Imperfect Heart
Combat Hearts #4
Tarina Deaton
Copyright © 2018 by Tarina Deaton
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Misfit Brides series and Phoebe Moon copyright of Jamie Farrell. Used with permission.
Mr. Romance copyright of Pippa Grant. Used with permission.
Photography by Eric David Battershell
Cover Design by Lori Jackson of Lori Lovesbooks Jackson
For my sister.
Who left me holding the cup.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Tarina Deaton
About the Author
Chapter 1
“I’m going kill that damn trash panda.”
The dumb animal chittered away at her from the high branch of the southern pine tree it had run up, still holding her keys.
Zoe Acevedo tromped around the side of the house, kicking at pine cones in her path. “I’m going to skin it and make a nice, fuzzy hat. Maybe Elba has room on her fancy cafe menu for raccoon stew.”
She pulled her thick, curly hair—made even curlier by North Carolina’s late summer humidity—back and twisted it up off her nape. The teeth had broken off the last of her clips and she hadn’t had a chance to get more so she didn’t have anything to keep it up. Letting it fall back down, she leaned into the open driver side window of her Honda CR-V and grabbed her cell phone from the console. Pulling up the contacts, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply through her nose, exhaled slowly through her mouth, prayed for inner peace, and called her mother.
She answered on the first ring. “Onde tu está?”
“Olá, mamãe. The drive was fine. Thank you for asking.”
“I talked to you an hour ago, why wouldn’t the drive have been fine? Are you at the house?”
Zoe sighed. “Sim, I’m at the house. Where do you keep the hide-a-key?”
She stooped in front of the door and lifted the mat—nothing there. No flower pots or weird rocks around the porch either.
“Why do you need the hide-a-key? What’s wrong with the keys I gave you?”
Zoe hung her head and pressed the palm of her hand against her eye socket. “A raccoon took my keys.”
It sounded even more ridiculous saying it out loud.
“Que?”
“A raccoon. Fuzzy, gray animal. Looks like it’s wearing a mask.”
“I know what a raccoon is. How did it steal your keys?”
This was humiliating. “I unloaded my suitcases by the door and set the keys on top. I went to get a couple of boxes from the back of my car and when I turned around, the damn thing had my keys in his paws. When I shouted, he ran around the back of the house and up a tree.”
Walking around the house while explaining the situation to her mother, she glared up into the tree the raccoon had climbed.
He was gone.
She kicked around the base of the tree, hoping the flea-ridden thief had dropped them. No such luck. Thankfully, it was only the house keys and not her car keys.
Her mother tsk-ed in her ear. “The neighbor has it, querida.”
Zoe blew out a breath. “Which neighbor? Please don’t tell me it’s old lady Wilson.”
“Zoe Mariana Olivera Acevedo, don’t be disrespectful to your elders.”
“Sim, mamãe.” Zoe rolled her eyes. Old lady Wilson had been old and mean when she’d been in high school. There was no telling how much worse she was now.
“Tim has the key,” her mother said.
“Who is Tim?”
“The police officer that moved next door a few years ago. I told you about him. He helped us when we had those horrible renters and your father had to evict them.”
A vague memory surfaced of her mother telling her about that, but her mother was always telling her stories about people she didn’t know, so she didn’t always pay attention.
One of the many complaints her mother voiced. Along with not providing her with any grandchildren while Zoe’d had the chance and then divorcing her cheating ex, thereby ensuring her mother would never get any grandchildren from her. Because the five her brother and sister had supplied weren’t enough.
“I’m so happy you’re going to be living in the house and we won’t have to worry about that anymore. Plus there’s all the money we’ll save by not having to pay a property manager.”
“I’m just glad the timing worked out and you didn’t have a renter.” Because the prospect of living in a one-bedroom apartment, which was all she would have been able to afford, had not been appealing at all. “Which house does Tim live in?” she asked, walking around to the front.
“The Roberts house.”
“All right. I’ll call you back.”
“We’re headed on a shore excursion, so I won’t have reception for a while.”
“All right. I’ll figure it out.”
“Tchau, caro.”
“Tchau, mamãe.” She disconnected and slid the phone into her back pocket.
Back in front, she cut across the overgrown lawn to the two-story home that was a mirror image of her parent’s house. She’d babysat for the Roberts family in high school. Hard to believe that was almost fifteen years ago.
Thirty-two wasn’t by any means ancient, but the thought made her feel old.
A yawn forced its way out of her mouth, reminding her she’d been driving for ten hours and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a bed. Neither of which she was going to be able to have without a key to the front door.
The empty driveway and dark house did not bode well for her chances. She pressed the doorbell anyway, hoping neighbor Tim’s car was in the garage and he was a hard-of-hearing geriatric who went to bed at six o’clock every night.
A few minutes later, she had no such luck. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the door with a tired whimper. She’d leave a note on his door and nap in her car until he got home. Not ideal, but she was too tired to care.
Her phone rang and she answered it without raising her head or opening her eyes. “Hello?”
“Zoe, don’t—”
She hung up. Pushing away from the door, she stared at the ornamental knocker.
“Baby Jesus hates me.”
Her phone rang again and this time she looked at the display. She groaned. Her ex might actually have been preferable to her older sister.
“Hello.”
“A raccoon?” Gabriella’s laughter blasted from the phone.
Zoe waited for it to subside. “Did you call just to laugh at me?”
“Absolutely.”
“I thought she was going on a shore excursion.”<
br />
“She texted me and told me to check on you. Matthew, quit hitting your brother!”
“If you need to take care of that, I’ll let you go,” Zoe said.
“Ha. Ha. Normal occurrence around here. Did you get the key from the neighbor?”
“He’s not home.” She pushed away from the door and headed back across the lawn. “I don’t suppose you have his number?”
“No. I think João has it.”
“I’m not talking to João.”
“Again?”
“He defended Mark.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t want to rehash it.”
Having her brother try to defend her ex for cheating on her had been almost as big of a betrayal as Mark cheating on her in the first place. Gabby had a tendency to try to play peacekeeper. She didn’t need her trying to see João’s side.
“Hmm. What are you going to do?” Gabby asked.
“Leave a note on the door and sleep in my car.”
“That sucks. Too bad you can’t sneak in the way we used to in high school.”
“I couldn’t climb that tree now even if it was still standing. And you did the sneaking.” She opened the car door and rummaged in the console for a pen. “Too bad the latch on the kitchen window isn’t still broken.”
“I think it is.”
She stood up. “Really? I thought dad fixed it years ago.”
“It was one of those things he was going to get around to but never did and he didn’t want to pay a handyman fifty dollars to fix it.”
Yes! She might have a way in.
“I don’t think you’re going to fit through that window,” Gabby said.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Uh, we’re built like mom and your hips aren’t going to fit through that window.”
“I’ve lost fifteen pounds, I’ll have you know. Divorce will do that to you.”
She dragged the heavy-duty plastic trash can under the window.
“So really you lost two hundred pounds.”
“Oh, yeah. Good one.” She climbed on top of the bin. Sure enough, the latch was still broken.
“Have you heard from him since you left?”
“He’s called a couple of times. I try not to answer. Hang on, I’m going to put you on speaker.”
She slid the window open and assessed it. The trash can only put her almost waist-high to the bottom of the sill. There was no way to climb in sideways, which would be the easiest way in.
Okay, so it might be a tight squeeze. Normally she’d wait but she wanted to go to sleep. She’d hauled ass across the country, only stopping when she absolutely had to and waking up at the crack of dawn to get on the road. If she could get in the window, she’d be able to get a decent amount of sleep as opposed to the little she’d get in her car.
Gripping her phone, Zoe hefted herself into the window. Using her hips as a pivot, she leaned forward and wiggled in a little more, the metal track of the frame digging into the fleshy part of her hips.
“Well?” Gabby asked.
“Almost.” She grunted. Her bruises were going to be epic in two or three days.
She tried wriggling in the rest of the way. With her feet in the air and all her weight forward, she didn’t have any leverage. Shifting her weight to one side, she tried to roll onto her hip.
Nope. Nope. Nope. That hurt way too much to work and without being able to brace her feet and the heaviest part of her body on something, she’d never be able to crawl in.
Rolling back to her front, her head fell forward in defeat. “I’m not going to fit.”
“I told you.”
“Can we skip the if-everyone-would-just-listen-to-me-in-the-first-place-everyone-would-be-so-much-happier lecture right now?”
“As long as you know it’s true.”
“It’s only true some of the time.”
“Most of the time.”
“Whatever.”
If she hadn’t been busy trying to rock her hips back out the window, she’d have told her sister where she could stuff her lecture.
The same predicament that kept her from going forward kept her from getting out. In her current position, she couldn’t lower her legs enough to reach the trash can and kicking them didn’t help. Neither did pushing against the backsplash under the window.
Puta merda. “Gabby.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m stuck.”
Chapter 2
Tim Larken and his rookie trainee approached the apartment they’d been directed to for a possible domestic disturbance. Loud voices could be heard from inside. Tim nodded at Kevin, silently asking if he was ready, and knocked sharply on the door. The voices inside ceased.
A man in his mid- to late-twenties opened the door. He took one look at Tim and his partner and turned to the woman visible in the kitchen. “Seriously? You called the cops? I’m so fucking done with you.”
The woman burst into loud sobs and covered her face.
“Sir, can I have you step outside please?” Tim posed it as a question, but it was more of an order. He stepped back, hand resting on his belt, close to his taser.
The guy shook his head and sighed. “Fuck this shit.”
“Sir.”
“Yeah, sure.” He held his hands away from his body, palms opened.
Tim had a feeling this wasn’t the guy’s first run-in with the police, but the hair on the back of his neck told him something about the situation was off.
Another Haven Springs police cruiser pulled in front of the building and Chuck Martinez joined them in the front of the apartment.
“Officer Larken. Officer Moore.”
“Officer Martinez,” Tim said. Kevin nodded.
“Great. Now it’s a party.”
Tim gave his attention back to the guy they’d pulled from the apartment. “Do you have any ID on you?”
“In my back pocket.”
“Go ahead,” Tim said.
The guy sighed, pulled his wallet out, and handed over his driver’s license.
Tim tilted the ID to see the print under the hologram. “Martin? This is expired.”
Martin held out a military ID card. “Tennessee resident. They have a military exemption.”
“Do you go by Martin?”
“Marty.”
“All right, Marty. Why don’t you tell us what the argument is about.”
“I broke up with her. I’m trying to get my shit so I can leave. She wasn’t supposed to be home, but called in sick just to fuck with me.”
“Why would she do that?” Kevin asked.
He looked at Tim after he asked the question. Not sure what limits his previous field training officer had given him, Tim nodded shortly. Chuck tilted his head toward the apartment and left them to question the woman inside.
“Because she’s crazy,” Marty said. “I’m not talking the normal level of crazy you’d expect from a hot chick—she’s certifiable.”
He pulled down the collar of his shirt, exposing three red scratch marks. “She did this because I was messaging one of my buddies and making plans. She crawled into my lap and I thought cool, she’s horny. No. Bitch dug her claws into my chest and told me when I was with her I needed to pay attention to only her.”
He lifted the hem of his shirt to display a long bruise on his ribs. “This? Fucking metal vacuum tube because I didn’t get the right kind of ice cream. She set my favorite boots on fire because my co-worker, who’s a happily married grandmother by the way, answered my phone while I was with a client.”
Chuck exited the apartment and joined them. “Your girl’s got some pretty red marks on her face.”
Marty held out his hands. “Not my girl anymore and I don’t hit women.”
“So you didn’t put your hands on her?” Chuck asked.
“I pushed her away a couple of times while she was wailing on me, but I didn’t shove her and I didn’t hit her. Bitch deserved it, but my mama and siste
rs would tan my hide if I ever mistreated a woman.”
Tim assessed Marty then shared a look with Chuck.
“Stay here,” he told Marty.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Not going anywhere until I get my stuff.”
They walked a few steps away.
“Do you believe him?” Kevin asked in a low voice.
“Not sure,” Tim said. “Not a lot of guys would admit to getting beat on by a woman.”
“Something’s hinky,” Chuck said. “But I’m not sure if it’s him or her.”
“Does she want to press charges?” Kevin asked.
“Nope,” Chuck said. “She said she just wants him out of the apartment.”
“Let’s make that happen then,” Tim said.
He walked back to Marty with Kevin while Chuck went back in the apartment.
“Here’s the deal, Marty. She doesn’t want to press charges, so we’re going to make sure you get packed up and moved out.”
Marty put his hands together like he was praying and looked heavenward. “Praise Jesus. Hallelujah. Thank you.”
“Let’s go.” Tim tilted his head toward the open apartment door.
Marty beelined for the short hall, not looking at the woman still standing in the kitchen, and Chuck followed him.
The woman watched them, nervously chewing on a fingernail.
“Ma’am, can you please come out of the kitchen?” Tim asked.
She flinched, as if she wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to her. “Sure. I was getting some water.”
Something about her behavior seemed off. He’d unfortunately been on enough domestic violence calls to recognize micro signs of abuse and this girl’s reactions felt forced.
“Is there somewhere you’d like to go while he packs?” Tim asked.
Imperfect Heart (Combat Hearts Book 4) Page 1
