Her Alibi. Carol Ericson
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God. Don’t even go there. I don’t want to think about it—any of it.” She tipped her head, resting it against the window.
“Have you tried to remember what happened after you got to Niles’s house?”
“I won’t.” She hadn’t remembered the time before, either.
Connor’s head jerked to the side. “Why so sure?”
“I—I don’t know. That time last night just feels like a black hole. Besides, if I was roofied, I’m not going to remember. I don’t think any victims after they’d been slipped Rohypnol ever remember what happened, do they? It’s usually forensic evidence, rape kit, even CCTV and witnesses that help piece things together and lead to a conviction, not the victim’s testimony.”
“Typically, but why would Niles drug you?” Connor dragged a hand through his hair, tucking one side behind his ear. “He wasn’t after you, was he? Wanting to get back together?”
“No way. He’d already moved on to a new girlfriend.”
“Then why drug you?”
“I’m thinking it wasn’t Niles who drugged me. Maybe somebody slipped something in both our drinks.”
“At the bar?”
She nodded. “This the place?”
“How can you tell? The fishnets in the front or the giant swordfish?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” She punched his thigh with her fist and met rock-hard muscle. Being a vintner agreed with Connor—the longer, sun-bleached hair, the casual attire, his more relaxed attitude. The fact that he hadn’t tossed her out on her bum after her outrageous story was a testament to that new attitude.
Although if she were honest with herself, she’d known Connor wouldn’t turn her away. He never had even when she’d deserved it.
He swung the truck into a parking place around the side of the restaurant that fronted the ocean. “Tourists are out in force. That’s the thing with these new restaurants. They do cater to the tourists.”
“Is the food any good?”
“Would I take you out for bad seafood? It’s decent.”
“Maybe we should’ve gone to one of our old haunts with the old local crowd, like the Black Whale.”
“Too risky. Too many direct questions. We need some time to ease into this.”
When he turned off the engine, Savannah slid from the truck, yanking down her skirt as her sandals hit the asphalt.
Connor had come around to the passenger side. “Should’ve waited for me to help you out. The truck sits kinda high.”
“I’m not going to hurt myself falling out of your truck.” Connor might not be a cop anymore, but he hadn’t lost his protective instincts. Thank God.
He took her hand. “It’s showtime.”
She was going to enjoy this role more than most of the ones she played. She squeezed his hand and bumped his shoulder with hers.
He opened the door for her, and she stepped into the restaurant, her breath hitching at the panoramic view of the ocean from the windows across the dining room. “Wow, no wonder this attracts the tourists.”
“Hey there, Connor.” A slinky hostess floated toward them, and Savannah moved in closer to her man, even if it was pretend.
“Hi, Cher. Do you have a table for two? No reservation.”
“You don’t need a reservation here, Connor. We have a no-show in the back, and that table has your name on it.”
“Thanks, Cher.”
As the resourceful Cher led them to the table with Connor’s name on it, she twisted her head over her shoulder and winked at Savannah. “We’re hoping to serve his first bottle of wine here someday soon.”
“I can’t wait for that myself. We’re trying to come up with names for the winery right now.”
Cher’s eyes popped and a little stumble marred her sashay. She recovered nicely and pulled out a chair for Savannah. “Well, let us know when you decide. Enjoy your meal, you two.”
Seated across from Savannah, Connor raised one eyebrow. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”
She hunched across the table and grabbed both his hands. “We’re back together. You’re the man I ran to in the middle of the night, knowing you’d take me back.”
The light from the window glimmered in his eyes as he studied every detail of her face. Could he see the truth there? She would always turn to Connor Wells in a crisis because he’d always be there for her.
He raised one of her hands, turned it over and pressed a kiss against the pulse throbbing in her wrist.
“Can I get you something to drink?” The waiter cleared his throat and asked again, “Drinks?”
Savannah tore her gaze away from Connor’s and jerked her hand out of his grasp. The connection between them still sizzled, even under the current circumstances. It would never go away, but this was all still make-believe and she’d kept too many secrets from Connor to ever make this anything more than playacting.
“Since it’s still before noon, how about a mimosa?” She ran a finger down a plastic drink menu. “The pomegranate mimosa, please.”
“It’s one of our most popular. And you, Connor? The usual?”
“That’ll do.”
Maybe nobody at this tourist trap knew Connor enough to ask probing questions, but they knew who he was. Everyone in San Juan Beach had known the Wells family. Her own mother had always told her to cozy up to Connor. The Wells family not only had position, they had money or at least land, which always translated into money.
She’d cozied up to him, but it hadn’t been for power or money—and now she had plenty of the latter, thanks to Niles’s death.
As the waiter walked away, Savannah tapped the side of her water glass. “The usual?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of wine tasting the past few years, and I found one I liked here.” He shrugged. “I’m a creature of habit.”
Savannah cranked her head over her shoulder at the loud voices coming from the bar. “Football game?”
Connor bolted upright in his chair, craning his neck toward the bar. “Not sure why they’d be pointing at us if it were.”
As Savannah’s gaze darted among the faces turned their way, she placed a hand against the fluttering in her belly. Was there news about Niles?
The bartender, Angel Cruz, burst through the low swinging door that led behind the bar and charged into the dining room. “Connor, there’s a fire—at your place.”
Connor jumped from the table, knocking over his glass of water. “The vines?”
“I don’t think so, man.” Angel tapped the cell phone in his hand. “My buddy said it’s a structure.”
“The house? Not the house.” Savannah had tossed her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair.
“It’s not the house, either. Some building on the property between the house and the vineyard.”
“I’ll settle this tab later.” Connor swirled his finger above the table. “Fire department already there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go, dude. Don’t worry about this stuff.”
Connor grabbed her arm and practically dragged her from the restaurant.
When they hit the parking lot, Savannah shook him off. “It sounds like it’s under control, Connor, and