“True, and you know how overprotective Adam can be. So if you’re not into her, you might want to back off.” Shay turned and opened the front door.
He had tried to back off. He did. But for some reason he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. “Bruno, come.” The stocky Bulldog’s feet slapped the concrete stairs, his breaths wheezing though his smushed-in nose.
Joe walked inside the house behind Shay. The coffee-infused air smelled homey. Nice. Just like Shay’s family. They took him in as one of their own. Shawn was a great kid and Shay’s gran was—well—she had a way with words, or maybe it was just a way with asking questions. She drove Shay crazy. Which was an added bonus in Joe’s book. The normally unflappable Shay was completely flapped by her grandmother.
“…So are you one of them real lawyers or the TV kind? Greta Abernathy says I stole her boyfriend.” Gran shook her head as she rested a hand on Brook’s knee. She looked so innocent. If Joe didn’t know any better, he’d think she had been wronged. But Joe had been around enough to know that Gran and Greta were neither innocent nor wronged. It was the classic story of which came first, the chicken or the egg.
“Like I’d want that old, boring man. He ain’t even got his own teeth.” Gran sighed.
“You don’t have your own teeth.” Shay shook her head as she jogged upstairs. “Yeah, and what happens if I spend the night at his place? We’d get our teeth mixed up. Who needs that headache?” Gran leaned forward on the couch and placed a hand on Brook’s knee. “Can I sue her for that?”
They sat close together as Brook responded. “You can’t sue her for that. There’s no precedence for boyfriend theft.”
“No? She’s spreading lies. I want to sue for deformation of character. She deformed my character.”
“Gran, you deformed your own character.” Shay laughed as she came down the stairs in her signature khakis and button down shirt. The woman was low maintenance. Dressed and ready in two minutes flat.
“Don’t listen to her. She won’t arrest her. I’m family and Greta is a menace, but do you think she wants to get her off the streets, protect her family? Nope. But that’s okay, I gotta better idea. I’m gonna hit her where it hurts—her pocketbook. We’ll take her for everything she’s got.”
“Problem is, defamation of character’s a hard one to prove. Do you have any video or documentation showing her lies? Do you have any proof she was representing this information as fact and not opinion?”
“Well, it is her opinion.” Gran leaned in and whispered, “But everyone knows she has dumb opinions.”
“If it’s opinion, it’s not defamation,” Brook seemed to be fighting a smirk.
Gran had that effect.
“Even if it’s a stupid opinion?”
“Even if stupid.” Brook added, but still didn’t laugh. Not once. She smiled and rested her hand on Gran’s. She treated her with respect, kindness, like she probably treated her clients. And Gran was eating it up. Joe hated to admit it, but so was he.
“Well, darn.”
“Are you ready to go, Gran?” Shay called as she grabbed her keys.
“Already? I’m having a nice talk with your friend Brook, here. Maybe I should stay home and entertain her all day.”
“Joe’s staying with Brook.” Shay smiled. “You’d be a third wheel.”
“Oh yeah?” Gran leaned into Brook. “I could handle him staying home and entertaining me all day. Nice-looking, ain’t he?”
Brook didn’t answer the question, but she didn’t look repulsed, either. Of course, she could have been hiding her disdain under that lawyer facade. He knew he wasn’t exactly high on her happy-list at the moment.
Shay’s grandma groaned as she got to her feet and slid her purse on her drooping shoulders. “That reminds me, Shay won’t answer a question for me. What’s a fella—?”
“Okay, time to go.” Shay wrapped a hand around her grandma’s arm and headed out the back door, taking all the action and the noise with them.
They were finally alone. Silence wrapped its tentacles around the room, squeezing the air from the space. He had no idea what to say, where to start. His stomach growled, slicing through the lull. Any other time it wouldn’t have been noticed, but with the quiet… Crap.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah, but it can wait.” He sat on the coffee table, angling himself in front of Brook. Inches in front of Brook. Damn. She smelled amazing. He wanted to reach out and slide his hand in hers. He wanted to touch her, anywhere and everywhere.
But the way she looked at him—eyes narrowed, wariness floating from her recoiled body? Not good.
“Before we go, I wanted to tell you, I’m sorry about the other morning. You listened to me and were there for me and I— I was a dick.”
“I prefer asshole.” Her stare did change. Now it was carved from ice.
“That fits, too. I shouldn’t have run out the door, but I…shit, I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly at my best that night and I hated that I…I’m just sorry.”
“Fine.” She stood and walked to the kitchen. She slid a bowl under the faucet and, once it was full, set it on the floor.
Bruno ran up to her, rubbing his body against her leg. Yeah, Joe could see how that would be enjoyable. She giggled as she patted his neck. Bruno lowered his nose to the bowl and drank.
“Fine?” That’s it? He laid himself out there and all he got was a fine?
“Fine. What do you want me to say?” The glare was back. The dog got giggles, Joe got daggers. This was going to be harder than he thought.
“I want you to yell at me or something. Get it out, so we can move on.”
“Get what out? How you ran out the door like a sprinter on cocaine, and for no reason?”
“It was hard for me.”
“What was hard for you?” Brook scrubbed the counter tiles with a towel. Her knuckles turned white as the towel whipped back and forth.
It was all hard. Losing Steve, crying on her shoulder, showing any sort of emotion in front of anyone was all hard. It all sucked. And then waking up and feeling…feeling like he could get used to that, to waking up in her arms, get used to her... Not that he was about to say all that.
Brook sighed and stopped the counter abrasion. “I thought we were, at the very least, friends.” Her lips turned down, anger replaced by hurt. He liked anger better.
“We are.” He reached out to touch her, but she stepped back out of reach. “Really,” she said, eyes narrowing. “That’s how you treat your friends?”
“No.” The air left his lungs. “I screwed up. I was a mess after Steve, and you were there, and then I woke up and…shit. I panicked. No one has ever seen me like that. I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you ran because I saw you cry.”
When she said it like that, it sounded pathetic. True, but really pathetic. “Basically.”
“Then why are you here? I can’t unsee what I saw.” She tossed the towel onto the counter and leaned back. “Aren’t you afraid I might judge you or tell someone? I mean, really, it’s not like I’m surrounded by people who share their secrets with me all day. People who yell, who cry. If I did, I’d probably be on Facebook right now betraying their trust, making sure I treated them like crap. Judging them.”
“I know. I handled it badly.” He reached out and slid a hand through hers. She didn’t pull back this time. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t do it again.”
“Cry or run?” He drew circles on the palm of her hand.
She was warm, soft. Everything about it felt right. She still didn’t back away. She wrapped her fingers in his. This was progress.
“Run.”
“Deal.” He squeezed her hand.
“Deal.” She smiled. He had missed that smile and hated that he had to take it away again.
“I have something tell you. Do you want to sit down?” He led her toward the table.
“Do I need to?”
“It’s not a ba
d idea.” She tried to disengage their hands as she sat down, but he couldn’t let go yet.
Wouldn’t let her go. Not yet. He readjusted his grip and sat across the table. “They finished the fingerprint analysis.”
“Oh, was it your friend?” She drew his hand closer, sympathy swimming through her eyes. She was so fricking amazing.
“Yeah. But there was someone else.” He hated giving bad news. He hated seeing the hurt or betrayal in their eyes. And he’d seen the look in her eyes once today already. It didn’t help that he seemed to be the one putting that look there over and over again. “The second set of fingers belonged to Larry Bosk.”
“Wait. What? My boss?”
“Yeah. They found his body early this morning.” Brook’s brow wrinkled. “His body?”
“He was murdered.”
“When?” She tripped over the word.
“They haven’t determined the timeline yet, but the speculation is some time Wednesday night.”
“Why?” she whispered. “Why would someone do that?”
“We have the best detectives on it.” That might have been a little white lie— they were second, at best. But she didn’t need to hear about the precinct hierarchy or bullshit between the detectives. She needed to hear things were was under control. And it was. If Joe had anything to do with it, he’d make sure this guy was caught. “They’re looking for Stark.”
“How do they know it’s Stark?”
“Brook, Timmons was SWAT, one of the guys who brought Stark in. Bosk was his lawyer. You’re being threatened. There are too many coincidences for this not to be him.”
“But there’s no proof.”
“Brook…”
“I don’t want to fight. I don’t think he would do this. You don’t know him. He made a mistake, but he got himself together in prison.”
“How do you know?” He couldn’t believe she was still defending this lowlife. “I just do.”
He thought about arguing, but then Brook stood, her blue jeans hugging every curve. The tight pink T-shirt she wore was snug, showing more-than-adequate assets. “You look nice. I’ve never seen you without your power suit.”
“Well, I figured, why dress up to be locked up against my will?” She smiled, and Joe figured the subject was changed for now.
“Locked up against your will? A bit melodramatic.”
“Maybe a little, with a smidge of self-pity thrown in.” She tossed on a sweatshirt from the back of a chair. She looked cute in the oversized sweatshirt, but not nearly as nice as in the body-hugging tee.
How he envied that pink piece of fabric. “At least you recognize it.”
“What I recognize is that you’re hungry, I’m hungry, and there are more than five thousand restaurants in the city of Chicago.” She walked back to the coffee table and stood in front of him. “So feed me.”
“Feed you, huh? If I do, what do I get?”
“The satisfaction of knowing you’re a good guy.” Her thighs touched his knees as her stare softened.
His body jolted to life. No matter how tired he was, she had this effect on him.
Her full lips, her body—just her—turned him to mush every time.
“Nah.” He shook his head, seeing where this would go. So far, he liked it. He’d take flirting over indifference or hatred any day.
“How about—” she leaned forward “—if you feed me I won’t get cranky? You think I’m bad normally, you won’t like me when I’m cranky.”
He had a feeling he wouldn’t care if she was cranky. He’d still like her. But that was best left unsaid. “Did you want eggs or donuts?”
“Both.” She jumped up, leaving him cold. She leaned against the front door and waited for him to walk out. No matter what she did, this woman drove him absolutely crazy.
Chapter Sixteen
Brook sat on the couch, Bruno’s head on her lap. He seemed to like her, even if his owner wasn’t her biggest fan. Breakfast had gone well, but it had been full of small talk—job, friends, surface stuff. Not that she thought they should be exchanging deep-dark secrets or anything, but after he continually defended her from harm, she expected more than, “green is my favorite color.”
Joe hadn’t brought up Stark again, but she refused to back down. She needed to see proof. Show her proof, and she would be on the Stark-guilt bandwagon. But without some tangible evidence she wasn’t buying it.
Not that she’d bring that up again. She wasn’t going to ruin this day. It had been the perfect afternoon, just what she had needed—mind-numbing comedies and Garrett’s popcorn. Not to mention the shoulder she was leaning against.
Joe’s body bounced in laughter as Doogie Howser stole a car. Who came up with this stuff?
He moved his arm along the back of the couch, and she buried her head in his chest. This was just what she needed— his warmth, his strength surrounding her.
“Do you want another water?”
“No, thanks.” Even if she was coughing up tumbleweeds, she wouldn’t want him to leave to get a drink. She was quite content with him right where he was. She ran a nail under the label of the half-empty bottle in her hand.
Her phone chirped in her pocket. Again…and again. She angled her hip, and a tired Bulldog glared up from her lap. Sorry. She managed to slip the phone from her jeans and the screen lit with one speech bubble after another.
OMG
I said yes!!!
Can u believe it???
I’m going to be married!!!
Brook smiled as she read each incoming text. Her fingers slid over the screen. Congrats! I can’t wait to hear all about it.
“Allison said yes.”
“She’s marrying Byrnes? Are we surprised?” “No, she is completely googly-eyed for him.”
“Yeah, well,” Joe said as he tipped back his beer and took a swig. “He’s pretty whipped himself.”
“He is.” She wanted to argue, but there was no point. Adam was just as head- over-heels as Allison. Her eyes stayed on the phone. A picture of the ring on her sister’s hand filled the little screen. “It looks so good on her.”
She tilted the phone toward Joe, so he could see the picture too. “He’ll be good to her. I’m glad they finally found each other. Do you know how annoying it was watching them dance around each other the past fifteen years? They drove me nuts.”
Another picture came over the phone. This one was a selfie of the happy couple. She tried to make out the background behind them, but it was too close. “Adam had a few ideas for asking her. I wonder which way won.” “You could call her. Ask,” Joe said.
“I don’t want to interrupt their vacation or whatever they have going on. They probably took this picture and ran up to their room, clothes flying off as they try to make it back behind closed doors.”
“…His shirt hanging from a plant in the lobby.” Joe took another drink of his beer.
“…Her bra hanging from an elderly woman standing in the elevator.”
“…Adam’s bare ass chasing her down the hall, his johnson flying in the wind…” Joe laughed.
“Ick, okay, no more visualization.” Laughter bubbled from her chest. That was her brother-in-law. Ick, just ick. “They’ve had such a hard time this past year. That’s why I didn’t want to tell them about everything going on here. Allison has always had to take care of me. Well, she always felt she did after our parents died.”
“What happened to your parents?”
Brook inched away from Joe, moving Bruno’s head again. The dog apparently had enough of her moving around, because he huffed and jumped to the floor. Sorry. Again.
She couldn’t help it. She didn’t like talking about her parents. She wasn’t as jumpy as Allison when her parents were mentioned, but Brook still didn’t like it. She didn’t like the reminder, the old ghosts telling her what she did and what she didn’t do. How she would never measure up to Allison.
“They died in a car accident when I was sixteen. Drunk driver.” “That must h
ave been hard.”
“It was, but I was still a kid. It was harder on Allison. She had to quit college or I’d have been thrown in foster care. She left and found a job at Byrnes and Company. With one phone call she grew up, no more parties with people her own age. She became a mom to a teen. I don’t want to keep infringing on her life.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think she’d want to be here, that Adam would want to be here to make sure nothing happens to you?
She probably doesn’t feel like you’re infringing.”
“Probably, but they deserve some time together. And I don’t need Adam. I have you.” She leaned closer to him and stared into his eyes. Such nice eyes he had, dark brown in the center and fanning out into a lighter shade of brown. “Don’t say anything to them. Please.”
Hesitation passed in those eyes before acceptance settled in. “Okay.”
“Thanks.” She settled against his chest and focused on the TV screen, her head swaying with his rhythmic breathing. “Today has been great, thanks.”
“Yeah, it was nice.”
“Don’t you have to go back to work, though?”
“I am working. I’m keeping you safe.”
“Okay, well, I need to go back to work.”
“We’ll worry about that tomorrow.” His hand ran up and down her back. It should’ve been relaxing, but every stroke, every touch, ignited something deep in her core. So gentle. His fingertips grazed her skin.
She laid her hand on his chest. Hard muscles twitched as she moved her palm back and forth. Damn, the man was hot, and right here, right now. How long had it been? Who cared? She wanted him, needed him.
She could feel his long, hot breath on her temple. Her eyes closed, the television disappeared, sound and sight. Nothing existed but Joe. She could just imagine a night with him, his hand roaming further and further down her body…
Ugh. Her hand stopped. She knew the pictures swirling in her mind were a mistake. Everything about him was wrong.
He was pushy, and bossy, and a cop—a triple-threat. Yet she couldn’t seem to pull herself away. She couldn’t stop, and she didn’t want to.
Stark Raving Mad (Chicago's Finest Book 2) Page 12
