by Liliana Hart
“Maybe you should get some anti-anxiety meds,” I told her.
“I’ve got some, but I don’t like being that relaxed. Two days before Christmas I was stressed because the home spa I’d ordered for my mother showed delayed shipping. And you know how my mother is. I’d never have heard the end of it to show up to Christmas dinner without everyone’s gifts. So I schlepped myself to the mall two freaking days before Christmas. Holiday shopping always makes me a little crazy anyway, so I popped a couple of those pills and ended up taking a nap on one of the display couches in JCPenney. Turns out they thought I was dead and called 9-1-1.”
I was only half-listening to Rosemarie. Pretty much nothing she said shocked me anymore. I was more interested in how to get my Aunt Scarlet out of the gas station alive. She was standing face to face with the gunman, but neither of them were speaking. The situation looked tense.
If I hadn’t been so focused on Scarlet and the gunman I would’ve felt my phone vibrate, signaling Nick’s arrival. The second his hand touched my shoulder chills danced along my spine and my nipples went to full alert.
“Any donuts left?” he asked.
I’d forgotten how to blink, and I was starting to get a cramp in my calf from squatting too long. His voice rasped across my skin and my hand clutched the seat. I mentally ran down what I looked like. And winced.
I hadn’t been kidding when I’d said Rosemarie had dragged me down the hall half-naked. I’d had time to put on a pair of black sweatpants, a thermal undershirt and an oversized Georgia Tech sweatshirt I’d had since college. I hadn’t actually gone to Georgia Tech, but I’d dated a guy who had. It turns out I liked the sweatshirt much more than the guy, so I’d kept it.
What I wasn’t wearing, however, was a bra or underwear. Rosemarie hadn’t had time to wait for those niceties. She’d needed donuts. I’d barely had time to slip my feet into black UGGs (without socks) and the down-quilted, black coat I’d gotten on sale at Eddie Bauer. My hair had been damp, so I’d braided it and pulled a hot pink, wool watch cap down over my ears. My face was scrubbed clean, and if I’d been buying booze instead of donuts I would’ve gotten carded for sure.
In other words, I didn’t look my best. And Nick always looked amazing. He was movie star handsome, with dark hair, swarthy skin, and the kind of bones that only came from someone of good breeding. His eyes were the color of arctic waters, and every time he took his clothes off I wanted to jump his bones. Fortunately, he liked having his bones jumped. Otherwise, I’d probably be in jail for sexual harassment.
His entire family was filthy rich and his grandfather was a senator. And other than his grandfather, I’d never met people more awful than Nick’s family. Someday they’d be giving Satan tips on how to run hell.
I kept my gaze straight ahead. “Help yourself,” I said, blindly handing him the almost-empty box.
I stared at the inside of the car door, and focused on keeping my breathing steady. I was afraid if I turned around and looked at him it would be like staring at the sun and I might go blind.
I hadn’t been expecting Nick to arrive at the scene. He was homicide. And it seemed like someone was always getting murdered in Savannah, so it was a pretty full-time job.
“What are you doing here?” I somehow managed to sound nonchalant, even though it felt like there was a frog in my throat.
“I caught a double last night. I was just heading home when I heard the call come in. And then I saw Rosemarie’s car and my Spidey-sense started tingling.”
“It could’ve been anyone’s car,” I said. “I’m sure dozens of people drive yellow Beetles in this city.”
I could practically feel his shrug. “Perhaps. But not all of them decorate the headlights with big eyelashes or have vanity plates that say HT4TCHR.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Rosemarie wasn’t known for her subtlety.
“So what’s the situation?” he asked.
I was being an idiot. I couldn’t keep hiding behind the car door and not face him. I was a grown woman. And my legs had fallen asleep.
“We were just passing by,” I said, hoisting myself out of the crouch I was in. I bit my lip to keep from whimpering and half dragged myself back into the passenger seat, rubbing the stinging needles out of my legs. “Just another day in the life of me. Several shots were fired and it turns out my Aunt Scarlet is inside.”
“Is she the one who was in the OSS and killed all her husbands?” he asked.
“Yes to the OSS,” I said. “She probably didn’t kill her husbands. At least on purpose. Probably being married to her is enough to kill any man.”
“The women in your family are hell on men,” Nick said.
That was pretty much the truth. Scarlet had outlived five husbands, my mother had outlived my father, and my sister Phoebe chewed men up and spit them out on a regular basis. And come to think of it, I wasn’t doing so hot either. I’d never been married, but I’d accidentally hit my ex-fiancé with my car. It turned out he’d been poisoned before he ran in front of me, so technically I didn’t kill him.
I finally looked up and wished I hadn’t. Nick looked terrible. His face was gaunt, and a couple days growth of beard covered his face. His slacks and dress shirt were wrinkled and he’d taken his tie off somewhere along the way, so his collar was open and his undershirt peeked through. He hadn’t even bothered with a coat, though it was almost freezing outside and little puffs of white fog escaped his mouth. His hair was a little longer since I’d last seen him, but he worked so much there was never time to get it cut. His expression was grim. The double he’d caught must’ve been a bad one.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’ve been better. You ever meet Rick Chandler? He was a sergeant out of patrol.”
“Never heard of him.” And then I caught on. “Was?”
Nick’s eyes went cold as ice and he nodded. “A neighbor heard shots and called 9-1-1. At first glance it looks like a murder/suicide. Chandler and his wife have been on the rocks for more than a year now. He had a girlfriend and the wife wasn’t too happy about it.”
“I can imagine,” I said, brows raised. “Wives are weird like that. So she offed him and turned the gun on herself?”
“Nope, other way around. Only problem is, Chandler was a lefty. And though we train to shoot with both hands, Chandler could only shoot with his left, because he broke most of the bones in his right hand about a decade ago. His trigger finger didn’t bend. Guess which hand the gun was found in?”
“I’m going to go with the right.”
“There you have it,” he said. “We’re looking hard, but nothing has come up so far. I figured an armed robbery at the gas station might clear my mind.”
“Something only a cop would say.”
“I’m starting to think it might have been a rash decision. I’ve never seen your Aunt Scarlet, but am I right to presume she’s the one in the fur coat facing off with the gunman like Dirty Harry?”
I sighed. “Yep, that’s her. She’s supposed to be on a single’s cruise in Italy, so I’m not sure what she’s still doing in Savannah.”
I was trying to act cool, but in truth my stomach was in knots and a ball of fear was lodged in my throat. Despite her eccentricities, I loved Scarlet. I wanted to be just like her when I was ninety. I was pretty good at holding things together during a crisis. I’d really never had a choice in my family. Between my mother and my sister, there was enough drama to go around, and I was always the one left to be the responsible adult. Which was terrifying if you thought about it. I was thirty years old—thirty-one in another week—and just starting to get my shit together.
“Are you doing okay?” Nick asked. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m good. The gunshots worried me a bit, but Scarlet is still standing. She’s actually got a musket ball lodged in her hip. One of her husbands collected antique weapons and it misfired. Though Scarlet likes to tell everyone he shot her on purpose.”
“She seems like a
handful,” Nick said. “Must run in the family. By the way, does your Aunt Scarlet carry a big silver revolver in her purse?” Nick squinted. “Looks like a .44.”
Rosemarie and I both shot up to a standing position and watched in horror as Scarlet held the revolver in a two-handed grip, right at the robber’s mid-section. They were in a standoff, and I figured the gun weighed almost as much as Scarlet. I watched in fascination as the expression on the robber’s face changed and he started shaking his head. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I didn’t have to, to know that Scarlet was reading him the riot act. She was mean as a snake when she wanted to be.
The robber backed up a few steps, but didn’t lower his gun. That was his mistake. The crack from the revolver made me flinch and I heard gasps—including my own—as she fired point blank at the robber. The only problem was, the revolver kicked like a mule and the recoil adjusted her aim upward several inches. The gun thwacked her in the head and Scarlet went down for the count.
A high-pitched scream was heard from inside and the robber came running out, one hand holding up the gun in surrender and the other pressed against his ear.
“Crazy bitch!” he yelled, his voice a couple octaves higher than normal. “Fuckin’ bitch shot my ear off. What the hell is the wrong with the old people in this city?”
Police cars had swarmed in around us and they all held their weapons on the robber, demanding he get down on the ground, while he danced around in pain.
Hostages started filing out the front door, looking a little dazed, but there was no Scarlet, so I started toward the door. Despite the fact that she always seemed larger than life and scary as hell, she was still a ninety-year-old woman.
But before I could get there Scarlet stumbled out the front door, her giant handbag hanging over one arm, the other wrapped around a very attractive man who was at least fifty years younger than she was. There was a knot the size of a goose egg right in the middle of her forehead, and bruising was already forming around her eyes, making her look like a raccoon. The gun was nowhere in sight. Probably for the best.
“You’re going to need another box of donuts,” Nick said. “She looks like she could use a few.”
“It feels a little weird standing and talking like this. Like everything is normal.”
“Everything is normal. I love you and you love me. You’re just being a stubborn dummy. And stop avoiding me. It’s not like I’m going to re-ask you to marry me every time we’re in the general vicinity. I’ve missed seeing you.”
I sighed as that clawing feel of panic started rising up inside me, just like it had the first time I’d been left at the altar. And then a wave of sadness washed over me. “I’ve missed seeing you too,” I finally said. “A lot.”
“That makes me feel better,” Nick said, grinning for the first time that morning. “Serves you right. Clock’s ticking, Addison. Your month is almost over. You’re going to have to give me an answer soon.”
My eyes narrowed and my hands went to my hips. “I know what damned day it is,” I said.
“Good, because the second your time is up I’m taking the tracker off my car. I can promise you won’t see me coming.”
He grasped hold of my arms and pulled me into him for a hard, fast kiss. I might have melted against him a little too long. It was hard to be sure because he’d scrambled my neurons, and I was wishing desperately I’d taken the time to put on underwear that morning.
I vaguely heard Aunt Scarlet somewhere in the background telling her rescuer she wanted him to meet her niece. I assumed she was talking about me, and I rolled my eyes before I could help it.
Nick grinned and let me go. “See you around,” he said, whistling as he headed back to his truck.
“Maybe I need to forget about looking for men at assisted living,” Rosemarie said. “Maybe I should hang out at the police station more.”
“Statistically, cops don’t make the best husbands,” I said, frowning. Though I knew several who’d been able to make it work.
“That’s okay. I’m thinking I might still be in the rebound stage before I find the one. I hear cops are excellent rebounders. Plus, they carry all kinds of interesting things on their belts. Like handcuffs and those little leather paddles.”
“The only cops that carry little leather paddles are the ones at Chippendales. Real cops aren’t into spanking while making an arrest.”
“That’s a shame,” she said. “Seems like it would make things more interesting.”
About the Author
Liliana Hart is a New York Times, USA Today, and Publisher's Weekly Bestselling Author of more than 40 titles. After starting her first novel her freshman year of college, she immediately became addicted to writing and knew she'd found what she was meant to do with her life. She has no idea why she majored in music. Since self-publishing in June of 2011, Liliana has sold more than 4 million ebooks. She's appeared at #1 on lists all over the world and all three of her series have appeared on the New York Times list. Liliana is a sought after speaker and she's given keynote speeches and self-publishing workshops to standing-room-only crowds from California to New York to London.
Liliana can almost always be found at her computer writing or on the road giving workshops for SilverHart International, a company she founded with her husband, Scott Silverii, where they provide law enforcement, military, and fire resources for writers so they can write it right. When Liliana and her husband aren’t spending time with their children, they’re living the life of nomads, traveling wherever interests them most.
If you enjoyed reading Whiskey Sour, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy this book, too.
Lend it. This e-book is lending-enabled, so please, share it with a friend.
Recommend it. Please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers’ groups and discussion boards.
Review it. Please tell other readers why you liked this book by reviewing. If you do write a review, please send me an email at [email protected] so I can thank you with a personal email. Or visit me at http://www.lilianahart.com.
Connect with me online:
@Liliana_Hart
LilianaHart
www.lilianahart.com
[email protected]
Also by Liliana Hart
Addison Holmes Mysteries
Whiskey Rebellion
Whiskey Sour
Whiskey For Breakfast
Addison Holmes Box Set
(includes 3 books above)
Whiskey, You’re The Devil
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
The MacKenzie Series
Dane
A Christmas Wish: Dane
Thomas
To Catch A Cupid: Thomas
Riley
Cooper
A MacKenzie Christmas
MacKenzie Box Set
(includes the 5 books listed above)
Cade
Shadows and Silk
Secrets and Satin
Sins and Scarlet Lace
The MacKenzie Security Series
(includes the 3 books listed above)
Sizzle
Crave
Trouble Maker
1001 Dark Nights: Captured in Surrender
1001 Dark Nights: The Promise of Surrender
Scorch
(July 26, 2016)
JJ Graves Mysteries
Dirty Little Secrets
A Dirty Shame
Dirty Rotten Scoundrel
Down and Dirty
Dirty Deeds
The Collective Series
Kill Shot
The Rena Drake Series
Breath of Fire
Standalone Novels/Novellas
All About Eve
Paradise Disguised
Catch Me If You Can
Who’s Riding Red?
Goldilocks and the Three Behrs
Strangers in the Night
Naughty or Nice
;
