“Then let’s get going.”
He was afraid she’d argue over the check, but he insisted and she acquiesced. A few minutes later, he was finding parking downtown at the meeting spot, and they joined the group and listened to the stories. Dustin was astonished to realize what a good time he was having with her. They heard a few stories that might have occurred anywhere, like the one about the waitress who haunted a particular bar, serving up ale when people weren’t expecting it. Apparently she was still waiting for her soldier to return from the war. They heard about the four thousand Native Americans who died as U.S. policy forced them from their homes to reservations west of the Tennessee border. They went by the Ryman Auditorium—originally the Union Gospel Tabernacle and still undisputed mother church of country music. Dustin teased her that he could’ve given her a much better tour—an insider’s tour—if his sister had been home.
When they came to the capitol building, the guide went into a coughing fit and kept excusing himself. Olivia hurried to a nearby bar to get him some water. Dustin was actually feeling so comfortable and relaxed that he offered to tell the story. The distressed guide raised his eyebrows; Dustin launched in. Olivia, running back with a bottle of water, looked at him curiously.
He bowed to her and began his speech.
“When Tennessee first became a state, the capital was Knoxville—Nashville was the frontier back then, little more than a wilderness. But by 1806, Nashville was starting to thrive. Yeah...a lot of outlying areas were still wilderness, but she was now becoming a great city. An important city. So Nashville was voted as the capital but the seat of government was just a small building. In 1845, Architect William Strickland was hired to construct the new capitol building. He fought constantly with Samuel Morgan during the many years it took to get the building completed. Morgan, called the ‘Merchant Prince of Nashville,’ had been appointed by the Capitol Commission to oversee construction. The two men did not get into a duel or murder each other, but alas, they both died, William Strickland in 1854, Morgan some years later, in 1880. The capitol building wasn’t complete at Strickland’s death, but he would be interred in a vault within its walls. This honor went to only one other man—Samuel Morgan. Today, people believe, you can still hear the two of them, arguing eternally over the most minute details of construction.”
By then the guide had recovered. He asked if Dustin would mind if he took over again, and Dustin stepped back beside Olivia. Not thinking, he placed an arm around her shoulders. She laughed at the guide’s antics and didn’t seem to notice.
When the tour was over, he drove back to the small chain motel, where they checked into adjoining rooms under his name alone.
He bade Olivia good-night and went to his own room. He’d slipped his Glock into the top drawer of his bedside table and had stripped down to his briefs when there was a knock at the adjoining door.
He rose and walked over, opening it partially.
Olivia stood there in a sheer black gown with red trim. It might have been the most seductive garment he’d ever seen—on the most seductive body.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” His voice was too deep, too gruff.
“I...was thinking about those one-night no-obligation flings you talked about.”
He felt as if he’d suddenly become paralyzed, and then he felt as if someone had set him on fire. He lowered his head, fighting the fierce longing that ripped through him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I apologize. I can tell that...” She started to step back, to close her side of the door. He stopped her, his hand firmly on the door she would have closed.
“Don’t you see?” he asked her, his tone harsh. “I do know your number—and it would mean something.”
She didn’t fight him. She didn’t run in embarrassment.
She met his eyes. “Yes, yes, it would. Thank you. Thank you for rejecting me. I think.”
“I’d never really reject you,” he whispered.
She looked down and then back up at him, a trace of amusement in her eyes. “That’s very sweet. Thank you again. And good night.”
Olivia shut the door, and he allowed her to do so. He went to bed, knowing he should have been seeking a killer in his mind even as he fell asleep. He should have been thinking about clues, about putting together small pieces of information in some logical order.
Instead...
He dreamed of what the night might have been.
8