by Chelle Bliss
“Where’s the last place he used his credit card?” Frisco asked, making a new bullet point on his fancy legal pad.
Kids. They wrote stupid shit down or put it in their notes in their fancy-ass cell phones. I only wrote down the most important information.
I was old-school and used my memory with most shit. I didn’t have time to flip through pages when I was working a case or trying to track someone down. I swear technology had dumbed them down about ten pegs in the evolutionary chain.
“Yesterday, just outside of Gainesville,” Sam answered.
“Morgan?” James called out.
I glanced out of the corner of my eye and realized he was still staring at me. “Morgan,” I said, finally turning to look at him with a serious face.
“What?” Morgan replied, his eyes growing narrower.
“Are you listening or giving Bear the evil eye over there?” James laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in.
Morgan’s face didn’t change. “I think someone else should interview my mom.”
Thomas cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s already decided. Bear will do it.”
“Come on, kid,” I said with a smile on my face. “I promise to be a complete gentleman. You’re like family to me.”
His upper lip snarled, and I was about to say “Down, boy” when his face finally softened a bit. “Fine, Bear. I’m trusting you with this.”
I nodded, and guilt gnawed at me because I did want Fran. I’d always pictured her naked underneath that tracksuit. She was an enigma to me. I could tell she had a smokin’ body, but for some reason, she wanted to hide it like she was a Golden Girl. I didn’t know what happened to some women when they matured; they felt the need to hide what they had when they should have been showing it to the world.
“Bear, can you meet with her tonight?” James asked.
“On it,” I said as I nodded, trying to hide my excitement. “Let me go call her now.” I stood and excused myself, feeling Morgan’s eyes on me as I walked out of the room and closed the door quietly.
Instead of calling her from my cell phone, I decided to use the office line so it was more official. I sat for a moment and collected my thoughts before I dialed her number that I had scribbled on a tiny scrap of paper I’d hidden underneath my desk calendar.
It rang twice before Fran picked up. “Hello.”
“Hey, Fran.” I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling nervous. “It’s Bear.”
“Hey, hot stuff.” Her voice was cheerful under the circumstances. “I thought you were Morgan.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart.”
She giggled softly. “You’re never a disappointment, Bear.”
“I wanted to know if we could sit down tonight and talk about Johnny.”
“That fucker. I have a lot to say. Come by tonight, and I’ll cook you dinner.”
“Franny, you don’t have to do that. It’s too much work. Why don’t you meet me at the bar for a drink?”
“Nope,” she said quickly. “I feel like cooking. It keeps my mind busy. Be here at six.”
She hung up the phone before I could answer, and I was left staring at the phone, shocked. It’d been ages since anyone had cooked me a meal. I couldn’t show up empty-handed. I knew the guys thought I was an animal, but there was a time when I’d had manners.
I stalked back into the room, keeping my eyes down and away from Morgan as I took my seat. The guys were talking more about Johnny and where his next move would be. There was very little we knew about the man, but I figured in the next twenty-four hours we’d have a clearer picture of who the pissant really was.
“Did you get in touch with Aunt Fran?” Thomas asked from the head of the table.
Fuck. Franny was related to almost everyone at the table and so far off-limits that I might as well not even have a dick. To put a beautiful morsel like that in front of me, dangling her like a piece of meat, and not to allow me to touch her was just plain cruel. “Yeah. I’m meeting her at six to talk about Johnny.”
Morgan’s eyebrow rose. “At the bar?”
“No.” I shook my head while I crossed my arms. “She wanted me to come to her place.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe I’ll drop by.” Morgan mimicked me and crossed his arms.
I turned to face him. “Let’s get one thing straight, kid. Your mom isn’t going to want to talk in front of you. Keep your ass away.”
He leaned forward and invaded my space. “Why wouldn’t she talk in front of me? She tells me everything.”
“Has she called you to tell you everything she knows?”
His lips twisted. “No.”
“That’s my point. She’s embarrassed she didn’t realize he was a lying scumbag. Let me talk with Fran. She’ll be more comfortable.”
He exhaled loudly before leaning back in his chair. “Fine. Don’t get too comfortable.”
“Oh, shut up already. We’ve known each other for years. Have a little trust, will ya?”
“That’s the problem, Bear. I know too much about you.”
He did too. He’d been around for far too many escapades and antics than I’d like to admit. But Morgan didn’t know the real me. No one did. I shut him away a long time ago, putting up a steel fortress around my heart to protect myself. They all saw the wild, careless me but not the real man underneath.
I paid his comment no attention and turned back to the conversation at hand. “Let’s go over the information one more time so it’s fresh in my head.”
After another rundown of the information we had on Johnny, the conference room started to look more like a war room. Phones were ringing off the hook, people were jotting down notes, and we used the whiteboard to draw connections to important leads we needed to follow up on to catch the thieving bastard.
By the time I walked out of the office, I had just enough time to head to the little Italian bakery to grab some dessert. Fran probably worked her ass off on the meal, and it was the least I could do—plus, I wanted to make her smile.
Chapter Three
Bear
I pushed the empty plate away and rubbed my belly. “That was so damn good, Franny. I don’t remember the last time I had a meal this great.”
She beamed at me with the biggest smile. I couldn’t recall when I’d seen her so happy. “I like spoiling you.” The woman could cook like any of those fancy-ass chefs on the television. She didn’t just make a dinner, she made an entire meal. Course after course, she carried out of the kitchen, dishing it out onto my plate before I could protest.
“Spoil me anytime, babe.” I caught myself and didn’t say anything else because I was already verging on flirting, and Morgan would have my balls.
“Cooking relaxes me, but you know I’m really no good at it. Right? I mean, I’m no Maria.”
“Well, you must really be stressed.” I glanced around the table filled with dish after dish of different foods. “As for being a good cook, I don’t remember the last home-cooked meal I ate, so it tasted delicious.”
She burst into a fit of laughter. “No one likes my cooking, not even Morgan. Want a drink?” She stood quickly and headed to the tiny cabinet against the wall. “I need something strong to get through this.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling guilty about putting her out. “We could do this another time.”
“Sit down,” she commanded me without a thought. “I want you here. I need to talk about it. Alcohol helps. Want one or not?” Her bossiness was definitely a turn-on.
“Yeah, I’ll take a gin and tonic.”
Her dark, shoulder-length hair parted as she reached into the cabinet and grabbed three bottles. The tiniest patch of exposed skin on the back of her neck peeked out, and my cock started to stir. Off-limits, Cujo. Don’t even think about it.
“Ice?” she asked with her back to me.
“Two cubes, please.” My eyes traveled down her body, focusing on her ass and trying to see the outline through the flimsy material of her blue t
She set the drink down in front of me and caught me off guard. “Are you feeling okay? You look flushed.”
I chuckled softly and hoped she hadn’t caught me staring at her ass. “I’m fine. Just a bit warm,” I lied my ass off.
“Want me to turn on the air?” she asked and started to move her track jacket away from her skin. “It is a bit warm in here.” She stood quickly, removing her jacket and placing it on the chair before heading to the hallway.
My eyes zoomed in on her chest instantly. The white T-shirt was partially see-through, and all I could focus on was the outline of her black lace bra. Why did it have to be black? It didn’t match the tracksuit. I highly doubted that the ladies in the Golden Girls wore black lingerie underneath their clothing.
“You should feel better soon. I turned it down a bit.” She sat, moving the umbrella around in her pink drink. “Sex on the Beach,” she said innocently.
I started to choke on my drink at the mention. “What?” I asked in a strangled voice.
“My drink. It’s a Sex on the Beach.”
My mouth formed an “O” before I started to cough again. All of a sudden, I pictured Fran running around in the sand with beads of water dripping off her while she was clad in a string bikini. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Where do you want to start?” she asked before bringing the drink to her lips and staring at me over the rim.
What I wanted to say and what I needed to say were so opposite, but I went with work. “So today we learned that McDougal isn’t Johnny’s real name. It’s O’Sullivan. Other than that, we don’t have a ton to go on, but you may be able to give us some clues.”
“O’Sullivan?” she asked, setting down her drink on the table in slow motion. “I’ve heard the name before.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. His cousin who always called was named O’Sullivan.”
“Do you remember the cousin’s first name?”
“Kate.”
I pulled out the tiny tablet I’d stuck in my back pocket before I walked out of ALFA and started to jot down notes. This was one time I wanted to actually write shit down. I needed to go back to the office with a full report. Plus, I’d figured Fran would distract me and I’d probably forget half the shit she’d told me by the time I walked out the door.
“Do you know where she lives?”
“Somewhere in New York.”
“Anything else about Kate?” She couldn’t have had any more of a plain name. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack in the entire state of New York.
“She’s a hairdresser or some shit in the Bronx.”
That narrowed it down a lot. Couldn’t be too many Kate O’Sullivans doing hair in the Bronx. “I’ll start checking her out as soon as possible.”
“Now that I think of it…” She placed her face in her hands. “Oh God,” she wailed softly. “I’m a fool.”
I reached out and pulled her hands away from her face. “Don’t feel like a fool, babe. Just tell me.”
She sighed before dragging her dark brown eyes to mine. “He always said I love you to her before they got off the phone. I didn’t think anything of it. But he claimed they were cousins. How many cousins do you know who say that every time they talk?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged.
“I bet she’s his wife or some shit. That’s just how my luck is.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe it was his cousin.”
She gave me a “don’t be an idiot” look. “Let’s be real here, Bear. He used me to get comfortable and stay under the radar at work.”
“Now you listen to me, Ms. DeLuca, manipulators know just what to say and how to act to get their way. There’s nothing you could’ve done to change things. He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Maybe.” She shook her head. “Or I’m just a fool.”
“Didn’t he work at the track for years?”
“He owned it, and Race bought it from him.”
I knew that, but it had slipped my mind. Something wasn’t adding up. Why would a man sell a track and then steal from the very person he’d already had a windfall from… It didn’t make sense.
“It’s highly unlikely that she’s his wife, Fran. Maybe she’s his sister. If he lived down here for years, running a business, someone would’ve known about Kate. A man can only hide a wife for so long.”
“True,” she said in a soft voice and twisted her fingers together on top of the table. “She knew we were a couple. I actually spoke to her on the phone a few times.”
I placed my hands over hers. “If that was you on the other end, would you want to talk to the woman sleeping with your husband?”
“I’d track that bitch down and kick her ass.”
“Exactly.” I laughed loudly. “So she’s probably not his wife, but she’s definitely a lead. Did Johnny act any differently lately?”
“He seemed more paranoid than normal.” She stirred her drink, staring at the liquid swirling around the ice cubes. “He’d look out the windows a few times, double-check locks, and shit like that, but I thought he was just being cautious.”
“Did Johnny gamble?”
She shook her head, and her hair skimmed across her shoulder, glistening in the light. “Not that I knew of.”
“Who else do you remember him talking to? We’re trying to get an accurate picture of who he is and who his associates were.”
“Hmm.” She paused and chewed on the inside of her lip. “He’d get texts all the time from someone named Trout, but I don’t know if it’s a nickname or a last name. I heard him reminisce about an old friend named Sawyer too. I’m sorry,” she said and rubbed her forehead with her delicate fingers. “I guess I didn’t know as much about him as I thought.”
“Some people are just guarded, Fran. Usually, it’s just out of habit, but sometimes, like with Johnny, there are other reasons why someone doesn’t open up about who they really are.” I took a large swig of gin, but I kept my eyes trained on her.
“You’re kind of like him, Bear. You’re very private. I don’t even know your real name.”
My hand stilled with the glass still pressed against my lips. I never hid my name, but I also never told people openly. My closest friends knew it, and my family, but years ago I stopped answering to it. I set down the gin and licked my lips, taking a moment to debate telling her. When I looked across the table at her sad smile, I couldn’t stop myself from answering. “It’s Murray.”
Her smile widened, like I’d let her in on a very private secret. “I like that name. It suits you.” Even though I cringed, she whispered, “Murray.”
Usually, hearing my name would bring back too many memories, but coming from her mouth, it sounded as sweet as the most beautiful song. “That’s me.” I played it off like an idiot.
She placed her hand on my forearm and stroked my skin, sending chills skidding up my arm. “Do you mind if I call you that? Bear is cute, but Murray is more…manly.”
“Cook for me again, and you can call me whatever you want.” I smiled at her, relishing the feel of her skin against mine.
“Shit. I forgot about your beautiful dessert. Let me grab it.” When she removed her hand and stood, I instantly missed the connection.
She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the dining room. “What the fuck am I doing?” I whispered and glanced toward the ceiling. Closing my eyes for a moment, I took a deep breath and told myself, Fran is off-limits, asshole.
“You okay?” she asked, catching me off guard.
I peered over at her as she stood in the doorway, holding a tray of freshly made cannoli. “I couldn’t be better. Good food and great company, but I wish I were here under different circumstances.”
She placed two powdered-sugar-covered, chocolate-dipped cannoli on my plate. “Well, let’s talk about other things besides Johnny. Ever have any kids?”
I tried to hold back my cringe. My life was something I didn’t discuss with many. “I have two,” I told her, which was surprisingly easy.
She sat down and placed one cannoli on her dish before setting the napkin in her lap. “How old?”
“Ret’s around thirty now, and Janice is just a year older.”
“Do they live around here?”
“Last I heard, he lived somewhere in Texas.” I took the largest bite of the cannoli, hoping my mouth would be too full to answer any more questions. “And she lives nearby.”
“Jesus, I couldn’t imagine my kid living so far away. He’s my only baby and has been my life since my marriage ended.”
“How long ago was that?” I asked with a mouth full of ricotta filling sticking to the roof of my mouth like wallpaper paste.
“He left right around the time Morgan graduated from high school, but the marriage was over long before that.” She mindlessly traced the chocolate on the tip of the cannoli tube, and my mind went into overdrive.
It was like something out of a wet dream. Fran’s tongue moved slowly across the dried chocolate, the pink beautifully contrasting with the darkness of the treat. Her eyes closed, savoring the taste, and for a brief moment, I pictured my cock in her hand with her making the same motion. When she let out a tiny moan, I almost fell off my chair.
“Anyway,” she said before biting off the end and ending my fantasy. “Ray was a piece of shit. He’s never had any contact with Morgan since that day. He served me with papers, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Eh.” She waved her hand. “It was years ago and the best thing that ever could’ve happened. He was an asshole, straight up. Murray, what about your wife?”
“My wife, Jackie,” I said and felt a pang of sadness. I rarely said her name anymore because it was still an open wound that hadn’t fully healed. “She died during childbirth.”
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