by Freya Barker
Instead of watching the kids walk to the bus stop, I watch them getting in Dylan’s ride. He’s going to drop off the boys before taking Trinny to school.
I stand there until I see his truck turn the corner, disappearing from sight. Then my eyes drift across the street.
Shit.
Not sure what the hell I was thinking, kissing her. That soft voice, those eyes, her tongue licking those plump lips. Fuck me.
I turn inside and grab Bugsy’s leash.
“Come on, Bugs. Time to earn your keep.”
Labradoodles aren’t exactly effective watchdogs, but he’s better than nothing. I clip the leash on, flick off the lights, and pull the door shut.
Ollie opens the door for me, a look on her face I can’t quite place, and she quickly averts her eyes when she notices the dog.
“Hey, puppy,” she coos, bending down right away to scratch a wildly wagging Bugsy.
Like I said, not exactly prime watchdog material, but he’s large enough and he barks at the mailman. I’m hoping that’s enough because I have to go into the station for a bit.
“Got a spare key?” I ask, unclipping the leash and dropping it on the small hall table.
“Probably, why?” She blinks as she straightens up and tilts her head back to look at me. Too fucking close.
I take a step back, resisting the urge to repeat my earlier mistake. “Gotta head into work for a couple of hours. I’m leaving the dog with you, and I need you to stay here and keep the doors locked.”
“Not sure why you need my key for that.”
Now she gives me sass. It’s not helping. I close the distance again and curve my hand around her neck. “Yesterday you opened the door, thinking it was me. Lucky I wasn’t far behind.” She looks at me from under her lashes, and I know she gets my point.
“I’ll be more careful.”
“More careful would be giving me a key, so you don’t need to open that door for anyone.”
She glares at me, her lips pressed tight, before finally rolling her eyes. “Oh, fine. If you insist.”
More sass. Christ.
I watch her walk into the kitchen, Bugsy sauntering in after her, and yank open a kitchen drawer. Two seconds later, she comes back holding out a key, which I take and slip into my pocket.
“You’ve got my number. Use it. I’ll swing by the City Market on the way home, grab some stuff for the weekend. You’re low on coffee; I’ll pick some up. Need anything else?”
“Creamer. I like the hazelnut flavored one, liquid, not the powdered crap. Oh, and a loaf of bread. The one with the seeds? I can’t stand white bread. We’re out of cereal, Trinny likes—”
“Change of plans,” I interrupt her. “Make a list. I’ll swing by, pick you up, and we’ll both hit City Market. That is, if you feel up to it.”
“Okay.”
Attitude one second and so easy the next—and now I want to kiss her again. Instead I grab for the door.
“Lock up behind me.”
-
I’m just on my way out of the office when my phone rings.
“Benedetti.”
“Joe, it’s Cruz Livingston. How are things there?”
“Quiet for now. Assume you talked to Gomez?”
“Yesterday and this morning,” he confirms, before adding a bombshell. “Also talked to Rizzoli.”
“Say what?”
“Called my cell this morning.”
“Where is he?”
“Didn’t say and he wasn’t on the phone long enough to trace. He wanted to make sure we have his sister covered. Confirmed what we suspected, Montenegro got word to him. Threatened his sister so he bailed.”
“Not sure that did her any favors,” I point out.
“Right. Here’s the kicker, though—he claims he never contacted his niece.”
-
I’m still mulling over that piece of news an hour and a half later, when I’m following Ollie around the grocery store, pushing a loaded shopping cart. Maybe Rizzoli was lying, but if he wasn’t; it would mean someone’s pretending to be him. The only person I can see having a stake in doing so is Montenegro.
“We done?” I ask Ollie, who is diving into the freezer section. It’s coming up on two o’clock, the kids’ll be home in a couple of hours and my window for a quiet sit-down talk with her is shrinking by the minute. She needs to be aware.
“I’m just grabbing a few things for Grace,” she explains, tossing a bag of frozen fruit in the cart. “She called this morning. I’ll take them over when we pick her up for dinner tomorrow.”
“Dinner?”
She stops and turns to face me. “Standing date, once a month Trinny and I take her out. Usually the Diamond Belle Saloon, she likes the music.”
“Not a good idea.”
I recognize the attitude when she plants a hand on her hip and her chin lifts a fraction. “Standing date, Joe. We look forward to it every month. She looks forward to it every month. Highlight for her and she doesn’t have many.”
Jesus.
“Tomorrow we open the pool. How about I pick Grace up and we all have dinner at my place?”
“We’ll be out in public. I hardly think—”
“Safer to stay close to home.”
Ollie is no fool, her eyes narrow on me as she tilts her head. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s get home, and we’ll talk.”
“But—”
“Home. Then talk,” I repeat, earning me a huff and an eye-roll before she swings around and aims straight for the cash registers.
Thank fuck.
-
“I have to work, Joe. Next weekend is the official opening of the Memorial Garden, this coming week is crunch time.”
We dropped off her stuff, picked up the dog, and went over to my place. I just filled her in on this morning’s developments.
“I know, you’ll be covered during the week when you’re out and about, and we’ll have a unit outside your door overnight, but manpower is not unlimited.” I try. I already have a tight roster, but was able to get Ramirez and Blackfoot to take turns looking out for Ollie during the day, and one of my officers, Ben Colter, is taking nights. Dylan will stay on Trinny during the week, but even he needs a break. “I can cover the weekend, but since I have the boys, a bigger couch, and a decent cable package, it’d be easier to do that here.”
“And a pool.” She smiles when I look at her questioningly. “You forgot to mention the pool. I don’t have one.”
I shake my head and hide a grin. Unbelievable. The woman can throw attitude, but she doesn’t do it long before she’s back to easy.
“Kids come home, Dylan can take you two over to your house to grab whatever you need for the weekend, while I talk to the boys.”
“I’ll agree only if Trinny and I get the couch.” She cocks her head and throws me a challenging smirk.
“Not gonna happen.” I can feel the protest coming as her lips form a stubborn line. Before she has a chance to, I quickly add, “Need to be between you and the door, Sweets.”
Instantly her face softens and those lips relax forming a breathy, “Oh.”
Killing me.
The next instant my mouth is on hers.
Ollie
I take a swig of my cold beer as I watch Joe toss Ryder in the pool.
It’s a good view; Joe in just a pair of board shorts, muscles flexing on his back.
“Why aren’t you guys coming in?” Ryder calls when he surfaces on the edge of the pool, his eyes flitting from me to Trinny, who is lazing in the lounge chair beside me.
“Too cold,” Trinny calls back.
It’s not, really. I’m actually sweating a little and would like nothing more than to take a dip. “Come on, baby.” I nudge my daughter. “Let’s get our bathing suits on.”
Luckily I’d had the foresight to pack it yesterday. A small miracle, given that Joe had just kissed the stuffing out of me—again—when the brood arrived. I could barely move, let alo
ne think, but apparently enough to shove my one-piece in the bag I tossed together.
“Fine.” She turns to the pool. “Mr. B!”
“Yeah?” I watch as he turns around, giving me another little shiver when I get the frontal view, wet shorts plastered to muscular legs and a hint of the package I’d felt pressed into my stomach yesterday.
“Could we use some towels?”
“Hallway closet upstairs, girl. Grab what you need.” His eyes slide to me and another ripple runs down my spine at the heat in his eyes.
After the kids got home yesterday there’d been no touches, minimal eye contact, and only a few words exchanged. Same this morning, just polite conversation over breakfast, before he and the boys disappeared outside to get the pool ready. Two scorching kisses that rendered me mindless in one day, with nothing but cool detachment in between. Hot and cold. I’m getting whiplash.
Getting up, I follow Trinny inside to get changed.
Mason is in the kitchen when I walk in, a towel wrapped around me. I glance out the sliding doors, just in time to see Trinny jumping in the pool. When I turn to Mason to ask him why he’s not in the water, his mouth is open and his eyes are focused on my legs. Shit.
“Buddy…” I start, but he quickly averts his eyes when he hears my voice, and starts walking to the sliding doors. “Mason. Hold up, please.” His face is beet red when he stops and turns, his eyes on the floor in front of him, even as I walk up to him. “I sometimes forget myself,” I tell him honestly. “Trinny has only known me like this. It happened before she was born.” Slowly his eyes come up my body, only hesitating briefly on my prosthesis.
“What happened?” he asks, sounding timid.
“Bad car accident. I don’t remember much, but then it was a long time ago.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not usually. Sometimes it feels funny, like my foot is still there.”
“Weird,” he mumbles, his eyes drifting back down. “How does it stay on?”
I bite off a grin at his normal twelve-year-old curiosity surfacing. “Walk outside with me, I’ll show you.”
I know he’s well over his freak-out when he calls out to his brother the moment we hit the deck, “Ryder, check this out—Ollie has a bionic leg!”
I giggle when Joe’s admonishing “Mase!” is drowned out by his youngest’s excited, “Cool!”
With two highly interested boys sitting at my feet, I explain the leg is not quite bionic before showing them how it works as I remove my limb. I note Joe stays at a distance, observing us closely. Of course they have to touch it, as kids do, and I have no issue with that. It doesn’t even bother me when Ryder blurts out, “Gnarly,” when he looks at the scarring on my stump. “Now how are you gonna get to the pool?” he wants to know.
“I have a crutch at home, but a small distance I can manage on one leg.” To prove my point, I get up, find my balance, and hop to the edge of the water. “But just wait until I get in, I bet I can beat both of you in a race,” I call over my shoulder.
“She can too,” Trinny confirms, grinning as the boys water-bomb in the pool.
Half an hour later, Joe leaves to pick up Grace. An hour and a half after that, I’m standing in the kitchen cutting peppers for my roasted vegetables. Those are going into an aluminum roasting pan for the grill with olive oil, red pepper flakes, Italian spices, and some garlic. The chicken is in the fridge marinating, and I just need to thread the pieces on the skewers.
Joe is outside firing up the grill, and Grace is sitting in the shade in one of the loungers, soaking up the young ones still splashing in the pool.
If you didn’t know any better, we’d look like one big family.
“Need any help?” I jump at the sound of Joe’s voice right behind me. So lost in thought, I hadn’t heard him come in.
“Almost done,” I say turning my head, noting he’s even closer than I thought.
I hold my breath as I feel him slide a hand under my still damp hair and curve his fingers around my neck. “Smells great already,” he mumbles, leaning over my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I manage, with a small hitch in my voice when I feel him press his lips to the vein throbbing in my neck.
Definitely hot now.
I skewer the last piece of chicken, put it on the tray, and turn, slipping from his hold. I quickly wash my hands under the tap.
“Never thought to prepare the boys.” He’s leaning with his ass against the counter, arms now folded over his chest. “Sorry about that. You were good with them, though. Don’t be surprised if Ryder wants to bring you to school for show-and-tell some time.”
I look up and grin when I see the humor in his eyes. Most people are creeped out, trying too hard not to stare or say anything—not Joe; he calls it as he sees it. It’s refreshing.
My breath does another hitch when he winks and grins back, before grabbing the tray with the skewers and heads for the sliding door. I follow slower, the roasting pan in my hands.
Two days, three kisses—two hot, one sweet.
And the wink, I can’t forget the wink.
“Shoulda told me,” Grace comments when I sit down beside her.
“Told you what?”
“There’d be a pool. Been waitin’ for a chance to wear my new bikini.”
“Bikini?” I swing around at a choking sound behind me and just catch Joe ducking his head down, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Mail order,” Grace announces, apparently oblivious to Joe’s attempts to hold his laughter. “Soon’s I found out Canyon Trail Residence is puttin’ in a pool this spring.” She leans forward and turns her torso in my direction. “Did you know there’s bathing suit bottoms with no ass? Swear to God, I’m flipping through the catalog, and half those bikinis are nothin’ but strings with teensy little fabric triangles. Don’t see the point—might as well go nekkid—not even enough material to cover the tits on a mouse.”
Joe loses his battle, and I’m not far behind.
Chapter 13
Joe
“Livingston.”
“Cruz, it’s Joe Benedetti.” I lean back in my chair and lift my feet on the corner of the desk.
“Something happen?” the man asks, alarmed.
“Been quiet. Nothing since the text. I’m actually calling to see what’s happening on that side.”
Aside from the tail on Trinny, and the police cruiser parked outside Ollie’s house the past two nights, things seem to have gone back to normal. Kids are back in school; excited about their upcoming camp, and from what I can tell Trinny is much the same way about her trip. Ollie is back at her house, working, I presume, and I’ve been keeping my distance with conflicted emotions. Sunday night was Colter’s first shift covering Ollie’s place, and she seemed eager to get back to her own home.
We’d had a good day Saturday. Too good a time. The kids had a blast, Grace was a hoot, and when I’d driven her home, I realized the boys and I hadn’t had a good day like that in a long time. When I walked in the door and saw Ollie sitting on the couch with Ryder, snuggled up to her looking like he belonged, watching a movie, it hit me hard. The way my boys have taken to Ollie and her daughter, I start something and it goes sour, the boys have to deal with another loss. I don’t know if they’d recover. Fuck, I don’t know if I’d recover. Keeping things on a friendly level is safer.
Still, when she went home Sunday I barely fucking slept.
By all accounts, I should be relieved things seem to be settling, but instead am getting more restless by the minute. Hence, my call to Livingston.
“Been keeping tabs on that number, but nothing’s gone out or come in since. My guess? He’s ditched the phone.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, figured that would happen, though. Rizzoli is far from an idiot.” I thought that might be debatable, given he’d gotten himself tangled up with the Montenegro family at the expense of his sister. “Still,” Cruz continues. “We’re not exactly empty-handed. I’d been wondering how
he’s managing without wheels, credit cards, or money. Not like he had his wallet on him when he disappeared. Turns out the man had a stash of cash in a safety deposit box rented by his secretary. Apparently, he was also banging her, so she felt compelled to lie for him.”
“No shit.”
“Nope,” he confirms. “Went over some of her original interview tapes this weekend, seeing if maybe I’d missed something. Noticed her voice changed whenever we talked about him specifically. Enough to make it noticeable. Went back to her yesterday, pushed harder, and she ended up coming clean. Few days after he skipped, she found a note shoved under her door with instructions to destroy it after reading. Told her to get the fifty grand from the safety deposit box, shove it in a backpack, and leave it in the bed of an old black GMC pickup in a parking lot near the Riverwalk.”
“Fifty grand, that’ll last a while. Tell me she got the license plate.”
“She got the license plate,” he confirms. “Problem is, we found those plates in a stairwell of the parking lot she dropped the money at.”
“Fuck,” I bite off.
“Lead’s still alive though. We traced down a report of a license plate stolen off the back of an SUV that same night. Guess where it was parked?”
“He’ll need new wheels,” I point out.
“Already on it. Been checking car dealerships all over fucking town this morning. Nothing so far, but there’s a shitload, and even more along Hwy 10 to El Paso. May take a while, but we’ll hit them all.”
“How do you figure El Paso?”
“That’s the route I’d take if I were heading for Durango.”
“Thin, but it’s a lead.”
“It’s a lead,” he echoes. “And the girl is safe.”
“The girl?” I’m not following.
“Rizzoli’s secretary,” he explains. “Keeping close tabs on her. On the outside chance he might contact her again, but more so, ‘cause Montenegro might make a move when he learns she’s been talking to us.”
“When?”
“Man’s got eyes everywhere, my friend.”
Already liked the guy, but by the time I hang up, I have a whole new appreciation for Cruz Livingston.
