by Katie Ruggle
Yolanda’s eyes narrowed. “That black car’s yours?”
“Yes.” Molly kept her gaze from sliding over to meet John’s.
“You’re the bounty hunters, then?” From the way the woman practically vibrated with growing fury, Molly knew that keeping her mouth shut was the safest option. Even without confirmation, Yolanda waved an angry hand toward the hole in the bathroom wall. “This is your fault!”
Clearing his throat, John inched in front of Molly again. “Since we weren’t the ones who blew a hole in your bar, I’m thinking you’re blaming the wrong people.”
“You were the ones chasing Sonny! If you hadn’t showed up, he wouldn’t have had to run.”
Molly peered around John, not minding having a physical barrier between them, since Yolanda was basically trying to kill Molly with her eye lasers. “Was Sonny the one who did this?” She pointed at the charred hole.
Yolanda took a deep breath, and Molly braced for lots of yelling, but her words came out in an angry growl instead. “Leave. Now.”
“See, the problem is that this is the only place we know where Sonny is sure to show up eventually,” Molly said in what she hoped was a reasonable tone. “If you tell us another place we could find Sonny, we won’t have to come back here.” She paused, giving Yolanda her most serious, determined face. “Every night.”
“Are you threatening me?” Yolanda bristled and took a step forward. John made a sound in the back of his throat and seemed to grow another two inches, and she stopped her advance, an apprehensive look flashing across her face.
It was amazing how much more secure Molly felt when she had a man-shaped blockade between her and a pissed-off informant. “Not a threat. It’s a promise to give you our patronage. Every night for weeks. Months even, if necessary. It’ll be a win-win. We’ll buy a beer or two, and I bet we’ll find a lot of other bail jumpers while we wait for Sonny to show up.”
“Fishing in a barrel.” Despite his looming, tension-filled posture, John’s voice sounded light and amused.
“Exactly!” Molly gave his back an approving pat. “I like this idea. Never mind about giving us an address for Sonny. We’ll just wait for him here.”
“I’ll have you tossed out.” There was a barely audible quiver in Yolanda’s voice, and Molly felt a surge of triumph. This might actually work.
She gave a mocking laugh as she pointed at John. “You’re going to have him thrown out? Good luck with that. He’s at least a three-bouncer job, and that’s not factoring in his MMA training.” Leaning around him so she could get a little closer to the bar owner, she stage-whispered, “His cage name was Rampage.”
Because John was so close to her, she felt his tiny jerk of surprise, and she poked him to make sure he didn’t start laughing and ruin his faux notoriety.
Yolanda’s mouth drew even tighter, until her lips met in a sour pucker. “Sonny’s staying with Tick Caruso’s mother. Don’t know the address, but it’s on Westpeak Road, the blue house across from the old church. Now leave, and don’t ever come back to my bar.” With that, she spun around and stomped toward the back door.
Molly waited until the woman was inside and out of sight before stepping out from behind her John-shaped wall.
“Why didn’t she just walk inside through the hole?” he asked, waving toward the damaged wall, and Molly bit back a laugh, only a tiny snort of amusement escaping.
Giving him a light push toward the corner of the building, she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to get overconfident before they were safely driving away. Who knew what could be heard through the hole in the wall?
Once they were in the car and turning out of the lot, Molly held up her fist. John flinched theatrically, and she gave his shoulder a chiding shove. “Don’t leave me hanging, Carmondy. I’m celebrating our stunning teamwork back there.”
With a grin, he bumped her fist with his giant hand. “Agreed. I knew we’d be great together. Why haven’t you come to work for me yet?”
“Because I’d kill you in a matter of days,” she said matter-of-factly, even as she wondered if her long-held excuse was accurate. After all, she’d spent almost every second with him over the past couple of days and she didn’t have any homicidal urges. In fact, she was feeling almost…warm and mushy inside. Dismissing that as the residual high of getting a potential location for Sonny, she was distracted when John turned south rather than north toward Westpeak Road. “Uh…aren’t we going to pick up Sonny? We’re on a tight schedule if we want to get this wrapped up before noon.” As silly as that had seemed just a half hour earlier, now it felt almost possible that they’d be able to bring Sonny in soon.
“I need to swing by my place and change into some clean clothes,” he said, catching her full attention. Even though he’d just spent the night at her house—in her room—it still seemed like an intimate thing to see where he lived and what his furniture looked like and if he left dishes in the sink. She’d soon find out if he was the kind of man who forgot to put the cap back on the toothpaste. She blinked rapidly several times, trying to come to grips with that knowledge. She must’ve been quiet too long, because he shot her a questioning look. “I’ll be quick.”
If he just ran in, maybe she could stay in the car? The thought was both a relief and a letdown, and she forced her brain to quit obsessing over such a silly thing. “Oh, that’s fine. Sorry. I was just thinking about something else. Someone else. Sonny, to be exact—well, more thinking about what the best plan would be to bring him in, but…yeah.” What was she doing? Molly never babbled—well, hardly ever. Why was she falling to ridiculously jittery pieces at the thought of seeing John’s toilet? “Ugh.” She rubbed her face. “I need more sleep.”
He chuckled, and it sounded so normal that she relaxed, relieved that her weirdness hadn’t fazed him. “I’m feeling you on that. So what have you decided?”
For a paralyzed second, she couldn’t distinguish between her thoughts and what she’d just said aloud, but then she managed to sort out her answer. “Nothing concrete yet. We’ll need to go in quickly, before he can rig up any explosions.”
“Unless he already rigged them up, proactively.”
She made a face, knowing that John was right. “That is likely, isn’t it? Poor mother of Tick. Her house is probably going to have an extra hole or two by the time we get our hands on Sonny.”
“Mother of Tick sounds like a prayer…or a curse word.”
“I’m sure we’ll be using both before this is done.” She sighed, trying to get her thoughts in order. They needed a plan, a good one, or they’d end up getting exploded along with Mother of Tick’s house.
Making a sound of agreement, John pulled up to the curb and turned off the car. Curious and still a little apprehensive about the whole home visit, Molly peered out her window at the adorable little brick house. “This is yours?” she asked, opening her door automatically before catching herself. “Did you want me to stay in the car?” Contrarily, now that she’d seen the outside of John’s home, she was intensely interested in seeing the inside as well.
“Like a neglected dog?” he asked. Before she could decide whether that had been rude or not, he continued. “C’mon. Let’s get inside.”
As she climbed out of the car, she decided that she couldn’t let his comment go. “A neglected dog?” she repeated, her tone chilly enough to make him wince.
“I said I wouldn’t leave you in the car,” he explained, his expressive hands making circles as he tried to think of the right words. “I wasn’t calling you a dog or anything. I was saying that would make me a terrible owner—er…I mean, person—if I left you here to die in the heat of a closed-up car. See?” He grimaced, obviously knowing that he’d mucked up the explanation.
Clucking her tongue disapprovingly, she walked ahead of him to the adorable house, holding back her smile and letting him stew in his own awkwardness. It was rare
to see John so flustered, and she wanted to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of the moment.
“Molly…” He drew out her name, sounding so tortured that she was tempted to relent. When he grabbed her hand and tugged her around, she stared at their interlocked fingers. Was John actually holding her hand? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to even imply that you were a dog or had any characteristics that could, in the tiniest way, ever be considered canine. I’m the useless, socially impaired mutt who manages to say exactly the wrong thing to you every single time.”
That made it impossible to hold back her laughter.
“Oh, good.” He sounded tentatively relieved as he squeezed her hand. She hated to admit it, but the press of his large, warm palm against hers felt comforting and really, really nice. “Does this mean you don’t want to rip my face off?”
“Yeah.” She stepped to the side, surprised at how reluctant she was to untangle her fingers from his so he could unlock his front door. From the way his grip tightened for a moment before he released her, he felt the same way. “For now. I imagine it won’t last too long, though.”
“I’ll take a temporary truce.” He held the door open for her. It was curved at the top, making her think of hobbit houses, even though it was a full-size entrance, big enough even for John’s significant height.
Stepping inside, she pulled off her boots while looking around. The place smelled like lemons and fresh wood, and she mentally rearranged all of her preconceived notions about John and what type of house he’d have. The hardwood floors were scarred from decades of use but clean, and the light that filled the space didn’t catch on any dust motes floating in the air. She felt a sudden rush of self-consciousness for her own rather battered house. Usually, she and her sisters were too busy working to do more than the bare minimum of housecleaning, except when Cara had some stress to work out at two in the morning. Even without seeing the rest of the place, she knew for certain that his bathroom would be spotlessly clean.
John had gone quiet and was eyeing her carefully as she looked around. A flash of vulnerability peeked out around his standard expression, and she realized that he cared what she thought of his home. It reminded her of how intimate it had felt when he’d seen her living space, and it dawned on her that it worked the other way, too. Watching her take in his home for the first time had to be nerve-racking for him.
Feeling sympathetic, she offered the first compliment that came to mind. “It’s so much cleaner than I expected.”
He blinked, appearing torn between offense and laughter. “What do you mean? Did you think I’d have a dirty house? Do I give off hoarder vibes?” His face dropped with obvious horror. “Do I smell?” Ducking his head, he raised his arm and sniffed.
“You don’t smell.” Since that wasn’t technically true, as she couldn’t get his addictive scent out of her mind, she amended her words. “Bad. You don’t smell bad.”
Eyeing her suspiciously, he took a whiff of his other armpit. “If I don’t stink, why did you hesitate just now?”
She was not about to venture into that mess of an explanation, since it would only lead to extreme embarrassment. Instead, she rolled her eyes and gave him her best impatient look. “I didn’t. Were you going to change clothes?”
Tossing his arms up dramatically, his expression one of complete indignation, he pinned her with an accusing glare. “If I don’t smell, why are you suddenly so insistent that I change?”
“Ugh. Drama queen. That’s why we came here, remember?”
Although he lowered his arms, he didn’t look completely placated. “Right. I’ll go change.” He was halfway up the stairs as he muttered, “After I shower.”
She debated whether to shout something impatient after him, but she was actually glad he was taking a few minutes longer than expected, since she was dying to explore the rest of his house. “Take your time,” she said sweetly—too sweetly, judging by the way he halted and turned his head to eye her suspiciously. Widening her eyes, she returned his look with her best innocent one, and he finally turned to climb the rest of the stairs.
Once he was out of sight, she slipped through the first entryway on her left into his living room. Although the large flat-screen TV did have a spot of honor over a fireplace, it was still a cozy room with many more books than she’d expected. She’d already known that John was a smart guy, but he always seemed to be moving. It was hard wrapping her brain around the image of him spending a quiet evening reading, rather than being out at sketchy bars, knocking bail jumpers’ heads together.
Resisting the urge to start examining titles—since she knew perfectly well that she’d never leave if she did—she moved into the dining room. The rooms were on the smaller side, but the lofted ceilings made up for it, keeping the house from feeling claustrophobic. It was cozy and adorable and, strangely enough, it suited John.
As she walked into the kitchen, she realized that the rooms made a circle, starting and ending at the entryway. Despite the age of the house, every room was freshly painted in currently trendy and warm colors, and all the furniture was newish and looked comfortable. He’d kept some of the vintage details, like the leaded windows and glass doorknobs, so that the place didn’t seem completely modern. Although her house—the one she grew up in and that she was chasing Sonny Zarver in order to keep—was unquestionably her very favorite place to be, she knew immediately that John’s house could quickly become a second favorite.
“Not that there’s any reason to be here after we bring Sonny in,” she told herself sternly, peeking into what appeared to be a study. This room was full of books, too. They covered two walls, making the small room feel even tinier. On the desk were a laptop and a tidy pile of folders. Quashing the temptation to peek inside those manila jackets and possibly get a glimpse of his active cases, she withdrew from the room. As much as she enjoyed stealing skips out from under John’s nose, sneaking a glance at his folders after he’d invited her into his home would feel like cheating.
She made her way back to the entry and sat on a cute wooden bench next to the oversize hobbit door. Although she felt twitchy and wanted to pace, she forced herself to stay seated. Since she didn’t want to think about how much she liked John’s house and how much she was starting to really like the house’s owner, she turned her mind to the skip they were chasing.
By the time John returned, freshly scrubbed and still smelling just the slightest bit like bubble gum, she’d come up with four and a half potential plans to get Sonny in custody without Tick’s poor mother having her house explode.
“Ready?” he asked as she popped up off the bench.
“Yep. Plan number five is missing the back half, but the first four are fairly solid.” She hurried out of the house in front of him, staying out of range so she could keep her body’s reactions in hand.
Her efforts to put some distance between them were for naught, since he caught up with her outside. In just a couple of his long strides, he was right next to her, and her senses were overwhelmed by his sheer John Carmondy deliciousness. “You have four plans?”
“Almost five.” If she was being honest, however, the parts missing from her fifth plan were fairly critical. “Personally, I like plan number two the best.”
“What is plan number two?” They reached his car, and John opened the passenger door for her. Although she gave him a sideways glance, she swallowed her snarky question about whether they were on a date. Instead of giving him a hard time, she slid into her seat and tried not to feel weird about the whole thing as he closed her door and circled around to the driver’s side. Once he was in his seat, he started the engine and then turned toward her expectantly.
“You’re actually up for making a plan this time, rather than just winging it?” she asked.
With a crooked smile, he raised his hands palms up in a What can you do? gesture. “Seems like it’d be a waste of four good plans if we do
n’t use them, now that you’ve thought them up and all.”
“In that case, head to Mother Tick’s house, and I’ll tell you on the way.”
Chapter 15
“I still like plan number five the best,” John complained as he parked in the grocery-store lot a block from Mother Tick’s house.
“Four and a half,” Molly corrected, not for the first time. “It has huge gaping holes in it. So much could go wrong.”
“I think that’s why I like it—there’s so much room for improvisation.”
Giving him a look, she opened her door. “Improvisation is fine when a plan goes sideways, but it’s better to at least start out with a solid plan…like plan number two.”
“You just want to be pretend-married to me.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” she said dryly as she stretched and tried to surreptitiously check out the house. “I made that very wish when I blew out the candles on my cake at my last birthday. I wish more than anything that I could pretend to be married to Carmondy.” As he walked over to join her, she gave him a poke in the side. It must’ve been a ticklish spot, because he jumped and swatted her finger away. “Doofus. Why would anyone wish that?”
His expression showed exaggerated offense. “I, for one, would love to be fake-married to you.”
Even though she knew he was teasing, and she’d just been playing along, his words took her off guard. She went quiet for a beat, too flustered to respond.
“Pax?”
“Sorry.” She shook off the strange moment, silently commanding her feelings to knock it off and quit being weird. Grabbing on to the first excuse she could think of, she stared at Tick’s mother’s house. “Thought I saw something move. So…plan two, then?”
“Fine.” Although he grumbled, it was good-natured, and she knew his complaints were more to get her wound up than because he had any serious objections. “Just to make your birthday wish come true.”
