Divorced, Desperate And Dating

by Christie Craig

  “Maybe.”

  Something about Chase’s tone made Jason turn around. A pink Cadillac, sporting a dented fender, darted in front of them. Chase slammed on the brakes.

  “Pull him over,” Jason said.

  Chase sped up beside the car, and they both looked at the purple-haired old lady white-knuckling the steering wheel so she could peer over the dashboard.

  “Or not,” Jason said. “I’d drive like a bat out of hell if I was pushing ninety.”

  His partner chuckled and let off the gas. “You have a soft spot for old ladies.”

  “Do not.” Jason glanced out the window again.

  “You let that shoplifter go last week, even after you found that pot roast in her purse.”

  “She thought it was her wallet.”

  “Like hell,” Chase said. “You paid for the pot roast and sent it home with her. I’m surprised you didn’t throw in some baby carrots and pearl onions.”

  “She said she had those at home.” Jason grinned.“So shoot me. I should have been a Boy Scout.” Then he remembered he’d been too busy scouting for trouble to earn merit badges. People expected foster kids to be trouble, and he hadn’t let anyone down. At least he hadn’t until Maggie came along. But that had been different. Maggie needed him.

  “You’re going to come over for the Fourth, right? Lacy has the party all set.”

  “I’ll be there,” Jason answered.

  “You bringing a victim?”

  “Bringing a what?”

  “A victim.” Chase laughed. “That’s what Lacy calls your girlfriends.”

  “They’re not victims.”

  “Hey, she just means that you love ’em and leave ’em.”

  “I leave them happy. They needed some special TLC, and I’m good at it. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Hmm…maybe the leaving part?”

  “They don’t complain.” Much. The fact that he hadn’t made anyone, or himself, happy lately was another issue.

  Chase’s phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID. “Hey, Lace,” he said before the receiver was anywhere near his mouth.

  Jason dug into his jeans pocket for a piece of cinnamon candy and scanned the streets for his “type.” When had he gotten so picky? Maybe he was just getting old. But thirty wasn’t that old, damn it! According to that article in Men’s Health even a married man should want sex at least three times a week. That meant he was forty-eight climaxes behind—and counting—because he had no prospects…and even worse, no real interest.

  “What?” Chase’s sharp tone brought Jason’s gaze back around. “We’ll be right there.”

  Jason waited until Chase hung up. “What’s up?”

  “Something about Sue getting a death threat.”

  Jason’s shoulders stiffened. “Sue? What happened?”

  Chase shook his head. “She’s not making sense.”

  Jason got an image of Sue at her last autographing, wearing pink, bouncing in her chair, and smiling as she signed books. He’d seen the announcement of her signing in the paper. Having already bought her book, he didn’t have a reason for showing up. Thankfully, he’d ducked out before she spotted him.

  “Then let’s move.” Jason looked out at the traffic. “Is she okay?”

  Chase punched the gas. “Lacy said she was.” One of Chase’s brows arched. “I thought you didn’t like Sue.”

  “I don’t dislike her. Just drive.” Jason pointed at the road.

  Thirty minutes later, Chase parked his Isuzu Rodeo across from Sue’s house, located in Hoke’s Bluff, one of the smaller towns outside Houston’s city limits.

  “Why’s the media here?” Jason voiced his question aloud. Only a dead body could bring out this much press. The thought of Sue not moving or smiling gave him a jolt. Chase hadn’t cut the engine off before Jason jumped out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  He sped past the television vans. Hurrying toward the house, Jason saw Chase jump out of the car and gravitate toward the side of the yard where a pack of women huddled together. Jason recognized one of the women as Lacy, Chase’s wife, and he almost turned around to hear what she had to say. But he didn’t see Sue, and he had a burning desire to make sure she wasn’t lying facedown in a puddle of blood like one of the characters in her mystery novels.

  He walked inside the house, only stopping when he saw a camera focused on Sue and a woman who sat beside her on the edge of an overstuffed red sofa. Relief melted through him as he scanned her for bruises or scrapes. She looked fine.

  So fine, he inventoried her for reasons altogether different. She wore a skirt and had her legs crossed, revealing a creamy expanse of thigh.

  “I don’t think this is drug-related,” a voice said nearby.

  Jason glanced briefly over at Officer Donny Martin of the Hoke’s Bluff PD. He had met the guy a couple of times at someone’s barbecue but didn’t much like him. Mostly because Martin thought of himself as a player and had mistaken Jason for someone who wanted to listen to him brag about his conquests.

  “Sue’s a friend of my partner’s wife,” he replied, then trained his gaze back on Sue. Something didn’t look right. It took him a second to figure it out. Sue wasn’t talking or moving. Sue always talked and moved. The woman was perpetual motion with a voice box. Jason had wondered how she sat still long enough to write a book. He’d also wondered how she’d be at other things. Constant movement could be a good thing when the clothes were off and—

  Quashing that thought, he glanced at the brunette beside Sue. Dressed in a navy business suit, she spoke directly into the camera. Jason turned back to Martin.“What’s going on?”

  “If you ask me, it’s a publicity stunt—but the view’s nice.” Martin pointed to the two women and then to a blonde reporter.

  “There wasn’t a death threat?” Jason asked.

  “She says the dog and cat ate it.” Martin chuckled.

  “Ate what?”

  “The rat someone sent the sexy little New York Times bestselling author.”

  Jason frowned. “She hasn’t made that list yet. Who’s the brunette?”

  “Her agent/PR person from New Jersey. Kind of convenient her being here to help get the press out, wouldn’t you say?”

  The brunette placed a hand on Sue’s shoulder. “Of course she’s scared,” she cooed into the microphone. “This is obviously the work of a stalker. Why, her next book, Murder At Midnight is due out in a few weeks. She’ll be autographing copies at all the local bookstores. Her book received a glowing review from Publishers Weekly!”

  “Yeah, it’s convenient,” Jason agreed.

  He watched Sue lace her hands together and stare down at her lap. Along with that short khaki skirt, she wore a light blue polo shirt. Her shoulder-length blonde hair fell loose from where it was tucked behind her ear. She flipped it back with nervous fingers.

  The reporter asked her a question, then shoved a microphone in her face. Sue’s wide blue eyes blinked.

  Jason flinched. Sue clearly wasn’t up to being interviewed.

  His gaze shot to Miss Navy-Suit, who appeared utterly prepared. “Yeah, it’s a publicity stunt. But Sue’s not in on it.” He moved in. “Show’s over.” He glared at the woman in navy. “Police need to talk to Ms. Finley.”

  Sue’s eyes grew round, and her vulnerability vanished. Jason took her by the forearm, lifting her off the couch.

  “What are you doing?” Sue seethed as he pulled her away from the crowd.

  “I’m trying to save you from making an ass out of yourself.”

  She jerked free of his hand. “What?”

  “It’s obvious that your PR guru set this whole thing up.”

  “Set what up?”

  “Come on, Sue. Doesn’t this look suspicious? Listen to her. She’s done everything but give out a 1–800 number where they can order your book. She obviously devised this whole thing.”

  Sue latched her hands on her hips and gaped at her agent. She seemed to consider what he�
�d said, then met Jason’s gaze. “No. She’s taking advantage of the situation. I’ll give you that. But she didn’t send that rat.”

  “And I have some oceanfront property for sale in Iowa. For some reason I thought you were different from other blondes.”

  Sue’s eyes squinted, her shoulders snapped back, and her chin tilted up. Not that it made any difference in her height. She barely measured chest high on his six-foot frame. Oddly enough, though, her petite body thrilled him.

  As did the rest of her.

  “What are you even doing here?” she demanded.“I don’t need more police.”

  “What you need is your head examined if you’re buying little Miss Priss’s stunt.”

  Sue tapped the toe of her sandal against the wood floor. The sun spilling through the dining room window reflected off her blue eyes. Angry, but beautiful, eyes. He inhaled. Her fruity fragrance made him want to step closer and breathe deeper.

  “Sorry to ruin your theory, Columbo,” she said,“but when the rat was being delivered, Melissa was thirty miles from here filing a hit and run report on an old lady driving like a bat out of Disney World in a pink Cadillac.” She hesitated. “Did Lacy call Chase?”

  Jason stared at her moist lips, painted pink, and remembered the taste he’d gotten of them that night four months ago. Oh yeah, he remembered, all right. He’d been plagued with flashbacks. Desire stirred deep in his belly and spread lower. And lower. There was a very good reason why one taste had been more than enough, but with all that stirring going on in places that hadn’t stirred in too long, he couldn’t remember what it was. Then something really moved between his legs.

  “Damn!” He removed a huge dog nose from his crotch.

  “I think it’s time you leave.” Sue started the bouncing shoe routine. “You’ve outworn your welcome again.”

  Jason supposed he deserved that. After all, he’d expected something of a consequence for not calling her. It didn’t matter that her number was tucked inside his wallet, the paper worn and faded from constantly taking it in and out. Still, her words made him flinch. Words he’d heard enough as a boy from caseworkers as they shuffled him from one home to another.

  Right then he remembered why one taste of Sue’s mouth had been more than enough. It went back to childhood lessons. Plain and simple. Jason Dodd never allowed himself to want anything too much—not a birthday cake, not a new bike for Christmas, not his mother to come back for him. Wanting things only led to disappointment. Even wanting a woman came with limits. And after one kiss, he’d wanted Sue Finley too damn much.

  “Have it your way.” He nearly tripped over a gray cat as he stormed out.

  Walking straight to the Rodeo, he pulled his keys out of his pocket, found the spare key Chase had given him, got in, and drove away. Turning up the volume, he listened to Chase’s Three Doors Down CD and dug into his jeans for another cinnamon candy. By the time he got to I-45, he had forgotten about Sue. He was almost in Houston before he remembered something else he’d forgotten. His partner…and the owner of the car.

  Sue knelt to loosen the straps of her sandals. They pinched her toes something terrible, but jeez, it had been a toe-pinching kind of day.

  “Oh, that was good!” Melissa brushed a speck of dust off her navy jacket.

  “Someone sent my daughter a dead rat, and you think that’s good?” Sue’s mother poured another glass of Merlot. Sue figured this to be about a four-glass problem, which meant she’d be driving her mom home.

  Again.

  “No, the rat wasn’t good.” Melissa wrinkled her nose, but her brown eyes glimmered. “But that free press was priceless. Now, if I could just catch Grandma in the Caddie. It’s going to make her cost me a fortune to pay for that fender bender.”

  Sue dropped down on the sofa, feeling like a balloon with a slow leak. Everyone milled around the front section of her house. The reporters and police had left, except Chase, Lacy’s husband, who stood next to his wife, absently toying with her dark curls as he stared out the window. Lacy looked over and offered Sue a supportive smile. Good ol’ Lacy, as supportive as an underwire bra.

  Sue forced a grin, then reached down to pull at the leather straps around her toe. Toe pain was the worst. Glancing up, Sue’s gaze shifted and skidded to a halt on a newcomer: Lacy’s mother.

  “I picked it up at the Galleria last week,” Karina Callahan said, dangling her bracelet at Melissa. Karina exhibited an Elizabeth Taylor charisma, and the woman had never met a shade of purple she didn’t like. Purple suit, purple shoes. Sue had her earmarked to use as a character in a book, because Karina was, well, unforgettable.

  “So, who was at the door?” Lacy asked, talking to Sue’s mom.

  “Just the good-looking FedEx guy,” Sue’s mom answered. “Before the police arrived, the cat and dog ate the evidence.”

  Sue fought back irritation. In spite of a request that she not, Lacy had called her husband, Chase. Which was how Jason Dodd had ended up here. Then there were the reporters, vultures for a story, and the other police. But it was Jason, his six-feet of male ego, that annoyed Sue most. Conversations bounced all around the room, and Sue wished everyone would leave. She’d had autograph parties that weren’t as well attended. But give the crowd a dead rodent and—

  She crossed her legs and swung her foot back and forth, counting the insults Jason had slung at her in the course of three minutes. It was bad enough for him to kiss her so completely that he checked out the back of her tonsils, ask for her number, and then never call, but for him to barge into her home, call her a dumb blonde, accuse her agent of planting a dead rat, and…

  Why the heck hadn’t he called? Had he found some tonsil defect? Maybe she’d better resist French kissing Paul this weekend.

  At the thought of the weekend, her toes pinched again.

  Lacy dropped down beside her. “Do you want to stay at our place for a few days?”

  “No. I’m fine. This was just someone’s idea of a prank.”

  “A dead rat with die written on it is not a prank.” Her mother stepped closer to the sofa. Her tangerine outfit clashed with the red leather. “It was that doctor.” She looked at Chase. “I want that foot quack checked out.”

  “Mom, why would Paul send me a dead rat?” she asked.

  “Why would anyone send you a dead rat?” Chase gave Melissa a not-so-friendly look.

  “I don’t know.” Sue pumped her foot back and forth. Jason must have told Chase his half-cocked suspicions about Melissa being involved, but Sue knew they were wrong. Melissa had worked at a Hollywood PR firm before moving east to start her literary/PR agency. Sure, the woman could be an opportunist—a talent that had gotten Sue all sorts of media coverage—but dead rats weren’t her style. Melissa hated rats. She had freaked when she read Sue’s chapter in which a victim received a dead rat.

  Sue remembered the scene. The killer had sent the rat as a warning of what was to come. After tormenting the victim with hang-ups and threatening notes, the rat-recipient had been murdered. Coincidence, Sue told herself again.

  “You okay?” Lacy asked.

  “Fine.” She considered telling Chase about the scene from her book, but how would it look? Melissa had been one of the few people who’d read it. If Chase suspected her agent now, what would he think then? It was just a coincidence. In her scene, the rat had been in the mailbox, and it hadn’t had die written on it.

  And it hadn’t been disguised as chocolate.

  A horn blew outside. Chase kissed Lacy good-bye. “Jason’s back.”

  Lacy leaned into her husband for another kiss. All eyes turned to them. Lacy and Chase had been married almost a year but still gave each other looks that set off enough steam to carpet clean a Persian hotel.

  “Okay, guys,” Sue’s mother said. “We’re here for dead rats, not soft porn.”

  “Leave them alone,” Karina Callahan chimed in. Somehow, even her voice sounded purple. “I want grandkids.”

  “You all need to get
a life.” Chase smiled. “That was just a kiss, not porn.” With a confident gait he left.

  “Sue needs to get a life.” Melissa pulled at the edge of her jacket. “If she doesn’t stop rewriting the same love scene, I’m going to hire her a gigolo.”

  Everyone giggled. Everyone except Sue.

  “Sue’s getting a life this weekend.” Karina pressed a fingernail against her purple-tinted lips. “Or at least she’s going to play ‘One Little Piggy Went to Market’ with her podiatrist.”

  “What?” Sue’s mouth dropped open.

  “Mom,” Lacy said. “Going after my sex life is bad, but leave my friends’ sex lives alone.”

  “You’re finally dating?” Melissa got a this-is-news look about her.

  “I swear,” Sue growled. “If I read this in the paper, I’ll fire you. And no—”

  “I don’t like Paul,” her mother interrupted.

  “You don’t have to like him,” Karina responded.

  Lately, Sue had noticed Karina and her mom had been spending a lot of time together. She wondered if the six-times divorced Karina was behind her mother’s fruity low-cut outfits. Perhaps Sue should just be glad her mom wasn’t wearing purple.

  “It’s Sue who has to bump uglies with him,” Karina continued.

  “Mom.” Lacy sent Sue a look of apology.

  Melissa chuckled. “Bumping uglies? Now there’s one I haven’t heard. Real romantic.”

  Karina looked at Sue. “Your mom bumped uglies last week with Bill Delaney, the manager of the fruit stand by the highway.”

  Sue’s brain went on the fritz.

  Sex?

  Her mom?

  “Tell me this isn’t true.”

  “I…” Her mom paused. “Bumping uglies? They are kind of ugly. I don’t see how anyone can watch porn without cracking up.” Everyone laughed except Sue, who was busy trying not to imagine her mom having sex with a fruit salesman.

  Her mom shot her a get-real look. “Lighten up. It’s just us girls. Besides, if you can play footsie with your podiatrist, I can talk bananas with my fruit stand owner.”

  “You did more than talk.” Karina laughed. “You made juice.”