Twisted (Burbank and Parker 1)

“You’re very welcome from all of us.” Elsa smiled faintly. “The hounds are welcome anytime. Burt?” She turned to her son questioningly.

“I’ll be leaving, too,” he supplied, carrying the empty tray over to the sink. “I’m opening the bookstore an hour early tomorrow to do inventory. So I’ll lock up the house, then walk Sloane to her car, and head for home. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

“All right, dear.” Elsa was already making her way slowly out of the kitchen. “Good night.”

“Good night, Elsa.” Sloane watched her disappear around the corner. “Your mother’s not herself,” she said quietly.

“No, she’s not. I’ve taken her to the doctor. He’s prescribed some vitamins. And he wants her to drink one of those nutritional supplement shakes every day.” Burt’s jaw tightened. “None of it seems to be doing much good. I guess life’s just taken its toll on her after all these years.”

“You’re coming by and spending so much time with her must help. It gives her an incentive.”

“Yes and no. She’d rather have grandchildren. That didn’t work out.” He cleared his throat. “At least not yet.”

Feeling a little uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, Sloane resumed her cleanup.

Burt stayed where he was, watching Sloane thoughtfully. “You’re quite the dynamo,” he observed at last.

“Not always.” She didn’t look up. “When my adrenaline drops, I’ll collapse.”

“Nice

to hear you’re not completely superhuman.” Finally, Burt turned away. “I’ll lock up and get Moe, Larry, and Curly’s things.”

“Thank you. By that time, I’ll be ready to leave.”

Ten minutes later, Burt walked Sloane to her car. He waited until she had settled the hounds in the backseat, and had buckled herself in and turned on the ignition.

“I enjoyed our conversation,” he said. “Maybe we can continue it sometime over dinner.”

Now Sloane was really uncomfortable. “These days, my life is crazy. I’m pretty much on overload. Dinner for me is a can of tuna.”

“Then maybe when things quiet down.”

“Maybe.”

Burt hovered beside her car for another minute, his hands shoved in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“I appreciate the escort,” Sloane prompted, hoping to fill the void and end the conversation all at once. “And I’m grateful for your help with Moe, Larry, and Curly.” A quick glance in her rearview mirror. “But I’d better get going. They’re shivering.”

“So I see.” He acknowledged her claim with a nod. Then he stepped away from her car. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Sloane shifted the car into drive and veered around the top section of the driveway in a full circle so she was facing the road. This way, she could negotiate the twists and turns of the Wagners’ endless driveway in forward rather than reverse.

She gave Burt a quick wave, relieved when he waved back and headed for his own car. He was obviously in a vulnerable state right now, and the last thing she wanted was for him to make more of their neighborly friendship than it was.

With the hounds yipping and standing up against the windows, Sloane put on her brights and headed back to the main road.

Her gaze fell on the digital clock.

Eleven-ten. Too late to make phone calls.

She was itching to know if the Atlantic City agents had turned up anything at the Richard Stockton campus.

She knew one person who’d still be awake.

Derek never went to bed before one.

That knowledge was irrelevant. There was no way she’d call him. Not at home. And not on a Friday night. He was probably working. Or out with a woman. Derek was way too hot to be spending his weekends alone.