Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

wanted.
    I envy Paige . Daphne didn’t begrudge her friend an ounce of happiness, but seeing the joy in Paige’s dark eyes every time she spoke Grayson’s name . . .  It shines a spotlight on my table for one .
    It wasn’t like she had no options at all. She’d had a number of offers – most for no-string flings. Not interested . She wanted a man who could go the distance. A keeper. She wanted for richer and poorer. In sickness and in health. Dream on .
    Since her divorce, there had been a few men along the way who’d wanted the same. Nice guys. But there was no . . . spark. I want spark . I deserve some spark .
    She’d thought she found some spark, months ago. He’d made her eyes widen and her heart race. Still did, every time she’d seen him since. Which, as fate would have it, had become frequently. The brother of her boss and the future brother-in-law of her best friend, he’d become damn near unavoidable.
    At first she’d considered this a boon. She’d see him at fundraising events, the sight of him in a tux – all tall, dark, and dangerous – taking her breath away. In the past three months he’d become a regular at Paige’s karate school, watching his youngest sister, Holly, with a pride that had her eyes misting. Daphne would notice him. Always.
    But he never seemed to notice her. I guess he doesn’t find me as compelling as I find him . Because every time she ran into him at the karate school, he kept his distance. Like I’ve got the damn plague .
    Although it was far more likely that he found her too brash. Provincial . That was the word her ex-husband had used – often and with a sneer. She’d learned early in her marriage that ‘provincial’ was just an upper-crust way of saying ‘white trash’.
    She’d found as the years passed that no amount of polish could make her a true Elkhart, with their Mayflower pedigree and their refined manners. She’d go to her grave a ‘provincial’. So when the marriage was over, she’d embraced her provinciality.
    I’m me again . Love me or leave me . Beehive hair, bold colors, and a sassy twang had become her trademarks. She softened her image a bit when it came to court, but inside . . .  I’m me and I’m not changing . Even for a man who set her heart pumping like a bat out of hell. Especially for him. Love me or leave me . Just the way that I am .
    She’d expected more of Joseph Carter. His family was lovely – giving, open and friendly. Down-to-earth, despite their wealth. And he was, too – with them. With me  . . .  well, there isn’t anything to comment on there . He ignored her. Like I don’t exist .
    Which stung. Okay, it hurts . A lot . But not what she should be thinking about now.
    She was at the front door, seconds from a wall of flashing lights and reporters screaming their questions. She ran a nervous hand over her hair, fidgeted with the top button on her coat. All buttoned and tucked, none of Deputy Welch’s blood showing.
    ‘You look fine,’ Grayson murmured, ‘but sad. You won today. Don’t let the Millhouses take that away from you or from the Turners. May they finally rest in peace.’
    He was wrong about the direction her mind had taken but right in what he’d said. Daphne’s selfishness shamed her. This is not about you .
    ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I needed a little perspective adjustment.’
    The door opened and immediately the yelling began. The mikes and the cameras.
    ‘Showtime,’ Grayson whispered in her ear. ‘You earned this success, so knock ’em dead.’ He stepped to the side, leaving her to face the media cameras alone.
    Tuesday, December 3, 11.00 A.M.
    Clay stared out the passenger side window of Joseph Carter’s Escalade, trying not to think of his friend. Lying in an alley, his throat sliced open. All night. Alone.
    But the picture was there in his mind, joining the others that haunted him when he couldn’t sleep. Which was most nights of his life. Tuzak . I’m sorry, man .
    A wave of grief squeezed his chest. Don’t think . Listen to Carter . Who was on the phone with his CO. Listen, learn . So that you can find who did this .
    ‘He might have a decent eye,’ Carter was saying to his CO, grudgingly. He’s talking about that asshole Novak . Not much of a bodyguard, my ass . ‘He found what looks like Ford Elkhart’s hair and blood on the asphalt in the alley. But he’s about as tactful as a bull in a china shop.’
    Clay tensed. That they’d found