Divorced, Desperate and Daring

by Christie Craig

  Sheri couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open. Had she heard that right? “What?”

  “Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have said that either. Look, I just want you to give him a chance.”

  Sheri didn’t have a clue what to say. “I . . .”

  “You don’t have to answer. I know this is awkward. And I’ve made it even more awkward. I’m going to shut it and go before I say something else stupid.” She frowned. “I promise, I’m not as loony as I’ve come across today.”

  “Neither am I,” Sheri managed to say and watched Anna leave.

  Reaching down, Sheri pinched herself to make sure this wasn’t all just one bizarre dream. The pain registered, so she wasn’t dreaming. When had her life gone bat-shit crazy?

  Then she remembered slamming on her breaks a second too late and feeling the tire roll over something.

  Had that opossum been a mama and now Sheri was paying for the lives of her babies, too? It had to be so, right? Because karma apparently had it out for her.

  • • •

  Danny poured himself another cup of coffee. He’d no sooner hung up with Chase when Cary called. Thankfully, his friend chose not to give him hell about Sheri being with him.

  When he looked up, Sheri stood beside the bar.

  “I gotta go. I’ll call you later,” he told Cary. His chest tightened at the stunned look on her face. Or maybe not so much stunned as overloaded. He pushed aside his own anxiety and went headfirst into worry for her. No doubt, none of this was easy for her. And how could it be? Someone was trying to kill her.

  Just like that, he felt like a selfish bastard focusing on his own issues when people were sending her bombs and trying to break into her condo.

  “You okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Did you get another text from Mark?” He moved in.

  “No. Just the same ol’ run-of-the-mill stuff. Bombs. Hit men. Getting drunk and . . .”

  “Nothing happened,” he assured her.

  “Yeah, I remember that, too.” She frowned and looked embarrassed.

  “Just run-of-the-mill stuff,” he repeated and grinned.

  She nodded. “An average week.” She sighed. “Can I have a cup of coffee?”

  “Yeah, sit down. I’ll get it for you. There’s doughnuts, too. Anna left.”

  “I saw her.” Sheri moved past him to drop in a chair. Taco, as if worried about her, too, moved over, nuzzling her hand with his snout.

  Danny got the milk out of the fridge and set it and a cup of coffee down in front of her. “Do you take sugar?”

  “No, this is fine.” She reached for the milk. “Thanks.”

  He grabbed a plate and placed it in front of her. “Eat a doughnut.” He dropped in the chair beside her.

  “I’m not really hungry.” She splashed some milk in her cup and lifted her cup to her lips. She closed her eyes when she sipped. “Maybe I might wake up after all.”

  “Too strong?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  And she was, he realized. What the hell was his problem? But goddamn it, he wanted to kick his own ass for his stupid doubts.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.” He paused, unsure how she was going to take what he had to say next. He recalled how she’d laughed last night playing the video game. What he wouldn’t give to say the hell with taking her in and just sit down and watch her take a few sharp corners in her virtual runaway car and take out a few misbehaving clowns. But like it or not, they needed to find the guy who tried to blow her up.

  “The FBI agent is waiting on us at the station. You feel up to talking to him? If you aren’t, I can call back and just say you’ll be in later.”

  She stared down at her cup. “No. Might as well get it over with.” She looked up. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t feel I had too much to drink and then . . .”

  “Brandy can do that,” he said.

  “Thanks for not . . . A lesser man would have taken advantage of the situation.”

  He put his hand over hers. “I’m not that man,” he said and almost brought up Anna. “It’s going to be okay.” When she didn’t pull away, it felt damn good. “I promise.” And he didn’t make a lot of promises unless he was damn sure he could keep them. Or if he planned to do everything humanly possible to keep them.

  And for her, he would. No one was going to hurt her.

  “Well, it can’t get much crazier, can it?” She shook her head and made a funny face. “Forget I said that.” She looked up as if addressing a higher power. “It could always get crazier.”

  He grinned because her tone seemed purposely light. “Bombs. FBI. No, I think we’re maxed out on crazy.”

  She nodded. “I hope so. Should we go right now, or can I finish my coffee?”

  “Finish your coffee.” He ran his thumb over the top of her hand. The high and mighty FBI agent might not like it, but he’d have to go through Danny before giving Sheri a hard time.

  • • •

  “So do you regularly date terrorists?”

  Sheri almost choked on the question. Her hands shook, not just from nerves, but now from anger, too.

  The man, Agent Talen, had been rude from the get-go. Not just to her, but to Danny as well. First, he’d informed Danny that he could no longer work Sheri’s case—a matter that bothered Sheri more than she thought it would. Then, when the agent told Danny he couldn’t be present for the interview, the tension had grown so thick you could spoon it up and serve it over ice cream.

  Danny had refused to leave, but another cop, whom she’d met at Kathy’s party and again last night, Chase Kelly, had persuaded him to leave. Before he stormed out, he looked at her and said he’d be right outside . . . and listening. The listening part seemed to be aimed more at the agent than at her. Or at least Danny’s glare had insinuated it. But as soon as the door had closed behind Danny, Sheri wished he hadn’t left. She suddenly felt totally alone in the craziness that seemed to be her life right now.

  Agent Talen’s first few questions had left her uncomfortable, but this one topped the chart. Her normal, easygoing nature left the building. Oddly, the anger felt good. Or at least better than the empty, vulnerable feeling she’d dealt with seconds earlier.

  She leaned in. “I don’t know. Are you always an asshole?”

  The door to the room opened, hitting the wall so hard she was shocked it didn’t fall off the hinges. Air locked in her lungs when Danny grabbed the agent by the collar and had him against the wall.

  “She is the goddamn victim! Not the perp!”

  Two other officers charged in and separated Danny and the officer. One was Chase Kelly and the other was a suit-wearing guy who looked connected to the FBI.

  When Agent Talen made a rude statement to Danny, the other suited man, a tall redhead with wide shoulders, spoke up. “Leave,” he said to Agent Talen and pointed to the door.

  The redheaded agent frowned at Danny. Then, taking a deep breath, the man faced her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Thompson. My fellow agent has been up for more than twenty-four hours and isn’t on his best behavior. I’m Agent Ferns. Would you mind if we continue the interview?”

  Sheri nodded and forced herself to take a deep breath. Then she glanced at Danny, arms crossed, standing against the wall, looking like an angry bull. An angry bull who’d charged in at her defense. Emotion filled her chest as new tears formed in her eyes.

  Didn’t everyone need an angry bull in their corner? But was he here for just the time being, or could she count on him?

  “I’m not leaving this time,” Danny said. And for some reason, his words meant something altogether different in her head than he was probably implying.

  The agent’s jaw tightened, but he glanced at Danny as if to restrain himself. “That’s fine.” Then he focused on Sheri. “Just so you know, while the bomb that exploded in the UPS truck was basically a dud, it appears similar to a bomb that exploded at a political rally two year
s ago and killed four people. We don’t know for sure, but the person, possibly this Mark Taylor, isn’t just responsible for trying to kill you, but two of our agents as well.”

  Sheri’s next breath hitched in her lungs. Had she really dated a terrorist? Oh, crap!

  Danny shook his head. “And you weren’t going to tell us this?”

  “I just did,” the agent said.

  Danny pulled a chair closer and sat beside her. He slipped his hand under the table, found her palm and gave it a squeeze.

  Sitting there, with his fingers laced with hers, Sheri found a little more mental fortitude to answer the FBI’s questions. And a little gumption to do as requested--write a text to the possible bomb-maker, Mark.

  Hey . . . You want to come over and tell me about your hike? Could use some company.

  • • •

  An hour later, Danny walked Sheri into his apartment, carrying a fast-food bag. Sheri had hardly said anything since they left the precinct. Glancing at her now, he spotted the dark circles under her eyes. He wished like hell he knew the right thing to say. But he figured she was upset over what she learned about Mark Taylor and was still reeling from the you-might-have-dated-a-terrorist conversation.

  Because he only had beer and cheese in his fridge, he’d stopped by a fast-food place and made her order something to take back to his house. She’d claimed she still wasn’t hungry, but he’d reminded her she hadn’t eaten anything and said he wanted her to have something. She’d relented and gotten a salad.

  Mark Taylor had answered Sheri’s text almost immediately and was more than happy to meet her . . . as soon as he arrived back from Austin.

  They had arranged for him to be at her place at one. And Danny wasn’t going to miss it.

  Although he’d been pulled from her case, he’d insisted he still had a dog in the fight because of James Perkins and the McCune case. His sergeant agreed to let him go . . . “This time.”

  Pushing open his apartment door, Danny greeted Taco. “I’m gonna put the salad in the fridge,” he said. “Or do you want to eat it now?”

  “No.” She moved in and dropped on the sofa. Taco sat on the floor and put his head in Sheri’s lap. She ran her hand over his head and seemed lost in thought.

  He walked over, picked up the remote and set it on the coffee table in front of her. “Here, if you want to watch TV. And if you want to lie down, you can go crawl in my bed. The sheets are pretty clean. I promise.”

  “I’m fine. The sofa’s great.”

  He dropped down beside her. “You don’t look fine.”

  “You really know how to make a lady feel good,” she said sarcastically.

  He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. The FBI kept hers in case Mark contacted her again. “If you need to call anyone. Chase Kelly is in my contacts list. If you need to reach me, call him. I told him I was giving you his number. Hopefully, this thing won’t take long.”

  “But . . . what if you need your phone?” She held the cell back to him.

  “I won’t. I’ll call you on Chase’s phone to update you. So answer it, okay?”

  She nodded and looked from the phone back to him. “Thank you. For everything. Being in my corner.”

  “There’s no place I’d rather be.” That was the God’s honest truth, and he only felt a little prickle of fear admitting it. Slow, he told himself. He reached up and brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek, letting his fingers linger there a moment.

  He got up to leave. “Oh, there’s a set of house keys on the hook by the door if you need to walk Taco. Lock the door behind you, and don’t go too far.”

  She stood up. “Be careful.”

  He wasn’t sure what made him do it, or what made him certain she’d accept it. But he leaned down and kissed her. Just a soft, I’m-here-for-you kiss. Then he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip.

  Their gazes met, and so much seemed unsaid in that silence.

  “We’ll talk when I get back?” He didn’t have a clue what the hell he was going to say. It wasn’t as if he was going to confess his love to her, just ask her to be a part of his life. Where that led was anyone’s guess. And as long as he didn’t spend too much time guessing, he should survive.

  Chapter Eighteen

  At twelve forty-five, Danny and Chase Kelly sat in Sheri’s condo parking lot, waiting for Mark Taylor to show. The FBI waited inside. The plan was to let the man knock on the door, the FBI would open and Chase and Danny would be behind him to usher him inside. Hopefully, without issue.

  “So,” Chase moved his seat back to get a little more comfortable. “You and Sheri working out?”

  Oh, hell. Danny didn’t want to discuss this. “It’s hopeful,” he said in a tone that didn’t warrant conversation.

  “So will that end the No ball and Chain Gang?” Chase chuckled.

  Chase had been one of the guys who’d brought an end to the Divorced, Desperate and Delicious Club started by his wife and two of her friends. Chase had married Lacy, and shortly after that, Danny’s friend and fellow police officer, Jason Dodd had married one of Lacy’s friends and a fellow member. Then Kathy, the third member, ended up marrying Luke, who now owned a PI business.

  Danny, Turner and Cary had sort of copied the three-D club and started their own support group, vowing never to fall prey to marriage again. Basically their jobs were to help each other stay single. Considering that now both Cary and Turner were married, Danny couldn’t say the club had been all that successful.

  “I’m not getting hitched,” Danny told Chase.

  “So you’re still in that phase, huh?” He chuckled.

  “What phase?”

  “The one where you haven’t admitted that you love her.”

  Danny turned and glared at him. “We’re just starting.”

  Chase held up his hands in submission. “I’m not judging, I’m just saying . . . I saw how you were with her last night. And again how you went ape shit on Agent Talen for upsetting her.”

  “That just means I’m a decent person,” Danny argued.

  “That, too.” Chase looked around as if watching out for Mark. “I mean . . . it’s exactly how I’d’ve been if it’d been Lacy in there. Because I’m a . . . decent person, too. And probably more because . . . I love her,” he chuckled.

  Danny ignored him and looked out the window.

  Chase picked up the case file and started flipping through it. “Did that sketch resemble this Mark guy?”

  “No,” Danny told him about the sketch artist feeling Perkins was faking the descriptions. “His lawyer texted me yesterday and said he’d get back with his client on Monday.”

  “But Sheri didn’t think the guy she saw at her back door was Mark, did she?”

  “No. She said he wasn’t familiar, but it was dark and he wore a hoodie.”

  Chase flipped another page. “Still, you’d think if she’d dated the guy, she’d recognize him.”

  “You’d think,” Danny said, not liking that Chase was mirroring his own doubts.

  “And she can’t think of anyone else who might be doing this?” He looked up.

  “No. I’ve gone over it with her several times.” He leaned back in the seat, getting impatient.

  “Well, let’s hope he’s our guy then.”

  Danny saw a black Chevy Cruze pull by. He didn’t get a good look in the window to see if it was Mark.

  The car parked two spaces down from them.

  An older, gray-haired guy got out.

  “Not him,” Danny said and exhaled.

  All of a sudden, another man appeared, walking toward Sheri’s condo. “That’s him!” Danny said.

  Chase snagged his phone and dialed the FBI agents waiting in Sheri’s condo. “Showtime.” He hung up and looked at Danny. “Let’s wait and let him start for her porch.”

  Danny and Chase leaned back in their seats and tried not to draw attention to themselves. Then Danny noticed something.

  “Shit.” He leaned bac
k and glanced away.

  “What?” Chase asked.

  “He’s got a package. What if that’s a bomb?” Danny said.

  “Shit is right!”

  Chase dialed the FBI again.

  • • •

  Sheri had actually dozed off when Danny’s phone rang. She woke up in a start, unsure if she’d slept one hour or six. She reached for the phone to see who was calling, but still in daze, dropped it.

  “Hello.” She heard a voice say on the line. Sitting up, blinking, she stared at the phone at her feet. She must have answered it accidentally.

  “Crap!” she muttered.

  “Hello? Danny?” the voice spoke again.

  Sleep clouded her mind, but what brain cells she had firing were telling her she knew that voice.

  Was it Chloe?

  She reached down for the phone. The number of the caller was no longer displayed on the screen.

  “Danny Henderson?” the voice spoke again.

  Sheri’s mouth dropped open. It couldn’t be, could it?

  Without thinking, she put the phone to her ear. “Mom?”

  “Sheri?” her mom said.

  “Yes.”

  “I called Danny’s . . . number? Didn’t I?”

  Oh, hell, Sheri thought.

  “I just called you, but you didn’t answer.”

  “Uh . . . yeah.” Sheri pushed her palm to her temple.

  “Are you with Danny?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  “So I guess that means he’s coming with us tonight.”