Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2)

by Jessica Nelson

  Rachel lifted her chin. She was being ridiculous, ogling him and practically drooling.

  “Just call me later." She popped out the front door, down the rickety steps, and angled through the dirt to her SUV.

  Her hair was definitely going to need a wash. She slid her fingers to where her freshly cut strands curved softly beneath her chin. Coming out here had been worth it. She didn’t need a mirror to know Mom had done a great job.

  Stairs creaked and she spun around. Grant strode towards her, the smile wiped off his face. Quickly she opened the door to the car and slipped in. He caught the door before she could shut it.

  “Quit being difficult. I wanted to let you know we’ve got a lead on the shooter,” he said, bending down so they were eye to eye.

  “But. . . How?”

  “Shell casings, a witness.”

  “Already? That’s great.” Relief softened her muscles, helped her release a deep sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

  “You were worried?”

  “Not worried, but interested in justice. What's the motive?”

  “We’re working on that. Do you have any ideas?”

  “I was probably the target. Didn’t you look at that flash drive?”

  “Yup.”

  “The mayor had to know his adultery spells the end of his career. He’s going down.”

  Grant’s brow lifted.

  “Oh, come on. He wanted to stop me from ruining his life.”

  He shook his head. “Let the police figure things out. In the meantime, get off Mayor Owens’ case. I doubt he’d kill over proof of some straying.”

  Rachel’s teeth crunched. Some straying? “People kill over that all the time. Someone shot me and if you cops,” she emphasized the slang just to annoy him, “don’t find the perp, then I will. I could have died.” The last word wobbled a little, to her mortification.

  His forehead crinkled. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Gulping, she looked down. She hated to show weakness. While she was trying to figure out an answer that wouldn’t be a lie she heard him stir. Then he touched the bandage on her neck. It crackled beneath the gentle pressure of his finger.

  She ventured a look into his eyes. A mistake. They were filled with concern and softened any lingering temper from dealing with her family. A hesitant smile curved her mouth. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  She cleared her throat. “How’s everything with you? Did you find your cat?”

  “No.” His hand dropped and he stood.

  Her lips pressed together. It figured Mr. Smooth didn’t like to edge into personal territory. Well, neither did she.

  Sparing Grant a smile as she shut the door, she started the car and backed out of her mom’s yard. But guilt followed her down the dirt road that led out of the neighborhood. The image of Grant standing in Mom’s yard faded, replaced by Maggie, eyes empty, head down.

  Rachel sighed in surrender and stomped the brakes. She turned around and let the car crawl back to her mom’s. She felt God’s hand nudging her and despite the pain, regardless of how the memories spiked her blood pressure when she was near Maggie, she’d go.

  She pulled into the dusty driveway. Grant was still there, petting Silky, mom’s ancient cat.

  ***

  Grant straightened when he saw Rachel’s car easing back onto her mother’s property. She drove slowly, as if unwilling to come closer than she had to.

  She killed the engine. Sat in her car looking at him. What was she thinking? He ran his fingers through his hair, then thumbed his duty belt.

  Rachel McCormick wasn’t the woman he’d thought her to be. It galled, knowing he still owed her an apology for the way he’d treated her that night at the Owens. He’d just read Colossians this morning and discovered he was supposed to forgive people the way God forgave him. A funny thing, Christianity. All the Christians he’d ever known, with a few exceptions, had been hypocrites. They knew the rules but didn't follow them.

  He squinted. Take Rachel. She wouldn’t know a rule if it hit her in the head. He’d always thought she was cold and selfish but now he was beginning to realize how off the mark he was. At least on the cold part.

  Her car door opened and she stepped out. Grant fought the urge to stare at the way her hair sliced under her chin, emphasizing sharp cheekbones and slanted eyes. After he swallowed his pride and apologized, he’d work on avoiding her.

  Even if she was more human than he’d originally thought, she still rubbed him wrong. Eyes averted, she walked toward him, her face set in its typical uppity look. Her chin tilted upward as she passed.

  He reached out and grabbed her arm before he could stop himself. “No hello, Princess?”

  She jerked to a stop and he watched, mesmerized, as pink raced up her slender neck and suffused her face.

  “Excuse me?”

  Grant fought back his grin. Boy, she sounded mad. Ironically, he found her fascinating. Compelling. What made her tick?

  He released her arm. “Just thought you’d say hello. Seems kind of rude to pass me by like that.”

  The color on her cheeks deepened. “Is that so?”

  “Don’t get prissy.”

  “I’m not.” She sounded remarkably close to hissing. Kind of like Helga did when he didn’t pet her just right. He sure missed that cat.

  Grant changed his stance. He’d better back down before Rachel had an aneurysm.

  “Look,” he said, holding up his hand in a gesture of surrender. “I just wanted to tell you something.”

  “More news?” Her eyebrows, two arcs of color on milky skin, lifted.

  Grant swallowed. This was more difficult than he’d figured. The words seem to stick somewhere in his ribcage, like he had a rock on his chest holding them down. He cleared his throat.

  She crossed her arms. Her eyes, emerald in the sun, seemed to wink at him. “Having trouble spitting it out?”

  Grant cleared his throat again, hoping the words would come easier. “I just . . . Um, well.” Here it went. “I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits. He could practically see the disbelief.

  “Just thought you should know that.”

  Rachel rocked back on her heels. “Okay. Sorry for what?”

  “The night at the Owens’ house.” Was his skin as red as it felt?

  “You were doing your job.”

  “I got personal, and I had no call treating you that way.”

  She bit her lower lip and for a moment Grant thought she looked as vulnerable as a little child who had just realized she was lost in a store. Then the look flickered away, replaced with wintry boredom. “No problem. Listen, I’ve got to talk to my mom. I’ll see you around.”

  Grant nodded, admiring the way she stalked up to the house. A woman on a mission. He meandered to his truck, mulling over his unexpected response to her.

  Sure, he’d had a crush on her in high school. Every boy he’d known did. And she’d eaten it up. Not anymore, though. Rachel was all business now. Sometimes he wondered if it was a shield she wore to cover her feelings.

  His lips twisted as he opened the truck door and climbed in. Hadn’t some guy dumped her a few years ago? He vaguely remembered Rachel coming home with a city boy on her arm. A slick-faced preacher kid.

  He gunned his engine and drove off, refusing the impulse to check his rearview mirror, just to see if Rachel still stood on her mother’s lawn. He pressed down the need to see her again. There was no reason he could think of, only a gut-wrenching desire to see her smile. Something about her smile cut him to the bone, made him remember longings he’d put away while still a boy.

  And that was the silliest thing he'd ever felt, but the emotion persisted all the way home.

  ***

  “This is only temporary.” Rachel set her sister’s suitcase on the floor of the spare bedroom later that afternoon.

  Maggie nodded, auburn hair falling past her face in a soft wave. She
stood in the doorway of the room like a pale shadow, so different from the vibrant cheerleader Rachel remembered.

  She patted the suitcase and tried to refocus on the woman her sister was now. “You can help yourself to whatever food you want. I’ve got plenty of Little Debbies and I’m gone every day at work.” She hesitated before plunging on. “No smoking, alcohol or parties.” She expected a dirty look from her sister, some smart-aleck remark.

  But Maggie just went and sat on the double bed that served as the main furniture in the room. Though simple in structure, the price tag had been steep. No one had used the mattress thus far. Maggie would be the first.

  Rachel sighed deeply, ignoring the dismay that tensed her shoulders. Maggie was in a dark, emotional pit. The furniture would be fine. She wished she would have stayed in contact with her sister now. Felt remorse burning a hole in her heart. Her shoulders straightened. There was no need to feel regret, to feel sorry for distancing herself from Maggie. After Scott . . .

  She waited for the familiar bitterness to clog her throat. It didn’t disappoint, but rose up sour and thick. Five years and she hadn’t gotten over things. That was scarier than having Maggie in her house and so she escaped the bedroom, the door clicking behind her.

  She grabbed her purse and headed out. She was supposed to meet Katrina today at the animal shelter. The drive took an hour. She spent the entire time trying to figure out why memories of Scott still hurt so much. Thinking about love switched her brain onto a new track. Grant Harkness. It was his smile, the kindness in his eyes when he’d apologized. By the time Rachel got to the shelter, she felt frazzled and unsure.

  Her iPhone read a quarter past four. Late. Already Maggie was messing with her schedule.

  She checked herself in the rearview mirror, added lipstick for good measure and hurried into the small brick building. She banished Grant to the back of her mind, the same place he’d been for the last few months before he’d started turning nice.

  In the waiting room, two orange plastic chairs sat against a gray wall, on which hung at least a dozen pictures. A rectangular glass table stood in front of a line of more chairs. The table was topped with magazines. A lone plant sat sentry in a corner. The room was empty.

  Disappointment lodged deep in her gut. She couldn’t expect Katrina to wait for her. She and Alec were here on business.

  Rachel walked to the wall and studied the pictures.

  Cats and dogs, everywhere. Someone had pasted a label beneath each picture with the animal’s name and age. Poor things. It wouldn’t be so bad to pick one up. Hair could be vacuumed off the carpet. And if she regularly bathed the animal, there’d be no stink. She mulled the idea over, chewing her bottom lip.

  It would be nice to have a pet to cuddle with.

  “Rachel?” Katrina’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

  “Hey.” Warmth blossomed in her chest. “Are you and Alec finished?”

  Katrina smiled. “He’s in there wheeling and dealing. I thought I’d wait for you to look around.”

  “You are the best person in the world.” Rachel hooked her arm through Katrina’s and steered her toward the reception desk. “I’m thinking of getting a kitten.”

  The elderly woman behind the desk looked up and smiled at them. “Cats make wonderful pets. Follow me.” She stood and led them to a hallway. “When you’re done looking, go through that door and it’ll lead back to the reception area.” She smiled again and backed through the door.

  Concrete stretched before them. Dim lights illuminated the rooms on either side of the narrow walkway. Cats meowed plaintively in their cages and Rachel’s heart did a little jump. The poor things. There was the smell of cat, too. A heavy, musty scent that wasn’t as disgusting as she’d thought it would be.

  The smell reminded her of childhood. Of an innocence that had faded long ago.

  “What kind do you want?” Katrina peered to the left.

  “A non-hairy one.” Rachel walked to the right and skimmed the cages. “And preferably a kitten.”

  Katrina pulled Rachel’s sleeve and beckoned to a cage. Inside sat a monstrously fat feline with long hair and slitted eyes.

  “Ugh.” Rachel pulled away. “Not on my list.”

  “But look at the date. They’re putting her to sleep tonight.”

  “You don’t know that.” Rachel found a cage filled with three kittens. That was more like it. They fell over each other, nipping each other’s ears and letting out little growls.

  “After eight days, all unclaimed adult animals are put to sleep.”

  “Then you adopt her.” She glanced at the obese ball of fur. “She looks evil.”

  Katrina made a face. “Don’t be weird. It’s a cat. I just feel bad she’ll die. I wish there was something I could do.”

  Rachel watched the kittens but couldn’t shake the pity. “Why don’t you tell Alec to suggest to the shelter that they become a no-kill facility?”

  Katrina’s face brightened. “That’s a great idea. Since he’s one of their donors, maybe they can somehow consider it.” She hugged Rachel. “I’m going to go see if it’s possible. Be right back.” She hurried down the hall to the exit, her heels clacking against the concrete.

  Rachel sighed and turned back to the cages. Did she really want a hairy, stinky pet? Responsibility and commitment. That’s what it would mean. While she was debating the thought, a gray-haired guy clomped down the hall towards her. She smelled him before he turned into the room. Greasy sweat.

  Nose wrinkling, she backed up.

  “Hey.” He nodded at her then grabbed a cage off the shelved wall.

  The one with Miss Prissy-evil-slanted-eye cat.

  Before she could stop herself, she lunged forward. “Excuse me.” She saw her fingers, manicured and pristine, touching his overalls. His clothes weren’t exactly dirty. The shelter was professional and though the man wore a clean looking uniform, his odor overwhelmed her senses. She yanked her hand back and cleared her throat.

  “Yes ma’am?” His dark brown eyes held her gaze questioningly. The cage in his hand rocked back and forth and Rachel heard a deep growl, followed by a hiss.

  She swallowed, discomfited by the interest growing inside her. “Do you know anything about this cat?”

  The man cocked his head. “Not much, except she’s scheduled to go down.”

  Go down? That was a nice way to phrase death. Her head suddenly felt like it was going to explode. Calm down, she told herself. This wasn’t Scooter. Of course animals had to be put to sleep. It was far from murderous, and in Scooter’s case, it had been the only kind thing to do.

  Still, her eyes stung and she blinked. “Is the cat sick?”

  The man’s lips pushed forward, like he was thinking hard. “Nope. Not unfit, either.”

  “Unfit?”

  “She’s hissin’ but she’s not a mean cat. Just scared.” The guy reached up and scratched his gray curls. “I reckon the shelter’s out of room. Paperwork says she’s been here over a week. And she’s old.”

  “Too many things against her.” Rachel studied the man, then smoothed her slacks and held out her hand. “I’m going to adopt this cat.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot to his scalp. “Well now . . .”

  Rachel smiled, showing her teeth the way she’d done in college. The smile seemed to work on overzealous guys, but would it on an older man? She wiggled her fingers toward the cage. Maybe she was crazy, but adopting Miss Priss felt right. “I’ll take her.”

  His brown eyes were clearly filled with doubt but he handed her the cage. It was heavier than she’d expected and almost pulled the smile off her face. She set it on the floor and straightened. “Should I take her to the front?”

  “Yep. Right out that door. They’ll ring you up and process the paperwork.” He gestured to the door Katrina had disappeared through.

  “Thank you.” She picked up the cage, grimacing at how the cold metal handle dug into her palms. Not the best decision of her life, but
she wouldn’t back out now.

  Slowly, her heels scraping over the floor, she walked to the door. She’d have a pet. It would get her mind off of . . . stuff.

  Handsome stuff.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Handsome stuff was following Rachel.

  She eyed the truck behind her, a blond thatch of hair visible through the windshield. Grant Harkness better have a good reason for being behind her or she’d be putting in a complaint. After her experience with investigating a case a few years back, any interest from the cops felt invasive.

  In the backseat, the cat yowled.

  Rachel slowed at an intersection and turned into a gas station. Grant followed her. She got out of her car, leaving the engine running so Miss Priss didn’t die of heat stroke, to face him head-on. After his apology this morning at Mom’s, she didn’t know what to think of him.

  Forcing a smile, she waited while he walked over to her. He wore civilian clothes.

  “Is there a reason you’re following me?”

  He smiled a slow smile. “Your tag’s expired.”

  “No, it’s not.” She looked anyway. And puffed out an annoyed breath. “You lied.”

  The corner of his mouth wobbled as if he was trying to hold back a grin. “Just joking.”

  “I don’t have time for jokes,” she told him, even though her own lips were having trouble holding still. “Are you following me? You’ve been behind me since I got off the interstate.”

  “Actually, I’m heading over to my mom’s. She happens to live on this road. Alec called and I mentioned you were in front of me. He asked me to have you call Katrina. I don’t have your cell number though…”

  “Why didn’t he call me?”

  “He said Katrina couldn’t get through.”

  “Probably a weak signal.” She thought about checking the phone now to see if she had any missed messages, then decided to wait. Although evening had arrived, the air still felt thick with moisture. Clouds hovered low and she wondered if it was going to rain.

  Grant must’ve thought the same thing because he held a hand out, palm up. “I think a storm front’s coming through tonight.”

  “Yeah.” Since he was being so nice, she let her eyes linger on how attractive he appeared in cotton shorts and a t-shirt.