His chest rises and falls with a dull laugh.
“What?” A breath hitches in my throat. “Oh my God, you think he did it.”
“Who else did it?” He ticks his head to the side as if it were obvious. “I’m sure it’s a matter of days before the deputies arrest him. I’d kill him myself, but the idiot’s not worth rotting in prison over.”
“No, he’s not.” I shake my head frenetically. “Cameron, if you really feel sure about this, you need to tip off the sheriff’s department yourself.”
“No can do.” His eyes widen a notch as if he were certain of it. “Chris Davidson, her fiancé, comes from a powerful family. It wouldn’t surprise me if they twisted this somehow and made it look like it was me who did it. And believe me, they’re crooked enough to drum up an entire army of witnesses who would vouch for the fact they saw me do it. Nope. I’m letting the homicide detectives work this one over. Chris might look as if he’s got a good head on his shoulders, but he’s not the brightest bulb. They’ll find something. And I’m going to sit back and watch the entire Davidson clan implode like a crushed beer can.”
My chest thumps as he lets the brewery pun fly.
“I didn’t realize that. I’m sure waiting for the homicide detective to piece this together is really hard for you. Have you thought of leaving an anonymous tip?”
“There’s nothing anonymous these days. Can’t take the risk.” His lips twitch my way. “But if you wanted to, I won’t stop you.”
A part of me wonders if I’m being manipulated right now.
His eyes grow red and teary as he pulls her picture forward again.
“Were you there that night?” I ask just above a whisper. “The night she was killed?”
He shakes his head. “I was on my way—took one look at the parking lot at the inn and knew it would be useless. I drove all up and down Main Street looking for a spot and I found nothing, so I turned back and came home. And once I got there, I got the news.”
“I’m sorry. How did you find out? The television?”
“A friend texted.” He looks out the window a moment just as a knock erupts at the door. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to wrap this up. My secretary likes to keep me on track. I’m not allotted more than fifteen minutes per drop-in. Have your niece come by soon. I’ll help her register for all the classes she needs.”
“Thank you,” I say as I rise out of my seat. “I know she’ll appreciate that.” I head for the door.
“I didn’t get your name.”
A small part of me screams don’t tell him the truth. But he already knows where I work and what position I hold, and I did sign in after all.
“Bizzy Baker. It was nice to meet you.”
I head back out into the crisp fall day and make my way to the parking lot, only to gasp once I see the sight before me.
Leaning against my car with his arms folded tightly, his lips pursed in what looks to be anger is a smoldering Detective Jasper Wilder.
“Are you following me?”
His eyes harden over me with a hint of disbelief tucked in each one. “Bizzy, I saw your car in the lot.”
“Detective”—I lift my chin a notch as I unlock the car—“I believe you’re in my way.”
A dull chuckle bounces through him, his eyes still serious as stone over mine.
“I believe you are in my way.” He tilts his head to the side. “So, what did you glean?”
“Wouldn’t you love to know.” I do my best to swat him away from the driver’s side door, but he doesn’t budge. “If you don’t move, I’m going to think you like the beating.”
His lips twitch upward as if he approved.
“Knew it,” I hiss. “You’re nothing but a pervert. You’re very good at pretending to be on the right side of the law.”
“And you’re very good at pretending to be a homicide investigator. But you see, you are not. You are messing around in my investigation at every turn, tainting every single one of my suspects. You have no idea the amount of damage you could have caused to the case already. Trying to apprehend a killer is a very delicate dance.”
“Well, Detective Wilder”—I narrow my gaze over his until he voluntarily steps over a notch—“I don’t need you to invite me to the dance. Kaitlynn did that for me.” I hop into the driver’s seat and start up the engine. “And if I were you, I’d move my feet a little faster. I just got enough clues to shut down a half dozen homicide cases. The killer just might be closer than you think.”
“And who would that be?” His silver eyes shine as bright as the sun, and they cause me to squint. His chest expands and he’s oozing testosterone without even trying. My stomach bisects with heat at the sight of him.
“Sorry, detective, but my dance card is filled,” I say as I start to speed off.
“Clear it,” he bellows after me. “I’m coming by tonight.”
Did he just say he’s coming by tonight?
My stomach bisects with heat once again as if to say I sure hope so.
But I don’t hope so.
I’ve never met a more obnoxious man in my life.
And I sure as heck don’t care to tango with this one.
Chapter 12
Okay, I confess.
I’ve primped and prepped and cleaned my cottage—not that Detective Wilder will be permitted beyond the front door but, in the event he decides to snoop and crane his neck over my shoulder, I’ve made provisions.
I check my look in the mirror. I may have changed my outfit—exactly four times. But I swear on all that is holy, it has nothing to do with that hard-nosed detective and everything to do with the fact a storm is rolling in. I settled on a yellow rain jacket and matching boots.
No, no, no, that’s not right.
I quickly abandon the jacket and jump in a circle until I’ve freed my feet from the rubber contraptions. No reason to look like an homage to Morton Salt. Instead, I don a navy pea coat and a pair of slouchy black boots.
“That’s better,” I say, angling in the mirror. “I think.”
Fish jumps up onto the sofa table and yowls at me.
“What is it, sweet girl?” I ask, leaning in and dropping a kiss right over her forehead.
Why are you wrecking the house? And more importantly, please tell me this exercise in frustration has nothing to do with that testy man and his dog. I’ve about had it with that wily pooch. Do you realize he captured me in his mouth as if I were a toy? That’s what he does. He pins me down and pretends to bite me.
A quick visual of Jasper doing the same to me flits through my mind.
“You can’t blame Sherlock. His father is a vampire. I bet he’s seen him do it a thousand times before—to a thousand ready and willing women.”
I’m not blind. I can see how attractive he is. And apparently, so can everyone else. I don’t know why I’ve put so much effort into my appearance tonight. I haven’t exactly had any luck with men in general. Not that I’m looking to get lucky. The few men I did date all came with rather active imaginations and entire streams of consciousness I wish I couldn’t pry into.
One told me he was a CEO, only come to find out he was thinking about how thrilled he was that I would never find out he worked at a convenience store in Edison. Then there was an entire slew of guys who had their minds fixated on other women—not to mention the ones whose intentions were less than pure with me. Despite the fact they talked a good game, their thoughts were on another sleazy level. My so-called gift has always landed my boyfriends in hot water sooner or later. But the romantic in me would like to believe that there is one person out there for me—someone who wouldn’t dream of thinking about other women, or lying to my face about anything. A part of me wonders if I’m asking too much. We are all humans after all, and Lord knows my thoughts aren’t always the best. But there has to be a soulmate, a special someone out there for me somewhere—doesn’t there?
A quick knock erupts over the door and I jump three feet, prompting poor Fish onto all
fours with her back arched, fur standing on end, yowling in fear as if she were down nine lives.
I head over and pull it open as the wind presses the door back, and it could very well knock me down like a feather.
Jasper stands there with his dark hair slicked back and those silver eyes as mesmerizing as mercury. Gone is the suit, and in its place is a tweed jacket and dark jeans—a bouquet of sunflowers pressed in my direction and I gasp at the sight.
She is stunning. His eyes widen as the thought flits through his mind, and my cheeks heat upon hearing it.
“A peace offering.” A humble smile graces his lips for less than a second as Sherlock jumps and does his best to bounce inside and catch himself a Fish.
“They’re beautiful, and so unexpected,” I say, carefully taking them from him. “Thank you, Detective Wilder—um, Jasper. If your plan was to catch me off guard, you’ve succeeded.” I nod for him to come in, and now I’m thankful to heaven I excavated that pile of laundry off the sofa and powered my way through the mountain of dishes.
“You’re welcome. And something tells me it’s not easy to catch you off guard,” he says just as Sherlock works his way out of his collar and bolts like lightning onto the couch, onto the sofa table, down the hall, and through both bedrooms and back as he chases Fish around in a blur.
“Fish!” I cry.
“Sherlock!” Jasper bellows.
Both Jasper and I shout at the two of them at top volume, and it only adds to the general chaos.
Jasper covers the walkway that leads to the hall with his legs at a wide stance, his arms dangling below just as Fish dives between them and he does his best to catch Sherlock but to no avail.
“I’ll get her!” I shout as I crouch in front of him. And sure enough, Fish bolts right for me, using my chest as a springboard and knocking me right onto my back as effective as a freight train. “Geez!”
No sooner do I catch my breath than Sherlock zooms between Jasper’s legs, and in a desperate attempt to grab him, Jasper grasps him by the tail, pulling him forward until he falls over me like a building.
A shrill scream evicts from my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight just as his body comes crashing within an inch of mine.
I pry my eyes open slowly, only to find those steel gray eyes staring back at me.
“Hello,” he grunts and his breath holds the scent of fresh mint. My gaze drifts to his mouth as if he just threw out an invitation.
Oh dear, Bizzy! Fish roars along with the thought. He’s going to bite you, isn’t he?
I’m not that lucky.
One inch and we would have kissed. Jasper frowns at the thought. Another inch and I could have crushed her.
Fish pops up from nowhere and lands on Jasper’s head, and both of them let out a howl as Jasper staggers to his feet in haste and turns poor Fish into a furry Frisbee.
“Great,” I say, struggling to rise.
Jasper lends me a hand and we stand, dazed, assessing the wreckage. Picture frames are flat on their faces, the lamp is on its side, and the array of books on the coffee table have been scattered on the floor. And in the kitchen a bag of flour has been knocked to the ground, blanketing the floor like snow.
“I’m so sorry.” Jasper growls over at Sherlock who’s busy cowering in the corner. And Fish has somehow managed to lodge herself on top of the china cabinet that houses my teapot collection, a good seven feet off the ground.
“Don’t apologize. It’s clear he’s missed her company.” I shoot a look over to Sherlock who quickly buries his face under his paws.
Jasper groans at the wreckage. “Let me clean this up.”
After fifteen minutes—of nonstop straightening, sweeping, and some light cursing, the two of us manage to not only butt heads on more than one occasion—quite literally, but we manage to return the cottage to its previous state despite the fact it played host to the animal wars. We stagger out of the kitchen just in time to find the furry little warriors each curled up on opposite ends of the sofa, fast asleep as if they weren’t capable of such carnage to begin with.
A quiet laugh bounces through Jasper’s chest. “Are you up for a cup of coffee?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just read my mind.”
Jasper and I drop Sherlock off back at home in the event the troublesome duo decides to reprise their kickboxing whirlwind. We head over to the Cottage Café and each pick up a latte to go and head out to the point to the left of the inn.
Waves crash over the boulders that press against the evergreens, the ocean is the color of slate steel, and the sky is hooded with dark angry clouds. The wind picks up just a notch, but I’m still plenty warm from my impromptu workout.
Jasper takes a breath, and I watch as his chest rises and falls.
Too quiet. She’ll think I’m not interested. I don’t want that. I want her to know that I’m most certainly interested. That I care about her thoughts—especially those related to the case.
My mouth falls open. “You wouldn’t by chance be buttering me up with a walk along the beach in hopes I’ll tell you all I know about the case, would you?” I can’t help but giggle at the thought because I happen to know I’m right.
“I’ve been tougher on people.”
A dull laugh pumps from me. “So where are you with the case?”
He pauses a moment to stare at the ocean. “How about we hold off on that for a moment? I’ve had the case on my mind all day. It’s kind of nice to be one with nature.”
“Be careful what you say. We’ve been one with the ocean before. Come to think of it, those two we left behind were responsible for that natural disaster as well.”
“We should ditch them more often,” he teases and I bubble with laughter.
“We should.”
Nice laugh. His gaze rakes over my features, hot as coal. Nice everything. Her temperament toward me, typically not so nice. But who knows? We might be making headway.
A secretive smile plays on my lips, but I won’t give it.
“Since you were kind enough to bring me flowers”—I say, ticking my head toward the woods—“I’ll show you my secret hideaway.” I navigate us to a dirt trail that leads up the rocky crag. My foot nearly slips and Jasper offers me his hand. I can’t help but stare at it an inordinate amount of time.
“I promise I don’t bite.” His lips twitch again like maybe he does.
I can’t help but glance skyward at that one. “Then you have no idea how much you’re disappointing my family and friends.” I take his hand and he helps me along for the next few feet of the trail.
“Just your family?” He sharpens those devilish eyes over mine.
“Why do I sense the fact you’ve bitten more than your fair share of women?”
He groans, “I would say you have very astute senses. But in my defense, I thought I had finally settled down.”
“So does that mean you’re ready to ramp up your playboy ways again?”
“Not in the least.” He grimaces. “I’ve always been a one-woman man.”
My brows bounce with approval as I lead us just past a thicket of sweetgums with their leaves in a spectacular shade of crimson and point to my treasure. A stone bench sits perched near the edge of the cliff, and its very surface is decorated with blue and jade sea glass in a mosaic pattern that mimics the motion of the ocean. “Georgie made it for me. I have no idea how she managed to haul it out in the middle of nowhere, but to quote her, she has her ways.”
“Georgie is clearly a genius.”
“That she is. And she’s just as much a hazard. We went to see Jeannie Branch, and Georgie bought out most of her inventory and had it sent to my sister’s shop. Suffice it to say, Macy was not amused. I think a lawsuit might be pending. Know of any good lawyers?”
“My brother, but I wouldn’t put you in his hands.” And believe me, he would love to have you in his hands. His brows bounce with the thought.
A laugh bubbles from me. “I guess we have th
at in common. My brother specializes in family practice. And is it terrible of me to say that Macy has already requested a meeting with any male siblings you might have?”
Now it’s him enjoying a quick burst of laughter.
We take a seat, and suddenly it’s painfully clear exactly how short this bench really is. God, he’s going to think my goal was to end up in his lap. It wouldn’t be the worst thing, but it wouldn’t be the best, considering he’s decided I shouldn’t speak to anyone else regarding poor Kaitlynn’s murder. But I’m pretty sure if you find the body, it gives you license to pry all you want.
Jasper sucks in a quick breath. “All of my brothers are single—and for good reason.”
“So they’re a lot like you?” I couldn’t help it. He walked into that one.
His brows pinch in the middle. “They’re a lot like you. They don’t play well with others.” I couldn’t help it. She walked into that one.
“I’m not laughing,” I say right through a silly grin, half afraid he might be prying into my mind. I look right at him and hook my gaze to his.
I bet you’ve never caught a killer in your life, I say as clear as I can in an effort to jar him.
He tips his head to the side, his brows pinching in the middle.
Not an unreasonable reaction to my intense staring, but any detective worth the salt of his badge would have piped up in order to dampen the blow to his ego.
I think.
“Bizzy”—he’s inspecting me at close range, sweeping those high beams of his over my face, and I can feel each heated inch—“without overthinking it, what’s your favorite food?”
“Kettle corn.” I wince as I realize what I said.
“Kettle corn?”
“No judging. You said without overthinking it. Had you asked me to think it through, I would have said lobster in butter sauce.”
“The kettle corn is far more budget friendly.”
“Okay, my turn,” I say, butting my shoulder to his playfully. “Without overthinking it, what’s your favorite way to spend your free time?”
“Just like this.”
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