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

by Jessica Nelson

  He felt her scrutiny. “No, I’d never think that of you.”

  Her lips relaxed and it was as though a softness entered the truck. Her smile kept doing that to him. Knocking things off balance, making it hard to concentrate.

  “I found his daughter.” The seats groaned as she shifted to a new position.

  Grant pulled onto Murphy Street. Up ahead, strobe lights cast blue and red circles against the shadowed trees.

  “Runaway?”

  She nodded, her attention fastened to the scene in front of them. “He couldn’t afford to pay me. Had to put her in the hospital, she was so sick. I told him not to worry about it. A year later he died. She brought me the SUV and said he’d left it to me in his will.”

  “You’re driving a dead man’s truck?” That was a little strange.

  “I only saw him drive a Mercedes. The Escalade must’ve been sitting in his garage. But technically he’s not dead. He’s in heaven.”

  Grant gave her a look while parking on the sidewalk. Most people didn’t think of things like that. He was pleasantly surprised that Rachel did.

  He surveyed the scene ahead of them. He’d have to walk a bit to get to there. And he hadn’t beat the ME. The white truck parked at the edge of the property taunted him, reminding him to push for more money to get a few more investigators instead of relying on the State Police Forensic Investigation Unit.

  Oh. well. He’d just have to dig a little to get the details.

  He hopped out and started for the scene. Behind him, a door slammed. He turned around. Rachel’s long legs stretched in their usual march as she barreled toward him. She always looked like a woman with a goal. What was her objective now?

  Too bad he knew. “Go back to the truck.”

  “Shouldn’t we get there before anything gets tampered with?”

  “I’m the lead guy on this, so yeah, I’m getting there as fast as I can without running. I want you to wait for me.”

  “I’ll stand outside the scene’s perimeters.” She studied him and even by moonlight he could see a question in her posture. “Why are you lead and not Chief Weathers?”

  She wanted the truth. Because he respected her, he would give what he could. “I have the experience.”

  “So where’s the chief? Shouldn’t he be here too?”

  He shifted his stance, rocking back on his heels. “The chief is resigning.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know. He’s getting old, maybe doesn’t care as much.”

  “That doesn’t sound like him.”

  “He’s changed.”

  Her lips parted in a smile. “Too bad you’re not the chief.”

  “I’m not sure this town could forget the wild kid I used to be.”

  Her smile twitched.

  “My past will always be there,” he grumbled.

  “No one remembers the kid you used to be. We all know you’re an upright, rule-following citizen, determined to make sure everyone else follows the law to the letter.” She smirked.

  Grant’s throat moved in a dry swallow. Despite the bustle only feet away, he suddenly wanted to hug her and tell her how much her words meant to him. For a long time he’d been trying to show everyone how good he was. Trying to earn respect. He’d never verbalized it and now that she had, he realized how silly it sounded. And empty. People respected him. He’d earned it.

  Thank you, God.

  Instead of hugging Rachel, he winked at her. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I’m always right,” she informed him, waggling her eyebrows in a light-hearted way.

  “Sure.” He couldn’t resist. He bent down to kiss her, but at the last minute angled to her cheek. There was a surprised intake of breath, her breath. He both heard and felt it, and had to force himself to step back after a quick brush of his lips against her cheek.

  He straightened. “Let’s get to the crime scene. Remember to stay outside the perimeters.”

  She nodded dutifully, but the movement didn’t fool him. Forcing back a sense of doom, he plunged toward the crime scene.

  ***

  Rachel hadn’t expected her first crime scene to be a murder, but apparently Grant was full of surprises.

  “Homicide,” he told her gently, then left her standing at the edge of the dilapidated house behind some carefully hung yellow tape. She backed into some dried up shrubbery and waited. From the smell of things, the victim had been there awhile. In this neighborhood, reporting a body stayed low on the to-do list.

  Despite that reality, she was shocked to the core. Another murder? Hadn't Corrine's been enough?

  She shuddered and stepped closer to the medical examiner’s van. People bustled everywhere. Photographers, crime scene investigators and even a guy who looked like he might be a reporter. His beady eyes and pinched expression made her think everyone was giving him the brush-off.

  Two hours of long waiting crawled by before a clatter broke the steady sounds of movement as two men pushed a gurney towards the van. A lump rested atop the gurney and she had to swallow back a sudden surge of nausea.

  She scurried out of the guy’s way and hid in a shadow. No one could pay her to be close to that stinkage. A dead body. She shivered and worked hard to keep from gagging.

  Probably a junkie, if the victim was from this side of town.

  The scent of cinnamon wafted beneath her nose. She felt Grant slide next to her. “Drug deal gone bad?” she asked.

  He shook his head and she could sense the worry in him. Maybe by the way his fingers curled into fists. “Number one dealer in Manatee Bay. Conveniently dead.”

  So someone had offed Slasher. Justice.

  She studied Grant. “Isn’t that good?”

  “Yeah, kind of.”

  “What do you mean kind of?”

  “Charlie’s taking you home.”

  “What? Why?” Grant wants to protect you.

  “Rachel, I don’t have time to answer a quiz. Let’s go.” He nudged her arm, then applied a more forceful pressure when she didn’t budge. “I don’t need you nosing around right now, stirring up trouble. I’ve got a full night ahead of me.”

  She should’ve known he’d keep her out of any information. Same old cop games, just a different player. She planted her feet firmly in the dirt.

  His jaw hardened beneath the glare of the strobes. “I’m not doing this with you. Either you start moving or I’m going to carry you to Charlie.”

  Her knees locked. She clenched her fingers and then relaxed them. “Try it, buddy, and see what happens.”

  He reached for her, and quicker than she could react, flung her over his shoulder. The muscled knot of his shoulder dug into her stomach and for a second she lost her breath. Then she sucked it in and nipped him on the back.

  He jerked, his grunt punctuating the night, and momentarily his hands released her legs. She slipped forward, suspended, breath stuck somewhere in her throat, but before she nose-dived, he hoisted her back and secured her knees against his chest. He’d almost dumped her on the ground.

  She almost wanted him to.

  Then she could blast him for his Neanderthal behavior. Instead, he flopped her to her feet, letting go as soon as they planted firmly on the ground. Which was fine. If he hadn’t let go, she would’ve pulled away.

  His arms crossed and his voice came out as tight and hard as his biceps. “Don’t push me.”

  “Me?” She stabbed a finger at him. “I ask a simple question and you hoist me over your shoulder like some…some...” The boiling of her blood tied her tongue, so she resorted to a glare.

  He had the audacity to laugh, a full chuckle that rolled down her spine and gentled the hot rush of temper.

  “It’s not funny,” she spat out, determined to ignore her reaction to his laugh. He wouldn’t get out of this so easily. “That was humiliating.”

  Once he caught his breath, he reached for her elbow and she let him lead her toward the truck. “Relax. No one saw.”

  �
��That’s not the point. I want to know why you’re not happy one more dealer is off the streets.”

  Grant stopped hauling her and she pulled her arm away.

  Swiping a hand over his face, he sighed. “He’s a person, Rachel. I’m not happy he’s dead.”

  Frustration reared but she bit her tongue until she could speak nicely. “Of course not.”

  He quickened his pace towards the truck and she hurried to catch up. He wasn’t even going to answer her?

  A thought occurred to her. “Hey, you said “conveniently”. As though you wanted the guy alive for a reason.”

  His blond curls mocked her, the rustle of his jacket grated.

  She skidded to a stop. “Answer me.”

  No yelling, just a simple request that shouldn’t have lit him on fire. But it did. One moment she was glowering at the back of his head, the next he was advancing like a jungle cat, eyes slitted and predatory.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  “Stop nagging me.” He whispered it, harsh and thick, then swung around and left her goose-pimpled in the night.

  She hurried to catch up, jumping when an engine rolled over. Just ahead Charlie’s rusted-out truck parked crooked at the curb. A quick grasp of the door and she slid into Charlie’s car. Tobacco and country music immediately welcomed her. Charlie grinned at her and backed away from the crime scene, leaving Grant standing beneath the wash of headlights, a scowl on his face.

  “Everything okay, darlin’?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered sullenly. She turned to face the window while Charlie blasted a Hank Williams tune. As he drove, she barely heard the music. She replayed her interaction with Grant, besieged by strange doubts and uncertainties.

  Had she been nagging Grant? Hounding him the way her mother had hounded her dad? The thought dug open a place long buried, and she couldn’t stop the emotions rising to her chest, to her eyes, burning the lids and making street lamps wavy yellow streaks.

  Was there more of her mom in her than she wanted to admit? She’d prided herself on being completely different, independent, but now she was sure the plan had backfired.

  When Charlie dropped her off at her apartment, she slid out quickly, returning his smile with a tight grimace she hoped he couldn’t see through. Beneath her fingers the door to his car flipped shut, gunshot loud in the stillness of her neighborhood. She grimaced.

  Waving, she spun around and stalked to the house. Pausing at her door, she dug for the keys in her purse. What Grant felt about her mattered, she conceded as she stuck the key in the lock. The last thing she wanted was for him to think of her as a nag.

  The front door eased open and she slid in. She sniffed. Chocolate. The rich scent filled her home. Maggie lay on the couch, toes propped on the coffee table, a hunk of brownie resting on a napkin in her hand.

  Rachel closed the door behind her. “No eating on the couch.” She pulled off her shoes, not missing Maggie’s eye roll.

  She trudged into the living room and sank down next to her sister. Shame still burned in her chest. The cool leather of the couch felt good against her cheek. She pulled her knees to her chest and eyed Maggie.

  “Go get your own,” said Maggie.

  “I don’t want any.”

  “Then why are you staring at mine like a hungry grizzly?”

  “A grizzly?” She snorted. “Actually, I’m upset.”

  “Hmmm.” Maggie licked a finger. “Not mad?” A bright gleam of interest sparked in her gaze.

  “No, not mad.” Rachel hesitated. Baring her soul to Maggie could be a huge mistake. One she’d pay for many times over. Or it could be a step towards healing.

  I have to risk it, God. I have to try to walk out this forgiveness.

  With the prayer came a strange peace, lapping over her like the gentle waves of Key Largo. “I talked to mom.”

  “She denied it?”

  “Threw her curling iron at me.”

  Maggie chuckled. “I hope you ducked.”

  “Trust me, instincts like that don’t fade.” She made a wry face and Maggie responded by sticking out her tongue. They both laughed, and the sound relieved her of any lasting fears. This was the sister she’d known once. This carefree, chocolate-eating woman beside her. No doubt Maggie had learned her lessons just as she had.

  “Both mom and dad strayed, even if she denies it. Why does it bother you so much?” Maggie popped the last bit of brownie into her mouth and wiped her fingers on the napkin in her lap.

  “Bitterness?” Rachel sighed, leaning her forehead against her knees. “Then with Scott I thought things were safe.” She peeked out from her knees, just to make sure Maggie wasn’t about to explode or cry. She wasn’t; she looked curious. “Scott wasn’t safe at all. And now Grant…”

  “Ah.” Maggie swung her legs up onto the couch and then tucked her feet beneath her knees, cross-legged. "They're different people. Grant strikes me as a strong kind of guy, good character. I've seen him in Wiley's before, as a customer and on business. He's honorable."

  “He told me not to nag him.” Did her voice really sound that forlorn? That wasn’t like her. She forced herself to sit up straight, scowling when she saw the grin on Maggie’s face.

  “Oh, come on, Rachel. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “You nag people all the time.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yeah.” Her head jutted forward. “You do.”

  “So I’m like mom?” That surge of white hot anger zipped through her. It wasn’t fair. Not when she’d tried so hard to be different. To be better.

  Maggie laughed, loud, like a clear bell on a cold night. The sound shimmered through the room. “You’re so silly.”

  “It’s not silly to dread being like mom.”

  “Ha.” And she had the audacity to laugh again. “You’re nothing like her. Your nagging actually accomplishes stuff. It’s what makes you good at what you do. You help people.”

  “I don’t want to be annoying,” she said through stiff lips.

  Auburn strands danced over Maggie’s shoulders as she shook her head. “It’s who you are. Call it persistent, if you want.” She reached over and patted Rachel’s knee. “No worries, sis. You couldn’t be like mom in a million years.”

  A growl filled the room. Miss Priss shot across the carpet as though the mere mention of Rachel resembling Mom lit her tail on fire. Maggie snickered.

  Rachel grinned, feeling suddenly light-hearted. “Maybe I do need a brownie.”

  ***

  The next morning Rachel hummed as she organized her contracts and files. The scent of the hyacinths sitting on her file cabinet was just strong enough to give the office a pleasant aroma. Besides the rush of the air conditioner and the sound of traffic outside, no other distractions invaded her space.

  Scanning the folder in her hand, she frowned. Where were the As? Oh, by the fichus tree in the corner. She flipped the Alexander case to her left.

  Ds. She paused, searching until she found that pile behind her foot. D’Oronico’s, there. All these files were stored in her computer, but she liked to keep a paper copy too, just in case the computer crashed.

  Kind of like she had last night. Very embarrassing. She cringed to remember her behavior with Grant.

  She flipped another folder onto the desk. Nagging was something she’d done for a long time, both to get her way and to discover truths. It was a part of who she was, though maybe it was time to temper that part of her nature.

  Maggie’s forthright assurance last night had been balm to an open wound. Because she didn’t want to be like her mom. Ever.

  Glancing at her desk, she saw her Bible still opened to Peter. God wanted her to rely on him. It was a simple concept, really. And yet, somehow she hadn’t been putting it into practice. Instead, she’d been trusting herself in everything. To pick out the right guy, to avenge Maggie, to be different than her parents.

  Ridiculous. N
o one could be as strong as God. Nothing good could come of her own self-reliance.

  I trust you, Jesus.

  No rules, just a determination to let Him be in charge.

  She chuckled as she sifted through the pile of papers on her floor. Flopped one folder beside her, another in front. She’d gone through the paperwork yesterday, sorting and filing, now she just needed to get all the folders together, alphabetically, and stick them in her cabinet.

  Mayor Owens’s file was somewhere on her desk, withering away from inattention. Oh, well. Maggie would go on with her life. Just because the mayor had said he didn’t have the funds, when he did, didn’t mean he was involved with illegal activities. That file labeled B could be anything. She should just push him to the side and forget about him.

  In the end, he stayed on her desk, the details of his life, activities and accounts bared. One more look, that was all. A few more connections to explore before she could be fully satisfied of his innocence.

  She was just shoving the last file into a drawer when her office door opened. A rush of warm air greeted the coolness of her office, followed quickly by a heavenly scent.

  Chinese food.

  Stomach rumbling, she thrust the drawer closed.

  “Hey there.” Grant carried two foil containers in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other. “Hungry?”

  “Starved. Thank you.”

  Rachel shut the door behind him, watching as he set the containers on her desk. A flush heated her cheeks. He seemed in a good mood for someone who’d been ticked with her last night. She waffled behind him. Should she apologize? Or just eat?

  Might as well get it over with. She stepped forward, stopping just as he turned towards her. They were inches apart, but she could smell cinnamon beneath the sweet and sour chicken scent that layered his cotton shirt.

  She looked up at him, her gaze resting on the dimples in his cheeks before meeting his eyes. “No work today?”

  “Tonight.” The corners of his eyes crinkled.

  “I guess you’re not going to the town barbecue on Sunday?”

  “I’ll be there. A little late probably.”

  “I’ll save you a seat.” Swallowing, she tried to work up the nerve to apologize. Nerve wasn’t usually so difficult, but apologies were. They dented the pride.