He circled through the main section of Whitehorn again, but couldn’t spot anyone who looked the least bit like his blond neighbor.
He turned around and headed for home. As he drove, he told himself it didn’t matter that she’d had other plans for the day. He hadn’t really wanted to see her. Or had he? What exactly had happened between them the previous Sunday when he’d found out about Sylvia’s suicide?
It hadn’t just been sex. He wanted the intimacy between them to have had no meaning, but he didn’t believe that was true. Something about Darcy healed his soul the same way the doctors had healed his body. He found himself thinking about her at odd times during the day and wanting to be with her again. In his bed, her bed, the shower, he didn’t much care as long as they were both naked.
Worse, he felt badly for hurting her. He should never have involved her in the horror of his past. Darcy deserved better than that.
Was he entering into dangerous territory? He knew better than to care about anyone. More important, he knew better than to trust again. Darcy had her secrets. Her absence today proved that. Telling himself her life wasn’t any of his business didn’t change the fact that he still wanted to know where the hell she’d gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sunday afternoon Mark settled in front of his desk, determined to catch up on paperwork. He wasn’t going to think about anything but the cases he’d cleared and what he was going to do to finish up the forms required to send everything to wherever it belonged. He wasn’t going to spend a single second thinking about Darcy.
So what if she hadn’t showed up for his weekly basketball game? He hadn’t invited her. They didn’t have an understanding. They weren’t even dating. They were friends—friends and sometime lovers. That kind of relationship didn’t require an explanation of one’s time. Even when she hadn’t arrived home until 10:05 the previous evening.
He opened the top file on his desk and reached for his computer keyboard. As he entered the necessary information, Darcy slowly faded from his mind until he was able to fully concentrate on his work. Two hours later, he’d cleared three cases and was working on a fourth when he heard footsteps in the empty office. He looked up and saw Sheriff Rafe Rawlings walking toward him. They were about the same age. Tall with dark hair, Rafe was well respected in town.
Mark leaned back in his chair. “What are you doing here? Someone try to rob a bank on a Sunday?”
Rafe grinned. “Not on my watch. They wouldn’t dare.” He pulled up a chair and settled into it. “I tried you at home a couple of times this morning. When you didn’t pick up, I figured you might be here.”
Mark noticed his boss’s worried expression. “Want to talk about it?”
Rafe shrugged. “I got a tip the other day. It was so crazy that I couldn’t believe it. I did a little checking on my own, but I can’t come up with anything. It’s probably nothing….”
Rafe’s voice trailed off. Mark stiffened. He had a bad feeling about whatever the sheriff was going to say.
“You ready to hand it over to a professional,” he quipped, trying to keep things light.
“That I am.” Rafe leaned forward. “I received an anonymous tip that someone is running a money-laundering operation out of the Hip Hop Café.”
Mark’s first reaction was disbelief. This was Whitehorn. Nothing very interesting happened here. However, that wasn’t always true and bad money had a way of turning up in the most unassuming places.
“Where did you start?” he asked.
“You’re not dismissing the tip.”
“Better to investigate and prove it wrong than to do nothing and have it come back to bite us in the butt later.”
“I agree,” Rafe said. “I asked around some, but I didn’t find anything.”
“You talk to any of the employees?” Mark asked, hating that the first person who came to mind was Darcy. Although she’d done nothing to make him think she was anything but a law-abiding citizen, his experience with Sylvia had forever changed how he looked at any woman he knew.
“I had a few words with Janie Carson Austin. She’s lived here all her life and I can vouch for her myself. I didn’t tell her much because I realized you should be the one getting into it, not me. As you said, you’re the pro.”
“That’s why you hired me.” Mark reached for a pad of paper. “I’ll be checking into everyone. Even Janie, which is strange because we went to high school together. Still, people change.” Though in Janie’s case, he doubted she’d taken up a life of crime.
“Do what you have to. I suggest you clear her first, so you can use her for a point of contact. Are you friendly with any of the staff there?”
“I know a few of them.” One in particular, but he didn’t say that.
Rafe gave him a few more instructions, then left. Mark stared after his boss, wishing this hadn’t come up now.
He knew he could do a good job investigating—he was just apprehensive about what he would find out about Darcy. Reminding himself that she lived modestly and worked long hours didn’t make him feel any better. He’d trusted Sylvia and look how that had turned out.
He scribbled some notes to himself, then turned to his computer. Unable to stop himself, he typed in a single name.
Darcy Montague.
