I gasped, realizing he was David Moore, Bruce’s friend who’d testified that morning. “Wait!” I shouted in my excitement. “I know who you are!”
His eyes widened and he hurried past me.
I followed, sure I looked like a stalker. “Stop! Please! I just want to talk to you about Bruce.”
His feet froze to the ground and I almost crashed into the back of him. He turned around, and his face lit up with recognition. “Hey! You were a juror, weren’t you? The one who got thrown into jail!”
I smoothed my skirt, trying not to look defensive. “I wasn’t the only one. Several other people were held in contempt.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “You were the only one actually thrown in jail. Everyone else got released before they were even booked.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “I heard that you think Bruce is innocent.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Why?”
I wasn’t surprised he doubted me. I’m sure he and Bruce faced a lot of discrimination based on their appearance. And their habit. “Let’s just say it’s instinct.” Since I’d been thrown in jail for trying to help Bruce, I hoped David would trust me at least a little. “Can I ask you a couple of things?”
He leaned over his cart and pushed it to the cart corral. “Just keep talkin’. I have to look busy or I’ll get in trouble.”
“Sure.” Of course, my following him around the parking lot didn’t look suspicious at all. “You said you helped Bruce hide the murder weapon. I still don’t understand why he took it with him.”
David glanced around then lowered his voice. “Look, Bruce is a nervous kind of guy.”
I could see why the two of them got along so well.
“He saw the murder happen like right there in front of him and it completely freaked him out. Like, big time. Plus, he was pretty stoned and wasn’t thinkin’ straight. Daniel Crocker used to grow some pretty wicked weed.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Like I said, Bruce completely freaked and he got it in his head that he was going to get blamed for the murder even though he had nothing to do with it. So he grabbed the crowbar and brought it home. Then he called me.”
“Whose idea was it to hide the crowbar under the house?”
He hung his head and refused to look at me. “It was mine. Bruce wanted to throw it into the river, but I convinced him to keep it.”
“Why?”
“I thought he could use it to prove who the real killer was.”
I shook my head in confusion. “How were you goin’ to do that?”
“How should I know? We just planned on usin’ it as insurance.”
Look what good that did. But beating that fact into David’s head wasn’t going to solve anything. “Did Bruce hear anything while the killer and Frank Mitchell were arguing?”
“Yeah, Frank was shouting that he’d told the guy a million times he was never gonna sell. And the guy told Frank that he was gonna get what was owed to him.”
“I thought you were going to wait in the car,” Joe said behind me.
I jumped and spun around and clasped my hand to my chest. Way to not look guilty. “Oh, my word! You scared me!”
Joe balanced two bags of groceries in his arms. He had his cop face on, the one that told me he suspected I was up to no good. “I can see that. Care to introduce me?”
“Uh…” I looked from Joe to David, who gaped, wide-eyed. “Joe, this is David, and David, this is Joe Simmons. My boyfriend. A state policeman.”
David’s face paled and his hands shook before he took off running for the Piggly Wiggly entrance.
Joe titled his head. “What just happened there?”
“David’s a nervous guy.”
“So it would seem. I meant with the two of you. You seemed to be deep in conversation.”
I grabbed his arm and steered him toward the car. “David? We were just catching up. Did you get what you needed? I’m starving.”
Joe looked over his shoulder at the grocery store entrance. “Are you sure everything’s all right with that guy?”
“Yeah, oh yeah.” I waved my hand. “He was nervous because you’re a cop.”
“Why on earth did you tell him that?”
I unlocked the car and Joe put the groceries in the backseat.
“Because David doesn’t exactly trust law enforcement officers, and if he found out that I hadn’t told him, he might never speak to me again.”
“And how exactly do you know him?”
“Church. I know him from church. God bless ’im.” I tried to ignore the guilt that rushed in from lying to Joe. I swore I wasn’t going to do it and yet the lie just fell out of my mouth.
“Huh.”
Joe obviously didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press it either. Instead we drove home while he told me everything he was going to cook over the weekend. Crepes for breakfast. Chicken Parmesan for dinner on Saturday.
“Where in the world did you learn to cook?”
His smile fell. “Our housekeeper.”
“Your housekeeper?” I leaned closer, curious. Joe had hardly told me anything about his family or growing up, usually changing the subject whenever I asked. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it this time. “You had a housekeeper when you were a kid?”
He shrugged. “It was no big deal. Everyone in the South has someone clean their house.”
“We didn’t.”
Joe smirked. “No offense, but your mother was hardly the average Southern woman.”
The Southern tradition of having a cleaning lady was usually reserved for bigger houses and working women. Definitely not the people in my neighborhood. Joe had to have been raised with money if his housekeeper cooked fancy food. “From what I hear, housekeepers don’t cook.”
“Well, ours did and she was good. I loved to hang out in the kitchen with her while she worked. She taught me everything I know.”
The way his voice softened, it was apparent he had felt close to her. “You said your parents live in El Dorado?”
“Yeah.” His back stiffened. I’d delved into territory he didn’t want to discuss. But there was little doubt there were families with money and influence in El Dorado. Oil money. I decided to back off. For now.
“Well lucky for me your housekeeper taught you some delicious recipes. You know I can cook, but just home cooking stuff. Nothing fancy.”
He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I love your cooking.”
I had to admit that I liked someone cooking for me for a change, but it was only fair if I did my share. “Tell you what. On Sunday, I’ll make fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy. Homemade biscuits even.”
He shot me a wicked grin “I say we move fried chicken to Saturday. And I’ll have the rest of the weekend to work off all those calories.”
I rolled my eyes. Did he ever think of anything else? But then again, now that he’d introduced me to it, I thought about it a lot too.
When we got home, Joe suggested I take a shower to wash away the grime of the jail cell while he made dinner. I emerged ten minutes later with towel-dried hair, wearing a pair of shorts and a spaghetti-strapped shirt.
Joe watched me for several seconds. “Perfect timing, I just finished.”
A plate of sandwiches sat in the middle of the table. I put a hand on my hip. “What’s this? Just fifteen minutes ago, you were beratin’ me for eating turkey sandwiches.”
“Those are not just sandwiches. These are special—pita bread with turkey and provolone, and the ingredient that makes them more than just a turkey sandwich, my secret sauce, which has won blue ribbons in three counties.”
“You’re kiddin’ me. You entered your sauce in three county fairs?”
“Well…not me. Virginia. It’s her recipe.”
“Your housekeeper?”
He tugged on my wrist and pulled me into a hug. “No more talking.”
“I’m hungry. I had a bologna sandwich for lunch.” I stuck out my tongue and
made an ugly face. “I sure hope your sandwiches are better than that.”
He raised an eyebrow with a cocky look. “Are you makin’ fun of my sandwiches? Just for that, you don’t get one.”
“And waste your special sauce? That won blue ribbons in three county fairs?”
“Fine. You get five minutes to eat.”
“I got longer than that in jail,” I grumbled as I pushed him into a chair and sat on his lap. Picking up a sandwich, I studied it to tease Joe, then took a bite. “Oh. My. Joe, this is so good.” I mumbled through a mouthful of food.
His hand skimmed down my back to my bottom. “I told you.”
“I do love a humble man.”
“For that, you now have four minutes.” He grabbed a sandwich from the plate and took a bite, watching me with a grin.
“What?”
He swallowed and shook his head, still smiling. “I just like lookin’ at you. Then I can remember you when I’m not with you. I miss you during the week.”
That was probably the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me. “I miss you too.”
I took another bite, tying to be sexy, but I laughed and the sandwiched tipped. Turkey fell out of the pita pocket and onto Joe’s dress shirt, his secret sauce smearing red across the pale blue cotton. I swiped the sauce off with my finger, licking it off, but I left a stain behind. “Oops.”
He lifted his eyebrow in his sexy look, the one that dared me to do it again.
I dipped my finger in my sandwich, dabbing at the sauce, and ran it down the bridge of his nose.
He set his food on the table and rubbed the sauce off his nose with his thumb, licking it off. “Mmm.” His eyes widened with a wicked gleam. “You want to play that way, do you?”
I tried to squirm off his lap, but his arm tightened around my waist, holding me in place.
“No, Joe! I just took a shower!”
“Well, then it’s lucky for you that you’re out of county lockup and get more than one shower a day.” He scooped a large dollop of sauce out of his sandwich.
“Joe!” I squealed. “It was an accident!”
“So is this.” He smeared cold sauce across my cheek.
I tried to reach up to my cheek to wipe it off but his hand at my side grabbed my wrist.
He rubbed some on the other cheek. “And so is this.”
“Joe!” I choked out through my laughter.
“And this is too.” His finger trailed over my lower lip but smeared on my chin with my thrashing. “You’re wearing blue ribbon sauce, I’ll have you know. I don’t think you’ve given it the proper respect it deserves.”
I tried to catch my breath through my giggles.
“We can’t let that sauce go to waste.” He lowered his head and licked my cheek.
Tingles filled my stomach. I sucked in a breath and stopped squirming.
He moved to the other side, his tongue lingering on my cheek and moving slowly to my mouth, licking the sauce from my lip and chin. His grip on my wrist loosened and I gathered my wits enough to take advantage of my freedom. I jumped out of his lap and grabbed another pita from the plate, dipping sauce out with two fingers.
Joe tried to grab my wrist, but I smeared the side of his face and down his neck, laughing so hard I could hardly see his reaction.
“Oh, Miss Gardner, you’re goin’ to regret that.”
I winked with a naughty smile. “I don’t think so.” I straddled his lap, my hands grabbing the wrists at his sides.
His voice lowered. “I thought you were hungry.”
I looked into his eyes and ran my tongue along my bottom lip. “I am.” Leaning close, I licked the sauce, starting at his jaw and moving to the top of his cheek.
His body stiffened, his hands flexing but not breaking free from my hold.
“You’re so tense, Detective Simmons. And you’re covered in prize-winning sauce.” My tongue slid over his jaw and to the pulse point on his neck. I sucked lightly.
His breath came in short bursts. “My girlfriend is a bit messy.”
I worked my way down his neck to the top of his collar, my tongue moving in circles, followed by kisses. “Oh, dear. You have sauce on your shirt. We better take this off.” I released his wrists, brought my fingers to the top button of his shirt and slid the disc through the hole.
I glanced up at his face. Unabashed desire filled his eyes, making me suck in a breath. I wasn’t used to the fact that I could do that to him.
My fingers meandered to the next button and then to the rest. I spread his shirt open, my hands skimming across his t-shirt. “I think you’re overdressed, Detective Simmons.”
His hands circled my waist and skimmed down to my hips. “So it seems.”
I pushed the shirt over his broad shoulders and down his arms, feeling his firm muscles underneath. After his dress shirt was off, I grabbed the bottom of his white t-shirt and tugged it over his head.
I stared into his face then turned my gaze to his chest, my hand following the path of my eyes. “How was I lucky enough to get you?” I whispered.
“I could ask the same thing,” he said, breathless. His hands gently pushed my spaghetti straps over my shoulders, sliding down my arms and tugging the fabric to my sides, until my shirt puddled around my waist.
We sat on my kitchen chair, me straddling Joe’s lap, both naked from the waist up, staring into each other’s eyes. He lifted a hand to my cheek, caressing lightly as a smile touched the corners of his lips.
Neither of us said anything, but I’d never felt closer to anyone in my whole life.
Joe pulled my mouth to his, capturing my bottom lip between his and working his usual magic, leaving me lightheaded and senseless.
I moved my hands to either side of his head. The need to be as close to him as possible overpowered every sense.
His hand tangled in my hair and he kissed me with more intensity than usual, his other hand cupping my face. He pulled back, his eyes dark with passion and something else. Fear.
“You scared the hell out me today, Rose. When Neely Kate called me and told me something bad had happened to you…I almost lost it right there in my office.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think you realize how much you mean to me.”
My thumb traced his cheekbone and I looked deep into his eyes. “I think I know.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
My gaze dropped to his mouth as I brushed my thumb across his lips. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“I love you, Rose.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised, he showed me how much he loved me all the time, but this was the first time he’d said it. I looked up, amazed to see insecurity in his eyes. I smiled and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “I love you too.”
For the next hour, I forgot about dinner. I forgot about Violet and her problems. I forgot about the innocent Bruce Decker sitting in a jail cell. I forgot about everything but the man in my arms and how I was the luckiest woman alive.
Chapter Sixteen
Joe and I lay in bed, his arm lying over my stomach, our legs still tangled. He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “We have to talk about what happened today.”
“When a man and a woman love each other, they—”
He placed a finger on my lips and his eyes grew serious. “You know what I’m talking about.”
My tongue darted out and licked the pad of his finger.
His eyes closed and he chuckled. “That’s not going to work.”
“What’s not goin’ to work?”
“Two can play at that game.” He leaned over me and kissed me until I was breathless. “Now we’re goin’ to talk about what happened.” And to make sure he had me weak and defenseless, he kissed me again.
Damn him.
He rolled me to my side so we were chest to chest. His arm curled around my waist. His other hand stroked my neck lightly as he kissed the corner of my mouth. “Now where were we? Oh, yes.” His mouth tra
iled down my neck. “What happened to land you in jail today?”
“This isn’t fair.” I gasped, my stomach tightening as his mouth sent tingles from my neck to my core.
“Nothing’s fair in love and war.”
His hand found my breast and I gasped. “And which one is this?”
“Both.”
His mouth followed his hand and I wrapped my leg around his. “I can’t think straight when you do that.”
“That’s the point, darlin’.”
I pushed against him, my traitorous fingers wanting to explore his chest more. “Stop. I’ll tell you want you want to know.”
He rolled me on my back and straddled me, pinning my arms over my head. “We’ll try it your way and if it doesn’t work, we’ll try it mine.”
It was a win-win situation for me. “Okay.”
“Why did you go to Frank Mitchell’s house?”
“How do you know the murder victim’s name?”
Joe rolled his eyes. “I spent the better part of an hour with the ADA trying to get you out of the mess you dug yourself into. Plus, I’ve been lookin’ into it, remember? I’ve become very acquainted with many details of the case.”
“Oh.”
A wicked gleam lit up his eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. Why were you at his house?”
“I didn’t mean to stop and get out. I just planned to drive by. That’s all. I promise.”
“But you did get out?”
“Yeah.”
“And did you find out anything?”
My eyes widened. “Are you seriously askin’ me what I found out?”
“I thought I made that pretty clear.”
“Someone had been harassin’ Frank to sell his house, but he refused to sell. His neighbor didn’t know who was coercing him.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, Bruce lived on the corner across from Frank Mitchell until a couple of months before Frank was killed. His parents kicked him out. Mr. Burnett—his neighbor—claimed it was because they got tired of him moochin’ off them and getting into trouble.”
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