Page 32 of Broken Bayou
He rolls his eyes. “Technically, Raymond’s with the sheriff’s office. Brown uniform. But, yeah.”
“What was the deal with you and Raymond back then? Seemed like there was something. Other than the idiots he hung out with.”
“Ancient history.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s nothing, Willa.”
Travis’s voice sounds playful, but his eyes look serious. A look that says if I keep going, he’ll leave. And I’m not ready for him to leave.
You’re getting out over your skis with this one, I tell myself. Stop. Put the wine down.
Travis breaks the tension. “I know something we can talk about.”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind. Maybe I shouldn’t say.”
I swat his arm. “You can’t do that. Tell me.”
“We may have our sights on someone.”
“Sights on someone?”
“A suspect,” he says.
“What!” The wine has me overanimated. I tell myself, again, tone it down.
He nods. “Person of interest, for sure.”
“Who?”
“You’ll know soon enough.” He sets his cup down. “Sooner if that fancy reporter gets her teeth into it. I swear that woman has a source in law enforcement. She gets information before the chief does.”
“Let me guess. Rita Meade.”
He smiles a crooked smile. “Bingo.”
I lean in, the wine tightening the hold on my curiosity. “Who’s the person of interest?”
“Stop.” He points a finger at me, trying to be serious but he’s smiling. “I can’t.”
“Who amIgoing to tell? Besides, if Rita knows, the whole world is going to know pretty soon.”
“Then you’ll see it on the nightly news.” He raises his glass.
I stare at it. “You seem more of a beer guy than a wine guy.”
“I’m an anything guy tonight.”
More silence; then he catches my gaze. “We used to have fun, didn’t we?”
I rub my fingers across my lips. “Yes, we did.”
What the hell is wrong with me? Don’t talk in that cooing, flirty voice. Don’t go to the past. But the warm buzz is nice, and he smells damn good.
“Remember the crop duster?” he says.
