After gloving up, Britt paused, held up a copy of a receipt. “Mint leaves.”
“What about them?”
“Think about it. Potpourri is made from dried plant material.” He held up the page again. “Mint leaves.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. Granola, for not tracking that thought.” Reid snatched the page from him and scanned it. “And hello, who needs the ten-pound bulk bag if they're not making potpourri.”
His bad knee barked at him and he stood, took a few steps back to stretch his legs. “Brynne, did Nelson have a partner?”
“No. At least, not that I knew of. And when I helped him with all the paperwork for incorporating, he never mentioned anyone else.”
Carlie Beth wandered into the yard, carrying a box of green garbage bags. “Y'all better pick all that up before Grif gets home. He will go crazy if he sees this mess.”
His brother, the high-class one, always worried about appearances.
“Where is he now?”
“At a meeting with the chamber. He said he'd be home by five.”
Reid checked his phone. “Thirty minutes.” He shoved his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and circled a finger. “Let's clean this shit up. I'll start with the nasty stuff. Shove all the papers in a separate bag so we can go through them.” He turned to Jonah and Britt. “Take Evie and Brynne back to the house. I need the truck.”
“Where are you going?”
“Got a few errands to run.”
Brynne eyeballed him. “What kind of errands? What are you up to?”
Nothing she needed to know about.
“It's personal.”
“Reid,” Britt said, “don't be stupid here. Maggie is already pissed at you.”
“Don't you worry about Mags. I got all that under control.”
* * *
Reid sat in the truck outside the sheriff's office, fighting the urge to turn tail and handle this latest discovery his way.
His way being a quick sneak and peek on Wayne's house. The inside. Which would mean breaking in. If they'd found the logo in the guy's garbage, imagine what he'd find behind closed doors?
He tapped his fingers on the bottom of the steering wheel, adrenaline plowing through him, urging him into action and eating away at reason.
Reason. Who needed that shit?
In front of him, the door to the sheriff's office opened and the receptionist strode out, spotted him sitting in the visitor's space, and waved.
If ever there was a sign he should do something, this might be it.
That something being he should quit stalling and go inside to show Mags what they'd found in Ed Wayne's garbage.
The sneak and peek would be so much more fun, though. Why the hell would he choose to get his ass chewed out by Mags when he could be breaking into a dead guy's house?
But he loved his cousin and he didn't want to screw her up on this investigation.
And that, kids, was the deal breaker on the sneak and peek.
“Ah, shit.”
He smacked his hand over the manila envelope he'd stolen from Grif's home office and pushed the door open on the ancient F-150, taking comfort in the squeaking door hinges. Some things just felt like home. He made his way to Maggie's office before the urge to fall back on his old ways took hold.
Inside, the bullpen desks were all empty, the receptionist’s space neat and tidy. She must have been knocking off for the day.
“Mags?”
“Enter!” she hollered, making Reid laugh.
He found her behind her desk, furiously typing on her computer. When he entered, she stopped typing and swiveled front to face him.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey.”
He stood there, staring at her, her staring back and….shit. Now that he was here, having to admit he'd ignored her order to stay out of her case, that sneak and peek was looking like the better option.
“Oh, no,” she said. “What'd you do?”
Now, that was harsh. Automatically she assumed the worst? That he'd done something wrong?
Maybe because you did, dumbass.
“It's not bad,” he said.
“Every time something starts with 'it's not bad,’ it's bad. And coming from you? I can only imagine.”
Considering what he was about to tell her, he'd give her that.
Reid tore the envelope open lengthwise and flipped it so the logo fell onto Mags's desk. Being the ace cop she was, she'd obviously noted his attempt not to touch the document and remained still. Not even a twitch of her hands.
She held his gaze for a few long and supremely agonizing seconds and then looked down. “What's this?”
“It's a logo.”
“Whose?”
Sticky part. Right here. If it were anyone but Mags, he'd employ the ultra-schmooze and talk his way out of it. The military had taught him more than combat training. Being part of Special Forces meant dealing with people, talking his way into buildings or bartering for necessities when a mission went sideways.
So, yeah, he could talk his way out of Mags being pissed at him.
He just wasn't sure he wanted to.
Mags was his go-to girl. His closest confidante, the one he brought his most important life decisions to.
And he couldn't lie to her.
“Straightaway,” he said, “you're not gonna be happy, but I promise you, this has a good ending. Let me finish before you yell.”
His cousin huffed out a breath, sat back in her super-duper sheriff's chair, and folded her hands in her lap. “Will I have to arrest you?”
“No. I can honestly say I haven't broken any laws.”
“All right. That's good news.”
Reid pointed at the logo. “I got that from Ed Wayne's garbage. And before you scream at me, the bag was on the curb.”
Mags locked her jaw, drew a breath through her nose, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Yeah, definitely testing the bonds of familial love here.
She opened her eyes and scooted her chair closer to the desk, all the while keeping her sorta-pissed stare on him. “You did a trash pull on Ed Wayne's place?”
“Yeah. I was driving by.”
“Nope. Stop talking. You were not just driving by. You have no reason to be in that area. Other than you were nosing around in my case again.”
“I—”
She poked two fingers at him, her face flooding with color. “Don't you dare lie to me.”
He dropped his head, focused on the toe of his boot. Careful here, buddy. Whatever he said next could change their relationship, annihilate any trust she had in him.
He raked his hands through his hair, prepared himself to beg for mercy. “Yes. You're right. I was snooping. I didn't go near the house, though. I saw the garbage on the curb and grabbed it. Didn't go past the sidewalk. I swear to you.”
Her shoulders relaxed a millimeter. “At least you have some good sense. Dammit, Reid, I asked you, begged you to stay out of it.”
“I know. But after that asshole went after Brynne, my brain fried. You know how I get. Sometimes I lose my shit. And now the guy is out. I had to do something. If it scores me any points, my first thought was to run back to Ed Wayne's and have a look through his house. I didn't do that. I came here instead.”
“Ha! You're not a total loss then.”
Gee, thanks for that.
Sighing, she leaned forward on her elbows and stared down at the document. “Tell me what the hell this is about.”
Phew. First hurdle cleared. “Nelson was starting his own business. Potpourri.”
“Brynne said something about that.”
“Yeah, she helped him incorporate and was testing samples of his stuff in her shop.”
“What does that have to do with Ed Wayne?”
Reid held up his finger. “Slow down, Sheriff. Getting there. First off, we found a copy of an automatic bank draft showing a payment to NC Allied, Nelson's employer. Then Brynne was looking at Nelson's Facebook page and foun
d a post with different logos he'd asked his people to weigh in on. Then, I do a trash pull on Ed Wayne's place and find this.” He gestured to the page. “The same logo Nelson chose for his business. Is that a coincidence?”
Mags picked up her pen, jotted a note. “We're already checking ballistics on both cases.”
“What did Ed Wayne do for a living? We're thinking maybe he and Nelson were working together on the potpourri business.”
“He worked for an ad agency. One of those smaller boutique setups. A lot of online stuff.”
Huh. Their theory on them being partners might not be such a stretch. “Maybe he was the marketing guy for Nelson? Helping him come up with slogans or whatever?”
“Could be. We're going through all his finances and outside of the phone link, this is the only other connection we've found between the two.” She pointed at the logo again. “I'm keeping this. Did you touch it? At all?”
“No. I wore gloves.”
No sense letting her know he'd dragged his whole family in on the action.
She jerked her head. “Good. And thank you for coming to me. I know it's killing you.”
“A little bit, yeah.”
“For the most part, you did good. I wish you'd have left the garbage for us to handle. Wait until the crime scene guys realize they missed that, go back and the garbage is gone. At least you were sensible about not touching it.”
He grinned. “I'm not a total loss, right?”
Clearly not amused, her nostrils flared. “Just, please, I don't know how many times I have to say this, but let me handle it. Anything else comes up, you call me first. Got it?”
“Yes, ma'am. I promise I'll call you.”
16
Brynne woke to a dark room and an owl hooting.
She blinked twice, then a third time, her gaze fixed on the bamboo ceiling fan swirling above her.
Tupelo Hill.
It took a second for her mind to adjust, to realize, for only the third time in six months, she wasn't in her own bed.
The first night, at Randi's, she'd hated it. The bed had been perfectly comfortable, the room warm and settling, but Brynne hadn't slept well. Too many images—of Nelson, his wounds, the blood—plagued her thoughts, jolting her awake every thirty minutes. Then the night before, Dexter Sweet and what he'd tried to do to her filled her dreams. Nightmares really.
She glanced at the clock. Merciful God, thank you.
Tonight? At the Steeles', with Reid somewhere under this roof, she'd slept a solid four hours.
The owl hooted again, the sound seeping through the French doors leading to the balcony.
In a blatant abuse of power, Mother Nature had created a freak warming trend and by the time Brynne had gone to bed at eleven, the temperature hit 73 degrees and the stars, well, a thousand angels must have been winking from that black canvas of a sky.
She pushed the covers away, rolled to her feet, padded to the door, and peeked through the blinds. Yep. Still a bazillion stars.
And she wanted to be out there. To breathe fresh air and forget about the past few days, to forget about Nelson leaving her and the giant hole that would never be filled.
Her stomach clenched, the pressure shooting up into her throat, cutting off her airway.
Air.
Fresh air.
Just outside this door.
But Reid had warned her about the alarm. Was the second floor wired? Knowing what she did about Reid, probably.
On the nightstand, she reached for her phone. Yes, it was three in the morning, but he said he slept like the dead. If he was asleep, a text probably wouldn't wake him. Still, how badly did she want to get outside?
She peeped out the window again. He had said to call him if she needed anything. Anything at all. Calling, though, would wake him up.
Text. Definitely a text.
Are you up?
Seconds later, his response came.
U okay?
Yes. Need some air. Can I open the balcony door?
Come downstairs. We'll walk.
A walk. In the middle of the night, under a sky full of stars.
With Mr. Sex on a Stick.
She stared down at the phone. At Reid's text, at his name on her screen.
She liked it. Seeing his name there.
“I'm in trouble.”
Shaking her head, she tapped out another message.
Be right down.
Rather than flip the lamp on and blind herself, she hit the spotlight button on her phone, illuminating the room enough to dig through her duffle bag for a pair of yoga pants and a lightweight, long-sleeved fitted T-shirt that—yes, she knew what she was doing—accentuated her small waist and big boobs.
But after six months of celibacy, of being alone and without affection?
Why should she deny herself the attention of a fine piece of man candy like Reid?
She whipped off her nightshirt, slipped into her bra, the sheer, lacy beige one she'd gotten as a sample from the lingerie vendor trying to convince her that Steele Ridge and La Belle Style needed a little naughtiness.
With the way her nipples poked through the cups of this bra, she definitely saw the naughtiness. And if she got really lucky, so would Reid.
From what she could see, the T-shirt had a few wrinkles. A spritz of wrinkle releaser took care of that minor detail.
Her phone buzzed. Reid.
Any time now.
Mr. Impatient. Well, he could wait a few seconds longer. She moved into the adjoining bath lit only by the motion-detecting nightlight. She brushed her teeth and glanced in the mirror.
No makeup.
Not even foundation.
Still, her eyes were bright—for three in the morning—and her skin was clear, cheeks a little flushed.
If things with Reid progressed, sooner or later he'd see her without makeup.
And something told her he wouldn't be scared off by it.
Her phone buzzed again. Oh, my God, that man.
Ignoring him, she shoved a brush through her hair, considered slipping it into a ponytail. He liked it that way. Had said it himself. But she liked it down and she'd already compromised enough by forgoing the makeup.
Compromise.
Something she'd never experienced in her marriage.
That's over.
She fluffed her hair one last time, liked the way it swooped over her shoulder, and for once didn't pick herself apart.
Quietly, she opened the bedroom door and made her way downstairs, the steps creaking a bit and making her wince.
Light from the first floor splashed halfway up the stairs and Reid appeared at the landing, his gaze locking on hers, taking in her face and the obvious lack of makeup, and she stopped moving. Just froze right there as panic flicked at her skin, that old insecurity crawling around inside her, bringing her back to the woman who'd never been good enough, pretty enough, thin enough.
Could she do this?
No.
Ready to head back to her room for her armor of makeup, she turned.
“Don't,” he said. “I'm staring because you're amazing. Flat-out slaying me.”
Well, all right then. She stood for a second as all that zapping on her skin settled and the panic slid away.
She turned back, met Reid's gaze, and the approval she saw there…Well, Reid Steele might just get lucky tonight.
Moving down the stairs, she broke the intense eye contact because—God—what was she doing?
Her and Reid? The most unlikely couple ever. What with his oozing cockiness and her supremely lacking self-confidence, they might as well be on different continents.
But he made her feel…pretty.
No.
Sexy.
At the second step, she halted, stood eye to eye with him, and he smiled.
“I like your T-shirt,” he said.
Smart-ass. “Somehow, I knew you would.”
“I'm a guy. Most of us like breasts.”
And, oh, boy. Re
id talking. Heaven help her.
He held out his hand. “You ready?”
She nodded. “I am.”
* * *
This was it.
Finally.
Alone with Brynne. Who'd left her makeup off. She'd trusted him enough to know he wouldn't turn tail just because she didn't have her face all painted up.
The truth was, he liked her better this way. Dressed down, her hair loose and not sprayed to cement. Just a sweet country girl with curves to spare and the ability to knock him to his knees.
He disarmed the security system, waited for the beep, led her through the front door, then relocked it.
Just in case.
Way out here, he didn't expect any unwanted visitors. Not tonight. A night so perfect he might be the luckiest bastard alive.
A May night with temperatures twenty degrees above normal and a cloudless night sky surrounded him. He focused on breathing. On taking it all in. On enjoying the moment. Not letting his memories of all the different night skies he'd seen make him pissy.
“Where are we going?”
“Just down the path here.”
The path—a dirt road, really—wound around to the bunkhouse he'd commandeered for himself when things at Mom's house began to get cramped. As in, his mother, as much as he loved her, started to make him nuts.
In the bunkhouse, he had quiet. And could walk around butt naked.
As they moved away from the lights of Mom's house, Brynne nudged closer, squeezed his hand a little tighter.
“Wow,” she said. “It's…dark.”
He lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of hers. “There's nothing to be afraid of here. And look at that sky. Amazing.”
They trudged on, into the blackness where only the outline of his cabin served as a guide and all around them crickets and birds chirped.
“What is this?”
“It's the cabin where I sleep. My mom was driving me nuts. Throw in Jonah and I needed some quiet.”
“You needed quiet?”
Okay. So maybe he deserved that. Just because he was a loudmouth didn't mean he didn't like peace every now and again. “Does that surprise you?”
“A little bit, yes. You're always so…alive. Ready for action.”
“Even us hyper guys need downtime.”
Living Fast: Steele Ridge Series Page 21
