The P.I. Who Loved Her. Tori Carrington

McCoy, who’ll die in the same spot he was born.”

      She slid a glance over her shoulder, relieved to find him grimacing at the jibe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      She shrugged.

      Oh, yeah, she’d known odds were she’d run into Mitch when she came back to Manchester. And she’d even admit to feeling a tingle of excitement at the prospect of coming face-to-face with him. The only problem was, she hadn’t counted on running into him the instant she rolled over the county line. Hadn’t expected to be reminded of how much she had missed him.

      That was just one of those things about life: when it rained, it bloody well stormed.

      She cleared her throat. “How’s, um, your father?” she asked, acutely aware that he was watching her backside.

      He jostled her out of the way then knelt in front of the tire. “Fine. He’s fine.”

      “And your brothers?”

      “They’re fine, too.” He sat back on his heels. “Look, Liz, I’m really not in the mood for a game of catch-up. It’s been a really long day. I’d like nothing more than to get you on your way, then go home and crawl into bed.” She watched him stiffen, then close his eyes and mutter a curse. He finished hoisting the car up and methodically removed the lug nuts from the flat. Her mind turned over all the possible reasons for his reaction, then she homed in on the most likely: the mention of bed and her in the same sentence.

      The warmth that had spread through her veins earlier edged up a degree or two. She rode out a delicious shiver, and tried to remind herself of the long list of reasons she had not to play with the fire flickering in front of her in the shape of Mitch McCoy. First and foremost, the fact that she had been minutes away from marrying another man, oh, not twelve hours ago.

      Still, not even that impetus was enough to stop her from wanting Mitch in much the same way she’d always wanted him, despite the number of years that separated then from now.

      He glanced at her over a broad shoulder. “So what brings you back to Manchester, Liz? Last I heard, you were in Chicago.”

      She smiled. He might not want to play catch-up when it came to himself, but it appeared she was a whole different matter. “So you kept tabs on me. I’m impressed.” She watched his frown deepen. “I do have to say I’m a little disappointed, though. I left Chicago a few years back.”

      “Let me guess. You left for Massachusetts.”

      “Um, actually no,” she said quietly. “There were a couple of cities in between.” She felt inexplicably uncomfortable. “But they don’t matter. Not now.”

      The crowbar slipped from a lug nut and he nearly pierced the flat tire with the pointed end.

      “What is it with the dress, Liz? Is your groom stashed in the trunk, or is this style one you’ve taken a liking to?”

      She inwardly winced at the below-the-belt jab. “I don’t know, Mitch. Did you see anyone in the trunk when you got the tire out?”

      “Damn. Stepped right into that one, didn’t I?” He continued working on the flat tire. “You never answered my question.”

      She stared at him blankly.

      “What are you doing back in Manchester?”

      Now that was a question. What was she doing back in Manchester? It was something she’d been asking herself ever since she realized a few hours ago that was where she was heading.

      She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was feeling a little nostalgic for the past, maybe?” She turned away from where he watched her a little too closely and drew in a deep breath of the damp, summer night air. “I’ll be on my way as soon as some things settle down in Boston.”

      She hadn’t realized he’d moved until he stood right next to her. “These things that need to settle down—they don’t have anything to do with the blood on your dress, do they?”

      She glanced at Mitch’s profile in the darkness. For just an instant, she remembered that her favorite pastime had once been staring at him. Tracing the outline of his nose with her finger…running her tongue along the fine ridge of his jaw….

      She cleared her throat. “No. Well, not exactly anyway.” She wiped at a smudge on her long skirt then turned her best smile on him. “This stain really has you worked up, doesn’t it?”

      He rubbed his long, slender fingers against his chin, making her fingers ache to do the same. “Yeah, well, you always did have this way of getting under my skin.”

      “Yeah. Ditto,” she said, eyeing his mouth. His wide, generous mouth she had once kissed for hours at a stretch. Dipping her tongue in and out of its hot wetness. Sucking on his bottom lip then catching it between her teeth. “Guess some things never change, no matter how much you want them to.”

      “Yeah.”

      Her gaze slammed into his. What seemed like an eternity of unanswered questions and unacknowledged truths seemed to pass between them. Then Mitch drew away and moved stiffly back to the car, a line of quiet oaths filling his wake.

      Liz straightened the strap of her dress and sighed. Truth be told, she didn’t know what she was doing back in Manchester. One minute she was punching Richard in the nose at the Beschloss estate, the next she was on her way to Virginia with no clothes, no resources, and every reason to think she wouldn’t have access to either for awhile. At least not until Rich regained his cool. Of course, if she’d known what was going to happen, she never would have sold her apartment and moved all her things to Rich’s place. Or rushed out with little more than her car keys and the clothes on her back, her plans not stretching beyond getting out of the house now. Good thing she always kept her driver’s license and a gas card in the car’s glove compartment or she’d never have made it out of Massachusetts. She’d also found a few dollars’ worth of change in the car, but that was it.

      She had suspected there was something inherently wrong with getting engaged to a spoiled bank vice president whose family just happened to own the financial institution he worked at and where she had all her accounts. And here she thought her misgivings had to do with all that blue blood that ran through his veins.

      Then there was Mitch….

      She watched him lower the car and tighten the lug nuts. He got up and held out the crowbar and jack.

      “Here. Since you didn’t want my help to begin with, I’m sure you won’t mind cleaning up.”

      She accepted the items, then flicked a glance down the road. Mitch followed her line of vision.

      “What’s the matter? You expecting company?”

      She laughed her response, then abruptly stopped. Was it naive to think that Rich wouldn’t follow her?

      The sound of a barking dog made her jump. Then she recognized the over-zealous, roaring bark of this particular dog. She stared at the truck behind the Lexus.

      “That’s not…” She met Mitch’s exasperated gaze. “You still have Goliath?”

      His silence was all the answer she needed. She thrust the jack and crowbar back at him, then lifted her skirts and hurried in the direction of the truck.

      Mitch stood planted to the spot on the asphalt, clutching the tools. He felt as if someone had grabbed the edges of the invisible rug that constituted his life and given it a good yank, throwing everything into chaos. Funny, it was the same way he had always felt when around Liz Braden. Actually, it depended on the day. Years ago he’d described her as the sunlight that had chased the shadows from the dark side of his soul. Tonight, she was definitely a rug-yanker.

      He watched her open the truck door as enthusiastically as if she wore jeans and a T-shirt rather than a wedding dress. The aging brown-white-and-black dappled dog leapt out. If he didn’t know better, he would think the mutt recognized the woman who had rescued him from life