“I’d be dead without a helmet,” he murmured. “Even so, concussion and stuff. But I’m not gonna tell you that, because I’m not telling anybody about that.”

Posey bit her lip. “Okay. I won’t know about it then.”

“Good. Because it’s a secret.”

Or it would be without the truth serum that had apparently been administered along with the painkillers. He shifted and winced a little.

Crikey. Imagine being in a near-fatal accident and not telling anyone. Maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have anyone to tell.

That thought sat in Posey’s brain for a beat or two, throbbing. Imagine living with the fear that if anything happened to you, your child would have no one. He’d said that’s why they’d moved back to New Hampshire…to be closer to Nicole’s grandparents. He just hadn’t said, “in case I die.”

There was a strange ache in Posey’s chest.

“Can you get me a pillow?” the patient asked.

“There are two right next to you.”

“You have to be nice. You broke me.”

“I’m very nice, Liam, and I didn’t break you, I cracked you. Just one bone, too, so let’s not exaggerate. You have two hundred and five other bones that are perfectly fine.” Nevertheless, she walked over to the other side of the bed and got a pillow.

“Oh, so now you’re a doctor? How come you didn’t know I wasn’t having a heart attack, then?”

“Shush. Here’s the pillow, Princess Precious.”

“Can you tuck it under my rib? The one you broke?”

She sighed loudly and pulled the covers down—there was that beautiful, rippling torso again, hello, gorgeous—and leaned over him, as there really was no avoiding it. Tucked the pillow against his side, trying to channel an angel of mercy and not a lustful reprobate.

“How’s that?” she asked.

Apparently it was pretty good, because his hands were in her hair, and he pulled her face down to his, and he was kissing her—Liam Murphy was kissing her!—and it was so shocking and so warm and so utterly… His lips moved against hers, deepening the kiss. It was like being filled with light and heat and a melting weakness, oh, Elvis, it was amazing. Her hands were on his chest, his bare skin warm and perfect and so… God…it was so…so…

Over. It was over. Lips no longer on hers, hands no longer in hair.

Posey pulled back a little. His eyes were closed, lashes a dark smudge on his cheeks. “Liam?” she whispered.

There was a little smile on his mouth—the mouth that had been kissing hers. Otherwise, he was incommunicado. “Liam?” she said again, more loudly this time.

Nada. He was out cold. Down for the count.

She straightened abruptly. Face was burning, joints buzzing with adrenaline, chest filled with helium.

Liam Murphy had kissed her.

And he’d fallen asleep in the middle of it. She didn’t know whether to burst into song or kick something.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“COME ON, COME ON. This way. No time to lose. We don’t want the blue-hairs to take our spot,” Steve said.

A bit unclear on what that meant, Posey followed her date. That’s right, a date. She wasn’t about to sit around and wait for Liam Murphy to remember that he’d kissed her and either apologize or ask her out. It had been five days since The Kiss. Once his unconsciousness had been verified with a poke to the uncracked set of ribs, Posey had given him maybe thirty seconds to rouse, debating on kissing him again (because, man! That had been quite a kiss!) or smothering him, because obviously it hadn’t been quite a kiss for him…just a reflex or something. Whatever. Their paths hadn’t crossed since, and that was fine. Because even if he was worried about his daughter being left alone, and even if Posey couldn’t deny that he had the thickest eyelashes she’d ever seen, and even though her girl parts still yowled like her cats during a full moon at the thought of that kiss, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t a jerk. He was. Because only jerks went around kissing women in medicated stupors and then did nothing.

“Oh, fantastic. Here we go.” Steve steered her to a row of slot machines and pretty much shoved her onto a seat. “Good luck.” With that, he spread his coat, her coat and her backpack onto three other slot machines, swiped a card and began punching buttons.

“Okay, so I just…” Posey’s voice trailed off. Steve was engrossed already, muttering, staring at the screen.

Steve was Elise’s cousin—Elise had dozens, apparently, and Steve had moved back to the area recently. “You might like him?” Elise had suggested in her sing-song voice. “Right?”

“Is he a good guy?” Posey’d asked. “He’s not a serial killer or anything, is he?” Such high standards. But that kiss had solidified her resolve to stop being distracted by Liam Murphy. And given the number of times she had relived that bleeping kiss, she needed distraction. Quickly.

“Um…no? Not a serial killer, of course not. He’s a good guy…I think. It’s been a while since we really hung out? Like…when we were twelve. But yeah. I guess?”

It wasn’t exactly the glowing recommendation Posey was hoping for…but heck. Everyone had flaws, right? One date. What harm could there be in that? Elise had found a picture of Steve, and he was very cute, and what more could Posey want, right? Not a serial killer, quite cute. Someone, call a priest.

She and Steve emailed, then talked on the phone. She’d been hoping for a walk or a meeting in the park—the weather was gorgeous, and Posey had been weeding at The Meadows for two hours that afternoon, but Steve suggested something else. So here they were at the new Indian casino—Revenge on the White Man, as Posey thought of it. They’d exchanged the briefest of pleasantries, but it was now clear Steve wanted to get to work.

The casino was filled with a strange, discordant melody as hundreds of slot machines were played at once. There was a bitter smell in the air, too, from the smoking section. No one was dancing, not like on the casino commercials, and there didn’t seem to be a lot of happy, well-dressed younger people. No. A woman with pinktinged hair sat to Posey’s left, her oxygen canister taking up another slot machine. Apparently you could play more than one at a time.

“Hi,” Posey said. The lady didn’t answer, simply adjusted her sweatshirt, sucked in a deep breath of oxygen and swiped her card, which hung around her neck like an ID badge. Clearly, she was experienced. Four or five seats down was a tiny, ancient man with a walker, and next to him, a woman wearing a thick red wig, her gnarled hands punching the buttons with surprising force.

Posey reached into her pocket for a quarter, inserted, pulled the crank and lost. Six minutes later, the twenty dollars she’d brought for gambling purposes was gone. “I guess I’m done for the night,” she said aloud. Neither her date nor the old lady replied.

“So, Steve, how is it being back and all?” she asked, getting up and leaning against his slot machine. “Elise said you just moved back from Texas, was it?”

“It’s pretty good.” He gave her a quick smile—that was nice; he remembered she was here—and pulled the crank again. “Wanna be my lucky charm?”

“Sure.”

He pulled the crank again. Lost again. He glanced at her, pulled. “You done already?”

“Yeah. Amazing how fast you can go through twenty dollars.”

“Twenty bucks? That’s all you brought?” He gave her an incredulous glance, then lost again, reached over and pulled another lever. Lost again. Pulled, lost, cursed. Pulled, lost, cursed. Posey sighed. The good news was she didn’t seem to have a gambling problem. Bad news was that Steve did.

Sure enough, he cursed again. “I don’t believe it!” he blurted, staring at a message on the screen in front of him. “My credit card is maxed out again. Perfect.” He smacked the screen of the slot machine, shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

Steve was not going to be the father of her children, that was clear.

“This really sucks.” He glanced at her again. “Do you have a credit card?”

“Um…yes.”

“Want to front me some money? Just a hundred or so.”

“No, thanks.”

He sighed. “Okay. Wanna get a room?”

Posey blinked. “No, I’m good.” Elise would be hearing about this, that was for sure.

“Well,” Steve said, checking his phone, “I guess we can…I don’t know. Walk or something. I’m broke.”

Dante of the Booty Call was looking better and better. At least he fed her.

“Why don’t we just go our separate ways, Steve?” Posey suggested. If she left now, she could get a pizza before Angie’s closed. Settle in, watch a movie…

“Aw, man! Posey, can you…uh, stand right here and don’t move, okay?” He hunched down, pretending to tie his shoe, and glanced around Posey’s hips. “Crap. Let’s go. Come on, hurry up!” With that, he grabbed her hand and jerked her past the oxygen-tank lady, one hand shielding his face as if he were Lady Gaga dodging the paparazzi.

“Steve, stop! What are you doing?” Posey glanced over her shoulder. “Holy Elvis! Are they here for you?”

Two uniformed police officers and three or four burly casino security men were pointing and talking into radios. Posey jerked to a stop. “Are you under arrest?” she yelped, wrenching her arm free.

“Steven Aubrey, you are under arrest,” called the female officer. “Stop or I will use this Taser before you can say Charlie Sheen.”

Steve stopped.

“Unbelievable,” Posey said. “Can you believe this?” she asked the oxygen-tank lady. No answer, but there was a tinkle of coins.

“Gotcha, you bastard,” the old lady said, scooping up her winnings. “You must be my lucky charm,” she added, giving Posey a smile.

“My date’s being arrested,” Posey told her.

“She let me borrow it!” Steve called. “She’s senile. She forgot, that’s all!”

“Did she forget you hocked her engagement ring, too?” the cop said. “Hands behind your head, scumbag.”

Steve hesitated, then bolted, but the tiny man swung his walker out, tripping Steve. He went down at the feet of a security guard, who calmly stepped on the back of his neck.

Posey felt a nudge at her side. “Ma’am? Hands behind your head, please.” It was the female cop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Posey said, obeying. “I barely know this guy. His cousin fixed us up. Fun date, don’t you think?”

“Are you aware that he stole his grandmother’s car and jewelry?” the officer asked.

“No! Jeesh, Steve! That’s really low.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” Steve said, his words muffled by the carpet. “We just met.” The second officer slapped on some handcuffs.

“You know how to pick ’em, sister,” the officer said.

“Tell me about it,” Posey muttered.

“I thought my mom’s podiatrist was bad, but you win.”

“See, I would love a podiatrist. Think of the foot rubs. Can I put my hands down?”

“Sure.” The officer took her name and phone number, but Posey was quickly cleared. Cleared! How many dates had required her being cleared? Still, it would make a good story—Vivian would love it, as would Jon. Her parents…not so much. Then again, they didn’t have to know.

Steve apparently had life yet in him, because as they hauled him to his feet, he twisted away and broke into a staggering run. Just ahead of him was a Japanese family—mother, father, toddler in stroller—and though his hands were cuffed behind his back, Steve grabbed the handle of the stroller, as if he planned to drag it behind him as a hostage or something. The mother screamed, grabbed the stroller back, and all of a sudden, Steve was on the ground, convulsing, the toddler smiling at the excitement.

“Bull’s-eye,” said the female officer, blowing a kiss to her Taser.

“Now I know what I want for my birthday,” Posey murmured.

“I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do,” the officer said, “but come on. He grabbed that kid, he had it coming. I should’ve aimed lower.”

As Steve was led/dragged away, Posey rifled through her backpack, pulled out her phone, and called Elise. “Your cousin was just arrested.”

“Oh, man! Again?”

“Elise! What do you mean, again?”

“Well, right? I mean…he said he had a new leaf? Whatevs.”

“He stole your grandmother’s car. And her jewelry.”

“So not cool. But seriously, Gran should know by now, right?”

Posey ground her teeth. “Elise, next time you fix me up with someone, let’s do a background check first, okay?”

“Right? That’s a totally good idea. I’m gonna write that down.” There was a pause. “Background check…Posey. Got it.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Posey? Mrs. Appleton called. And she was kinda lonely.”

Well, dang it. Poor Vivian. She usually got blue after the Vultures visited—Countdown to the Grave, as Viv referred to it. The relatives would gather round, talk in overly loud voices, tuck blankets around Viv’s legs and stare at their watches as if hopeful her heart would give out any second. Posey wished she’d been with Vivian instead of watching her date resist arrest (though she had to admit, it was kind of fun to see a guy tasered, and what that said about her emotional state was nothing good).