The Suicide Club. Gayle Wilson
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The question brought her head around. Jace Nolan was standing in front of her window, opened wallet in hand.
At her hesitation, Shannon replied, “We don’t charge after the third quarter.”
Jace looked at the scoreboard and then back to Shannon. “Consider it a contribution. I’d just as soon not wait.”
“I didn’t mean you had to wait. You can just go in.”
“You sure?”
“This isn’t that much of a game.”
Shannon was obviously in flirt mode. Despite her initial dislike of the detective, Lindsey had admitted he was an attractive man. Why should she be surprised her friend had reached that same conclusion?
“So what do you do when you close?”
For the first time since he’d questioned the price of admission, the focus of those dark eyes was on Lindsey. Since it was clear to which of them the question had been addressed, Shannon kept her mouth shut, leaving it up to her to answer.
“We turn in the money and go home.”
“Not interested in watching the coup de grâce?”
“Not tonight.”
Shannon’s sneaker-clad foot made contact with the side of Lindsey’s ankle. Although she, too, might have been attracted to Jace, Shannon was smart enough to have picked up on the obvious undercurrent between them. The kick had clearly said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
An attractive man. A single woman on the wrong side of thirty stuck in a town this size. An invitation.
To Shannon—and to anyone else in Lindsey’s situation—that should spell “yes,” rather than such a definite “no.”
“You go on,” Shannon urged her before turning to smile at Jace. “I’ll take the money up to the press box.”
“If you aren’t interested in the game,” he said, again speaking directly to Lindsey, “maybe we could get something to eat. It’s been a long day, without any chance to grab dinner.”
For her, too. She’d spent the couple of hours between the end of school and her duties at the game lying down while she waited for the aspirin to work its magic. Because of her headache, she hadn’t eaten much lunch.
Apparently Shannon sensed the weakening of her resolve. “Friday night special at The Cove is hard to beat.”
“The Cove?” Jace’s gaze swung back to her.
“Out on the highway,” Shannon said helpfully. “One of our better restaurants. Who am I kidding? It’s the only decent food within thirty miles. And Lindsey’s favorite.”
“I appreciate the information. Ms. Sloan?”
Avoiding Shannon’s eyes, she met Jace’s instead. They were amused. And slightly challenging.
“I’m not dressed for The Cove.”
“On a ballgame night?” Shannon asked. “Honey, you’ll fit right in.” Her tone implied, And you damn well know it.
“You look fine to me,” Jace said.
The dialogue—the entire scenario—was so hokey, it was humiliating. And becoming more so by the second.
“Look—”
“Dinner,” Jace said. “No tour guiding involved.”
A reference to their conversation outside the gym this afternoon. At least Shannon had sense enough to keep her mouth shut, despite her almost palpable curiosity.
“Then…dinner.”
Why the hell had she agreed? Had she lost her mind? The man wanted to prove that one of her students was a criminal.
And if that were true? Wouldn’t she—and everyone else in this town—want to know?
“You sure you don’t mind closing up by yourself, Ms…?”
“Anderson. Shannon Anderson. I don’t mind. It’s a matter of walking up the stadium steps and handing in the cash at the press box.”
“You have a security escort?”
“Uh…Not in Randolph,” Shannon said with a laugh. “Everybody in the stadium knows what we’re doing. Believe me, nobody’s gonna try to make off with the money.”
“Then if you’re ready, Ms. Sloan.”
“Lindsey.” Again she wondered if she’d lost her mind.
“Lindsey.”
Sitcom dialogue. She looked at Shannon, daring her to laugh at the silliness of it. Surprisingly, her friend was looking exceptionally pleased with herself, but not amused.
“I’ll see you Monday,” Lindsey said to her.
“Y’all have fun.”
God, could this possibly get any worse? Lindsey stepped to the back of the booth and opened the door. She stood there a moment, trying to control her sense of unreality.
“Ready?” Jace had walked around to retrieve her.
“It doesn’t have to be The Cove. There are a couple of places that are nearer.”
“In a hurry to get home?”
She wasn’t. She was just a little out of her element.
Which had nothing to do with the restaurant and everything to do with the man she was going there with. The man half the town would see her with, which would inevitably create more gossip. And after the pep rally today…
“Compared to most places around here, The Cove is expensive. And likely to be crowded.”
“Then maybe if we left now…”
Jace’s suggestion was logical. To keep resisting would only make her appear more immature than she did already.
“My car’s here.”
“We can pick it up after we eat.”
On the way to where? she wondered. That had sounded as if dinner wasn’t the only thing he had in mind.
“Ready?” Once more Jace took her elbow, guiding her toward the parking lot. It was beginning to be a habit. One she discovered she was in no hurry to have him break.
“Jace. That’s an unusual name,” Lindsey said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”
Since he’d made this same explanation dozens of times, Jace didn’t even have to think about what to say. “Probably because my family made it up.”
They were headed out of the restaurant, where the food had been as good as advertised. Not his preferred style of cuisine, but definitely eatable. Which was more than he could say about some of the meals he’d had down here.
“Made it up?”
“My great-grandfather was James Christian Nolan. He was called James. My grandfather was James Christian Nolan, the second. Jimmy. They called my dad Trey, because he was the third. When I came along, somebody got the bright idea of calling me J.C., which became Jacey when I was a toddler. At some point, that got shortened to Jace. By the time I started to school, I thought that was my name.”
“Sounds like a story someone around here might tell.”
“What does that mean?” he asked opening the car door for her. He waited as she slid into the passenger seat.
“The whole name thing. We’re big on family down here. It just…I don’t know. It sounded…Southern.”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t think my family would qualify as Southern