by Ranae Rose
She still didn’t have cable, and as she decided to settle for the local news, she knew exactly what the report would be about.
Brianna Haynes. That was the name of the poor girl who’d been murdered along the jogging trail in Walters Park. Lucia was already up to date on the basic facts of the case. It was the talk of the town, and the talk of the Coastal Aquatic Center by extension.
Lucia was a small-town girl through and through, having left the coast for the city during her college years, and returned afterward. Every time the tragedy was brought up, she experienced a pang of sadness. Brianna had only been twenty, a Cypress native who’d left her parents and a little brother grief-stricken. Way too young to have her life torn from her that way.
Between rehashing the sparse facts of the case, the news anchor mentioned a candlelight vigil. Apparently, one was going to be held in Walters Park.
She bit down on her inner lip, imagining Brianna’s friends, family and neighbors gathered on the grass where she’d been killed, their faces lit by candlelight.
The thought was depressing. Flipping off the news, she silently promised herself she wouldn’t be part of the local media’s captive audience. Sure, she wanted to know who’d killed a local girl and why, but she didn’t want to wallow in the minutia of the crime.
Whenever the police figured out what’d happened, she was bound to hear about it.
Abandoning the couch, she stepped into the kitchen and pulled a couple bags from the freezer: frozen mixed vegetables and frozen pre-peeled shrimp.
It was practically a crime to eat frozen supermarket shrimp when she lived on the coast, but no one had to know. Pulling out a skillet, she was fully prepared to whip up an artless stir-fry in just fifteen minutes.
Living alone had a way of curbing her enthusiasm for cooking. Every once in a while she’d pull out all the stops and make a real meal, but mostly, she fried and sautéed her way through culinary mediocrity.
No doubt she’d be motivated to aim higher if she ever had a family, but for now, it was just her and her skillet living the single life.
The thought had her mind drifting back to the evening before, when Jeremy Connor had invited her into his home for coffee and dessert. Or maybe it had been Meredith who’d done the inviting – she still wasn’t completely sure. Either way…
Her time in his kitchen had been the most indulgent half hour she’d experienced in a long time.
Not that it’d been anything but wholesome. Paige and Meredith had been there, providing a buffer against the wicked thoughts Jeremy inspired. They’d talked about Lucia’s move from Wilmington, and the local beaches.
Totally innocent, unlike the wave of heat that hit Lucia every time she thought of her new neighbor’s hard, corded physique and blue eyes.
Broccoli, bell peppers and summer squash sizzled in the skillet, as if emphasizing Jeremy’s hotness.
There was no doubt about it: her single spell was affecting her cognitive processes. Why else was she suddenly capable of lusting after a man as she sat sandwiched between his daughter and mother?
Sure, he was hot. Ridiculously so. But admiring him the night before, in the presence of his family, had left her feeling downright lascivious.
It would’ve been different if they’d been alone. Now there was a thought.
She couldn’t help but wonder what Jeremy’s situation was. Was he recently divorced? Single and looking?
It was probably none of her business, but she was only human. Any woman would wonder how long a man like him could go unattached.
* * * * *
It was an urban myth that homicides not solved within the first forty-eight hours were destined to languish in the realm of cold cases. When it came to a man who’d been single for a dozen years, however…
Christ. After so long, people should be able to accept that he was a bachelor.
Jeremy told that to his mother for the thousandth time and received a sigh in return.
“All I said was that Lucia is the prettiest face on Magnolia Street. Besides Paige, of course.”
Meredith leaned against her porch railing while Jeremy stood on her front lawn, gripping the handle of an old push mower.
A bead of sweat trickled into his eye, stinging. “You were hinting. Don’t pretend you weren’t. Not after the way you dragged the poor woman through my front door the other day.”
“She’s a woman living alone – I want her to feel welcome in the neighborhood.” She arched a brow. “You of all people should know that a little hospitality isn’t a crime. And poor woman? Please. She loved my lemon bars, and everyone enjoys good company.”
“I know everyone loves your baking. But if you don’t stop trying to lure her into my house, you’re going to drive her out of the neighborhood.”
Maybe that’d finally show his mother. This wasn’t the first time she’d encouraged Jeremy to date, or tried to manufacture a relationship between him and an eligible woman.
“You’re being dramatic, honey.”
He bit back a sigh and started the mower.
The fading sunlight beat down on the back of his neck, and the warmth was an uncomfortable reminder of the heat a beautiful woman could still make him feel, bachelor or not.
Lucia moving in across the street had been enough to remind him of the fact that he wasn’t dead. Hell, he was only thirty-three.
It sounded young enough when he said it out loud, but felt like a million years. Being abandoned to single fatherhood had plunged him into some sort of time warp. That combined with police work had been enough to inject his soul with a certain level of practical cynicism.
Was it healthy? Maybe not.
But it was reality. Paige’s mother had broken a heart too young and soft to do anything but crumble in her wake. But like they said, time healed all wounds.
He didn’t miss her. Turned out he didn’t even need her. He regretted what she’d done for Paige’s sake, though.
Every little girl deserved a mama. Paige had her grandmother, and he was grateful, but his heart was still soft enough to ache for his daughter anyway.
And he wasn’t about to put her in the line of fire again. Bringing another woman into their lives – a stranger – wasn’t something he wanted to put her through. Not after the way she’d already suffered because of his poor decision making.
Being alone sucked sometimes. That much was true. But he’d sworn to protect and serve those who needed it, and if he couldn’t shield his own daughter from more harm, who could he protect?
* * * * *
Jeremy didn’t like Paige being home alone, but sometimes his shifts coincided with his mother’s volunteer hours at the hospital. On those afternoons, she spent a couple hours by herself at the house.
He’d tried like hell to convince her to volunteer at the hospital with her grandmother, but she’d accused him of babying her, and they’d had a rare argument. In the end, he’d conceded – reluctantly – that she was old enough to be home alone, for short periods of time.
Still, he was always glad to make it home on those days.
“Paige?” He stepped through the front door, closing and locking it behind himself.
The kitchen lights were on and the scent of something tomato-y hung in the air. A casserole dish was open on the counter beside the microwave, a serving spoon sticking out.
Paige’s latest library book sat alone on the kitchen table.
He called for her again as he walked down the hall, toward her bedroom.
The light was on, and the door cracked.
He knocked, then pushed it open.
There was no sign of her, just walls glowing with the violet paint that matched the patterned bedspread she’d fixed with hospital corners.
Adrenaline hit him like a shot to the heart. His hand went to his service weapon, fingertips touching steel as a metallic taste crept into his mouth.
He turned, his pulse thumping in his ears, drumming up an instant headache.
Whe
re was she? Why the hell had he ever agreed to let her stay home alone?
Protective instinct swirled with a thousand terrible thoughts, fueled by the worst things he’d seen during his twelve years with the sheriff’s department.
“Paige!” He was flying down the hall when he heard a voice.
“I’m in here.”
Something was wrong. He could tell by the sound of her voice.
“Paige! Jesus.”
He turned back around, approaching the bathroom door.
He opened it, too panicked to knock, and there she was.
Scissor blades gleamed silver and sharp in her hand, and something dark was pooled on the floor.
CHAPTER 4
Her hair. It was heaped in a pile of curls, tangled on the bathroom tile.
Jeremy barely stifled a curse. “I thought you were gone. You scared the hell outta me. What’s going on?”
Paige looked down at the pile of hair, then up.
Her lip trembled.
He finally realized, then, what she’d done.
The hair that’d flowed down her back that morning was half its previous length in places, a third in others. She’d cut away sections, and the effect was uneven – if her curls hadn’t softened the asymmetry, he would’ve called it jagged.
“Honey?” His adrenaline gave way to something softer, something that felt like the beginnings of heartache.
“I cut my hair,” she said, looking down at the scissors she held, then placing them on the edge of the sink. “I… It’s hot outside.”
“You couldn’t wait to make an appointment with a professional?” He stared at the mess she’d made, not buying the heat excuse for a minute.
Her remaining hair flew in a wild cloud as she shook her head. “Nobody knows how to cut my hair! All they do is make it shorter, and then it poofs out and gets all frizzy, like a pyramid. It’s so curly – I hate it!”
“Your hair is beautiful. Your grandmother would kill to have it, but you inherited it from your grandfather.”
She shook her head even harder. “I don’t want grandma hair. I just want to look normal, like everyone else.”
He glanced down at the pile of severed curls on the floor, then up at his daughter.
And felt like a failure.
“We’ll get this fixed. We’ll get you a haircut you’ll like.”
She sighed. “Haircuts don’t work on me. They just make it worse. And I’m tired of wearing it so long.”
“No offense honey, but you cutting your own hair with the kitchen scissors was bound to make it worse. I’m sure there’s someone out there who can do better. We’ll get you to a salon tomorrow.”
She looked down at her feet. “I don’t want to go to a salon. It looks too bad – I don’t want anyone to see.”
“Well, maybe I can even it out a bit.” He eyed the scissors lying by the sink.
“You?” She looked up, regarding him with suspicion.
“Why not? I can’t make it much worse, can I?”
Her lip trembled again, then quirked briefly in something like a smile. “Don’t cut all my hair off.”
“I’ll try to save as much as I can.” He picked up the scissors. “Now for the love of all that’s holy, promise me you won’t move. Your grandmother will have my hide if I cut off too much.”
“She’s already going to freak out when she sees.”
He had no doubt that was true, but kept his mouth shut as he took one of the longest remaining locks of her hair between his fingers and held it next to one of the shortest, comparing.
His sense of dread eased a little with the first snip. When the curl bounced back into place and looked similar in length to the one he’d been trying to match, it was encouraging.
Ten tense minutes later, the pile of hair on the floor had almost doubled in size.
“Well, what do you think?” He put down the scissors. “Should I turn in my badge and open a high-end salon?”
Paige smirked. “No. You gave me pyramid head, just like everyone else.”
“Hey, pyramids are all about symmetry and even lines. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She turned to him, her expression earnest. “You did as good of a job as anyone else ever has.”
“High praise indeed.”
Her lips bowed in a pout. “Do you really think anyone can make my hair look good?”
“I already think it looks good, but there’s gotta be someone out there who knows how to handle hair like yours.”
“I doubt it.”
He wracked his mind for some sort of encouragement, knowing full well that he was woefully ignorant when it came to hair styling. His own hair was technically naturally curly, but he wore it less than half an inch long.
“Look at Lucia,” he said. “Her hair’s gorgeous, and it’s a lot like yours.”
Paige was silent for a moment, then her expression brightened. “Do you really think my hair could look like hers?”
“I don’t see why not. Maybe you could ask her where she gets it cut.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She looked uncertain, but hopeful.
That eased his guilt just a little, then brought it crashing back down on him in full force.
Was this what he had to resort to: telling Paige to ask the new neighbor they barely knew for advice a mother would’ve been able to give her?
He’d made peace with the fact that her mother was gone. Years ago. But every once in a while the lack came back to bite him in the ass when he least expected it, reminding him of what he couldn’t give his daughter.
“Hey,” he said, brushing an especially wild curl away from her face.
“What?”
“I’ll look into finding a good salon for you, too. I don’t care if I have to get a detective to investigate the entire coast for me; we’ll find a place.”
She donned a tremulous smile, and he marveled at her ability to be cheered by what he had to offer.
* * * * *
“I swear that little kid with the glasses was the one who took it. Did you see the way he looked at me with that smartass smirk? I thought he was gonna spit on me. Jesus.” Richardson ran a hand through his nearly non-existent hair.
Jeremy shook his head as they drove out of the neighborhood where they’d responded to a report of a stolen bicycle.
“You let bratty nine year olds get at you and you won’t make it a year in this job.”
“I’m just saying.” He shot Jeremy a long-suffering look. “Kids can be real jerks.”
Jeremy almost wanted to laugh. The boy with the glasses had given them some pretty sour looks, but kids were kids. He distinctly remembered times when he’d been a real little jerk at that age. He said so to Richardson.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I caught hell once for throwing one of my sister’s dolls in a creek when I was around that age. It got washed away, and by the time she was done crying to our dad, I knew I wouldn’t be sitting for the rest of the day. No idea why I did it, now that I think back.”
“Kids do stupid stuff. You’ll figure that out fast on this job.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, my sister and her husband have a few. They’re a little crazy, but they’re not bad.”
“What about you?” Jeremy knew Richardson wasn’t married, but he sometimes mentioned a woman named Amanda. “You’re seeing someone, right?”
He arched a brow. “Why, you interested?”
He ignored the joke. “You know where your girlfriend gets her hair cut? I’m trying to find a good place for my daughter.”
“Couldn’t tell you if my life depended on it. I could ask her, though.”
Jeremy nodded. “What kind of hair’s she got?”
“Brown.”
Brown. The simplistic answer was on-par with how Jeremy would typically talk about hair, so he didn’t really have the right to roll his eyes.
“I mean, is it curly or straight?”
“Straight.”
He frowned. He’d already
considered calling his cousin Liam, or their mutual friends Henry and Grey. They were all in relationships, but their women had straight hair, too.
“You telling me you don’t have someone to ask?” Richardson raised both his brows now.
“I’m single.”
“Now that just doesn’t make any sense. I may not have been here long, but if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard Kelly get all poetic over your blue eyes, I could retire already.”
Richardson raised his voice to a falsetto and started singing Jeremy’s praises. “I swear, doesn’t Sergeant Connor just have the bluest eyes? Wish I did. Wish I had a man who did.”
Jeremy wished he could say it was bullshit, but it was a nauseatingly accurate impression of Kelly, a shameless flirt and gossip who worked in dispatch. She had a crush on every man she’d ever laid eyes on, as far as Jeremy could tell, but he was one of her favorites to embarrass and torment.
“You know,” Jeremy said, “you look a lot like that snot-nosed little bike thief when you smirk.”
* * * * *
Lucia was never quite sure how much or how often to water her plants. Sometimes she had a feeling she overdid it, but that was better than underdoing it, wasn’t it?
Standing on her tiptoes, she poured water into one of her hanging baskets, frowning when excess liquid dripped from the vents at the bottom of the pot, confirming her suspicions.
Well, at least her petunias weren’t about to shrivel up and die.
She glanced down the street at Meredith’s house. Even from a distance, the flowers pouring from her window boxes were vibrant. Maybe she could ask her for tips next time she spoke to her.
She had no doubt that would be soon, but at the moment it wasn’t the silver-haired social butterfly she saw, but her granddaughter.
Paige Connor emerged from the house, and by the time she reached the curb, it was obvious she was carrying something.
A plate of some sort – possibly the same one Lucia had returned just days ago.
