Divorced, Desperate And Dating

by Christie Craig

  “Shit,” Sue said.

  “Yup. Shit says it all,” Chase agreed.

  Jason ran his hand up from Sue’s waist to her shoulder. “Chase, uhh…some things have happened since you left.”

  “What things?” Chase asked.

  “Someone tried to break into Sue’s house last night. Cut the phone line. She only got a glimpse of the person, but she thought it was a man.”

  “Maybe his wife is manly,” Chase suggested.

  “And someone has been leaving threatening phone messages.” Jason tried to recall the voice. “I heard one of them. If it’s a woman’s voice, she’s disguising it. And it seems someone might have hacked into Sue’s computer and has been reading her files.” Jason explained about the rat scene in Sue’s book.

  “Why the hell didn’t she tell me this was happening?” Chase snapped.

  Sue shifted beside him. “She didn’t tell you because you were leaving for L.A.”

  “You still should have told me.”

  Jason looked at Sue’s pinched expression, and he didn’t know if she was going to start leaking all over him or start pacing. He glanced at his shirt, prepared for either.

  “Jason,” Chase said. “Take me off the speakerphone.”

  Jason reached for the receiver, but Sue stopped him. “I have a right to hear this.”

  “Okay,” Chase snapped. “It’s just…I know you, Sue, and you’re not going to take this seriously. But damn it, this sounds bad. Jason, don’t let her do something to get herself killed.”

  Sue stared out the car window as Jason drove them back to her house. She’d heard him promise Chase and Lacy that he wouldn’t leave her side until they got home on Friday. Lacy had also made her promise to accept Jason’s protection.

  There went her idea of hiring an ugly bodyguard. Sue might lie on occasion, but breaking a promise to a friend violated her code of ethics.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the kittens mew in the backseat. Of course she’d have to keep Hitchcock and Mama and company apart until Jason got the cats their shots, but that wasn’t too much of a pain. Mama didn’t like the car ride, but there was no way Sue was leaving a mother and five kittens alone. “What if your apartment caught fire? Or if one of them gets sick and needs a vet?” she’d asked Jason.

  Jason hadn’t argued and had pulled out a never-used cat carrier. The fact that he had a carrier surprised her. When she’d asked him about it, he’d shrugged and changed the subject. He was good at changing the subject.

  The two glasses of red wine Sue consumed while Jason printed her book had left her with the energy of a slug on muscle relaxers. She might have even gone for a third glass but realized she was using her mother’s Merlot-can-save-the-world theory. Which wasn’t going to work, because she’d been drinking Cabernet.

  But not even the best bottle of Merlot was going to make these problems disappear. Someone wanted her dead. And then there was this other itsy-bitsy problem that she’d been dating a married man. A married man who happened to be a car thief, and who was married to a psychopath who might be the person who wanted her dead.

  Then there was Jason Dodd. Even after hearing him speak to someone who suspiciously sounded like a girlfriend; after finding an extra-large condom packet, which was proof of the girlfriend; after learning he had commitment issues to such an extreme that he wouldn’t even name a pet or check out its genitalia—even after all this, she still wanted to curl up in his arms and let him protect her. Then she wanted him to help her catch up on two and a half years of missed orgasms.

  Maybe she should have had that third glass of Cabernet after all.

  “What were the plans for tomorrow night?” he asked.

  Sue looked at him, her mind on wine and orgasms. “Tomorrow night?”

  “With the foot doctor?”

  “Oh. I’m meeting him at a diner by the Westside movie theater. We’ll have dinner, and right after he pays for the meal I’m going to shoot him in his kneecaps.”

  Jason grinned. “How about I shoot him for you?”

  “Go find your own cheating lowlife to shoot. This one’s mine.”

  Jason’s soft chuckle had her closing her eyes again and trying to ignore the fact that she liked his company. That, in spite of everything, she still saw him as a nice person.

  Paul had been nice, too.

  Now that Sue had given it some thought, she realized she should have known Paul had secrets. The man had never taken her to his apartment, never given her his home number. Oh yeah, she’d been played for a fool once again.

  Jason’s voice rang loud. “I’ll probably get someone to come stay with you while I meet him.”

  Just like that, her wine-buzz buzzed off. She sat up. “I’m meeting him.”

  Their frowns met. “Sue, I don’t want him or his wife anywhere near you. I’m going to meet him and then probably take him downtown for questioning.”

  “You can question him after I take out his right knee.”

  “I’m not joking.” He pulled into her driveway. “It could be dangerous and—”

  “You’re not the one he made a fool of, or lied to. I want to face him myself.” She jumped out of his car and took off to her front door where the porch light welcomed her. She dug for her keys in her purse. Her gaze shifted downward.

  She froze.

  “Crap!” On her front porch was an envelope, some flowers, and another gold box with a Godiva sticker.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sue jumped back as if the package would bite and in the process slammed into Jason.

  “What?” he said, steadying her with one hand while the other held the cat carrier full of felines. His gaze followed Sue’s downward. “It’s okay,” he muttered.

  Mama meowed.

  Kneeling, he studied the card on the flowers. “It’s signed, ‘Benny.’ Your critique partner, right?”

  The tension rolled off her shoulders. “I forgot he threatened to bring his manuscript by.”

  “Threatened?” Jason asked.

  “Told me,” Sue corrected.

  Jason’s brows pinched. “You said threatened.”

  “It’s an expression.” She glanced at the envelope. “It’s just his manuscript and some good chocolate. Which I could use now.” She reached down—

  “Don’t.” He caught her hand. “Open the door and show me where you want the cats, and then I’ll get this.”

  “But it’s from Benny,” she said.

  “And it could be Benny doing this. We’re not certain the doctor’s wife is behind everything.”

  “I trust my critique group.”

  “You just said he threatened you.”

  “No, I said he threatened to come by.”

  He zapped her again with that I’m-a-cop polygraph gaze.

  “How come I get the feeling you’re keeping something from me?”

  Sue chose not to answer, and let herself inside.

  Jason put Mama and the kittens in her study. Hitchcock went on immediate sensory overload and stalked indignantly around the room. Sue picked him up to assure him of her love and walked him back into the living room.

  When Jason came back inside, he noticed her phone’s flashing light. “You’ve got messages.”

  Benny had left one message, saying he was sorry he’d missed her and hoped she enjoyed the chocolate. The other three were from Lacy, her mother, and a panicked Kathy who mumbled something about Lacy leaving a message about the foot doctor. When the machine clicked off, Jason insisted she come clean about Benny.

  Sue cratered. “He’s separated from his wife, lonely, and he’s a dog like every other living, breathing male on the earth, and he thinks we might get it on.”

  “Thank you.” Sarcasm tightened Jason’s voice. Then he retrieved some gloves from his car and opened the packages so as not to disturb any fingerprints.

  “Duh, Benny signed his name. Why would you check for fingerprints?”

  Carefully opening the items, Jason proved
Sue right.

  “See? I told you. It’s just chocolate and a manuscript.” She reached over to snatch one of the truffles.

  Jason grabbed her hand again. “No.”

  “It’s Godiva.”

  “I don’t care. You don’t eat candy from a person who might be trying to kill you.”

  She eyed the truffle. “You obviously haven’t ever had Go-diva. It’s worth the risk.”

  “I’ll get you some tomorrow.” He dropped the flowers in the garbage. “You’re not eating his candy.”

  “He’s not behind this.” She stared at the pansies decorating her trash.

  “He’s hitting on you. He’s read both manuscripts. That makes him a suspect. You don’t accept flowers from a suspect. Plus…his writing stinks.” Jason picked up the manuscript. “Is he really writing about man-eating plants?”

  She grabbed Benny’s manuscript away from him. “He sells just about everything he writes. Plus, someone has probably hacked into my computer. You even told Chase you thought so. That means Benny isn’t any more of a suspect than anyone else. And he really isn’t interested in me. He’s just lonely. In a week or two he’ll be back with his wife and he’ll forget about me.”

  Jason’s gaze brushed over her. “You’re not that forgettable.”

  Really? You managed to do it for four months and not call. She grabbed the vitamin C tablets from the table and shook two out for her and two for him. “Take it.” She watched him make a face, but he swallowed the tablets.

  Stifling a yawn, she studied the clock. It was after ten. But she wasn’t going to sleep until she got one thing clear. “I am going to meet Paul tomorrow night.”

  He frowned, but she saw defeat in his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “I’m working on getting someone with Hoke’s Bluff Police Force to pick him up for questioning. I haven’t got it all worked out yet, but you’ll do exactly what I say. I mean it. If I tell you to stay, you stay. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to do the hokey pokey, you—”

  “I do the hokey pokey.” She started to sing, “ ‘I’ll put my right foot out…’ ” She walked into her hall closet, pulled out a flat sheet, a blanket, and pillow. Then she delivered the bundle. “Sleep well.”

  He glanced down. “You’re putting me on the couch?”

  “I don’t have an extra bedroom.”

  His eyes twinkled. “You have a big bed…”

  “Hitchcock and I like sleeping alone.”

  Two lies in one day, her conscience nagged. Even after two years, that was what she missed most about being married. It wasn’t the sex. Sex with Collin hadn’t been earth-shaking. But he’d been a cuddler and she missed—

  “We slept together last night and you did okay.” “Not happening.” She walked away but tossed over her shoulder, “We’re getting up early. Remember my grandfather’s prostate appointment.”

  “Thank you for that bedtime image,” he called after her.

  Jason checked on his cat and kittens. Mama slipped out of the open carrier and rubbed against his ankles.

  “You could have told me.” He knelt, scratched her chin, and gazed into the cat’s eyes. “What are you going to do with all these guys? We can’t keep ‘em. I’m not even sure if I’m keeping you.”

  She meowed as if she understood.

  From the first day he’d found the scrap of a kitten getting into the garbage on his back patio, he’d told himself that he would take the animal to a shelter. He’d bought the carrier to get it there and investigated which ones didn’t euthanize. But he’d gotten so busy and…

  Jason flinched at the lie. Truth was, every time he’d go to take the animal away, he remembered being taken away himself. First from his mother—she’d stood in the kitchen and watched as they’d pulled him kicking and screaming from the house. Then he’d been shifted from one foster home to another. Each one left its mark. Each one left him a little more jaded.

  I don’t believe you were a bad kid, Sue had said.

  No, he hadn’t ever done drugs, not after seeing what it did to his mom. He hadn’t stolen anything. Nor had he ever started a fight. But hell, yeah, he’d finished many of them. He hadn’t had to do anything wrong to be considered bad.

  When people found out he was a foster kid, when foster parents found out his mother had abandoned him, he’d been stamped as Bad News. A bad kid. His only mistake, and it was one he continued to make, was that he’d never kiss someone’s ass to win their hearts.

  Uncomfortable where his thoughts had gone, he stood and moved his gaze around Sue’s study. This was where she created her stories—where she wrote about bad things, murder and mayhem, but still managed to bring about happy endings and a lot of laughter along the way. On her bookshelf he spotted one of those hanging photo albums. The front picture portrayed a man holding a little girl. Jason drew closer and noted the child’s white blond hair and sweet face. Sue.

  He ran the tip of his finger along her image and smiled. Then he focused on the man in the photo. Her father, Jason thought, noticing the love with which the two-or three-year-old gazed up at the man. Jason flipped to the next image. In it, a year or so older, Sue posed by her father’s side wearing an angel costume. A halo dangled above her head. In this image it was the father who gazed upon Sue with total love.

  No doubt about it, Sue was a daddy’s girl. Jason recalled Sue’s mother was dating “Elvis,” and he wondered when the parents had divorced.

  Picking up the album, he flipped through the pages, marveling at Sue’s picture-perfect world. Easters, Christmases, Halloweens, and birthdays. He could almost hear the laughter drifting from the snapshots. Love frozen in time on film.

  Jason couldn’t help but compare Sue’s life to his own. About his second year in foster care, he had stopped expecting something magical to happen on holidays. More times than not, his birthday was overlooked, the presents under the tree were never what he’d asked for, but more importantly, his mother never showed up, never called. Yup, holidays pretty much sucked.

  Shaking off those memories, he turned to the next page in Sue’s happy life. His breath hitched. Instead of an image of smiling faces, there was a funeral notice. Above the writing was a headshot of Sue’s father. Robert Finley – 1953–1985.

  Damn.

  Jason turned the page to the last image. As soon as he saw it, he wished he hadn’t.

  Double damn.

  Standing with her shoulders square, her chin high but with tears in her eyes, was a young and heartbroken Sue standing next to a grave. Who the hell would have taken that picture?

  Swallowing a knot, he exhaled, flipped the pages back to the beginning, and returned the hanging album to the shelf. Fifteen minutes later, dressed only in silk boxers, he stretched out on the sofa. He picked up his cell phone and put it on the coffee table. He stared at the ceiling a moment, then grabbed it again and dialed.

  Sue’s phone rang. He heard her open her bedroom door. “Should I answer it?” she called, a touch of panic in her voice.

  “It’s just me.” He smiled, pleased she’d thought to ask him first. She needed him. The realization wound around his heart and made being here feel right.

  “You?” Her door shut. He heard her footsteps; then the ringing stopped. Her voice came through the line. “What are you doing calling me?”

  “I’m lonely.”

  “No,” she said. “The answer is no!”

  “No what?” His grin widened.

  “I don’t think you’re that clueless.”

  Her mattress squeaked, and he envisioned her rolling over in bed. He recalled her white down comforter and matching pillow shams and tried to imagine her stretched out. “What are you wearing?”

  “Is this an obscene phone call? Are you going to start with the heavy breathing?”

  He laughed. “I was just wondering if you were wearing the dancing penguin pajamas.”

  “No. To night I’m wearing…bicycling teddy bears.”

  “I’m picking up a theme h
ere. Exercising animals.”

  She didn’t answer for several seconds. “My pajamas are none of your business.”

  “I liked the dancing penguins.” He waited, but she didn’t say anything. “I’m hungry. Can I have some cereal?”

  “Help yourself.”

  He stood. “You want to join me?”

  “No. Only chocolate will get me out of bed. And you think it’s poisoned.”

  “I’ll buy you some tomorrow.” He walked to the fridge and pulled out the milk.

  “I can buy my own chocolate.”

  “I sense an in de pen dent streak in you.” He got out the cereal and a bowl.

  “Because I can buy myself chocolate?”

  “That, and because you balked when I paid for dinner to night. Are you the type who refuses to let your date pay for you?”

  “We’re not dating.”

  “We could. How about if I take you out on a date tomorrow night? Someplace nice. Romantic. Quiet.”

  “I’ve got a date tomorrow night.”

  He fell into a chair. “You’re breaking up with him, remember. I think you wanted to shoot him in the kneecaps for some reason. Oh yeah, for his being married.”

  “It’s still a date.”

  That got to him. “Okay. How about Tuesday night?”

  “I’m washing my hair.” The mattress squeaked as if she’d rolled over.

  He smiled. “Wednesday?”

  “My cat needs a bath.”

  “Thursday?”

  “Polishing my silver.”

  “Friday?” He bit his lip to stop from laughing.

  “Toenails clipped and getting a tattoo.”

  His laugh slipped out. “Saturday?”

  “Pap smear and, oh, then I have a meeting with the Pope, to show him my tattoo.”

  “I’m beginning to think you really don’t want to date me.”

  “Hmm. It took you long enough. Most guys guess at the washing-hair stage.”

  He unscrewed the cap from the milk. “Well, I’m not most guys, Sue.”

  “Yeah, you’re worse.”

  “How am I worse?” He opened the box of cereal.

  “I don’t know for certain, but when I figure it out you’ll be the first one I tell.”