Veil of Night: A Novel

Chapter Twenty-four

THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN AND THE FIERCE HEAT OF THE day was abating, but the barbecue wedding reception party was still going strong. Beer was flowing—both in and out, judging by the number of trips people were making to the two portable toilets that had been discreetly located behind the barn. To Jaclyn’s surprise, the party stayed within semi-acceptable limits, which meant that so far there hadn’t been any fistfights and no one had pulled a knife on someone else.

Unfortunately, the bride and groom showed no sign of going anywhere, and until they left, neither could Jaclyn. Neither the bride’s mother nor her aunt had shown any interest in overseeing that part of the night. If the happy couple was in a hurry to start their honeymoon, it didn’t show. The groom had shed his suit coat and tie, unbuttoned his top shirt button, and rolled up his sleeves so he could better enjoy the dancing. The bride and all of her bridesmaids had disappeared into the barn, reappearing about half an hour later to also join in the dancing, with all of them having changed into short, flirty dresses. A couple of them—okay, several of them—went past “flirty” straight into “slutty” territory, but at this point it wasn’t Jaclyn’s business if the bridesmaids drummed up some extra money on the side.

The live band was comprised of five middle-aged men, dressed in jeans and T-shirts, who weren’t bad musicians. That wasn’t to say they were good, exactly, but they did okay. They had a surprisingly extensive repertoire, ranging from classic rock to a lot of the more popular country tunes of today, all of which the crowd danced to with more enthusiasm than skill, but no one seemed to care if they could dance or not. Having fun was the point.

A huge tent had been erected, with a roughly built “stage” at one end, and at the other end were long folding tables laden with pretty much the same menu that had graced the reception the night before, and set off to the side were coolers filled with longneck bottles of beer. Folding card tables and plastic lawn chairs had been arranged under the tent’s canopy; Jaclyn had done her best here, covering the card tables with picnic-style tablecloths and arranging different-colored jugs filled with daisies in the center of each table. As the twilight deepened and the colored Christmas lights that outlined the tent were turned on, she had to admit the effect, though rustic, did have a certain free-spirited charm. Battery-operated votive candles flickered on the tables. Though real candles had grace, at least these lights wouldn’t set the tent on fire if a table was knocked over, which, considering the amount of beer being consumed, became more and more likely as the party wore on.

Bishop was not only still there, he’d thrown himself into the party spirit. First he’d enticed the groom’s mother—her name was Evelyn—into indulging in a beer, which had helped her relax enough that she’d actually smiled, for the first time that day. After half of another beer Bishop began teasing her about dancing with him, trying to entice her onto the dance floor, which was nothing more than rough wood planking laid in place on the ground and an equally rough frame nailed in place around the boards to keep them from drifting apart.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that!” she exclaimed, a look of shock on her face.

“Sure you can,” Bishop cajoled. “I’ll teach you how to line dance.”

“What’s line dancing?”

“It isn’t shaking your booty, it’s more like the dancing people did on Pride and Prejudice. People stand side by side and do the steps—”

“But I don’t know any of the steps.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she darted a nervous but vaguely longing glance toward the dance floor.

By now Bishop had her by both hands, urging her to her feet. “It’s easy to learn, I’ll show you. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

Jaclyn watched, smiling. Bless Bishop, not only for staying, but for paying attention to the poor woman and actually having her laughing now. She might never be happy with her son’s choice of wife, the marriage might not last past next week, but she wouldn’t look back and remember the wedding with total misery.

Bishop positioned them off to the side so they wouldn’t interfere with the other dancers, who were whirling and gyrating, and began walking his partner through the steps. After the third pass-through, she began to get the hang of it, remembering when to clap, sometimes remembering when to kick. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

The band wasn’t slow. They saw what was going on, and swung into Brooks and Dunn. “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” began blaring from the speakers. A couple of women squealed, and several of them hurried to align themselves with Bishop and Evelyn, stomping and scootin’ and clapping. Bishop was laughing, his usual sardonic expression completely missing in action, and Evelyn was laughing in return whenever she missed a step.

“Thank you,” the groom said, coming up beside Jaclyn and handing her a cold, frosty bottle of beer.

Surprised, she automatically took the beer. “For what?”

He was a little sweaty from his own efforts on the dance floor, his hair falling forward onto his forehead, his eyes sparkling and his color high. He nodded toward his mother. “For making Mom laugh.”

So he wasn’t completely oblivious to the turmoil he was putting his family through, as she’d thought. If he was going into this marriage with his eyes open, he might actually have a chance to pull it off, though she was fairly certain that would mean separating his bride from her current crowd of friends. On the other hand, he might fit in with that crowd better than she thought, in which case Evelyn probably had some sleepless nights filled with worry in her future. You just never knew with people. And because you didn’t know, because she couldn’t fix things even if she did know, Jaclyn smiled and took a sip of the beer. “Don’t thank me, at any rate. Thank Bishop. I had no idea he even knew what line dancing was.”

“Who is he? Your boyfriend? I thought the cop was.”

He didn’t seem upset at the idea that people he didn’t know were at his wedding, drinking and eating. “No, Bishop is the florist who did your flowers. He usually leaves as soon as he has everything in place, but today he decided to stick around. I’m sorry, I should have asked permission.” The fact that she hadn’t, that the idea hadn’t even occurred to her, was a testament to how off-balance the whole day had been for her.

He waved her apology away. “That’s fine. Doesn’t matter to me. So the cop’s your boyfriend?”

She opened her mouth to deny that, too, then realized that if she did, she had no ready explanation for Eric’s presence. She could either explain the whole complicated series of events, which she didn’t want to do, or she could let everyone think she habitually invited friends to the weddings she oversaw, which was in most ways worse than telling the truth. But if she said he was on duty—he was, wasn’t he?—she ran the risk of half the guests bolting, and ruining the party. Evidently they had all decided he was there only because he was dating her, and for some reason that made him less threatening. “Kind of,” she finally said, lamely.

“Thought so.” The groom clinked his bottle with hers, winked, and wandered away in search of his new wife.

Jaclyn looked at the bottle of beer in her hand. She should set it down; she wasn’t much of a drinker, and she never drank anything alcoholic when she was on a job. The problem with this job was that she was more bystander than organizer, she’d already done everything she could do short of getting the bride and groom in a car—please, God, soon—and, damn it, she was hot and thirsty and the beer was cold and wet. She wasn’t crazy about beer, but what the hell. She tilted the bottle and drank some more.

She had almost finished the beer when an arm suddenly clamped around her waist and she looked up, startled, into Mullet Head’s smiling face. “C’mon, sweet thing, let’s dance!” And he began dragging her toward the dance floor.

Eric had been keeping his distance, more out of respect for the fact that Jaclyn was working than for any other reason, but he’d positioned himself, at the back of the tent close to the tables of food, where he could keep an eye on her. The location had turned out to be doubly advantageous. He’d had beer and barbecue pressed on him; he’d refused the beer and taken the barbecue, along with sides of potato salad and coleslaw. There were a few soft drinks and juices available, for the kids, so he drank a soft drink and ignored how good an icy beer would taste. The barbecue was damn good. The minister said it was because he set an open can of beer inside the barbecue grill and then kept the grill closed while the meat cooked; supposedly the hot beer added moisture to the meat and made it tender. Maybe there was truth to that, because the meat was outstanding.

If there was any public place where Jaclyn was safe, this was probably it. For one thing, very few people knew where she was. The other three women who worked at Premier did. Obviously Bishop Delaney had known where she’d be, which was a weak link he didn’t like even though he didn’t think Delaney had anything to do with either Carrie Edwards’s murder or the attempt on Jaclyn’s life. Eric had come to appreciate how linked the business of putting on a wedding was, with the same people running into each other again and again. Event planners had their favorite vendors that they recommended, in case the client didn’t already have someone in mind. If Delaney mentioned to someone where he’d be, and who was directing, that someone could easily tell someone else and word could get to the wrong person.

But this place wasn’t easy to find. The barn wasn’t visible from the road. It was on private property, and there was only that one farm trail leading in. If he hadn’t had Jaclyn’s schedule and paperwork, and a GPS, he might not have found it himself.

Last but not least, he thought Jaclyn was fairly safe here because most of the people around her weren’t the type to take kindly to someone being shot in their midst, and disrupting their fun. If all the vehicles here were searched, he was certain at least three quarters of them would have firearms in them. The pickup trucks had shotguns and rifles easily visible in rear window brackets; the cars would have pistols tucked in consoles and glove compartments, or under the seats. The shotguns and rifles were legal, and in any case all these cars were on private property. When he’d been in uniform, if he’d stopped any of these people for a traffic violation, a fair number of them would have been arrested on the spot.

He could make a phone call and have his people swarming over this field. A raid would probably result in that same fair number being hauled in on outstanding warrants, but hell, they hadn’t broken any laws that he’d seen, and sometimes a cop had to make a judgment call. Most of the warrants would be on relatively minor stuff—“relative” being the operative word—and there was a lot worse going on out there that law enforcement could be spending its budget and man-hours on. He was cool with that.

Then he saw the skinny guy from the night before, the one with the worst mullet in the history of mullets, drag Jaclyn toward the dance floor, despite her protests and attempts to pull free, and he wasn’t cool with that—not by a long shot.

He found himself stalking toward the asshole, and the expression on his face may have been a tad unfriendly, because even the people in this crowd took one look and moved out of his way. If he knew anything at all about Jaclyn, it was that she’d go out of her way to keep from causing a scene, unless she was tearing a strip off his own ass, which seemed to supersede everything else—so even though she was protesting she was trying to be quiet about it, trying not to be obvious that she was struggling with the guy, and that made him even angrier because it put her at a disadvantage.

Because she was pulling back, and because he himself was moving pretty fast, he caught up with them just as the jerk dragged her onto the dance floor. He stepped up on the planks and caught the guy by the shoulder; he didn’t throw him to the side—he could have, but for Jaclyn’s sake he tried not to create a scene. Instead he merely clamped down, digging his fingers into the shoulder joint and pulling him to a halt.

“I told you yesterday, she’s with me,” he growled.

The guy started to snarl something smart-ass in reply, then evidently thought better of it. Maybe he remembered he was dealing with a cop, or maybe the look on Eric’s face was enough to dissuade him.

“I just want to dance with her,” he mumbled sulkily.

“Well, she doesn’t want to dance with you.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Son, don’t make me shoot your ass,” Eric advised.

“You wouldn’t—”

“Yeah,” he said matter-of-factly. “I would. The paperwork would be a bitch, but it’d be worth it.” He was lying. Maybe. He wasn’t big on cops who threw their armed weight around, but he’d seen red when this asshole jerk put his hands on Jaclyn and started dragging her around. Uh-oh. Jaclyn. He hadn’t looked at her since intercepting her and lover boy, and now he didn’t dare glance at her to see how she was taking this. Probably she was embarrassed that he’d caused a scene.

Tough shit.

“Fuck it,” the guy snarled. “She ain’t worth it.” He spun on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd, which had begun milling around watching them.

“I beg to differ,” Eric said to his back, then braced himself for the ass-chewing he was probably about to receive.

Instead he found Jaclyn standing there visibly trembling, her face white, and without thinking he eased her into his arms. “It’s okay,” he said, lowering his face to her hair and inhaling the scent of it. With a sudden little jerky movement she burrowed closer, as if she wanted to completely hide herself. She stood probably five-ten in her heels, but she felt fragile in his arms, her slender body shaking against him. Maybe terrified was too strong a word to use, but she’d definitely been frightened, and that made him angry all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she said against his shoulder. Her arms had slid inside his jacket and she was gripping the back of his shirt so hard he wondered whether the seams might give way under the pressure.

“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault that idiot decided to be a jerk as well as an idiot.” Soothingly he ran his hands up and down her back.

“I don’t mean that.” Her voice was muffled, but even with the band playing valiantly on, he heard her.

He figured he knew what she meant. She was apologizing for clinging to him, even though she’d been scared. He’d noticed she was a tad uptight about some things, and to her, letting him hold her after she’d said they were a no-go would be like reneging on a promise, or something.

Who cared that she was uptight. That just made it more fun when she did lose control, because it was so unexpected, like now. He hadn’t been prepared for her to curve into him the way she had, so he was caught flat-footed by the hot magic that had flared between them from the very first time he’d seen her. The feel of her against him, the smell of her, was enough to make his head spin and a heavy ache settle in his groin.

Then he felt her begin to gather herself; he knew she was going to pull away, and that wasn’t what he wanted. The way to get to Jaclyn, he thought suddenly, was to keep her off balance.

Before she could say anything, he caught one hand in his, put his free hand on her waist, and spun her around. “Let’s dance,” he said, grinning at her, and before she could recover he had them right in the middle of Bishop Delaney’s line-dancing group.

Normally Eric would rather have a root canal than dance, but in his younger, barhopping days, when “wilder” had been much more than just his name, he’d done some turns around a dance floor because that was a good way to pull the chicks. Now he clamped his arm around Jaclyn’s waist, keeping her in place, as Delaney let out a whoop of welcome and the band swung once more into “Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” which was far and away their most popular number of the night, which was why they’d already played it three times.

He saw her blue eyes, wide and startled, but he ignored the expression and said, “Just follow what I do.”

Her expression changed, her head tilted, and he saw challenge enter those eyes. “Please,” she said with dripping disdain, then she pulled her suit skirt even higher above her knees and began sliding and kicking with the best of them. His heart almost quit beating at the sight of those killer legs moving in the steps. She threw herself into the dance, swinging her hips, clapping, stomping, with the fluid movements of a showgirl—or someone who had spent her own time on a dance floor. Like most of the people there, she sang along. At one point she and the groom’s mother deliberately did a hip bump that wasn’t part of the dance, both of them laughing as they got back in rhythm. Eric reeled her back in close to him, holding her so they moved in rhythm. Her eyes sparkled as she grinned up at him, and all he could think was: God bless beer, and God bless Brooks and Dunn.

The song ended and without pause the band swung into a much slower number, designed to give the dancers a chance to catch their breaths. Eric knew an opportunity when he saw it and he simply tugged her close to him, melding them together from knee to shoulder, and began swaying with her.

Being Jaclyn, of course, she tried to ignore the obvious, which was poking her in the belly. “You can dance, Detective,” she said breathlessly.

He slid his leg between hers as they turned, his hand moving down to her hip to guide her action, which just so happened to all but grind them together. “So can you, Ms. Wilde. Drinking beer and line dancing … does your mother know the things you got up to in college?”

“Some of them,” she said, her smile and eyes still sparkling.

“Want to whisper them in my ear?”

“Not on your life.”

He smiled and kept moving. She moved with him, fluidly, her legs sliding along his, her hips cradling his. Even through her suit jacket he thought he could feel the hard points of her nipples. He could definitely feel the heat rising from their bodies, smell the heightened sweetness the dancing had brought to her overwarm skin. He wondered how he could get her alone, because if he did, he was going to be inside her before she started thinking again. Just five minutes, he thought, pressing his forehead to hers. In five minutes he could have her biting his shirt to keep from screaming. He’d much rather be naked and have her biting him, but he’d take what he could get, so long as it involved making love to her again.

Abruptly the song was interrupted by some yelling and cheering, and they jerked apart in time to watch a full-package, customized pickup truck bumping along the farm trail, decorated with shaving cream, white shoe polish, dirty sayings, and trailing a jangling line of tin cans. Jaclyn’s mouth fell open, and she blinked at the departing truck. “They left without me,” she blurted.

Eric stared at her. “You were going with them?” he asked warily.

“No! I’m supposed to—It’s part of my job …” Her voice trailed off and she waved her hand, then screwed her eyes shut. “I’m supposed to make sure they get off okay.”

“I think they can handle that part themselves. Damn, this wedding planning stuff was beginning to sound kinky.”

She laughed, the sound a little uneven, but it was still a laugh. “You know what I mean. I’m supposed to organize things, make sure the bride doesn’t forget anything—though I guess, of all the weddings Premier has done, this one has gone the least according to schedule, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

Delaney swooped up beside them, planted a kiss on her cheek. “They sneaked off,” he said in a comforting tone. “Evelyn didn’t know they were leaving, either, and now she’s pissed at her son all over again. I’m going to get her to dance some more, get her mind on other things. You’ve had a full day, girlfriend; why don’t you go home and get some sleep? One more big deal tomorrow, then this insane marathon is finished.”

That sounded like a good plan to Eric. Before she could come up with any reason why she should stay, he had her walking toward her rental car. “I’ll follow you to the hotel, make sure you aren’t followed.” He thought of that sentence, grinned at her. “By anyone else, that is.”

She gave him a rueful smile in return. Taking her car keys from an inside pocket of her jacket, she retrieved her purse from the trunk. Eric didn’t wait for her to tell him it wasn’t necessary for him to follow her; he was already striding away.

Jaclyn watched the headlights of Eric’s car following her all the way back to Atlanta. She was so distracted that she almost took a wrong turn, heading toward her own town house, but she caught herself just in time and continued on into Atlanta.

She couldn’t seem to collect her thoughts. Nothing about the wedding or the entire day had gone the way she’d planned. The wedding, in all its unconventional, laugh-worthy glory, had turned out to be a lot of unexpected fun. Bishop had revealed a rowdy side of himself she hadn’t known existed, as well as a deep kindness. The wedding guests, many of whom she wouldn’t be surprised to see on wanted posters in the post office, had been remarkably well-behaved. She’d been frightened by a rotten-toothed cretin who looked as if he’d had things on his mind other than dancing. And she’d been rescued by Eric, who could dance as if … as if … okay, as if he’d spent a lot of time in singles bars, picking up women. His dancing wasn’t professional quality, but he was good, good enough that she’d been goaded into showing off for him because she knew she wasn’t half bad herself. Then the band had gone into that slow number, and he’d almost been making love to her right there on the dance floor, not that anyone had noticed. She hoped not, anyway.

But, God, it had been exciting, being in his arms that way, rubbing and swaying against him, feeling his erection prodding her and watching his gaze turn heavy and intent. Every move had heightened her own arousal, until she’d felt as if she’d come if he moved against her just one more time. If the happy couple hadn’t surprised her by sneaking off … who knew what might have happened?

Now, deprived of his body against hers, she throbbed with a frustrated ache that made her press her legs together trying to contain the feeling. She should never have danced with him. She should never have had that beer.

She couldn’t blame it on the beer, though, not just one beer. She should have had two. Then she’d have a viable excuse.

She turned in at the extended-stay hotel, parked in one of the two slots outside the unit he’d booked for her. As she stepped up on the sidewalk he pulled in beside her, got out of the car.

Jaclyn swallowed, tried to make herself say the words that would send him away. Silently he came to her, took the key card from her hand.

They made it inside. At least they did that. She flipped one of the light switches as they came through the door, and a lamp came on. As soon as the door closed behind them, though, he had his arms around her and his mouth on hers, and he used his big body to crowd her backward toward the separate bedroom—and she let him. She not only let him, she had her arm wound around his neck and one leg hooked around his hips.

His hands were rough on her, pulling at her clothes, tugging so sharply once that she heard a seam rip. She didn’t care. He tipped her across the bed, came down on top of her. A few frantic seconds later he had her skirt up and her underwear off, and one hard muscled thigh between her legs, moving them apart. The thick, hot slide of his penis into her made her scream, then, because she was already coming, the sound choked off as she buried her face against his shoulder. He said her name, his voice guttural, then he hooked her legs in the crooks of his arms and began riding her hard and fast.

He didn’t spend the night this time. She woke a little after midnight, and he was gone.

So, evidently, was her common sense. She lay awake for a while, filled with an aching sadness. Every time he touched her it was like being stroked by lightning, and everyone knew lightning destroyed. It was bright and beautiful, but it left behind nothing but scorched earth.