“She hasn’t been by?”
“Not since last week.”
Rachel shrugged, eyes watering from the cigarette smoke. “Fine. Eating my ice cream.”
Mom grunted at that. Her eyes looked more tired than usual and when she reached for her cigarette, her fingers shook. An unwelcome spurt of concern filled Rachel.
“Are you sick?”
“Nope.” Her mother’s mouth rounded for a puff. Smoke weaved to the ceiling. “I’ve got worries and your sister’s making them worse.”
“Well, stop worrying.” Grudgingly Rachel reached over and laid a palm on her mother’s sloped shoulders. “She’s going to be fine, I promise.”
“I don’t know where I went wrong,” Mom murmured.
Rachel moved her hand, uncomfortable with her mother’s vulnerability and not knowing how to overcome the feeling. She didn’t say anything. She put her hands in the pockets of her capris and sealed her lips so the wrong words, truthful though they may be, wouldn’t leak out.
The ancient clock ticked seconds on the wall.
Should she tell Mom she hadn’t gone wrong? That Maggie was the way she was through no fault of her raising?
That would be a lie. A whopper of an untruth.
“You think I did y’all wrong, don’t you?” Mom’s eyebrows rose in attitude. She tapped her cigarette into the tray, then brought it to her lips again.
“Maybe things would’ve been different if Dad stuck around longer than a few months at a time,” Rachel offered.
Mom grunted and looked out the window.
“I’m going to head out now.”
Her mother didn’t even turn her head.
***
Rachel almost forewent the trip to Grant’s house. Stomach roiling, she turned the SUV around in Mom’s yard and crept away from the trailer, knowing her mother still sat at the table, staring out the window.
It hadn’t occurred to Rachel that her mother might have regrets. She always seemed like the type of person who’d rather point the finger than take the blame. Maybe she was growing up a little, maturing.
Rachel edged out of the yard and stopped at the apex of driveway and road. Turning left would bring her back toward town, toward home. If she went that way she’d stop by the police station and get someone out to Corrine’s.
A right would lead her past Grant’s. According to MapQuest on her phone, he lived about five miles away. Trees wreathed with Spanish moss loomed over the road, casting shadows as she considered her options. The air conditioner blasted as seconds puttered by.
Consumed by a need to learn more about Grant, she took a right. After a mile the road became twisty as ancient oaks and stately palms hugged the landscape. A deep swell of peace passed through Rachel as she drove through the scenery. No wonder Grant lived out here. A policeman’s job, whether in the city or in a small town, gouged holes in a person’s psyche. The need for beauty, for goodness, probably prompted him to buy this place.
He owned the house, according to property records she’d looked up. An interesting tidbit of information.
She slowed when she spotted a simple black mailbox ahead. No name on the side, only numbers. Private. Another facet to his personality.
Is that why she rubbed him wrong? Her job required stripping away the private lives of people to get to the truth. Cops didn’t do that. Not regular, on-the-streets guys. Maybe detectives, but Grant had been a homicide detective. He probably figured the dead didn’t need privacy.
She stopped at the mailbox, glancing into her rearview mirror to make sure there were no cars behind her. She was alone on the light-dappled road. The afternoon sun stretched shadows along the road and cloaked the narrow drive by Grant’s mailbox in shade.
Did she dare drive down that narrow, dirt road to Grant’s home? Trees hid the view and she really wanted to see how he lived. Although he was only five miles from her mother’s trailer, the neighborhood was different. She’d passed nicer homes, newer, with side garages and fresh paint.
She gnawed her lip. When she’d called Grant almost an hour ago, he’d sounded busy. As if on duty. He probably wasn’t home yet. He’d never know she glanced around.
If she wanted to play it safe, she could use Google Earth and peek on him that way.
But she was here already. Decision made, she pressed the gas and eased into his drive. The hard-packed dirt of his driveway made for an easy entrance and the farther she went the more things widened until her SUV broke out of the trees and crawled onto a paved driveway.
Grant’s small house sat on oak-studded property. The lawn was green and untrimmed. A wild emerald expanse hedged by forest. The house perched in the center of the yard, an uncluttered home that sported white trim and a closed side garage. She parked before reaching the garage.
Was he home? No lights, but then again, it was the middle of the day. Heart fluttering, she took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.
Heat smacked into her, the air so heavy with humidity that drawing a breath took work. Or maybe it was being on Grant’s property and knowing she could be caught at any moment. Admiration rippled through her despite the nerves. His house was so nice. Cared for. Even though the lawn hadn’t been mown, there was a certain order to its growth.
His home put her at ease. Maybe dinner hadn’t been a mistake. Maybe she and Grant could actually work out a more serious kind of relationship.
She traipsed closer to the house. Did she dare look in the windows? Find out if Grant was messy or neat? Sweat dampened her shirt against her skin. She flicked off her sunglasses and sidestepped a palm in front of a window. She pressed her face close to the window to see past the glare of sun against glass.
His living room. Dark furniture. Simple, clean lines, arranged nicely. All male and not slobbish at all.
Grinning, she turned around and screamed.
Grant stood behind her, hair dark with water and glistening in the sun. His hands straddled his hips and a smug smile tugged at his lips. “Looking for me?”
Heart thundering in her ears, Rachel gulped the moist air and hopped from the mulch near the window back to the grass. She slid her glasses on.
“Actually, yes, I was looking for you,” she managed to say coolly. “We need to talk about Corrine.”
Good save there.
“It’s taken care of.” The smirk didn’t leave his face. “I sent an officer over a few minutes ago, but we don’t have the manpower for anything long term.”
“She needs protection.”
He grimaced. “I’ll do what I can.” The smirk returned, dimples defining its edges. “In the meantime, I’ll give you a tour of my place, since you’re obviously curious. Or did you just miss me?”
An unwilling smile forced itself onto her face. She tried to stop it, but Grant was just too good-looking, too cute.
“I’ll plead the fifth.” She gestured to his shirt which sported damp spots as though he’d just jumped out of the shower. She tried to ignore how the clothing clung to his body. “I thought you were at work.”
“Crazy Al marked his territory on me.”
“You’re kidding.”
Grant grimaced. “Wish I were. Do you want to come in for a drink? It’s hot out here.”
Temptation to see Grant’s house rushed through Rachel and had her nodding a little too eagerly. She followed him up the walkway to his front door.
His house smelled good. Like cinnamon and leather. She slipped off her flip-flops and trailed Grant into the kitchen, an open, tiled room with pale oak cabinets and sparse countertops.
“Nice house.”
“Thanks. I bought it before the market fully recovered. Got a good deal.” He opened the fridge. “Sweet tea, soda or water?”
She couldn’t resist peering over his shoulder. “Coke is fine.” His fridge was bare but for drinks and a few Lunchables. Typical single guy.
Fighting another smile, Rachel took an icy Coke from him and popped the tab. “Thank you.” She sipped qu
ietly, watching Grant pour himself sweet tea, noticing the way his muscles rippled and moved beneath his shirt. Now that she was close to him the scent of his shampoo surrounded her, and despite the soda, her mouth dried.
This guy liked her.
He’d taken her on an amazing date last night.
He put the pitcher of tea back in the fridge while Rachel tried to get a handle on her runaway emotions.
There was a reason he had a reputation. The man knew how to treat women. She had to remember that. This whole romance was getting in the way of her life.
Grant turned to her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “How did you sleep last night?”
Rachel wet her lips. “Pretty good.” She almost told him how Maggie woke her up but remembered in time that he’d been looking for her sister. Maggie didn’t need an interrogation about whatever he wanted to know.
“I’m off work. Are you hungry?”
“Um, actually, I should go back home.”
“Got a case?”
“Possible insurance fraud.”
He nodded.
“You really do have a nice place.” The soda can burned her hands with its coldness. “Everything’s okay with Corrine?”
“Should be. I’ll check in and let you know.”
“Thanks.” She almost called him her hero, but it felt a little to Maggie-esque. A little too flirtatious and needy.
So she hugged her Coke close to her heart and flipped him a smile. “I’m taking your word for it.”
He grinned. “Corrine’s going to be fine.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Corrine was dead.
Three days later, Rachel swept wet strands of hair from her face as pallbearers lowered the casket into Manatee Bay’s only cemetery. Drizzle coated the ground with a dull sheen and the few people who’d attended the funeral held umbrellas close to their faces.
She could hardly bear to look and yet some twisted force kept her gaze pinned to the grave. Clenching her jaw, she blinked as droplets clung to her eyelashes and rolled down her face.
“You need an umbrella.” Grant sidled next to her, his cologne an intoxicating irritant.
Rachel shrugged away from him, anger a hard knot in her chest. “It’s a warm rain. I’ll be fine.”
The pallbearers stepped back. Now that the casket was lowered, people began to filter away from the site. One lady didn’t move. From this distance she looked like she was sobbing.
Throat tightening, Rachel blinked again.
“You haven’t been answering my calls,” Grant said softly. He popped the umbrella open and put it over her head. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“She didn’t tell me anything, if you’re looking for facts.” Rachel pressed her lips together and forced herself not to wipe her cheeks. No weakness in front of him.
He moved in front of her, touching her chin. Affronted, she glared at him and then realized that’s what he’d wanted. To look into her eyes. The grim day made his irises unnaturally blue, electric almost, and she found herself unable to look away.
“You blame me,” he said, raw hurt in his tone.
“She should’ve never gone home.” The night after she’d left Grant, after he told her Corrine would be fine, he’d called two hours later with the news that his officer had found Corrine in an alley near her home.
Dead.
They’d been too late. Because the police station let her go home. Because Rachel left her alone. Because Grant had been too busy dealing with Crazy Al to get an officer out there sooner.
Yeah, she blamed everyone, but mostly she blamed Corrine.
“Corrine made her choices,” Grant said as if he read her thoughts. There were circles beneath his eyes and a short beard forming on his chin.
“I’m angry,” Rachel acknowledged.
Grant sighed, finally looking away, past Rachel to the gravestones around them. He was still holding the umbrella over her head. Protecting her.
“She didn’t tell us who her attacker was.”
Surprise rippled through Rachel. “Really?”
“We let her go home because she insisted. Even after we—”
“Discovered her relation to Slasher,” she finished.
“You knew.”
Rachel reached for the umbrella and Grant let her have it. She could protect herself. “She mentioned it. I wish I would’ve told you.”
Grant looked at her then, his expression intent. “You should trust me. Us.”
What did she say to that?
“I’m still working on trusting God,” she halfway-joked.
The rain had eased and a light mist crept through the cemetery. Its swirling eddies curled around gravestones and shrouded the lone woman at Corrine’s grave. Was she thinking of a little girl who’d been beautiful?
“Did Corrine tell you anything else?” Grant finally asked.
“Not enough.” Now she’d never know how the mayor was connected to Slasher. “Any evidence on who killed her?”
“Some.”
“Don’t mess this investigation up.”
“You’ve got some nerve, Rachel.” Grant took the umbrella back. His thumb grazed her knuckles.
“Why? Because I don’t want to see the wrong person arrested this time?”
“You referring to Lee?” His eyes narrowed. She could practically see his hackles rising.
“You messed up once. You could do it again.”
Grant brought his face close to hers, so close she felt the heat of his breath fanning her cheek, the dilation of his pupils. “I didn’t mess anything up.”
Rachel jutted her chin, ignoring the warmth in her belly at his nearness, or how her breath snagged in her chest. “Your partners then?” The words came out in an embarrassingly breathless way.
“The past doesn’t matter, so quit bringing it up.” He backed away then, a stony look in his eyes.
“The past matters to me.” She pushed her drying, frizzing hair from her face. “It determines so much of our future.”
“Not always. Sometimes we need to let go of the past.”
Rachel’s mouth dried at the intensity of his gaze. It was as though he looked right into her soul. That he saw her deepest fears…that he knew about Maggie and Scott. Swallowing, she inclined her head in a surrender. “That’s true.”
Movement caught her attention. The sobbing woman was finally leaving Corrine’s grave. Trudging across rain-slopped grass, shoulders hunched. “Is that Corrine’s mother?”
“Yes. She’s leaving tomorrow.”
“For?”
“Home.”
“I’m going to give her my condolences.”
Grant put a hand on her shoulder. It was warm, heavy. Rachel wanted to melt beneath it.
“Leave her alone.”
All thoughts of melting fled. “Excuse me?”
“She’s grieving. Whatever evidence you’re after, now’s not the time.”
Rachel watched in disappointment as the woman reached her car. Seconds more and she could talk with her.
The overcast clouds broke apart and a beam of light splayed across the cemetery. The woman drove away.
She turned to look at the man whose hand still lay on her shoulder. His eyes sparkled beneath the gentle sun.
“Stay with me,” Grant said.
***
During the next week, Rachel floated. Although she and Grant didn’t have any more dates during the work week, he found out she went running in the mornings and asked if he could join her. They met at the park and trekked four miles in companionable exercise.
Rachel didn’t know what to make of their runs but decided to take things as they came. Two weeks after their date, Rachel left her office happier than a clam at sea. Right before closing, one of her internet feelers located an interesting tidbit of information. She almost called Grant but stopped herself just in time.
Instead, she loaded up her SUV and headed home. She dialed Maggie as she cruised down the interstate.
Her sister answered with a shout. “Yeah?”
“Are you making dinner tonight?”
“Planning on it.” A swell of noise cut off Maggie’s next words.
“You’re not having a party at my house, are you?”
“No.” The next words got lost beneath talking.
“Maggie?” Rachel frowned, swerving into the left lane and mashing the gas. “I’m coming home right now. My house better not be a mess.”
Maggie didn’t answer and the call dropped. Frustrated and annoyed, Rachel tossed her phone to the passenger seat. Getting home took forever thanks to a gas stop and a three-car pileup on the interstate. No one dead though, according to her scanner.
When she pulled up to the apartment, dusk had settled over Manatee Bay. A deep exhalation ballooned out of her and tension she didn’t realize she’d been holding onto left her body. Maybe all that noise she’d heard on the phone had only been the television.
She grabbed her laptop and purse before sliding out of the car, locking it, and striding up her walkway. Her apartment windows were dark. So no dinner tonight, since Maggie was MIA, but at least she didn’t have to face people.
She needed quiet to soak in the latest bit of information on Owens. It wouldn’t hurt to send off an e-mail to one of her fed friends. Maybe Ashley Cain, who knew faces. She could ID people she’d only seen once in a crowd, a kind of super-photographic memory that earned her a place high up in the fed hierarchy.
Rachel turned the key in the lock and swung the door open. Silence greeted her. The darkened house smelled funny though. A conglomeration of perfume, food and—
“Surprise!”
Rachel shrieked and reached for pepper spray as people jumped up from all corners of her tiny living room. They poured out of the kitchen and Rachel about fainted.
Pressed against her front door, pepper spray at the ready, she eyed her “guests.” Streamers wafted around the low ceiling as balloons bounced against her couch.
Katrina emerged from the crowd of faces, a silly grin on her face. “Happy birthday, Grumpy.”
Birthday? Rachel lowered the spray and straightened. A smile started tugging at her lips but she fought it, choosing to glower at her friend instead. “My birthday is next week.”
Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 15
