When A Stranger Calls (New York State Trooper Series Book 7)

by Jen Talty

  “I broke up a fight between Wendell and some guy at the Mason Jug. Wendell decided it would be fine to sucker punch me after I broke it up, so I hauled his ass in for a second time. Rusty had to pick him up, and by the way Wendell went off on me, I worried he might be a prick to your grandfather, so I gave him my card and told him to call me if Wendell ever made a dipshit move.”

  “Wendell always makes asshat decisions.”

  “Do you know him well?” Tristan asked.

  “More than I’d care too.” She tapped her fingernails on the metal arm rests. “I’ve never lived up here, not even for the summers, but we came often to visit my grandparents.”

  “Where did…do you live?” Tristan glanced down Mason Road, which ended at Ramsworth Manor, though the only thing you could see were two sections of the house. Everyone referred to them as the ‘twin peaks’. One located at the north end of the property, the other on the south side.

  “Born and raised in Plattsburg.”

  “Did you go to school there?”

  She shook her head. “I went to NYU and then moved to Albany for my job.”

  “Your grandfather talked about you all the time and how successful you’d become. He said you worked for PMT Corp?”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “Grandpa was my biggest fan.”

  “But he wasn’t a fan of that boyfriend of yours. Larry, I think he said his name was. Where is he, anyway?”

  Her jaw dropped open. “How do you know about my boyfriend?”

  Tristan cringed, reminding himself that he should always think before he speaks, especially around women, even women well on their way to being drunk. Though, he didn’t blame her. He’d be doing the same thing if his grandparents had died. “Rusty might have mentioned your boyfriend and the fact that he wasn’t overly fond of him.”

  “Nope. Grandpa hated him.”

  “May I ask when the funeral will be? I’d really like to pay my respects.” Huh. That sounded almost normal.

  “I’m hoping Sunday.”

  “That’s in four days. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Be careful, I just might take you up on that offer. If I remember in the morning.”

  “I’ll remind you.”

  “You do that.” Her tone definitely had a sarcastic ring to it, but he still planned on reminding her.

  He scratched his head. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I hate it when people do that.” She waved the ice cream in the air. “What are you going to do if I say no?”

  “Not ask the question.”

  “Okay, ask. I might not answer.”

  He laughed, though when she glared at him, he decided that might not have been the appropriate response. “Why ice cream and beer? The thought of mixing the two seems gross. I mean red wine and ice cream works, but this is like using mustard as sauce for noodles or—”

  “No need to go on and on, geez. To answer the question, this is a tradition and it started when my parents died. My grandfather would expect me to do it for him.” She fingered her grandmother’s pendant. A few weeks after she died, Brooke had spent a couple of days going through the family photo albums and not one picture showed her grandma wearing the necklace. “I supposed he’d be okay with me sharing it with you.”

  He snagged an ice cream from the cooler and chowed down before taking a swig of his beer, gagging.

  She laughed. “It’s kind of gross and it’s not like he ate these.” She pointed to the ice cream. “And drank this at the same.” She held up her can, raised it to the sky. “Regularly. The last time we did it was when my grandma died.”

  “That’s fucked up to have lost so many people.” He closed his eyes taking a long breath, remembering the day his twin died. Fucked up had been the only way to describe it, but the world thought to say, ‘fucked up’ wasn’t an inappropriate response. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “But it’s the truth.”

  “So, really, where is the boyfriend? I’m shocked he’s not here with you.” Rude did not cover what just came out of his mouth.

  “Talk about fucked up, but I don’t want to bore you with the dirty details.”

  “I promise. I won’t be bored.”

  She shrugged. “I dumped his cheating ass before my grandfather died. Unfortunately, the girl he was banging was my assistant. She’d left her phone in my office and it was blowing up.” Brooke covered her mouth and belched. “Excuse me.”

  He looked at her, wondering if he should offer some sort of condolences, or words of wisdom. His experience with relationships were more like ships passing in the night.

  “I picked it up to bring it to her and noticed my boyfriend’s number. The stupid bitch hadn’t locked it, so when I tapped on the message I got a nice view of my boyfriend’s dick. Scrolled some more, and there was her crotch. I went ballistic right there in the office. Lost my job, my boyfriend, my apartment and—”

  “You win on having the worst week ever.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  He really needed to shut the fuck up. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. He was a class act.”

  “Thanks.” She tipped her beer.

  He clanked his against hers. “My buddy just texted. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes to put new locks on your doors.”

  “Wow. That was fast.”

  “He and his wife are down the street at my boss’s house.”

  “Tell me something.” She twisted in her chair, tucking some stray strands of her hair behind her ears. “When was the last time you talked to my grandfather?” She hiccupped.

  “A couple days before he died. He stopped by my place and asked if I wanted to go for a bite and a drink at the Mason Jug.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “After he got me all caught up with you.”

  “He did what?” her voice screeched. “Caught up how? Did he know I had lost my job? What that asshole Larry had done?”

  “No.” Tristan wanted to reach out and hold her, but figured she’d slap him. “At least I don’t think so. He mentioned a new promotion. Showed off a few pictures. He always beamed with happiness when he talked about you. But that was about it.”

  “So, you knew who I was when you pulled me over.” She tossed a wooden stick in the trash can. “And you didn’t say a single word to me?”

  “I thought it would sound creepy if said anything without having looked at your driver’s license.”

  “That sounds creepy considering you knew who I was when I called.” Her face tightened and heat exuded from her body. “What else did you talk about?”

  He couldn’t come up with a quick lie, so he opted for partial truths. “Mostly about my job and the fact that everyone I work with is married or getting married and has kids or thinking of having kids and I’m helplessly single.”

  “I bet he tried to set you up with the first young girl that walked through the bar door. My grandfather tended to be a bit of a romantic.”

  Tristan smiled, remembering the way Rusty’s face light up like a Christmas tree every time he talked about his Ashley and their great love of all times. Epic, he’d call it. “Nope. He said he was saving me for someone special.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “You.” He swallowed his breath. “That’s really why he had my card, so if you ever dumped the dumbass he planned on calling me up, or maybe the next time you came to visit, he’d have me over for dinner. He did call a few times, but he always managed to get me when I was on patrol.” He really should learn how to lie.

  “Good Lord,” she muttered, shaking her head. “On that note, I’m going to get drunk, if you don’t mind.”

  “You’re already drunk,” he said.

  “No. I’m. Not.”

  “Try to stand up.” He arched a brow.

  She pushed her hands against the armrests and rose too quickly as she stumbled over into his lap.

  He groaned.

  She held up her index finger and thum
b making a sign for small. “Maybe a little.”

  “I’d say a lot.” He pointed to the sky, wanting to hold her for just a minute. “See that?”

  “See what?” She hiccupped.

  “Orion’s belt. Right there.” The stars aligned themselves perfectly in the dark night.

  “I’ve never been able to figure that shit out.” She shifted, making it perfectly clear he needed to get her off his lap.

  He eased her back in her own chair, eyeing how many beers were left, and taking a couple out as if he were going to drink them. “I think I need to spend the night with you.” He cringed at how bad that sounded.

  “That was a creeper statement.”

  “Not how I meant it. Really, I’m a gentleman, but not so good with my words. Probably why I’m still single.” He mentally slapped himself. No point in telling her what a moron he was since he’d already shown her.

  “Maybe you’re not dating the right women, or trying too hard to be something you’re not.”

  He shrugged. “Being single isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

  “It’s not the best either.” She opened another ice cream. “I’m going to be sick before this night is over.”

  “I’ll hold your hair back.”

  She burst out laughing. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

  He cracked a smile.

  “Will you help me find out who is breaking in?”

  “I don’t know what more I can do outside of putting on new locks and maybe installing security cameras.”

  “Do you know how to do that?”

  “I’m pretty good with my hands and have installed more than one video camera.”

  She burped, then laughed. “If I wasn’t a smidgen drunk, I’d be kicking your ass off my property.”

  He stared at her with his hands wide. “What? Why? All I said was that I’m good with my hands and know how to…huh, together they do sound perverted.”

  She laughed. “I like your honestly, but I’m kind of glad I won’t remember this in the morning.”

  “Just don’t ever ask me if you look fat in something that you actually look fat in.”

  She lowered her chin and arched a brow. “Any woman who asks if they look fat are fishing for a compliment and the only right answer is the one they expect, which is they look fucking fantastic.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know the truth?”

  “Me?” she paused, making a face as she went from the ice cream to the beer. “I wouldn’t ask the question in the first place.”

  “Smart woman,” he said.

  “I have one other favor to ask of you.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “My grandfather left me a brass key with a note that is illegible. Can you help me find what the key goes to and maybe figure out what the note says?”

  Tristan pondered her request as Doug’s pickup rolled to a stop in front of the driveway. Stacey, his fellow trooper, and her son waved. He glanced between the road, and Brooke. She sat sideways in the chair, one foot under her ass, a beer in one hand, and ice cream in the other.

  How could he say no.

  “I’ll help you, but you have to help me with something.”

  “Name it.”

  “Help me understand women and why I can’t keep a girlfriend.”

  “I might not be the best person for that, but sure, what the hell.” She reached into the cooler. “Damn, only a couple left. Guess I’m drunker than I thought. Thanks for coming by. I’ll call you when I’m sober.”

  “I’m gonna stay right here with you.”

  “Not necessary. Besides, this isn’t going to be pretty.”

  “Don’t care. I’m not leaving, so deal with it.”

  “You’re sounding like a creeper again.”

  “I might sound like a creeper, but this creeper is still a gentleman, and I’m not going to leave a drunk woman alone in a house that has been broken into three times. So, think of me as your personal guardian stalker creeper.”

  “You really are a weird one.”

  Chapter 2

  Brooke lifted her head an inch off the pillow and groaned as a sharp pain ripped through her brain. She tried to swallow, but her dry mouth caused by dehydration prevented her throat from working properly. Rolling to her back, she pried her eyes open. It took many blinks and a good minute before the room came into focus. Well, not focus, but enough clarity to realize she’d slept in her grandfather’s room. The taste of vomit lingered on her lips as she licked them.

  “Say it ain’t so,” she whispered as a memory of leaning over the toilet while a combination of chocolate, beer, and a few other flavors she couldn’t pinpoint, erupted from her mouth and the sexy, hot trooper stood behind her, holding her hair…just like he said he would.

  No. She’d dreamt that.

  Only, when the scent of hazelnut coffee filled her nostrils, she knew Tristan had seen her at her very worst. She could only imagine what she’d said to the poor guy.

  She forced herself to a sitting position, squeezing her eyes closed until the room stopped swaying back and forth. Hang-over food. That’s all she needed.

  Her feet hit the floor with a heavy thud. She pushed herself to a standing position on shaky legs, her clothes from the other night tossed over the chair in the corner, her bra displayed prominently at the top. She grabbed her breasts, looking down at herself. Thankfully she had on shorts and a tank top, but terrified as to how she got in them. She brought her fingers to her temples and rubbed while she tried to gather her last memory…all she came up with was puking and Tristan telling her he’d take care of her.

  She stepped from her grandfather’s room, peering around the corner, hoping he’d made coffee and just left. But, no. There he sat at the kitchen table, the morning newspaper spread wide, his large hand wrapped around a mug.

  “Good morning.” He flipped the page of the paper, keeping his focus on the black and white pages instead of her.

  “Nothing good about it,” she muttered, adjusting her ponytail. Screw it. He saw me make love to the porcelain God. If he thought her attractive before, it ended with that scene. “So, what’s going on in the world this morning?”

  “Just reading about a murder that could have ties to one that happened here.”

  “What a way to start your morning.”

  “Goes with the badge,” he said.

  She poured herself a cup of joe, then went about getting all the ingredients she needed to make a breakfast sandwich, trying to ignore the cute cop with bed hair in her kitchen. A wave of nausea rose from her gut to her throat. She gripped the counters, taking in deep breaths. In through the nose, and out her mouth in a loud swoosh.

  “Sit down.” Strong, tender hands gripped her shoulders, guiding her to a chair. He set a mug in front of her. “Are you sure you want to eat?”

  “Egg, cheese, and bacon sandwich is the best hang-over food ever created.”

  “Last night you called it drunk food.”

  “Can we never bring up last night again, please?” She cupped the mug, raising it to her nose and inhaled sharply. The bitter hazelnut calming her stomach. Thankfully, she didn’t have the shakes.

  He laughed. “I have so many questions and some of your statements need clarifying.”

  “No. They. Don't.”

  “Yeah. They. Do.” The egg sandwich machine sizzled as he sprayed it with Pam and added the ingredients before shutting it closed. “Some of them might help me with my problem with women.”

  She’d forgotten that part of the deal.

  Five more minutes and she’d be cured. Well, not cured, but she wouldn’t feel like her stomach had been pulled inside out through her mouth. “I need water and then I’ll give you some pearls of wisdom.”

  “I’ll get you a glass, but you have to answer one question for me, okay?”

  She closed her eyes. “What?”

  “Do you really want to flip this house?”

  She sighed, relieved it was
n’t something crazy, like admitting she peed in her ex-boyfriend’s shampoo before collecting her stuff. “I do, but it will be a few months before I can start the project and even then, I don’t know if I have enough money. I’m also am unemployed, making it difficult to get a loan.”

  He set a plate in the center of the table with two large sandwiches. “My friend that was here last night.”

  “You mean tall, dark, and dreamy with the beautiful pregnant wife, and perfect little boy with manners of a saint?”

  Tristan nodded as he sat down, taking one of the sandwiches. “He and his father-in-law own a construction company and they take on projects like this all the time. When you rambled on last night, I called Doug and he’s definitely interested in talking to you about it.”

  “I’m so far from doing anything, but I appreciate it.”

  He set a business card on the table, but the letters all blurred together. She held it at arm’s length, then brought it back and forth toward her face. Nothing.

  “Just talk to him. If nothing else, he’ll have a lot of information and ideas. He’s a good guy. Plus, he might be able to give us some ideas about that key.”

  “Thanks.” She took a sandwich and pulled it apart. The thick, melted cheese stretched as she set it on a small plate and cut through the layers with her knife. She took tiny bites, keeping her stomach from lurching forward, while he stared at her. Amusement glowing from his eyes.

  “What?”

  He grinned like a little boy catching his first fish. “Your boobs are not too small, nor are they too far apart.”

  “What the hell?” She dropped her fork. “Why would you say that to me? I thought you weren’t the kind of guy who took advantage of drunk women?”

  He tossed his hands in the air, leaning back. “Trust me, I didn’t take advantage. I didn’t even touch you when you begged me too.”

  She opened her mouth, her hand ready to slap him when a vivid image popped into her mind. “I didn’t beg,” she whispered, remembering him delicately helping her into her pajamas and into bed, most definitely keeping his hands to himself. “What you said is why you don’t keep girlfriends.”