“And saw the knitting books. Crap.” She stepped into his space, jabbing a finger at him. “No telling anyone. Sullivan knows, but I have enough blackmail video of him that he won’t ever spill.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone, Jo. I mean I don’t get why it’s a big secret—” His hand caught hers, linking them together again.
People who didn’t work in law enforcement rarely understood the weird sense of humor and pranks that occurred because of it. “If any of my coworkers know, I’ll get orders showing up on my desk for knitted speedos, with sizes I’m sure—”
“Are you kidding?” His mouth fell open when she shook her head.
“With just the Digger case, Sullivan and I have gotten three different adverts for zombie apocalypse survival kits. Not to mention a few axes, and tons of emails with videos on how to survive a zombie attack.”
“I thought cops had more important things to do.”
Jo snorted. “They do, but they also know levity keeps you from sinking into the deepest darkest hole you can find. We see the absolute worst humanity has to offer. Grandmothers killing grandkids because they were high. Or parents selling their kids. Kids shooting parents or other family members. If someone can dream it up, we’ve seen it.”
He gently pulled her close, cradling her in his arms. Safe. His chest was solid under her cheek. His heart a steady beat in her ear, she stifled a gasp at how right he felt.
“I know. I’ve only worked for Jim for a few months and I already know I’m not cut out for it.”
Gathering her composure, she kept their hands linked and leaned back. “You wanted to be a doctor? I thought I heard that.”
“Yes, a pediatrician.” His thin lips softened from the hard-flat line they’d been in. “I planned to go into practice with a couple of friends I’d met in school. One was studying to be an OBGYN and the two others were studying general medicine. I wanted to help kids.”
“And what stopped you?”
“My parents died, and I needed to take care of Rian.” He set her away from him. “And this is depressing. How about we get off these subjects and back on this amazing yarn.”
Deciding to go along with him, she turned and fell into her second love. Knitting. Jo wanted to dig into all the questions she had. Why Rhys had quit medical school, why he’d taken a job at the Coroner’s office and why he still drove his father’s car after they’d been dead for two years? She tamped down the urge. Focusing on his smiles and laughter. But especially the bubbly feeling of happiness he drew so effortlessly from her.
They’d been wandering the stalls for over an hour when they reached one of the far stages.
“Want to dance?” He lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head.
His golden eyes glinted with amusement and heat.
Jo looked at the professional dancers on the stage and the people trying to follow along on the dirt-packed floor in front of it. Nibbling her lip, she met his gaze. “I suck at dancing, but I’m willing to give it a go as long as you don’t mind some bruised toes.”
“Come on.” He held his hand out, but when she didn’t immediately take it his head tipped to the side in question.
Gorgeous.
Every minute in his presence the man became more beautiful to her. His light brown hair fell rakishly over one eye, leaving the other to sparkle with a look that begged her to come out and play.
Normally she didn’t like making a fool of herself. Dating equaled sex in every scenario she’d been in. Jo never dated in high school. The boys too intimidated by Carl Rayburn’s family in law enforcement. In college, she’d dated, and the relationship always began with sex. The heat fizzled after a few weeks. Only a handful lasted beyond that to maybe two or three months at most.
Her ex-boyfriend Aaron followed the last pattern. But this . . . this was different. She felt the same kind of heady attraction for him, but instead of rushing her to bed, he was wooing her. His actions differed from any of Jo’s other experiences and threw her off-kilter.
“One dance?” He asked again, drawing her from her thoughts.
His fingers wiggled, asking for a bit of trust. With a deep breath, she latched on to the digits. Odd calluses rubbed across her palm. She wanted to ask about them but became distracted at his tug toward the dance floor.
He didn’t drag her into the middle of the fray, instead he guided Jo off to the side. Tufts of grass mingled with the packed dirt as they shuffled to the music. Awkward didn’t begin to cover how she felt.
He pulled her closer. “Hey, no one is looking at us.”
His spicy scent intoxicated her, a mixture of the ocean with a bite of mint. That combined with his heat helped her forget where she was, and she began to relax. Began to have fun even if she couldn’t follow the dancers exactly.
Her gaze tracked another couple, and she smiled. The man looked like a chicken flapping his arms and almost putting another dancer’s eye out.
If he could do that, then anything Jo did would be normal in comparison. Feeling braver, she loosened the stranglehold she had on his sleeve and danced. He was as uncoordinated as she was, further setting her at ease.
Seeing the professional dancers initiate what looked to be an easy combo, she followed along. Her heel caught on something behind her, but before she could fall Rhys was there. He clasped her wrist in his strong hand and pulled. In seconds he’d caged her in his arms, and she giggled in relief.
Slapping a palm over her mouth, heat crept into her face and she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Giggled . . . She’d giggled. Mortification wound through Jo, then her stomach released a menacing growl breaking the tension that crawled into her body.
“Sounds like I’m neglecting you. Let’s get something to eat.” He released his hold. No comments about the giggle. No teasing. Nothing.
Just as they left the dance floor his stomach growled, dispelling the rest of the awkwardness as they both laughed.
“That might be a good idea since yours sounds like a grizzly’s trying to escape,” she teased, her smile taking away any sting.
His warm palm eased across her lower back, guiding her toward the row with the food stalls. Want and need curled in her. She wanted her sweater off, his hand on her skin. Yearned to feel the heated palm without the barrier between them.
“Do you see anything you want?” His gaze raked over the vendors, taking in all the food on offer.
She knew better than to say an order of him, preferably naked. They really didn’t know each other. Needed to get to know each other before they hopped into bed. Especially since Jo wanted her own family and every instinct she possessed told her this man would be her perfect match. Instead, she looked over the row of vendors and pointed to the stall that held authentic meat pies.
~ ~ ~
Her apartment building came into view and he slid the car into a slot near her stairway.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” she asked, torn—she hoped for a ‘No’ but also wanted him to say ‘Yes’.
The ignition pinged when he turned it off and he slipped from the car.
Disappointment and anticipation curled within her. Dammit. She’d wanted this evening to not be about sex. His long-legged stride brought him to her side of the car in seconds. And though she wanted to wait, she craved to know what his arms would feel like around her.
What would those callused fingers do to her? Would he be gentle? Slow? Or like all her other boyfriends, fast, grasping and hard. Taking the relief he wanted and leaving her hanging on the edge, forced to find release by her own hands.
With all his consideration, she felt he would push her over the edge first. Maybe several times before he came. Christ, she couldn’t wait for the experience.
Slowly the disappointment fell to the wayside the closer
they came to her apartment. Jo’s fingers fumbled, dropping the keys with an overly loud jangle and breaking the silence that’d fallen between them.
Before she could snag them, he was there picking them up, setting the sacks filled with her purchases next to the door. Unlocking the bottom lock, he left the keys hanging in the deadbolt. Not opening the door.
Jo wrestled with what to do. Open the door, invite him in or end things here?
With sunset so early during the winter, evening had fallen just after six. Luckily, the outside light she’d set on a timer had come on, keeping them from being in complete darkness. His gaze was liquid gold, but she missed his wire-framed glasses. She loved that look the most, not the sunglasses that hid him.
His hand clasped hers. “I’m not coming in, Jo.” A deep sigh. “I need to pick up my brother.” He placed two fingers over her lips. “I want to go slow . . . to make sure you’re comfortable with not only me but my brother as well. So, no sex on the first date.”
A lightness sparkled inside her. The smile she’d pasted on as she’d exited the car now felt more real.
He grinned, happiness in his gaze. “Maybe we can squeeze another date in before Thanksgiving.”
“What’re you doing for Thanksgiving?” Jo didn’t care about the answer, she wasn’t ready for him to leave just yet.
A shrug. His gaze lifted from hers, latching on to something just over her shoulder. “Probably the same thing I did last year. Make dinner for me and Rian, then watch the Macy’s Parade—”
“With the rest of your family?”
His eyes lowered back to Jo, and the shadows coating the pretty gold turned them to amber. “We don’t have any other family, Jo. Just me and Rian.”
Shit.
“Now, I need to go or I’ll be late picking him up . . . and for my brother that’s not good.” He leaned down.
He was going to kiss her. It was the best part about dating, the kissing. Jo knew if she let him follow through, he wouldn’t leave. Instead, she tipped her head to the side, causing his lips to slide across her cheek.
An arched brow when he straightened was all the look she needed to see his question.
“Someday we’ll get to kissing. But if we start today, you will definitely be late picking up your brother,” she teased.
“Something to look forward to then.” A smile curled the corners of his mouth and he lifted her hand to his lips. Kissing the palm, he released her. Warmth twined into her. She closed her hand and hugged it to her chest.
“Until next time.” Stepping back, he tipped his chin toward her door. “Momma always said to make sure my dates made it inside safe and sound before I leave.”
She nodded, picked up the discarded bags, then finished unlocking and opening her door. Just as she stepped over the threshold, his voice stopped her. “I’ll call you, Jo, because I definitely want that next date.”
Tossing a smile over her shoulder, she closed and locked the door. The deadbolt clicked into place and she heard his steady footfalls head down the stairs. Pressing the palm of her hand to her lips, Jo closed her eyes. She wanted that next date too.
Chapter 9
“Rayburn, Krane, my office,” the captain commanded, striding through the bullpen.
Dammit! Her morning had been great. Their LTs hadn’t tossed many cases their way. Only two and the rest needed reports written.
“Sit.” He pointed to the chairs across from his desk. The cramped office held a bookcase with an attached credenza filled with various books, awards and a few trophies from their department’s baseball team. On the desk was an ancient computer and pictures of the captain’s wife and kids.
In some respects, the office was like any other in law enforcement. Papers, files, books, and odds and ends. In others, the space was unique in that the wine-colored leather chair, the captain sat in, was a gift from his wife. The solid credenza and desk were made from dark, expensive wood and given to him by his in-law’s when he received the promotion to captain.
“Did you try to pass the Gravedigger case to Robbery?” The captain’s patent scowl firmly in place.
“No,” Sullivan stated, his gaze jumping to her, and she shifted guiltily. “Wait . . . you tried to pass our case off?”
“Maybe.” Of course, she tried to pass the case off, however she’d been provoked. Dammit, Jo couldn’t tell them this wasn’t her fault without explaining.
The captain pinched the bridge of his nose, unsettling his glasses. “Why, Detective Rayburn?”
Shit. The captain was beyond pissed if he was using her title and last name, together. How to explain it’d just been a joke? Sullivan’s gape-jawed expression would’ve made all of this worthwhile, except for the waves of anger rolling off Captain Walker.
If Brown and Jones would lay off the damned zombie emails, she’d not have done anything. But the freaking emails were clogging her inbox no matter how many times she coded them as spam. Those crap emails buried leads and updates Jo needed. Never in this lifetime would she say that to the captain. She’d never be a snitch.
“You know what? I don’t want to know.” He jabbed a finger at her. “It’s your case, period. Have you two made any progress?”
“No, sir. The clothes didn’t pan out. They’re older than the first body. None of the other files say anything about flowers, but they’ll be on the lookout if they get any more bodies.” She rubbed her forehead. “Tech is looking at cleaning up Tennessee’s video, but told us not to hold our breath—”
“What you’re telling me is we have nothing until he digs another woman up,” the captain interrupted.
“Yes, sir.” Sullivan drew the captain’s narrow-eyed gaze to himself.
“Fine, get out of here. Work on your other cases. Let me know if you get any leads.”
“Yes, sir.” Jo scrambled from the chair and darted for the office door. The meeting could’ve gone much worse, but maybe with the upcoming holidays the captain was giving her a break.
“And don’t think the damned holidays mellowed me, Rayburn. Don’t pull that shit again.”
Gulping, she opened his door. “Yes, sir.”
No sooner had she sat down than a file flopped onto her desk. She turned her frown into a yawn. Sullivan arched a brow at her, but otherwise his face was impassive. She’d been with him long enough to know he was asking if she had this. A slight tip of her chin and he sat back, allowing her to handle the two assholes.
“Brown, how’s tricks?” Jo asked.
“Heard the captain wasn’t too happy with you trying to dump your case on us, Rayburn,” he stated from behind her.
Her chair released a loud squeal when she spun it to look at the smug bastard. “Nope.”
His beady eyes narrowed on her as she popped the ‘p’ at the end of the word. The suit he wore was clean cut and pressed within an inch of its life. She was tempted to lean forward and thump it to see if it’d shatter. But as the man that inhabited the suit didn’t have much in the way of a sense of humor, she refrained. His partner however . . .
“Jo! Man, you can’t be giving us shit you and Sullivan can’t solve. It’s bad form.” Jones wove between the other desks to join his partner.
Where Brown looked like a cross between a high school principal and a disapproving maître d’, Jones was his polar opposite. Frumpy clothes that looked to have been slept in and a rounded belly from his fondness for hamburgers, and hot apple pies, Jones reminded people of their sweet uncles or best friend.
“Hey, you’re part of Robbery”—she faked another yawn with a cough at the end to cover a chuckle that wanted to escape—”and technically these women were stolen—”
“We’re not taking the zombie case,” Brown growled leaning over Jo.
She arched a brow. Not intimidated in the least, she pressed
into his face. “Then quit giving mine and Sullivan’s emails out. Because if I get one more damned zombie survival email, I’m gonna do something a helluva lot worse than try to transfer our case to you two.”
She shouldn’t retaliate, it would be wrong of her, and petty. Meh, like she cared. Inhaling deeply, Jo made damn sure Brown faced her before exhaling with a woosh toward him. That onion laden breakfast burrito she’d eaten this morning was made to be shared—with assholes.
“What the hell have you been eating?” Brown reeled away from her with a jerk, waving a hand in front of his nose. Then he rounded on Jones and stabbed a finger in his direction. “You! No sending them emails or signing them up for shit. I do not want that damned case!”
Jones’s gaze dropped as he pretended to look contrite, but the broad grin contradicted any remorse he might’ve felt. “Fine.”
“Payback’s a bitch and you two need to remember I have video of last year’s Halloween party.”
Jones’s head jerked up and his eyes rounded, the smile gone. “No, okay, no more. Swear to God, Jo.”
“Deal.” She held her hand out and shook Jones’s, then Brown’s hands in rapid succession.
“I’ll spread the word,” Jones added after Brown jabbed him in the side.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Nice doing business with you.” Spinning back to her desk, she listened for their footsteps to retreat.
“What the hell kind of video do you have on them?” Sullivan asked, making Jo release a snort of laughter.
“Now, Sullivan . . . if I have something on them that’d be blackmail—”
“Yeah . . .” He motioned with his hand impatiently.
“Fine. They may or may have gotten drunk at our Halloween party then sang ‘So Long, Farewell’ along with the entire dance.”
“Holy shit. Like from the Sound of Music?”
Grinning, Jo nodded.
Gravedigger (The Rayburn Mysteries Book 1) Page 8
