by Jo Davis
“We had a thing for a while. It blew over and we’re cool, end of story.”
That’s honestly all there was to it, but men were as bad as women about the jealousy thing. Maybe worse. “Why does it matter to you, anyhow? This is a hookup, right?”
Underneath her, he tensed. “Is it?”
“I think that’s best. Don’t you?”
He was silent for a long moment. She could almost feel him struggling with his reply.
“I think I’m too old for hookups.”
“I don’t know if I have more to give, or if it’s smart to get involved.”
“Does anyone really know?” he pointed out. “Isn’t it worth the risk to find someone special?”
“Maybe. But taking risks isn’t something I’ve been good at these past few years.”
“You might learn.”
“I might.” It was as far as she was willing to concede, and even that confused her. She hated this man, with good reason. “I need to get home.”
“It’s late. Or early.” He yawned. “Stay. Sleep for a while. I’ll make you breakfast later.”
Breakfast. How . . . domestic.
With the cop who’d killed her sister.
She rose to dress, turned away from the flash of disappointment that shadowed his green eyes. “Some other time.”
“Sure.” He paused. “Do you have a cell phone?”
“Yes.” Sliding it from her jeans pocket, she held up the device.
“Put me in your contacts?”
“Okay.” That could be useful. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. Instantly, she hated the surge of guilt in her chest at the thought. He rattled off the number and she saved it. Then he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on, fishing his phone from his pockets as well.
“Call me, and I’ll have yours, too.”
She did, and Taylor saved her contact info before walking her out the door and to her truck. He helped her inside and stood there, studying her for a moment.
“I’m sorry if I pushed too hard,” he said with a slight frown. “I don’t want to scare you away.”
“You didn’t.” Liar. “How about we take things slow, see where this goes?”
His smile lit the night. “I’d like that.”
He leaned in for a last kiss, and she accepted it wholeheartedly. This was a dangerous game she played, but it was like she had almost zero willpower around Taylor. He seemed like the real deal. Kind, genuine.
And if he was, then she’d have to give some serious thought to Jenny’s murder. Specifically, if what she’d been told and had always believed about that day was the truth—or a pack of lies.
• • •
Dmitri was nursing his morning coffee when the phone interrupted his solitude. He picked up on the second ring. “Yes?”
“There’s been an interesting development,” Snyder informed him with a sneer in his tone. “She and the cop have become . . . acquainted.”
His hands tightened around his mug. “How so?”
“My guess? In the biblical sense, seeing that they hooked up in the bar last night and ended up at his house just long enough to scratch a mutual itch.”
“She’s been watching the cop much longer than we have. Now she’s playing him,” Dmitri guessed.
“Maybe so. But since she hasn’t killed him by now, my guess is she’s not going to. We have to stick to the original plan—get them both out of the way. Now more than ever, before they compare notes.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Forget trying to make it look like she took out the cop. Just get rid of them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ending the call, Dmitri went back to his coffee and his newspaper. But the brew was cold and the words blurred.
All he could see was Jenny’s beautiful face. The destruction of his plans.
Kayne would pay dearly for the loss of both.
• • •
Saturdays were usually Cara’s lazy days. No bartending, no band practice. Just a whole day to herself with nothing to do but sleep in, maybe go for a walk. Read a good book. Anything to take her mind off Jenny and dreams of revenge.
Today she had a different sort of distraction: Blake. The young man was asleep in the guest room, and she had no idea what to do, seeing as she rarely had visitors, much less overnight guests. Should she cook breakfast? Let him sleep?
Suddenly anxious, she rummaged through the refrigerator and pantry, searching for something impressive to cook. If not impressive, she’d settle for edible. Somehow she didn’t think wilted salad and a few slices of mushy, half-dead cantaloupe would be very appetizing. On the heels of that thought, she wondered why his comfort and well-being were so important to her. It wasn’t like he was a lover or anything.
But he could’ve been, had he not been gay. With a start, she realized that Blake was much closer to her age than Taylor. What a strange thought. She cared for Blake. In fact, she was beginning to think of Blake as a brother, but the detective was the one who got her motor running.
Dammit! She didn’t want to like Taylor, much less be attracted, but her body had gone and parted ways with her common sense. Last night had been a huge mistake. What had she been thinking, playing a game of sexual cat and mouse with the man?
“I can’t do this,” she muttered, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I can’t get involved with him.” No sooner had the thought left her lips than a buzzing noise came from the counter. A text had come in on her phone, and, peering at the display, she groaned.
It was from Taylor. Just want to say have a great day.
A pause, then another one. Hope to see you again soon. ;)
Damn. Her heart beat a little faster and she felt a warmth in her chest that had been absent for a very long time. The thaw was almost painful and not entirely welcome. To reply or not? She was somewhat pissed at herself for even considering it. She picked up her phone, stared at it. Put it down. Finally, she decided to let it wait, for now. If he was truly interested, that wouldn’t change in just a few hours.
Cursing herself again, she was about to dig through the pantry once more when she heard a noise behind her. Turning, she saw Blake standing in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in the same clothes he’d had on the night before. He’d showered, though, and she could smell the fresh aroma of soap wafting from the young man. His hair was damp but combed. Giving her an uncertain smile, he edged inside.
“Hey. You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“What?” She scowled at him. “You’re not in my hair. Don’t you trust me to tell you if you were?”
His face flushed red. “Um, I guess. Sure,” he said with more conviction. “You’re a pretty direct person.”
“That’s right. If I wanted you to leave, I’d just say so.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Have you already forgotten our conversation from last night?”
“No. But I don’t want to be a burden—”
“Nope, you’re not. You’re my sound man, and you need a temporary place to stay while we find you a second job to supplement your income. You’ll be independent before you know it, and I don’t want to hear that crap again. Understand?”
One corner of his mouth kicked up and relief shone in his weary brown eyes. “Yeah, got it.”
“Good.” She waved a hand toward the kitchen. “I was going to cook, but unless you like rotted produce, we’re going to the diner for some breakfast.”
His stomach rumbled and though he looked embarrassed, he laughed. “I’d say that sounds pretty damned good.”
“Great! Let me grab my keys and purse and we’ll go.”
Soon they were in her truck and on their way to the old part of Sugarland. One of the first things she’d loved about the place was the old-fashioned town square with a gorgeous old courthouse t
hat sat smack in the center. Retail shops lined the square on all four sides, including the diner. The restaurant served home-cooked meals in a friendly atmosphere that had become such a rarity across the country.
Pulling into a parking spot in front, she shut off the engine and they walked inside. Immediately she was enveloped in the wonderful smell of bacon, eggs, and something sweeter. Maybe waffles or pancakes.
An older waitress led them to a booth, where they took seats opposite each other and studied the laminated menus. The diner fare was simple, but she knew from experience how good the food was.
“The cowboy omelet for me,” she said, closing the menu. “You?”
His voice was quiet. “Maybe the short stack of pancakes?”
“Is that all? What about some bacon?”
“No, thanks.” But his stomach rumbled and his eyes remained downcast, belying his words.
“Blake, look at me.” When he did, she smiled encouragingly. “I’ll say this again, and this time get it through your head. We’ve become friends over the past few weeks, and now you’re a member of the band’s crew as well. Our group is essentially family, and we help each other out when we’re needed.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” she said firmly. “If you fight me at every turn, not only will that be counterproductive, but you’ll piss me off. Is that what you want?”
His lips curved up some. “Well, no. I’ve seen you in ninja mode and it’s not pretty.”
“Exactly. Besides, if the situation were reversed, would you help me?”
“Of course! I’d do anything in my power to give you a hand. You know that.” His expression was earnest.
God, the guy was cute. “Then just cut us both a break and go with the flow, okay? The best thanks you can give me is to take this chance and run with it.”
After staring at her for a few moments, he nodded. “All right. I’ll stop being such a pain about it.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
The waitress came and took their order, and Blake shyly asked for the tall stack of pancakes with a side of bacon. Cara felt like she’d made major headway with him, and it was only a six-dollar breakfast, for God’s sake. She couldn’t wait to see if he’d forget his vow and balk when she took him shopping for clothes.
They chatted a bit, and after their food arrived, Cara carefully probed into his past when the opportunity presented itself. She found out Blake was from Clarksville, and that his parents still lived there. He had an older brother who no longer lived at home and had a decent job and an apartment in Nashville.
“Well, last I heard,” he added sadly.
Cara frowned. “I thought you were an only child.”
“No.” He gave a bitter laugh. “As far as my parents are concerned, Jonathon’s the only child.”
“I’m sorry.” She paused, wondering how much more he’d allow her to push. “Are you sure your brother feels the same? Maybe if you gave him a call—”
“Don’t you think I tried that already?” he asked sharply. “I haven’t been living on the street for no reason. Jon told me I disgusted him and then hung up on me.”
Her heart broke for him. “He wouldn’t even hear you out?”
“No. And I never really got the chance to come out to him, either. My loving folks must’ve beat me to the punch.”
“Must have? Don’t you know?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “When your brother said he was disgusted with you, did he say why? Are you sure it was finding out you’re gay?”
“No . . .” His eyes widened. “But I thought that’s what he meant.”
“What was Jon like before your falling-out? What kind of person was he?”
Blake’s brows drew together. “He was cool. A nice guy to everyone, even kids like me who are . . . different. He never struck me as the judgmental type before. I know I’ve heard him make comments about how people should be able to love who they want.”
She thought about that for a few seconds. “Considering what you just told me, is there any chance your parents lied to Jon about you? Drove a wedge between you by telling him you had done something he would have a problem handling?”
For the first time since she’d gotten to know Blake, the young man’s face lit in an expression of real hope. “My brother hates liars, people who steal and cheat. You think they told him something like that?”
Reaching across the table, she grabbed his hand. “There’s only one way to find out.”
He bit his lip. “Would you go with me? When I’m ready, I mean.”
“I’d be glad to, sweetie. Just let me know when you want to go.”
“Let me think about it.” He paused. “I’d like to have my shit together before I face him, you know? I want to have a job, be ready to stand on my own two feet. I don’t want him to see me as his poor little worthless brother, looking for a handout.”
“Well, you have a job with me. But I know what you mean.” Something told her Jon would be glad to hear from Blake once he knew the truth. Please let me be right.
He looked her in the eye. “I’m grateful you gave me a chance, and I’ll give you one hundred percent. It’s just that I need a second job if I want to rent an apartment and pay for utilities and groceries.”
She nodded. “You’re thinking ahead. That’s good.”
The rest of breakfast passed pleasantly enough, despite the previous heavy subject, thanks in part to Blake’s excitement over not only his job with the band, but finding a second one he was suited for.
“Did you know they opened a Guitar Center over by the mall a few months ago?” His eyes were bright for a change. Excited. “I’d be perfect for that job.”
“You know the employees have to audition to work there, right?”
He snorted. “Obviously you’ve never heard me play.”
She smiled at that. “I’d like to sometime.”
“Really?” His happiness dimmed some. “I don’t have my equipment anymore. Had to leave it at home, and my parents have probably hocked all of it by now for the cash.”
The idea made her furious, but she kept her feelings hidden. “The band can hook you up with a guitar and amp to practice with. And if—when—you get that job, you’ll be able to buy your own.”
He brightened again. “Yeah.”
After they finished eating, Cara paid the bill and they climbed back into her truck. “Let’s do some shopping. Then we’ll go around and let you pick up some applications to different places, including Guitar Center.”
“Most of the applications are online now, aren’t they?”
“Most, but not all. And it’s always good to speak to a manager in person anyway. Makes a better impression.”
“Okay.”
The rest of the day couldn’t have gone better. Blake was surprisingly easygoing about her buying him new jeans, shirts, and shoes, though he fussed a little over prices and vowed to pay her back every penny the moment he was able. Ignoring him, she bought designer stuff that looked damned good on him and was pleased with the cool-looking guy that emerged from the cute but scruffy waif. Especially after she took him by the barber and had his hair trimmed.
He made a bit more noise over having his pretty, shoulder-length tresses clipped, but they compromised on a cut that still covered his ears and was layered in a trendy style that gave him a sexy, just-out-of bed look he could brush into place with his fingers. All told, he was happy with the look when they were done.
“Jesus, is that me?” he murmured, staring at his reflection in the stylist’s mirror.
“I knew there was a handsome man hiding under all that hair and yards of material!” She enjoyed seeing him blush. “Now, on to visit with some managers.”
Confidence bolst
ered, dressed to impress, and hair styled, Blake made the rounds. He had a new spring in his step that was nice to see, and bounded to the truck after each stop, beaming. He collected a few paper applications, made some connections, and even bragged that he’d gotten his flirt on with a couple of sexy prospective coworkers who were more than receptive to the attention. She worried privately about that last part, only because she didn’t want him to get hurt.
But Blake couldn’t live in a glass bubble, and his friends wouldn’t always be around to protect him. At some point, he had to fly on his own.
They were halfway home when he glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. “So, have you texted him back yet?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” he said with a laugh. “You’ve been sneaking peeks at the same message all day when you think I’m not looking.”
“I have not!” This earned an arched brow and a droll stare. She sighed. “Fine. So what? It’s not like I’m hung up on Taylor.”
“Aha! So it is our Hottie McCop. Yeah, I totally believe you don’t have a thing for him when you kept staring at him last night like you wanted to eat him topped with cherries and whipped cream.”
“I did not.” Her protest didn’t sound very convincing, even to her own ears.
“If you don’t want him . . .” Her friend licked his lips and waggled his brows.
Snickering, she smacked his arm. “He’s too old for you, and way too straight, you little shit.”
“Not so little. In fact—”
“TMI, my friend!”
Laughing, Blake started to fire back a retort. “Yeah, your Ten Inch Boys might get jealous if— Shit! Watch out!”
From nowhere, a big SUV came barreling around her from the left and cut sharply in front of her. She knew a split second before the jolt that the driver wasn’t going to clear the front end. The awful crunch, the squeal of tearing metal, rang in her ears as she fought the wheel.
And lost. With no time to correct her truck, it jerked to the right, flew toward a curb. Jumped the small barrier and shot straight toward a telephone pole. She had no time to scream as the truck plowed into the pole.
The impact stole her breath.
