right?” “I’m a financial advisor. I help people invest, plan their retirement, that sort of thing. Plus I bring in new clients.” “Must be stressful, having to worry about the stock market and such.” It was what he lived for. “I have to stay on top of things, but I’m doing what I want to,” he said, borrowing her words. “I chose this life.” But at what price? Sally tried to get up but Joe tightened his embrace, pulling her back against him. 279

“Where are you going?” “I think we could both use a bit of cleaning up.” He quickly vanquished fantasies of soaping each other’s body. “I’d offer to share a shower with you, but did you see how tiny my shower stall is?” Sally sighed. “Guess we’ll have to take turns in the bathroom. Then you can take me home.” “You can’t stay?” “And have your mom and my dad know exactly what we’ve been up to? I don’t think so.” “What happened to consenting adults?” “It’d be different if we both weren’t living at home, so to speak.” “Yeah.” Joe chuckled. “But I doubt either would know exactly what we’ve been up to. Just some heavy petting.” Sally’s mouth curved against his chest. “Thank you for a great evening, Joe. I mean that.” “Hey, my pleasure.” It certainly had been, he thought, and grinned in spite of himself. Much later, when Joe shared a lingering kiss with Sally at her front door, he didn’t grin. Something had shifted tonight, an undefined emotion that upset his equilibrium. His intimacy with Sally, far beyond sex, had bonded him to her. His feelings for her had strengthened, even though he couldn’t see a future for them. He had no idea what to do about it. 280

Sally opened the shop Saturday morning after only two hours’ sleep. Justin pulled in beside her Mustang, then followed her through the back door. “Got two jobs coming in today.” “Two? That’s great. We need the business. What are they?” Justin shrugged. “A couple of street rods need work. I got a lead from Jerry Dixon.” “Any kin to Dusty Dixon, the Indy driver?” “Cousin.” “Good work. Thanks.” Justin headed toward the Chrysler 300, dismissing her. Or so she thought. Keeping his back to her, he added, “Those relays came in for the Skyliner. I installed ’em.” “So it’s finished?” “Yeah.” “All right. I’ll go write it up and call the owner.” Writing up the ticket, Sally decided to skip her morning work out and head for the Universal Joint for lunch. Uncle Sal would want to see their official Fillies’ Derby Ball portrait. Monette and Jennifer would be waiting for a report from last night. What would she tell them as she blushed from head 281

to toe just thinking about her night in Joe’s bed? She’d never forget his tender touch, his talented mouth. As quickly as she’d climaxed, he had to know how ready she’d been for him. Or maybe he chalked it up to inexperience. He hadn’t seemed disappointed, though. She grinned. Now that she’d admitted to herself—never to him—that she loved him, she couldn’t wait to make love with him. She’d buy the damn condoms if she had to. He’d made plans to meet her at the Universal Joint around four. After they visited Grandma in the hospital and reported to her on the Fillies’ Derby Ball, maybe they could go back to his place.

Sally lifted the plastic bag on the seat between her and Joe as they drove toward the hospital that evening. “What’s this?” “Something I picked up for tonight.” “Condoms?” she asked. Parts of Joe leaped to attention. “You surprise me, Sally.” “It’s your fault. You showed me too good a time last night.” He shook his head, unable to prevent his own mind from replaying their love-making. “Then my 282

answer is really going to disappoint you. That’s a fourpack of USB drives for a computer.” “I guess we’re on different wavelengths this evening. So tell me your plans for the USB drives.” “I’ve another favor to ask of you. I want to do some snooping in Dad’s fi les.” “Okay, but I thought you’d done that.” “Not freely. I want to examine all the fi les without the danger of someone walking in on me. Are you game?” “Tonight? At Bloom Desalvo’s?” He nodded. “I’ve given some thought to Dan Alsop, Ellen Kennedy’s Packard, and the files. I think there may be a second data base, a fi le of Dan Alsop finds versus legitimate deals.” “Do you know what you’re saying? You think someone at Bloom Desalvo is involved with Alsop?” “When I questioned Vic about Alsop, he acted— well, ill at ease, for lack of a better way of explaining it. Call it a hunch.” “So you want me to act as the lookout?” “That probably won’t be necessary. I just need my partner there to back me up.” How could he explain to her that he needed her with him? Period. No rational explanation. In a short time, he’d grown attached to her company. It wasn’t that he was falling in love with her, of course. That 283

would be a mistake, although after last night, he knew he’d crossed some line in their relationship that he hadn’t intended. And he’d been powerless to stop it. The condoms remark had rattled him, although he’d tried not to show it. Sally wanted to take that final step and become lovers. Funny, but Joe had never worried about the emotional consequences of sex before. Now with Sally, he walked on eggshells, determined not to lead her on or hurt her. Where his mind had resolve, his body betrayed him. That’s why there would be no stopping for condoms tonight. It was one purchase he couldn’t afford.

At the hospital, Grandma greeted them with a satisfied smile. “Did you two enjoy the ball?” He and Sally both nodded. “I brought you pictures, Grandma.” One-handed, Grandma opened the cardboard folder. Joe had splurged and ordered additional prints of the photograph when he’d seen Sally’s radiant smile, although his own smile looked downright sappy. He wanted to remember the way her aqua dress had exposed the muscle definition in her arms and shoulders, the way her swept-back hair showed off her beautiful eyes. The hot pink color highlighted her lush lips and 284

her delicate fingers. The camera had captured Sally’s transformation perfectly. “You make a striking couple. Sally, I almost don’t recognize you.” “I clean up well.” Sally winked at Grandma, who chortled. “I only meant your natural beauty is enhanced by glamour.” “Thank you.” Sally ducked her head as her cheeks reddened. “How are you feeling today?” Joe asked. “I’m ready to go home, but the doctors want to wring another two days out of Medicare.” “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy being waited on?” Joe smiled at his grandmother’s indignant snort. “Have you bought Sally dinner yet, young man?” Always subtle Grandma. “We wanted to visit you, first.” Grandma wrapped her bony fingers around his hand and squeezed. “Don’t waste a Saturday evening hanging around the hospital, kids. Go enjoy yourselves. Life’s too short.” “Good to see you’re feeling better,” Sally said as Grandma shooed them from the room. They reached the elevator. “Do you mind if we stop by Bloom Desalvo before we go to dinner?” he asked. “Suits me. I’m not that hungry, anyway.” 285

Joe slipped his hand through hers. He was hungry, but not for food. Just the touch of her skin against his had him wanting her. The sound of her voice had him dreaming about things he had no business thinking, like how pleasant life would be waking up to her laughter every morning. To realize those dreams, he’d fi rst need to uproot himself. Give up a lucrative career, sell his condo—if he could—and leave Atlanta. Then he couldn’t afford the dream. He’d be better off not entertaining forever kind of fantasies. If he wasn’t careful, he could fall in love with Sally Clay. Then where would he be? His internal debate didn’t change the way he held her hand, or the way he touched the small of her back, or supported her elbow. The way he found any excuse to touch her. Excuse? He just plain couldn’t keep his hands off her. He was head over heels in lust. Battling the Saturday evening traffic, Joe concentrated on what he needed to do tonight. He had to search every computer fi le, even if he had to break into Vic Bloom’s desk to do it. He hadn’t shared that part of his plan with Sally. It may not come to that. But he’d promised his mother he’d find answers. Joe intended to deliver on that promise.

286

“Find anything?” Sally asked an hour later after Joe’s silence had gotten to her. He’d been going through Leo Desalvo’s computer fi les, opening every one. “Not yet.” Sally would’ve been more entertained at the hospital than sitting around a closed used car dealership. If Grandma could see them now. Go enjoy yourselves. Life’s too short. Yeah, right. Of course, Sally wouldn’t complain to Joe. His quest seemed important. And life was too short. For all she knew, the killer could have followed them this evening. The thought gave her pause. “Uh, Joe? I don’t want to rush you, but we are kind of isolated here and nobody knows where we are.” His gaze locked on hers. “And we’re a threat because we can produce evidence of fraud.” “I guess I’m just feeling antsy about being here.” “You have a point. Let me shut down here and check out Vic’s.” “Vic’s?” “I promise to hurry.” The ordinary office building took on a sinister air in the shadows. Tall fi le cabinets hid lurking murderers. Lingering odors of cigarette smoke masked the arsonist’s torch. The soft drink cooler kicked on, intruding on the eerie silence, drowning out noises of breaking and entering. Sally clenched her jaw, listening at the 287

window, her stare fused to the parking lot outside. Vic’s computer yielded little. Joe ran a hand across his face and sighed. “Nothing?” He shook his head. “Vic either doesn’t take advantage of technology, or he stores everything on removable storage devices.” “Like that thing you bought tonight?” “Possibly.” “Those are tiny.” Moving from her surveillance at the window, Sally leaned against the desk. “Where would they be?” “Let me try the desk.” He pulled open each drawer, searching for any sign of a computer disk, CD, or USB drive. The desk wasn’t locked, which indicated Vic had nothing stashed. “Is there any kind of a safe?” “I’ve seen it. There’s nothing there but a little money for the cashier to make change.” “Where else would these things be stored?” “It could be stored on something as small as a razor blade. And it could be anywhere.” He leaned back, stretching the tight muscles in his shoulders. Sally moved behind him. “Let me help.” Her fingers kneaded the knots between his shoulder blades, at first rough and painful, then easy and soothing. Joe closed his eyes against an onslaught of 288

sensation. He envisioned her last night, giving him a massage of an entirely different nature. His body hardened in an instant. “Uh, thanks.” He shrank from her ministrations. “That can wait until we’re finished here.” Her hands stilled. “Okay with me. I want to get out of here. Where’s the bookkeeper’s office?” “The cubicle at the end of the hall, across from the cashier window. Barbara often doubles as cashier and bookkeeper.” “Would she have a computer and diskettes?” “Yes.” Joe needed to leave the room before Sally noticed his erection. “Tell you what. To save time, why don’t you check here for any books or fi les where a diskette, USB drive or memory stick might be hidden while I look at Barbara’s hard drive?” “Deal. The sooner we find it, the sooner we can get out of here. This is giving me the creeps.” Sally started pulling out books and folders stuffed in the bookshelves. Joe made his escape to Barbara’s cubicle. It didn’t take long to see that nothing out of the ordinary was on the bookkeeper’s computer. Joe found an orderly system of spreadsheets, fi les just like the paper copies Barbara had reviewed with him and his mother. Just as he reached for the power button to shut down the power strip, Sally scuttled through the door. 289

“Could this be something?” Joe inspected the USB drive in Sally’s hand. “Where did you find this?” “In the bottom of Vic’s tummy drawer. It was mixed in with a bunch of key rings, sort of hidden in plain sight.” She handed the device to him. It was about the size of a pack of gum, yet held sixty-four megabytes of data. “Damn. I missed that.” Sally’s face beamed with excitement, although her eyes held a mix of fear and worry. “Can you see what’s on it?” “Sure can.” Joe inserted the device into Barbara’s USB port, accessed its only fi le, then whistled as a spreadsheet fi lled the screen. A different spreadsheet than any he’d seen in the bookkeeper’s files. His heart lodged in his throat. Consumed with a sense of urgency, he decided not to spend any time reviewing the data. They needed to get out of here. Now. Quickly, he copied the data to one of his own USB drives, then shut down Barbara’s computer, taking care to arrange her desk exactly as he’d found it. “Sally, put this back where you found it. I’m right behind you.” They moved to Vic’s office. Tidying up evidence of 290

their search, they returned the USB drive to its hiding place, then scurried to the door to lock up. “Was that the fi le you were looking for?” “I didn’t take time to look. I’ll check it out later on my laptop.” “Good. Let’s get out of here.” Outside, the cool air was a welcomed relief from the stale cigarette odor in Vic’s and Barbara’s offices. Joe had parked the Dodge beside the dumpster so it wouldn’t be seen from the street. He opened the door for Sally, taking her arm to help her inside, when she hesitated. “Joe, look. What are those?” He followed her gaze to the litter at the base of the dumpster. “Trash?” Sally leaned down for a closer look. “That’s part of a crushed hypodermic. Is either Barbara or Vic diabetic?” Joe frowned, trying to remember if he’d heard such a thing. He wanted only to get out of there, not dumpster dive. “What difference does it make?” “Just try to find out, will you? I’d like to know why someone here at Bloom Desalvo would toss needles in the trash. You may have a drug problem here.” Joe jumped behind the wheel, slammed the door, then started the engine. Personnel problems weren’t his worry right now; escaping with what could be a secret fi le took priority. 291

After they’d rejoined the Shelbyville Road traffic, Joe relaxed a fraction. “What makes you think the hypodermic isn’t for a legitimate use?” “Trust me. I spent enough time in the hospital. There are strict guidelines for the disposal of bio-hazard waste. You don’t just throw a needle in a waste can or dumpster.” Joe shrugged. “I’ll report it to Mom. Now, where would you like to dine, Miss Clay?” “How do you feel about Chinese take-out at your place? I know you’re dying to see what’s on that fi le.” “You are a rare jewel of a woman, Sally.” She laughed, but he was serious. He’d never been with a woman so attuned to his moods and needs, so comfortable to be with. Sally could be both his best friend and his lover, if only—He stopped that thought in its tracks. Those damn fantasies again.

Sally gathered up the empty cartons spread over Lucinda Desalvo’s kitchen table while Joe booted up his laptop. She’d hidden her disappointment when Joe suggested sharing their food with his mom in the house. Not that they didn’t have a surplus of Chinese dishes to share. But Sally’d had other plans. She’d 292

hoped to share dinner and more in the privacy of Joe’s room behind the stable. She smothered a yawn as she carried the trash to the wastebasket under the sink. As she settled back in her chair, she yawned again. “Joe says you worked today, after a late night at the ball. You must be exhausted.” “I think I’m just winding down.” Sally held out her cup for a refi ll of the hot tea Lucinda offered. “Thanks.” “Joe’s spying expeditions are stressful, too. I wish he wouldn’t take chances.” While they’d eaten, Joe had related their prowling at Dan Alsop’s Thursday night and their after-hours search of Bloom Desalvo Motors. Sipping from her tea cup, Lucinda stood behind Joe, peering over his shoulder. “Is that the fi le?” “Yeah. Let me scroll through and see what’s on here.” Silence filled the kitchen as Joe searched the fi le. Then he leaned back, giving his mother a better view. “Take a look at the bottom line.” Lucinda gasped. “That’s nearly a million dollars! There’s nothing like that on the books.” “Maybe Barbara doesn’t know about it. Sally found this hidden under Vic’s desk.” “No wonder there wasn’t much on Vic’s computer,” Sally said. “He keeps it in his secret fi le.” 293

“That’s a lot of money, Mom.” “You don’t think your father knew about this, do you?” Lucinda steadied her tea cup with both trembling hands. Her pale face growing white, she sank down into a chair. “Or he found this fi le and was killed for it.” “May I look at the fi le?” Sally asked. “I need you to look at it.” Joe turned the laptop so that the screen faced her, then showed her how to use arrow buttons to view different cells of the document. Sally wasn’t proficient with computers but could follow Joe’s directions. The spreadsheet was a long list of collectible automobiles, with the purchase price, expenses, selling price, and buyer’s name for each one. “None of these came to my shop. But I think they were on that list you printed out for me.” “But with a different set of numbers, right?” Sally nodded. “This can’t be right. The purchase price is way low for classics like these.” “If original,” Joe said. “Can you make more copies of this file?” Sally rubbed at her temples as the magnitude of their discovery penetrated her tired brain. “I intend to.” Sally looked first at Joe, then Lucinda. “We don’t want anyone to know we found this fi le, especially if it cost Leo his life. If we can put this together with other 294

evidence, the FBI can put Vic Bloom in prison.” “The FBI? Not the police?” Lucinda asked. Sally had to get a copy of that fi le to Special Agent Ferguson. “One of the cars on here is a 1954 Kaiser Darrin, sold to a Howard Steele in Carmel, Indiana. That makes this interstate fraud, and that’s just for starters.” “Yeah. Vic Bloom is the one person whom Dad would’ve trusted. He could’ve gotten close enough to set up a fake suicide.” Lucinda began shaking her head before Joe finished. “I’ve known Vic Bloom too many years to think he could’ve killed Leo. He may be crooked, but—” “How well do you know Dan Alsop?” Joe interrupted. “He seems to be at the heart of all this.” “I just met him yesterday, although I’ve heard plenty about him. He keeps to his own shop except when he wants Vic to sell a collectible he’s found.” “The guy has put a serious dent in Sally’s business since moving to town.” “What’s he like?” Sally asked. “You’ve never met him?” Lucinda frowned. “I figured I’d have to sooner or later, but haven’t had the pleasure yet.” “He’s in his mid forties, I’d say, and seems charming enough. But that was before you told me you’d found suspicious equipment in his garage.” 295

“A metal press and photography supplies aren’t suspicious by themselves. But we’re looking for forgery tools.” Sally shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Vic has admitted to Joe that Dan Alsop has supplied these great finds. We know of two on this fi le that were misrepresented to the customer.” “Two?” Joe shot Sally a warning look she didn’t understand. He’d kept nothing from his mother about his investigation. But he hadn’t mentioned their call on Ellen Kennedy, had he? “We found another customer who bought a Packard this week as all-original. Sally looked at the engine and it’s not the right one.” Sally nodded, but said nothing more. For some reason, he didn’t want his mother to know the details surrounding the Packard Caribbean. Joe pulled out the new USB drives he’d stuffed in his coat pocket earlier. “I’ll make several copies of this. Then Monday, I’ll copy the spreadsheets on the classics from Barbara’s computer fi les. I can run a comparison to see just how much of this money is bypassing Bloom Desalvo Motors.” “What bothers me, son, is the reflection on the business. Your dad prided himself in running an ethical and honest operation. If so many of these fakes 296

have been funneled through Bloom Desalvo, it could ruin us when it’s exposed.” “If Vic Bloom is working shady deals, Mom, you’ll want to change the business name, anyway. Or liquidate.” The laptop hummed as Joe copied the fi le. Sally stifled another yawn, but not well enough to fool Lucinda. “Joe, you need to take Sally home. She’s exhausted.” Joe’s gaze met Sally’s. “Sure thing. I’m almost finished here.” Joe and Lucinda placed a USB drive in the wall safe upstairs in the home office, then hid another in the kitchen. Pocketing one himself, Joe handed Sally the fourth USB drive. “Can you stick this someplace safe as a backup?” Someplace safe like with the FBI, she thought, remembering Special Agent Ferguson’s promise to arrive Monday. She nodded while yawning behind her hand.

Joe expected Sally to sleep during the drive from Anchorage back to Jeffersontown. But as soon as they cleared the railroad tracks a mile from his mother’s, she quizzed him. “Why did you act so strange when I mentioned Ellen Kennedy’s Packard?” “Mom has suffered enough. She doesn’t need to hear 297

about Ellen Kennedy.” His mother had told him to keep her informed, but he’d be damned if he’d pass along the innuendo surrounding his father and Ellen Kennedy. “What are you saying? Ellen Kennedy is a customer, right?” Joe exhaled a weary sigh. “Gossip around the office says she had a thing for my dad.” “Joe, a lot of women had a thing for your dad. That doesn’t mean he fooled around.” “What are you talking about?” “I’d see him at the Universal Joint. Women were always hitting on him. Your dad was a handsome guy. He never hurt any of their feelings, but he always, always declined their offers. He’d have a drink with Uncle Sal, then hurry home to his wife. Everybody knew that.” “You think he declined Ellen Kennedy?” Or reclined her, he thought, remembering the gorgeous widow he and Sally had visited. “I think he would have, yes. There’s one way to find out.” He shot her a quick glance. “What do you mean? Ask her?” “Yeah.” “I don’t think so.” “Want me to do it? Woman-to-woman sort of thing?” 298

He huffed an exasperated breath. “To what purpose?” “To put you out of your misery. This is eating at you. But I have a purpose in offering.” “Such as?” “Say she and Leo had an affair—just hypothetically—and he felt rotten and guilty about it because he loves Lucinda. Guys have these mid-life crises sometimes. But say Ellen Kennedy doesn’t like being the spurned woman. Would she murder him, then stage a suicide?” “You’ve been watching too much TV.” “I seldom watch TV. I’m looking for a murder motive, unless you still believe Leo shot himself. Your mom and I don’t.” Sally continued to surprise him. She really gave his father the benefit of the doubt. “Why do you think he was murdered?” “Because Roy was murdered, too. Which is what throws a monkey wrench in my Ellen Kennedy motive. If she killed your dad in a crime of passion, why would she kill Roy, too?” “And why have you and me killed?” “Assuming everything is related. There’s another thought. Ellen kills Leo, but Vic thinks Leo committed suicide after finding out about the classic car scam he’s running on the side with Dan Alsop. So he has to go 299

after the evidence. You, me, and Roy are in his way.” Joe shook his head. “I don’t know. Mom swears Vic is no killer. We need more information. I want to pull the official spreadsheets and compare them to this fi le. Then I think I’ll track down a few more of these buyers.” “You? Don’t you need me to go with you?” He grinned. “I was hoping you’d offer, partner.” “We don’t know for certain Vic is involved.” “Except the incriminating fi le is hidden under his desk.” “I know.” Sally paused for another yawn. “But it’s still circumstantial, just like Leo’s suicide.” “You sure talk like you watch TV.” “My cousin Maggie went to law school at U. of L.” “I didn’t know that. Does she practice?” “Not since she started a family, although I think she keeps up. She hasn’t even sat for the Bar yet. She was married before graduation. I guess a law career just isn’t a priority.” “Seems a waste, though, to prepare yourself for a career, then not use it.” That’s why he could never give up financial management. He’d studied and worked too hard. Sacrificed too much. His dad would be so proud to learn about the promotion. But then, he never would. Joe’d never be able to tell his dad anything now. 300

He caught the shrug of Sally’s shoulders in his peripheral vision. “I don’t know. Maggie always tells me the important thing is to be happy.” “Is she happy?” “One of the few truly happy people I know, which is one reason we don’t hang out much anymore. The last nine years have been a strain on her patience with me.” “Because you aren’t happy?” “As you pointed out, I’ve indulged in my share of pity parties. You’re probably the only one who understands that it’s about me and Dad more than about me and my leg.” “That’s because I’m the only one you’ve told. I still think you need to talk with your father.” “Easier said than done. But you’ve got me thinking about it.” “I hope so. Don’t wait until it’s too late to make things right with your dad, Sally.” “Like you did?” Her voice softened. “Is that what you’re thinking?” “You’re very perceptive or I’m transparent.” “Neither. I just heard the ache in your voice. You’re hurting, too, Joe, just like me. But from what you’ve told me, you shouldn’t feel guilty.” “I just wish I’d come home a few more times. Talked with him. I want more time with him, dammit!” “How many more times should you have come 301

home? Once a month?” “Huh? What are you getting at?” “I mean, how much more time would’ve been enough? Don’t you see? If you’d seen him once a month, you’d wished you’d seen him every weekend. I went through this over my mother, even though I was just a kid when she died. It’s part of grieving to have those regrets.” “I seldom came home, Sally. I did well to chat with him on the telephone once a month. And I had to program a follow-up in my electronic organizer to remind me to do even that.” “Sounds like you’re organized, not thoughtless.” “Consumed with my own life, self-centered is more like it.” “You know, you beat yourself up more often than I do. Is there unfinished business, something you wish you’d told him or apologized for?” Joe swallowed hard, the admission clogging his throat. His eyes burned. Stress and fatigue were taking their toll. Surely he wasn’t turning sappy. “Remember I told you that Dad called and said he could use my expertise with his business?” “Sure.” “I didn’t tell you what I said, how I treated him. I cut him off, assuming he meant for me to give up my job and work for him. With hindsight, I think he 302

was talking about an isolated problem, like the trouble we’ve uncovered. I’ll never know.” The confession shook him. He’d never admitted his regret to anyone until now, not even himself. “He didn’t push it?” Joe shook his head. “He’d never pressured me before and I had no reason to snap at him. But the timing of his call was really bad and I took it out on him.” “So your last words with your dad were angry words?” “Not angry, but not patient, either. I treated him as if he were interrupting my oh-so-busy-and-important life.” “Oh, boy. What a load of guilt you’ve been hauling around.” He sighed. “I can’t un-do it. If only I’d made just a little time for Dad.” “Don’t beat yourself up with if onlys. Try to remember the good times with your dad. He’d want you to.” “I—I can’t remember telling him I loved him. It just seemed awkward. Un-macho.” She wrapped her fingers around his arm. “Oh, Joe, we’re all guilty of that. I bet he knew you loved him, whether you actually said the words. You loved him, or you wouldn’t have bothered setting up a monthly reminder to call him.” 303

Her simple words soothed him. “You give me more credit than I deserve, Sally.” “I’ve never met a more tender, sensitive man than you, Joe Desalvo.” She squeezed his arm. “And macho, too.” He chuckled, the serious mood lightened. Sally had a gift for that, in spite of her own troubles. She radiated a joy of life that seemed at odds with her self-deprecating remarks. She used her sense of humor to cope, and help him cope, too. “Thank you. I mean that.” “Hey, what are friends for?” And what was he going to do without her?

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Sunday morning, Sally scribbled a To-Do list while eating her bowl of cereal. After opening the shop Monday, she needed to drop off Monette’s dress at the cleaners, swing by the auto supply for gaskets, then stop by Ellen Kennedy’s house. Joe hadn’t told her not to. If she didn’t like the answers the woman gave her, she wouldn’t tell Joe anything about it. His grief over his father’s death had just begun. Joe didn’t need to conjure up non-existent regrets. He had a plateful of remorse already. Sally could understand that. She also understood her need to help him through it. His aches were her aches, as corny as that sounded. 305

That’s what happened when you loved someone. His aches were her aches. Was that how it was for Dad? Did the scars on her leg cause him insufferable pain because he loved her so much? If Joe hadn’t planted the notion in her head, she never would’ve considered it. If only Joe would stay, Sally knew they could help each other to heal. But he couldn’t be there for her if he lived in Atlanta, nor could she give up her business here. So what kind of future did she have with Joe? She’d seen through his evasion tactics the night before. He didn’t want them to become lovers. That’s why they’d gone to the main house instead of his room. That’s why he’d not followed through with buying condoms. A few days ago, Sally would’ve misinterpreted his behavior as rejection. Now she only loved him more for trying to protect her heart. Her father creaked down the stairs. He picked up the Sunday paper folded beside his place setting, where Sally always left it for him. Catching the chair leg with his foot, he dragged it from the table. “Good morning, Dad. You want cereal or shall I make French toast?” As a child, she’d eaten French toast every Sunday they’d been home. It had been nine years since they’d eaten French toast together. Would he remember? He settled into the chair, his gaze locking on hers. 306

“Cereal is fine.” She handed him the box of Raisin Bran. “I’ll get the milk.” He mumbled something that passed as thanks while pulling out the Comics. After Sally poured coffee, she pushed aside her empty bowl and cleared her throat. “Dad, I want to thank you for all you’ve done this week at the shop.” “You’re paying me.” “That’s right. But it’s a load off my mind to have someone I can trust look out for the place.” At the word “trust,” Justin narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing. What was that about? “Anyway, I appreciate it.” Nothing but silence. This was harder than she thought. She’d wanted to talk to him, really talk, as Joe had suggested. Even civil conversation seemed beyond them. How would she ever get him to open up? The ringing telephone broke the awkward silence. Sally answered. “Can you meet me for lunch?” The sound of Joe’s sexy voice accelerated her pulse. “When and where?” “I’m going to the hospital to see Grandma, so let’s meet at the Mall.” “At the food court?” “No, at the tea room. We need privacy. I want to 307

show you what I found.” Her curiosity piqued, Sally agreed on a time to meet Joe before hanging up. As she hurried to her bedroom to get dressed, her father’s words startled her. “Are you meeting Joe Desalvo?” “That’s right. Why?” “You don’t need to be out by yourself right now.” The newspaper hid his face. “Why don’t you go with me?” After all, she and Joe had nothing to hide from her father. He knew about Roy’s murder, the shooting, the hit and run attempt. “Please?” Apparently, the “please” did the trick. “I’ll ride with you, but I’ll get lost after you meet up with him.” “As far as I’m concerned, Dad, you can stick around. You aren’t intruding.” Sally came as close as physically possible to skipping down the hall to her room. She punched the air. Yes! Progress.

Joe’s mind ran through a conglomeration of thoughts as he drove toward the mall to meet Sally. His need to see her, to share his latest discovery with her, should have disturbed him the most. The more time he spent with the woman, the closer the bond. He’d neither 308

wanted nor needed any bonds when he’d met her. And now? Recalling their night of sex, he shook his head in wonder. What a surprise. Sally Clay, warm and passionate, touched him as no woman ever had. Had he really believed he’d protected their hearts by not going all the way? A mere technicality. In the daylight hours, lying in the sheets where her rosescented perfume lingered, he’d faced the truth. They’d made love that night. Now, he could hardly wait to see her again. No way in hell could he stop the runaway ride. Full speed ahead, he was falling—no, make that had fallen—for the remarkable female mechanic with the stubborn chin and sexy mouth. He parked, then hurried to the mall’s second level in search of the tea room. In search of Sally. Riding the escalator, he scanned the second level. No sign of Sally, but Justin Clay stood outside the tea room, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. Nodding at Joe, he sauntered away. Joe pushed past customers crowding the counter, dodged the displays of china teapots and mugs, then slipped into the chair opposite Sally. She greeted him with a smile, her eyes shiny and wide. Wearing her hair swept back as she had for the Derby Ball dramatized her eyes. Or maybe it was the shaping of her eyebrows. All he knew was beneath the mechanic’s 309

overalls hid a beautiful and genuine woman. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Nothing. Why?” “You’re staring at me. Do I have tea leaves on my chin?” “No.” He chuckled. “I was admiring, not staring.” The waitress spared him further explanation. After ordering coffee, he said, “I saw your father outside.” Sally’s smile broadened. “He’s playing bodyguard.” “Really?” About damn time. “I brought him with me. He didn’t want me out by myself, after all that’s been going on.” “He’s protective, Sally, because he loves you.” “I want to believe that.” Did she really see herself as unlovable? He’d like to think Justin Clay had come to his senses. Sally snatched each crumb of encouragement he dropped, like a starved puppy. Whatever their history, Sally and Justin needed to connect while they had the chance. “What’s this?” Sally slid a large envelope from Joe’s hand. “Mom asked me to go through Dad’s desk at home. I found that.” Sally slipped the papers from the envelope. “It’s a report from an investigator.” “Yeah, on a guy named Duane Anderson. Take 310

a look.” “I wish he’d attached a photo.” Sally read through the two page report. “There’s a juvenile offense—no details available—and an arrest for grand theft: auto. I guess the first arrest record is sealed.” “Read on. Dad hired a thorough P.I.” Sally turned the page. “Ah. The plot thickens.” “You understand what all that means?” “I understand his juvenile arrest. He was working in a chop shop.” Joe shook his head. “A chop shop?” Sally pursed her lips. “Th ink of it as a corporate raid, only illegal. Stolen vehicles are broken down into parts which are then sold off.” “I see.” Where had she learned about corporate raids? Sally claimed to have little higher education, but she certainly had a keen mind. “Now all we need to do is find out why Dad needed this Duane Anderson investigated.” “I guess you’ve asked your mom.” Joe nodded. “She didn’t know, but she plans to search the files tomorrow when she goes into the office.” “I think you should call this detective.” “Good idea.” “Whoever Duane Anderson is, he’s a car thief. Maybe it’s connected to the Darrin.” He sighed. “But the Darrin wasn’t stolen. It was 311

just faked.” “Do we know it wasn’t stolen? A serious collector needing an engine for a Kaiser Darrin would pay through the nose for one. Our Duane Anderson could run a stolen Darrin through his chop shop, sell the engine to the collector and the body to, say, Dan Alsop.” “Couldn’t the serial number on the stolen engine be traced?” “On recent model cars, yes. But remember how easy it is to press out a metal engine number plate, like the one on the Darrin?” She raised her eyebrows. “Dan Alsop has what’s needed for the job.” “You’re one smart lady.” “Um, thank you.” “You’re also honest, a pleasant change from a lot of women I know.” Sally shrugged, averting her eyes, her attention drawn back to the report’s manila envelope. Rummaging through the inside, she pulled out a yellow sticky note. “This must’ve fallen off the report.” Reaching across the table, he grasped her wrist. “I embarrassed you. Well, get used to it. I intend to pay you a lot of compliments.” She looked up, widening her eyes. “You do?” He smoothed his thumb along the softness of her flesh. “You have me thinking crazy thoughts, Sally, thoughts about changing my life.” 312

“What do you mean?” “Like where I live and work. Don’t misunderstand. I’m in no position to leave my job. Louisville is a lot smaller than Atlanta. But Atlanta isn’t so far away. I could telecommute some of the time.” “You’re talking about spending more time up here with your family.” “I’m talking about spending more time with you.” “As a friend.” “After Friday night, I think we’re beyond friends.” Pink tinged her cheeks. “That was Friday night. Consenting adults, remember?” “I know. I have no right to romance you when my life is so unsettled. But I’m putting you on notice, woman. I can’t seem to get you out of my mind. When things settle down, I’ll be back.” “Joe, don’t kid me or yourself. You belong in the world of business and finance. I belong in a greasy garage. It’d never work. Friday night was—well, one night.” Straightening in the chair, she pulled her arm free. “Now I’m insulted.” He grinned. “You think I’m a snob?” “Of course not! We’re just worlds apart.” She glanced at the Post-it still clinging to her finger. “Look!” Joe peeled the note from Sally’s outstretched hand. Dan Alsop = Duane Anderson? “I read somewhere that people often pick an alias with the same initials.” 313

“So Dan Alsop is a crook. Could he be your dad’s killer, too?” “I don’t know. But first thing tomorrow I’m taking this to the detective in charge of Dad’s case. Maybe he’ll reopen the investigation.”

Sally leaned into Joe as he walked her to the escalator. She really shouldn’t. He’d be gone soon, despite what he’d said, and she’d have to walk unassisted. Still, she indulged herself, taking in the woodsy scent of his aftershave, the warmth of his touch, that zing of sexual attraction now stronger than ever. Joe’s talk of a future tempted her. In a perfect world, she’d like nothing better than to be Mrs. Joseph Desalvo and have a family. But Sally’s world wasn’t perfect. She’d never measure up to Joe, no matter what he said. “Isn’t that Roy Bishop’s wife?” Joe pointed toward Janet Bishop, who hurried past with a shopping bag decorated in storks. “Janet, wait.” Sally reached out and grabbed the woman’s arm. “I wanted to talk to you. I’m so sorry about Roy.” Janet shrugged off Sally’s hand, her face twisted. “You should be, you bitch.” 314

“W-what?” Stunned, Sally’s heart thundered against her ribs, her skin burned. “It’s your fault Roy’s dead.” Sally recoiled. Over and over in her mind she’d blamed herself for Roy’s murder. But hearing it from Janet only intensified her guilt. “Now, see here, ma’am—” Joe began, but Janet cut him off. “Sally knows what I’m talking about.” Janet pinned her with a glare. “If you hadn’t gone running to the Feds, none of this would’ve happened. You put Roy in danger just so you could play Dudley Do-right.” Sally swallowed, unable to meet Joe’s puzzled gaze. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Janet.” “Roy told me, Sally, Sunday before he left. The arson worried him plenty. I wish to hell it’d worried him enough to keep him home.” “Surely you can’t blame Sally—” “Don’t tell me I can’t blame her.” “Janet, no!” A wave of dizziness crashed over Sally. “Tell him, Sally. Tell your boyfriend how you’ve been spying on Bloom Desalvo Motors for the FBI.” Janet spun away, her angry steps echoing against the tiled floor. Joe stared after the woman, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. He turned to face Sally, narrowing his eyes. “What’s she talking about?” 315

“Joe, I can explain—” “The FBI is investigating Bloom Desalvo Motors? How long have you known about that?” Dropping his hand from her elbow, Joe stepped back. Sally fl inched at his sharp tone. The moment she’d dreaded had arrived with a vengeance. If only she’d told him. If only he’d heard it first from her own lips. He’d never forgive her deceit. “I called them the day Roy and I discovered the Darrin’s engine was a forgery.” “And you fed information back to the FBI?” She nodded, forcing herself to meet his damning gaze. “You didn’t think I should know?” “I had no choice. Special Agent Ferguson said I wasn’t to discuss it with anyone except my mechanic.” Guilt twisted her insides. She’d also told Uncle Sal, but didn’t think it was a good time to confess everything. “Roy had verified the discrepancy in the engine and knew about the FBI’s information bulletin, so I couldn’t leave him in the dark.” “But you could me.” “I never suspected you were involved in the fraud, Joe. I told Ferguson that from the start.” “What else did you tell him? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I shared everything with you, every suspicion, every discovery. My family’s skeletons. The feds must 316

be pleased with your work.” “I told him only what I had to. Please believe me.” “Tell me one thing. Was offering me sex part of your undercover work?” His laugh was forced, lacking humor. “That’s a low blow.” “No pun intended.” Her eyes burned with angry tears. Hurt tears. Joe had never shown her this side of his temper. The man she loved had destroyed her in one sarcastic sweep. She lowered her head and battled against tears. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. “I guess you’re right. We are worlds apart.” Joe’s voice grew deadly quiet. “I trusted you.” Hurt warred with anger and pride. “So did Special Agent Ferguson. I don’t violate confidences, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “That’s a real comfort.” Her vision blurred, she blinked furiously. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she saw only his back as he stormed from the mall.

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Joe hung up the phone. It was done. After talking to Paul, he’d made arrangements to catch the early morning fl ight on Friday in time to make the weekly staff meeting. He’d get his car next trip, when he returned to watch Nina compete in the mini-marathon. Atlanta would be a welcome respite from the emotional wringer of the past few weeks. A glint of light on the floor caught his eye. Leaning over, he scooped up one of the cuffl inks from his shirt. Memories of Sally in his bed crashed down on him. Her eagerness to remove his shirt, tossing the cuffl inks aside. Her hot, luscious mouth over him ev318

erywhere, taking him where no woman ever had. Her unbridled passion and generosity. She couldn’t have faked all that, could she? Their confrontation at the mall lingered, a bitter aftertaste. He’d never trusted the women he’d dated. They were all colleagues with their own agendas. Imagine thinking Sally differed from those sophisticated women in the world of finance. She’d had her own agenda, too, but a more duplicitous one. And he’d imagined himself in love with her. Ha! He’d allowed her to penetrate his careful life. Now her betrayal stung. She’d played him for the fool, and he cooperated perfectly. Worried about her vulnerability, he’d sorely underestimated his own. Until Friday, he’d avoid her. They had no further business together. The FBI would take over and nail Vic Bloom and Dan Alsop. Then Barbara and his mother could decide what to do with Bloom Desalvo Motors. He wanted nothing more to do with any of it. The cutthroat world of financial management didn’t look so cutthroat after all. He gathered his dirty clothes to take to the laundry room inside the main house, trying not to think about Sally. He’d aired enough of his dirty laundry to her. Instead of smiling at his play on words, he grimaced, remembering the stricken look on Sally’s face after his last no pun intended. No! He had to banish 319

her from his thoughts. Although he hadn’t found convincing evidence that his father’s death had been murder, he’d done enough to cast doubt. The officer he’d spoken to earlier that morning agreed to take another look at the evidence in Leo Desalvo’s death. It was a start. That’s all he could do here in Louisville. While his clothes washed, he’d review his list of potential clients and start lining up appointments for next week.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Kennedy.” Sally followed Ellen Kennedy through the foyer and kitchen to the den. Tall windows faced the fairway of the golf course, offering Sally a view of a perfectly manicured green. “Call me Ellen. You said it was personal. I’ll admit to being part curious and part lonely. I enjoy the company, frankly.” Sally wasn’t sure how to respond, so she said nothing while Ellen moved to a silver coffee service on the glass top cocktail table. “I made coffee. Help yourself to cream and sugar.” “Thank you, Ellen.” Sally couldn’t resist the cream—real, not a non-dairy whitener. Ellen sank into the pillows on the settee. “May I 320

ask you a personal question, Sally?” Sally shrugged. “Sure.” “How did you injure your leg?” That’s right, Ellen had been a doctor and was curious from a medical perspective. “It was crushed by a wheel during a stockcar race.” “About nine years ago?” “Right. Why do you ask?” Ellen smiled. “I thought your name was familiar. I was your surgeon.” “You were?” Sally straightened, her curiosity piqued. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember you, but that ordeal is one big blur.” “You were medicated, of course. And I saw you only a few times.” “Then you’re the surgeon who saved my leg! Oh, my God, I should be ashamed not to remember you. The first doctor, the one in the ER, told Dad they’d need to amputate. With all your patients, I’m amazed you remember me.” “Your case was a tough one, Sally, a real challenge. You walk with barely a limp.” Sally smiled. “It’s worse when I’m tired.” Like now. “Your father had a rough time, too, as I recall. We had to sedate him and move him to the psychiatric ward. Do you remember that?” “W-what?” Sally felt the blood drain from her face. 321

“No, no, I never knew about that. I just remember him being treated for clinical depression, later on.” “Oh, he was treated early on, I do know that. They even had him on suicide watch.” Sally reeled from Ellen’s words. What did it mean? Was he distraught for losing his chance at Winston Cup, or, as Joe had suggested, overwhelmed with his own guilt about her accident? “How long was he kept in the hospital?” Ellen shrugged. “I really don’t know. I was your doctor, not his. But I’m glad to see you again. I have to admit, you beat the odds. I did my best surgery, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to walk.” “I’m still doing physical therapy. I was determined.” “I’m impressed with your progress.” Ellen folded her hands. “Now, tell me what you wanted to see me about.” Unable to come up with a plausible story, Sally stuck with the truth. “Joe doesn’t think Leo committed suicide. He’s been digging into the last few weeks of his life, trying to figure out what may have been going through his mind.” “Looking for closure.” Ellen nodded. “I can relate.” “Frankly, he’s troubled. He’s had more questions than answers. To be blunt, he’s concerned that you and Leo were having an affair.” Sally watched closely for the woman’s reaction. 322

Ellen closed her eyes, but not before a tear slipped past her lashes. “I can see why he’d suspect that.” “Ma’am, I don’t mean to upset you—” “You’re not. I’m still grieving my husband. Mr. Desalvo was a gentleman, through and through. Everything between us was above board, no matter what they say.” “They?” “Mr. and Mrs. Bloom.” “Why did you say you understand why they’d suspect you?” “They didn’t like it because I insisted on dealing with Mr. Desalvo. They were both pushy. Mr. Desalvo let me ask lots of questions, take my time. He listened when I needed someone to listen.” “Personal stuff ?” “Not really. It’s like I said, I’ve been lonely. I have few friends. Stuart and I were very close. We worked our orthopedic practice together. We didn’t seem to need outsiders. Now he’s gone and I’m paying the price.” “Sounds as if you had a happy marriage.” “Yes. We were each other’s best friend. Except for golf, we were inseparable.” “That kind of marriage is rare.” Sally thought about spending her life with the one she loved, a best friend, and Joe immediately came to mind. She pushed aside the painful memory of his parting words. “I’m sorry for 323

your loss. You’re fortunate to have had a happy marriage while you could.” “I know that. I’m just explaining how my loneliness could be misconstrued.” Joe’s mother suffered just like Ellen Kennedy. And Dad, after Sally’s mother died. Funny. She’d missed her mother, ached for her, without considering her father’s grief. “Are you all right?” Ellen asked. Sally shook her head. “Sorry. I was just thinking about my father. When Mom died, he must have suffered terribly. In all these years, he’s never seriously dated another woman. Just the occasional Fender Skirt.” Ellen gave her a quizzical half-smile. “Fender Skirt?” “A race track groupie. My dad was a driver.” Remembering her unusual childhood, Sally smiled. “I grew up at the speedways.” “Has he retired from racing?” Ellen asked. Sally nodded. He’d retired all right, a long time ago. “Right now Dad’s working for me, at Mustang Sally’s. He knows a lot about the old cars, if you ever need help with your Packard.” “I still have your card.” Sally pushed herself from the chair. “Thank you for the coffee. I apologize for invading your privacy.” “Don’t. Your young man is troubled, I know. I 324

saw it in his eyes. If I can do anything to ease his mind about his father, I will. Gladly.” Sally fl inched at the your young man reference. “Thank you. You’re very gracious.” Ellen walked her through the foyer. “Joe Desalvo seems a lot like his father. Are things serious between you two?” Sally shook her head. “Hardly. Right now he’s not speaking to me.” “Ah. He doesn’t know you’re here.” “No, he doesn’t. I—I just want to help him, that’s all.” “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” Ellen pulled open the door. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you the first time my Packard won’t start.” She smiled. “Don’t wait for trouble, Ellen. We do regular maintenance work, too.” “I’ll remember that. I hope things work out for you and Joe.” Not likely. But reassuring Joe about Leo’s marital fidelity would give her one last excuse to see him.

Joe hesitated at the Universal Joint’s door. Sally had tracked him down at his mom’s and asked to see him. Against his better judgment, here he stood. 325

He inhaled a calming breath, then stepped inside. The assault of cigarette smoke stung his eyes. Hot Rod Lincoln rumbled from the jukebox. Squinting, he focused on Sally at the bar. A red-haired kid leaned too close to her, his arm gripping the bar beside her stool. Behind Sally stood her father, by all appearances still playing bodyguard. Striding toward the bar, Joe nearly collided with a blond-haired waitress he vaguely remembered meeting. Jessica, or Jennifer, perhaps. “You here to rescue Sally?” she asked. “Rescue her?” The blonde nodded toward the bar. “Orel there has been hitting on Sally for months. Now, he’s monopolizing her with tales of his big race.” “He races?” The twerp looked barely out of high school. “Yes. I suppose he’s pretty good. He won Sunday at Ohio Valley Raceway.” She hoisted her tray of drinks. “See you later.” Joe nodded a greeting to Justin Clay as he squeezed beside Sally, forcing Orel to step back. “Excuse me.” “Uh, Joe Desalvo, meet Orel Baxter.” Joe shook hands with Orel. What the hell, he was just a kid. Probably had a crush on Sally, that’s all, which was fine with Joe. What did he care? “Congratulations. I hear you won the race yesterday.” Every pimple on the kid’s face reddened when he 326

grinned. “Thanks. Mr. Clay’s gonna go over my engine with me.” Now Sally beamed. Joe supposed he should be happy for her. She’d managed to get her father back to work and mingling again, at least as far as his limited social skills would allow. But Joe refused to give her or her family or friends a break. She’d stretched his compassion to the limit. “Orel, I’ll leave you and Dad to your plans.” Scooping her beer from the counter, she slid off the barstool. “Joe and I have business to discuss in private.” To Joe she added, “Let’s grab a booth.” “Lead the way.” He reached for her, cupping her elbow, but she shrugged off his hand. Fine. He didn’t relish the idea of touching her, anyway. He couldn’t trust his hormones to remember he didn’t want her. Focusing on his anger, he cursed his lack of control. In truth, he did want her. Still. She dropped onto the bench opposite him. “I talked to Ellen Kennedy today.” “You did what?” Of all the reasons he’d imagined Sally calling him, he’d never once considered this one. “Joe, she wasn’t having an affair with your father. She’s still grieving her husband.” Fury robbed him of speech. He squeezed his eyes 327

shut and counted to ten. “There’s more you should know.” “Haven’t you had your fill of spying?” he snapped. Sally blanched. Joe wasn’t proud of the hurt reflected in her eyes, knowing he’d put it there. Her voice so low he strained to hear, she said “Yes.” She pushed against the table, sliding across the bench as if to leave. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry I bothered you.” “Sally, wait.” Joe rested his hand atop hers. This time, she didn’t shrink from his touch. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk, okay?” She nodded. “I just wanted to tell you what Ellen said.” “Okay.” “She said your dad was the perfect gentleman and a kind listener. She insisted on dealing with him because Vic and Barbara acted pushy. They rushed her to make a decision about a car. Leo didn’t pressure her at all. She said there was no hanky-panky, and I believe her.” “Barbara? Pushy? I don’t know why Barbara would be involved.” Joe rubbed his thumb across his chin. “That seems strange.” Barbara, do you get involved with the customers in your job here? No. That was for Leo and Vic. I’m the bookkeeper, 328

same as always. “Unless Barbara suspected hanky-panky and was looking out for your mom.” “Maybe.” Your mom ends up with half the business and what did she do to earn it? She stayed at home and had Leo’s babies and cooked wonderful meals and kept the perfect house. All I ever wanted and couldn’t have. “What is it, Joe?” He reined in his temper, sure that whatever he told her would be repeated to the FBI. He’d be civil to Sally, but he’d not share any more of his troubled thoughts with her. “Nothing. Did the FBI agent get to town?” Sally lifted the pilsner to her lips without meeting his gaze. She sipped, then cradled the glass in both hands. “He’s in town. I’m meeting him at the shop in the morning.” “I hope he gets to the bottom of this. I want whoever shot Grandma caught.” “How is Grandma?” “She’s better. They may release her tomorrow, but not to go home. She has to stay with Mom until she’s healed.” “I’m really glad she’s going to be all right.” Sally drained the last of her beer. “Did you talk to the homicide detective today about Leo?” 329

“Yes. I gave him the detective’s report on Duane Anderson. He agreed to review the case and the autopsy notes, but he has other cases.” “Good. At least he didn’t dismiss you.” “Yeah. So I guess this ends our sleuthing partnership.” Sally twirled her empty glass. “Guess so.” With nothing further to discuss, Joe started to leave. Sally’s bleak expression stopped him. “Tell me something, Sally. Why did you go talk to Ellen Kennedy?” Sally’s chocolate drop eyes bore into him, as if she could X-ray his soul. “You seemed distressed, wondering if Leo had fooled around on your mother. I just wanted to help ease your mind.” “I suppose I should thank you for that. Are you going to report it to the Feds?” Her snort of disgust took him by surprise. “Give it a rest, Joe. Your betrayed, injured-party routine is wearing thin.” Betrayed, injured-party routine? “What are you talking about?” Sally sighed, then slid out of the booth. “Forget it.” Joe caught up with her. “Whatever you’re trying to say, spit it out.” “Walk me to my car. We don’t need an audience.” “What about your bodyguard?” He pointed with his chin toward the bar, where Justin Clay watched them. 330

“We came in separate cars. He can follow me home.” Outside, she leaned her back against the fender and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve given your reaction, your overreaction, a lot of thought. I did nothing dishonorable, nothing you wouldn’t do in the same spot. I didn’t know you and had promised to help the FBI.” “You could’ve told me later. I thought you trusted me.” “I planned to tell you, just as soon as I cleared it with Ferguson.” Sally shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. If you were as honest as you believe yourself to be, you’d admit the truth.” He clenched his jaw. Maybe she had a point, but he wasn’t ready to concede. How could he want to wring her neck and make love to her at the same time? “What truth?” “You needed an out. All that talk about my tempting you to change your life.” She shook her head. “You were running scared, needing to escape. Well, here’s a news flash. You’re free, Joe Desalvo. Got it? I never asked you for promises. Didn’t expect any.” Her strong steady voice nearly convinced him. The light of the street lamp caught a shimmer of tears fi lling her eyes. She turned to unlock the door of her Mustang, her hands trembling so violently they rattled the keys. Slumping against the window, she hung her head 331

and sighed. “Go back to Atlanta and leave me alone.” The impulse to touch her pushed aside his anger. Settling his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to meet his gaze. At least she didn’t rebuff his touch, although the defeat in her face tore at his heart. He wanted to believe she wasn’t a conniving, underhanded woman with an agenda. He wanted to believe she was exactly that, someone he could leave. “Dammit, Sally, I can’t.” He crushed his lips against hers, tasting the salty tears, the hint of beer, the unique flavor of her mouth. Her soft sigh was all the encouragement he needed. He slipped his tongue between her lips, savoring the taste he couldn’t seem to get enough of. Sally shoved at his chest with her fists, her keys poking at his ribs. “No!” Joe immediately dropped his hands. “You kissed back.” “So what? I can’t do this with you anymore, you— you—Walkaway Joe.” “Walkaway Joe? What does that mean?” Joe’s mouth sizzled from the lingering heat of their kiss, but he’d not make that mistake again. “You think I’m upset because you’re leaving? You think I need your comfort?” “You are upset—” “I’m just tired.” Sally raised her chin, staring him 332

down. “Dodging murderers and arsonists wears a person down. The last thing I want is your pity.” “Pity had nothing to do with that kiss. We both know it.” She turned again to work the key in the door. “Good night.” Pushing the point would gain him nothing, not with Sally in her present mood. How dare she put him on the defensive, anyway! “Good bye, Sally.” He pivoted toward his car. Scanning the parking lot, he looked for any possible threat, as had become his habit the past week. Justin Clay, his arms crossed over his chest, glared at Joe from the doorway. Had he seen Joe kiss his daughter? Or was the guy just serious in his role as watch dog? Stomping to his car, Joe wasted no time figuring out Justin’s motives. If he worried about Sally’s involvement with Joe, he could relax. Joe had no intention of seeing her again. He’d go home, she’d help the FBI nail the bad guys, and her father could retreat to the living room and waste away in front of the boob tube. Joe pushed his keyless entry, then flung open the door. Escaping Louisville would be a blessing. He didn’t need the hassle of moody women and guilt trips. As he slid behind the wheel, he hesitated. Moody women. Instead of Sally Clay, Barbara Bloom’s image fi lled his mind. 333

Undefined misgivings skirted his thoughts, but he couldn’t pin anything down. Something about Sally’s conversation with Ellen Kennedy bugged him. He’d visit with his mom tonight, have a little chat about life at the office.

Sally fought the dragging fatigue as she leaned into the kitchen counter and pushed away. Fifty incline pushups should do the trick. Exercise usually rejuvenated her. She pushed harder, ignoring protests from her knee. Her father gave her a curious stare as he stepped around her on his way to the refrigerator. “Dad, I’m sorry.” She paused to catch a breath. “I haven’t been to the store.” Peering inside the refrigerator, he muttered a curse. He closed the door, then snatched up his jacket from a dinette chair, glowering at Sally. “Keep the doors locked.” She continued her pushups and scowled at his back, biting back a retort. Just when she thought they’d made progress, Dad would revert to his old ways. She’d be damned if she’d feel guilty for running out of beer. As she heard the deadbolt engage, she couldn’t shake the image of a prison cell. Her cell. She’d already 334

served a nine-year sentence, running a home the best she knew how, which wasn’t very well. She barely kept up with dishes and laundry, along with frequent stops at Kroger’s for the few groceries she was able to carry. Add to that her sixty hours a week at Mustang Sally’s and her three-times-per-week visits to rehab, she had little time for frivolities like shaping her eyebrows or shopping for clothes. Sliding to the floor, she stretched out her legs and sighed. She’d told Joe she was finished with self-pity, yet here she sat, feeling sorrier for herself than she’d felt in ages. Joe. He figured prominently into this pity party. He’d hurt her. No surprise there. Hadn’t she set herself up for it? She had nobody to blame but her disgusting, love-starved self. Even in fury, she couldn’t resist his touch. Memory of tonight’s bonemelting kiss stirred her hormones into full-scale lust. She licked her lips and swallowed, tasting him still. A yearning gripped her without mercy, sucking her down into a dangerous quicksand of pointless dreams. Cut the melodrama, Sally. She needed sleep. Right. Mind-numbing escape. She’d rest on the floor for just a moment, then drag her butt to the shower. Just one minute of relaxation.

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“Sally! What happened?” She jerked open her eyes and met her father’s alarmed stare. “Uh, I was just—” Jeez, what time was it? Had she fallen asleep? “I was resting. What’s wrong?” Dad collapsed onto a dinette chair, heaving a weary sigh. “I saw you lying there and thought—” Sally struggled to her feet, climbing the cabinet for support. Ten years ago, she would’ve wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. Men. They had to be tip-toed around, handled with kid gloves. She’d had enough. Ellen Kennedy had raised new questions in her mind about her dad, questions she planned to ask him. Soon. But not tonight. Stepping behind him, she slid her hands around his neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stiffened but didn’t shrug off her embrace. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” “I’m twenty-seven years old, Dad. It’s really okay for you to expect me to take care of myself.” “Not with Roy’s killer loose.” “I’ll be careful.” Sally kissed his cheek, then stood. “I’m going to shower now.” Although he hadn’t resisted her show of affection, Sally didn’t push her luck. What she really wanted to do was keep hugging her dad, holding him until 336

she melted all bitterness and disappointment from his heart. She wanted him to love her and laugh with her the way he used to, before the accident. Why not add that to her collection of pointless dreams?

“What is it, son?” Joe’s mother slid a cup of steaming hot cocoa across the table. “Is it something to do with Sally?” Joe told his mother about Sally’s involvement with the FBI. “And this proves you can’t trust her?” “Doesn’t it?” “I think she wanted to tell us. Remember the other night? She sat here and told us if we put the doctored books with other evidence, the FBI could put Vic Bloom in prison. She seemed to understand FBI jurisdiction. I’m not surprised she’d been in contact with them, honey.” His own mother? “You don’t feel betrayed?” “No, but I’m not the one in love with her.” He stiffened. “Don’t start pulling a grandma on me. I never claimed to be in love with Sally. On the contrary.” His mother wasn’t buying it. “At the risk of sounding like your grandmother, what’s wrong with falling in 337

love and settling down, son? It’s not as if you come from a broken home or never witnessed a happy marriage.” “I’m not like Dad. My work consumes so much of my energy, there’s not much of me left.” “If your career makes you happy, I support you. I won’t say another word. I can’t promise the same for Grandma.” “How was she tonight?” Joe jumped on the change in subject. “Tired. Cranky.” “Cranky? She gets released tomorrow, doesn’t she?” “Yes, but she wasn’t happy about coming here.” “Need me to go with you to the hospital?” “No. Sofia already offered.” “The boss is letting her have time off ? Surprise, surprise.” “Well, he may not be the most sensitive man, but Brendan loves Sofia and knows how close she is to Grandma.” Joe chuckled. “He also knows he’s not in Grandma’s good graces. Maybe he’s campaigning.” “Maybe.” His mother sipped the last of her cocoa. “What’s on your mind, Joey? I don’t mean to pry, but—” “How well do you know Vic and Barbara?” Joe asked. “Very well, I think. They were married shortly after Leo and I. Barbara and I saw each other often since our husbands were good friends and business 338

partners. Why?” “I got the impression she resented you inheriting the partnership.” “I doubt that. Barbara and I’ve never been close friends, but she hardly has reason to resent me. At least not now.” “Not now? What do you mean?” His mother sighed. “Hardly worth mentioning. Years ago, Barbara dated Leo before she dated Vic. That was before your dad met me.” “Did he dump her for you?” “Well, she may have seen it that way. Leo didn’t consider the two of them a serious item. Once he and I fell in love, he forgot all about Barbara or any of the women he dated. She and Vic got together and that was that.” Was it? “She said you had everything she wanted. I assumed she meant family, since she and Vic never had kids.” “I’m sure she didn’t mean Leo. Lordy, she and Vic were two lovebirds, absolutely inseparable. I never heard them talk about children, but Leo had a theory.” Joe waited for his mom to continue. She examined her empty cup as if debating whether to make more cocoa, then set it back down. “He overheard an argument years ago between Vic and Barbara that led him to believe she had misled him when they married. 339

She apparently miscarried in her teens and didn’t seek medical attention until it was too late.” “Her parents didn’t take care of her?” “I think she’d tried to hide her pregnancy from them. They weren’t well off, financially, and they had a lot of mouths to feed. Who knows what she was thinking? Anyway, Leo’s theory is either the infection left her sterile or caused her to need a hysterectomy. Whatever it was, she neglected to tell Vic until they’d been married a few years.” “I don’t blame Vic for being angry. She should’ve trusted him enough to tell him before the wedding.” “Joey, don’t judge Barbara. Sometimes secrets are too painful to tell, even to those we love, and especially when we’re afraid of recrimination.” Joe ignored the hint. He refused to talk further about Sally. “Is that what you think happened with Dad? He suspected someone was ripping off the business but couldn’t tell you?” She nodded. “He would’ve told me, eventually. If he suspected Vic, he gave him every benefit of the doubt.” “You don’t care much for Vic, do you?” His mother sighed, shaking her head. “He and Leo were partners. I just thought he should be more sensitive to Barbara. I thought he should’ve been more sensitive to your dad about the Darrin.” “But things weren’t what they seemed there, either.” 340

Just as they hadn’t been with Sally. Damn! Why did she keep popping into his head? “Mom, I think either Vic or both he and Barbara are working with this Dan Alsop character in a fraud scheme. Dad found out and was killed for it. The file was hidden in Vic’s office.” “You suspect Barbara, too? Why?” “She’s ambitious. Perhaps she doesn’t know what’s going on, but pressures Vic to make more money. Have you noticed anything at work to back up my theory?” “Handling payroll and the bookkeeping keeps Barbara busy. I’ve never seen her involved with a customer except to collect money when the cashier’s away. She works hard, son, and seems to know her job.” “I think I’ll go into the office with you tomorrow and hang around. I’d love to catch Vic with his hands on that USB drive.” “If he’s truly involved, I doubt it’ll be that easy.” “I don’t get it. You don’t particularly like the guy but you don’t think he’s involved. Enlighten me.” She smiled. “Call it intuition. Vic’s never been greedy. It’s the one thing that made him click with Leo. Both were happy with small gains, modest profits. It’s what I call the secret of their success.” But Ellen Kennedy had told Sally both Barbara and Vic had pressured her to buy. “People change.” “Yes, they do,” his mother answered with a pointed look. 341

He wasn’t about to pursue her meaning. Undoubtedly, the discussion would return to Sally. Yawning, Joe excused himself and escaped to his quarters in the stable.

The next morning, Joe arrived at Bloom Desalvo in record time, before anyone else. Unable to sleep, he’d showered and dressed before daybreak. What few winks he’d managed were interrupted with dreams. Although he couldn’t recall much of the dreams, they’d all featured Sally Clay in the starring role. His subconscious had betrayed his efforts to keep her from his thoughts, allowing the dark-eyed witch to intrude day and night. Few cars passed this early, although in thirty minutes rush hour would be in full swing. Joe removed the key from his pocket, the key he’d need to give his mother when he left Friday. Friday, four days away. Three days to wrap up his family affairs. Three days to bring closure to his father’s death. Now that the police had agreed to take another look at his dad’s case, and the FBI had arrived, little remained for Joe to do. Still he couldn’t dispel the feeling of unfinished business. He’d uncovered more questions than answers regarding his father’s death. 342

Or was his unfinished business with Sally? If so, why? He’d known her only a couple of weeks. How had she threaded her way into his life, anyway? In all fairness, it had been his own doing. Hadn’t she resisted his invitations to dinner? Spurned his advances? He’d taken it as a challenge to get past that huge chip on her shoulder, to prove her attractiveness as a woman. A vision of her in the glamorous gown and elegant hairstyle, dancing in his arms at the Derby Ball, lingered in his mind. Attractive, indeed! Sally had been a diamond in the rough in need of a bit of romancing. She’d transformed into a stunning beauty. Another vision pushed its way into his mind, the sight of Justin Clay’s face, contorted with revulsion at Sally’s scarred leg. Damn him, anyway. He could hardly be part of an orchestrated scheme to gain Joe’s sympathy. No matter what she’d intended, she hadn’t planned an elaborate set-up to earn Joe’s trust and confidence. Sally was the real deal, a genuine article. His heart saw it; his hard head didn’t. And he’d treated her like shit. Before he left for Atlanta, he’d see Sally one more time. Apologize. Admit she’d been right in not violating the FBI’s confidence. Hope to mend his friendship with her. If he hadn’t damaged it beyond repair. Lost in his thoughts, it took him a moment to 343

register the light coming from Vic Bloom’s office. Odd. The offices were typically dark when Joe was first to arrive. Dead silence greeted him when he hesitated at Vic’s doorway. Dead silence and a dead body.

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Chapter

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EIGHT EN

Sally stifled a yawn, hoping the young man seated in her office this morning hadn’t noticed. Adam Ferguson looked nothing like Sally’s image of an FBI Special Agent. She’d bet he wasn’t as old as she, though close to it. Tall and lean, he flashed Sally a quick smile that rivaled that of golf champion Tiger Woods. His ebony hair was closely cropped; his wirerimmed glasses set off eyes the color of honey. Where was the thick-waisted, balding guy she’d talked with over the phone? The incongruity of Special Agent Ferguson’s blue wool suit and buffed wingtips in her grimy garage 345

reminded her of Joe Desalvo’s first visit. Unfortunately, everything reminded her of Joe. Her jumbled emotions over him had robbed her of much needed sleep. “I have some questions about Leo Desalvo’s son,” Adam Ferguson continued, as if reading her mind. “I told you, he’s clueless. He reads the Wall Street Journal, not Hemming’s Motor News. He couldn’t care less about the auto business.” “Maybe. But the Jefferson County Police seem to think differently.” “What? But-but why?” “Do you know if he and Vic Bloom were close?” “He’s known Vic all his life, of course, but Joe’s been away for years, living in Atlanta.” “We’ve traced some of the cars back to Georgia. Dan Alsop made the buys, but that’s all we know.” “Joe suspects Vic of working the scam with Dan Alsop.” “And of murdering his father, right?” Sally chewed her bottom lip, now chapped from too much gnawing. “I don’t think so. I think Dan Alsop was his suspect. As I told you last night, Joe found a PI’s report on a man named Duane Anderson. Have you come across that name in your investigation?” “Duane Anderson is the seller’s name on some of the cars originating in Georgia. Dan Alsop is the buyer’s name in most cases. But they could be one and the 346

same.” He shrugged. “After looking at the fi le we found and comparing it to my own records, I’d say the questionable activity at Bloom Desalvo started at the same time Dan Alsop opened up shop in Louisville.” “Until then, you’d say Bloom Desalvo ran a clean business?” “As far as I’m concerned. My business dealings were limited to restoration work Leo brought over. He and Uncle Sal—” “Salvatore Clay, the previous owner here?” “That’s right. Leo, Vic, and Sal were longtime friends. Sal trusted them, so I did, too.” “Since Leo Desalvo’s death, has Vic assumed responsibility for the collectible cars?” Sally shrugged. “I don’t know.” Special Agent Ferguson stood. “Can you find out from Joe Desalvo?” I doubt it. “Why don’t you talk to Joe yourself?” “I will, as soon as the locals finish their interview.” “The police are talking to Joe? What’s that about?” “I assume you haven’t heard. This morning, Joe Desalvo reported a homicide at Bloom Desalvo Motors. Vic Bloom was at his desk, a bullet in his skull.” Sally gasped. Vic? Dead? “Joe found the body?” Adam Ferguson shrugged. “He claims. Right now, he’s being questioned as a possible suspect.” 347

Joe switched off the ignition and stared at Mustang Sally’s back door. What was he doing here? He’d parked beside Sally’s vintage convertible. Two other vehicles were parked in the lot. The red pickup truck probably belonged to Justin Clay, since Joe had seen it before, both in Sally’s garage and at the Universal Joint. The late-model sedan may as well have had government emblazoned on the doors. Joe figured the nondescript blue Ford belonged to Special Agent whatever from the FBI. Damn. He’d wanted to talk with Sally alone. As soon as he’d untangled himself from the web of police procedures, he’d headed here. What did that say about his need for Sally? Had he been so long without friendship he mistook it for love? Admittedly, he was a loner. He’d never taken time to meet his neighbors in Atlanta, to pal around with the guys after racquetball matches. His dates had been, well, more about short-term relationships. Very short-term. Until Sally. She was the first woman who didn’t want something from him. No, that wasn’t accurate; she’d 348

wanted information. If it hadn’t been for the FBI, she wouldn’t have gone out with him. She’d have fought Joe’s overtures, kicking and screaming. Maybe he should go inside and thank the FBI guy. He opened the Dodge’s door just as Special Agent whatever strode from the garage. At least he looked like an FBI agent, with his dark blue suit, wingtips, and conservative haircut. He headed toward Joe. “Special Agent Adam Ferguson, FBI. Would you be Joe Desalvo?” “I would,” Joe answered, thrusting out his hand. Ferguson shook it. “I need to talk to you.” Joe suppressed a groan. Not more questions! He really needed to talk with Sally, and not with an audience. But he also needed to clear his father’s name. “Fine. Can we talk here? I need to see Miss Clay on another matter.” Ferguson nodded, then gestured toward the door. “After you.” Sally’s eyes widened as Joe opened the door. Perched on her work stool, she hovered over a complicated-looking schematic. She turned her gaze to Ferguson when he entered the garage behind him. “May we use your office, ma’am?” If you call me ma’am one more time, I’m applying for social security. “Help yourself,” Sally said, shrugging. Gone was the 349

teasing smile she’d turned on Joe when he’d addressed her as ma’am. Lavender crescents tinged the flesh beneath her eyes. Had he caused the strain in her face, the loss of sleep? She met his gaze. “Are you all right?” “Yeah.” Unable to ignore the scent of her, the mix of roses and raw gasoline and woman, he slid past her, resisting the urge to touch her cheek or give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It wouldn’t do for the FBI to think their informant was in cahoots with the suspect. As he formed the thought, the bitterness he’d felt the day before faded. Sally didn’t see him as a suspect. Averting her eyes, she said, “If you guys don’t need me, I have work to do.” The FBI man followed Joe through the garage to the office. Joe braced himself for another interrogation as he settled in the old metal chair at Sally’s desk. Ferguson claimed Sally’s grease-stained chair, disregarding the peril to his suit. “Can you bring me up to speed on Victor Bloom’s murder? I haven’t gotten a lot from the locals yet.” Hardly what Joe expected, Special Agent Ferguson addressed him as if he were a colleague rather than a suspect. But Ferguson wasn’t interested in a local murder. His case was interstate fraud. “I went in early to look through the files again.” He shrugged. “I just thought I’d overlooked something, you know?” 350

“Go on.” “I found something, all right. Vic Bloom slumped over his desk with a bullet in his forehead. A gruesome sight.” The thought triggered images of his father, also found at his desk at work. Joe was thankful to have been spared that scene. “What were you hoping to find?” “Evidence. I don’t know how much Sally’s told you about my father, but I’ve convinced the police to reopen the case. Not only do I want to bring peace to our family about Dad’s death, I’d also like my mother to benefit from his life insurance.” “It’s invalidated if his death is ruled suicide.” “Right. Mom and I, with Sally’s help, have uncovered a second set of books showing classic auto transactions with much larger profits than are shown on the official spreadsheets.” “She gave me the copied fi le.” Ferguson patted his jacket. “I haven’t looked at it yet. How are the books falsified?” “The selling prices check out, at least the ones we’ve verified. But the wholesale price is vastly lower on the secret spreadsheet, making the overall profit for the past six months much higher than reported. My mom, who now owns half of Bloom Desalvo Motors, is worried about tax evasion issues.” “She should be if somebody is hiding money.” 351

“We assumed it was Vic Bloom, but now—” Ferguson nodded. “It could be Bloom. Maybe he got greedy, maybe there’s a double cross.” “Or maybe he stumbled upon it like my dad and was killed for it.” “The police suspect you of Bloom’s homicide.” It wasn’t a question. “They’re grasping at straws. In order to clear my father of culpability in the fraud and to prove he was murdered, I need Vic alive. Also, there’s no evidence to hold me. I just found the body and was first on the scene.” “You talk like an attorney.” Joe smiled. “No, but I watch Matlock reruns.” Ferguson gave Joe a brief smile. “I’m inclined to agree with Miss Clay. She thinks someone—probably this Dan Alsop or Duane Anderson or whatever alias he’s using—duped both Bloom and your father. Since your father had Alsop investigated, I’m inclined to agree.” “If my father had information that could put Dan Alsop out of business, he could’ve been killed for that alone.” “I also suspect your father was murdered, although I reviewed his fi le yesterday. One cleverly-staged suicide. The insurance company will need convincing. You might want to consider having him exhumed and running toxicology tests on him.” 352

Joe stiffened. Could he put his mother through all that? “Weren’t tests run in his autopsy?” “No. Tox screens aren’t routine, unless foul play is suspected.” Ferguson shrugged. “You have more of a case for foul play now. You could push the coroner for further blood analysis and tissue sampling or pay for a private pathologist to handle it.” “What would we look for?” “Any substance. In order to stage a suicide like—” Ferguson didn’t finish. With an apologetic grimace, he shrugged. “Don’t spare me. I know Dad’s pistol was stuck in his mouth and fired. What you’re saying is if he wouldn’t voluntarily squeeze the trigger, a strong drug could disable him so that he’d be helpless against the murderer squeezing it.” “It’s been done before. Someone could dope his coffee or food, inject him with a drug—” “Inject?” Joe interrupted. “Sally saw a piece of a syringe by the dumpster at the car lot.” “Sorry, Joe.” Ferguson shook his head. “Miss Clay told me about that. Victor Bloom was an insulin-dependent diabetic, so it was probably his. Regrettably, she didn’t recover it for forensics.” “She knows better. Handling used hypodermics is risky business.” There are strict guidelines for the disposal of biohazard waste. You don’t just throw a needle in 353

the trash. “I can’t argue that. Back to Dan Alsop. I’m getting a search warrant for his house and business, but I’ll need probable cause. Sally says you have the Darrin hidden away.” “Yes, it’s about forty miles from here in—” “Don’t tell me. Just take me to it tomorrow. With the paper trail tracking it back to Dan Alsop, the forged engine number should convince a judge.” “Sure. Frankly, I’ll be relieved to turn over the car. It’s brought trouble from Day One.” “I don’t think you or Miss Clay are in danger now. If you don’t have the car and she doesn’t have the photos, neither of you is a threat.” “I disagree.” Someone had tried to run down Sally. “Sally’s a witness to the forgery, isn’t she?” “We’ll want her as a witness.” He shrugged. “It’d be stronger testimony if we had proof to back it up.” “What about Vic Bloom? How was he a threat?” “I’m hoping we’ll find out soon.” Ferguson stood, extending his hand to Joe. “Thank you for your time.” Joe rose to meet his handshake. “I want to help, Special Agent Ferguson. My father was no criminal and he wasn’t suicidal.” With a quick nod, Ferguson whisked past Joe, leaving him alone in Sally’s office. Joe hesitated, although anxious to talk to Sally. He hadn’t really rehearsed his 354

speech. What would he say to heal their rift? What if she wouldn’t talk to him? He hadn’t missed the wariness in her eyes when he’d walked into the garage. She’d been disgusted with him last night. No wonder. Just as she’d said, his injured party routine had worn thin. He’d been so quick to assume her betrayal, without hearing her side of the story. How fair was that? Regardless of what she’d done, he needed her. He needed her! The realization no longer unsettled him. Whatever it took, he had to recover what he’d thrown away. He wouldn’t do it sitting in her office, waiting for her to come to him. It was up to him to go to her. Collecting his scattered confidence, he marched into the garage.

Sally’s heart somersaulted in her chest as Joe stalked into the garage. She had a long way to go if she was going to get him out of her system. Just looking at his handsome face stole her breath. Well, he’d be gone soon. She wouldn’t have to look at him. That’d surely help, wouldn’t it? Instead, she tightened inside with an aching loss, already missing the sight of him. It wasn’t fair. Here or gone, he affected her. She pretended to be absorbed 355

in the schematic for a high-energy electronic electrical system for a 350 Chevy, but couldn’t ignore Joe’s presence. He stood inches from her. His woodsy scent fi lled her, his warmth drifted over her. “Sally, we need to talk.” Oh, God! She’d forgotten Vic’s murder. Poor Joe. Her gaze fl icked to him. His eyes stared back, dark and troubled. A neediness she’d not seen before fi lled his gaze. He needed her! She wondered if he realized the emotion in his face. Would he resent her one glimpse at his vulnerability? Joe no longer trusted her, but his eyes said otherwise. She’d not let him down. “Okay, I need a break. Want to go for coffee?” “That’d be perfect.” He tried a smile but it didn’t stick. She slid from the stool. “Justin, want a cup of coffee? We’re running over to White Castle.” Her father stared at Joe, then Sally. “Yeah. Thanks.” Joe hadn’t agreed to White Castle, but Sally’s father wanted to know her whereabouts. Last night must have shaken him. All morning he’d been the proverbial mother hen, clucking around when a customer or the FBI showed up. It might have annoyed another person. Sally treasured any breakthrough, any show of interest from her father. At the door, Joe pressed his palm at the small of her back. She resisted the urge to lean back, increasing 356

the pressure. Both comforting and unnerving, Joe’s touch warmed her and she welcomed it. At war with her body, her brain warned her to shrug away. She told her brain to take a hike. “Okay if I drive?” Not I’ll drive. He’d asked, still the gentleman, chipping away the last of Sally’s resistance. “Sure.” Joe ushered her to his car. After he’d pulled onto the street, he glanced at her. “You were right. I was wrong.” “Wow. Just like that?” “Just like that.” “Okay.” Sally studied his profi le. “What are we talking about?” “My injured party routine.” He shrugged, then glanced at her again. “I overreacted.” She sighed. You broke my heart. No use crying over spilt milk, Aunt Sue would say. “I can’t really blame you, Joe. I know things didn’t look good.” “Call me a fool, but I don’t believe you’d betray a friend.” “I’d never call you a fool or betray a friend.” “That’s a relief.” He smiled then, a genuine smile, and reached for her hand. “Friends?” This from the guy who’d said, “After Friday night, I think we’re beyond friends.” What did she expect? Oh, Sally, I love you and can’t live without you? She knew 357

better than that. Her original assessment had been right on target. He needed an excuse to distance himself. That hadn’t changed. “Sure. Friends.” Whatever. Joe stopped at the intersection. His smile disappeared. “I don’t like the climate, Sally. The cops haven’t charged me, but—” “Charged you?” Outrage bolted through her. “With what? Surely they know you’d never hurt Vic. You’re no more a murderer than I am.” He chuckled. “Can I hire you to defend me?” “Seriously, do you have a lawyer?” “Not yet.” His jaw tightened. “They told me not to leave town. I’m supposed to be in Atlanta Friday morning for a staff meeting.” Sally fought to control her features. Joe was leaving Friday. Her heart ached, even though she’d known he’d return home soon. But leaving for Atlanta beat sitting in a jail cell. She shivered at the thought. “You cold?” “No, afraid. For you, I mean. Do you really think you’re a suspect?” “I found his body, Sally.” He said the words in a flat, emotionless tone. But Sally heard the anguish he’d tried to hide. “I’m so sorry, Joe. That had to be rough.” “It also makes me a suspect until the cops come up with something better.” 358

Will they even look? The thought came out of nowhere, clutching at Sally’s chest, and it wouldn’t let go. “We have to come up with something better. Let me think—” “We?” “—about this. Who gains from Vic’s death? Barbara?” “Or me.” “What?” “An outsider might see this as an opportunity for me to buy out Vic’s half from his distraught widow. Then Mom and I would own Bloom Desalvo Motors.” “You aren’t interested in the business.” “You know that and I know that.” “I see. What about Dan Alsop?” “I’ve been thinking about him. I can’t see Vic double crossing him. It’s just not in him. Mom says Vic’s not overly ambitious. He always takes—” Joe swallowed. “I mean, he took the path of least resistance.” She placed her other hand over his and squeezed. He’d known Vic all his life. He’d need to grieve his loss just as she had Roy’s. “Well, here’s a theory: Vic’s as innocent as Leo and, like Leo, stumbles upon information that Dan Alsop is cheating Bloom Desalvo customers. Just like your dad, he’s killed for it. If Dan Alsop or whoever he is has enough money at stake in his scam, he can’t afford exposure.” 359

“I like your theory but for one thing: the secret fi le on the USB drive. It shows Bloom Desalvo profiting. That makes Vic and/or Dad accomplices to Dan Alsop without evidence to point elsewhere.” “Barbara Bloom?” “If you’d seen her this morning when she arrived at the office, you’d know she couldn’t have killed Vic.” “Or she’s a great actress.” Joe shook his head. “She was already upset because Vic hadn’t come home last night. When she saw the ambulance and police cars, she lost it. Paramedics had to sedate her right there in the parking lot.” We had to sedate him and move him to the psychiatric ward. Pushing thoughts of her father aside, Sally asked, “Did she say anything?” “Nothing coherent. She just kept crying ‘no.’ ” “He was her husband. If she didn’t kill him, she’d have good reason to fall apart.” “Don’t be a romantic.” She slipped her hand from his. “Don’t be a romantic? You’re the only one who ever mentioned romance, Joe. ‘I have no right to romance you when my life is so unsettled.’ ” She’d not allow him to glimpse her disappointment. “I haven’t a romantic bone in my body.” “Well, neither does Barbara.” “You know her that well?” 360

Joe seemed to ponder that as he pulled into the drive-thru lane at White Castle. “Three large coffees?” “Make mine a hot chocolate,” Sally said, choosing calcium over caffeine. “They make it rich, with whole milk.” While Joe ordered, Sally stared at the cars in the parking lot. She had to help Joe. What choice did she have? She loved him, not that he’d ever know. She’d be making no foolish confessions. “I had that coming.” “What?” “The crack about romance. I did say that, because if I were husband material, you’d be the first and only woman I’d pursue. But I’m not and you need to understand that.” “I understand you and I are ill-suited. I don’t understand why you think you aren’t husband material. Let’s just drop it for now, okay?” She didn’t want to beat a dead horse. Right now they needed evidence to tie Dan Alsop to Vic’s murder. “Joe, how was Vic killed?” Joe eased up to the take-out window to wait for their drinks. “A bullet between the eyes.” “What caliber bullet? Do you know? Did the police mention a weapon?” “The detectives asked all the questions. Besides, they probably won’t know until the medical examiner tells them.” 361

“Did they check your prints against the ones on the gun?” “They didn’t find a gun. But they tested my hands for residue.” “Then they know you didn’t fire the weapon, right?” “I could’ve used gloves.” “The killer didn’t leave the gun, though, right?” Joe shook his head. “No, this one wasn’t a staged suicide. It looked more like a hit.” “Any sign of forced entry?” “No.” He wedged the cardboard tray laden with hot steaming cups between them on the front seat. “God, Sally, you’re as bad as the cops.” “Hey, I’m not the enemy here. I’m trying to piece this together. At Mustang Sally’s, we had forced entry and no gun left at the scene. With your dad, we had no forced entry and a gun. With Vic we have no forced entry and no gun found. But if Vic was killed by the same gun that shot Roy—” “Dad was killed with his own revolver, a thirtyeight he kept locked in his desk.” “Did Vic have a gun in his desk, too?” “We didn’t find one, remember?” “Right. We would’ve seen one when we were searching for fi les.” “Why are you fi xating on the gun?” “It might connect the murders to the Kaiser. What 362

else could it be? What did Vic, Leo, and Roy have in common?” Joe heaved a weary sigh. “Look, Sally, we can brainstorm till the cows come home. But all the cops are interested in is evidence.” “Then we need to get it.” “How do you propose we get evidence without doing something dangerous or illegal?” “Bloom Desalvo is closed, right?” “It’s a crime scene. The cops won’t let us near it.” “So your mother’s not able to work today. I’ll bet she’s in the kitchen as we speak, baking.” Joe beat the side of his head with his palm. “Hello?” “What do you want to bet Lucinda is baking something to take to Barbara Bloom’s tonight? To express her condolences and concern? Come on. It’s customary.” “You want to go to the Blooms’ house tonight?” “Bingo. After all, Lucinda can’t leave Grandma, right?” Damn.

Sally’d been right, of course. His mother, true to form, had baked a turkey breast and two loaves of sandwich bread. She’d not seemed the least surprised when Joe offered to deliver the food to Barbara Bloom. He also 363

delivered a fruit salad and potato salad he and Sally picked up at the deli. He’d driven to the address his mother had given him, in an older neighborhood off Taylorsville Road. Most of the houses were built in the fifties, including the Blooms’ modest ranch. Two picture windows draped with layers of sheer curtains abutted each other at the living room corner. Although little about the building or fi xtures had been updated, the modern furniture blended comfortably, giving the house a pleasant coziness. “Thank you for coming.” Barbara Bloom collapsed into an overstuffed chair in the living room after ushering her other visitors to the door. Only Joe and Sally remained. “Mom will be by tomorrow. She has her hands full with Grandma tonight.” Barbara’s makeup failed to cover the strain in her face. “Thank her for the food. I–I didn’t expect so many people to—” Her eyes fi lled. “Are you going to be all right by yourself? I could stay with you tonight,” Sally offered. Joe studied Sally. She knew Barbara only as a business contact, yet seemed genuinely worried about her. How could he have thought Sally devious? She had a generous heart, a tender heart. He’d been right in tamping down any romantic notions. She’d be easy 364

to hurt when he left. And he was leaving. Friday. Barbara shook her head. “That’s sweet of you, but I need to be by myself.” “You’ve had a shock. Do you have someone close you can call?” Nodding, Barbara pulled a tissue from a box beside her chair. She dabbed away tears and eye makeup. “My son.”

365

Chapter

e

NINET EN

Joe gasped. “Your son? I thought—” “Vic didn’t know.” She shrugged, then blew her nose. “I gave my baby up for adoption when I was fifteen. Even though I’d been raped, my parents kept my pregnancy a secret. They sent me away. Imagine finding my son right here in Louisville.” “Why the secrecy?” Sally asked. “His adoptive parents are insecure. They’re in their seventies and not in good health. He doesn’t want them upset.” “They didn’t tell him he was adopted?” “Yes. But even though he’s older than you, Joey, 366

when he wanted to find me, they didn’t approve. Also, I hadn’t told Vic. So we’ve kept things low key.” “So why are you telling us about him now?” Joe asked. “Because he’s all I have now. And I’m not hiding anymore.” “Is he married?” Sally asked. “Do you have grandchildren?” “He’s engaged to be married. I’m invited to the wedding, but—” “Not as mother of the groom, right?” She nodded at Sally. “It’s okay. I gave up all my rights when I was fifteen.”

Later, as Joe backed out of the Blooms’ driveway, he asked, “What had you hoped to accomplish coming here tonight?” Sally stretched out her legs, then massaged her knee. “I wanted to gauge her reaction to Vic’s death.” “She’s still pretty broken up about it.” “At least she doesn’t think you had anything to do with it.” “No, she knows I’m no killer. But we’re no closer to getting any evidence.” “We did learn one thing, but isn’t it sad? She’s had to hide her son. That’s way dumb.” 367

“If he’s older than I am, he should know better. Surely he doesn’t hold it against her that she gave him up for adoption.” “If his adoptive parents are jealous and insecure, they probably raised him to be, too.” “Good point.” Joe sighed. “I’m beginning to understand Barbara better. She’s had some tough breaks.” No wonder she’d seemed bitter when he’d talked to her last week. “Raped at fifteen and treated like the guilty party, then having to give up her firstborn— “ “Only born. Mom seems to think Barbara lost her ability to have children—other children—from something that happened in her teens.” “Probably a delivery gone bad. Oh, bless her heart! And now her husband’s been murdered.” “At least she’s been reunited with her son.” “Some son,” she snorted. “He treats her as shabbily as her parents did. Once again, Barbara is made to feel ashamed.” “You’re right.” Sally should know. When it came to shabby treatment, her father took first prize in Joe’s book. As Joe braked at the main road to the subdivision, he nearly collided with a pickup truck as it clipped the corner. The Dodge’s headlights illuminated the dark paint job and the bright aluminum tool box. Hairs on the back 368

of his neck prickled. “That truck looks familiar.” “A Toyota Tacoma. What about it?” “Let’s hope he didn’t see us. I’m going to follow him.” Taking her silence as concurrence, he found a driveway in which to turn around, then sped after the truck. “Joe, give him some room. You don’t want to be obvious.” “I’m afraid I’ll lose him.” She leaned forward and squinted. “No, you won’t. Look. It’s turning into Barbara’s driveway.” “See that funny toolbox on the back?” Joe idled past the house toward the street’s dead end. “What about it, other than the fact it’s the wrong size for that particular truck?” “It’s odd.” And memorable. “I remember where I’ve seen one just like it.” “Where, for heaven’s sake?” “Speeding down Watterson Trail, headed straight for you.” Sally gasped. “Are you sure?” “Fairly sure. It happened so fast, I didn’t think I noticed. But the funny way the toolbox rests on the back must’ve registered.” “Then what’s it doing here? Oh, Joe! You don’t think Barbara—” “What I think is we need to park this thing and do 369

some snooping. Coming here may pay off after all.” After parking in the paved turn-around, Joe helped Sally from the car. His arm around her waist, he pulled her against him, supporting much of her weight. She didn’t resist. Now wasn’t the time to be macho. Or macha. The two blocks seemed farther because of their slower pace. When they neared the Blooms’ yard, Joe motioned her to the side yard. They crouched behind overgrown privet, watching Barbara and her visitor. A forty-something man, he would’ve been attractive to some women. To Sally, however, he looked slick, lacking that air of sincerity that kept handsome Joe Desalvo from arrogance. Through the filter of a thin gauze curtain, she sensed intimacy between the two. The low murmur of their voices penetrated the glass windows, but not enough to distinguish the words. Could this man be Barbara’s son? Sally frowned. The man looked too old. She’d guess six to eight years younger than Barbara, not fifteen. He opened his arms to Barbara. She fell into them. But it wasn’t the embrace of comfort, nor the embrace of a mother and her son. Sally swallowed, not daring to glance at Joe. Barbara kissed the man, moving against him like his lover. Sally’s earlier concern toward Barbara hardened into something else, some emotion she couldn’t iden370

tify. Anger? Fear? If Joe were right, Barbara Bloom’s lover had tried to kill Sally. But why? And who better to suspect for Vic’s murder? Wouldn’t either Barbara or mystery man want the husband out of the way? And what did any of this have to do with the Kaiser Darrin? A strained silence settled over Joe and Sally as they headed back to Jeffersontown. Instead of finding anything to prove his innocence, they’d uncovered more questions. He hadn’t wanted to alarm Sally, but he knew in his gut the man in Barbara Bloom’s arms was the guy who’d try to run over her on Watterson Trail. Okay, so Joe hadn’t seen the driver. He didn’t know makes and models of vehicles as well as Sally. But he knew that truck and that toolbox. The silvery metal box appeared jammed inside the truck’s bed, like a chubby man shoved into too-tight jeans. Joe didn’t like it. More than ever, he feared for Sally’s safety. The sooner he unloaded the Darrin to the FBI, the better. Then they’d have their blasted evidence and she would no longer pose a threat. She’d be safe, he’d be out of it, and his mother’s life could return to normal. Ha! Who was he kidding? Without Leo Desalvo and Vic Bloom, there was no Bloom Desalvo Motors. Or would Barbara step in to “grow the business” and implement her own ambitious plans? He thought he knew her until tonight. What kind of woman suffered 371

from her husband’s death as she had that morning, only to fall into bed with her lover that night? Could she be a killer? Joe glanced at Sally. Her eyes closed, she rubbed her injured leg. After hiking through Barbara’s neighborhood, Sally had to be hurting. He pulled his gaze to the highway before he did something reckless like pull over and kiss her senseless. Now what brought that on? He’d been celibate too long for a healthy thirty-two-year old. As soon as he got back to Atlanta, he’d give what’s-her-name a call. Damn! What was her name? Tracy somebody. It’d come to him. Anyway, returning to casual sex and the singles scene roiled in his gut like an undigested meal. Since meeting Sally, other women had lost their appeal. He shouldn’t be having these thoughts. Sally had her dream. He had his. Unfortunately, their dreams were in different cities and different worlds. He pushed aside the troubling thoughts, then struggled for conversation. “You’re quiet tonight.” “Just thinking,” she murmured. “About the man in Barbara’s living room?” “What else? I wonder who he is.” “We should’ve gotten his license number.” Sally’s eyes popped open and she flashed him a smug grin. “I did.” 372

Joe followed Sally into her kitchen, a single low-wattage hood lamp over the range relieving the darkness. “Let me switch on the lights.” Justin’s voice echoed from the staircase. “Sally, is that you?” “Yes, Dad. Joe’s with me.” “Lock up.” He slammed the upstairs door. “Want something to drink,” she asked. “We have decaf.” Joe moved beside her at the sink. “Sit and rest. I’ll make the coffee.” “Thanks.” Her liquid brown eyes held his gaze, but she didn’t move. She hadn’t yet turned on the lights. The intimacy of the dark kitchen enveloped him. The scent of shampoo and soap wrapped itself around him, pulling him to her. She drew her luscious bottom lip between her teeth. “So I guess you’re anxious to get back to Atlanta.” “Yes. No.” The coffee forgotten, Joe pulled Sally into his arms. “Dammit, Sally, I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night.” She leaned into him, her firm breasts pressing into his chest. Everything below his waist sprang to attention when she murmured, “Well, we have all night.” 373

His lips touched hers and an explosion of need rocketed through him. Her mouth opened to him, her warm breath mixing with his in sweet surrender. He couldn’t get enough. He nibbled, licked and tasted all of her delicious mouth, and it still wasn’t enough. He wanted, needed all of her. Aching to possess her, he stroked her back, the curve of her hips. With one hand, he caressed her breast, rubbing the nipple to a hardened peak. “How you tempt me.” He sighed, leaning his forehead against hers, and fought for control. “I shouldn’t be doing this.” “Why are you fighting it? We both want this.” “I don’t want to hurt you.” “Explain to me how you’re going to hurt me.” Wrapping his arms tighter around her, he tugged her back against him. “You deserve more than I’m offering you, sweetheart. If I’m not arrested, I’m leaving Friday.” “What I told you the other night still goes.” You’re free, Joe Desalvo. Got it? I never asked you for promises. Didn’t expect any. “I really care for you, Sally. I don’t want to toy with you.” “What if I want to toy with you?” She pushed away. “Don’t I have a say?” Joe swallowed. The dark-eyed beauty was a tempt374

ress. “You’d settle for a one night fl ing?” “Just tell me one thing. Do you or don’t you want me?” In typical Sally fashion, direct and to the point, she’d cut through his noble intentions. He’d give her the truth. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman, and that’s the truth.” Her lips curved into a saucy smile. “Then what are we waiting for?” “I don’t think—” “Don’t think. Just give me this night. Give me the pleasure of making love with a guy who really wants me, who thinks I’m desirable.” Joe gentled his mouth against hers in a soft kiss. “You are desirable. Don’t ever think you aren’t.” Pulling back, he frowned. “You’ve not done this before?” “I’m no virgin, if that’s what you mean.” She averted her eyes, but not before he saw the cloud of sadness in them. “Before the accident, Corky Martin and I thought we were in love.” “This being Corky ‘The Jerk’ Martin?” “Yes, but I didn’t know his full name then.” She smiled, shrugging, once more meeting Joe’s gaze. “It was quite forgettable. Just a quick tumble in the back seat of a Volkswagen Jetta.” Joe may not have known much about cars, but he knew the size of a Volkswagen. “A Jetta? You’d have 375

to be contortionists!” “Well, the operative word was quick.” Joe made up his mind he’d move heaven and earth before he’d be quick with Sally. “You deserve slow, pleasurable, mind-shattering passion.” “Deal,” she whispered, then pointed upstairs. “We’ll have to be quiet.” Blood pounding in his ears, Joe swooped her into his arms and carried her the short distance to her bedroom. Settling her on the bed, he then backtracked to lock the door. When he turned to face her, his breath caught at the sight. Sally lay gazing at him with luminous, trusting eyes, her kiss-bruised lips bending in a tremulous smile. His for the taking. Alarms screamed in his conscience, but he no longer paid them heed. Sally had been right. They deserved one night. Tonight they’d make a memory. But in his gut, Joe feared it wouldn’t be enough. It’d never be enough. Then how was he going to walk away?

Sally floated in Joe’s arms, barely registering the mattress as she sank into the bed. He gazed down at her with such adoration, she nearly cried. Just for tonight, she’d be the woman for Joe. She’d measure up. Somehow, they both were out of their clothes, 376

stretched out side by side on the bedspread. He ran a finger along her jaw, tracing first her face, neck, then shoulder. “So lovely,” he whispered. “Um, thank you.” His mouth followed the trail of his hand, kissing and licking her flesh until she nearly screamed in frustration. She needed him to take her, possess her. But Joe had other plans. He seemed intent on making the night last, lingering over every inch of her body. Not that lingering was bad. No, lingering was good. Lingering was very good. Sally slid her fingers through the dark curls covering Joe’s chest. He spent serious time on the racquetball court, judging from his solid muscles. Her hand met no excess of flesh around his abdomen. She wanted to touch lower, to stroke him as she had before. But Joe’s tongue found her nipple and her thoughts scattered. Just when she’d reached the point of sensation overload, Joe lifted his head from her breasts. Even in the dim bedroom, lit only by the street lamp outside, she saw the heat in his eyes. She met his mouth, kissing him deeply, holding back nothing. Tonight she’d give him everything but the words. He’d know by the depth of her passion how much she loved him. He’d walk away. They both knew it. But he’d have a difficult time forgetting tonight. She’d see to it. “I need you inside me.” 377

“Soon,” he murmured against her lips, not breaking the kiss, while his fingers caressed, probed, and drove her wild with need. His kisses grew bolder, stronger, while his hands worked their magic, until her body tightened from the building tension. She splintered into a thousand pieces, crying out her release into Joe’s mouth. Her hyperventilating finally settled into soft panting. “Now, Joe.” Sally reached to the floor, fumbling around for her fanny pack. “Okay, baby. First, protection.” “Got you covered.” She pulled the condom from her fanny pack. “Pun intended.” “Put it on me?” She ripped apart the foil packet. “With pleasure.” After rolling the latex over his erection, she lay back, spreading open her legs to him. He didn’t disappoint. Moving between her legs, he used his fingers to guide his penis into her slick opening. In one strong plunge, he buried himself. Pain mixed with delicious heat as she moved to accommodate his thickness. Forgotten was the awkward teenage tryst in the back seat of a Volkswagen. This was her first time. Tears spilled from her eyes. Joe’s body stilled. “God, Sally, did I hurt you?” “Not really.” He caressed her face, stroked her jaw. Tasting her 378

lips, he gave her the most tender of kisses. “I want this to be good for you, babe.” “It’s just a female thing. I get emotional.” And she loved him so much. “You’re tight. I should’ve given you time to adjust—” “Shh.” She placed her fingertips over his lips. “I’m not hurt. It’s sort of like a piston with a new set of rings.” “Am I the piston in this metaphor?” “Yeah, or maybe the push rod.” “Push rod. I’m not sure what to say to that.” “Meet me on the upstroke?” “All right.” He kissed her again. Together they found their rhythm, building the pressure inside her until she could no longer wait. She bucked against him, in tune to his every stroke, harder, faster. Thankful that her bed didn’t squeak, she still worried that if her dad were awake, he’d be able to hear. Then she didn’t worry about anything as she claimed her climax. Ripples of pleasure inside her triggered Joe’s release. Biting into his shoulder, she muffled her cries of completion as he sucked in a loud breath. He collapsed against her. “Oh, Sally, baby.” They lay in blissful silence in an intimate embrace. Joe’s heart pounded against hers, his rapid breathing matched her own. Her wildest fantasies of sex with 379

Joe fell short of the real thing. He’d definitely redlined her body’s tachometer. She kissed his neck. “Was that incredible, or what?” “The most incredible, sweetheart. I swear, the most incredible.” Their breathing slowed. They savored each other with tender stroking and gentle kissing. Touching the red marks in his shoulder, she murmured, “Oh, Joe, I’m sorry.” “For what? A little love bite?” “I didn’t realize—” “It doesn’t hurt. Actually, I’m flattered.” “You should be. You drive me totally wild.” Still intimately joined, he grew hard again inside her. She smiled against his neck, heady with her powerful effect on him. “Could we do it again, please?” He chuckled softly in her ear. “I’m certainly up for that.”

Sally leaned over the hood of an Oldsmobile 442, holding the starter in position while Justin bolted it down underneath the engine. For the first time since going to work for her, he’d asked for her help. She hoped it was the shape of things to come. This was her dream, working on automobiles with her dad. 380

“That’s got it,” he called out from the floor. “Okay, I’ll connect the juice.” Gripping the boxend wrench, she tightened the nut that secured the battery cable to the solenoid. Admittedly, auto mechanics was the only work she knew, except for bookkeeping she’d learned at Sullivan Business College. She’d only pursued her Associate Degree upon deciding to buy out Uncle Sal, knowing she’d need a business background. Working, saving, and studying, she’d committed herself to Mustang Sally’s. She’d even sell her precious Mustang for additional capital if it came to that. But working the business with her dad would make all her sacrifices worthwhile. “That should do it.” As Sally pushed away from the fender, she winced. Ouch. Today’s aches and pains had more to do with her wild night of sex than her injured leg. Heat suff used her body just thinking about Joe’s talented hands and delectable mouth. And hard, masculine body. Oh, yes. Cherishing the memory, she refused to dwell on his inevitable departure from her life. She watched the clock, waiting for the work day to end, when she’d meet Joe at the Universal Joint. By then, he’d have turned over the Darrin to Special Agent Ferguson. That should put an end to the attempts on their lives. If only she could put an end to 381

the drain on her business. Before Dan Alsop had opened his shop, Mustang Sally’s had customers waiting in line. In the auto restoration business, demand greatly exceeded supply. Unfortunately, her new competitor had launched a campaign to lure away her customer base, undercutting her prices and eliminating a lot of work with his great finds. Sally needed him to be guilty of fraud and murder. If he was, could the FBI prove it and prosecute? If he wasn’t, who’d killed Roy and Vic? And Leo? The ringing of the telephone jarred her from her thoughts. She hobbled to her office to answer. Ellen Kennedy’s cultured voice greeted her. “Sally? I’d like to make an appointment for routine maintenance on my Packard.” “When is convenient for you?” A pang of guilt clutched Sally, remembering she and Joe had yet to admit to the counterfeit engine. “Will you be driving it over?” “That’s what I wanted to ask. Could you possibly arrange to have it picked up?” “Absolutely.” Snatching a pen from her desk, Sally checked her grease-stained month-at-a-glance desk calendar. “I could send Justin over Friday morning. Does that work for you?” “Justin?” “His name’s Justin Clay. I call him Dad.” 382

Ellen laughed. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.” “Just remember, Ellen, my dad is a widower.” Sally grinned at Ellen’s friendly banter. She’d felt an instant affinity toward the woman, a feeling Ellen seemed to reciprocate. “A rather handsome widower.” “That’s right. You told me the other night. While on the subject of handsome men, have you and Joe Desalvo worked out your differences yet?” Sally’s skin burned just thinking about the night in her bed. They’d most definitely worked things out— and in. “I’d say our friendship is mended.” “Good. Tell Justin I’ll have the garage door open Friday morning.” Sally jotted the appointment on her calendar, along with Ellen’s telephone number, and ended the call. Just as she pushed herself to her feet, the telephone rang again. Flopping back into her chair, she answered. “Miss Clay? Special Agent Ferguson. I ran that plate for you.” “Anyone we know?” “Are you familiar with the Federal Drivers Privacy Protection Act?” “Yeah, yeah. So you can’t tell me, right?” “Under the circumstances, I’ll share. It’s registered to Daniel Boone Alsop.” “Daniel ‘Boone’ Alsop? Talk about a creative 383

alias.” Sally chewed her bottom lip. “So Barbara Bloom is having an affair with Dan Alsop. Since Leo and Vic are both dead, looks like Barbara is the inside person for Alsop’s scam.” “I told the homicide detective about Alsop’s late night visit with the recently-widowed Mrs. Bloom. Looks like they have a new suspect.” “If Barbara and Vic are lovers, that’s a good motive for Vic’s murder.” Sally swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. This wasn’t an episode of Murder, She Wrote. This was Vic Bloom. The guy had been practically a godfather to Joe. “So will this take the heat off Joe as a suspect?” “At least it gives them another suspect. Speaking of Joe, is he there?” “Joe? No, I thought he was meeting you.” Ferguson hesitated. “So did I.” Fear raised the hair at her nape. “Have you tried his house?” “I reached his voice mail.” A shiver danced up her spine. Joe wouldn’t leave without hearing from the FBI. Something was wrong, very wrong. “May I call you right back?” Sally jotted down Ferguson’s cellular phone number, disconnected, then looked up the number for Leo Desalvo. Lucinda answered on the first ring. “This is Sally. Have you seen Joe?” 384

“Not since he got that message from the police. He was meeting them to pick up the Darrin for the FBI.” Blood roared in her ears. “Where was he meeting them? Where? Do you know?” “Sally, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.” “I just hung up from the FBI, Lucinda. They’re looking for Joe so he can turn over the car to them.” “Oh, my God.”

385

Chapter

e

TW NTY

Joe’s head weighed a ton. How his neck continued to support it mystified him. The mother of all headaches hammered his skull. He forced his heavy eyelids to open, then reached to massage his temples. His hands wouldn’t move. They were bound together behind his back with nylon braided rope. What the hell? A quick glance around identified his surroundings as the rear of a mini-van, complete with darkened side and rear windows. Spots danced in his vision at the shooting pain in his head. The smell of raw gasoline gagged him. Struggling against nausea, he strained to listen to the steady rumbling and vibrations con386

firming that the van was in motion. His back to the driver, he debated turning over. The movement would alert his abductor that he was conscious, but at least Joe would be able to see him. He closed his eyes against the pain. He didn’t have to turn and look. He remembered. The man who’d boldly met him in the police station parking lot was the same man he’d seen kissing Barbara Bloom, the driver of the pickup truck who had nearly killed Sally. Sally. Anguish swept through him at the thought of her. She’d be waiting at the Universal Joint, wondering why he didn’t show. After what they’d shared last night, would she think the worst? That he’d had regrets and was running scared? He’d promised not to hurt her. Would he be able to keep his promise? Would he ever see her again? She’d try to run a check on the pickup truck’s tag number. Would she succeed? Would it matter? Don’t panic, Joe. Keep your head. The van jolted to a stop. The rear door of the van creaked open. Late afternoon sun poured in and clawed at his eyes. He blinked, momentarily blinded. “You’re awake. Good.” The man grabbed Joe’s arm. “Come on. On your feet.” Joe groaned. Every muscle protested the movement, as if he suffered a hangover. Had he been 387

drugged? The guy had walked up to Joe, shaken hands with him, posing as a detective for Jefferson County. Joe, relaxed and off-guard, reacted too late to the assault. He’d sucked in the odorous fumes of the cloth jammed into his face. Chloroform? Stumbling out of the van and onto the rough ground, Joe searched his surroundings. He tried to speak, to ask, Who are you? What do you want? But dry cotton fi lled his throat. “Water,” he rasped. “I’ll get you a drink. Get inside.” He grabbed the nylon rope, pushing Joe to a garage door in the basement of a house. Joe’s brief assessment yielded a nearby country road and a two-level home with a steep driveway leading to a basement garage. Déjà vu. He knew this place, although he’d seen it only in the dark. This was Dan Alsop’s house. The man he now assumed was Dan Alsop prodded Joe to a metal chair. “Sit.” Still weak from whatever had rendered him unconscious, Joe obeyed. More rope materialized. Alsop wrapped it tightly around his ankles. “I’ll be back with a drink of water.” He disappeared upstairs. Joe’s eyes adjusted from the afternoon sun to the dimness of the basement. His gaze swept the utilitarian room, taking in the metal press and chemical baths he’d seen earlier via flash388

light. Twisting, he managed to identify the vehicle behind his chair, not surprised to find the dark pickup with the oversize tool box in the bed. Well, Sally, don’t bother running that license plate. Sally. Joe tried to swallow the lump in his dry throat. What were all those barriers keeping them from being together? He could no longer remember. Oh, yeah. His career. He’d lose his shot at a vice presidency if he didn’t get his nose back to the grindstone. And Sally couldn’t move to Atlanta because— Oh, right. She had a business to run in Louisville. Besides, she wouldn’t be a happy Mrs. Desalvo if Joe left her at home all the time to work late and entertain clients. Mrs. Desalvo? Wow, where had that come from? He experimented a bit with the name and discovered he liked it: Sally Desalvo. Nice ring to it. Ring. If he could escape this nasty mess alive, he’d buy Sally a ring. He’d convince her to marry him. A sudden shift in his emotions calmed him. Careers were empty dreams. Nothing else mattered. If nothing else mattered but convincing Sally to spend the rest of her life with him, that could only mean— “Here’s your drink.” Joe blinked up at his captor. Dan Alsop had removed his jacket and tie, his costume as a county 389

detective. His shirt stank of day-old perspiration. He held a flexible straw to Joe’s mouth. Joe sucked greedily, emptying the glass of water, then regretted it when his stomach roiled in protest. Alsop stomped upstairs again. Instead of returning to Fantasyland, Joe focused on an escape plan. He’d need to get away before he could entertain the idea of a future with Sally. Or any future. Tugging at his ropes, he succeeded in creating a tiny slack, along with a burning pain. The nylon rope had rubbed his wrists raw. The murmur of voices upstairs stilled him. He strained to quiet his breathing in order to hear. Was Alsop on the phone? Did he have an accomplice? A woman spoke in low tones, her throaty voice a testament of years of cigarette smoking. “What were you thinking, Dan? This is kidnapping. Now you’ll have to kill him, you dumbass.” “You said no killing. I was just to scare him and the girl.” “Yeah, and you nearly killed a little old grandmother.” “That was an accident. Besides, I got away, so don’t call me a dumbass.” “Yeah? What about Vic?” Dan raised his voice. “I didn’t kill Vic! I told you.” “Then who did?” 390

“Baby, we talked about this last night. I may bend the law a bit, but I’m no killer.” Bend the law a bit? Assuming that was Barbara Bloom upstairs, Joe was in deep trouble. They needed him to take them to the Darrin. Without it, the FBI would have to find another faked collectible. With it, Joe Desalvo was dead meat. They couldn’t afford to let him go. Their footsteps thundered down the stairs. Dan yanked at his arm. “It’s almost dark. Let’s take a little ride, kid. See if we can find ourselves a Kaiser Darrin.”

Special Agent Adam Ferguson’s promise to find Joe failed to calm Sally’s panic. No one in local law enforcement had contacted Joe about retrieving the Darrin. Sally needed to talk to Lucinda and Grandma, who’d taken the bogus call. An overwhelming sense of urgency pushed Sally to join the hunt on her own. But she’d have to get past her bodyguard father. “Justin, I need to run an errand.” He slammed down the hood on the Olds. “I’m not drunk and I’m not stupid.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You’re upset. What’s happened?” With a resigned sigh, Sally told him. “I have to 391

find Joe. He’s in danger.” “And put yourself in danger, too?” He moved to her, gripping her shoulders, as if he wanted to shake her. The concern in his eyes threatened what was left of her composure. Her father did love her. Joe’d been right. She cleared the sob in her throat. “If I have to.” “Then I’m comin’ with you. Close the shop.” Within minutes they were speeding toward the Desalvos’ home. Her father drove his pickup expertly through the afternoon rush hour traffic. He’d maintained the old Ford even though he hadn’t driven it a lot in the past few years. Under different circumstances, Sally would’ve enjoyed the ride. Justin Clay still had the driving skills of a racer, seamlessly taking the truck through its gears, fearlessly passing slower traffic. She gave him directions, pleased she remembered correctly, since both times she’d been there, she’d ridden with Joe. After her father parked the truck, Sally slid from the high cab to the ground. Lucinda rushed outside to greet them. “Thank you for coming.” The agitated woman’s face wore the strain of too much worry. “Come inside.” “We’re greasy. You’d better put us in lawn chairs.” Lucinda shook her head. “Nonsense. I was married to a car enthusiast, remember?” As they stepped inside the airy kitchen, Sally detected the aroma of fresh baked bread. Joe had said his 392

mother handled stress by cooking. “Lucinda Desalvo, meet my father, Justin Clay.” Justin wiped his palm against his overalls, then offered Lucinda his hand. “Mrs. Desalvo.” “Lucinda, please.” She shook hands. “I see the family resemblance. I know your brother Sal.” “And this is Elinor Casale, Joe’s grandmother.” Sally drew in a sharp breath at Grandma’s appearance. Gone was the spark in her lively eyes. “I took the call.” “I know.” Sally moved beside Grandma and hugged her. “Was it a man or woman?” “A smooth-talking man.” Grandma’s voice faltered. “This isn’t your fault, Mama.” Lucinda’s pale skin and the lines at her mouth and eyes revealed her worry over her son’s safety. “If Joe didn’t know the guy wasn’t on the level, how could you?” Sally led Grandma to a chair. “Don’t upset yourself. We’re going to find Joe.” Lucinda tried to play hostess, offering them seats and cold drinks. But this was no social call and Sally wasn’t about to jeopardize those white upholstered chairs. Declining her hospitality, Sally got down to business. “Lucinda, whoever’s got Joe wants the Darrin. We need to know where he hid it.” Lucinda frowned. “He didn’t tell us.” “He told me he had it stashed in a horse barn in 393

Simpsonville. Any ideas where?” “Fia has a friend who once lived on a farm in Simpsonville. I don’t remember how to get there.” Grandma pointed at Lucinda. “You talking about little Angie Gayle, who rode in horse shows with Sofia?” “Yes, but what was her last name?” “Call Fia.” But when Lucinda telephoned her daughter at the veterinarian’s office, Fia was tangling with a Doberman and unable to take the call. “That’s all right, Lucinda, just tell her to wait for us. We’re on our way.” Lucinda scribbled directions to the clinic on a ruled pad, tore off the sheet, then thrust it at Sally. “Have Fia call me. Is there anything else I can do?” Sally dug in her fanny pack for Special Agent Ferguson’s business card. She read off the cell phone number. “Call him and tell him where we’re headed. I’ll phone him with the directions after I talk to Fia.” Ignoring the stiffness in her leg, Sally rushed to the pickup. With a boost from her dad, she pulled herself up into the cab. He had the truck in motion before she’d clicked on her seatbelt. The silence between them grew unbearable. Sally gripped her hands together. “By the way, I need you to pick up a Packard Caribbean at Ellen Kennedy’s house Friday morning. She needs points, plugs, and an oil 394

change. Maybe a grease job, too.” He snorted. “Since when do we have a tow truck?” Sally smiled at his use of we. “We don’t. I suppose I’ll drop you by there and you can drive the Packard back.” “Who’s Ellen Kennedy?” An attractive widow. No, she’d not play matchmaker. She’d let nature take its course. “She’s one of the victims in this scam, although she doesn’t know it yet.” “Another counterfeit engine?” “Afraid so. I’m sure Bloom Desalvo assets will be seized and restitution made after the FBI finishes its case.” “You’re talkin’ like your cousin Maggie.” Sally sighed. “The last couple of weeks have taught me a thing or two about the law, an education I’d just as soon have skipped, thank you very much.” No, not true. If not for the FBI’s case, she’d never have met Joe. “So this Kennedy woman could be in danger, too, if the FBI wants the Caribbean?” “I hadn’t thought of that. She doesn’t know.” Sally shivered, wondering if the killer would go after the Caribbean after he destroyed the Darrin. “We should warn her.” “Let the FBI handle it.” Although the veterinarian’s office was closed when 395

they arrived, Fia met them at the door and ushered them inside the waiting room. Already queasy from fear, Sally gagged at the odors of urine and wet fur. “I just talked to Mom. Do you really think something’s happened to Joey?” “I’m afraid so. Did she tell you what we need?” Belatedly, Sally made introductions. Brendan joined Fia beside the counter and Fia explained to him what Sally and Justin were doing at his clinic after hours. “And you think Fia’s brother is in danger?” Brendan asked. “He could be.” Sally turned to Fia. “Angie Gayle. Does she have a last name? Would her family still have a horse farm near Simpsonville?” “Angie Gayle Culpepper. Her parents retired and moved to Florida, but the property is still theirs. I told Joe how to find it the night Grandma was shot. He wanted to hide that stupid car so no one else would get hurt. I called Angie Gayle myself and made the arrangements. She met him there and drove him home.” Brendan frowned. “You didn’t tell me that.” “You were right there in the waiting room. I thought you heard us.” Judging from Fia’s impatience with Brendan, she was worried sick about her brother. “Anyway, I wrote down the directions for you. Please take my cell phone and let me know the minute you find Joe. I’ll be at Mom’s.” 396

“Thanks,” Sally said. “What can I do to help?” Brendan asked. “Call the cops,” Sally yelled as she hurried out the door. The next minute, she and her father were speeding toward the interstate, headed east toward Simpsonville. She’d forgotten to call Ferguson. Studying the small telephone Fia had thrust in her hands, Sally keyed in his number. Nothing happened. She studied the phone again, noting the number she wanted in the display. Dammit, how did these gizmos work? She pushed a button with SEND in green letters. The cell phone beeped to life. “Ferguson.” “It’s Sally Clay. I think I’ve located the Darrin. Joe may have been forced to go there.” “That’s about how we figured it. Desalvo’s car was found parked in one of the Jeff County substation lots. Tell me where you’re headed. We’re on our way.” Sally read him the directions Fia had written. “Look for Culpepper on the mailbox.” As she punched END to turn off the call, Sally shivered. The Feds were a long way from Simpsonville. What would she and her father face when they found Joe? And would they be in time? She’d read between the lines, knew what Ferguson wasn’t telling her. When Joe led the killer to the 397

Darrin, he was a dead man. No crook with any brains would release Joe to fi le kidnap charges against him. She also knew kidnapping carried the same penalty as murder, so he had nothing to lose by killing Joe. Sally closed her eyes and prayed. Please, God, keep Joe safe. I can give him up, but not this way. Please, not this way. Her father’s voice broke through her meditation. “What do you expect us to do, Sally? Confront a killer? I don’t have a gun.” “We need to slow him down. As long as Joe’s all right, we can wait for Ferguson to bring the police.” “This is dangerous. I should pull over and stop now, and let the cops rescue Joe.” “Dad, please, I can’t let anything happen to him—” Sally choked, unable to finish the thought. “Why?” Sally’s jaw dropped. She and her dad were actually having dialogue. How long had that been going on? She was so focused on the danger to Joe, she’d forgotten her estranged relationship with her dad. She gave him an honest answer. “Because I love him.” “I figured as much. He ask you to marry him?” Sally spun to face him. “Marry him? No, and I wouldn’t if he asked.” “Why not?” Justin asked, staring at the highway. “I don’t fit in his world.” 398

“Don’t think he’s too good for you, girl.” “I didn’t say I wasn’t good enough. I said I don’t fit in his world. He’s been offered a vice-presidency at the investment firm where he works. It’s his dream job. A grease-monkey wife would hardly be an asset.” “He say that?” Justin concentrated on passing a string of semis. “No.” “Well, let him decide what he wants.” “No, I love him too much to hold him back.” She glanced at the speedometer. “Do you know how fast you’re driving?” “Of course I know. You said we can’t wait for the cops.” “Well, I guess if they pull us over, we can take them with us.”

Joe twisted against his bindings, attempting to stretch the nylon rope. He’d hoped to buy some time, to develop a plan. A lot of help his education was now. Maybe he could lull Dan Alsop and Barbara Bloom to sleep by talking ladder bonds and T- bills. He’d chosen the old Culpepper farm because it was deserted. No one lived here to come to his rescue. And only Fia and Angie Gayle knew he’d stowed the 399

Darrin in the vacant horse barn. By the time either would have reason to tell anyone, it’d be too late. He directed Barbara and Dan to the Simpsonville exit, then the county roads leading to the farm. Barbara said nothing to him. Occasionally, she glanced at him, a look of regret in her eyes. But Joe was fresh out of sympathy for the woman. Had his dad uncovered her greedy nature and died for it? Judging from the earlier conversation he’d overheard between Barbara and Dan, or whatever his name was, she had the stomach for murder. Dan disavowed any killing. So had Barbara killed Vic and Roy Bishop? Joe and Sally had assumed the hit-andrun attempt, the arson, and the shooting were all the work of Roy’s killer. Joe had no doubt that his own life hung in jeopardy now, but was another killer out there? And was Sally in danger? If so, who, and why? His head throbbed from the unanswered questions. The minivan pulled to a stop at the farm’s driveway. Barbara leveled a small-caliber pistol at Joe while Dan jumped out to unchain the gate. Joe’s gaze slid from the pistol to Barbara’s face. Yes, she could kill. Her empty eyes stared back at him with no emotion. Joe was in deep trouble.

400

Faded letters on the mailbox spelled Culpepper. Although vacant, the farm appeared to suffer little from neglect. The fading sunlight cast a golden glow over the three-story farm house and the split rail fence that bordered the yard. “I’ll get the gate,” Sally said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Stay put.” Her father sprang from the truck. The growing darkness made it difficult for Sally to follow his movements, but using the headlights was too risky. They didn’t know what they’d find at the Culpepper horse barn. At least they’d have the element of surprise, not that Sally or her dad had formulated a plan. They’d have to wing it from there. He left the gate open and idled the truck slowly down the gravel driveway. Forking, the gravel gave way to dirt in one direction. Sally squinted at Fia’s notes. “Take the dirt road past the paddock.” Beyond the fenced enclosure, Sally pointed to a weed-choked clearing that had once been the parking area. A dark blue Dodge Caravan sat next to the double doors of the barn’s entrance. The unlatched doors stood ajar. Her father cut the pickup’s engine, then coasted to a stop beside the minivan. “You know how to cut the juice, right?” Sally immediately understood. He wanted her to disable the minivan. She waited while her father 401

unscrewed the dome light inside the cab, then slid open the back window to disable the cargo light. Then Sally opened her door and slipped to the ground, clutching a pair of wire snips. “What are you going to do?” “You sabotage, I’ll do recon.” He closed his door with a soft click. “Wait out here.” Sally wasted no time dropping to the ground, then wiggling beneath the Caravan’s chassis. Without adequate light, she could only feel her way around. Her hand closed over two wire leads to the gas tank. One would be for the fuel gauge, the other for the electric fuel pump. Sally clipped both, then wove the wires back through the undercarriage to prevent a speedy repair. Some other time she’d think about how her father had teamed up with her to find Joe, how they’d worked together, putting aside their differences. She’d want to savor the memory. But there was no time now to enjoy the progress they’d made. She scrabbled out from beneath the Caravan, anxious to watch for her dad and study their surroundings. Unzipping her fanny pack, she shoved the wire snips into the cramped bag with her wallet, Fia’s cell phone, and the transmitter. Transmitter? The self-defense stun gun Uncle Sal had given her! No, not a stun gun. A device offering a new level of non-lethal personal protection. Palming the device, she tucked the cell phone 402

under her chin, then hobbled to the shadows against the side of the wooden barn. Her knee cried out in agony, but she ignored it. Where was her dad? If he wasn’t back by the time she counted to fifty, she’d have to sneak inside. Straining to listen, she heard no sounds from the huge barn. Carefully, she keyed in Special Agent Ferguson’s cell phone number, which she’d now committed to memory, then pressed SEND. She shouldered the phone to her ear. It blasted a rapid beeping signal. Jerking it from her head, she read the displayed message: No Service. Punching END, she stuffed the phone into her fanny pack, praying the FBI and local posse were on their way. With both Brendan and Ferguson calling, the authorities should be there soon. Her father hadn’t returned, and the count was way past fifty. Sally’s breathing quickened, her heart raced. Her instincts told her she was on her own. Alone. With a death grip on the self-defense device, she drew in a deep breath, held it, then slithered between the doors into the dark barn.

Joe had worked his hands free of the nylon rope, but held them behind him, biding his time. He hadn’t a lot of time to bide, however, now that Barbara and 403

Dan had the Darrin. Earlier, Joe had been encouraged when Dan removed the bindings from his legs again so he could walk, although Barbara still held a gun on him. But his prospects faded when Dan grabbed a five-gallon gasoline can from the minivan. The couple hadn’t come to take the Darrin; they’d come to destroy it, and Joe with it. He held no heroic aspirations of overpowering the two and saving the day. All he hoped for at this point was to escape the fire after they fled. If he could make it to the tack room, he could escape through its lone window, the window he hoped his abductors hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t much, but was his only plan. Their only source of light was a battery-powered lantern, which Barbara stood on the barn floor. Dan drizzled gasoline over the Darrin’s upholstery and convertible top, then over the surrounding straw. Dry straw inside an old wooden barn would flare up in seconds. In order to reach the tack room, Joe would have to get past the car. He hoped the gas tank didn’t erupt before he escaped. “Hold it right there!” Barbara’s voice chilled him with its flat, cold command. Joe stiffened. But she hadn’t addressed him. She aimed her gun at a man emerging from the shadows. Joe figured he was a hapless neighbor who’d come to check on the prowlers at the Culpeppers’ barn. It was 404

too dark to see the man’s face, but Joe made out light colored overalls. “Dan, tie him up. Looks like this fire will claim two victims.” Dan slung the empty can into a pile of straw, then pulled out the length of rope he’d removed from Joe’s legs. He cut it in two and used it to bind the man’s hands and feet. Great. Joe couldn’t leave the man tied up once Dan and Barbara fled the fire. He’d have to untie him and hope they both got out before smoke overtook them. Joe glanced at the man, who stared back at him. Recognition shot through him, along with a surge of hope. Justin Clay! Joe feigned lack of interest and turned his attention to Barbara. In the barn’s dark interior, she probably wouldn’t recognize Justin. He hoped. Dan returned to the Darrin. “You sure you want it this way, baby?” “Just do it, Dan.” Dan exhaled a loud breath. “Give me a light.” Joe risked another glimpse at Justin when Barbara pitched Dan her cigarette lighter. Justin’s gaze slid toward the door. He expected someone. Had he brought along the cavalry? Or— Sally! Somehow, Sally had engineered a rescue. Joe was as certain of it as he’d been of anything in his 405

life. Fiercely loyal and full of love, Sally would track him down, without a thought to her own safety. Fear gripped him. She was no match for these two. And he couldn’t lose her now. He’d never told her he loved her. His stubborn heart had denied it. Too long. But maybe, just maybe, not too late. Whatever Sally and Justin planned, Joe prayed to God she wasn’t coming in alone.

Sally stayed next to the inside wall, moving silently. She resisted the urge to dust off the spider webs clawing at her, draping her with— No, she’d rather not think about captured bugs or furry spiders. She edged toward the voices, trying to identify the players. She’d not seen her dad, nor heard his voice. Was he all right? Had he been knocked unconscious? Then she saw him in the shadows, with his hands bound in front of him, his head hung low. To his right, Joe leaned against bales of straw, his hands behind his back. Both were alive, thank God. Spotlighted by a single lantern, Barbara held them at gunpoint. Her accomplice, the man she’d embraced last night in her living room, the man Sally assumed to be Dan Alsop, turned to Barbara and spoke. Sally had to make a move, but she’d have to go after the man. He was 406

closer. Unfortunately, Barbara held the gun. “Give me a light,” Dan said. Sally expected Barbara to hand him the battery powered lantern, the barn’s only source of light. Just then, the too-familiar odor of raw gasoline wafted from the straw. Barbara tossed him a tiny object. Give me a light. The horrible picture came into focus. Barbara and Dan were setting fire to the barn, leaving Joe and her dad to die in the flames. The man held the lighter to the gasoline-soaked straw, poised to fl ick the Bic. Suddenly, the barn door slammed open. Another man barged in, making no attempt to hide his presence. As he drew near Barbara, the lantern’s dim light illuminated his face. Sally stifled a gasp. She knew this man. What was he doing here? “Mother, thank God I got here in time! I’ll take care of these two.” Joe’s loud gasp mirrored Sally’s own reaction. Barbara Bloom’s long lost son knew exactly how to get here, dammit, because his fiancée had written down the directions less than an hour earlier. And he’d offered to help. Brendan Price aimed a gun at his future brotherin-law’s head. Sally’s spirits nose-dived. He wouldn’t have called police. Ferguson was their only hope now. “What do you mean, you’ll take care of them?” 407

Barbara demanded. Keeping his gun on Joe, Brendan tugged Barbara close and kissed her cheek. “I’ve taken care of all the people, Mother. Don’t worry. Nobody can expose or hurt you now.” Barbara kept her voice calm, but her fingers tightened into whiteness against her pistol. “What, exactly, have you done, Brendan?” “I’ve eliminated the obstacles to your plan. Well, except for—” He stopped, frowning. His gaze swept the circle of people assembled at the Darrin. Sally didn’t dare breathe. The hammering of her pulse was probably loud enough to give away her presence. “Where is she? Where’s Sally?” “Sally? She’s not here, son. Now tell me. Did you kill anybody?” “Of course. I had to shoot that mechanic so I could get those Polaroids for you. And Vic, of course—” “You killed Vic?” Barbara rasped. “Why?” “He stood in your way. He had no ambition. That’s what you said.” “But, Brendan, I never said to kill him.” Funny, coming from a woman about to commit two murders. “He found out about the cars, just like Leo. And you said Leo had to die, remember? I helped you.” 408

Even in darkness, Sally saw Joe go rigid. “You killed my dad?” The rest of the puzzle pieces snapped into place. A dozen yards separated Sally and Joe, but she sensed his rage as he figured out how his father had died. The bogus break-in at Brendan’s clinic to cover up the missing Succinylcholine Chloride. The pieces of a discarded hypodermic. No forced entry. Brendan had supplied his mother with the drug to disable Leo. Using Leo’s own gun, Barbara staged his suicide after he was dead. But Sally couldn’t afford to let Leo’s murder preoccupy her thoughts. There was no time to lose. She needed to act now, while Barbara distracted Brendan. Forcing her stiff muscles into action, Sally lunged toward Brendan, thumbing the button as she rammed the self-defense device into his neck. He dropped to his knees, immobilized, then collapsed. Sally stumbled, nearly falling over him. “No!” Barbara screamed, spinning toward Brendan and Sally. In the harsh light of the lantern, her eyes widened at Brendan’s still body. Although restrained, Sally’s father dropped and rolled into Dan, knocking him down. At the same moment, Joe jumped Barbara. Somehow he’d freed himself and rushed Barbara, grabbing for her arm. Her face flushed with rage, Barbara held onto the gun 409

and fired. The bullet slammed into Sally’s chest. Scorching heat seared her lungs. Slumping to the floor, she struggled to breathe. A gurgling noise fi lled her ears, drowning out the distant sounds of a struggle. She coughed, then wished she hadn’t. The pain. The taste of warm blood. More gurgling. She strained to listen as noises from outside penetrated her fog of pain. Sirens cried faintly in the distance, growing louder. Ferguson and troops. Good. Joe and her father would be safe now. Closing her eyes, Sally surrendered to the darkness.

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With an outer form block, a Tai Kwon Do move he’d all but forgotten, Joe deflected the pistol to the side, but not before Barbara got off a shot. His ears ringing from the blast, he seized her wrist with both hands and pivoted, ramming her straightened arm into his shoulder. With his back to her, he heard the crack of her bone as she let go of the pistol. The entire move took mere seconds, but for Joe time stood still. Sally was down and he had to see about her. His shoulder hurt like hell, but nothing like Barbara’s arm, judging from her scream. He considered going for the gun. He wanted to blow her murderous 411

brains out, but she wasn’t worth it. Ignoring her string of curses, he ran to where Sally lay. Motionless. Oh, Christ, no! “Untie me, dammit!” Justin roared, lying in a clump atop a squirming Dan Alsop. “Wait.” Joe held up his hand, his gaze never leaving Sally. He stooped over her, touching her carotid artery. A pulse, thank God. Blood oozed from her mouth and chest. Terror and helplessness swept through him as he pressed his fingers against her wound to staunch the bleeding. “Stay with us, Sally. Please. I love you. Can you hear me? I love you, sweetheart.” Special Agent Ferguson burst through the door, followed by Shelby County police, heading for Dan, Barbara, and Brendan. An officer shooed Joe away, and applied a folded bandage against Sally’s wound. Her blood still warm and sticky on Joe’s fingers, he staggered back. He didn’t want to leave her side, but he’d do nothing to impede her speedy treatment. She couldn’t die. She couldn’t! Standing, he swerved, dizziness nearly claiming him. “Steady, sir,” the officer said. “You’ve had a shock.” Frantic, Justin crawled his way toward them. Joe fought his lightheadedness and rushed to him, then unknotted the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. Justin stormed through the cluster of people where his daughter lay, ashen and lifeless. He knelt beside her. 412

“I’ve radioed for Life Flight,” one of the officers said. “It’s a chest wound.” Ferguson cursed. “Where are the paramedics?” “Will she—make it?” Justin asked. The anguish in Justin Clay’s voice matched the pain in Joe’s heart. His earlier complaints with the man forgotten, Joe gripped his shoulder. Bonded by their love for brave Sally, they waited for the officer’s answer. “Depends, sir. But the EMTs are right behind us.” Justin Clay lowered his head. His shoulder trembled against Joe’s hand as he wept. Two paramedics pushed them all aside, taking over from the officer applying pressure to her wound. Joe’s mind flashed to Sally’s description of pit stops. Focused and organized, the paramedics had her on a stretcher, hooked up to oxygen and two IVs, and loaded onto the helicopter within minutes, precious minutes in the race to save Sally’s life.

The University of Louisville Hospital on Jackson Street was unfamiliar territory for Joe. In an old section of downtown Louisville, it was a long drive from Anchorage. An even longer drive from Simpsonville. 413

Thank God for Life Flight. The busy emergency room had been unusually quiet. “It should’ve been me.” Joe fl inched at the sound of Justin Clay’s voice. The man hadn’t spoken for hours, not since they began their vigil in the surgery waiting room. “How’s that?” “I should’ve taken that bullet. She was supposed to wait outside.” Joe rubbed his gritty eyes. He wasn’t up to reassuring the man. As far as he was concerned, Justin was right. Sally shouldn’t be fighting for her life. “We can’t reinvent history, Justin.” “I wish I could. I’d rewind nine years.” Joe didn’t need this right now. If Justin needed to talk, he should find a priest. But Sally wanted her father’s recovery more than anything. She’d want Joe to hear him out. “And do what?” “Be stronger. I’m a weak man.” “Did you know she blames herself for ruining your life?” Justin recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “What? She said that?” “She believes you’re disgusted by the sight of her leg because it reminds you of how she screwed up your big chance to race in Winston Cup.” Justin cursed. “I’m disgusted, all right. Her scars 414

remind me of what a worthless son-of-a-bitch father I am.” “That’s not the way she sees it.” Justin’s hands trembled as he finger-combed his hair. “I dragged her from track to track, chasing a pipe dream. Hell, I’s already too old. I probably had one year in me, at best. I ruined her life.” “Then why the cold shoulder?” “I wanted her to hate me. Hell, the harder I pushed her, the nicer she treated me. I don’t know why. I sure didn’t deserve it.” “She believed you hated her and she deserved your rejection. God, Justin, couldn’t the two of you have talked during the last nine years? Seems to me you’ve been at cross-purposes.” “Amen to that.” Sal Clay plopped down in the seat opposite his brother. “Came as soon as you called. Any news yet?” “No.” Justin dropped his gaze. “She’s in surgery.” “All we know is the bullet penetrated one of her lungs. There’s internal bleeding.” Joe choked back a sob. “They inserted a chest tube to drain the lung, then rushed her to surgery to repair something they called a massive hemothorax.” Sal shook his head. “Damn. What happened out there, anyway?” When Justin didn’t answer, Joe fi lled Sal in on the 415

showdown at the Culpepper farm. Sal spewed a colorful line of profanity. “I bought her the damn stun device for self defense, hopin’ she’d never need it.” Justin glared at his brother. “I know. She pulled it on me once.” “Chill, guys. There’s plenty of guilt to go around.” Joe shook his head, still reeling from Brendan’s revelations back in the horse barn. “Brendan was going to kill us. Sally saved our lives with that tazer.” “Nobody knew nothin’ about Barbara havin’ an illegitimate son. She didn’t know he killed Roy and Vic?” Sal asked. “No, she seemed shocked, although she’d enlisted his help in getting the drug to kill Dad.” Sal shook his head. “Well, at least now we know your dad didn’t kill himself. Never could figure him for a suicide, anyway.” “That’s what most people said.” “What about the fi re and your grandmother?” Sal asked. “Was that Brendan?” Joe shook his head no. “Dan Alsop, or whoever he is. He claims he had nothing to do with the killings, but it was his truck Sally saw speeding away the night of the fire, or at least we think so. She called it a Toyota Tacoma. And it was definitely the truck that I saw trying to run her down on Watterson Trail.” Justin broke his sullen silence. “He was ready to 416

kill you and me.” And Sally had run to their rescue. Joe swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. “I still can’t believe Barbara would kill to protect their scam. Dad was Vic’s best friend. God, she was greedy.” Sal shook his head. “I think it went deeper than greed, Joey. Barbara never got over Leo. Vic once told me he knew he’d been her second choice.” “So you think Dad’s murder was a crime of passion?” Another unanswered question to muddy the waters, Joe thought. “Who knows for sure? But if Leo messed up her plans all those years ago by marryin’ your mother, then threatened her latest plans with Dan Alsop—” Sal shrugged. “And Brendan knew about Dad’s murder, so he was covering her tracks.” Joe sighed. Boy, had his grandmother been a good judge of character. She’d despised Brendan just as she’d loved Sally. From now on, he’d pay close attention to Grandma’s instincts. After a short silence, Sal tapped Justin’s knee. “Let’s step outside for a smoke.” “No.” “We can’t leave, Sal,” Joe added. Sal nodded. “I know. Have you told Lucinda?” “Yeah. Fia was there when I called. Mom’s concerned about her and the shock of Brendan’s role in this 417

mess. Imagine finding out her fiancé helped kill Dad.” An uneasy silence stretched between the three men. A couple came into the waiting room, anxious and fidgeting. Nodding a greeting, they moved to the far corner of the waiting room to sit. Neither spoke, and soon picked up some of the year-old magazines lying about the room. Wonder if they, too, waited for news of someone whose life hang in limbo? Finally, Sal spoke. “What about the Kaiser Darrin? What happens to it now?” “I’ve had enough of that Darrin to last a lifetime.” Joe gripped the metal arms of the rigid waiting room chair. “Anyway, right now it’s confiscated evidence.” But Sal wouldn’t let the subject rest. “When you finally get it back, Sally could restore it for you. Then you could sell it for a decent price.” Joe nodded. Sally could do whatever she wanted with the Darrin, just as long as she pulled through surgery and was around to work on it. He’d give her carte blanche. “So what’s next for you, Joey? You headed back to Atlanta now that Leo’s murder is solved?” Joe glared at Sal. He was really asking about Joe’s intentions toward Sally. Didn’t he know what Joe felt for her? “I can’t plan the rest of my life until I know Sally’s all right.” Without her, what was the point? 418

Voices funneled through her head. Odors of adhesive and antiseptic wafted through her windpipe. Gentle stroking soothed her hand. She needed to see, to ask, but it was too much effort. Drifting, floating, she retreated. The next time Sally awakened, her eyes opened. Fuzzy shapes became people. No one she recognized. A woman leaned over her and smiled. “Miss Clay? Are you awake?” Her throat ached. She tried to move her parched lips. She had so many questions. She couldn’t form the words. Searching the woman’s eyes, she tried to make her understand what she needed. Her arms wouldn’t move and her chest throbbed. “Honey, you’re in the hospital. Do you remember getting shot?” Sally’s blinked furiously. Shot? She needed to know about that. A beeping sound picked up tempo. The woman looked beyond Sally and frowned. “Relax. Don’t excite yourself.” Joe? Dad? Are they safe? Why couldn’t she form the words? “You have family here to see you but we’ll keep their visits short. Do you feel up to visitors?” Sally 419

managed a nod. The woman smiled. “All right.” She blinked. A very pregnant woman stood beside Uncle Sal, her dark brown hair the same shade as Sally’s. Her pixie face bore a smile, but it seemed forced. “Look who’s here, Sally. Your cousin Maggie.” “Hi, Sally. You hurry up and get well before I have this kid.” Maggie patted herself on her swollen abdomen. “And I mean hurry.” Sally attempted a smile. Why wouldn’t her muscles obey her? The beeping picked up its pace as her frustration grew. What was that annoying beep, anyway? “We’d better go,” Uncle Sal said. “We don’t want to tire you. But we’ll be back.” Leaning over as much as her swollen body would allow, Maggie kissed Sally’s cheek. “Love you, sweetie.” Sally blinked again. Or had she dozed? Her father had replaced Sal and Maggie. She’d never seen him so disheveled, even on his worst drunken spree. But he wasn’t drunk. And he was alive, thank God. “Doctor says you’re drugged and probably won’t remember any of this, but I’m gonna say it anyway. I love you.” He stopped. Tears spilled from his reddened eyes. “I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry you didn’t know that. I’m sorry I failed you.” She tried to speak, to soothe his distress. But the only noise from her was a gagging sound. The inside of her mouth was like a Brillo pad. 420

He swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I didn’t tell you this before, but I’ve gone back to the doctor and am getting help so I won’t be a burden to you no more. I’m taking care of the shop for you, too, so don’t worry. Okay, that’s it. I have to go now.” Stunned, Sally watched him leave. Without a doubt she was tripping on some kind of medication. And that was quite a dream she’d just had. The drugs produced other dreams, like Ellen Kennedy standing over her beside Sally’s father. Aunt Susan and Uncle Sal. One dream stood out in her memory, even after some of her other hallucinations faded. Joe Desalvo held her hand. Thank God he was safe! He said he wanted to spend his life with her. He loved her. That was one hell of a dream. And a recurring one. Joe’s handsome face hovered over hers, his eyes bloodshot and droopy. He’d tell her he loved her. His job in Atlanta no longer mattered as long as he and Sally could be together. But why? she wanted to ask. Instead, she’d slide back into the darkness. Why did she keep having the Joe dream? She struggled to sort it out in her befuddled mind. All dreams carried a message, right? If Joe wanted marriage, why now? Nothing had changed between them except she’d nearly gotten herself killed. When Sally injured her leg, her dad gave up his dream to be with 421

her. Now she’d been shot and Joe was offering to give up his dream to be with her. No way, José. She wouldn’t be an instrument to ruining Joe’s career. She loved him too much to interfere with his big promotion. He’d already sacrificed enough. He deserved the vice-presidency and the right kind of wife. Thoughts of Joe with another woman knifed through her, but she’d get over it. She’d have to. She’d always known she wouldn’t fit in his world. In time he’d understand his confused emotions. Quick to assume responsibility, Joe blamed himself for Sally’s wound and mistook it for love. He needed to return to his world, get back to normal. Out of sight, out of mind. Oh, if only it were that easy for her.

Doctor Singer drew Joe aside in a private consultation room no larger than a closet. “The patient’s father gave me permission to speak to you about Miss Clay’s condition. We’ve repaired the hemothorax. She’s lost a lot of blood, but she should be out of ICU now and into a room.” “I don’t understand. Did the surgery not do what it’s supposed to do?” “The surgery went fine. I’d expect Miss Clay to 422

heal in record time. She’s physically fit, obviously works out. With her upper body strength, she should be farther along in her recovery. But she’s not improving from the breathing treatments and we don’t want to risk moving her yet.” Sweat beaded Joe’s forehead. His pulse thundered in his ears. “What are you saying?” “I’m going to have to bar you from visiting her.” Stop seeing Sally? “B—but, why?” “I’m sorry.” The doctor shook his head, giving Joe a sad smile. “But according to the staff, she becomes very agitated when you visit. Her emotional state is critical to her recovery. Her healing seems to regress after you see her.” Joe reeled from his words. “I’d never do anything to hurt Sally.” The doctor held up his hand. “No one’s accusing you. The fact remains that in your presence, Sally becomes distraught.” Distraught? The BLT sandwich Joe had grabbed at the cafeteria turned to granite in his stomach. “If you’re saying that my visits harm her, I’ll stay away. No questions asked. But I wish I understood why I’ve upset her.” “Perhaps when she’s better, we’ll know more.” Joe handed the doctor one of his business cards. “My home numbers and e-mail address are on the 423

back. Please contact me when you think she’s up to seeing me. It’s very important.” Doctor Singer smiled. “Are you her fiancé?” “Yes.” Joe shook hands with the doctor as they stood. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

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Sally eased into her cotton sweater and padded to the chilly kitchen. The tidy counters gleamed from a recent scrubbing. A fresh citrus scent tickled her nostrils. During her hospital stay, Justin Clay had turned into Mr. Clean. Even the ashtrays were empty and spotless. He sat at the table, staring at his coffee. “Dad?” His frown deepened. “Should you be up?” He’d asked her that every day since she’d been released from the hospital. She gave him the same answer. “Certainly. The doctor said not to spend too much time lying down. Is today Saturday?” 425

“Yeah. Want breakfast? I have some of that French toast you stick in the toaster.” French toast? Had he remembered? She grinned. “I’d love some. Is there more coffee?” He jumped from the table, heading toward the coffee maker. “I thought you didn’t care much for coffee.” She slid into a chair, accepting the steaming mug. “If I have French toast, I can drink anything.” “Before I forget, this came for you this morning.” He placed a planter fi lled with English Ivy in the center of the table. “From more of your admirers.” “I can’t get over how many cards and flowers I’ve gotten.” She’d had no idea she was in so many people’s thoughts. A potted ficus from Mitch, Laquita, and Lamar stood in the corner of the living room. Carnations in a vase from Monette and Jennifer rested atop the television set. A dish garden from Maggie joined the arrangement from Orel. Then there was the huge bouquet from Lucinda, Fia, and Grandma. The Clay house smelled like a florist shop. The get-well cards from family and customers lay stacked on the end table. Sally reached for the large card that protruded from the ivy planter on its plastic post. Not known for her gardening skills, she hoped she could keep her new plants alive and thriving. She read the handwritten message inside the card, blinked, then reread it. 426

“Unbelievable.” “What is it?” Her father turned from the toaster and leaned over her shoulder to peer at the card. “Janet Bishop.” “Roy’s wife. Open and read the message inside.” He read aloud, “Please forgive the ranting of grief and hormones. I know you aren’t to blame for Roy’s death. Thank you for catching his killer.” Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. She stuffed the card back in its holder. “I never expected that.” Her father slid the plate with the French toast in front of her, along with a plastic bottle of syrup. Pausing beside her chair, he squeezed her shoulder. “I need to go open Mustang Sally’s.” Looking up, she read the worry in his eyes and covered his hand with hers. “I’ll be fine, Dad. I promise not to do anything strenuous.” “Sal said some of your friends were dropping by after the balloon race.” That’s right. It was the last Saturday in April. The Great Balloon Race, opening day at Churchill Downs, and the Mini-marathon kicked off Derby Week today. She’d originally planned to watch Nina in the wheelchair competition, but wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, thanks to Barbara Bloom’s bullet. “Probably Jennifer and Monette. Guess I’d better 427

comb my hair, you think?” It would take more than a comb to make her presentable. Maybe they’d bring Laquita. It would be good to see her friends again. Although many had visited her in the hospital, she had been too weak or medicated to appreciate their company at the time. “I’ll be home early.” He grabbed his jacket off the chair. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ve got that handled.” “You’re cooking?” He hesitated at the door. “That lady with the Packard is bringing dinner.” “Ellen Kennedy?” “Yeah.” He ducked his head. “She wants to see how you’re doing.” Sally hid a smile. Ellen had been by the hospital daily, but Sally wasn’t blind. Drugged, maybe, but not blind. Ellen and her dad were attracted to each other. “Great. See you later, Dad.” Had it taken a bullet wound to the chest to achieve the miracle of Sally’s dream? No. She and her father had mended their fences before she’d been shot. He treated her with love and concern. They were a family again. He even socialized now, reconnecting with Uncle Sal, mentoring Orel Baxter. Romancing Ellen. He and Sally had talked out their misunderstandings and resolved to forgive themselves. They’d 428

forgiven each other years ago but neither knew it. Joe Desalvo had come into their lives and triggered the dialogue. He’d helped Sally see another side to her dad’s behavior, fortifying her to try again. The way her dad told it, Joe had chastised him for his treatment of Sally the night of Roy’s murder, motivating Justin to seek help and straighten out his life. Joe. He’d been the best thing to happen to Sally in her adult life. What wonderful memories she had. With Joe, she’d been whole, not damaged or handicapped. And she’d finally experienced love. True, unconditional, romantic love. Love so strong, so deep she’d had no choice but to give him up. Finally tiring of her refusal to talk to him, he’d taken the hint and retreated to Atlanta. Relief battled with disappointment that he hadn’t tried to contact her again. All for the best. If she believed for an instant that Joe really loved her, she would’ve followed him to Atlanta. She’d work hard to make herself a good corporate wife. But guilt, not love, was driving Joe to cling to her, to beg her to marry him. He’d soon immerse himself in his new responsibilities at work, his memories of her fading. But her memories of him would stay with her forever.

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Dr. Singer never called. Joe knew Sally had been released from the hospital because he’d finally weakened one night and called Sal at the Universal Joint. Sal offered to pass along a message to her until Joe explained Dr. Singer’s warning. “I won’t do anything to impede her recovery,” Joe told him. “Whatever you say, but I don’t understand it any more than you do.” “Mind if I check back with you later on?” Joe’d asked. “Not a bit. I’m here most week nights. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can find out from this Dr. Singer.” Sal also recited his home telephone number. After thanking him, Joe had ended the call feeling no better. But at least Sally had improved enough to go home. He’d flown back to Louisville Friday night after a busy first week in his new job. He needed to drive his car home and to watch Nina in the Kentucky Derby Festival Mini-marathon. In addition to his concern for Sally, he also worried about Fia. According to his mother, Fia had been in seclusion since Brendan’s arrest. Joe pasted on a smile and hugged Nina at dinner Saturday night, congratulating her on her win in the wheelchair competition. “I’m proud of you.” 430

“Have you seen Sally yet?” Nina asked. He didn’t want to explain, so he said, “Not yet. She’s home from the hospital, though.” “I like her,” Nina said. “Bring her back for Sunday dinner as soon as she’s able.” “Excuse me,” Fia murmured, pushing away from the table. “You’re not having dessert?” his mother asked. “It’s pecan swirl cake.” Shaking her head no, Fia fled the dining room. She’d hardly eaten a bite. Already reed thin, she could afford the extra calories. And pecan swirl cake was one of her favorites. Lucinda frowned at Fia’s retreat, then glanced at Joe. With the barest of nods, he excused himself and followed her. He caught up with her strolling toward the stable, her dark braid swishing over hunched shoulders. “Sure is cold for the end of April,” Joe said, as he held open the stable door for her. “I’m in no mood to discuss the weather, Joey, so go back inside.” She ambled over to Sundance, clicking her tongue to attract the gelding’s attention. He wrapped an arm around his sister’s shoulder, tugging her into him. “Hey, this is me. Don’t shut me out, Fia.” Rigid at first, she slackened against him. “I don’t 431

want to spoil everyone’s good time.” “Things are looking up for everyone but us, aren’t they?” Joe said. “Mom’s collecting more insurance money than she’ll know what to do with, Grandma’s moving back to her apartment, Nina finished the half marathon with an age group win, and nobody’s shooting at us anymore.” “You have a vice-presidency, too. Dad would’ve been so proud of you.” She sighed. “So what did you mean, everyone but us? What’s wrong?” Joe rubbed Sundance’s reddish brown coat, reminded of the time he’d shown the horses to Sally. “It’s an empty victory. I can’t share it with Dad. Dammit, Fia, I had no idea how hollow my life was until I returned to that job last week.” “It’s more than Dad, isn’t it? Is it Sally?” “I’m in love with her.” “Well, duh. She’s in love with you, too, Bozo. I saw her that day she and her father were looking for you. She would’ve taken on an entire army to find you. Did you know that?” Joe couldn’t speak around the sob caught in his throat. He settled for a nod. His brave, sweet Sally. She’d taken a bullet for him. God, he loved her. He didn’t want to dump on Fia tonight, though, knowing how much she was suffering. When he found his voice, he asked, “So how are you, really?” 432

“Me? Gee, considering I almost married a murdering, thieving, lying sociopath and am now out of a job, I think I’m doing just fine.” “I’ll spare you the clichés, but I know it’s a rough time for you.” “God, Joey, I can’t eat or sleep. I’ve moved back in with Mom because I can’t stay there with his stuff. I’m thirty-four friggin’ years old. You’d think I’d have myself together by now. At least if I had a job, I could keep busy.” “You’re a vet. You’ll find work, or open your own clinic.” “I need a lot of capital to open my own practice.” The wistfulness in her voice didn’t escape him. “Hey, you have a brother in the investment business. I should be able to find backing for you.” “I don’t know—” “Me, for starters.” Her mouth opened but no words came out. Joe grinned. “I have a building full of Dad’s classic cars that I haven’t yet gotten around to selling. I think ‘Sofia’s Horse-pital’ would be a sound investment.” Fia smiled, the first genuine smile he’d coaxed from her. “That’s right. I could name my own clinic any damned thing I wanted.” “But first I need to have the old cars checked out and listed to sell.” 433

“Oh, gee,” she said, tapping her finger against her temple. “I wonder who’s a good mechanic to help you with that.” “It’ll take a while, since the mechanic is temporarily out of commission. That’ll give you time to regroup and heal.” Her smile vanished. “Ha. That’s a good one. How do I heal?” Joe hugged his sister, his heart aching at the bitterness in her voice. “I don’t have the answers. Just take it one day at a time.” “No, I can’t just drift from day to day. I’m coming up with a plan to get my life back on track. I’m making some new rules to live by.” “Good girl.” “And rule number one is don’t ever fall in love again.” Joe didn’t argue. After his own sleepless nights and heartache over Sally’s rejection, he understood the wisdom of rule number one. Tomorrow he’d head back to Atlanta. But he wouldn’t wait for Doctor Singer to contact him. He’d give Sally sufficient time to recover. Then he’d be back. And she’d have to tell him to his face that she didn’t want him. He only hoped he could handle it if she did.

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Two months later. “There’s a guy here to see you.” Emerging from the engine of a 1949 Plymouth, Sally pushed her safety goggles to the top of her head, then grabbed a shop towel to wipe smudges of oil from her hands. She could use a break right now. Even with both Justin and Orel working full time, Mustang Sally’s had enough work to keep everyone busy fifty hours a week. Unfortunately, Sally worked only half-days, thanks to her doctor’s orders and her evervigilant dad. Abandoning the towel, she pumped a thick dollop of waterless hand cleaner into her palm. “All right, Orel. Send him back.” The steps from hard-soled shoes echoed against the barren concrete floor, then stopped. She leaned against the counter and turned toward her visitor. Her heart tumbled against her sore ribs, her breathing ceased. Lord, the man looked good. “Excuse me. I’m here to see Sally Clay.” Even in khaki slacks and a polo shirt, he looked too clean for her garage. Her dad’s air wrench whined in the background. Orel’s creeper squeaked against the concrete floor. Golden oldies serenaded from Orel’s boom box beside him. But Sally tuned out everything but Joe’s rich baritone voice. 435

“I’m Sally Clay.” Retrieving the shop towel, she wiped away the hand cleaner, then tossed the towel to the counter. “What can I do for you, Mr.— “ “Desalvo” He crowded her, backing her into the workbench. “And what can I do for you, Mr. Desalvo?” “Joe.” He widened his smile and leaned forward, his hand on either side of her, imprisoning her against the workbench. “Call me Joe. I need help restoring something.” “Joe.” So close the warmth of his breath brushed her face, his lips hovered inches from hers. His sandalwood scent fi lled her senses, his dark eyes heated her blood. She fought for each breath, and it had nothing to do with her healing lung. “What exactly, um, do you need restored?” “My heart.” With one hand, he slipped the safety goggles from her head, then stroked her bangs back from her forehead. “It needs a lot of attention.” His lips captured hers. She sighed, surrendering to his seductive kiss. Months of separation had only intensified their passion. How had she expected to live without this? Without him? He pulled back, his gaze locked on hers. “What would it take to convince you to marry me?” “Why marry me?” “Several reasons come to mind.” He kissed her 436

forehead. “Because you’re the one I want to spend my life with.” He brushed his lips against her temple. “Because I’m so lost without you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Enough reasons?” “Um, I can’t. I’m sorry.” “You don’t love me enough to marry me?” “I love you too much to marry you.” Joe’s grin returned. “But you do love me, right?” “What about your career? Atlanta?” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’m moving to Louisville.” Sally recoiled. “Why? Oh, Joe, that promotion was your dream.” “A dream is no joy without someone to share it with. Without you in my life, I’m empty.” Could it really be true? Joe loved her? Tears clouded her vision. He’d sacrificed his career to be with her. “So will you think about it?” Joe asked. Sally buried her face in his shirt until she composed herself. “I’m afraid.” He rubbed her back, kissed her hair. “What has you spooked about marrying me?” “I don’t want you having regrets. You may grow to resent me for your lost career.” She straightened and met his gaze. “Won’t you miss Hot-lanta?” Joe chuckled. “Hot-lanta? No, ma’am.” 437

“If you call me ma’am one more time, I’m applying for social security.” Her mouth twitched. “Deal. But there’s more.” Again, Joe gathered her in his arms. “The senior VP in Atlanta has agreed to let me part-time in Atlanta while I open a satellite office for the firm right here in Louisville. Eventually, I’ll be Resident Manager and working in Louisville full time.” “Joe, that’s great!” “It’ll be hard work and long hours at first, until I build up the business, because I’ll have dual responsibilities.” His eyes brightened with enthusiasm. Thank God he hadn’t abandoned his dream. “But you walked away from the vice-presidency? Aren’t you taking a huge risk?” He sobered. “It’s worth the risk if I can be with you. Besides, have a little faith. I’m good at what I do.” “You sure are,” she said, which earned her another kiss. “I already have a couple of clients here. In fact, one of my clients came with me today and is waiting in your office to see the future Sally Desalvo.” Sally Desalvo. Nice name. But could she measure up to be the wife he needed? She glanced at her stained and faded coveralls. “I look a fright.” “You look wonderful.” He covered her mouth with his in a kiss so reverent, so full of feeling, she almost 438

cried. “I love you.” “I love you, too.” “Haven’t you two settled this yet? We need to start planning the wedding.” “Grandma, I told you to wait in the office.” Sally turned to face Joe’s grandmother. “You’re Joe’s client?” “I’ve got investments. Why shouldn’t my own grandson handle my portfolio?” Grandma sniffed. “Now, don’t you think you two need to go shop for rings?” “Well?” Joe’s eyebrows lifted. “Have we settled this? Will you restore my heart?” “Just for the record, I’m good at what I do, too. In fact, I’m the best in Louisville to handle any restoration job.” He planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “You’re the best in the world, sweetheart. So what do you say? Want to get married?” Sally smiled, her heart brimming with happiness and love. “I do.”

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Shattered when his Bedouin wife dies in childbirth, Francoise Villier, wealthy and prominent Frenchman, flees the African desert — the horses and the people — he has come to love so dearly. He takes with him only his infant daughter, Cecile, faithful Bedouin servant, Jali, and a magnificent Arab mare. Before he leaves, however, he extracts a promise from one of the most powerful of the desert chieftains. Years later, upon her father’s death, Cecile must make a momentous decision: stay in the country that has spurned her, and her mother’s heritage; or seek that very heritage in the heart of the awesome and terrible Sahara Desert. With only the aging but devoted Jali, her vast knowledge of the Arab horses her father bred, and enormous courage, Cecile finally embarks on the journey of a lifetime to find her foster father, the legendary Raga eben Haddal. So begins a vital struggle to survive, not only physically, but mentally and spiritually as Cecile’s European upbringing clashes with a Bedouin culture that seems brutal — and male oriented — on the surface. It is a struggle that will earn her a new name, Al Dhiba bint Sada — She-Wolf, daughter of Sada — and teach her about love and loyalty. And heartbreak.

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I am a part of you now. The words haunt Piers Veuxfort, and he has only his own recklessness to blame. By touching a magic crystal, he freed the essence of a decidedly wicked Fin Man, who now resides within Piers. If that isn’t bad enough, a surprise for Piers arrives at Falcon’s Craig Castle. A bride. A bride, moreover, who was raised to be a nun, and views him as something just short of the devil. What can he do but send her back?

You are a wicked abomination. With that condemnation of her “sight”, Giselle St. Germain’s future is irrevocably altered. Her life in the secluded nunnery is over, and she is thrown into the world, a world that includes betrothal to a man who is unrepentantly devoted to his pleasures, and who increasingly displays a dark, troubling side. What’s a girl to do but cling more tightly to what she knows? The rules have changed. For both of them. And Piers and Giselle are about to discover that sometimes fate delivers a destiny beyond your imaginings. That destiny is theirs to win. Or lose. It will take all the courage that lies within their deepest hearts to seize it, and to find . . .

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w w w. a my tol n itc h .c om

Daisy Lake is only a memory to successful barrister Gavin Carmichael. But a memory he cannot forget. “Through thick and thin, forever and ever, come what may, we’ll stay together . . .” is the pact the young orphans made over a decade ago, before the wide-eyed little girl was torn from his arms. Only a precious, painful memory . . . until Gavin walks into an East End supper club where the headlining act is the infamous nightingale of the Montmartre music halls, Delilah du Lac. Overcome, Gavin storms on stage and carries her off, determined to save her from the lifestyle she has apparently embraced. But Daisy wants no part of him. She has only one desire: to act on a proper London stage. It is a dream Gavin can make come true. He promises to employ every resource at his disposal to see she gets a part in the upcoming run of Shakespeare’s “As You Like It” . . . provided she agrees to live with him for one month. Daisy has slept with men for far less. And Gavin has matured into an exceedingly handsome man. But as their sensual games increase in intensity, Gavin is the one in danger of being . . . ENSLAVED

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Paint it Black Michelle Perry

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The

Three Motives for Murder michelle perry The small town of Coalmont, Tennessee is shattered when a car crash on graduation night leaves three of its teenagers dead and another three fighting for their lives. Four years later, the aftershocks still ripple through the town, and no one feels them more than Natasha Hawthorne, the young driver. When someone targets the survivors of the horrific crash for murder, the obvious motive is revenge. But things aren’t always what they seem, and the notion of revenge served cold doesn’t ring true with Brady Simms, newly appointed police chief. To make things even more difficult, Brady ultimately finds himself standing squarely between the killer and his next victim, the woman who broke his heart four years ago. As the killer escalates his attacks, Brady’s only hope of saving the intended victims is to get into the mind of a sociopath. When the relative of the fi rst victim makes a startling revelation, Brady reopens the investigation and what he finds will change all of their lives forever. ISBN#1932815805 ISBN# 9781932815801 Jewel Imprint: Emerald US $6.99 / CDN $8.99 May 2007 w w w.m ic he l l e p e r r y.c om

ENEMY HANDS

IN

M I CHELLE

PERRY How hard could it be to kidnap a pampered little rich girl? Especially if you’re bounty hunter extraordinaire Dante Giovanni, who normally prowls the underworld in search of the most vicious criminals. Piece of cake, Dante thinks, when reclusive businessman Gary Vandergriff offers him a cool half million to bring home his estranged daughter, Nadia. Enter Nadia. His fi rst meeting with her is stunning; both literally and figuratively. He foils an attempt on her life, and falls immediately under her spell. It’s not gonna be hard duty, Dante thinks, keeping her safe from the Mexican drug lord infuriated by her stepfather’s expanding meth operation. He’ll take her out of harm’s way, no problem, get her back to her father, and enjoy the ride along the way. Everything is great. Until he delivers her into Enemy Hands.

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Michelle Perry

She fooled him once . . . In Los Angeles an unexpected pregnancy sparks a daring plan of escape for a brutally battered wife. Jessica Ramsey fakes her death and flees to Tennessee to build a new life for herself and her unborn son. But nobody fools Cole Ramsey twice . . . Five years later, a chance encounter has destroyed Jessica’s carefully cultivated anonymity. She thought at first Cole had found her, but it was his twin, Alex, who unwittingly unmasked her charade. Now she must trust him to save her from Cole’s wrath. But the twins are bound by blood. Will it prove stronger than the fragile relationship building between Alex and Jessica? Or will a third time be a deadly charm? ISBN#1932815031 ISBN# 9781932815030 Jewel Imprint: Emerald US $6.99 / CDN $9.99 Available Now w w w.m ic he l l e p e r r y.c om

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