by Tara Randel
Eloise held back a groan. Despite purchasing skeins of yarn and supplies during her shopping trip with Martha, Eloise still hadn’t mastered the technique, no matter how many times she watched a tutorial on YouTube.
Stella’s long fingernails snagged on the unraveled yarn in her lap. “I don’t see the appeal,” she groused as she tried to roll it into a ball.
“Stella, dear, you spend too many hours shopping,” Martha gently scolded. “Why not sit back and make something of your own?”
Holding up a long length of yellow yarn, Stella said, “Because buying already made is easier.”
“But not as much fun.”
Eloise, who had already wound her yarn of variegated shades of blue into a ball, tried to maneuver the needles. “We can do this, Stella. After all, we’ve both tackled Rico’s office.”
Stella snorted. “I got tired of yelling at him all the time. Truthfully, the office was my domain when I worked there. It wasn’t until he started pulling in extra work that he sent me on my way, extra cash in my pocket.” The woman’s exotic eyes barely hid a sheen of hurt. “I’m not complaining, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think my husband was trying to get me out of the way.”
Hmm. Rico had cause to prevent his wife from working at the office. If he went so far as to throw cash at Stella as a way to keep her busy, Eloise wagered Stella had no clue why.
Listening intently to Martha’s instructions, Stella muttered under her breath.
Not wanting to push the conversation about the auto shop, Eloise focused on the task at hand and slowly got the hang of it. She should make Dante a scarf, not that he’d probably use it here in Florida, but it was the thought that counted. As she listened to her guests talk about their lives, husbands and children, a pervading sense of shame made her uneasy.
These women were fast becoming her friends. Yet here she sat, a fraud. And worse, her actions would definitely hurt Stella. Yes, her husband may be a criminal, but Eloise never got the impression Stella was involved in his activities. The earlier thread of their conversation confirmed this. Dante had warned her to distance herself emotionally, but how could she do that? She needed to spend time with the neighbors to keep her cover, but these were good people. She liked them. Especially Martha.
She’d miss sharing early-morning coffee with her elderly neighbor when she went back to work at the department. She and Martha talked easily about any topic. Eloise had revealed a bit of her unhappy childhood and was rewarded by Martha’s concern and assurance that Eloise had turned out just fine. They’d grown close in such a short time and Eloise cherished spending time with a woman she was quickly coming to think of as family.
And what of the others? She wouldn’t see Betsy running after little Baxter in the yard. Wouldn’t go shopping with Stella, but then again, if Rico was in as deep as Dante thought, Stella wouldn’t be engaging in any more high-end shopping trips, anyway. And what about their kids? What would happen to them?
If the ache in her chest was any indication, maybe her own parents not encouraging personal relationships hadn’t been such a bad idea. She was starting to feel part of a circle of friends, and once the investigation was over, she’d be alone, like she’d always been.
Hot tears blurred her vision. Trying to blink them away without anyone noticing, she looked up and met Martha’s gaze. Compassion sparkled in the other woman’s eyes. What did she know? And how could Eloise hide her emotions from this kind woman?
“I’m going to make some more coffee,” Eloise announced, abandoning her knitting needles and yarn to escape into the kitchen.
Once away from curious eyes, she rested her hands on the counter and took deep breaths. Gaining control, she dumped the old grounds from the basket and proceeded to fill a clean filter with scoops of fresh coffee.
“Is something wrong, dear?”
Eloise angled her back to Martha, closing her eyes. Now what did she do?
“It’s nothing.”
“Sure seems like something to me.”
Eloise could hear Martha crossing the room. “Are things okay with Dan?”
Briskly wiping her eyes, Eloise turned. “We’re fine.”
“His odd hours aren’t bothering you?”
“No. I get to spend mornings with him.”
“Then what is it?”
“I...” She turned, waved her hand in the direction of the other room. “You’ve all accepted me so easily.”
“Why wouldn’t we? You’re a very special woman.”
No, I’m not.
“What if I can’t live up to your friendships?” she questioned, guilt hounding her.
“You already passed the test by opening your home to us and getting Stella to a neighborhood function that doesn’t require hours spent in the mall.”
The knife in her heart twisted. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Martha moved closer, placed a comforting hand on Eloise’s arm. “I suspect there’s more going on here.”
Throat clogged, all Eloise could do was nod.
“My dear, don’t worry about what others think. You must be true to yourself.”
Did her truth only consist of the job? Getting the promotion? What about these women? What about her growing feelings for Dante?
When she’d first been given the assignment, her focus had been all about apprehending the bad guys. That was the part of law enforcement that gave her satisfaction—getting criminals off the street. To protect and serve. But in serving, she was deceiving these good people, the ones who deserved her full protection.
If anything, going undercover magnified her goal of attaining the promotion. She belonged in the office, not here among people she’d never see again. She knew what she wanted: dealing with procedural issues rather than in the thick of an operation. She had to carry through, successfully, to move up in rank, even if it meant Dante didn’t get the sergeant’s position.
And that made her feel just as bad as lying to these women.
“I just think I want more for my life.”
“You aren’t happy being married?”
“No. Dan is great and we get along. It’s just...”
“Just what, dear?”
“Living here these past few weeks has been a whole new world for me. I’ll miss it.”
“Why on earth would you miss it? Unless...” Martha’s face fell. “Are you thinking of leaving?”
“No. I mean, maybe eventually.” Eloise shook her head. “I’ve enjoyed our times together. You’ve treated me like family and I’ll never forget it.”
“You’re starting to worry me.”
Eloise swiped at her watery eyes. “I’m just being silly. Grateful you’re all here and ready to get back to our crafting.”
Martha grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter. “When you’re ready to confide in me, I’m only a short walk away,” Martha told her. “We’ll straighten this out.”
If only that were true. By the time this op wrapped up, Eloise would be back home and these friends would wonder whatever happened to Ellie and Dan Smith. All her training hadn’t equipped her for the reality of the emotions resulting from being undercover.
Taking the tissue, Eloise blotted her eyes. Isn’t this what she’d always wanted? To feel included? Why did she have to discover it now?
“Where’s the... Oh.” Betsy stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Eloise placed a hand over her swirling stomach. So much for keeping her gloomy mood a secret. She dashed a quick glance at Martha, then said, “It’s okay. We were just chatting.”
Betsy tilted her head, looked down at the hand Eloise had placed over her stomach and back up again. “You do seem a little...emotional today.”
Eloise waved the tissue and laughed. “Don’t mind me. It’s nothing.”
“Wh
at’s nothing?” Stella asked as she joined the group, followed by Marie, who carried the nearly empty muffin tray and set it on the table.
“Eloise is crying over nothing,” Betsy answered.
The room went silent. As the women exchanged glances, Eloise realized the dynamic had changed and she had no idea what was going on.
“And how long have you been upset over nothing?” Stella asked.
“I don’t know. Recently.”
“Is your stomach upset?” Marie asked.
“A little. What’s with all the questions?”
Marie’s head began to bob up and down. A knowing smile spread over Stella’s lips. Then Betsy burst out, “Oh, my gosh. You’re pregnant!”
Eloise blinked. Pregnant. What on earth...?
“I recognize the look,” Betsy went on to say. “You’ve been preoccupied all morning and you have that queasy tummy expression.”
“No. I’m not pregnant.”
“Have you taken a test?” Stella asked.
“No. Because I’m not pregnant.”
“How can you be sure if you don’t take the test?” Marie asked as if Eloise were dense.
“Oh, dear,” Martha muttered. “I’m afraid I’ve opened a can of worms.”
“It’s okay,” Betsy said. “We were bound to find out soon enough.”
“I’m not pregnant,” Eloise repeated, drowned out by the flurry of comments and advice.
“I have a wonderful doctor I can refer you to,” Betsy said.
“Oh, and we must go shopping for baby clothes,” Stella interjected.
Frustrated now, Eloise held up her hands and said loudly, “I’m not pregnant,” just as the door to the garage opened and Dante stepped into the kitchen.
* * *
PREGNANT? ELOISE? DANTE stopped in his tracks.
The women went silent when he appeared, then they started talking all at once. He only had eyes for Eloise, her cheeks a bright red and a beseeching expression in her eyes.
He pushed his way through the group and leaned against the counter beside her. “Ellie, do you have something to tell me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Help,” she whispered.
Taking pity on her, he held up a hand. “Ladies. How about you give my wife and me a minute.”
The ladies happily agreed, moving back to the living room talking about babies and child rearing.
He struggled not to laugh. “Pregnant?”
“Martha and I were talking and I was kind of crying and Betsy jumped to conclusions.”
He raised a brow.
“It would make sense if you’d been here.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t,” he replied, grabbing a muffin and taking a bite.
“I wish I wasn’t.”
Chuckling, he finished off the muffin.
“What’re you doing home? Thought you had a special morning shift.”
“Rico let us go.”
“Anything new happen?”
“Nah. Same old.”
Since the night Dante had been sure Ramsey was following them, he hadn’t learned anything new, but had heard an interesting conversation today before heading home.
“I should probably go in there,” Eloise said, dread evident in her voice.
“It’s not a firing squad,” he teased. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Really? No one thinks you’re pregnant.”
“Yeah, well...impossible.”
She playfully punched him in the arm and left the room.
Grinning, he went to his room and gathered up a change of clothing. Discreetly carrying a T-shirt and jeans to the master bedroom, he went inside and closed the door to change. When he reemerged, he leaned against the doorjamb, watching Eloise. The needles in her hands clicked as she threaded yarn over her fingers, top teeth worrying her lower lip. Could she be any more beautiful? Once he took his eyes from her, he noticed all the women were smiling at him and he understood Eloise’s predicament. So he did what every good husband who didn’t want to be a part of the conversation did; he escaped to the garage to work on his muscle car.
With a yank, he raised the garage door to let in the spring breeze. Before hoisting the hood, he gazed around. On the walls and piled in corners were years of stuff suburban homeowners collected. A box marked Christmas Tree on an overhead rack next to boxes with the printed word Ornaments. Tools neatly lined the workbench. A washer and dryer sat in the far corner near the kitchen door. Dust and cement gave the space a musty scent. He moved to the bench and opened his tool chest, the metal cool under his fingers. The sense of contentment that came whenever he began to turn wrenches soothed him.
He was getting antsy; he could feel it. Things at the auto garage were moving too slowly, but he hoped that would change. He’d overheard Rico talking on the phone, making a big deal about Tuesday night. He was more than ready for something important to happen.
Shaking off his mood, since he still had the weekend to get through, he focused on the pristine car engine. He’d been playing around with it for a while, adding specific requests from the buyer he’d already had lined up. Even though he was on the job, he’d promised a due date for the customer and needed to keep working.
You could do this full-time.
The voice that reminded him he could make a good living from his mechanic skills mocked him. It hadn’t been the first time, and like all the times before, he brushed it away. Ignored it. You’re a cop, like your father and brothers.
Grabbing a socket wrench, he blocked the words he didn’t want to hear and went to work. Engrossed in the project, he didn’t realize how much time had passed until the ladies were in the driveway saying their goodbyes. Minutes later, Eloise came into the garage, two glasses of iced tea in hand. She set his on the workbench.
From her pensive look, he concluded she had something on her mind. He waited while she unfolded a lawn chair, set it at the head of the car and took a seat.
Finally, she said, “How do you do this?”
He knew she was talking about the job. “Pretend?”
She nodded.
“I’d say it gets easier, but it doesn’t. I guess over time you just learn to handle it better. When the perp goes to jail and you’ve done your job, the end justifies the means.”
“What about the people who end up being collateral damage?”
“There will always be those people. But we have to remember why we do the job.”
Taking a sip of her tea, she stared at the headlights. When she didn’t speak again, he went back to work, enjoying the companionable silence.
“You really like working with tools, don’t you? You seem less...” She looked at the ceiling as she came up with the word. “Fidgety.”
He wasn’t surprised Eloise noticed. She had a keen eye.
“Tinkering with cars either helps me work through a problem or gives me some downtime. Depends what’s going on in my life.”
“I’m like that at the department. I actually like writing reports. Documenting an arrest or procedure.”
“Everyone knows.”
A slight grin curved her lips. “My parents wanted me to be a college professor. Like them. They were shocked when I decided on law enforcement.”
“I could see you in the ivory tower.”
“I love to read and am happiest with a book in my hands, but I wanted to do something more productive. More tangible. There is nothing wrong with teaching the classics, but my folks never considered anything beyond that world. I wanted more and the idea of protecting people’s safety latched onto my brain and wouldn’t let go.”
“Do you see your folks much?”
“Not often. They’re busy and I don’t always fit into their schedule.”
“That’s cold.”
“No. It’s my parents. I’ve
learned to accept we’ll never be a warm, loving family.”
“But you’d like to be.”
“Yes. I suppose that’s why bonding with these new friends bothers me so much.”
“I get it.”
A car zoomed down the street, followed by an angry yell. Silence returned, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird.
“What’s it like?” Eloise asked. “Coming from a large family?”
He leaned over the side of the car to peer in, loosening a bolt. “Claustrophobic.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
He lifted a brow at her dreamy expression. “I could see, as an only child, why you’d feel that way.”
“But you don’t?”
They were going to have this conversation? With a sigh, he stood, rested his hip against the Challenger. Decided what he should tell her.
“It was great when we were kids. We did all the usual stuff—family vacations, holiday dinners, birthday parties. My mom fussed over all her boys.” He paused. Swallowed hard. “She was devastated when Dad died.”
“So all of you, being good sons, decided to become overly protective?”
“We do keep an eye out for her. She’s never been interested in another man before, so you can understand our concern.”
“Maybe she’s ready to move on with her life.”
“And maybe we reserve the right to check up on any guy she starts dating.”
Eloise’s brow wrinkled. “That is awfully intrusive.”
“Fair play,” he said, glimpsing Eloise’s annoyed expression. “You’ve never met my mother. She’s made the act of interference an art. If I’d even breathed the fact that I had a female partner and we were pretending to be married, she’d already have a date at the church, reception venue booked and the baby room all planned out, even though we’re on the job, not dating.”
Eloise blinked like a deer in the headlights. “Oh, my.”
“Yeah.” He grinned, pride in his voice when he said, “She’s good.”
“Okay, your mom is a bit intense. And you and your brothers were competitive growing up. Sounds idyllic to me.”
