by Jen Talty
“That’s not going to make her get here any faster,” Patty said.
“Come back to the party and have a beer.” Reese slapped him on the shoulder, shoving a cold one under his nose.
“She should be here by now.” He pulled a chair out, angling it so he could see the long, winding driveway as Patty set a plate of cheese and crackers on the kitchen table. “She was supposed to be out of work early today, but some meeting came up.”
Patty looped her arm around Reese. “How’s her job hunting?”
Josh rubbed his thigh, making sure the ring was still in his pocket. “Not good,” he admitted. “She hasn’t been able to find anything worth taking up here.”
“She’ll find something,” Reese said.
“I told her I’d move back to the city. Even asked Jared about a transfer.”
“That’s a big step.” Reese leaned into the table, resting both forearms on the wood. “Did you contact your old station sergeant?”
Josh nodded.
“You’re going to uproot a life you’ve worked hard to achieve up here for Delaney?” Reese’s voice took on an overprotective big-brother tone.
Patty smacked her husband’s arm. “She was willing to do it for him, so why wouldn’t he do it for her? Besides, they’re in love.”
“I do love her,” Josh said, still fingering the ring. “I don’t want to lose her.”
“I think she’s here.” Reese nodded toward the door.
Josh stood. He couldn’t think back to a time in his life where he’d been more nervous. He yanked open the door to let Delaney in, wondering why he’d brought the ring to a gathering that would include his best friends, half the station, and their spouses. “There’s my girl.” He quickly unzipped her parka, looping his hand around her waist and giving her short, passionate kiss.
“In the flesh.” She leaned in and brushed her plump, rosy lips against his one more time. “I missed you.”
“I missed you more.” He wanted to toss her over his shoulders and take her back to his place. Screw this party.
Screw his friends.
“Hold this for me, please.” She shoved a flower-patterned computer case at him.
“Let me take your coat,” Reese said, maneuvering around Josh. “Then we’ll give you two a little alone time.”
“Who else is here so far?” Delaney asked.
“Jake, Kenzie, Jared, Ryan, Stacey, and Doug. Frank and Lacy will be late. Tristan is working, as usual. We really need to find that kid a woman,” Patty said.
“Stop playing matchmaker.” Reese looped his arm over Patty’s shoulder. “Let’s get back to the party. See you two shortly.”
“You are all smiles,” Josh said, setting her case on the table and pulling her tight against his body.
“I have some exciting news.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to show you,” she said, pulling away from him. His skin chilled the moment she left his embrace.
“Once everyone knows you’re here, we won’t have a second alone until we go back to my place. Show me later, because I want to kiss you now.”
She shook her head as she dug into her case. “I’ll do more than kiss you tonight. This can’t wait.”
“When you put it that—”
“Read it.” She shoved an envelope against his chest.
“Tell me what it says. I’d rather listen to your voice.”
“Okay.” Her smile widened. “It’s a book contract.”
“You sold your book?”
“I sold the series! My agent pitched it that way and got two offers.”
“That’s great. I’m so proud of you.” He lifted her up and twirled her around. “What did you get for it?” He set her down, holding her as tight as he could. She fit perfectly against his frame.
“Enough that I feel comfortable quitting my job and taking the part-time job at the advertising agency up here. Things will be tight, but it’s manageable, as long as I have some money coming in outside of the advance.”
“What?” He blinked a few times, hoping, praying he’d heard her correctly. “You can move up here?”
She nodded like a little girl in a dress shop, her eyes wide and her smile as big as they came. “My lease is up in two months, and I plan on giving my notice on Monday. That is, if you’ll still have me.”
“Hell, yeah,” he said. “Let’s blow this party off.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It would be rude, and besides, in a couple of weeks, we can start moving my stuff up here. My landlord said she would let me break the lease without penalty if she found someone before it was up.”
He took a small step back. Proposing in Reese and Patty’s kitchen had not been on his list of places to pop the question, but why not? “I love you,” he said.
“I love you more.”
He stuffed his hand deep in his pocket then pulled out the ring as he knelt on bended knee.
“Oh, my God. What are you doing?” she whispered.
He had no fast retort. All he had was raw emotion. “I love you.” He slipped the ring on her finger, making sure the diamond sat perfectly in the center. “I wish I had one of those one-liners you love so much, but all I’ve got is the standard. Will you make me the happiest, proudest man on earth by letting me be your husband?”
“That is anything but standard,” she said softly. “I want you for my husband, but I have one condition.”
“What’s that?” He stood, kissing her ring finger, now sporting a diamond that didn’t sparkle anywhere near the way she did. Nothing could outshine her.
“You let everyone know I’m your girl.”
He smiled. “How about we go into that party and see who’s the first one to notice that ring on your finger?”
“Hell, yeah,” she said. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For letting me take the time I needed. For slowing things down.”
He took her hand, knowing for that the first time since his mother died, he had a safe place. “One day at a time, I will love you forever,” he whispered.
THE END
When a Stranger Calls
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WHEN A STRANGER CALLS: New York State Troopers Series, Book Six
COPYRIGHT © 2017 Jen Talty
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author or Cool Gus Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Jupiter Press
Created with Vellum
A very special thank you to THE TALTY CREW! Without your support and feedback I wouldn’t have been able to step out of my comfort zone and write this book!
To Casey Hagen…Thanks for making me laugh.
To all the men and women who serve in law enforcement. You are greatly appreciated!
Note From The Author
This, for now, is the last book in the NY STATE TROOPER SERIES. I have loved writing this series and sharing it with you.
However, please check out THE BUTTERFLY MURDERS, which is set in my native town of Rochester, NY.
Prologue
Fifty years ago…
Rusty Fowler stared at the infant suckling at his wife’s breast, his little fisted hand resting against her chest.
“He’s beautiful,” he whispered as he ran his hand across the baby’s bald head. “And so are you.”
Ashley looked up at him with a bright smile and tears in her eyes. “Are you sure you want to keep up with this charade?”
“It’s not a charade and I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” He sat on the edge of the hospital bed. “I told you seven months
ago that I loved you and can’t live without you.” He’d met his Ashley at the local corner store. She’d been shopping for the family she cooked for and he’d been on his way home after a double shift in a factory in the next town over. It didn’t bother him that she’d already been pregnant. He loved her at first sight and she loved him back.
“But the baby isn’t yours.”
He stroked the baby boy’s cheek with his index finger. Rusty would have been crazy not to worry about resenting this child, considering he couldn’t have any of his own, but the moment he laid eyes on the boy, he knew that somehow, he’d make this trio a family. “I am this boy’s father. The only father he will ever know.”
Ashley let out a guttural sob.
“Don’t cry, baby.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.” He kissed his Ashley on the lips. “What shall we name our son?”
“Our son,” she whispered. “Russell, after you of course.”
“And his middle name?”
“You pick.”
He thought about it for a long moment. “Merriman. Your maiden name.”
“Russell Merriman Fowler. It’s perfect.”
“Just like his mother.”
She smiled, staring at her son, tears gliding down her cheek. “I want to quit my job and stay home with our son. I was thinking I could start a catering business.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
Rusty leaned over and kissed his son. No one could take that away from him now.
1
Brooke Fowler stared at her late grandfather’s will, which left everything to her. Everything included a rundown house in Lake George, fifty-thousand dollars, and an old brass key with an illegible note. She wiped a single tear that had rolled down her cheek, swallowing the primal need for revenge.
In less than two weeks, she’d lost all she’d held dear.
Finding out her live-in boyfriend had been cheating on her with her own assistant sent her over a cliff she wasn’t sure she could ever recover from. She balled her fists just thinking about it. She should regret having tossed an expensive one-of-a-kind painting at Debbie, her assistant, but she didn’t. She didn’t even regret trashing her office, then storming off to the eighth floor where all the VP offices were located, trashing her boyfriend’s office, along with tossing a mug at him, though the bastard ducked and she missed.
Getting fired and arrested? Yeah, that sucked. Big time.
The worst, though, had been finding out her grandfather had died. He was all she had in the world and now he was gone. She never got a chance to say good-bye and tell him how much he’d meant to her, even when she didn’t always show it. She, of all people, should know how precious life was and how quickly it could be taken away.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” her grandfather’s attorney said.
“I kept my grandpa waiting and he died.”
“Excuse me?”
Brooke blinked and looked around the lawyer’s office decorated in modern white furniture with wall to wall bookcases, which held, old, thick law books. Whoever decorated this place should be shot.
“I cancelled a visit with him to go to a stupid party with my boyfriend, only I didn’t even get to go to the party.” She thought about continuing the ugly story, but what would be the point? Instead of going to the one person she could always turn to in times of need, she spent the night in county lock-up. No amount of mascara would make any mug shot look good.
“Mr. Fowler was eighty.”
Brooke narrowed her eyes. “A spry eighty, thank you very much.” Though, she’d been begging him to go to the doctor for a physical. Turned out he had a heart condition. The doctors told her that even if the condition had been caught a few months ago, he still might have had a massive coronary anyway. That didn’t make her feel any better.
And now she was alone.
Really alone.
“Is there any reason I’d have to leave the house?” She’d only arrived in Lake George two days ago. When she reached the house after identifying her grandfather’s body, the front door had been wide open. She thought maybe the paramedics had left it that way. That was until she walked into her grandpa’s guest bedroom, which had also been his office, and all his desk drawers had been pulled out, files everywhere.
But the kicker had been the next morning when she walked into the kitchen and the back door had been ajar and she knew damn well she hadn’t left it unlocked. She called 9-1-1 for a second time. The cops had been nice enough, but couldn’t really do anything except talk to a few of the neighbors.
“No reason why you can’t live at the house,” the attorney said.
“What about the money?” God, she sounded like a cold-hearted bitch. She wanted to scream I loved my grandpa. He was the best man in the world! But again, what would be the point? Both her parents and her grandparents had taught her to be practical. Chin up and face the world head on, no matter what.
Being jobless also required her to be practical.
Facing a misdemeanor charge of assault and a civil lawsuit required her to be balanced and level headed, which certainly wasn’t an easy task in her current state of mind.
“There are various legalities we need to jump through, but this is a simple estate, so I suspect two months, three at the most.”
Brooke did a mental calculation of her bank accounts and current bills, the biggest one being the Camaro convertible she’d splurged on when she’d been promoted to Regional Sales Manager. She could sell the car and buy a Hyundai. Easy peasy.
Not.
Acid bubbled up her esophagus. She loved that damn car.
“What about my pending legal situation?”
“It could slow things up, but not by much.” The attorney handed her a business card. “I don’t handle those kinds of cases, but this woman does and she’s very good. If you don’t have a lawyer for that situation, call her. I’ll tell her you’re a client of mine and I’m sure she’ll cut you a break.”
Brooke took the card. Jillian White-Sutten, Attorney at Law. “I will call her. Thanks.” Another thing she couldn’t afford.
“I need a few signatures on these papers.” The lawyer pushed a couple of documents across the desk.
Brooke scanned the papers, which were all requests for probate court, and signed them.
“I’ll be in touch,” the attorney said.
Brooke nodded as she gathered up her belongings. The lawyer’s secretary walked her to the front door.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, her brand new black Camaro, parked in front of the building, taunted her. Her grandfather had been so proud of her accomplishments, always reminding her that her parents and grandmother were smiling down at her. She looked to the sky and waved. “Sorry. Seems I’ve developed a temper.”
People walked by, giving her weird looks. She shrugged it off. Let people think she was nuts. Her mind had fractured in a million directions. Her heart shattered. The combination sent her into a rage she thought would take over her life if she didn’t find a way to push it down, controlling it, until she found the time to fall apart. She hopped in the car, revved the engine while the top folded down, before slamming it into drive and pulling out onto the street, heading for the main drag off Lake George Village.
By the time she turned off Beach Road on to East Shore drive, tears burned the sides of her face, probably taking thick clumps of mascara with them. With no cars in sight, she pressed down hard on the gas. Her trembling fingers curled around the steering wheel at ten and two. The wind whipped her hair across her face. She blinked, picturing the forty-five-degree turn coming up, followed by a few lesser curves, but still harrowing at higher speeds. Foot to the floor, she wanted to feel the car lean on its edge, taking the turn fast, hard, and out of control.
Fire flew from her skin as it did when she’d gone bat-shit crazy in her office. ‘Ballistic Brooke’, that’s what her ex-coworkers called her as she’d been escort
ed out of the building…in handcuffs.
She sucked in a breath, lifting her foot of off the pedal, tapping the brakes.
Her heart skipped a beat and her body trembled. She’d never been an adrenaline junkie, so why did she all of a sudden want to test her own limits?
The next five miles she did her best to control her breathing and clear her brain. She should be thinking about her grandfather’s funeral arrangements, not what it would be like to start a new career as the female version of Evil Kneivel.
She pulled into the country store at the corner of Cleverdale and Route 9. When she’d been little, her grandparents would give her a dollar and she’d go to this very store and buy an ice cream, skipping the entire way. Glancing around the parking lot, she realized how much it had changed, yet stayed the same. Another line of gas pumps and an addition to the building were the most notable changes.
She leaned forward and cleaned up her face. She really wasn’t a vain woman, but her grandmother taught her that a little style and grace made a powerful woman less intimidating.
The bell rung above the store door, just like it always had. The pimpled-faced kid behind the register didn’t even look up, his fingers tapping away on a smartphone. She made a beeline for the freezer and snagged three boxes of Éclair’s ice cream on a stick. The chocolate ones. Her father’s favorite. After that, she stopped in the beer section and picked up a case of her parent’s favorite beer.
The kid looked up at her when she dropped the case on the counter.
“I.D., please.”
She laughed, though it sounded more like a snooty grunt. At almost thirty, getting proofed didn’t happen often. “Thanks.” She signed the credit card receipt and picked up her groceries, turning on her heels, nearly walking right into Mrs. Georgina Ramsworth. “Excuse me,” Brooke muttered, adjusting her bag and her beer.
