Detective Callahan pulls up in front of my house and comes around to help me out of the car. He puts his arm around me again and walks me to my door. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need company or do you want to be left alone?”
I try for a brave smile, but fail. I’m sure my face only managed a contorted snarl. “Left alone would be best. Thanks.”
He pulls me into a hug, totally catching me off guard. Who is this guy, and what has he done with Detective Dickhead? His embrace is strong and warm, and I feel safe and protected for the first time in a while. That makes the tears come again, not as extreme as last time, just making me a little weepy. He strokes my hair, an oddly intimate gesture from someone I barely know or like.
Finally managing to get the crying under control for a moment, I pull away from him. “Thanks for being here for me. You’re maybe not so bad after all.”
He smiles. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Hey, tomorrow I’ll swing by, and we can go pick up your car.”
I nod and let myself into my house. I head straight for my bed. It’s going to be another one of those “cry myself to sleep” kind of nights.
CHAPTER NINE
I’m woken up from my fitful sleep by an incessant pounding. The pounding stops for a moment, my doorbell rings, and then it’s back to the pounding again. I crawl out of bed and stumble to the door. When I wrench it open, I find Detective Callahan standing there smiling, holding two coffee cups. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt (holy biceps, I think I just drooled down my chin), track pants, and running shoes. Realizing I forgot to throw on a robe before answering the door, I pull the hem of my nightshirt down, feeling a little underdressed with him staring at me.
“Detective Callahan,” I frown, trying desperately not to ogle his cut arms. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Early? I waited until after eight. Adults don’t sleep in on Saturdays. And call me Brody,” he says, his eyes twinkling.
“Um, everyone sleeps in on Saturdays, Brody. Especially adults who work two jobs and have had the week from hell.”
“Here.” He hands me one of the coffee cups. “This should help.”
“Thanks.” What is he trying to do here? I was under the distinct impression that he thought I was a total idiot. Well, except for last night, when he was so very nice to me. I still can’t figure out what that was all about.
“And I thought maybe we could go for a run. Some endorphins should make you feel better. You’re a jogger, right?” Is he serious? He must be some kind of fitness nut. You certainly don’t get a body like his by sitting on the couch. And yes, I run, but it’s sure as hell not for the love of fitness or for endorphins—it’s strictly for the purpose of looking good.
I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah, but I’m kind of busy today. I had this whole pity party planned…”
He smiles. “You mean with your friends Jim Beam and Jack Daniels?”
“Yeah, they thought they might stop by later.”
Brody steps into my house, uninvited, I might add. “I’ll wait while you get dressed.”
“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“Nope.”
I drag my feet on the way to my bedroom, trying to imagine myself finding the energy to run at this most unholy hour. I quickly change into a tank top and running shorts and head toward the kitchen to look for my shoes. Brody is still by the front door, and my devil cat, Bob, is giving him the evil eye, blocking his way into the rest of the house. Bob kitty-growls in the back of his throat, making Brody flinch.
Sneaking up quietly behind Bob, I clap my hands loudly and scare him. He hisses and skitters away into my spare bedroom to hide. He’s such a little shit. I turn to Brody. “Sorry about that. Bob is a total asshole. He hates me, too.”
“Why do you keep him around?”
“He kind of came with the house.”
Brody gives me a puzzled look.
“My grandmother left me her house. Bob was her cat, and she made me promise to look after him. Every time I decide to get rid of him, I feel guilty and can’t go through with it. So, I live with Satan.”
“I hate cats,” he says.
“Me, too. And I thought we had nothing in common.” I punch him on the arm (I just couldn’t resist touching those biceps any longer) as I go through the hallway and into the kitchen. Finding my shoes by my back door, I bend over to lace them up.
Brody enters the kitchen and says, “I thought we could…um…jog around…Independence Lake.” Why is he talking funny? I crane my head around to look at him. Oh, that’s why. He’s checking out my ass.
“Are you staring at my ass?” I snap, although I’m inexplicably not the least bit offended.
He blushes and looks away, taking a sip of his coffee. “No. No, I am not.” Liar.
I stand up. “Okay, I’m ready. Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in going for donuts instead?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t like donuts.”
“Everybody likes donuts, and you’re a cop! You can’t not like donuts. It’s like part of your job description.”
“You make a lot of incorrect and ridiculous assumptions about cops for someone who’s spent so much time with them over the past year.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Are you calling me a troublemaker?”
Brody takes a step toward me. “Yes.”
“Then why do you keep hanging out with me?”
He takes another step closer, and now he’s right in front of me. His eyes grow dark and his voice gets low. “I like trouble.”
Ooh, I’m getting that tingly feeling all over. I had almost forgotten what it was like.
But, come on. There’s no way I am getting involved with Brody Callahan. We don’t even get along, most of the time. And he arrested me, for crying out loud! Nope. Not going to happen.
I say, “We should go.”
Taking a step back, he says, “Right. Yeah. Let’s go.”
We take off at an easy pace toward Independence Lake, which is only a couple of blocks from my house. The lake is my favorite running spot. It’s not a “lake” per se—it’s really just a glorified pond in the middle of town, but it’s beautiful. There is a park to one side with a shelter house and a playground. A trail winds all the way around the lake, lined with overhanging trees, providing shade on even the hottest of days. It’s springtime, and the flowering trees are in full bloom. Today is an absolutely gorgeous day.
“Are you good and warmed up?” Brody asks, slowing down his pace.
“Warmed up for what?” I ask warily.
“Race you to the bench over there,” he says, gesturing to a bench about one hundred yards away.
“What are you, ten years old?”
He grins broadly. Oh, my. He is quite handsome when he smiles. “You’re just afraid you’ll lose.”
“Whatever!”
We both stop and get ready to race. He says, “Ready…go!”
Brody and I both take off quickly, but he is way faster than I will ever be. I can’t possibly outrun him, so I’m going to have to cheat. I call out, “Ow! My ankle!” and stop to rub it.
He turns around and heads back my way, his face full of concern. When he crouches down to take a look at my ankle, I push him over and make a run for it. I sprint as fast as I can, and I still barely make it to the bench before he does. I guess you have to be fast to catch criminals.
“I win,” I gloat, smiling devilishly.
“You cheated,” he complains, brushing some grass clippings off of his fine ass. I’d like to… Damn it! I really need to snap out of this.
“Oh, boo-hoo,” I retort. “You’re just mad because you lost to a girl.”
“A girl who cheated,” he says, smiling and giving my ponytail a playful tug. He peers across the lake toward the parking area. His serious cop face slips on, and he murmurs, “Someone’s watching.”
His words make me freeze, and I don’t dare to turn around. Any other time, I would probably be
in full freak-out mode, worrying that my current round of snooping is starting to get me into trouble, but I feel so safe when I’m with Brody. It must be the cop thing.
I ask, “Who is it?”
“Your boyfriend.”
“Huh?”
“The guy who made you cry last night.”
“Blake?” I ask incredulously, wheeling around to take a look for myself. Yep, there he is, leaning against his Porsche, watching us. I wonder what he’s doing here. I cried a lot of tears over him last night, and this morning I’m at the angry phase of dealing with our fight. I turn back to Brody and grimace. “He is not my boyfriend, by the way. He can watch all he wants. It won’t bother me.” Actually, it probably will bother me, but I’m not telling Brody that.
“Okay, then. I think we need a rematch.”
“You want to get spanked again?” That came out wrong.
He jokes, “Maybe later.”
My whole face flames with embarrassment. I quickly change the subject. “So, shall we race to that next park bench?”
“You’re on. Ready? Go!”
We both sprint down the path, and I could swear he’s not running at full speed. I reach out and grab the back of his shirt, pulling him back while I race forward. He catches up to me and gives me a playful shove. I shove him back, and he must not have been expecting it, because he stumbles and falls to the ground. Right behind him, I can’t stop, and I trip and slam down on top of him.
An awkward silence passes between us, neither of us knowing quite how to handle the fact that I’m lying on top of him and we’re face to face.
Brody smiles up at me. “If you don’t quit cheating, I’m going to have to arrest you again.”
“You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?” I reply, trying not to get lost in his dreamy blue eyes. Gah! This can’t happen. I’m obviously still dealing with my feelings for Blake…who is watching us right now. I scramble up, brushing myself off and trying not to think about how good it felt to have Brody’s body against mine.
Brody hops up. “Why don’t we just stick to jogging?”
“Works for me.”
We jog in silence for a while. I can tell something’s wrong, because Brody keeps clenching and unclenching his jaw.
I put my arm out to stop him. “What’s up? You’re being weird. Well, weird-er.”
He gestures toward Blake with his chin. “Your boy’s still watching you.”
“I told you I don’t care. And he’s not my boy.” Not anymore, at least.
He does the jaw-clenching thing again, a look of determination on his face. “You want to give him something to look at?”
“What do—”
Before I have time to ask what he has in mind, Brody takes my face in both of his hands and starts kissing me. Thoroughly. My body reacts way faster than my brain, and I press my lips back against his, a tiny moan inadvertently escaping my throat. He slides his hands down my back and presses me closer to him, his solid muscles tensing all around me. I reach up and put my hands around the back of his neck, pulling him toward me, never wanting this kiss to end.
Wait. What am I doing? My brain finally decides to join the party, and it’s not amused. I can’t be kissing Brody Callahan! He’s mean, and he arrested me. And he took my clothes off without my permission. Maybe if I’m lucky I can get him to do that again. No! I can’t think that. Must. Quit. Kissing. Him.
Before my brain and my body can decide who’s in charge here, Brody abruptly breaks away from me. Looking over my shoulder, he says, “That did the trick.”
What? I’m totally confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Your stalker got an eyeful and left.”
“Oh.” Was that hot, lusty kiss solely for the purpose of getting under Blake’s skin? And if so, did Brody just use me as a pawn in some macho, one-sided pissing contest? Or was he maybe trying to help me make Blake jealous, since he saw the aftermath of our big fight last night? I have no idea, and I don’t know how I feel about the kiss, regardless of the reason.
Deciding it’s time for me to head home, I take off at a jog again, and Brody joins me. The silence this time is deafening. I sure as hell don’t know what to say after that kiss and subsequent weirdness, and I guess Brody doesn’t either.
When we get to my house, I would prefer that he just leave so we don’t have to talk about the kiss, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. He admits, “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry. That’s…not like me.”
He shouldn’t have—as in he’s sorry he did? Let me tell you, my ego is really through the roof right now. I shake my head. “Whatever. I’ll see you around.” I open my back door and go inside, ready to slam the door in Brody’s face, but he puts a hand out and stops it.
“I think we need to discuss this.”
“One thing you need to know about me—I don’t like to discuss touchy-feely stuff.” I busy myself by grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and tossing one to Brody.
He catches it with one hand and chuckles. “I thought all girls liked to talk about their feelings.”
“Not this one,” I say, suddenly finding the label on the water bottle fascinating.
“Whatever you say.”
I snap my head up, wondering if I heard him wrong. “So we don’t have to talk about it?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” he shrugs.
Let me get this straight. He’s not going to force me to share my feelings with him, even on a subject that concerns him. I could get used to that. I could get used to a lot of things about Brody. I close the gap between us in two steps and literally jump up onto him. He catches me in his big, strong arms, and I wrap my legs around him and proceed to kiss him within an inch of his life. This time, I’m the one who ends our kiss abruptly, and I jump down. The man looks frazzled, but in a good way.
I say, “Now we’re even. And we’re not going to discuss our feelings about that kiss, either. So there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, still looking a little like a deer in headlights.
Changing the subject, I ask, “Aren’t you going to take me to get my car?”
“Uh…yeah,” he answers, dazedly.
“Then let’s go,” I say, heading for the door. “Oh, hang on a second.” I turn back around and start rifling through the papers by my phone.
Finally back to his normal self, Brody asks, “What are you looking for?”
“My receipt for the dry cleaner’s. I need to pick up my laundry before tonight.” If I don’t, I may have to go commando to Mason’s party, and that would be inviting all kinds of trouble, especially in the slit-up-to-there dress I’m planning to wear.
“You send out your laundry? Like everything or just dry cleaning?”
“Everything.”
He snorts, “My, aren’t we a princess.”
“If you must know, my washer and dryer are in my basement. And if you’ve read my police file, which I’m sure you have, then you understand why I no longer go down there anymore.”
Brody stares at me, his brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, he says, “Because of the incident that occurred there.”
“Incident? You mean the incident when I was tortured and nearly died? Yeah, that incident,” I snap, peeved that he isn’t giving more deference to the scariest day of my life. Well, maybe one of the top two. I really need to quit getting nearly killed.
He walks over to me and stands very close. “There’s no reason for you to be scared. This is your home, and you should feel safe here. You can’t just close off a part of your house because you don’t want to deal with it.”
I scoff, “You obviously don’t know me. I am the queen of not dealing with stuff.”
He takes my hand. “Come on, we’ll go downstairs together.”
No way in hell. I yank my hand away. “You don’t need to fix me, Brody.”
He frowns. “I’m not.”
“Then butt out.” I thought he was going to be c
ool about me not opening up to him, but maybe I was wrong.
He grins at me. “You weren’t kidding when you said you don’t like to talk about your feelings. I bet you don’t like to cuddle after sex, either.”
Completely taken aback, I retort, “I bet you’ll never find out.”
Brody is still smiling, but now he’s also looking at me with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, his eyelids heavy, like he’s thinking about… Uh-oh. He leans down to my ear and whispers, “I never back down from a challenge.”
CHAPTER TEN
Somehow, I manage to extricate myself from that potentially dangerous situation and get Brody to take me to The Liberty Inn to get my car.
He stops me as I’m getting out of his car and says tentatively, “I have to do some work this afternoon, but…can I see you tonight?”
I blow out a nervous breath. That sounded an awful lot like an invitation for a date. I don’t think I’m really ready for that…yet. “I’m busy tonight. I have to go to Ronald and Bitsy Mason’s anniversary party. He’s my boss.”
He nods, seeming a little disappointed. “How about tomorrow?”
Tomorrow is my road trip. “I’m going to be…not here all day tomorrow,” I hedge.
“Where will you be?”
“I’m taking a little trip.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like some company?”
That question stops me dead in my tracks. “Um…what, uh… Why?”
He says, “You seem awfully secretive about this. Are you up to no good again?”
How does he do that? Oh, yeah. He’s a detective. He detects things. “I’m going to Nashville to see my brother. He’s in med school at Vanderbilt. And I might do some other things, too.”
He’s not letting this go. “What other things?”
Bad Medicine Page 8
