by Brandi Evans
He shook his head. “I don’t understand. If you hated the place so much, why would you want to live here.”
“I didn’t. I still don’t. I hate this place with every fiber of my being. I moved in with one goal, to save a shit-ton of money so I could get a place of my own. And if I were lucky, I’d get to sell this hellhole to someone who wanted to level it and tear it to the fucking ground.”
He couldn’t stop the grin tugging at the left side of his mouth. Practical and a bit vindictive. No wonder he liked her so much.
“I saved every penny of what I’d previously been paying in rent,” she continued, “and when I was close to my goal, I put this place on the market. I was quickly contacted by a developer who wanted to level it and build something new. Plus, I found this gorgeous little house on the outskirts of Dallas in a quiet suburb. It’s a fixer-upper, but in a good way, ya know? I was looking forward to taking the space and making it mine. I had everything lined up and ready to go, and then, she fucking struck again.”
He didn’t like where this was going. “God, Genny. What did she do?”
“About three months ago, she contacted me, trying to figure out why her house-key didn’t work, to which I reminded her the house was mine, and that I’d changed the locks. And I’d added a home security system, so to not get any ideas about breaking the window—not that it stopped her from breaking in any way. Well, needless to say, I was a bit peeved.”
And he couldn’t blame her. A person could only be screwed over so many times before their ability to give a fuck was damaged permanently. “How exactly does this play into your earlier again comment?”
“The morning I was supposed to meet with my real estate agent to officially sign the paperwork to buy my new house, I went to the bank to get a cashier’s check.” The tears made a comeback. “And my account was empty.”
The bitch.
“How?” he asked. “Was she a signatory on your account?” Surely not, but his inner cop was compelled to ask.
“Of course, not. I’m not that stupid.” The amount of indignation in those two sentences was legendary. “My best guess is when she broke in, she stole some of my bank documents and whatever else she needed to steal my identity.”
“You know, if she wasn’t on the account, that’s bank fraud, and the bank’s liable and required by law to reimburse you. All you have to do is file a police report and—”
He stopped cold, suddenly realizing the dilemma she was facing. To recoup her stolen money, Genny would have to throw her own mother under the bus.
Bank fraud was a federal crime, and if she filed paperwork with the bank, the bank would then do everything in its power to recoup the money they lost, which meant they’d come after Brenda Malek with the full power of the law.
Bank fraud had some hefty penalties, too, ones which made her incarceration for minor drug-related offenses seem petty in comparison. On the lower end, she was looking at five to ten years; on the upper end, she was looking at thirty plus years. And granted, Brenda Malek was a real piece of work, but she was still Genny’s mother. They would always have that connection. Plus, factor in Genny’s guilt over the role she played in putting her mom in prison the first time, and yeah, he understood her predicament.
“I’m sorry, Genny. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know. But still.” He kissed her forehead.
“I feel so trapped. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”
“Maybe I can look into it for you. Quietly. See if I can’t work something out.” Although that would be tricky as hell. With bank fraud being a federal crime, he’d have pretty much zero clout with anyone who could do anything, but for Genny, he’d turn over every rock until he exhausted all his options.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said.
“You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“Same difference.”
“No, not at all.” He offered a gentle smile. “Let me help you, Genny. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“You are helping me.” She leaned in, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and held on. “More than you know,” she whispered.
He mirrored her hold, dragging her against him until she was sitting in his lap, and didn’t let go. “Tell me what I can do to help,” he said. Her hair caught in the breeze and was teasing over his lips.
“You’re already doing it, Carter. This right here.”
Closing his eyes, he rested his head on hers. How little support had she indeed had growing up? Had there been anyone she could lean on? Had her childhood made her incapable of asking for—or in this case, accepting—help? What would it take for her to let him help?
“What do you say we get out of here?” he said. “Away from all these bad memories and do something fun and distracting.”
She lifted her head. “Like what?”
“You’ll see, sweetheart.” He kissed her. “You’ll see.”
Chapter 6
“Hole-in-one!” Turning to Carter, Genny lifted her putter into the air like it was a sword and she’d slayed a dragon. “Ha! Beat that, Sergio.”
She layered a wealth of smugness into her taunt, and Carter couldn’t help but laugh, something they’d been doing a lot since leaving the emotional shadows of her house behind. First, it had been bowling, pool, bad burgers, soggy fries, and flat beer at Lazy Lou’s, his second favorite place to pass the time after Restrained Fantasies, and now, it was Pirate Mini Golf. It was like regular mini golf but high on arrr.
“Okay, first, is Sergio García the only golfer you know? Because as taunting goes, that’s pretty lame. And second, give me a break. How am I supposed to concentrate on my shots and kick your ass if you keep distracting me with Ravenesque hotness?”
She rolled her eyes. “And you called my taunting lame.”
“Shut up.” He gave her a playful push. “Get outta my way, beautiful, and prepare to be amazed.”
“All right then. Show me what you’ve got, professor.” Wiggling her eyebrows, she sauntered to the left and stood behind him.
Carter lined up his shot. He had to hit the ball straight enough to make it between the two large rocks on either side and hard enough to crest the incline. Should be easy enough. He drew back his putter, eased it forward—and Genny pinched him hard on the ass.
He jerked the putter, smacking the ball too hard and sending it flying to the left. The green ball bounced off a rock, careened off the course entirely, and plopped in the water.
He turned to Genny. She was standing exactly where she had been, trying to look as innocent as possible. It might have worked, too, if she hadn’t been fighting a smile as big as the moon overhead.
He planted his fists on his hips. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?”
“What was…” He shook his head, fighting back a grin. “So that’s how we’re going to play this, huh?”
She held her putter out like a sword. “Stay back, you! I’m prepared to defend myself!”
“Ha! I’m highly trained in hand-to-hand combat. You wouldn’t be able to stop me.”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty damn scrappy.”
Of that, he had no doubt.
She’d fought off at least one would-be attacker as a child. And she did look damn lethal with her make-shift sword. No cute. The word he was looking for was cute. She looked damn cute with her make-shift sword.
“Come at me, bro,” she taunted.
“Oh, it’s game on, baby.”
In one furious motion, he deflected her ‘sword’ to the left as he veered to the right. He spun around her and pinned her arms at her side, her back firmly against his front. Good thing the course was empty because a massive display of public affection was coming up.
He nuzzled her neck. “You’re asking for it,” he said, between nips. “I have half a mind to take you over my knee right here, you naughty little thing.”
She laughed, but the sound di
dn’t have the same merriment as before. A familiar neediness had taken hold, one he knew all too well because he’d coaxed the sound out of her several times at the club the night before.
“Is that so, Sir?”
He tightened his arms around her. He liked that she’d sensed—and acknowledged—the change in their banter. “If we were in a different place, I’d be showing you how much right now.”
“Sounds like somebody wants to go back to Restrained Fantasies.”
“Actually, no.” And it shocked the hell out of him. He didn’t want to take her back to the club, not now anyway. Oh, there was plenty he wanted to do with her within the safety and privacy of Restrained Fantasies, but what he wanted to do to her now needed a different setting. It should be a sign to stomp on the brakes and get off this train before things careened farther off the rails, but like a runaway locomotive barreling down a mountain pass, it was full speed ahead.
“Then where?” she asked.
He turned her toward him but didn’t release her. “Home, Genny. I’m taking you home.”
“Talk about a posh neighborhood.” Raven turned in her seat and faced Carter. “You live here.
He nodded.
“Wow, cops make more than I thought.”
“Don’t get your expectations too high. My house isn’t as glamorous as any of these. Not on a cop’s salary.”
He came to a stop at a four-way intersection. To the left sat a house which looked as if someone had taken an old Southern Plantation and shrank it to fit on the corner lot. On the opposite side of the street was a rock-face monstrosity she fell instantly in love with. It had three levels, and great beams setting off large bays of windows. The beams themselves looked like someone had taken tree trunks and sanded them down just enough to smooth out the rough edges, but no more. The end result was both rustic and luxurious at the same time.
“What do you mean?” she asked when he pulled forward and then turned to the left.
“The Lakeside Homeowners’ Association made an exemption for me as the house I had planned to build didn’t exactly meet the square footage requirement for the neighborhood. I think the only reason they said yes was they liked the idea of having a cop close by. Maybe it made them feel safer in their gated community.”
“Oh. But still… everything’s right on the lake,” she said. “Or river? It’s too dark to tell. All I can see is water behind the houses.”
“It’s actually a man-made channel connecting to the nearby lake. Think of it like a sidewalk for boats.”
Oh, yeah. Very posh. “Do you have a boat?”
“I’m working on having a boat,” he answered as he made yet another turn.
“So, you’re in the process of boat shopping?”
“No, no. I have a boat. Before I built my house, I bought and lived in an old 1972 Gibson houseboat.”
“Lived in? A houseboat.”
“Yeah. It was cheaper than renting while I built. The boat had lots of cosmetic and engine issues, so I had to completely remodel the interior. The engine, on the other hand, may be a lost cause. I think I either need to hire someone to rebuild it or completely replace it. I’m pretty much at the end of my knowledge base.”
“A man who can admit when he needs help. No wonder I like you.” She gave him a soft jab to the arm which didn’t interfere with his ability to drive. “What’s the engine doing?”
“It turns over, but then it starts sputtering and losing power.”
“Hmm. Sounds like it could be an issue with the in-line fuel filter. If you want, I can look at it for you.”
He cast a quick glance her way. “You know your way around engine blocks?”
“What? You think because I don’t have a penis I don’t know anything about engines.”
“Of course, not.” He tugged their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I guess I still have a lot to learn about you.”
God, he was so adorable.
“I worked off the books at a place called—” she paused. “You’re not gonna arrest me for laws I may or may not have broken as a kid, are ya?” She laced her words with humor, but she needed to be sure.
He chuckled as he made yet another turn. The Homeowners’ Association may have allowed him into their posh little neighborhood, but they’d sure relegated him to the back of the premises.
“Nah, you were a minor,” he answered. “So long as you didn’t kill anyone, I’m cool with granting you personal immunity.”
She nodded. Good enough. “During one of my mom’s stints as a free woman, I picked up a job at a local mechanics’ station owned by one of my former foster dads. Mr. Reynolds—David—paid me cash under the table so I wouldn’t have to deal with finding ways to get the checks cashed. Since I was under eighteen, hell, since I was thirteen when I started there, I would have needed a parent’s signature to open a bank account, and well, this way, my mom didn’t know I was making money, so she’d be less likely to try and steal it.”
And considering her mom had done this very thing, but on a much more significant level, she’d been spot on in trying to keep her mother away from the money.
Carter gave her hand another squeeze. “I’m sorry, Genny.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“I’m still sorry.”
They drove the next two minutes in silence, until Carter turned off the road and into a drive. His headlights flashed briefly over what looked like a small cabin, but the light was gone too fast for her to be sure. However, the structure she’d seen had been far, far smaller than any other of the surrounding houses.
“I hate the idea of spending twenty-eight percent of my monthly paycheck for the next thirty years on a place to live when this is all I need,” he said as if feeling the need to explain why his house was so small.
“I’m right there with you. The house I want is only about 800 square feet, and I would have had it paid off in less than ten years if…”
She bit back the dark thoughts trying to break free. For her mother. For a future which probably wouldn’t come to pass. For the memory of the time when her mother still cared.
Carter released her hand and then, with a gentle motion, turned her head so they faced each other. “We’ll get this figured out. I promise.”
We.
For someone who’d been fucked over by people as much as she’d been, ‘we’ was one of the most terrifying words in the world. The concept behind it was scarier still, but she nodded, not quite able to bring herself to believe him.
When she was outside the vehicle, the aroma of honeysuckles floated on the wind. The enthusiastic yelps of a dog preceded the flickering on of porch lights which illuminated the area. A small dog ran up the stone walkway leading from the driveway to the house.
“Is this your dog?” she asked, stepping toward the vehicle. “Or do we need to dive back in the car?”
In answer, he dropped to a knee and held a hand out toward the animal; the dog instantly rolled onto his back to get his belly scratched.
“He’s not my dog,” Carter said, “but yeah, I guess he sorta lives here.”
“You guess he lives here?”
“He showed up about six months ago, but given my schedule at the precinct, I don’t have time for a dog. I feed him. I pet him. I built him a dog house, but that’s as far as our relationship goes. He’s free to pursue other owners.”
She cocked her head. “Sounds like your dog to me.”
Carter shrugged.
When Carter pushed to his feet, the dog decided it was time to check out the intruder on his property. Bending at the waist, Raven offered her hand for inspection. The dog gave her a thorough sniff before turning his head and letting her scratch behind his ear.
The animal’s coat was primarily white, except for big, black spots over his eye, opposite ear, and left haunch. He was visually lopsided and utterly adorable.
“Does he have a name?” she asked.
“Not rea
lly. I just call him Buddy.”
So, he had given the animal a name. Carter had a strange definition of not having a dog.
The trio set off down the walk to Carter’s cabin. The place had a beautifully modern feel, with lots of glass and sleek, clean lines. The shallow-pitched roof transitioned into a trellis which projected over a wraparound deck. Carter’s place was stunning in its simplicity.
“Wow.” She stepped onto the porch and touched the sanded wood siding. “This is absolutely stunning. It’s so sleek.”
“Thanks.” He lifted a three-by-three panel beside the door, pressed his palm to the interior, and the door clicked open.
“Palm recognition,” she said as she held the flap open when he went to close it. “And you said your place wasn’t posh.”
He grinned. “Not compared to the other houses in the community.”
“But still.” His place made her craptastic house seem like more of a crap hole.
He pushed the door open for her. “Alexa, turn on main lights, nighttime mode.”
Lights came on, revealing the inside of the cabin was as sleek and modern as the outside. The kitchen, a functional galley style, separated the living and dining areas from the sleeping area, as well as serving as the hallway between the two.
Raven stepped to the window in the kitchen. “A sliding door that opens onto the deck. Nice. How much of the glass slides back?”
“All of it, all the way to the side.”
“So, when open, the house is almost entirely open to the elements?”
He nodded.
“Wow. Must be nice on nights like this.”
“Is that a hint?”
“If you want it to be.” She flashed him a smile.
He chuckled. “Alexa, open back door, full.”
Starting at the edge of the kitchen, the doors moved left, each pane sliding over another until the living area was completely open to the night.
