LITMIR.BIZ

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must’ve been involved in something nasty to get killed the way he had. Evans would find the evidence and the murderer, and he’d send Sadie on her way with an insincere apology.

      Sadie didn’t belong here any more now that she had at the age of eleven.

      Sadie was overdressed for Bob’s Steak and Fixin’s, but then she was probably overdressed for anything this side of Birmingham. Since Truman had worn jeans and a nice cotton button-up shirt, she was definitely overdressed for him. She’d done this to get back at him, he imagined, to repay him for telling her not to leave town or for sticking her tip in her bra.

      Truman tried not to let on that he was at all affected by the red lips, the black dress, the long legs or the way she walked in those heels. When had Sadie Harlow gotten so gorgeous? She’d always been cute, his best friend’s little cousin who had a crush on him. Back in those days she’d had a tendency to show up wherever he and Johnny happened to be. He hadn’t minded her tagging along now and then, not the way Johnny had. He’d always thought she was kinda sweet. But he’d been caught up in the high-school-jock thing and she’d seemed so young. Plus she’d never had this effect on him. And if she had, Johnny would have killed him.

      It was a cruel form of punishment, he imagined. Sadie’s way of waving a red flag in his face. Look what you could have had. Look what you’ll never have. Look, but do not touch. He should have accepted his mother’s invitation to go home for a nice, safe dinner of chicken and dumplings and left Sadie alone.

      His motives had been honorable. She was exhausted and needed a couple of hours away from the motel. A friendly meal and conversation, that’s all he’d had in mind when he’d suggested dinner. Really.

      He hadn’t known she’d stumble across a dead body minutes after grudgingly accepting his invitation. And he definitely hadn’t expected this. He was on edge, wound so tight every muscle in his body had tensed. He looked at Sadie sitting there, all dolled up and grown up, and all he could think about was getting her naked. It had been a long time since he’d wanted any woman this way.

      “Are you sure we should be doing this?” she asked. “Having dinner together doesn’t seem at all ethical, given the circumstances.”

      “Why not? I’m not investigating the murder.”

      “We’re just old friends sharing a meal, and the fact that we found a dead man a few hours ago means nothing,” she said.

      “Yeah.”

      She played with the food on her plate, and her eyes scanned the restaurant almost casually. Almost.

      Truman gladly studied the full red lips, the curve of her cheek, the fire in her eyes. Yeah, naked would be good. “So, how long have you been a PI?”

      Sadie didn’t drop her fork, but her head snapped around. She glared at him, dark eyes flashing. He’d managed to surprise her. Good.

      “You’ve been poking around in my life? You said you didn’t have anything to do with investigating the murder.”

      “Actually, I did a quick search on you this morning, after breakfast and before you found that body.”

      Sadie pursed her lips and lifted her chin. She wasn’t the same little girl who’d followed him and Johnny around. She’d gotten tough.

      “Lillian likes to tell everyone that I’m a receptionist in Birmingham.”

      “I know. Where’s the gun?” he asked.

      She did her best to look innocent.

      “I know you have a permit. This afternoon you were wearing it under your jacket, neatly concealed. Where is it now?”

      She didn’t bother to deny that she was carrying. “In a place where you’ll never have the chance to find it.”

      He grinned. Yeah, he liked her tough. He liked her all grown-up. “So, how did you end up a PI? Seems like nasty work for a pretty girl.”

      Sadie smiled. “I’m not pretty, I’m not a girl, and the work is only occasionally nasty.”

      Truman wasn’t looking for a fight, so he didn’t bother to argue about the pretty thing. Surely Sadie knew how gorgeous she was. Pretty women, they always knew. “Okay. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

      She relaxed a little, and leaned forward. “I fell into it. I was supposed to get married, but it didn’t work out. I was tired of knocking around college without knowing what I wanted to do with my life, and I needed a way to pay the bills.” She smiled. “I found a job working as a receptionist for a small PI agency. Strictly temporary, of course.” Something in her smile changed, turned more genuine. “I’d been there three months when a displeased client came barging in with a gun in his hand. He used me as a shield, and I spent the better part of an afternoon wondering if I was about to die.”

      Nothing to smile about. “And you didn’t quit then and there?”

      Sadie shook her head. “You know me, Truman. I got mad, and I decided I was never going to be helpless again. My boss, Larry Myrick, saw that I got training. Basic self-defense first, then firearms, knife-work, karate. I liked it. I got good. And Larry offered me a job as an investigator.”

      “Why have I never heard any of this?”

      “Because Aunt Lillian thinks my chosen career is scandalous.” Her eyebrows danced. “Chasing bad guys is not at all ladylike.”

      “You’re still working for Myrick?” He knew she wasn’t, but he did wonder how she’d answer. The Benning Agency was miles away from a small PI office in Birmingham. Literally and figuratively.

      She shook her head. “No. I was recruited by a larger agency a few years back.”

      That out of the way, they passed the time eating and talking about Johnny and his kids, Jennifer and her troubles, and Aunt Lillian’s restaurant. When Sadie asked, Truman told her about his older brother Kennedy and Kennedy’s three boys. They avoided all talk of the body Sadie had found that afternoon.

      As their waitress placed dessert on the table, cheesecake and coffee, an awkward silence fell. They’d run out of safe things to talk about.

      “So,” Sadie said, flicking a fork at the strawberry topping on her cheesecake. “How’s your knee?”

      Truman’s jaw tightened. A tiny muscle in his eyelid twitched. Talk about a mood killer. Murder was a more pleasant subject. He didn’t talk about the old injury, not anymore. No one mentioned the limp, not even on those damp mornings when he couldn’t hide the pain. No one asked him about the old days. And he didn’t much like thinking about what might have been. What a waste of time that was.

      “It’s fine,” he said, his voice low.

      Sadie wasn’t going to take fine for an answer, she wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “What bullshit,” she said succinctly.

      “Language, Sadie Mae.”

      “Don’t try to change the subject by calling me Sadie Mae and getting me all riled up. It won’t work this time.”

      He looked her in the eye. He hadn’t done that often, this evening. “You want to know how my knee is? Hamburger. My freakin’ knee is hamburger. I can’t run, climbing stairs is a bitch and some mornings it hurts like hell just to get out of bed.” She wanted to know, he might as well tell her everything. “I’m a thirty-three-year-old gimp whose glory days came and went before he was twenty-five. A divorced gimp, whose wife left because when she married him she had her sights set on the money and fame that came with being married to a professional quarterback. A small-town deputy wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. She wanted Joe Montana and ended up with a gimpy Barney Fife. That’s how my damn knee is.”

      Sadie didn’t look away, as he’d suspected she might. She didn’t glance down and break the hold his eyes had on hers and start mumbling about something safe, like the weather. “I knew it wasn’t fine,” she

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