Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 2
He’d only been a Christian for a month, but he was pretty sure kindness was one of the rules in the Good Book. Not to mention basic police procedure. He’d almost blown a decade’s worth of training over a woman.
A private investigator.
He shut the door to the house, making a mental note to remind the mayor to change his locks, and then strode to his patrol car. Wasted time made him grumpy. That’s all. God probably understood.
Not that Rachel cared. As soon as he’d walked into the room and caught her under the desk, he’d picked up the anger in her. No fear at all. Oh yeah, Katrina’s best friend was a piece of work.
Grant frowned, opened the door, and slid into his car. Then sat.
He'd noticed Rachel’s hair beneath the lights of the mayor’s office. How it gleamed, a vibrant fire that curled over her shoulders. He had wanted to touch that strand, just to see if it felt as silky as it looked.
Grant smacked the steering wheel. What was wrong with him lately? Ever since they’d started going to dinner with Alec and Katrina, he’d developed an awareness of Rachel that he didn't like.
Her complete disregard for rules reminded him of his mother. A woman like that couldn’t be trusted. Not to mention the way Rachel had interfered with one of his cases a few years ago. What an embarrassment for the force.
She was headed for trouble, which filled another line on the why-she-irritates-me list. Private detectives shouldn’t flounce around like they were wannabe Jack Bauers. Somebody needed to throw her in a cell so she could cool her jets. Somebody needed to get her off the Owens case before she got hurt.
He sure wasn’t going to do it. He had enough troubles already, guilt that stole his sleep and made him second-guess the decisions he’d made.
He jammed his key in the ignition and then called dispatch to let them know the situation had been resolved. As soon as he ended the call, the radio sputtered out a loud five-zero-seven. Probably crazy Al again. Downtown would be his next stop.
Sharp rapping against his window rose above the radio. It only took a second for his thumb to unsnap the holster of his stun gun. When he saw a familiar glint of fire beneath the street lamps, his fingers relaxed. Rachel and her wild hair. Stifling a growl, he lowered the volume and got out to face the annoying female who’d obviously turned around just to get the last word in.
She stood with her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. Oh, yeah, she was mad. It almost amused him. But not quite.
“There a problem?” he drawled, leaning back against his car. The dark didn’t hide the angry flush climbing her neck, the red staining her cheeks. Moonlight bounced off the spark in her eyes.
“Yeah, there is,” she snapped.
Grant smiled, knowing she’d see his mockery. “Spit it out. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“I never undermined Alec. He acted suspiciously. I was trying to protect Katrina.”
“Sure.” Grant snorted.
“What’s your problem? I’m not a horrible person but—”
“But what?” Grant grabbed the hand snaking toward him, most likely for another good poke. Which he didn’t need. She had claws for fingernails. Scarlet ones. He tried to ignore how small her hand felt captured in his.
He didn’t have to try hard. No sooner had he grabbed her hand than she yanked it away.“I love Katrina. Try to get it, Mr. Smooth. She’s my best friend.” Rachel stepped back, pausing to push her hair out of her face. “I would never do anything to hurt her.”
Doubt wormed around in his gut. He’d met a lot of liars in his line of work. Had learned to recognize one. Rachel was telling the truth. Her voice rang with sincerity. Her eyes, trained directly on him, shone with it. And something else layered her tone, some other emotion he couldn’t put his finger on. A quivering of her lips that didn’t quite match the indignation.
Her scent, expensive and elegant, trembled on the breeze before drawing him into its embrace. He pushed off the car, attraction sizzling through him. Why not pursue this? What did liking have to do with lust?
Lips parted, she watched him. Rachel, whom he’d never seen submissive, looked suddenly soft as velvet. Something spiked through him, sharp as a nail in his chest.
He backed up. Great. Unprofessional thoughts on the job. She shouldn’t be able to erase years of training, regardless of how long they’d known each other. In high school Rachel had come off hot-tempered and selfish. Those negative qualities had eased the fervor of his teenage hormones. Years slid away and he’d gotten over her. The way she looked at this moment, green eyes shimmering, reminded him of those adolescent feelings.
But he was a Christian now. He rubbed the back of his neck. Christians weren’t supposed to be flirty. That he knew of. An on-duty officer definitely had no business flirting. Rules. He shoved his hands through his hair.
“You came back to tell me you wouldn’t hurt Katrina?” he asked, struggling to get his mind back on the conversation.
“No.” Her mouth firmed. “I came to tell you you’re way off. You know nothing about me. Furthermore, the way you talked to me . . . It was just wrong.”
“You’re lecturing me on my opinion?”
“You’re not paid to have an opinion.”
“I’m human.” He flashed a dimpled smile, the one that made the ladies blush. No law against a smile.
She didn’t blush.
Instead, her gaze moved down, away from him. “You just don’t get it.” Pivoting, she walked to her car.
Arms folded against his chest, Grant leaned against the squad car and listened to the purr of her SUV as she drove away for the second time. The iron grip on his lungs loosened. He sucked in a breath and released it, forcing his pulse to slow. Some detective he was. He’d been so involved trying to ignore his reaction to her that he hadn’t even found out what she was doing in the mayor’s house. Technically, with Mrs. Owens’ permission and key, Rachel hadn’t done anything illegal, but he still didn’t like the possibilities pounding through his mind. He might need to track Rachel down, just to make sure she wasn’t poking her PI nose into police business.
The last thing he needed was for the mayor to get nervous.
***
Grant really hated perfume. Especially the expensive kind prissy Rachel McCormick wore to dinner the next night. The fact that he liked how she smelled annoyed him almost as much as the knowledge that he should apologize for his behavior at the Owens’ house. Gerta Owens had called this morning to defend Rachel’s escapade, and the conversation deepened Grant’s bad feeling. He relied on instincts and his gut was telling him Rachel was going to cause trouble.
Starting with dinner. She’d shown up at O’Donnell's fifteen minutes late, flushed and elegant, not even grimacing over the delay. Katrina and Alec didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy mooning over each other, just like every other time he saw them.
Scowling, Grant pointedly studied his menu and ignored Rachel.
“Someone’s birthday is coming up soon,” Katrina said, a smile in her soft voice.
“Don’t get me anything.” Grant flipped his menu closed and lounged back in his chair. “Unless it’s a blonde with—”
“C’mon, Grant.” Alec gave him an indefinable look. Next to him, Katrina blushed.
Great. This Christian stuff was harder than he thought. No blonde jokes?
Rachel snorted. “You’re so predictable. Almost a stereotype, in fact.”
Like she was perfect. “Yeah, I’m the predictable one.” A little curl of fire lit Grant’s belly but he kept his face placid. “You tell your friends what you spend your nights doing?”
Katrina cleared her throat. “I didn’t know your birthday’s coming up, Grant. I meant Rachel’s. When is yours?”
“May 28.”
“Really? Rachel’s is the 26th.”
“Great.” Hiding a cringe, he flipped the menu to the side of the table. “I know what I want.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Rachel muttered under her breath.
If he wasn’t such good friends with Alec he’d leave right now, go somewhere fun. But then he might not get to the bottom of why Rachel had been in the Owens’ during the middle of the night. The answer was important. She had a habit of interfering with investigations and this was one case that couldn’t get botched.
His career depended on it.
“Look, there are a few good things in life. Women are one of them,” he said.
“Wish men were.” Rachel snickered and Grant resisted the urge to pull her over and kiss the sneer right off her face. That would show her a good thing.
It would also ruin the reputation he was trying to fix. A church-going guy wasn't supposed to be traipsing around kissing whoever they wanted.
“You worked in homicide for a while, right? That would make someone appreciate the good things.” Katrina’s obvious ploy to defuse the tension worked.
Settling back in his seat, Grant nodded. “Yeah, Miami PD is a killer. No pun intended. I went after high school and worked my way up to detective before coming back here six years ago. It's easy to forget the good things in life with that kind of job.”
“But Manatee Bay helped you remember?”
“Yeah.” Temporarily, at least.
“Is there a big difference between being a sergeant and a homicide detective?”
“Huge,” he said, noting the interest in Rachel’s posture, the way she leaned forward and listened to his and Katrina’s conversation.
Questions were in her eyes. Before she could ask, a waiter came to take their orders.
Relieved, Grant exhaled. Talking about his Miami years put a bad taste in his mouth. He'd had a great record, found satisfaction in putting away bad guys, but the stress of the job had been too much.
Behind him, a kid asked for ice cream. The mom hushed the child and murmured about money. Grant tilted his head to get a better view. A little girl, pig tails, probably not over five. To her credit she nodded and sat quietly while the parent signed the bill receipt.
The scene brought back not-so-pleasant memories. His throat tightened.
“And you?” The waiter, a young kid with smart eyes, turned to Grant.
“Medium rare ribeye, mashed potatoes instead of fries,” he managed to say.
“Very good. Do you want more sweet tea?”
“Sure. I need a favor too. That table behind me, bring them two desserts. Maybe the apple pie and the lava cake? Put it on my bill.” He gave the server his menu and turned to the table.
“That’s so nice of you.” Katrina smiled at him, looking impressed.
Grant shrugged, fighting heat in his cheeks. “The kid wanted a treat.”
Beside him, Rachel’s eyes widened, a deep green in the soft lights of the restaurant. She caught his gaze and looked away.
“So,” she said to Katrina, “what’s up with America’s Next Top Designer? Kelsey should’ve won.”
She and Katrina lapsed into meaningless chatter and Grant took the opportunity to get some answers from Alec about a recent investment he’d talked Grant into trying.
The evening went surprisingly well. He ignored Rachel and she managed not to annoy him.
After dinner, Alec and Katrina left, arms around each other and relaxed. It was almost as if they’d never been separated for ten years. Maybe some things did work out in life.
He really needed things to pan out in his own life. Speaking of, a certain redhead deserved another warning. Before he could work up to it though, she left. No good-bye, just a tight smile and then she was strutting away in fancy, jewel-tipped sandals.
Grant received his bill right after Rachel took off. He scribbled his signature and headed out to the parking lot. To his surprise, Rachel was waiting for him by his truck.
“Need something?” he asked. He pulled out his keys and reached around her for the door handle. She moved to the side. Cleared her throat, shifted on her sandals. Despite the clouds moving in from the Gulf, the little jewels on her sandals blinked. He ripped his gaze from the silly things and focused on her face, which happened to look unusually nervous.
He arched a brow and waited.
“Buying dessert for that family was really nice of you,” she blurted, knuckles tight on a bejeweled purse which looked like it matched her shoes.
He shrugged, embarrassed. “Anyone would do that.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t do stuff like that.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise him, but the droop at the corner of her lips did. Very un-Rachel-like. “Maybe you should start.”
“Maybe I will,” she countered. The droop lifted a bit and he held back a scowl.
“Anything else?”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Wow, an apology from a private investigator. Amazing. Aware of reluctant admiration taking root, he clicked open the door to his truck. “For what?”
“Poking you last night.”
“First time or second?”
“Both.” Her chin lifted. “I know I’m not supposed to be touching officers—”
“You’re lucky I didn’t haul you in,” he interrupted. Not that he’d actually arrest her, but she needed some scare lit into her. “Try to control that temper.”
Lips pressing together, she offered him a fake smile. “Okay.” She turned to leave but he reached out and snagged the corner of her flouncy, see-through sleeve.
“I talked with Mrs. Owens this morning.”
“Oh?” She shot him an innocent look.
Right. He knew better. He fixed her with a straight-on stare. “She said if she’d known you were going in at night she would’ve made sure the alarm was set for later.”
Rachel’s face didn’t seem to know whether to turn red or white. It blotched.
Busted.
CHAPTER THREE
Timing was everything.
How many times had Rachel heard that cliché? Two days later and she still couldn’t get over her stupidity in entering Mayor Owens’ house at night. Clenching the wheel, she maneuvered her SUV into the Pizza Place parking lot and pulled next to Katrina’s BMW.
If she’d gone during the day, according to Mrs. Owens’ advice, then everything would’ve been fine. She wouldn't have had to listen to a lecture from Officer Grant Harkness. Because that had been just so fun. But no, she'd given into a spontaneous urge to press her luck.
Her phone rang as she was unbuckling.
“Mrs. Owens?” Rachel cradled the phone against her shoulder and glanced at her watch. Katrina was waiting inside for her already, but she had to get this call out of the way.
“Did you get it?” Mrs. Owens’ voice, which usually reminded her of a Yorkie’s yipping, vibrated through the receiver hushed and low.
“The other night.”
“I told you specifically between the hours of three and four.”
“I know. I'm sorry about that.”
“So?”
“I found more than what you wanted. In fact, I’d like to go over things with you—”
“Meet me at the headsprings at four-thirty.” Mrs. Owens’ voice resumed its usual squeaky bossiness. “You bring it and I’ll have your money.”
“One problem. A file is encrypted.”
“We’ll work on that later. I just need the drive.”
“I’ll see you this afternoon then.” Rachel snapped the phone shut and got out of her car. She wished Mrs. Owens cared about the encryption. Slamming the door, Rachel marched across the pavement, grateful for the breeze that feathered through her hair.
April had brought Florida’s typical spring to her small city. Sunlight bloomed hot against her cheeks and when she stepped into the restaurant, she had to stop for a moment so her eyes could adjust. She inhaled the rich scent of baking bread and spicy pizza sauce. Checkered booths and wooden chairs stuffed the Pizza Place. The confined space added to the restaurant’s charm and quaint hospitality.
She strode the narrow aisle toward Katrina, stomach rumbling.
And though Rachel had been wrong about Alec and his intentions, she’d do it all over again.
She sat across from Katrina, the booth cushion deflating beneath her in a quiet whoosh. “Sorry, client on the phone.”
“I ordered us a pizza, extra breadsticks.” Katrina smiled, her gray eyes warm.
“Thanks.” Rachel reached for the extra lemons sitting on her plate and dumped them in her sweet tea. She and Katrina tried to meet at least once a week for lunch. She’d been late today but Katrina had already ordered Rachel’s favorite drink. That was Katrina. Kind and generous, sweet to a fault.
She took a big swig of tea before shooting Katrina a broad grin. “So you have your ring?”
“This morning.” Katrina twisted her hand so her fingers faced Rachel. “One carat.”
“If he was my guy I would’ve asked for five,” Rachel teased.
Katrina chuckled. “Well, I think this is the perfect size.” She changed the subject. “Alec and I are going to the animal shelter tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
“Ugh.” Rachel gulped her tea and looked towards the kitchen. Where was the pizza? Her stomach growled.
“You can’t fool me, Rachel. You love animals.”
“I absolutely do not.” Rachel fiddled with her napkin. “Maybe when I was a kid. Not now. They’re messy and stinky.”
“Oh, please.” Katrina rolled her eyes. “Tomorrow at two.”
Rachel felt a presence beside her. She shifted and took the basket of breadsticks from their waitress. “Thanks, Barb.”
Barb winked. “Pizza’ll be out in just a minute.” As she waddled away, her face never strayed from its wrinkled grin.
Rachel had helped Barb out once, with great results. Her son had narrowly escaped going to jail because of evidence Rachel uncovered. Remembering brought a satisfaction inside that she was exactly where God wanted her in life. Even if it meant being alone.