The unbidden thought jumped his sanity. He grabbed his glass and chugged, embracing the burn of Coca-Cola down his throat. Love? It was a little early for that kind of thinking. She’d barely agreed to going to dinner. He practically slammed his glass down, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“That was an incredible way to describe Christianity.” Her eyes shone luminous in the candlelight. “Whatever our differences, I want you to know that I’m so thankful you became a Christian.” She smiled at him, then shifted to the stage where the band reassembled.
He took the opportunity to gather himself together.
What he felt for her had to be controlled. Discovering God’s love was all well and good, but there were rules to be followed. He’d romance her the right way.
A shadow against the wall caught his attention. Rachel sat rapt, her attention solely on the musicians. He squinted and the shadow sharpened, molding into human form.
What was he doing here?
***
The music flowed through Rachel. It soothed away the stress she felt over Maggie, over Grant and his hypnotic smile.
A voice broke her reverie. Grainy and tough, she knew immediately who it was. She swiveled in her seat, forcing her features into a bland mask.
Mayor Owens shook Grant’s hand, then turned his reptilian smile her way.
“Miss McCormick.” He inclined his head. Lips frozen, she refused to smile.
The slime ball! He knew her name. Not a good thing. Candlelight bounced off his round face, the boy next door face that had gotten him elected. Her fingers curled into fists. There was more to him than met the eye. She’d prove it.
Out of the corner of her gaze she saw Grant staring at her, waiting for her to respond, but she refused to acknowledge the mayor’s greeting. She gave him her back, and tried to focus on the musicians. No such luck. Her ears were trained in their direction, waiting.
“Your date doesn’t seem too happy, Grant.” The mayor’s voice carried a fake note of jocularity. There was a creak, then a rustle as Grant presumably stood.
She wanted to look. But she wouldn’t. Teeth clenched, she listened for Grant’s reply.
“She likes the music, sir.” Grant cleared his throat. “Have you heard from Gerta?”
“Yesterday. She took a detour to Europe. I’m sure most of my constituents have heard of my pending divorce by now. It’s hitting everyone hard.” A false sorrow invaded his tone. “My wife, I’m afraid, has had a breakdown. I heard you’re going to church now. You might want to say a prayer for my dear wife. The doctors say she’s hallucinating.”
“Who told you that?”
“Our personal physician called. I don’t know what Gerta is doing, traipsing around Europe as if she were a millionaire.”
“I’ll be happy to pray for you and your family.”
“Thank you, son. I’ll leave you and Miss McCormick to your dinner.”
Rachel heard his footsteps move away but couldn’t turn to Grant just yet. She had to get her temper under control. For one thing, she knew the mayor’s wife hadn’t had a breakdown. Annoying as the woman was, she was too shrewd to fall subject to emotional tyranny.
The other thing was that Mrs. Owens hadn’t shown up for their meeting for the flash drive. A drive she’d paid Rachel to get and which now sat with the police. She hadn’t divulged that bit of information to Mrs. Owens yet.
She took a deep breath before facing Grant. Intensity strained his features, as though he anticipated an outburst.
“The mayor calls you by your first name?”
“You don’t like him.”
“And you do? The man’s not trustworthy.”
Grant’s brow arched. He settled back against his chair. “When you don’t like people, are you always so rude?”
Heat flooded through her, but she held back her retort because just then the waitress appeared with their food. She set the plates on the table, offered grated parmesan, and left them alone.
Rachel transferred her attention to Grant, who attacked his food as though he hadn’t eaten in days. In the background, the band played a slow harmony rich with sax, but it did nothing to lower the heat of her blood.
Rude? Of course she dissed the mayor. The man cheated on his wife. Practically forced Maggie into… She reined in her thoughts. The point was, who knew what else he’d done? The way he handled his private and business accounts suggested money laundering, drug trafficking, but how much could she tell Grant? He would want evidence.
Legal evidence.
She didn’t have much of that. What she had in abundance was instinct. Nothing near enough to arrest a man.
“I’m rude to him because I don’t trust him.” She looked down her nose at Grant, daring him to pursue the conversation.
If he was surprised by her bringing the subject back up, he didn’t show it. Calmly he set his fork on the raised ridge of his plate. “Not a good reason. He’s done great things for this town. Increased our tourism revenue, cleaned up the town beach.”
“He cheated on his wife,” she said flatly.
“Oh, so it’s personal.”
“What else would it be? I don’t make a habit of being rude to people for business reasons.”
He had the nerve to smile, a lazy curving to his lips that both frustrated and unnerved her. “You really have it in for adulterers.”
“Of course I do.” She speared an asparagus, swirling it through the creamy hollandaise drizzled across her plate. “They’re the worst type of person. You hand them your heart and they slice it open, then give it back with an apologetic smile.”
The amusement melted from his face. “I’m sorry, Rachel, for whatever was done to you.”
She swallowed tightly, unable to answer. She was sorry, too. Life had a way of pulping innocence from the soul.
They ate in silence, their forks occasionally clinking against the porcelain plates, their eyes not meeting.
Grant broke the tension. “Man, this steak is incredible.”
“My pasta is wonderful.” Rachel wet her lips, embarrassed by her earlier attitude.
“So,” Grant cleared his throat. “Why were you at the Owens’ house in the middle of the night?”
“Mrs. Owens sent me.” She narrowed her eyes. He’d hopped from one tense subject to another. “Do you really think she’s okay?”
“You haven’t been back since I saw you there?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Just making sure.” He left it at that, swigging a drink of his soda instead of offering an explanation. Curiosity burned through her. He hadn’t answered her question about Mrs. Owens.
Before she could question him, he asked, “What did you do when you were in the mayor’s house?”
She sighed, realizing that trying to dig information out of him would be useless right now. His mind was obviously set on one track. “Remember that little white flash drive? She wanted proof of his infidelity so she could get alimony.”
“So you touched his personal computer.”
Rachel wiggled. “I think it’s hers too.”
“That was a risky thing for you to do.”
“Not really. They aren’t divorced yet so technically it’s still her house. Of course, I assumed it was her computer.”
“A strange assumption when it was his office you were in.” His fingers steepled. “You didn’t have any other motive?”
Rachel leaned back in her chair. Was he interrogating her? He couldn’t possibly know about Maggie. Besides, the mayor hadn’t done anything illegal to her sister. Just ripped her heart out, which deserved justice whether it was prosecutable or not.
And maybe she had trouble forgiving Maggie for doing the same thing to her, but that didn’t mean someone else got to do it to Maggie.
“Is this date really your way of prying into my life?” She studied Grant, catching the concern that flashed across his face before his cheeks dimpled.
“I have better ways to do that. I’m trying
to get a clearer picture of who you are. I was surprised to see you at the hospital with Corrine.”
“And?”
“You showed up in two houses, unexpectedly. I guess I’m wondering what exactly you’re pursuing?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to expound, but he switched the topic to the church food drive coming up. Forcing herself to let his comment go, she chatted about the drive with him, but she couldn’t forget the apprehension she’d seen. Why did he care that she’d gone into the mayor’s house? That she’d went to see Corrine? He showed too much interest in the investigation against Owens for her to ignore. What was going through his handsome head?
***
Maggie woke Rachel when she walked in sometime during the night. Rachel hadn’t been sleeping deeply anyway. She kept hearing Grant’s laugh, kept seeing the way his gaze lingered on her during dinner. And the concert had been more than wonderful. It had been a hazy dream, fragile and liable to fade from existence the moment she woke.
He hadn’t made any moves on her, either. He’d treated her like a lady and dropped her off at the house without so much a kiss on the cheek. Now that had been a shocker, but it did a lot to uphold his new good-guy image. Rachel sighed, burrowing into her pillow.
A kiss from Grant was something she couldn’t allow herself to think about. She was almost asleep, her body heavy with exhaustion, when Maggie came home.
The door slammed, announcing her wayward sister’s arrival. Rachel grit her teeth. She swung her legs out of her bed, careful to avoid Miss Priss. Sitting up, she waited for her head to clear and then padded into the living room.
“Hey,” she hissed, stopping Maggie in her tracks. Rachel glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. “I told you no partying.”
In the darkened living room, Rachel could barely make out Maggie’s face. Though her features were shadowed, the dark couldn’t hide the stench of whisky. Maggie’s silhouette wobbled.
“I’m home, alright,” she slurred.
As if that made any sense.
“You’re drunk.” Rachel slapped her palms against her hips. This was just like Maggie, to go and break one of the few rules she’d lain down. “Go to the bathroom before you throw up.”
Maggie laughed, a cold sound that hollowed out Rachel’s heart.
“Give me a little credit.” The outline of her body sank to the floor and Rachel huffed with exasperation, pushing her concern to the side. She marched to her sister, lifted her and half-carried, half-pulled her into the guest bedroom, flipping on the light as she passed the switch.
It was the first time she’d been in there since Maggie had moved in. The trim bed and spotless floor reassured her. At least Maggie had kept part of her bargain. Rachel laid her on the bed and began to pull off her shoes.
“Wait, I can do that.”
“Let me. You can’t even sit up.” Rachel couldn’t help the sympathy overriding her irritation. Even Maggie’s smile sagged. She was miserable. The realization slammed into Rachel, prodded her conscience. All this time she’d avoided Maggie because of Scott, because seeing Maggie brought back memories of the life she could have had. The man she could have loved.
The woman passed out on her guest bed didn’t resemble the monster Rachel wanted her to be.
It was just her older sister. The one who’d made her macaroni and cheese for dinner because Mom was too busy working. The one who’d burned the waffles and cleaned the bathrooms and taught Rachel how to put on makeup.
Rachel chewed her lower lip, listening to Maggie’s breathing deepen as she sank further into sleep.
God, I want to forgive Maggie. I do. I feel so bad about what happened with her and Mayor Owens. I should tell her I know all about it. But every time I see her I get so angry. So bitter. Letting it go is difficult for me.
Pray for her. Resonating deep within, the words pulsed through Rachel, overruling her indecision. Her fingers bunched into the sheets. If it was what God wanted, she’d do it. Licking her lips, her eyes fluttered closed as she offered the first prayer she’d said for her sister in five years.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rachel wasn’t going to stalk Grant.
Just a little visit to his house after stopping by Corrine’s. Visiting didn’t constitute stalking, right?
Rachel inched down the road that led to Corrine’s apartment. Traffic was light despite the lunch hour. Heat was keeping people inside.
She parked and traipsed up to the door. She lifted her hand to knock but the door opened before he knuckles touched the scarred wood. Corrine beckoned her in.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the apartment. Curtains were drawn and stale cigarette smoke flavored the air. The place needed a good cleaning. So did Corrine, for that matter. The woman’s hair ratted around her face and make-up smudged her cheeks.
Thanks to a still swollen face, Corrine couldn’t smile well, though Rachel wasn’t sure she would anyway.
“You texted me to stop by?” Rachel offered what she hoped was a sympathetic look.
“I just needed to say thank you. For helping me.”
“Okay, I get that.” Rachel met Corrine’s gaze, concern throbbing through her. “You’re welcome. Why are you home though? It’s not safe.”
Corrine fingered her hair. “I got new locks.”
“Do you feel safe?”
Corrine froze, fingers hovering near her battered face. A musty smell rose up from the carpet as Rachel waited.
Corrine’s head moved faintly. Side to side. No.
Rachel squelched the urge to gather Corrine in a hug. Grant needed to be called. He’d do something. “You should leave now. Find a hotel.”
A short, bitter laugh coughed out of the woman in front of her. “Right. With what money?”
“I’ll get you a hotel. Out of town.”
Corrine looked away, mouth pulled into a deep frown. “I don’t need handouts.”
“He’ll find you here,” Rachel persisted.
Corrine shrugged. She looked…resigned.
“We’re going to change this. You can stay with me.” As if propelled by some unseen force, the words plopped out of her mouth and landed in the middle of that dark living room.
Corrine shook her head.
A desperate feeling wedged in Rachel’s throat. Suddenly, helping Corrine represented something she couldn’t quite name. “I have room. Let’s pack a bag.”
She started forward, determined to save this woman from herself. What had the police been thinking anyway, letting her come back here?
Corrine touched her arm before she’d taken two steps. She shook her head at Rachel.
“Why?” Rachel demanded. “They know where you are. They’ll be back.”
Corrine’s phone chirruped from the couch. Flicking Rachel a quick, unreadable look, she snagged the phone and read the text.
“You have to leave.” She tossed the phone on her couch, marched over and pushed Rachel to the door.
“Now? Why?”
Corrine’s palm planted in the middle of Rachel’s back. Unsure what was happening, Rachel let Corrine push her out of the apartment.
“I hope everything is okay,” she managed to say before the woman shut the door in her face.
Great. She’d give anything to read that text. There were ways but it would probably take too much time.
She trudged out to her car, basking in the sun’s warmth, wishing it could melt the stiffness from her shoulders. Even the thought of covertly checking out Grant’s place didn’t ease the worry that lodged in her heart.
Did Grant know Corrine was home? That he could very well be investigating a murder soon?
After their date last night a compulsion to see where he lived, how he lived, gripped Rachel and she’d spent the morning trying to shake the feeling off. Like a persistent crush, the idea hounded her until finally she’d given up and called her mother, who happened to live near Grant and served a perfect excuse for her to be in the area.
/> She glanced at the hair supplies she picked up from Wal-Mart. They lay bunched in the passenger’s seat. Drop them off to her mother and then leave a different way, a way that conveniently passed Grant’s place.
She pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Mom’s. Of their own volition, her fingers picked Grant’s name on the screen of her phone. His number dialed. She put the phone to her ear and waited. It rang twice.
“Harkness,” he barked into the phone.
“It’s Rachel. Did you know Corrine is back at home?”
“Who?” Background noise drowned out his voice. It sounded like a scuffle.
Rachel swerved onto a back road that coasted through the woods and passed both her mother’s house and Grant’s, according to MapQuest.
Something clattered. Had he dropped his phone? “Grant, can you hear me?” Sighing, she waited for him to come back on the line.
“Hey, Rachel, now’s not a good time. Can I call you back?”
“Actually, this is really important. I think Corrine needs some security around her apartment. Police detail, something.”
“I really can’t talk. Call me later.” A broken yelp squeezed through the phone before being replaced by the click of Grant hanging up.
Scowling, Rachel ended the call and set the phone in her cup holder.
Maybe Charlie could do something about this. But did he have the clout? Probably not. She frowned and slowed as her mother’s driveway appeared. When she turned, dust puffed up behind her, coating her vehicle in grime. One more hazard of visiting Mom.
She parked, grabbed the Wal-Mart bags and then cruised into the trailer. Mom sat at the table, People magazine open and a cigarette smoking in her favorite ceramic blow-dryer shaped ash tray. Muted sunlight drifted through the grime-painted window beside the table.
“Here you go.” She plopped the bag on top of a pile of laundry left on the table. “Do you want help with anything before I go?”
“Nah.” Her mom plucked the bag up. “You got me the wrong brand.”
“Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter, I guess.” She heaved a sigh, gusting an unruly red strand of hair away from her face. “How’s your sister doing?”
Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 14
