Which meant...he was protecting her. He'd been protecting her when he put some space between them while they were dancing, too, she belatedly realized. But he was supposed to be the bad guy. So why wasn't he taking advantage of the situation?
She thought of the pool they'd played. He could easily have stoked his own ego by dominating the game and walking away with all the winnings. But he hadn't. He'd kept each game close, even lost the first one. And now, instead of slinging an arm around her and taking her outside as if he'd just claimed some kind of trophy, he was thinking of her--and how any affiliation with him would affect her.
She liked Clay. A lot.
But she was light-headed, she reminded herself. For the sake of remaining objective in her investigation, and preserving her peace of mind, she hoped she'd like him a great deal less when she sobered up.
Clay could tell Allie was tipsy but, except for those few minutes on the dance floor when she'd melted into him, she was trying hard to compensate. She sat in his truck as he drove, holding herself rigid and staring out at the landscape as if she was afraid she might say or do something she'd regret if she wasn't careful.
"Do you plan on living with your parents for very long?" he asked.
"I never planned on moving back home in the first place."
"You seem to be making it work."
"It's better than farming my daughter out to day care."
"That was your other choice?"
"If I'd stayed in Chicago and kept my old job."
"What about your ex-husband? He couldn't help?"
"When you have a man who never wanted a child in the first place, you don't get a lot of support."
Clay knew what that was like. His father had never wanted him or his sisters or things would've turned out differently. "At least in this day and age he has to provide some financial support."
"No, he doesn't."
Clay turned on the car radio. "How's that?"
"I made him a trade. He signed papers relinquishing his rights to Whitney, and I gave up child support."
Clay wished he could ask why she'd done that. Regardless of whether or not her ex had wanted the child, he was her father. But those questions were far too personal.
"Take this street," she said.
"I know where you live." He could tell she wasn't interested in conversation. Even though she hadn't drunk all that much, she was too busy fighting the effects of the alcohol combined with the No-Doz she'd taken earlier. But he figured this might be his only chance to talk to her about Lucas, to--hopefully--dissuade her from contacting him.
"Word has it you're interested in finding my father," he said as they came to a stop at the intersection of Fourth and McDonald.
She looked over at him, seeming puzzled. "You knew that."
He lowered the volume on the radio, which, oddly enough, was playing the same song they'd just danced to. "I'm talking about my real father."
"Oh."
He drove down McDonald, then took Response Road. "Why Lucas?" he prompted. "It's not because I think your mother's a serial killer, if that's what you've heard." She scowled and, talking mostly to the window, she muttered, "I hate the gossip in this town."
Clay opened the vents to stop the windows from steaming up. "What are you after, then?"
She tucked a few strands of her short hair behind a small, perfectly shaped ear. "General information. I always do a thorough background search on everyone involved in my investigations. I'd be stupid not to. People don't exist as separate entities. We're all part of a network, a number of networks. I can't get a clear picture of who I'm dealing with if I don't also examine the networks."
"But Lucas isn't part of my family's 'network.' He left long before Lee Barker went missing."
"Lucas? You don't call him Dad?"
Clay passed a slower moving truck as he headed away from town. Maybe Allie was slightly drunk but she was perceptive enough to capitalize on what he'd said instead of letting him guide the conversation. "He walked out when I was only ten years old. What else would you expect?"
"That must've been rough," she said.
"We survived." Not easily, but he didn't add that. "And I don't want him coming back."
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the seat. "You think he might?"
"I'd rather not take the chance."
She regarded him from beneath her lashes. "Then I should probably tell you not to worry.
He's remarried and living in Alaska."
Her words provided a one-two punch that made Clay ease off on the gas. She'd already spoken to Lucas? Had he kept his mouth shut? Or had he let some detail slip that would eventually expose them?
And, on a deeper level, how come Lucas had finally settled down? He hadn't loved his first family enough to stick by them, hadn't loved Clay enough. But he could do it for someone else?
"Are you okay?" she asked.
They were still decelerating. Clay brought the truck up to normal speed. "Of course."
"Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow. Your father's got to be a difficult subject for you, and right now I'm not capable of being as sensitive as I should be."
"I don't need you to protect my feelings," he said irritably. "Just tell me how you found him."
She shrugged. "It wasn't hard. I got his social security number from the trucking company where he worked when you were a boy and performed some databank magic."
It was too late. Now Clay's hands were tied.
"What did he have to say?" he asked, fearing the worst.
"I haven't talked to him yet. He wasn't home when I called, so I left a message with his wife."
His wife... Clay wished those two words didn't turn his stomach. He told himself they shouldn't. He wasn't a needy little boy anymore; he was thirty-four years old. But the pain was still there. "Do you know if he has other children?"
"No. But I can tell you what he does for a living."
Clay hesitated, but curiosity ended up getting the better of him. "What?"
"He's a pilot. Flies fishermen to remote lakes and streams."
I've got a lot of life yet to live, a lot of places to see....
"Makes sense, I guess," he muttered.
"What makes sense?"
"Nothing."
She put a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."
Embarrassed that he'd given away his true feelings, he shook her off. "My father doesn't matter to me."
The moon lit one side of her face as she studied him. "You expect me to believe that?"