The Sweetheart Game

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “Thank you for the help,” she said softly. It was then that he heard the slight twang of a drawl. It had probably taken some effort to lose it when she’d moved north. “I don’t know if I could have made it inside after all.”

  “I think that kid on the curb would have offered you CPR had he not been carted off by ambulance.” He shifted the pack. “The tyke was obviously impressed by you.”

  “That kid needs a leash,” she snapped, then put a hand over her mouth, horrified. “I’m sorry. My nana taught me better manners.”

  “When I was his age, I needed two leashes.” One side of his mouth tipped up. “If you’d like to swear, I promise not to listen. When I stubbed my toe last week I used words I didn’t know I knew.”

  A small smile lit her eyes. Damn, she was gorgeous. The tight running gear didn’t help keep his thoughts in check. It had been, well, never, since a woman took control of his senses so quickly. His self-control was taking a beating.

  “Thank you, but no.” She pushed to a seated position and pulled her leg off his lap. He helped her put her injured foot back on the pillow and replaced the pack. “Swearing isn’t ladylike. That’s what my nana said.”

  From her flat stomach peeking out from beneath a short tank top to long legs barely covered by spandex, she was a dream that had stepped out of a vintage calendar. Put her in tight capris, a frilly white top, and wrap her blonde hair in a scarf, and she’d look like an actress from years gone past.

  As a writer of old-time detective books, he knew all about men and women from that era.

  “You never swear?” He tried to imagine that mouth cursing like a sailor. It didn’t fit. He wanted to ask her about talking dirty during sex but that would be very inappropriate.

  “Does darn count?”

  He chuckled. “Not even close.”

  * * *

  Summer liked the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled. The man was too good-looking to be a dangerous criminal, but then again, not all criminals had bad teeth and ugly scars. She had to remember that all his kindness could be a ruse to get her into his basement to chop her up.

  Shivering, she needed some space to figure this out. It was time for him to go. “Thank you again for helping me but I think I should get some rest.”

  Jason nodded. “Let me give you my number so you can call if you need anything.”

  Drat. Limited contact with Mr. Sexy was the key to keeping a professional distance. Calling him in the middle of the night to get her some ice was out. Asking to borrow aspirin wasn’t going to happen. Any personal contact with a potential criminal was a no-no in her profession.

  “Sorry, I don’t seem to have my phone. I’ll have to send up smoke signals instead.”

  He glanced around and reached out. “Look, I found this under your hip.” He pulled her phone out. Sometime during his visit to the kitchen, she’d managed to retrieve her cell. She tried to get the phone back but he held it away and swiped the screen. And grinned. “911? You took the leg removal comment seriously.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “You are a stranger who threatened me with a saw. I don’t think plugging 911 into my phone was an unusual response to a possible dismemberment.”

  If she expected him to morph into a killer and drag her off to his lair, her expectations were tamped down when he typed his number into her phone and handed it back.

  “Call me if the ankle turns gangrenous and you need hospitalization. I’ll be around.” He rose and walked to the door. “It was nice meeting you, Summer.”

  She shivered a little as he walked to the door, paused, and turned back. “Oh, and if you wanted to get my attention, there were easier ways. That whole ankle twist, bike crash, second twist was over the top. Next time, just bring brownies.”

  Chapter 5

  Summer gaped. “What a giant ego!” He probably thought she’d sprawl out in her lonely bed tonight thinking of all the things he could do to her naked body, and he’d be right. But he couldn’t know what she was thinking. For him to be so cocky was entirely speculative. He probably thought all women lusted after his hunky body.

  She sighed. And he’d be right. Again.

  Pushing awkwardly to her feet, she winced. Despite a momentary lapse with the whole conjugal visit fantasy, and maybe one small warm and fuzzy thought before she went to sleep, she would never, ever date a criminal!

  “Men always think we can’t resist them. They’re wrong. I’ll show Jason that I can control my baser urges.” Grumbling under her breath, she managed to hobble up two flights of stairs with only one bobble and then several whipping arm rotations to keep from falling backward, and headed for her office.

  Why had she ever thought putting it on the third floor was a good idea? Oh, right. Forced exercise.

  The ice had kept the swelling down and there wasn’t much pain. By tomorrow, she should be doing okay. There would be no need for Jason, the saw wielder, to take off her leg.

  Stop thinking about him!

  She signed onto her computer and sent off her list of criminals for the week. Then she checked to see who was online. It was late on a weekday and some of her friends had kids. Okay, they weren’t supposed to give out personal info, but occasionally a tidbit slipped out. Although their group kept anonymous, they did share an occasional detail of their lives.

  Hotsummernites: Anyone out there?

  Sexyvixn: I’m here but have to sign off. Have an early morning.

  Hotsummernites: Me too. First, any updates?

  Sexyvixn: Nothing. Hopefully news soon.

  Shakennotstirred: I found my gangbanger.

  Hotsummernites: Excellent!

  Poefan7: Here. Wait. My bank robber just popped up in Memphis. See ya, Sexy, HSN, and Shaken.

  Hotsummernites: Have fun!

  Summer logged off. Was it wrong to wish he’d call her Sexy too? Despite what Jess said, the anonymity of flirting online gave her courage in a way that dating face-to-face didn’t. She could be anyone she wanted to be. Good girl Summer could pretend be bad and wear leather and drive a motorcycle and date men with tattoos if she wanted. Who would call her out on a few fibs?

  No one, that’s who.

  She turned off her lights and walked to the window. She stared out into the night for several minutes before spotting Jason exiting the back door with a package under his arm. He headed for the potting shed and claimed the shovel.

  Really? Again? Way, way down inside her, she wanted to believe Mr. Hot Neighbor was innocent of all the terrible charges against him. She wanted to think he was the kind man who had helped her today and not a bad guy. There was no one else in the neighborhood around her age and she could use another friend. But these nightly burials were not helping.

  Now she was really worried. The only thing that made sense about this situation was that he was burying body parts. What else could it be? How many dead pets could one man have?

  “A lot of pets, that’s what. Maybe he has sick hamsters,” she said. “The chance that a killer lives next door is almost zero.” Those storylines only existed in movies. Not in real life. “Well, sometimes.”

  She dropped the curtain when he finished digging the hole and hurried out of her office. Going down a floor, having learned her lesson about climbing on roofs, she peeked out of a window with a closer view. The package was the size of a male thigh, she figured. And shuddered. Not a dead hamster.

  He’d been very nice, despite thinking that she’d faked an injury to wrangle a date, or sex. If he caught her gawking, he’d definitely suspect she was crushing on him.

  “Lord, he probably thinks I’m desperate . . . or a nut.” It sucked that the first nice guy she’d met in forever, and who didn’t openly gawk at her chest and try to slobber on her neck—or cleavage—was likely to be executed by firing squad in a third-world country for his crimes. Ugh.

  “Jess was wrong. I’ll stick to online men. They’re safer.”

  Waiting until he pushed the bundle into the grave and fille
d it in with dirt, she closed the curtain and flopped down on the guest room chair.

  What to do? Was it wrong to like him? So he had the strange hole-digging thing; but what had he done that rose to the level of a felony? Unless he had committed murder, nothing. In fact, the man in the video might not be him at all. Lots of men had the same build and features.

  Maybe he practiced some sort of weird religion that required burying good luck amulets around the yard? That made sense right? See there were other reasonable explanations.

  She slumped in the chair. “Lord, I am losing my mind.”

  * * *

  Jason leaned on the shovel handle and glanced up at Summer’s house. Now he was convinced she was watching him. The curtain on one of the side windows overlooking his yard moved slightly after the lights went out.

  After what he’d seen today in her running gear, he didn’t mind her looking. Hell, if she wanted to spy, he’d give her a show. It would teach her a lesson.

  Laughing, he tamped down the dirt and imagined all the crazy stuff bouncing around in that pretty head of hers. If she had seen him digging up the garden, it would explain why the mention of the saw freaked her out. He must look like a serial killer on body disposal duty.

  How easy it would be to go over and explain. But not telling her the truth would be a lot more fun.

  “See you later, Fred.” He gave the buried possum a salute, returned the shovel to the shed, and headed to the house.

  He loved his granddad dearly, but several dozen stuffed animal carcasses sitting around were too much to deal with. Now that he’d taken over the house full time, he wanted changes. Their blank stares were like living in a vintage black-and-white horror movie.

  He had a bet on which one would suddenly come to life and eat his brain. Berk the beaver had some big sharp teeth.

  After his grandma had died twenty years earlier, his crazy Aunt Edna had given Pops, for company, a stuffed badger she’d found at a garage sale. Every birthday and holiday thereafter, several family and friends jokingly presented him with stuffed roadkill as gifts. Twisted, yes, but innocent fun.

  The lot was purchased mainly off eBay from a nut-job taxidermist from Montana who used the proceeds to build an underground bunker in which to hide in when space aliens finally took over earth.

  Family folklore had it that the taxidermist had been sent to his maker early one morning by an eighteen-wheeler, while shoveling a prairie dog off the highway, but that was never confirmed with actual evidence. Thus came an end to the critter gifts five years ago, to be replaced with tacky ties from gift shops in Las Vegas, New Orleans, Graceland, and the like. His grandfather had taken those along when he moved out.

  Creepy, yes, but no one said people in and around his extended family were normal. One uncle lived in the woods with a mannequin he called “Sheila.” And his grandpa wasn’t one to refuse a thoughtful gesture, no matter the tackiness of the gift.

  Neither was Ed Nealy one to dispose of those gifts.

  Pops had gifted him with the house and Jason wasn’t about to spend his days being watched by sightless glass eyes. The deer heads in his office were enough and he’d keep the badger for sentimental reasons. Besides, he had a feeling Pops wouldn’t be against laying some of the moldering members of the collection to rest in the garden.

  Once Jason grabbed a beer, he went to the office to work. Late-night writing bursts helped clear his head of the lingering images of Summer in spandex. He glanced over at the chipmunk sitting on the edge of the desk with an evil stare. Sighing, he turned it toward the raccoon on the fireplace mantel.

  “From now on,” he said, “it’ll be two to a grave.”

  Chapter 6

  The morning started with a rush of cases. Summer remained busy until late afternoon which also kept her from dwelling on her annoying and sexy neighbor and her aching ankle. Taryn was out of the office, making it impossible to bounce further thoughts and suspicions about Jason off of her, and she was still slightly irked at Jess. So her advice was out.

  At five-thirty she said goodbye to Irving, ignored Alvin’s smirk, and hobbled off to run a couple of errands before heading home. The last stop was for fast-food tacos and the smell of grease and spicy seasoning set her stomach to growling happily.

  Back in September, the autumn leaves had fluttered off the branches of her quartet of maple trees to carpet the grass in her yard in orange, red, and gold. They were still there to remind her that she hadn’t raked last fall. Now that the snow was gone, hers was the only house on the block with questionable yard landscaping practices. Soon, her picky neighbors would be calling the lawn police to have her ticketed.

  As it was the middle of May and the temperature hovered in the mid-seventies, she had no more excuses. Either rake up the mess or pay someone to do the work. She opted for the latter.

  She parked the convertible in the garage and looked at her Jeep in the second bay. She didn’t drive the convertible in the winter. A classic car had no place on the roads in snow and salt.

  Each May, she pulled it out for a wash and wax. This was a ritual she looked forward to because it brought back favorite memories of Texas and her grandfather. The car was special and she loved to drive it all summer.

  With the food bag and her purse hooked around her arm, she popped the trunk and lifted out a pair of potted purple and yellow pansies for the back porch. She loved the adorable little flowers. They never failed to bring a smile.

  Dropping the takeout bag on the kitchen table, she left through the sliding glass door and stopped.

  The porch needed a sweep. Badly. And the grill required a cleaning before she used it. Yet more projects to add to her lengthening list of to-dos. Summer placed the pots on a pedestal in a shady spot where she could see them from her kitchen window.

  “Perfect.”

  After the day she’d had, dinner and a romantic Hallmark movie were on her agenda for the night.

  A curse from next door stopped her at the door. Walking to the railing, it took a second to find Jason, or at least his jeans-clad butt, awkwardly sliding backward out from under his deck. As the houses in the neighborhood were all close together, no one had any expectation of privacy, so she took a moment to enjoy the view.

  Yum, better than the Grand Canyon at sunset.

  He was a well-built criminal, that Jason Parker. Nice butt. No sag. When the upper half of him was exposed, her breath caught. He was sweaty, gritty, and shirtless; all lean muscles and tanned skin. The waistband of his undies showed over the top of his jeans, and his chest had just enough hair to make things interesting, as it seemed to point south to his . . . zipper.

  Very nice. On both of his upper arms were tribal-style tattoos which, though subtle, still showed an adventurous spirit, with a hint of bad boy. He hadn’t shaved today and short scruff marred his face. Mmmmm. All her good parts zinged to life.

  Traitors.

  Realizing she was twisting her hair with a finger, she released the lock and focused on the tattoos. She’d have to check the database for a mention of ink on her gun dealer.

  Distracted by his hotness, she hadn’t noticed anything else until a furry ball of something hissed. In his gloved hand was a round and dirty cat that he held firmly by the scruff, despite its best efforts to break loose.

  The feline looked like it might clean up to a cream color after a run through a car wash.

  “I didn’t know you had a cat,” she called and resisted more hair twirling, giggling, or sighing.

  He climbed to his feet, holding the struggling cat up for a better look. He turned it this way and that causing his muscled biceps to bunch. The cat yowled in protest. Summer yowled with happiness. In her head.

  “I don’t.” He settled the beast between both hands and walked over to the low wooden fence. Summer joined him. “I’ve been trying to catch it all week. It’s been living under my porch since at least Sunday.” He held the kitty out for her to examine. “I didn’t want it to die under there. Alth
ough it doesn’t look like starvation is imminent.”

  “The poor thing looks terrified.” She made cooing sounds and gingerly extended a hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart. No one will hurt you.” She touched the dirty head with one finger and watched for teeth. The touch turned into a head scratch and a low purr. “See, you’re fine.”

  Summer glanced up. Jason watched with amusement. “You have a way with cats,” he said and she fell into his eyes. What was it about sweaty shirtless men wearing low-slung jeans that made the heart flutter and all brain cells screech to a halt?

  Too-short slacks, white socks paired with black shoes, and a pocket protector didn’t have the same visceral effect as worn jeans on a perfect male butt. Derwin didn’t score as high on the hotness scale for names as did Jason, or Rick, or even Fernando. And a Derwin wouldn’t have a cute butt.

  Darn. Get your mind off Jason’s attributes before he catches you staring, she scolded herself. Focus on the cat and remember he already has a big ego.

  “My grandma had three.” She took a moment to take a peek between its legs. “She’s a girl.” Suddenly her luck changed and she looked at the cat as a tool in her investigation. “We’ll need a vet to confirm, but I think she’s pregnant.”

  The kitty was the perfect way to get to know him without looking like a desperate woman on the prowl.

  “You’re kidding?” He made a face and looked down at the cat’s distended belly. “Wait. We? This isn’t my cat.”

  “She is now.” It was time to up her investigative game. “Unless you travel too much for work, internationally perhaps?” Selling arms to terrorists?

  “Work isn’t an issue. I just don’t need a pet.” He reached out his arms and the cat swayed back and forth. “Here. You should take her.”

  Drat. That response gave her zero clues. Digging for information was harder than she thought. Yet, the cat gave her entrance into his inner sanctum, if she could get Jason to cooperate. She had to get inside his house to look for clues.