send someone out to collect the broken car parts that seem relevant, as well.”
“That would be great,” Tara said. “Ask to see the photos he took. They’d be better because they’d be before the tow truck tore up the scene.”
“I’ll ask.” Did Dylan think anything would come of this? Probably not, but Tara had a point about small-town shortcuts. Fallon had clearly been lax. He doubted there were photos. One of Fallon’s budget requests had been for a new camera.
He followed her up the slope to the highway and they stood together, catching their breath from the climb.
“Can I buy you lunch?” she said. “We could go to Ruby’s.” They’d spent a lot of time at the bar and grill when they were in high school.
“I can’t today. Town council meets over lunch.”
“Oh. Sure.” She looked so disappointed, he had to offer an alternative.
“How about you come to my place tomorrow night for supper? Say seven? I’ve got a recipe for beer-butt chicken I want to try.”
“Beer...butt? Sounds gross.” She scrunched her nose, but he could tell the invitation had pleased her.
“It’s not. You prop a chicken over an open can of beer on the grill. Comes out savory and moist, I promise.” Candee had served it to him and given him the recipe the last time they’d slipped.
“Sounds fun. I’d love to come,” she said, her smile wide and open. “Thanks again.” She lurched forward, as if to hug him, then thought better of it and gave him an awkward wave before turning to her car.
They seemed to have agreed to leave the past in the past. That was good. Mature. Sensible. Still, watching her walk to her car, he realized he looked forward to having her in his house, just the two of them, at night.
What the hell was he up to?
Maybe he hadn’t grown up much, after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TARA DROVE HOME, shaken by what she’d seen at the crash site—the smashed and torn trees, the scattered car parts, the dried pool of blood, her poor sister’s shoe. Her throat still burned from bile, despite the soothing mints Dylan had given her. Her head throbbed and her eyes stung.
Think about Dylan.
Dylan was on her side. Thank God. The idea sent relief pouring through her like massage oil over sore muscles. There would be dinner tomorrow night, too. The thought gave her a little thrill.
What are you doing? Teasing yourself? Teasing him?
There was no point resurrecting the past, and they both knew it. She associated Dylan with suffocating in Wharton. She’d done all she could to escape. She wasn’t about to be dragged back. Dylan was helping her with the investigation. As a friend. Period.
Something he said stuck with her: Asking a question doesn’t make me your enemy. Was he right? Did she expect him to oppose her?
Probably. He was part of the town, after all. He’d chosen to manage it, for God’s sake. He loved the place she hated. Wharton was her enemy. All her training in accepting many viewpoints and interpretations didn’t seem to be able to overcome her feelings about this place and her past here.
At home, she climbed into a scalding bath in the whirlpool tub and thought about the case. Being in Wharton had dampened her instincts, but Dylan was wrong about the zebras. People were lying, hiding things and evading her questions. What she needed was solid evidence. Prickling neck hairs wouldn’t convince Dylan or the authorities.
Her only hope of success would be to treat the investigation like a job. She would gather data, ask questions and listen carefully to the answers, then analyze the results for clusters, divergence, patterns and repetitions. She would be neutral and professional.
She would do the same with Dylan. She sighed, ducking under the water, letting the bubbles roar in her ears.
The sexual attraction was a problem. But she was mature enough to handle that. There was that pesky feeling of being safe and cared about and understood.
You’re lonely. That’s all.
Busy with her career, Tara had set aside her social life. She’d handle that when she got back to Phoenix. Lonely people took rash actions, like jumping into bed with a memory.
Now she knew. Now she would be prepared. Whew.
She made a mental list of what she had to do: locate the Tesla, check her father’s phone for messages or calls that night, figure out a way to talk to his poker buddies, go to Vito’s to see if anyone saw or spoke with Faye that night.