“Sounds like a real gentleman,” Joe muttered sarcastically.

“Well, I guessed he didn’t have to do it, pay for my dinner and the taxi. My brother-in-law forced him into the date. Anyway, I went into the bar and decided to order a glass of wine, since it was on my list. The bartender, Sloan, was really sweet to me and helped me figure out what to order, since I didn’t know anythin’ about wine.”

I stopped again trying to read Joe’s expression. He looked guarded.

“While I waited for Sloan to bring my drink, the guy from the DMV showed up. He saw me in the restaurant and followed me into the bar. He said he was really good with faces but couldn’t place me. It happened after Momma’s funeral, after Aunt Bessie cut my hair, so I looked totally different. In fact, I still can’t believe he recognized me.”

Joe’s eyes softened and a tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Sure, your hair’s different and your clothes fit you better, but your face is still the same. You were pretty before you changed your hair, Rose.”

I blushed. I hadn’t realized he’d noticed me before I showed up on his front porch the night Momma died. “Well, he recognized my face, but couldn’t place me, and it really bothered him. He was friendly, a little too friendly, and Sloan told him I was his little sister and to get lost. Then Sloan called the taxi and I came home.”

“What happened the next time you saw Sloan?”

“Nothing, I never saw Sloan again.”

“What else?”

“What else, what?”

“That can’t be the end of your story. What else aren’t you telling me? What you told me isn’t enough to throw you into hysterical cryin’.”

I sat up, anger rising. “Why are you gettin’ so irritated? I’m telling you what I know.”

“No, you’re not. You’re lyin’ to me.” He sat up too, his eyes narrowing.

“There’s more to tell, but if you're goin’ to be ugly to me, I’m not tellin’ you anythin’.”

His face softened. He leaned his back against my headboard and pulled me into his arms, my cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll be quiet and listen.”

What did Joe McAllister have to gain from me? Why did he want to know my secrets so badly?

“Um…” My mind scrambled to come up with what to tell him. He knew there was more, I had to tell him something. Joe rubbed my back, making me torn between enjoying his touch and being suspicious. “The Monday I went back to work, he came back. The woman I work with said he’d been in every day the week before, looking for something or someone. But the day I came back, he came to my counter, with his paperwork. He told me he knew Sloan wasn’t my brother.”

“How did he know that?” Joe continued to rub my back.

“I don't know, he just said he did.” Should I tell him that he thought Sloan was a cop? I began to think that the less I told Joe, the better. I’d tell him just enough to make him think he knew everything. “That night was the night someone broke in, and of course the police didn’t believe me.”

I suddenly pictured Joe standing in my door in only his boxers and scratches and welts on his head and back.

The intruder had on black clothes and a stocking cap. I’d hit him in the back and head with the broom. What if Joe was the intruder and stripped off his clothes and came to my door, telling me he got hurt tackling the guy?

“Go on,” Joe said, rubbing my back again.

My heart began to race. “Ummm…” I didn’t know what else to tell him.

“Why did you go to the visitation tonight?”

“You didn’t show up and I thought about the night Steve left and how guys kept standing me up, and it made think about Sloan so I thought since I didn’t have anything else to do I’d go and pay my respects.” I was rambling and talking too fast. He would figure out he was making me nervous. I forced myself to slow down. “So I did.”

“What happened?”

“Excuse me?”

“What happened at the visitation?”

“Nothin’,” I said, trying to sound innocent.

His arm tensed and he paused before he resumed rubbing my back. “Rose,” he cooed into my ear. “You can trust me.”

The way he said it made me almost think I could trust him. Almost.

“Nothin’ happened. It just made me think of Momma and I got really upset.”

Joe tilted my head back and looked into my eyes. His were guarded and searching as he stroked my cheek. “Are you sure? Are you sure that’s all?”

I closed my eyes, feeling him touch my face, dismayed at the response my body had to his touch. His lips were on mine, soft and insistent, my resistance crumpling. I can’t trust him, I tried to tell it. I can’t tell him anything.

Muffy whined at the edge of the bed. I lifted my head up to check on her, but Joe pulled me back down, kissing me and making me forget.

“What was his name?” he asked, whispering in my ear.

I couldn't think, only feel, as he drove my body crazy.

Making me forget.

I sat up, bumping my head on his. I reached up to rub my head, while Joe looked confused.

Joe was always coaxing information out of me, using my body against me. My guts clenched. Joe didn't like me at all. He was just like Daniel Crocker. Only he used different tactics. And his were much worse.