by Jo Davis
Tomorrow, Will would leave for work.
And Joseph might just find a clue as to what the holy hell was going on around here.
Tommy stretched out on the sofa in the station’s TV room, feet on the coffee table. Four more days until his dinner date with Shea, and it seemed like an eternity. He’d give her a call later, get his fix to hold him over.
“Hey, amigo. Isn’t it your turn to clean the bathrooms?” Julian strolled in and flopped down on the other end of the sofa.
“Hell, yeah,” he grumbled. “I’ll do it later.”
“Just sayin’, is all. Man, what are you watching?”
Tommy grinned. “Young and the Restless.”
“Holy Christ, my madre stays glued to that crap.” His friend made a face like he’d bitten into a lemon. “How old is that chica who’s been on there forever, like a hundred and forty?”
“Yes, but it only equals twenty-five in soap years.”
“Except for the characters’ kids. The ones who were born last year are dating this year.”
“For a dude with an attitude, you sure know a lot about soaps.”
“Fuck you, man. Change the channel before my eyes start bleeding.”
“You wish, and okay.” He smirked at Julian, then switched the channel to CNN. “Better?”
“Much, thanks. Now I can be depressed on a reality-based level.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “So, other than interrupting my rare moment of peace here, what’s up with you? How are the plans for the house coming?”
“Slow, but sure. Grace wanted us to design the house ourselves so it would be unique. Being the macho man of the house, I said ‘no’ because of the cost and how much longer it’s going to take.”
“Let me guess—you got your balls handed to you.”
“Sautéed and served on a platter. Limped away whimpering yes, ma’am just so I could live another day.”
Tommy chuckled at the picture of how his friend’s mandate went over with Grace. “I could’ve told you how that argument was going to end. My parents have been happy together for thirty years because my dad figured out the secret early on—just do what the hell she says and give her flowers on her birthday, your anniversary, and Valentine’s Day.”
“Heard that. Thank God I have a quick learning curve.”
Where his friend was concerned, this was true in more ways than one. Hard to believe this was the same man who, a few weeks ago, kept everyone at arm’s length with his cocky attitude.
“Oh, I’ve got good news,” Julian said, breaking into his thoughts.
“Grace is pregnant?”
“No way. I’m not letting her drink the water around here just yet.” His tone and stupid grin told Tommy he was joking. “Seriously, though, it’s almost as good. My baby brother, Tonio, is moving to Sugarland!”
“Hey, that’s cool,” he said, ignoring the pang in his heart. Damned if he could begrudge a man for being happy about his brother coming to town. “He’s a cop, right?”
“Narcotics officer,” he said proudly. “He gave the San Antonio PD notice, and I’m helping him hunt for an apartment. He’ll be here in about six weeks.”
“That’s great. I’m happy for you. How’s your mom taking it?”
“Hard. But she’s got our four sisters to help her through the transition.”
“Maybe you and your brother can talk her into moving here, too.”
“Nah, she’d never leave San Antonio. It’s her home. But I’m sure she’ll visit when she can, especially after Grace and I get the house built. There will be plenty of room for the family.”
“Sounds like everything’s coming up roses for you these days. I’m glad.”
Julian linked his fingers across his flat stomach and fixed Tommy with his dark gaze. “What about you? Roses or thorns?”
“A little of both. I apologized to Shea, took her for a burger. We had a great talk and things are looking up.”
“Ah! You forgot to put saying you’re sorry on your female to-do list. Very important. So are you guys dating, or what? Or just getting some on the side?”
Anger, hot and swift, rushed to the surface as he slid his feet off the coffee table. “It’s not like that with Shea, so watch your mouth. Unless you’d like your spine removed with my bare hands—”
“Whoa, easy, buddy.” Julian gripped his shoulder. “I was totally kidding. It’s like that, is it?”
Tommy blew out a breath, and calmed somewhat. “Sorry, I guess I’m touchy where she’s concerned.”
“Gee, ya think?” At his scowl, Julian held up a hand. “I hear you. I’m the same about Grace.”
“Didn’t mean to snarl. Anyway, I’m not sure exactly what we’re doing yet, but I don’t want to mess this up. When we’re together we’ve got this incredible chemistry, but it’s taken forever to make headway with her.”
“I hear you on that, too,” Julian agreed. “Remember the hell Grace put me through, chasing her until I almost gave up?”
“Yeah, but this is different.”
“How so?”
“She’s gun-shy, and it’s more than being focused on her career. She wants me, but something is holding her back. She’s hinted at something bad in her past, but won’t confide in me.”
“So her relationship, or whatever, with Prescott . . .” He let the sentence hang, like a question.
“In my opinion? It was a duck-and-cover maneuver on her part, though I believe it was unconscious at first. A way to avoid the real thing.”
“Wow, Dr. Freud.”
“I think it’s Dr. Ruth.”
“Whatever. As long as she gets rid of Malibu Ken.”
“You don’t care for him, either?” Not caring for him was an understatement on Tommy’s part.
“Not when he’s within fifty yards of my girl, I don’t.”
“And his policy sucks.”
“But we’ve got kick-ass flowers in the medians around town.”
“Oh, absolutely. He’s taming Sugarland, one pansy at a time,” Tommy said in a mock announcer’s voice.
They kept straight faces for about two seconds before busting out laughing.
The man could open a damned arboretum as long as he steered clear of Shea.
And if the fool wanted trouble?
He’d get it, Skyler style.
8
Forrest Prescott glared at the phone, condemning the man on the other end to the deepest bowels of hell.
Not that it helped, because the phone continued to ring. And would, until he answered. He picked up the handset and snapped a greeting.
“Why the hell are you calling me here? What do you want?”
“Aw, now, that’s no way to speak to the buddy who put you in office,” the familiar voice drawled. “Having a bad day?”
“My credentials put me here, and my day was fine until you phoned. Don’t you have anything better to do than to harass your contacts?”
“Employees,” the man corrected, sounding smug. “And as a matter of fact, I do—make money. I’m thinking my coffers are a tad shy of what they should be, given the initial payouts. Can you shed any light on the situation for me, Prescott?”
Oh, fuck. What had tipped him off? He’d been meticulous about covering his tracks to the point of paranoia.
He’d have to bluff his way through the danger zone.
“You have the paperwork. The figures match.”
“Papers can be faked.”
Sweat trickled down his temple. Do not show fear, or you’re meat for the morgue. “I don’t have to tell you the economy is in the crapper,” he said coldly. “Values are down, investments worth a fraction of what they were when accumulated just a couple of years ago. Be patient and you’ll have the capital you need.”
“Don’t pat me on the head, you arrogant little cock-sucker,” his nemesis snarled. “If I wanted to make a bad investment I’d open a whorehouse in Utah. Get the next assignment rolling so we can all enjoy the benefits. And, Prescott?
”
“What?”
“I find out you’re fucking me over, so to speak, you’d better shell out for the best plastic surgery and fake ID money can buy. Hide in the darkest corner of the earth, and pray I don’t find you. Because when I do, I’ll feed your dick to you in pieces. Bank on it.”
The bastard hung up and Forrest did the same, hand shaking. If his contact discovered proof of his skimming, the man would kill him without a second of remorse. Might anyway, when he no longer required his assistance to achieve his goals in Sugarland.
Forrest considered making another call, for about two seconds. No, their contact no doubt had this and other lines tapped. They’d have to be extremely careful.
His thoughts turned to Shea and his failure on that front thus far.
He was infuriated that his plans were being disrupted by a pretty boy barely old enough to shave. If he couldn’t win Shea over soon, the kid would have to be removed. A distasteful, but necessary, measure.
One way or another, Forrest would take what belonged to him.
Shea checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror for the third time. Hair up or down? Unruly as it was, subduing the curly mass into a ponytail was seldom worth the battle. Down, then.
She studied her figure critically, eyeing the trim black shorts and red top. She wasn’t fat, but she’d never had a cheerleader’s body. In her opinion, she was an average-looking woman with an average build, nothing special. Not like Tommy, who was even more stunning than the jock she’d been enamored of all those years ago.
Much to her sorrow.
An attack of nerves was forestalled by a knock on the door. “Oh, boy. Come on, girl, it’s Tommy, not the Big Bad Wolf.”
Reaching for calm, she headed for the door as the knock came again. Giddy excitement bubbled in her veins like champagne, but out of habit, she still peered through the peephole in the door to make certain it was Tommy.
“Oh, no.” The bubbles popped. Unlocking the door, she opened it, already contemplating how to get rid of him. “Forrest, what are you doing here?”
“Bringing the loveliest woman in Sugarland these,” he said, thrusting an arrangement of flowers at her.
A huge vase of white gladiolas that would look perfect spread across a casket.
“My, they’re . . . impressive! Come in,” she said, taking the heavy vase and stepping aside. Crap, she had to get him out of here before Tommy arrived!
“I thought you might like them.” Forrest closed the door behind him and smiled as she placed them on the coffee table. “You look very pretty. In fact, it would be a shame to allow you to languish here all evening, looking so fine and nowhere to go. Why don’t we go grab some dinner?”
“Well, actually—”
“Nothing fancy, just a steak or maybe some seafood.”
“I have to work tomorrow.” She could’ve slapped herself. That was so weak. Just tell him!
Of course, he pounced on the poor argument. “We both have to eat, so why not together? As friends. No expectations, I promise.”
“Forrest, that’s very sweet of you, but the truth is—”
And that’s when the second knock sounded.
Dammit! “Excuse me.” Giving the man a sheepish smile, she steeled herself, not bothering to look first, and opened the door.
“Hey, beautiful!” Tommy stood on the threshold, clutching a modest bouquet of daisies in one hand and a sack of groceries in the other. “I picked these for you. They’re from my mom’s garden.”
He couldn’t have sounded more proud if he’d grown them himself. Shea faltered, and realized she was staring. “Thank you, they’re absolutely perfect. Come in.”
“You’re welcome.” He beamed at her and strode inside. But when he came face-to-face with Forrest, his smile froze. His attention strayed from the other man to the massive spray of gladiolas and back again.
Can anyone say awkward?
“Um, Forrest dropped by to say hello. Isn’t that nice? Say, I don’t think you guys have officially met.” Shoot me now. “Forrest, this is Tommy Skyler. He’s a firefighter. Tommy, this is Forrest Prescott, Sugarland’s city manager.”
“I know who he is.” Tommy gave the man a nod. Though his tone was neutral, the shards of ice in his eyes made it perfectly clear how he felt about the other man’s presence. “Good to meet you, Mr. Prescott.”
“Same here, and you can call me Forrest,” he said genially. Once Tommy set the groceries on the kitchen counter and gave the daisies to Shea, Forrest offered Tommy a handshake. “It’s always great to meet some of our city’s finest young men outside the rigors of the job. Sugarland appreciates all you do, believe me.”
Tommy clasped his hand briefly, then nodded. “Yeah? Then how about voting the fire department a raise?”
Forrest stared at him a beat before giving a good-natured chuckle. “If only it was so easy. Grant the fire department a raise and the police department would demand one, too, followed by every city employee down to the garbage collectors. Where would these funds come from?”
“The flower budget.”
Forrest blinked at him. Tommy shot the man a charming grin, but crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance in a clear challenge. If he was spoiling for a heated debate, Forrest didn’t bite, to Shea’s immense relief.
Letting the issue drop, Forrest gestured toward the grocery bag in the kitchen. “It seems I’m interrupting. Shea, dear, why didn’t you just tell me you were expecting company? I would have left right away.”
“Well, I tried, but I didn’t have time,” she said. Embarrassment was rapidly becoming annoyance. “I wasn’t trying to be dishonest.”
“Oh, of course not! I’d never imply you were.” He seemed sincere. “On that note, I’d better go before I wear out my welcome.”
As he headed for the door, she heard Tommy mutter, “Too late.”
She hurried to see the older man out—mostly to make sure he was gone. He turned to give her a hug that lasted a few seconds longer than it should, and she firmly pushed out of his embrace. “Have a nice week.”
She hoped he got the message. Whether he did or not, she couldn’t tell.
“You too, honey. I’ll call you this week. Skyler, nice to meet you.”
“Highlight of my day, Forrest,” Tommy called, rustling through the grocery bag.
Shea practically shoved the poor man out. “Talk to you later!”
“You bet.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and an indecipherable look before turning and walking away. After locking up, she heaved a sigh and padded into the kitchen. Tommy was busy removing items from the bag for their dinner, acting as though nothing unusual had happened.
“I hope you like what I brought. I was going to go healthy, but then I thought that sounded boring and—”
“Tommy.”
“—really, who the hell cares if it’s all fancy, right?”
“Tommy.” Moving to his side, she put an arm around his waist and laid her cheek on his shoulder. “I didn’t invite him here.”
Some of the tension left his body. “I know.”
“I really was trying to tell him I had plans before you showed up.”
“I know that, too.”
“And I love the daisies,” she said, holding them up with her free hand. “They’re very pretty.”
“I’m glad you like them. They’re not expensive like those,” he muttered, nodding toward the living room.
“You know why I like yours best? They’re much more thoughtful, because they came from your mother’s garden and you picked them.” Standing up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Know why else?”
“Why?” He turned, put his hands around her waist and drew her close, careful not to crush the blooms between them.
“Yours don’t look like they were stolen from a funeral home.”
She liked his throaty laugh, seeing him finally relax. She liked his kiss even more when he lowered his head and took her mouth as though he
had a perfect right to do so. One palm strayed to his chest and rested there, feeling the rapid tempo of his heart under hard muscles.
He drew away first and she almost whimpered.
“Why don’t we get dinner going, then cuddle on the couch?” he suggested with a wink. “I brought a DVD if you’re interested.”
“Hmm. Food, a movie, cuddling, and kisses . . . is this some sinister plot to win me over?”
“Of course it is! What kind of stupid man do you take me for?” Leaning over, he pressed against her and whispered, “My mom even helped me with the recipe.”
“Ooh, now I know you’re evil, pulling out the ‘mom’ card!”
“It was either enlist her help to woo you, or risk giving you food poisoning, cutie.” His knuckles brushed down one cheek. “So I took one for the team and got my mom all excited because I like someone enough to actually try to cook for her.”
His warmth and the spicy scent of his cologne were creating lots of tingly places. All over. “So you don’t cook for your dates often?”
“Never. You’re my guinea pig.”
“I—I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be just yet. I brought Tums.”
She giggled and poked his flat belly to find it tight as a drum. Nice. “It can’t be that bad, especially since your mom lent a hand.”
“We’ll see. At least the guys at the station don’t complain much anymore when it’s my turn in the kitchen.”
Shea took a glass vase from underneath the sink, put the flowers in water, and placed the vase on her dining table. Tommy busied himself removing the rest of the stuff from the bag, including a bottle of Chardonnay, already chilled. She glanced at the label and was pleasantly surprised at his choice.
“Wow, this is really good wine. You can’t even buy Led-son in stores.”
“I can’t take credit. Dad orders it online from the winery and gave one to me before I came over. Should we open it?”
“Definitely. Wine this fabulous was made to be enjoyed,” she said, smiling at him. “I’ll get the opener and a couple of glasses.”
“Thanks, I forgot about bringing an opener. Um, I also forgot a rectangular dish for the casserole. Do you have one?”
