“With Maker driving, we’ll be in the granny lane the entire way.” Karma spun silently on the heel of her black combat boots and walked backward through the door. “And I swear it won’t be like last time. I’ll talk to you this weekend. But don’t ask me what to wear on the date because I’ll tell you black.”
Jo laughed, shaking her head. Yep, just alike. The laughter fled as rapidly as it came. She hoped Karma kept her promise.
~ ~ ~
A firm knock on the door sent Jo’s heart racing. Her cat, Schizo, scrambled off the top of the bed and wiggled underneath it. Anticipation and nerves swirled in her as she checked herself in the mirror again. She hadn’t known exactly how to dress until she’d broken down and asked Rhys.
Warm and relaxed since they’d be outside was his response. Knowing that, she settled on a long-sleeved black shirt underneath a thick hip length, brown sweater. Her black bootcut pants and low-heeled black boots made her feel a few inches taller and were comfortable to walk in. Unless they were going hiking . . . she hoped they were not going hiking, she hated hiking in the cold.
Though the weather in Alabama was mild for November, she remembered from previous hikes how cold the woods could get during this month.
Another knock brought her out of her thoughts. She hurried from the bedroom into the den and to the front door.
“Hello . . . umm hi—” she cut herself off before babbling anything else. Christ, she sounded like a high school girl with a crush.
He smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners and the laugh lines deepened around his mouth. Aviator glasses perched on his head. A gray sweater wrapped around his toned chest. Dark-colored jeans accented a flat stomach and trim waist, hugging long legs. His dark brown hiking boots completed the look. Rugged, but with a polished overlay that made her want to dig deeper.
He looked yummy.
“Hi, Jo. You ready? Because you seem nervous.”
A deep breath and quick distraction as she snagged her coat from the hook next to the door. “No . . . Maybe a bit, no one’s been to my apartment except family . . .”
“Well, my momma always said if you ask a woman on a date, then you pick her up at her door and make sure she gets home safely after.” He helped her with her coat and then held his arm out toward the stairway.
Jo swallowed her nerves and locked the deadbolt to her sanctuary. A palm brushed the small of her back as they made their way to the stairs leading down to the ground floor.
It was surreal. None of her dates had ever picked her up. They’d felt with her being a cop, she could take care of herself and would meet her at a given location. None had treated her with deference either, a palm on her lower back to show she had their attention, helping her with her coat.
It dawned on her, she’d dated a bunch of losers.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He ushered her to his Audi Q7. His palm continued to hover at the small of her back, never touching, but making her long to feel the press of it.
She forgot the question as soon as her eyes landed on their ride. “Holy shit. I love your car.” Jo trailed her fingers reverently over the shiny black hood and peered into the tinted windows.
Another smile spread across his lips, and his gaze twinkled in amusement. “Really?”
“Yeah, I looked at them when I went car shopping. But I wanted to be able to afford rent and groceries between now and my retirement.” She pointed toward her parking space. “I chose a Mustang instead.”
Mirth danced in his eyes. “Always a good choice.”
He opened the door and she slid onto the dark gray, plush leather seat and stifled a moan. Making sure she was tucked in, he shut the door and loped to the driver’s side. Looking over the interior, she craved to open the glove box to see how old the car was. Instead, she curbed herself and waited for him to settle. “How did you afford it?”
“The car was bought by my dad a few months before he died.” The engine purred to life with a flick of his keys. He handled the car expertly, wheeling out of the space and maneuvering into early afternoon traffic.
Confused, she twisted in her seat, doing her best to face him while restrained by the seatbelt. “Didn’t your father pass away a few years ago?”
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, making the leather creak in protest, before relaxing again. “Yes. And before you ask. I kept it because my brother needs stability.”
“Brother?” Why would his brother need that much stability? She thought the man was college age. “I thought he was eighteen or nineteen.”
A soft sigh, his right hand came up and rubbed his forehead before returning to the steering wheel. Because his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, she couldn’t read him. “He is. I wanted to wait and talk to you about him after the date, but . . .”
Jo grinned. “I’m a cop and curious.”
A snorting laugh. “Exactly. Just like I heard you called Jim when I wouldn’t tell you where we were going today.”
Remembered frustration made her frown. “Yeah, Dr. Greene wouldn’t answer one damned question.”
“Then you had Sullivan call—”
“As if that was fair, the man told my partner and then Sullivan wouldn’t tell me.”
He laughed harder. “I can say one thing. They sure like messing with you.”
“Where are we going?” She decided to go in a round-about way toward the other topic.
“No, after all that I am not ruining the surprise.” His chuckles tapered off, but the smile remained.
“Okay . . .” she trailed off, trying to figure out a way to return to the brother without being blunt. However, blunt was her modus operandi. But she was torn, she didn’t want him to lose the heart-stopping smile.
He seemed able to read her and the smile slid from his face, turning it into a neutral mask. “Before you bombard me with questions. My brother is mentally challenged, though I hate that phrase.”
“What would you use?”
“None. I consider my brother unique in that he doesn’t think like anyone else.” He sighed. “Anyway, now you know.”
“He’s autistic?”
A growl slipped from between his lips. “No, and no, he doesn’t have Down Syndrome either. Swear that’s where everyone goes to when I say, ‘mentally challenged’. He was the victim of a hit and run when he was twelve and riding his bike around our neighborhood. I wasn’t told until he’d been in the hospital for almost a month, I was in college at the time—”
“So, you’re older?” She wished she was confident enough in the realm of dating to return the smile to his face. But if she was good at dating, she’d have a steady man. Instead, she had Sullivan, her cat, and her guns.
“Yes, by ten years, that makes me twenty-eight.” He tossed a grin her way before returning his focus to the road again. “And you sound like a cop.”
She shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. As if he were laughing at a joke only he understood. Taking a breath, she mumbled, “Sorry.”
A warm palm landed on her knee with a soft pat, then returned to the steering wheel. “No ‘sorry’ needed. That came out gruff. My family is a touchy subject.”
Since he’d apologized and shared one of his soft points, Jo decided she should be just as honest. “Yeah, I get that. Being a cop is a touchy subject as well, since it has a tendency to put off my dates.”
“Good thing I already knew you were a cop then, huh?” He flashed her a grin.
The tension slowly left her muscles at the second grin he sent her way. Maybe she wasn’t as bad at this as she thought. “I’m two years older than you, in case you were wondering.”
“Good to know. Any bad habits I should know about? Or better yet, song choices?”
Deciding to play along, she smiled. “Depend
s, what do you have for music in this ride?”
He hooked a thumb at the console between them and she fished around.
“Halestorm! I love this band.” She dragged the CD from the sleeve. At least they were compatible in this. She hated listening to rap or country, but those were the inevitable choices since none of her dates actually enjoyed her kind of tunes.
“Put it in, the sound system in here will blow you away.”
“Good. The only way to listen to them is full volume.” She loaded the CD and flipped up the volume.
The rest of the drive was fun, singing along to her favorite band with a man who knew all the words was amazing. With the rocky start at the beginning of the car ride, she expected the date to peter out. Instead, it turned into pure pleasure. Uncomplicated, a bit juvenile with them singing over each other and severely out of tune, but the entire ride changed, became fun and carefree. Different from every other date she’d been on.
Chapter 8
Jo’s eyes widened when she realized where they were going. “A craft show?”
“Yes.” His tone held a hint of worry.
This man got her on some subatomic level, more so than even Sullivan. Unlike Sullivan, whenever Jo’s thoughts turned to Rhys none of them could be considered brotherly. His body and movements were a work of art, at least from what she could see. He drew her attention and made her blood heat with interest. The feelings he dragged from her weren’t just physical. If that were the case, Jo would’ve gotten him out of her system and returned to hunting perps. No, something about him called to her emotions which made him dangerous.
She didn’t understand why, but his gaze held a warmth her soul longed to pull around her. As if the golden orbs promised to shelter her when the job became too much. And now he’d discovered one of her weaknesses.
The silence must’ve gone on too long, because his palm cupped her knee. “Jo? If you don’t want to go to this, I’m game for whatever. Just tell me because I want you to enjoy yourself too.”
Surprised, she clasped his hand as he followed the parking attendant to a parking spot. “Do you want to go?”
“I love craft shows. Especially this one, because it’s set in the woods. My brother loves the woods and because of that I make sure we go to both.” He cut the engine.
“Both? I knew they had one in the spring, I brought Arabelle.”
“They have one now as well.” His shoulders relaxed, the smile returned. “I’ll be coming back tomorrow with him.”
Jo shared his grin. Not waiting for him she opened her door and stepped from the car. Meeting at the back, she watched him rummage around and produce an empty backpack that held two bottles of water on either side.
“This way if you find something you like, we can pack it in here and carry it.” He removed his jacket from the trunk.
The gray sweater pulled taut across his chest as he shrugged his dark blue peacoat on. It was a shame he had to cover up the nice view, but she understood as the wind whirled through the trees.
He motioned toward the path. They followed the rest of the people heading into the woods, the sound of chatter and music drawing them in like the Pied Piper’s melody.
Bright colors, varied accents and the quiet neighing of horses melded with the rustle of leaves and clink of money. On the second row a booth filled with handmade doll clothes caught her eye.
“Jo, there’s a wood working booth that I want to check out.” His gaze fixed on a booth ahead of them.
“Go on. I want to check these dresses out, they might have something for Arabelle.”
Gold eyes locked on to hers. “You sure?”
She patted his arm and smiled. “Yep, just don’t ditch me.”
“As if.” He lightly clasped her hand then released it to move up the row.
She tipped her head to watch his jean covered ass move further away.
“Nice,” a woman said next to her.
Jo’s smile morphed into a frown that she quickly wiped away. He was handsome, and women were going to look. If she wanted to be with him, then she needed to realize that and also needed to trust that he wouldn’t look back.
Her eyes latched on to him again. He leaned casually against the table of a booth filled with various wooden trains, trucks, and other blocky objects Jo couldn’t discern the form from her vantage point. He was oblivious to the women watching him as he had an animated discussion with the man about something on the table.
“Yes, he is.” She turned back to the slender woman manning this booth and held up two dresses. One for a doll that should fit Arabelle’s and a matching dress for Arabelle. “Do you have these in sunset orange?”
The older woman smiled, the bejeweled lanyard jangled as she unfolded a set of glasses hooked on the end and put them on. “For your daughter?”
“Something like that.” For all intents and purposes, Arabelle was as much Jo’s as she was Sullivan’s.
“I think I have one, but it has a pattern on it.” The woman was already buried in a massive plastic bin back of the booth. “Here it is.” She held the set aloft.
“Perfect.” The brilliant blue and pink flowers that spread across the sunset orange dress screamed Arabelle and would annoy the shit out of Sullivan. The annoyance factor tipped the scales. She bought the dress. A small smile curled her lips thinking of Sullivan’s reaction and then she chose another with lime green and yellow flowers the woman found at the bottom of the bin.
This would be payback for crowing about Jo’s date to anyone who would listen. She frowned. She might owe Sullivan a bit more payback for announcing it to the entire precinct at yesterday’s meeting.
“Those are sundresses, Jo.” He rejoined her, a bag wrapped around his wrist.
“I know, it’s why I got a size bigger for next year.”
“What if she doesn’t like the color then?”
Jo waggled her eyebrows. “Arabelle will wear it anyway, since it’ll match the doll that her mom left her.”
Stowing the dresses in the backpack, they wandered further up the aisles.
“Her mom left? Because I’ve never heard her mentioned—”
“No, she died.” She sighed, not wanting to dig into Sullivan’s past.
He laced their hands together. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” She tossed a smile at him, but it slid from her face with thoughts of Sullivan’s wife. “I wasn’t Sullivan’s partner yet. Marybell, who Arabelle is named for, found out she was pregnant. Unfortunately, three months into the pregnancy the doctor found a lump.”
“Jesus.”
Glancing at him, her heart warmed at seeing the sympathy on his face.
“Her death hit them hard, they’d been trying for a while for a baby. Two miscarriages and then Arabelle, no way was Marybelle terminating the pregnancy for chemo. Nor would she risk the baby with meds the doctor wanted to put her on.” Jo often wondered what she would have chosen. “Anyway, by the time Arabelle was born, the cancer had spread. They lost her on Arabelle’s first birthday.”
“That’s why everyone dotes on her.”
“Yeah, at some point everyone has babysat her, or been to her infamous tea parties.” Jo grinned. “She’s got more uncles than any other girl in her kindergarten class. She thinks it’s great—”
He laughed. “Just wait until she tries to date. I bet every one of those police officers will be grilling any boy that gets too close.”
“You have no idea.” Jo chuckled, imagining the gauntlet of cops the poor guy would have to brave to get to the reigning princess. Nudging his arm, Jo’s gaze dropped to the plastic bag he carried. “What’d you buy?”
“A cutting board.”
“Can’t you get one of those anywhere?”
“Yes, but this one is gorgeous, c
arved from cherry wood.” He stopped and opened the bag.
Varying shades from the darkest to the lightest wood were pieced together to form a twelve-inch by twelve-inch cutting board.
“I can see a baguette cut up with some cheese on the side.” He closed the bag with a sheepish look. “Sorry, I love to cook and it’s something Rian can do with me.”
They rounded the corner and Jo released a startled gasp when he led her to another booth. “And this is the reason I wanted to bring you here.”
Her gaze bounced from all the colorful yarn in front of her, to him. She narrowed her eyes. “Did Sullivan talk? Because if—”
“Sullivan knows?” He held his palms up, shaking his head. “No, I kind of spied on you . . . sort of.”
She took a careful step back. Could she have read him wrong? God, she had the absolute worst luck with men.
“Get that look off your face. I wasn’t following— Wait, I kind of . . . Dammit.”
It was the first time she’d seen him at a loss for words and had heard him curse. He took a deep breath, then released it as he rubbed his palms across the sides of his pants. Nervous was good . . . maybe.
His gaze tangled with hers and she read the sincerity in it. “I take my brother to the library on Wednesdays. They sponsor a reading program, and I like him to have real books. Borrowing the books teach him to take care of items, especially if he’s responsible for turning them back in or paying for damages out of his allowance.”
“I thought I saw you on the escalator, but . . .” She trailed off, unsure if she wanted him to know she’d almost followed to see if the man really was Rhys. Jo hadn’t followed though, not wanting to embarrass herself if she were wrong.
“Yeah, probably. I followed you—”
Gravedigger (The Rayburn Mysteries Book 1) Page 7
