“Shit!”
“My words were stronger. That Ms. Linear went at me for a solid hour about lenses, cameras, and tripods. I know more about that shit now than I want to.”
“Save’s paying for that night class you were going to take.”
“Not funny.”
“Sorry.” Newman looked at the neat row of Lizzie Heath’s gerberas. “I know what a bitch that woman is.”
“It’s Hope she’s after, Newman. She’s talking about calling her daddy, who in turn is friendly with the governor.”
“Christ, Cub. They have to have proof, and there is none.”
“I know that, but this has gone beyond a simple burglary, bud. No bored kids or passing tourists would stick around to do this again and again. It’s targeted, and vindictive. Whoever did this knew how to cripple the Wildlife crew and just what to take, to hit them where it hurts.”
“And Ms. Linear is baying for Hope’s blood?”
“With bared fangs.”
“My gut feeling is that limp dick Jay Herald has something to do with this.”
“It’s possible, but he’s saying it couldn’t be Hope, because while he knows she has personal problems, he doesn’t believe her capable of doing something like this to Wildlife.”
“He’s a snake, Cub. You need to watch him.”
“I know it, and I’ll need to talk to Hope too.
“Keep me updated,” Newman said before he finished the call.
The Heaths had a nice house in Buster’s street, not far from the Lawrence house, but he saw nothing as he reached the front door. This would upset Hope, and Newman hated that he couldn’t shield her from that.
He knocked on the door, and no one answered, which was odd because someone was home. He’d seen Lizzie’s car parked in the garage.
“Hello?” He turned the handle and poked his head inside. No one replied, but he heard music. Something classical was in the air, and while it wasn’t his thing, it had a nice, haunting sound to it.
“Hello?”
Still no answer. He took off his shoes, because Lizzie ran a tidy ship and shoes inside were not allowed. He’d learned that young, when she’d torn a strip off him for coming to get a cookie with his sneakers on.
Following the music, Newman headed to the dance room the Heaths had set up. They’d dragged him in there a few times in his youth, and while he could dance when necessary, it wasn’t his calling.
The words he had been about to use to greet a Heath fell from his lips as he found Hope in there. Alone, she wore short shorts in some stretchy material, a sports bra that left her midriff bare, and her hair was in a messy knot on her head. She was exquisite.
Moving to one side so she wouldn’t see him unless she turned fully, he watched undetected. The woman he knew Hope to be often stiffened up when in company. She was sometimes awkward and unsure of herself. This Hope could not be more different.
Who knew that the woman who wore black shitkickers on a daily basis could move with such grace? She arched forward, and his eyes followed the curve of her spine down her body to her ankles.
Damn, she’s fine.
Newman pushed aside what he’d learned from Cubby, and lost himself in the wonder of watching Hope dance. The last time they’d seen each other, three days ago, he’d asked her to marry him in what he now conceded was not a very romantic way. In his defense, he’d been off-balance at the time, after what they’d just shared.
She looked a mile away from that angry woman now. Each elegant curve of her fingers, or point of a bare toe had his admiration climbing. Admiration, and something else that sat heavy in his chest. This woman carried his child; the feeling should have terrified him, and yet he didn’t feel scared. Instead he felt humbled.
As the music climbed to the finish, she arched backward, so far that she saw him, and fell.
“Hell! Hope, are you okay?”
She waved his hands away, but he simply picked her up and settled her back on her feet.
