“I feel like I’m buying a car,” I say.
She doesn’t laugh at my joke. Meanwhile, Lara is still eyeing me with extreme suspicion.
“I’ll call you to schedule that visit next week, Mr. Norland.” Blackwell hands Fia over, and I melt with relief. I’ve missed my little squishy football. “Looking forward to it.”
I show Blackwell out and lock the door. When I turn around, Lara is holding a meat tenderizer in one hand and her cell in the other. “I’m going to give you sixty seconds to explain what happened back at that motel, or I’m calling 911. And it’d better be the truth, Dean. The entire truth.”
I figured I’d have to tell her some of the facts, but tell her everything? I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. “I can’t, Lara. And it’s not because I’ve done anything wrong. It’s because I don’t want you dragged into this.”
“I’m already dragged.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand that I confessed I’m in love with you tonight, while sitting in the parking lot of a motel used exclusively for meth heads and hookers, and then I found the woman you just had sex with lying on the floor with a ladle sticking out of her face. How you even did that, I can’t imagine, but for as long as I live, I will never be able to serve soup like a normal person. I’m probably stuck with using mugs or those serving spoons that take forever to fill your bowl with.”
“Did you say you love me?”
Lara’s face contorts. “That’s the part of this you want to discuss?”
Yes, I do because I completely missed it earlier, and when a woman you’re falling for says she loves you, it feels off to just let it fly by unnoticed.
“See,” I say, “this is exactly what I was trying to explain before. It’s bad timing for a relationship. I should’ve reacted when you said you loved me. Instead, I didn’t even hear you.” She deserves better.
“Back up a sec, Dean, and start with what happened at that motel.”
If I tell her, it’s going to bring a whole new kind of worry to her life. The Tony Rigatoni kind.
“Hold on,” I say, hit with a new thought, “did you see a man leaving that room?”
“No. There was just some guy walking through the parking lot away from it.”
Tony. “Did he see you? Did you see his face?”
“Sure. Why?” She shrugs.
“Because now you are in it.” If Tony thinks she’s a witness, will he try to track her down? I have to tell her everything. If I don’t, she won’t be prepared for the dangerous mess we’re in. “Okay. Here goes. But once I tell you, you can’t say a word to anyone. If you do, the consequences could cost me everything.”
Lara stares for a long moment. “Please don’t tell me you’re part of a baby-trafficking ring.”
“That would be good news compared to this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
LARA
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I mean, Tony “the rolling pin” Rigatoni? He’s a notorious mobster type who got away with murder.
And now he’s killed again. With a ladle no less. The entire situation is a sad, scary mess, including the fact that this makes it impossible for Dean to prove Fia is not stolen.
You poor little girl. I look at Fia, the cutest little baby on the planet, snuggled tightly in Dean’s manly and doting arms.
Sigh… He’s a natural with his daughter. That is, if she’s really his. In my mind, though, what does it matter? Dean can’t ever let that baby get into the hands of a violent disturbed criminal.
For fuck’s sake, Tony just murdered Fia’s mom. I have no clue what’s going to happen when she’s discovered.
Maybe nothing.
The running joke in town is that the Ultra Mega Love Motel is where people go to die. Kind of like my apartment when it comes to houseplants. Anyway, someone turns up dead there at least once a month. The news hardly reports on it, and if they do, it’s buried in the back of the paper. The residents of this town just don’t want to hear about it anymore.
“I’m going to put Fia down,” Dean says.
“I should get going. It’s getting late,” I say.
“No. Don’t leave.”
“I really should—”
“Give me a sec.” Dean disappears, but it’s more like five minutes before he returns. He’s holding two clean juice glasses and a bottle of whiskey. “I think the situation calls for hard alcohol.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t. I need to drive home.”
Dean sits next to me and places the bottle and the glasses on the coffee table. “No, you don’t. Mike and Igor are gone. I have the place to myself. You can crash on the couch. Or take my bed. Whichever you like.”
“Why?” His beautiful hazel eyes fixate on my lips. My pulse rate accelerates. I want to believe his desire is real, especially now when my emotions are running high. But so are his. He probably needs an outlet.