by Mary Behre
“Just a nightmare? Not a vision?”
“Not a vision,” she said too quickly. Guilt pinched at her already cramping stomach for the lie. After all, April never judged Jules when ghosts talked to her or sent visions winging into her head. This had been a vision of death . . . and more. This time, she’d witnessed a murder. But this time, no one would find out. “Just a nightmare,” she added, wishing it were true.
“Okay, good.” April’s relief echoed in the pause that followed, then she called through the door again, “Not to rush you, but we have a lot to go over at the store today.”
With her parents leaving Monday, she and April had a lot of work to do. Jules couldn’t let down the only woman in her life who’d always come through for her because some ghost sent her a vision. “Give me twenty minutes?”
“No problem, hon.”
Jules dragged the shower knob to the On position. She stripped and climbed beneath the spray. Ten minutes later, she felt almost human again. She dressed but with her stomach still clenching, she skipped breakfast, opting instead for a glass of juice.
“I don’t know if there’s enough time to show you everything before we leave,” April said to her before turning to Big Jim in the kitchen. “Maybe we should delay our trip to give her more time to learn her new job?”
“April, it’s not a new job,” Big Jim replied.
Jules finished her drink and rinsed out her glass as her parents continued to speak about her as if she weren’t standing three feet away.
“Yes, it is, Ernie.”
“April, she’s been running the books for the flower shop for over two years.”
“I know, but that was remotely. She wasn’t even living here.” April worried her lower lip and rubbed her protruding belly. “Don’t get me wrong, Juliana has done a fantastic job creating the website and managing the accounting system. But now she’s going to be in charge of the daily grind like deliveries, talking to customers, and resolving a thousand and one small issues that come up every day.”
Big Jim glanced Jules’s way, clearly inviting her into the conversation. He sighed and gave a little shrug as if tired of this particular topic.
Jules hid her smile and came to his rescue. “Speaking of deliveries, didn’t you say the delivery guy’s coming early today?”
April flicked her right wrist and stared at her blue and pink ribbon-faced watch. “Oh dear. We need to hurry.”
Sufficiently distracted, she grabbed her purse and waddled from the kitchen then across the small cream-colored living room littered with boxes. How she managed to move nimbly around the dozen cardboard containers packed with every possession she had, Jules wasn’t sure.
“I need to get my purse,” Jules called out to April, who pulled a small note pad out of her bag and scribbled. A staple of her wardrobe, April never went anywhere without the book. Well, until she climbed aboard the plane on Monday morning, then she’d entrust it to Jules. At least, that was the plan.
Jules headed toward her bedroom, the only room in the apartment devoid of cardboard. She bumped her knee into the corner of a box outside her door. “Shoot!”
“Foul-mouthed as always.” Big Jim chuckled, stepping into her room. He glanced around with a wry grin. “April insisted on painting this room the same color as your room from our old house.”
“At least I still love purple.” Jules turned to look for her purse, first on her nightstand, then under her bed.
She stood up empty-handed.
“Thanks for redirecting the conversation out there.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “April is really worried about the business, the babies, the move, visiting her mother . . . oh, everything. Not to mention, she wants you to feel safe and welcome.”
“I’ve noticed.” Jules smiled, gesturing to the walls. “It’s fine. I’m fine. The business will be fine. The babies will be fine.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” he breathed.
Jules gave Big Jim a hug. Despite his stature of five foot eight, only an inch taller than she was now, he seemed as big to her today as he had the day they met.
“Juliana!” April called from the hallway, her voice heavy with anxiety. “We can’t miss the delivery guy.”
Big Jim stepped back, his blue eyes twinkling. “You’d better go.”
“I just need to find my purse.” Jules turned her back to him and crossed to the faded pink velvet wingback chair in the corner by her window. It wasn’t there either.
“Are you sure you didn’t leave it somewhere? I don’t remember seeing it last night when Seth brought you home.”
“Dang,” she groaned. She’d been handcuffed—sans purse—when Big Jim had come to her aid the night before. “I left my purse in Officer Lambie-Jammies’s apartment.”
• • •
METAL SMASHED AGAINST pavement, startling Seth out of a sound sleep. He bolted upright in bed and glanced at the clock. Seven a.m.
From the street below, garbage collectors steadily emptied their cans. Damn, he needed more sleep or his morning caffeine infusion. Maybe both. He stumbled toward the open window and his bare foot connected with an object. The cool, smooth item slid across the hardwood floor, taking him with it.
Like something out of an old black-and-white slapstick movie, his feet flew above his head and his hands grappled at empty air. The back of his head smacked the floor as he landed on his back, the impact knocked the breath from him with an audible whoosh.
For a moment he lay there, checking his body for injury.
Nope. Nothing but a throbbing head and a slightly wounded ego.
He crawled to the window and tugged it closed, then he searched the ground for the offending object. A shiny black handbag lay in the middle of his bedroom.
The Happy Hooker left her purse. Wonderful!
Okay, so she wasn’t really a hooker. God had cursed him with a quirky, sexy new neighbor. Memories of her pinned between him and the wall assailed him. His body tightened. Her firm body had been deliciously soft in all the right places. He’d wanted to take her right there in the hallway, handcuffs and all. The desire to shove up her skirt and drive himself inside her until they were both weak with pleasure nearly overwhelmed his sense of propriety.
God! How had she done that? No one, not even his ex-wife, had ever turned him on so fast. And how could his new neighbor still do that to him now? Just thinking about her made his libido leap to attention.
For a completely unprofessional moment last night, he’d contemplated acting on his errant fantasy. Crazy! Then again, in all of his thirty-five years, he had never met anyone, suspect or otherwise, as sexy as Jules.
And, she’d smelled like strawberries. On her it had been an erotic aroma that teased his starved senses. He lifted the purse and inhaled but it held no trace of her scent.
What the hell am I doing?
He didn’t have time for this, his shift started soon. He flung the purse onto the foot of his bed. It bounced off and hit the hardwood floor, littering it with its contents. Bending over, he swiped up a first prize ribbon with the name “First Ho” stamped in the center. He chuckled despite himself. A black tube of lipstick stuck out from beneath the bed. Grabbing for it, his fingers grazed something thin and plastic. He pulled it out. A baggie of dried herbs dangled between his thumb and finger.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
Now what was he supposed to do? Disbelief had him sinking onto the bed. Unable to stand the sight of the drugs, he crushed the baggie in his fist. The Happy Hooker had left marijuana in his apartment.
Familiar bitterness burned in his gut. Memories of another junkie nearly ruining his life had him moving toward the bathroom before he could think better of it. He shouldn’t protect her, but his career couldn’t afford another hit. Drugs found in his home twice would definitely destroy any hopes he had of advancing on the force.
He emptied the filth into the toilet, flushing it in record time.
His stomach rumbled as the la
st of the dime bag disappeared down the commode. He had a sudden inexplicable craving for his mother’s lasagna. His Greek mother’s only non-Greek concession to his father’s half-British, half-Italian heritage.
Why am I craving lasagna?
Seth shoved aside the random thought and tossed the empty baggie, lipstick, and ribbon back into the purse. Laying it on the kitchen counter, he decided to return it after work. Maybe he’d have a little chat with his new neighbor about the consequences of drug use in his building. In the meantime, he needed a shower.
He headed toward the bathroom.
Three short raps sounded on his front door.
“This better be important.” He circled back, regretting that he hadn’t programmed his coffeemaker last night.
Flipping off the lock, he opened the door.
A pretty redhead stood there, her hand poised to knock again. She seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place her. She wore jeans and a blue polo with “April’s Flowers” embroidered on the front. Damn, she wasn’t just pretty; she was sexy in an understated sort of way. And since when was he attracted to every woman he met? He usually had standards.
Focus. “Wrong apartment, honey.” He smiled. When she didn’t do more than gape at him, he added, “April lives across the hall.”
“What?” She glanced behind herself then back at him. “Wait, you don’t know who I am?”
“One of April’s helpers?” He gestured to her top.
“Nooo . . .” She drew out the word. “We met last night. I think you have my purse.”
“Your . . . purse?” Seth turned to face the woman, carefully examining every feature until his gaze stopped on a pair of familiar emerald eyes. Lust and frustration rode him. “You’re the Happy Hooker.”
“I told you, lambkins.” She stared pointedly at his pajama pants and enunciated each word. “I. Am. Not. A. Hooker.”
Seth pushed the door open wider and gestured for her to come in. In her current outfit she didn’t reek of sex, but the image of her as she’d been the night before superimposed itself over her body as she moved.
Closing the door with a click, he flipped the lock and prayed for patience. Without a word, he crossed to the bar and snatched the bag from the counter. He met her irritated gaze and his temper snapped.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing bringing drugs into this building?”
So much for patience.
“Are you on some kind of medication?” The words flew out of Jules’s mouth before she had the sense to recall them.
“No, but it seems you like to self-medicate.” The cop’s frown deepened. “We need to talk before I have to do something that is going to royally piss off two people I consider friends.”
“Talk about what?” She crossed her arms over her chest. This guy was too much.
“About the drugs you left in my place.”
“You’re nuts. I don’t do drugs,” Jules retorted, reaching for her handbag.
The cop held it in the air over her head. She jumped for it but he stood a full head taller. “Give that back. What, are you in the fourth grade?”
“I’m a police officer and you made a stupid mistake sneaking into my apartment.”
“I explained that.” She hadn’t exactly admitted that a ghost lured her into his home, but her half-truth should have been explanation enough. “I told you. I got locked out.”
“I’ll just bet you did. I doubt you would have intentionally crawled through my window if you’d known I was a cop.” He advanced on her slowly, reminding her again of an ancient warrior. A lethal air stirred about him as he moved.
A smart woman would have retreated, gone for help. Jeez, any woman with an ounce of intelligence wouldn’t have walked through his front door in the first place. But something about this man made her want to stand up and fight.
“What are you talking about? Are you going to give back my purse or what?”
“Or what.” He kept the purse out of her reach. “We need to talk first.”
“Very mature. I swear you cops are all alike.”
“Had dealings with police before?” The smile on his lips belied the condemnation in his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Jeez! Not the way you think.” She threw up her hands in surrender. Sanity finally reared its head and she backed toward the door. The cop kept coming.
Jules grappled for the knob behind her back, but the cop slapped a hand to the door over her head before she could tug it open.
She met his gaze and froze at what she saw.
A vermilion aura swirled around the cop like a red haze originating from the center of his chest. Jules gasped. How was this possible? She’d seen auras around ghosts, the flashes of color reflecting the spirit’s soul and mood, but this was the first time she’d seen it around a living person.
For a nanosecond she couldn’t think or even breathe for the fear choking her. She needed to escape. Get as far away from him as possible, but she couldn’t do that until he let her go. Masking her fear with an irritated tone, she snapped, “I thought you wanted to talk to me. How is trying to scare me talking?”
“Do I frighten you?”
“No,” she lied.
The swirling aura around him faded to a muddy brown, and he seemed almost sad. He held up his free hand, palm out.
“I’m really not trying to scare you. But you’re headed down a bad road.” His deep voice had lost that gruff tone and came out oddly soothing. His aura shifted again, this time to green, and she sensed protectiveness and concern.
She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “You want to talk, fine, we’ll talk. Just back up a little, please.”
He nodded, lowered his arm, and stepped back three paces. Disappointment darkened his features. He stared at the handbag, and the frightening aura receded until she could no longer see or sense it.
“Ernie and April are good people. You could ruin their lives by bringing drugs into their home. Not to mention you could destroy your future.” He sounded like a dad giving a speech to an errant child.
She could argue with him or she could try to reason with him. They were both adults; time to reason. “Okay, why exactly are you under the misguided assumption I’d do drugs?”
“I found the bag.”
“What does my purse have to do with anything?”
He frowned. “Not your purse. I found the bag of drugs inside your purse.”
“You went through my purse?” Jules crossed her arms, fury and a familiar pain knifing through her chest. He was just like her ex-husband. “You had no right!”
“It was in my apartment,” he replied through clenched teeth.
“It’s my property!”
“That you left in my apartment after you broke into it last night. I could have arrested you for that alone.”
True enough. Despite the anger pumping through her system at his invasion of her privacy, she at least owed him the courtesy of listening. Ghostly-induced mistake or not, he could have thrown her in jail. Her anger cooling, she found herself more confused than before.
She didn’t have drugs in her purse. Did she? Panic flickered through her at the thought. Last night she and another guest at the party had bumped into each other in the bathroom. They knocked their purses on the ground and scattered contents everywhere.
Although the other woman snatched up her belongings in a rush, she had eyed the baggie of oregano on the floor. Sweeping through the exit, she’d muttered under her breath, “Just say no.”
Her confidence strengthened, Jules lifted her chin and smiled her most placating smile. “What you found in my purse was not drugs.”
“Right. And prisons are packed with innocent people who were falsely convicted.”
“Listen to me!” A short burst of laughter escaped from her. Big Jim would have probably found this scene amusing if he were here. “Not drugs. Lavender and—”
“I know lavender when I see it. There wasn’t any.” He cut her
off. “And since you think it’s so funny doing pot, let me show you what would happen if another police officer had found it.”
He backed her against the wall and clamped a hand around her wrist before she could think enough to react. Fear stole her breath, killing the nervous laughter in her throat. Still, some part of her mind rationalized that while he moved quickly and pinned her in place, his touch hadn’t been rough or painful. Just authoritative.
Tossing the handbag over his shoulder, he patted her down with his now free hand. “Here’s when he would Mirandize you. Should I continue this demonstration and take you downtown? I’ll be glad to call Ernie to come pick you up at the station, where you can explain to him why you had—”
“Oregano in my purse,” she shouted the first word.
His hand froze on her backside. “What did you say?”
“Or-eg-an-oh.” She carefully enunciated each syllable to be certain he heard her this time. “The herb you found was oregano. And what kind of rookie cop are you that you can’t tell the difference between pot and a bag of oregano?”
Jules wished she could laugh again but she was hyperaware of his hand on her behind.
Surprise and realization lit his expression. He rolled his eyes. “Ah, crap. My mother’s lasagna.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He met her gaze. A stain darkened his cheeks. “Oregano. Brilliant detective work.”
The last comment seemed to be more to himself than to her. She might have sympathized with him if she weren’t still pinned to the wall.
Jules rotated her hips and his hand slipped farther down her backside. Go figure! The only time anyone had touched her this intimately in three years had been Seth the Cop demonstrating his search-and-seizure technique. “Hey, are we finished with the pat-down?”
He jerked his hand away as if touching her burned him.
Backing away, he propped his hands on his hips. A decidedly distracting position given that the man was shirtless with wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and he’d just been touching her butt. Okay, so he had been searching her for drugs, but her traitorous body was turned on anyway.
“I guess this is where I’m supposed to apologize.” He rubbed the back of his neck as if it pained him, but didn’t say anything else.
