In Full Force: Badges of Becker County

by Kathy Altman

  “I will do anything she needs to get better.”

  “Except sell real estate.”

  “Except that.”

  Charity had tried but failed to smile. “When are you leaving?”

  “Thirty days.”

  “You couldn’t tell me?”

  He’d looked away.

  “I’ll miss you, too,” she’d whispered.

  They’d hugged, him stiffly, her fervently, while a frigid misery sliced through her chest.

  So, yes. Crap day indeed. They’d spent the next several hours conducting interviews, analyzing forensic evidence, writing reports, and spit-balling theories over leftover muffins and some god-awful herbal tea Brenda June had disinterred from the deep, dark recesses of the supply closet.

  Hence the current need for coffee. And brownies. Since Charity had skipped dinner, she fully intended to fortify those brownies with chocolate chips. Lots and lots of chocolate chips.

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted her semisweet fantasy. With a resigned sigh she slid the bag of chocolate chips back onto the shelf. Saved from a self-induced carb coma. Still…she frowned up at her blueberry waffle wall clock. Who’d be visiting at ten o’clock at night?

  No one with good intentions, that was for certain. Maybe the sheriff wanted to deliver part two of his no-room-for-lust-in-law-enforcement lecture. Or maybe Lucas hoped to deliver more threats while gloating over what he’d done to Clarabelle.

  She put the eggs back in the fridge. On her way out of the kitchen, she snagged her Sig Sauer from its holster and peered down the darkened hallway toward the front door. Yellow light from the old-fashioned fixture spilled over broad shoulders and neatly trimmed, dark brown hair.

  She should have known.

  Chapter Six

  “Who is it?” she called out anyway, and could have kicked herself for not putting more pissed off in her tone.

  “It’s the plumber. I’ve come to fix the sink.”

  With a soundless snort and a depressingly giddy tumble in her belly, Charity relaxed her grip on her pistol and opened the door. “You’re smarter than this.”

  “I would have gone around back, but I didn’t want to get shot.” His gaze locked on to her service weapon as cool night air swirled around them. “Looks like it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I missed the housewarming.” He started forward. When she didn’t step back, he asked, “You going to let me in?”

  “Considering how much I value my career? No.”

  Grady nodded at her pistol. “Can you at least put that thing away?”

  “I like to leave my options open.” She cocked her head. “I repeat. Why are you here?”

  “Peace offering.” He leaned sideways, reaching for something he’d propped against the siding. He cleared his throat as he thrust it at her.

  A high-end box of chocolates. Nuts and chews only. The man was diabolical.

  “Peace offering, huh?” Charity shook her head, even as a shiver rattled her bones. Her toes curled into her flip-flops. Why wasn’t he wearing a jacket? “More like bribe.”

  “Whatever works.”

  “This won’t.”

  “You’re very suspicious.”

  “Keeps me alive.”

  Grady’s face went stark. It pushed her back a step, and he was in.

  She heaved a breath and shut the door. “I’m not discussing the case with you.”

  He tossed the box of candy onto the sofa. “Are you enjoying this? Being the one who gets to call the shots?”

  “Absolutely,” Charity said, and she could see from his face that he’d expected her to deny it.

  “I remember you saying you’d forgiven me,” he said.

  “And that was true.” Without looking at him, she stalked toward the corner cabinet. Well, shuffled, really—what else could she manage in flip-flops? “How could I not? We both made mistakes.”

  “You refused to see me when I came back to visit.”

  “You’ve been back maybe seven times in twelve years.” Her cheeks heated when she realized how that might sound.

  “But who’s counting?” Grady moved closer, and his gaze narrowed on her blush. “You don’t want to talk about the past. I get it. But how can either of us get that closure you mentioned if we don’t?”

  Crap. Might as well get it all out there. Maybe then they could move past…well, the past…and he could finally see her as a deputy sheriff instead of an ex-girlfriend. Maybe then she could concentrate on her job. You know, that thing that paid her bills and made her feel useful?

  That thing that had saved her life, in more ways than one.

  Charity opened the top drawer of the cabinet and placed her weapon inside, then turned back to Grady. She barely resisted folding her arms. “I didn’t want to see you, or rehash what happened because I wasn’t sure I could stop myself from doing one of two things—kicking your ass or crying all over your shirt. Either way I’d end up embarrassing us both.”

  She still might.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “If you wanted to kick my ass after forgiving me, I can only imagine what you wanted to do beforehand.”

  “It involved a car battery and nipple clamps,” Charity said with a straight face. At his gratifying wince, she jerked a shoulder. “It took some time to get over you—to get over us—but I did, and you did, and now it’s ancient history.”

  “Is it?” Grady gave his head a shake. “Two weeks after two state troopers are killed in the line of duty, you announced your plan to sign up for the police academy. How was I supposed to react? We had an agreement. After graduation, you leave town with me.”

  “You were headed for college. It wouldn’t have worked.”

  “We’ll never know, will we?”

  “I know.” She moved her arms behind her back and gripped the edge of the cabinet. “Because rather than respect my decision, you tried to keep me out of the academy by getting me arrested.”

  Grady’s gaze remained somber, but his mouth twitched. “It didn’t take much to convince you to slash my mother’s tires.”

  “I was all for discouraging her from drinking and driving. It made sense at the time. What didn’t make sense was you disappearing when the sheriff showed up.”

  Grady exhaled, and pushed his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans. “You must have hated me.”

  “I couldn’t believe you set me up,” she whispered. “I trusted you with my dreams, and you used them to screw me over.”

  He flinched. That he still carried remnants of remorse both softened and satisfied her. At the same time, she refused to consider how easily those lingering feelings could lure her right back into an emotional nightmare.

  Charity let her arms drop to her sides. Her shoulders ached. “Still, when Pratt was putting the cuffs on me, I saw your face. Your relief outweighed your guilt, and that’s when I knew you’d done it to keep me safe. You were so determined to get me out of town, you were willing to risk everything we had. Everything we were to each other. Misguided or not, that kind of devotion scared the hell out of me.”

  “That’s why you called it quits?” Grady took a step closer, and stroked a finger down her cheek. “Because I loved you too much?”

  “I thought I knew what fear meant. The way I grew up....” Her shrug was anything but elegant. “Then you pulled that stupid-ass stunt and I panicked. Oh, I hated you, all right. But not for playing me. For escaping Becker County. And I hated myself even more for being too chicken to go with you.”

  He looked startled. “If you had to do it over again?”

  “I’d do the same thing. Only for different reasons.” Charity edged away from the cabinet, and from Grady. “The people we were, the things we wanted...it would have ended badly, no matter what.”

  “I’ll say it again.” Grady tracked her escape attempt with his body. “We don’t know that.”

  She pushed distance into her eyes. “What ifs will get us n
owhere. How about we concentrate on Sarah Huffman’s murder instead?”

  He hesitated, then offered a crisp nod. “Right. So tell me about Drew.”

  “I said ‘we,’ but I meant ‘me.’ Let me concentrate on my job while you—”

  “What? Sit on my ass all day? Play Cribbage with Peyton while Justine and my parents drink themselves to oblivion and you and your sheriff’s posse build a case against Drew?”

  Charity hauled in a breath, slowly filling her lungs with air. “If you’re implying we’d sacrifice someone for the sake of a conviction, then you can go straight to hell. The box of chocolates, however, stays here.”

  * * *

  Grady didn’t catch word one of her response. He’d gone into lockdown. His heart, his lungs, even his brain had stopped working, and all he could do was stare. Christ. She’d been waving that gun around, and even after she’d put it away, he hadn’t paid much attention to what she was wearing.

  Then she’d inhaled.

  The clingy, long-sleeved tee she wore over plaid pajama bottoms was nothing like her bulky uniform shirt. It clung to her tits like soap suds to wet skin, and son of a bitch, didn’t that spark an image guaranteed to have his dick spring to attention. When she exhaled, the power kicked back on, and the left side of his brain started tabulating the odds of getting her into bed while the right side loitered around images of sweat-slick, ivory flesh writhing beneath him. Not realizing that both sides of his brain were otherwise occupied, Charity kept pushing out the words. He knew because he saw her mouth moving, and there was a throaty humming in the background.

  Grady started to sweat.

  He didn’t remember doing it, but somehow he’d managed to peel his gaze off Charity’s chest and angle his body away as he pretended an interest in a group of framed photos on the wall. It didn’t stop him from picturing her naked and it didn’t keep his dick from thickening. In desperation, he pictured Clarkson Pratt in his tighty-whiteys. Instantly his junk recoiled. Thank you, Jesus. At least he wouldn’t be walking around with a permanent zipper imprint.

  Slowly he turned to face her again. “What?”

  She stopped mid-syllable and stared. “What do you mean, what? Didn’t you hear anything I just said?”

  He shrugged and hid a smile as pique reddened her cheeks. He waved a hand at the four photos, a seasonal series of the flowering cherry that had fronted the courthouse for as long as he could remember. “Did you take these?”

  Charity’s posture lost a little of its rigidity, and she shook her head. “Dix did. Detective Ironmaker. Beautiful, aren’t they?” She saw something in his face she must not have liked because she scowled. “I’m not the enemy, Grady.”

  “So let me help with the case. Drew’s future is at stake. I need you to let me help him.”

  “I need you to leave me alone so I can do my job. If Drew is innocent, we’ll prove it.”

  “That right there. That ‘if.’ That’s what worries me.”

  Charity’s expression hardened. “I’m not doing this with you. I have a murder to solve, a murder you have rather a large stake in, and all you’re doing is distracting me.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to distract myself.” Grady scrubbed the back of his neck. “You’re short-staffed. Use me.”

  As soon as he said the last two words, his groin tightened all over again. Dammit.

  “You want to help? Stay out of it.” Charity marched back to the front door and yanked it wide. A white-winged moth fluttered around the circular light fixture. Charity turned off the light, plunging the narrow hallway into darkness. “Good night, Grady.”

  “You should get a storm door.”

  “You should get going.”

  He should. It was late, and she needed her sleep. Still he found himself wanting to linger, to explore the whys and wherefores behind the woman she’d become. She’d gotten curvier. More confident. Instead of Ivory soap, she smelled like apples and gun oil.

  He hitched a thumb over his shoulder, toward the sofa. “Can we sit for a while? Drink some coffee? Eat some chocolate? Catch up?”

  “It’s late,” she said.

  He doubted she was referring to bedtime. “But we finally have a chance to talk without the risk of being interrupted by psychotic family members or curious coworkers. Speaking of which, I should apologize. The way my father spoke to you today...”

  “He’s scared. The badge makes me an easy target. I may not like it, but I won’t judge him for it. Who knows how I’d act under the same circumstances?”

  “That’s generous.” She’d done a lot of growing up. He wasn’t sure he could say the same about himself. “So…chocolate?”

  Charity shut the door. “Fifteen minutes. And you’ll have to make do with ice water.”

  “Make do? It’s my favorite.”

  Grady didn’t know how they’d made it from polar icecap to polite in a matter of minutes, but soon they were settled on the sofa with the box of chocolates and a tentative truce between them. Charity eyed him over the top of a heavy, ridged glass that looked like the kind diners used for milkshakes. His own glass had a faded picture of the Trix rabbit on it. He’d yet to notice anything in the house that matched.

  He liked that. Valerie had insisted on coordinating everything. Their bath towels had matched their bed sheets had matched the sticky paper lining the kitchen shelves.

  “So.” Charity tipped her glass at him, seeming to scramble for something to say. “You’re a high finance guy.”

  “I work in finance. After staring at numbers all day, I may get dizzy, but I’m rarely high.”

  Her smile was reluctant. “I guess that’s one thing we can thank our parents for. Saving us from addiction—to cigarettes and alcohol, anyway. I can’t seem to give up caffeine. Chocolate-covered almonds, either. What’s your vice?”

  * * *

  Charity saw it in his eyes, and her pulse started to thump. He was going to say something inappropriate. Something dark and dangerous and wildly sexy—

  “SpongeBob SquarePants.”

  She blinked.

  “That goofy little dimply guy who has a pet snail and hangs out with a pink starfish?” That swaggering gleam in his eyes had returned, backlit by his anxiety for Drew. “Whenever it’s on, I can’t look away. Sad, right?”

  “That’s one word for it.” Dear Lord, she had to get this man out of here. He’d exchanged his business suit for a well-worn pair of jeans and a navy V-neck sweater that matched his eyes, and the way he sprawled against the corner of the sofa, one arm along the back, legs spread, package an enticing bulge, made her want to crawl across the cushions, straddle his lap and…do things.

  She gulped at her water, choked a little, tried to recall what the hell they’d been talking about. Finance. Right.

  “You’re a stockbroker?”

  “Financial planner. Weird, since I always hated math, but I took a tax course in college and…” He shrugged.

  “It all added up?”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Figures you’d end up running your own business. You never did take orders very well.”

  “Depended on who was giving ’em and how hard they were breathing at the time.”

  Charity’s face flashed hot. The challenge in his gaze told her he knew more than embarrassment had inspired the flush, but the rush of arousal was tempered with sadness. Their easy banter brought back too many painful memories. And sooner or later—sooner would be better, since she had to get some sleep—he’d steer the conversation back to the case, and she’d be forced to kick him out.

  Grady’s gaze turned solemn. “Are you going to ask me?”

  “About?”

  “My ex-wife. My divorce. My son.”

  Oh, hell, no. She stood. “I don’t need to know any of that. We’re not trying to bond here, West. Let’s not make this personal.”

  “Oh, we’re way beyond personal, Bishop. You know all about my nephew’s love life, you know my ex-brother-in-law is allergic t
o monogamy, and about two minutes ago you wanted my tongue in your mouth.”

  He knew damned well she’d wanted a lot more than that. “True.”

  His jaw muscles worked. “What is wrong with you?”

  “What do you mean? I’m agreeing with you.”

  “Cut it the hell out.” Grady surged to his feet and rounded the coffee table.

  She scowled at him, tempted to go for her pistol again.

  “Every time I get a good fury worked up,” he said, “you say something to defuse it.”

  “You’re mad because I’m not letting you be mad?”

  “I’m not mad, I’m unsettled.”

  He didn’t look unsettled as he moved toward her. He looked determined.

  And good enough to eat.

  “I’m trained to defuse tricky situations,” Charity burst out, more to remind herself than to warn him.

  He kept right on coming. He stopped a few feet away, and cocked his head. “You want to hear about the whole single father thing?”

  “Why? You think if I feel sorry for you, I’ll let you grope me?”

  “I think ‘cop a feel’ is more appropriate.”

  What was next, handcuff jokes? And didn’t that spark a mental image. Before her own imagination could work against her, she strode to the front door and fumbled for the switch to turn the light back on.

  Grady followed her outside, lingering in the doorway long enough to turn the porch light off again. He gazed down at her through the sudden shadows, expression masked as her eyes adjusted to the dark. When her vision steadied, it was her pulse that went all rickety. The intensity of his gaze, the way he stood with his fingers in his back pockets, the increasingly ragged rhythm of his breathing took her back to the last moments of their first few dates, a neighbor’s car idling at the curb while Grady stared at Charity’s mouth and she stared back, wondering when he’d find the nerve to kiss her.

  Until he was old enough to drive, Grady had paid an older man who lived down the street to drive them to the movies or to Jerzy’s or along the dark back roads of Becker County because his parents would never have agreed to let their precious progeny date someone like Charity Bishop.