One Night

Chapter 5, One Night

Chapter 5

"I can't believe this is happening," Jean said.

Walker handed a napkin to her as she sat on a stool in the now empty bar. Emergency lights flashed outside, and crowds of people milled around, watching the accident scene much like they would have watched a train wreck. Her brother, the chef, was on the phone with someone. He was upset, rightly so, and slammed the receiver down. Crime scene had arrived and had taped off the area, and witnesses were now having their statements taken.

It was clear that the woman had driven straight into the restaurant, but no one could say whether she had simply lost control or it was deliberate. Tire tracks showed she hadn't swerved, but he couldn't say either way for sure.

"I'm sorry, Jean," he said. "This is shitty."

She dried her eyes, about ready to start crying again, but Walker wasn't the type to console a woman in despair. This was when he got itchy feet and found an excuse to slip away. Some guys were good at this, but Walker liked women who could hold it together. Emotions made things messy.

"Shitty? It's criminal," she said. "Now what's going to happen? We'll be closed for how long, and what the hell are you doing with the woman who ran into my place? Who's going to pay for this?"

"You need to call your insurance company," he said. "I feel for you, Jean, but there's nothing more you can do tonight. You should go home. We'll let you know when we're through here."

"Are you kidding? So now the cops are going to hold my restaurant hostage and decide when I can start getting in here and fixing things up? I want that car pulled out of here now so we can get repairs started and have this restaurant open again in a few days." She sounded determined and bossy. "Every day we're closed, I lose money, reservations are cancelled, and wages are lost, not to mention food is wasted..." She was going on and on, and he wondered at what point he had tuned her out, as she kept slapping her hand to emphasize each statement.

He didn't have the heart to tell her things just weren't going to go her way. "Jean, go home," he said. "Do you need a ride?"

"No, Walker, I have my car in back."

"Detective!" one of the officers on scene called out, walking toward him. "Kate is wanting to go home, and Ryder Connelly has asked for a timeframe of when they can give their statements."

Walker turned to the uniformed officer who had been first on the scene. He had dark hair and was young, of average height. He couldn't remember his name, so he glanced down at the tag on his uniform. MacDonald. "Take them to the station, MacDonald. I'll be right behind you. Do you have statements from all the witnesses?"

The young cop flipped through his notebook. "Just an elderly couple left, but we have names and contact information for everyone who was here. Oh, and paramedics checked over the driver and cleared her. Other than being a little shaken up, there wasn't a bump on her. She was taken down to the station already."

"Great, thank you. Jean, you going to be okay?" Walker asked. He hated leaving her like this. He felt bad even though none of this was his fault.

She waved a tearstained napkin at him. "Go, I'll be fine."

"Jean, are you okay?" someone shouted. "Oh my God, I just heard!"

Walker turned as a light-haired young man with glasses, a leather coat, and blue jeans hurried in. He held out his arms, and Walker watched as Jean stood up, her face crumbling into another fit of tears as she walked into the man's arms. He was much younger than Walker. He looked as if he was just out of high school, but he was probably closer to Jean's age. By the way the man held her, Walker realized that all his own flirtatious banter would never have gone anywhere.

He didn't hear what Jean said as he started out of the bar with MacDonald and spotted Kate in the foyer, sitting barefoot, wearing his coat, and Slick about as far away from her as he could get. Walker gestured to Ryder with his chin and told MacDonald, "Take him, and I'll take Kate down."

She was now glaring up at him, and he noticed she had a scrape on the side of her chin.

"You have no idea how lucky you are that you weren't injured," he said. "From where you were sitting, I half expected things to turn out a lot worse than they did. You are one fortunate young woman."

"You think I'm fortunate? I've got to tell you, from where I see it, I think this is the universe's way of flipping me the bird. So no, thank you, I'm not lucky. I am so far from lucky. All the expense—the shoes, the dress, my hair...so I think I won't agree with you."

He wondered whether she was thinking of something else to add when she stopped and took a breath. "Look on the bright side," he said. "At least this saved you the wasted time of having a relationship that was headed down a one-way street to nowhere."

She rolled her eyes. "Spoken like someone who has no clue what it's like to date in the real world. Can we go, please? Just take my statement. Why can't you do it here? It's not as if you're hauling everyone in this restaurant down to the station. No, I think I might just decline. I'd really like to go home."

He held out his hand. "Well, that's not an option. You're coming. Just think of yourself as special. Come on, I'll drive you. Car's not parked far." He glanced down at her bare feet. "You might want to put your shoes back on. Can you walk in them?"

"Yes, I can walk in them." She slipped her shoes back on, and he noticed, as she rose on those stilts and wobbled a bit, that she might not be as steady as she'd let on. He often wondered how women could walk in shoes that high without breaking their necks or at least their ankles.

Maybe that was why he held out his arm for her to take.

"I can walk, just so you know," she said. Nonetheless, she slipped her hand over his arm and held on. "I'm just shaky from all that happened. I'm not a total klutz."

In those heels, she was almost his height. There was something about long legs and a woman whose eyes he could look right into without having to look down at her that really appealed to him. He held the door, and she walked beside him, holding on tight, so close that her leg and hip were brushing against him. Then she leaned closer and—Jesus, it really had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, because he was having all kinds of indecent thoughts about leaning her against his car and running his hand up the side of her thigh, over the curve of her generously rounded ass... Stop it! He was going to be a fine mess if he allowed himself to keep thinking of Kate in such an inappropriate, X-rated way. For all he knew, she could be some psycho nutcase too.

He opened the back door, and she froze beside him, letting go of his arm and crossing hers over her generous bust. She glanced up at him with a look he easily deciphered. The woman was digging her heels in and had no intention of getting into the car.

"What am I, a criminal?" She gestured to the backseat.

He slammed the backdoor. "Sorry, habit," he said before opening the passenger door. This time, she climbed in and reached for the handle to pull it closed herself.

The woman didn't just ignore him, she held her chin up as she stared out the front windshield as if he didn't even exist. Bitch, he thought as he strode around to his side and climbed in.

"Fasten your seatbelt, or are you going to argue with me about how you have no intention of wearing it?"

She didn't look at him as she clicked her belt in place.

He started the car, punched it in gear, and gunned it a little harder than was strictly necessary.

***