Page 114 of Another Girl Lost

“Her name is Tiffany Patterson. She connected with me about six months ago. She’s a drug addict. And I’m trying to help her. So far, with limited success.”

He frowned. “Drug addiction is difficult.”

“I’ve learned that.” I swirled my wine. “Detective Kevin Dawson paid me a couple of visits.”

“About Tiffany?”

“No. A body was found in the wall of a house around the corner from where my mother and I once lived. It was the body of a girl who vanished shortly before I did. Her name was Sandra and she dated Tanner once.”

“Does Dawson have more information on the cold case?”

“If he does, he’s not sharing. But he seems to think I know more about the girl and what was happening in Tanner’s house.” I drew in a breath. “Now, if you’re thinking I’m a little too complicated, no harm, no foul.”

He set his glass down on the counter. “I’m not scared off. In full disclosure, I have a history with Dawson. I can’t get into case details, but we didn’t see eye to eye on some of his choices regarding his ex-wife’s crimes.”

“Crimes?”

“Tiffany isn’t the only one with a substance abuse issue.”

“And he tried to cover it up?”

“Yes. I wanted to press the issue and file charges, but my boss didn’t want me to tarnish Dawson’s reputation. He has a solid arrest record. It’s part of the reason I left for private practice.”

“Now I’m curious.”

He shook his head slowly. “He loved his ex-wife. His devotion to her was a blind spot.”

“I guess we all have them.”

“Maybe.”

“Dawson isn’t going to let this case go until he closes it.” I met his gaze. “Too problematic yet?”

“Not yet.”

I shook my head. “The night is young. And you never know with me.”

A brow arched. “Is tossing a salad too much to ask?”

Tension melted. “I can handle lettuce.”

“Good.” He reached in the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of dressing and a wooden bowl filled with iceberg lettuce. “You toss, I’ll set the food on the table.”

“Most men would be running for the hills.”

He grinned. “As you said, the night is still young.”

Dinner proved to be relaxed and fun. Luke told stories from his days in the district attorney’s office, and I shared stories about turning my art into a business. I helped him clear the table, but I was still careful not to touch him, and he didn’t press.

“Can I make you a coffee?” he asked.

“Thanks, but I won’t sleep tonight if you do.”

He leaned against the counter, the expanse of his chest pressing against his shirt. “I can drink it 24/7 and be fine.”

“And you can sleep?”

“Like the dead.”

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