Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) (21 page)

After dropping off
Faye and making sure she was safely inside, Emma returned to her dad’s house
only to find an unfamiliar, dark green Jeep Wrangler parked at the curb. She
pulled into the driveway, wondering whose car it was, until a familiar figure
climbed out of the Jeep and walked toward her. Wesley, the gym instructor. What
was he doing here? And then it hit her—they had a date for lunch today. How on
earth could she have forgotten that?

“Hey, there,” Wesley said as she got out of
her car. “I thought you’d stood me up.” The puzzled vee between his brows
indicated he wasn’t used to being stood up.

“I’m sorry, I had an urgent errand to run,”
Emma improvised. She gestured toward the house. “Mind waiting five or ten
minutes while I freshen up?” Wesley was dressed in khaki chinos and a crisp
red-and-beige plaid shirt, his hair neatly combed back, his jaw freshly shaven.
She, on the other hand, had barely run a comb through her hair today. The least
she could do was put on some lipstick.

She ushered him into the living room and
then dashed off to her bedroom. As she fixed her hair, slipped on a cool
summery dress, and applied some make up, she wondered why she’d forgotten about
the date. Was it because she wasn’t all that taken with Wesley, despite his obvious
good looks? She pushed the uncomfortable thought away. Wesley was attractive,
friendly, and single. What wasn’t there to like? And their lunch date had only
slipped her mind because there was so much else crowding out her brain. She was
looking forward to spending more time with him.

“I thought we’d try this new place over in
La Quinta,” Wesley said when they were finally in his Jeep. He’d put the top
down, and a warm breeze blew through the cabin.

“Okay.” Emma wasn’t all that fussed where
they went. She would just be glad to leave her problems in Greenville behind.

But that wasn’t so easy because the next
thing Wesley said was, “Hey, did you hear the news about some old guy being
stabbed yesterday? Pretty grim, huh?”

“Yes.” Emma sighed, knowing she couldn’t keep
silent on the subject as much as she wanted. “I discovered the poor man’s
body.”

The Jeep lost speed as Wesley turned to
gape at her. “What! You? Oh man, that must’ve shaken you up.”

“A little.”

He glanced at her several times before
giving her arm a brief squeeze. “Hey, I’m sorry I mentioned it. You feeling
okay? We don’t have to go out for lunch, if you’re not up to it.”

“I’m fine, really. And I don’t want to stay
at home and brood.”

He drove on in silence as though she needed
time to recover. He really was a nice guy, she decided. Underneath the tattoos,
the scar, and the square jaw he was a bit of a sweetie.

“Any idea who did it?” he asked eventually.

“Nothing but wild conjecture, I’m afraid.
The police questioned me yesterday, but I haven’t heard anything since.”

Wesley shook his head, his expression
somber. “Greenville’s a nice, quiet place, but I tell you, there’re some
nutters out there.”

Something in his tone made her glance at
him more closely. “What makes you say that? Have you run into some of these
nutters?”

He grimaced and shifted in his seat,
clearly debating whether to continue or not. He tapped his forearm where a
tattoo of a red-and-black, fire-breathing dragon writhed over his skin. “See
this?”

“Uh-huh.” No one could help noticing his
colorful markings.

“And this?” He jabbed a finger at the scar
on his temple that nicked the end of his eyebrow.

“Yep.”

“People see the tattoo and the scar and that
I keep myself in shape, and then assume things about me.”

“What things?”

“That I’m a member of a motorcycle club or
a drug dealer or some kind of enforcer.”

Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I’ve
never thought that about you.”

He waved a hand. “It only happens when I’m
in certain bars.” He kneaded the steering wheel with fists that were like
rocks. Clearly he was upset. “I just want to tell you that I’m not that kind of
guy. Sure, I’ve had a few brushes with the law, but that’s all in the past.
I’ve been straight for years, and I don’t need any trouble with the cops.”

Emma chewed on her lower lip, wishing Wesley
hadn’t spoken. She’d felt quite comfortable accepting his invitation to a
casual Sunday lunch, but now he was revealing more of his past than she’d
expected. What were these ‘brushes with the law’ that he’d mentioned? Were they
serious felonies or minor misdemeanors? Had he done anything criminal in the
past?

As if realizing that in trying to reassure
her he’d done the opposite, he gave her a wry smile. “I shouldn’t have opened
my mouth. Have I frightened you off? Want me to turn around and take you home?”

That was exactly what she wanted, but
somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Whatever Wesley had done, she
didn’t feel unsafe in his presence. Maybe that wasn’t a very logical reason,
but she figured she didn’t need to get too nervous. Wesley was upset because
certain people pigeonholed him as nefarious based purely on his appearance. If
she terminated their date now, she’d be no better than the people who’d
pre-judged him.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s go to lunch.”

Wesley threw her a quick smile. “I knew you
were special.”

She smiled back, hoping she appeared more
confident that she felt. It was broad daylight. They’d be eating in a public
place. And she was always prepared for emergencies. She slipped a hand into her
capacious bag and felt around. After several attempts she located her cell
phone. Now, where was that small can of Mace she’d bought in New York and never
had a chance to use? A small, sharp object dug into her palm. What was that?
She scrabbled past it and closed her fingers around a slim, metal cylinder. This
was either the Mace or hairspray. Her bag was getting out of control. Tonight
she would empty out the contents and sort everything.

***

Wesley surprised
her again by taking her to a nice restaurant with an open-air courtyard and a
view of the lake. He was pleasant and solicitous, eager to put her at ease.
Emma, determined to put the turmoil of the past week behind her, told herself
to relax. The warm weather and the wisteria-shaded courtyard were perfect for a
lazy Sunday lunch. Couples and groups of people sat around them chatting
comfortably. No one appeared to look askance at Wesley’s tattoos and scar.

She ordered the Portuguese chicken, and he
had the grilled snapper—another surprise when she’d pegged him as a steak
man—and they both had a glass of white wine. They talked about the gym and her
event planning and a little about their past lives. He told her about his
previous job as a personal trainer in Baltimore. She got the impression that something
more than merely a desire for a quieter life had led him to Greenville, but she
was content not to ask too many prying questions. They were just starting to
get to know one another. The difficult questions could come later.

As Wesley paid the bill, she wondered if
there would be a later. She’d enjoyed their lunch, but she couldn’t say there
was any big spark between them. Wesley was easy on the eye and easy to talk to,
but she wasn’t dying to spend more time with him. She’d be happy for them to be
friends, and she sensed he felt the same way.

They were in the foyer about to leave when
a man entered the restaurant. She recognized Alvin Tucker immediately and started
to smile a greeting at him, but paused when she realized he wasn’t even looking
at her. Instead, his whole attention was focused on Wesley, and from the
tightening of his jaw, he didn’t seem at all pleased. In fact, Alvin looked
almost frightened.

“Hi, Alvin,” Emma called out, puzzled by
his fraught expression.

“Emma!” He hurried across the foyer and
placed a hand on her arm as if to draw her away. “Quick, you should come with
me.”

Wesley shot him a frown. “Don’t I know you
from somewhere?”

Ignoring him, Alvin tugged at her arm, his
face growing gray. “You’ve gotta get away,” he muttered. “This guy’s
dangerous.”

“Huh?” Emma glanced from one man to the
other. “You must be mistaken. This is my gym instructor, Wesley…” Her voice
trailed off as she realized she didn’t know Wesley’s last name. “We’ve just had
lunch together.”

Wesley stepped closer, annoyance radiating
from him. He glared at Alvin. “Take your hand off her, buster.” The menacing
growl coupled with his thunderous look and bunched shoulders made him even more
intimidating, especially against Alvin’s stocky, paunchy frame.

Alvin’s throat bobbed up and down as he
gulped, but he didn’t let go of Emma. Instead, he thrust her behind him and
squared up to Wesley. “I’ve made one stupid mistake already. I’m not going to
make another one.”

Lifting his fists, he shuffled his feet
like a punch drunk boxer. He was shorter, flabbier, and older than the other
man, but his face was suffused with trembling determination.

Wesley blinked. He put his hands on his
hips, threw back his head, and snorted with laughter. “You want to fight me?
Huh! You’ve got a screw loose, old timer. Why don’t you go home and take your
meds?”

Whether it was being laughed at or called
an ‘old timer’ Emma wasn’t sure. But without warning Alvin exploded out of the
blocks and launched himself at Wesley, his fists swinging wildly. Caught off
guard, Wesley staggered back into a potted plant. He fell over, smashing the
pot and landing on his butt. He scrambled to his feet, his face reddening, the
cords in his neck swelling. Furious at the humiliating tumble, he curled his
hands into fists and growled like a riled bear. Alvin backed nervously away as
wait staff and managers dashed into the foyer.

“Wesley, Alvin, stop!” Emma called out, but
no one was listening.

The easygoing man she’d just enjoyed lunch
with hurled himself at Alvin and with one shove sent the older man flying
across the foyer. Alvin landed heavily on his back, grunting in pain, but
managed to heave himself to his feet nevertheless.

Emma ran to him, her mind blank with the
shock of what was enfolding. “Alvin, oh God! Are you hurt?” She tried to lend
him a helping hand, but he brushed her off.

“Go,” he muttered. “Go now. That man’s a
killer.”

“
You’re
the freaking wackjob!” Wesley
advanced on them, scattering dirt from the broken pot plant. “Emma, listen to
me. This guy’s a nutter, swear to God.”

The door of the restaurant swung open as a
tall man and an older woman entered.  “What’s going on here?” the man said in a
low yet authoritative voice.

Owen Fletcher
. Relief surged over Emma. She’d never been gladder to see him. Owen
stood with legs slightly apart, shoulders back, hands at his hips as he took in
the scene. Alert and calm, he exuded control. Behind him stood his mom, Ingrid,
looking perplexed. As Owen’s gaze swept over Emma, she caught a hint of
surprise in his eyes before he focused his attention on the two men.

Alvin jabbed a finger at Wesley. “That
man’s a murderer.”

Wesley’s face looked like it would explode.
“Don’t listen to this nut job. He tried to offer me money to kill someone.”

Alvin, who was already ashen, turned a sickly
putty color. “That—that—” he spluttered before covering his face with his
hands. “Oh, God.”

Owen flashed his badge at Wesley. “I’m
Deputy Fletcher with the Marion County Sheriff’s Department. Can I have your
name, sir?” Wesley muttered the details. Still calm, Owen pulled out his cell
phone and made a brief call. “Okay,” he said when the call was over. “You’re
both coming down to the sheriff’s station with me.” He nodded at Emma. “You,
too.” He turned to his mother who had been standing quietly behind him. “Sorry,
Mom. Looks like we’ll have to take a rain check on that lunch.”

His mom gave a philosophical shrug. “It
can’t be helped. Don’t worry about me.” Then she turned to Emma with a smile.
“Hello, Emma. I haven’t seen you in ages. I hope you’re well.”

Emma nodded, feeling bemused. Ingrid was
behaving as if this were a normal social occasion, as if it were routine for her
quiet Sunday lunch with her son to be aborted by a brawl. “Uh, hi, Mrs.
Fletcher. Yes, thanks, I’m good.”

Owen had advanced on Wesley, presumably
because he posed the larger physical threat. The two men were about the same
height. Wesley was much bulkier, his biceps straining at the sleeves of his
shirt. But there was an aura of command about Owen that made him seem more
powerful, and Wesley was wise enough to respect the badge. At Owen’s command,
he turned around with his hands behind his back. Owen pulled out a pair of
plastic handcuffs and secured Wesley’s hands. Then he repeated the procedure on
Alvin.

Alvin slumped against a wall and slid down,
his face crumpling like a pricked balloon. Unable to help herself, Emma
scurried over and knelt beside him.

“Alvin, why? Why did you do this?” She
couldn’t make head or tail of anything. Alvin wasn’t a violent man. Why had he
attacked Wesley unprovoked, and, more worryingly, why had he accused Wesley of
murder?