The Sweetheart Kiss

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “What the hell just happened?” said a voice nearby.

  Tom something-or-other, groomsman number two, was gasping and clutching his chest over the top of his black tux. Blood smeared his hand and shirt as his face went white.

  He gasped out, “I think I’ve been shot.”

  Shot? Suddenly the snap made sense. She should have recognized the sound. Where had it come from?

  “Oh, no!” Shelby called out and turned to the guests. “Is anyone here a doctor? We need a doctor!”

  No one stood. Then again, half of the guests had run for cover after the shot and were hiding in the pews.

  Still…

  “A wedding with no doctor?” Jess said when Shelby lowered herself on the other side of Tom. They looked like twin Scarlet O’Haras at the Wilkeses’ last pre-war BBQ. “What are the odds?”

  “This is Ann Arbor,” Shelby said. “You usually can’t throw a stone without hitting six of them in the face.”

  Realizing she could be his only chance at not bleeding out, Jess leaned to ease Tom’s hand away. “I have to see the wound.” At least that was what TV doctors did. She’d seen a few TV bullet holes and confirmed he had been shot.

  Who needed a medical degree when they could teach you everything you needed on Grey’s Anatomy?

  “I’ve been shot,” Tom said, again. He coughed in a wheezing death rattle. “If I die, tell the cops my ex-wife did it.”

  “You’re not going to die,” Jess said. At least she hoped not. She didn’t want her last words to him to be a bald-faced lie. “Nope, no dying.”

  Blood pulsed out. She felt lightheaded.

  “Tom, hold my hand tight,” Shelby said, and glanced at Jess for reassurance.

  There was nothing to do but forge on with confidence. The ambulance couldn’t be far off. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had a gaping chest wound or had any organs falling out. She could patch a small hole.

  “I’ve got this,” Jess said. Shelby seemed placated. At least one of them was.

  Jess clawed through her mind for her first aid training. “I have to stop the bleeding.” She paused to unhook a stocking from her garter, shucked out of it, and rolled the piece of silk into a ball. She jammed it carefully into the hole and held it in place with her index finger.

  Next.

  “Your ex-wife wants you dead?” Jess asked so he wouldn’t go into shock. Then she looked down at her bloody hands. If one of them was entitled to pass out, it was her.

  He winced. “She left me and married my brother. They’re raising my kids. Add Tad as an accomplice. Make sure they fry in the electric chair.”

  Jess frowned. “This isn’t a death penalty state.”

  His face fell and he groaned. “Would it be asking too much for you to drag me over the border into Illinois?”

  For a guy who was near death, he was surprisingly chatty.

  “Sorry. You’re not going to die and I’m not taking you to Illinois.” Jess pressed down with her palm, as blood soaked through the makeshift plug. She’d probably kill him with the unsanitized hose. She’d been sweating in them for hours. “But I will tell the police your suspicions.”

  Within minutes, the police sirens sounded in the distance. Jess had torn a strip from her ugly dress and added it to the plug, while Shelby placed Tom’s head in her lap and quietly and calmly told him everything would be okay.

  Shame filled Jess as she lifted her gaze. So much for snap first impressions. There was more depth to the young woman than she’d thought.

  “The ambulance is almost here,” Dodger said and shoved his phone in his pocket. “You okay, buddy?”

  Voices buzzed around them as the guests slowly came out of hiding. Mr. Jones and several others held back gawkers.

  “I’ve been better,” Tom gasped. “I thought I’d end up in bed with Shelby tonight, not in a hospital.”

  Shelby smiled and put a hand on the side of his face. “You wish. You’re cute, but I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Again, another first impression shattered. Jess was starting to like her. They made a pretty good team.

  Within minutes, the police and EMTs were there. For the next three hours, the officers and detectives talked to everyone in the church, all two hundred of them, and got zip for information. There had been two doctors cowering in the vestibule; a podiatrist and a proctologist. Neither had wanted to risk death for a chance to play hero.

  While the case slogged forward, Jess hovered nearby, listening for clues.

  Everyone had heard the shot and saw Tom go down, but no one knew anything about motive or who the shooter was.

  When the church was finally cleared of everyone but the wedding party, Jess was ready to kill the maker of the dress. And the whining Mandy for making her wear the ghastly creation.

  Because the church was an active crime scene, they were kept in the common areas so they would not impede the investigation. Jess’s skin was raw and her temper grew to a fevered pitch. Only the seriousness of the situation kept her from telling the sniveling bride to shut up.

  “My wedding is ruined!” Mandy clutched at Chad who was doing his best to calm the future mother of his offspring while glaring at Darren. Darren seemed distraught that his grand gesture had fallen flat due to the shooting, and that he clearly hadn’t known Jess would be in attendance.

  One sheepish smile in her direction was met with a glare. He gave up the silent plea of contrition and scrolled through his phone. He really was an ass.

  “It’s fine, baby,” Chad said and rubbed Mandy’s back. “As soon as we can prop Tom upright, we’ll get this done.”

  Prop him up? That was their biggest worry? A man had been shot. Darren tried to steal the bride. And Jess was smeared with blood from her attempts to save a life!

  She opened her mouth to give them the business when a tall figure stepped in front of her. She looked up expecting Dodger to be looking down her dress again, but the face staring down at her was not his. This guy was tough, rough, unsmiling, and also very good looking, if you liked dark and serious.

  “Jess Lucas?” His voice was deep and his eyes a deep brown beneath hair of a lighter shade. Tension lines etched the corners of his face. He had an authoritative stance.

  Cop?

  “Yes?” By the look of his rumpled suit and slightly askew tie, he was one of the detectives. Or a poor relation of the bride or groom. She figured the former, as Mandy was unlikely to invite anyone to her wedding that might ruin her Brides Magazine-like wedding photos.

  “I’m Detective Sam Wheeler of the Ann Arbor Police Department. Can we step into the bride’s room so I can ask you some questions?”

  “Of course.” She led the way, happy for the distraction. The room was cluttered with discarded clothing, shoes, bags, makeup, and other stuff in preparation for the big day. Jess stared longingly at her duffel and the clean sweatpants and T-shirt waiting inside.

  And the last bottles of vodka.

  Exhausted, she walked into the middle of the room, spun around, and lifted her hands in a plea for help. “I know we aren’t supposed to change, but I have blood on me and I am heading toward months of skin grafts if I don’t get out of this dress.”

  Jess lifted her arms to show him the fire-red skin under her arms. “You can toss my bag and cavity-search me for hidden weapons if you must, but please let me out of this torture device before I faint.”

  He frowned as if weighing his options. Finally he sighed. “Which bag is yours?”

  She pointed. “The blue one with the orange stripe.”

  The detective walked over to collect it in his very strong and manly looking hands. Bringing it back, he dropped the duffel on the tall table and unzipped it. “Do you have any weapons in here?”

  “Not currently.”

  At his stare, she smiled wryly. “No, I don’t.” Who brings a gun to a wedding anyway? Well, one person, clearly.

  Then began the process of Whe
eler searching her bag for evidence of a crime, one item at a time. He shook out and handed her the sweat pants. Then the T-shirt with a kitty face on the front, a birthday present from Irving’s receptionist-assistant and ugly sweater connoisseur, Gretchen.

  The only reason she wore the shirt was that it was bunny soft and felt like being wrapped in a cloud.

  She shrugged. “A gift from a friend.”

  Then out came a baggie of toiletries—in case of an overnight sleepover with a hot guy—then a matching red bra and panty set with the price tags still on them.

  Drat. Only one lucky groomsman was supposed to see those.

  Heat flashed over her face as his brow went up. “Um.” She snatched them out of his hand. “I always carry an extra pair in case of an emergency.” That sounded lame. What kind of emergency required sexy undies? Flood? Earthquake? Famine?

  “Uh huh.” He dug around, looked into her ratty old running shoes and handed her the bag back. “Go change.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jess darted off behind the dressing screen. She dropped her duffel at her feet and reached behind her for the dress zipper. Oh, happy day!

  At the halfway point, the zipper got stuck on a thick seam and refused to budge. She twisted and jerked and swore a little under her breath before giving up the fight.

  “Ah, Detective?” She stepped out from behind the screen. “Do you mind? My zipper is stuck.”

  A second sigh followed. He joined her, probably thinking they’d never get to business at this rate if he didn’t help her strip. “Turn around.”

  She clutched her bodice as he stuck his fingertips into the dress and tugged. Nothing. Well, except for a slight shiver that went down her spine from where his rough knuckles brushed her skin. He was very male and not orange; pluses on two fronts.

  Yep. Weddings gave off sexual pheromones. She had no other reasonable explanation for her inappropriate thoughts. Tom was on his way to surgery after all. And the detective wasn’t giving her warm fuzzies. She usually required one or two fuzzies to make sexual attraction successful.

  “Did the bride pay you to put this on?” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s a damn straightjacket.”

  Jess went still. The stoic officer made a joke. Sort of. “If only. She guilted me into joining the wedding party because she doesn’t have many—any—friends. I don’t really like her but didn’t have plans this weekend anyway. So why not.”

  He jerked and twisted the zipper. “Forget I asked.”

  Just when she was sure she’d never get out of the dress without the intervention of the Jaws of Life, he made one last hard pull and she was free.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she let out what could be misconstrued as an orgasmic sexual moan and he lurched back out of reach. She bit off a grin at the disturbed look on his face.

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  He grunted.

  Once back behind the screen, she wriggled free of the yellow horror, let it fall into a mustard cloud around her feet, and stomped on it a few times just for fun. Mandy would have to pay her if she ever wanted to see Jess put the damn thing back on. Big money. Not to mention picking up the dry cleaning bill to get Tom’s blood off. Poor Tom.

  The tee was on top of her duffel and she bent to pick it up, when her reflection caught her attention in the tri-fold mirror at the edge of the screen. The mirror was turned to such an angle that not only could she see her breasts pushed up and almost over her strapless bra, but one half of her lacy black garters was dangling loose, and her backside, covered with barely-there black panties, was reflecting out into the room at three different angles, in full living color, right down to the small mole on her left cheek.

  A pair of wide eyes stared back from across the room.

  Jess yelped in alarm. She was giving the detective a private peep show.

  * * *

  The worst time to have a half-naked woman bent over and flashing both T&A at him was at a crime scene. Second worst was when the flasher was both a witness and a potential killer and he was the detective assigned to figure out which.

  Staring at her ass wasn’t a good idea, but he couldn’t turn away. There had been no mention in Cop 101 class of the proper protocol to handle this sort of situation.

  However, the real kicker was that she was damn hot despite having ugly red rub marks all over her fair skin.

  Her dark hair was short and spiked like she’d just crawled out of bed—an image that went to the dark side in his head—and her ass was perfect and tight. Her breasts, though not large, made his mouth go dry. Her bra barely covered her nipples, and the panties failed to cover much at all.

  Was it wrong to want to frisk her for weapons?

  In that moment, he locked eyes with her in the mirror at the same time she realized he could see her. She dove out of sight with an angry yelp.

  He bit back a smile and reminded himself he was on duty and she was a potential witness or suspect. One never knew. Criminals often worked in pairs and just because she was sexy didn’t make her innocent.

  Keeping his mind focused was difficult to do now. Men didn’t have enough blood to keep both of their brains functioning normally, and right now, the one beneath his boxer briefs was doing all the thinking.

  “You could have told me I was flashing you,” she snapped.

  “I could have.”

  He heard her grumble to herself.

  When she stepped out a minute later, covered in oversized sweats and the ridiculous cat T-shirt, she stared him down as if daring him to say something smart. He sided with keeping his mouth shut. She looked threatening.

  Jess dropped into a chair. He took a nearby stool and pulled out his notebook and pen. Even dressed as she was now, she distracted him with her big eyes and her funky hair.

  Sam had to focus.

  “I need your full name,” he said, and she told him. Jessica Suzanne Lucas. “Can you tell me what you saw or heard leading up to and after the shooting?”

  She did, including the victim’s suspicions about his ex-wife. It was much the same story he’d heard from the rest of the bridal party. Those who knew Tom well knew about his bitter divorce and no one saw or heard anything unusual before or after the gunshot.

  The theories came in all sizes, with one witness telling him the shooting had been caused by a shift in the earth’s core. Nothing anyone said was backed up by facts or real evidence.

  Damn.

  “You observed no one lurking around outside, or acting strangely when you arrived at the church?”

  “Nope.” She rubbed the spot where the dress had chafed her underarm and winced. “But I think I can help. The sound of the shot leads me to believe the gun was not military grade but more like a Smith and Wesson or a Remington that you pick up at any hunting store.” She paused. “Whoever the sniper is had to have had some training to get a shot like that through a stained glass window. There is only a narrow band of clear glass around the colored image to see through.”

  Surprised, he stared. “You know guns?”

  “A bit.” She stopped rubbing. “If he was an actual marksman, Tom would be dead. That leads me to believe he was not a pro, but still damn good.”

  Shit. “Who are you?” This was no regular bridesmaid.

  “I’m Jess Lucas, Brash and Brazen, Inc.”

  “Oh, hell no.”

  Chapter Three

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jess said and glared. Although a good five inches below his six feet, she was clearly not intimidated by his size. Her hands on her hips and her tight posture clued him in to her annoyance.

  “I worked with one of you Brash PIs recently, and she was a pain in the ass.” He glared back. “I imagine you’re all chosen by your boss for the sole purpose of emasculating men.”

  That comment should get her riled up. He needed something to distract himself from thinking of her ass until his smaller brain got control of itself. Th
ose tiny panties of hers hadn’t left anything to the imagination and what he was imagining was highly inappropriate for a law enforcement professional in the center of a case.

  Puzzlement took over annoyance as she worked the comment around in her head. “Are you talking about Summer?”

  “That’s her.” For a woman who was hyper feminine in her pastels and antique car, Summer had been one hell of an investigator. Tough, too. Not that he’d admit that to Jess. “She didn’t know when to get out of my way.”

  A light bulb clicked on in her head. “You were the lead on the Mary Crosby case,” she said. “Summer solved that one. No wonder you’re ticked off. And feeling emasculated.” She added the last with a smile. “I feel for you, dude. Summer is a kickass PI.”

  Dude? Now he was annoyed. “I am not ticked off and not emas—” He couldn’t say the word without ramping up her smug expression. “Summer had insider help that I didn’t have.” Stop now. Immediately, he thought, before you look like a sore loser.

  “True,” she admitted. “But she still solved it first.”

  His patience was thinning and he gripped the last of it with both hands. Those Brash & Brazen PIs were ball-busters. Good thing he wasn’t about to let this one get close to his.

  “Moving on.” He lifted his notebook and jotted down the gun theory. “Is there anything else about the shooting or what happened afterward that seemed off?”

  Her brows came together and she closed her eyes. “After Tom went down, the screaming started and then chaos. Everyone was running for cover. I was more concerned with saving him than looking out the window for the shooter. Sorry.”

  He noted this. Later, he’d input all the statements into his computer. For now, he was old-school.

  “Did you know Tom personally?”

  “Not at all.” She played with her hair. “I just met him two days ago at the rehearsal dinner and we barely said hi. He seemed like a nice enough guy.”

  Sam wondered if Tom was in the running for an up-close-and-personal look at the still-tagged panties in her duffel. There was no reason for her to have them with her other than she thought she’d get lucky with a wedding guest. Weddings and booze had a way of lowering romantic inhibitions.