by Alicia Scott
“Oh.” She blinked her eyes a few times, then abruptly tucked her head against his shoulder. He stroked her hair, unreasonably touched by the small display of shyness. She was something. Blunt, yet mysterious. Bold, yet shy. Serious, but a changeling.
He didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the clock. It was almost eleven o’clock. He couldn’t hide from reality, or his job, forever.
“You have to go,” Josie whispered.
“Yes. I do.”
She drew away, not meeting his gaze. “Would you like to shower first?”
“Uh…no. I’ll, uh, shower back at my place.”
“All right. More popcorn?”
“No, I’m fine.” He sat up in bed, surveying the floor for his clothes. Pillows were strewn everywhere, the yellow, blue and rose colored comforter dumped haphazardly in a corner. He’d never seen anything quite like it. It took him a minute to find his jeans. He pulled them on with his back to her.
“Are you going to work today?” she asked at last.
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. Always lots of work to be done.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her drag her hand through her long, tangled hair. She stood, belting the robe more tightly around her middle and looking like she didn’t know what to do with herself.
“I’m not very good at this,” he said at last, hunting down his shirt.
“Me, neither.”
“Even when I was a twenty-something bachelor, I wasn’t good at the morning after.”
“I don’t have much experience,” Josie said. Her arms were wrapped around her middle in an unconsciously vulnerable stance.
He snapped up his shirt, struggling for a way to fill the void and not coming up with anything. Quietly, Jack tucked his shirt into his jeans, then recovered his belt.
Josie watched him, also feeling uneasy. The moment was done. She kept searching for something sassy and smart to say, something to ease this knot in her throat. She couldn’t think of anything. Now she remembered why she avoided things like jumping into bed with overly attractive men. Afterward, she stood like she was standing here now, feeling empty and hollow and alone. Her house would seem quieter after this, her bed too big. She would lie in the middle trying to catch his scent on her pillows and hating herself for wanting so much.
For missing that brief moment of feeling happy, loved and safe once more.
She busied herself closing her bedroom window. She’d cracked it open last night when she returned from the fund-raiser. Her imagination had probably run away from her, but she kept catching the scent of gardenias. Since the night she’d discovered Olivia’s body, she hadn’t been able to stand that smell.
Stryker pulled on his boots, then stood. “I need to get going.”
“Okay.” She held the edge of her robe together at her throat. She was having a hard time meeting his eyes.
“I’ll call you this afternoon.”
“Will you?” Her voice was sharper than she intended.
He took a deep breath, walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I won’t lie to you, Josie. My father was telling me just last night that life was supposed to be messy. Well, here we are. This is going to be messy.”
“No kidding.”
“I take my job seriously, you know that. It’s one of the things we have in common.”
She stared at him mutinously, making him spell it out. So he did.
“I still have to investigate you, Josie. I have a case to solve and I have to look at all the suspects, regardless of what my personal feelings might be. You’ll probably get to see me again in a professional capacity. I’ll probably rile that temper of yours. It’s my job. I’m going to do it.”
“I didn’t kill Olivia, you idiot. She was like a second mother to me.”
His hands fell away. For a moment, he looked genuinely haggard and torn. “I have to do my job, Josie. Can you understand that?”
She scowled. “You’re right, you’re going to rile my temper.”
“I would…I would like to call you this afternoon. Would that be okay, Josie?”
She didn’t answer right away. She wanted to see him again, but she was hurt that he couldn’t just accept her statement of innocence. She understood how seriously he took his job, but she wanted him to believe in her, anyway. “Do you trust anyone, Stryker?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I trust my parents.”
“But not anyone female, is that it? Not anyone who might remind you of Marjorie?”
“God, Josie, you are blunt.”
“I just want to know where I stand. It’s a fair question.”
He dragged his hand through his hair. “I’m not that good at trusting,” he admitted at last.
“Because if Marjorie lied to you, then all women must lie?”
“No,” he said tightly. “Because I was willing to believe her lies, so I must not have the best judgment. If you must know, she messed around on me, Josie. A lot. I married her thinking she was a sweet, beautiful woman with a big heart. Nope. She was a vain, shallow creature who wanted to be the next mayor’s wife, and when she discovered I had no such ambitions, she retaliated by sleeping with anyone who drove a better car or lived in a bigger house. And I had to walk in on her with another man to figure it out. Says great things about my cool, analytical mind, doesn’t it?”
Josie blinked her eyes. She couldn’t think of a response. Jack no longer looked relaxed or rumpled. Lines squeezed his eyes, his hand was compulsively rubbing the back of his neck. She could feel his tightly reined anger and old hurt from across the small space. Abruptly, he let out a long breath.
“I want to see you again, all right? I was thinking I could take you out to dinner. Maybe we could give this a try, one step at a time. That’s all I have to offer, Josie, one step at a time. What do you think about that?”
“I could…I could do one step at a time.”
“I was thinking I would go by a drugstore this afternoon.”
“Oh.” Her eyes got wide. That fast, she felt breathless and quivery. “That…that would be very nice.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded her head more vigorously than common decency would dictate, but she was rewarded by Jack’s slow, growing smile. His shoulders came down. The lines eased around his eyes.
“I had a really nice night,” he said softly.
His tone made her brave enough to approach. She slid her arms around his shoulders, settling her body against him. “I want you,” she whispered, “a lot.”
His hands spanned her waist, massaging little circles through her thin robe. “A lot, huh?” He brushed her lips once, then twice. “Maybe once I get the ‘proper equipment’ I can do something about that. Maybe I can make that a lot.”
“Promises, promises.” She kissed him, longer and deeper than she intended. Her arms tightened around his neck for a moment, and she felt something move within her, something dark and shuddery. Old fear, maybe. New pain.
She liked his arms around her, she liked his forthright approach. But she wondered if even the wild side of Jack Stryker could ever really understand or accept the whole truth about Josie Reynolds.
She stepped back, her gaze carefully averted.
“One step at a time,” she murmured.
“One step at a time.”
She walked him to the door. They parted with another kiss, slightly more self-conscious. She leaned against her door, watching him get into his car and drive away. It amazed her, the sadness that welled up inside her. It was the other aftereffect of losing people close to you. No goodbye was small. All partings carried an undertone of permanency that tore at her.
Once she’d told her mother she was off to school and had never seen her mother alive again. Once she’d told Olivia she would see her at the wedding and had never seen Olivia alive again.
Once she’d sat across from her broken father in the prison’s visiting room, telling him how much she missed him, begging him to f
ight his sentence so they could be together once more.
And she’d never seen him alive again.
Josie padded into her living room. She should shower, get dressed, go to the office. She turned on the TV, searching out Bugs Bunny because that’s what she’d always watched with Stan.
Then she curled up in the chair, wrapped her arms around her legs and cradled her forehead against her knees, letting the bright colors and synthetic laughter pour over her.
I remember you, Dad. I remember.
Chapter Six
At twelve-thirty, Josie finally arrived at her office, freshly showered and garbed in a sensible pair of jeans and a soft lavender plaid shirt. Her hair was down, getting in her face but a welcome relief after five consecutive days of wearing it clipped back. There were few advantages to working on the weekends, but one was the considerably more casual dress code. Of course, the sun was shining when she got out of her car, as Grand Springs was seized by a cool, crisp, perfectly beautiful fall day.
She shook her head. “Working on a beautiful, sunny afternoon. You’re a smart girl, Josie. A real Einstein.”
Her footsteps rang sharply in the hollow corridor. No other office lights were on—most public servants understood that being paid to work only thirty-six and a half hours a week, meant working only thirty-six-and-a-half-hour weeks. Olivia always told Josie she took her job too seriously. Of course, Olivia had known Josie’s hours because she’d been in the office as well.
Finally arriving in her cold office, Josie sighed, opened her tiny window to let in the sun and got serious. She’d eaten an apple and a piece of toast. She was relaxed, rested and ready to get some work done. All hail the grand, conquering treasurer.
She pulled up the latest cut of Grand Springs budget on her computer, ready to jot down some notes.
She wondered what she should wear tonight. It would depend on the restaurant, of course. She had one slinky black dress that could probably widen Stryker’s eyes. But maybe slinky was bad. Had Marjorie been slinky? What the hell had this Marjorie person looked like and why had she hurt a good man like Jack? The fool.
Josie blinked her eyes several times and realized she still hadn’t taken any notes. She shook out her arms and crossed her legs in her official “I am working seriously” position.
She would wear her periwinkle silk sweater with her long flowered skirt. Elegant but feminine, and people always told her periwinkle did wonders for her eyes. She would wear that deep blue hair band, with her hair streaming down her back.
Yeah, and look sweet sixteen and never been kissed.
She never should’ve bought a floral skirt. What kind of an accountant wore a floral skirt? That was it. She was wearing her short black skirt with a white silk blouse with French cuffs and a long gold pendant. Elegant but sexy, alluring but not overdone. Classic. She’d pull her hair back in a twist.
She looked back at the rows of numbers. Okay, the women’s shelter needed an additional twenty percent to build the annex. The police department’s budget was to be increased ten percent to cover the hiring of two additional officers. Schools wanted twenty percent. Sanitation workers were threatening to strike if they didn’t get a five percent cost-of-living raise across the board. Of course, no city officials wanted to raise taxes. So, treasure extraordinaire, find the extra 2.5 million dollars padding the budget and tell the good old city officials how they can make everyone happy without raising taxes or making a single compromise.
Oh, yeah, and teach pigs to fly.
What if Jack took her to a corner diner? A woman couldn’t very well wear a short black skirt and silk blouse to a diner. He was a cop, a detective in a medium-size operation. He couldn’t exactly afford Randolphs. What kind of restaurant did he have in mind?
And was he thinking of her right now, the way she was thinking of him? Was he replaying every detail of their impromptu evening together, over and over in his mind?
Or were the bright rays of the sun waking up his common sense and telling him how futile and silly it would be to date a woman like her?
She abandoned her computer screen, studying her phone instead. She willed it to ring. Call me, Jack. Just touch base right now. You’ll sound excited to see me, I’ll be happy you’re excited to see me, we’ll both feel good. You can tell me what restaurant, I’ll know what to wear and feel reassured. Afterward, I might even get some work done.
The phone didn’t ring. Her office was silent. City Hall was silent. Only the sun warmed her back.
She tapped her pencil on the desk, contemplating the next logical step. She could call him. She didn’t have to sit around waiting for the phone to ring. She would call. Then she’d settle down and get some work done.
Call and say what? Hiya, big boy, was it as good for you as it was for me? Oh, hey, I’m running to the pharmacy for new shampoo this afternoon. Anything I can pick up for you? Are you a thin, lubricated or ribbed kind of guy?
Oh, God, she was sitting alone in her office and already blushing. She dropped the pencil with a clatter. She was not cut out for this. Too late, she was hopeless about this.
She was sitting at her stupid desk in her stupid office and she was remembering every moment of him barging into her house. The way he’d backed her against the door. The way he’d said, “I want you, Josie.” The way he’d kissed her, the way he’d touched her, the way he’d made her feel so beautiful and attractive and desirable after years of quiet, sterile existence.
She thought of him, and her stomach constricted. She remembered the feel of his hand on her breast, the darkening of his eyes, the hoarseness of his voice, and every damn nerve ending in her body began to quiver.
Oh, for God’s sake, she was an idiot. She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Detective Stryker, please.” She struggled to sound normal but only succeeded at breathlessness.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but he’s out of the office.”
“What?”
“He’s stepped out, ma’am. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Uh…I mean, no. It’s all right. I’ll call back later.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Have a good afternoon.”
Josie recradled the phone with a frown. She wished she had his cell number. She picked up the pencil and resumed rapping against her desk. Maybe he was at the pharmacy. Maybe he was standing in an aisle right now trying to figure out if she was a thin, lubricated or ribbed kind of woman. It would be worth asking him just to watch him blush again.
She sighed and reined in her riotous thoughts. Everything would be all right. He’d promised one step at a time. She could handle one step at a time. And if things continued to progress, maybe there would be a day when she could tell him about her father as she’d finally told Olivia about her father. And if he really cared for her, then he would understand as Olivia had understood.
One step at a time.
She turned back to her monitor. She got to work.
She didn’t resurface until four o’clock, when she heard the ringing of footsteps on the hall corridor. She frowned, wondering what other fool would be in City Hall on a bright, sunny day. Then, as the footsteps approached her door, her stomach abruptly lurched and her head bobbed up.
Jack.
He knew she was coming into work. Maybe he really was as excited and nervous as she was. Maybe he’d decided to see her in person instead of just calling. Maybe he’d even brought her flowers. No one had ever brought her flowers. She’d always secretly, hungrily longed for a man to bring her flowers as her father had brought small bouquets of wild daisies and briar roses for her mother.
The footsteps stopped outside her door. The anticipation shivered through her, potent and sexual, more powerful than the short, tense storm that tingled up her spine right before the first kiss.
So help her God, if that was Jack, she was going to seduce him in her office just so she could breathe again.
The knocking on her door was polite, the voice unmistakable. “Josie
Reynolds? It’s Detective Stryker.”
Jack!
She scrambled out from behind her desk with more haste than dignity. A silly, nervous grin wired her smile. She jerked the door open hard enough to yank it off its hinges.
“Hi!” she said breathlessly.
Sure enough it was Jack, more handsome than any man deserved to be in a dark gray suit, and yes, a spray-starched white shirt. He even wore one of those maroon ties with discreet blue diamonds. She never would’ve guessed that such a conservative, Republican tie would make her go weak in the knees.
God, she wanted to throw herself in his arms and kiss him until his perfectly groomed hair and perfectly pressed suit looked as hot and bothered as she felt.
But then her gaze slipped to the right. Stone Richardson, considerably more casual in slacks and a plaid shirt, stood next to his partner.
Euphoria dimmed. For the first time, her breath caught in her throat and wariness halted her smile.
“Can…can I help you?”
Jack’s gaze seemed to be locked somewhere behind her right ear. He held out the folded paper expressionlessly. “Josie Reynolds, we have a search warrant for your house. We would like you to come with us.”
“Wh—what?”
“Josie Reynolds,” he intoned again.
“Jack! What the hell is going on here!”
Stone shifted uncomfortably. “Josie,” he began quietly, reaching out a soothing hand.
She jerked back from him, her eyes locked on Jack’s remote gaze. “What the hell is going on, Stryker?”
“Some new evidence has come to light, Ms. Reynolds. We now have a search warrant for your house and car, all the paperwork is in order. Please come with us.”
“What?”
“The search warrant—”
“What the hell, Stryker? You crawled out of my bed just five hours ago—”
Stone flinched, but she continued right on, too hurt and angry to care. “Flowers too traditional for you, Stryker? Is that it? So you serve me with a search warrant, instead? Well, not that I don’t just adore such romantic overtures, but for future reference, I prefer daisies and briar roses.”
