Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Read online

  “What?”

  “Slasher, career druggie and stupidity on legs.” Adrenaline washed through her as she bolted out the front door, back into the sunny evening. Only in Florida would seven o’clock still have a ninety degree heat index. She clicked the unlock button on the remote she’d grabbed off the counter on her way out. The lock popped up and she flung the door open.

  That drive had to be here somewhere.

  “Slasher can’t be stupid if he’s made a career out of selling drugs,” Katrina said.

  “Trust me,” Rachel thrust her fingers beneath her seat and started groping the carpet. “The police arrest him and he always gets off on technicalities. I looked up his record. Someone’s protecting him. Someone big.”

  “Like the mayor?” Katrina sounded confused.

  “Possibly. Or maybe someone with more clout than the mayor.” Dang it. No drive. She pulled her hand out and lifted the floor mats. “I love you and I'm sorry to be so curt, but I have to let you go. My flash drive is missing.”

  “I hope you find it.” Katrina’s voice lowered. “We’ll be home in May, just in time for your birthday.”

  The line clicked and Rachel shoved the phone in her pocket. She’d worry about a party later. Right now she had to find that evidence. Gnawing her lower lip, she dropped the driver’s seat floor mat and rocked back on her heels.

  What if she’d lost it in the woods? She reached up and tentatively touched the bandages on her neck. And who shot her? One more thing to track down. Somehow she needed to find out about the bullet. The local police sent ballistics out but someone would eventually have a report on their desk.

  Maybe she ought to stop back in after a few days, have a chat with Uncle Charlie. Sit on someone’s desk and accidentally bump the mouse.

  It was a plan, possibly.

  But could she avoid Grant and the reproach she always sensed in his gaze?

  Although he hadn’t been disgusted while putting on her bandages. She fingered the wrappings again, remembering the warmth of his hands. The gentleness. Blinking against a deep rush of longing, she squatted down and peered under the SUV.

  As far as she was concerned, Grant was a nonentity. Charmers knew how to be sweet, hence the label. She swiped her fingers against the ground, up against the tire, and got nothing for her trouble but dirty fingers.

  Standing, she relocked the truck doors and trudged back to the apartment.

  She’d just lost the only connection that definitively linked the mayor to the mud she knew he wallowed in.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rachel pulled into the parking lot of the Manatee Bay River headsprings park. She’d spent the night worrying and rethinking her steps, tracing every move made through the woods. The moment fog-cloaked sun peeked through her bedroom window, she leapt into action.

  Gray mist drifted through the trees and weaved around her car and one other vehicle. A squad car.

  Stifling a groan, she eased out of the SUV. The mist clung to her skin, warm and promising a humid, hot day. She wore faded jeans, tennis shoes, and an American Eagle t-shirt. A mosquito buzzed near but flitted away when it caught a whiff of repellant.

  After arming herself with a flashlight, she shut the car door and turned toward the gray-shrouded tree line. She aimed the light at the woods. She’d come out across from where she’d parked yesterday, so that meant she must’ve entered somewhere along the west base of trees. Sounds of early morning traffic traveled in muffled tones as she picked her way across the lot to where a familiar pair of palms squatted.

  Focusing her flashlight on the low trees, she scanned for broken branches or disturbed earth. Evidence of her frantic journey didn’t take long to find. Several palms bent to the side, obviously damaged.

  The arduous task of following her trail took over an hour. By the time she reached the headsprings, sweat dripped down her neck and her t-shirt clung to her skin.

  Swallowing disappointment over finding nothing, she arrived at yesterday's meeting place. While she’d been traipsing through the woods, the sun had dispersed the mist and crowned the river with hazy golden edges. On land, yellow tape cordoned off an area much bigger than where she’d waited.

  Could she have dropped the drive when she’d checked her watch for the time?

  A flicker of movement to the right pulled her gaze from the yellow tape. Two cops hunched over something at the edge of the pathway. She sucked in a deep breath and headed toward them.

  “Find anything, officers?”

  Her voice seemed to startle them. They both rose quickly. She recognized Pete, a new officer. He shuffled on his feet, looking young and uncomfortable. The other man’s hand went right to his belt. As he turned around, she realized why.

  “What are you doing here?” Grant’s hand lifted from its instinctual position to palm his hip.

  “I’m looking for something,” she told him coolly, checking the irritation that seemed to rise for no reason every time he talked to her. Gone was the concern he’d shown her yesterday. Now he looked at her with suspicion. “Did you guys find anything?”

  “You know we’re not going to tell you that.” He turned, effectively dismissing her.

  “I lost something. You can at least let me know if you find it.”

  “Don’t mess with the crime scene,” he muttered. He and Pete bent down again to study the earth.

  What were they looking at? Moving around them but staying outside the yellow tape, she squatted and caught a glimpse of a shoeprint before Grant shifted and blocked her view.

  “C’mon Rachel.” He faced her, his body between her and the print, the perimeter line between them. “You know better than to try to nose in on this. Go home.” His eyes were a light blue this morning, the pupils tiny pricks of black in the burgeoning light. A hint of stubble covered his chin and he was chewing gum again.

  Rachel was conscious of the dirt on her knees, of how the coffee she drank that morning coated her teeth. Running her tongue across them, she looked away from the attractive man before her.

  “I’m not going home until I find what I’m looking for.” Self-consciousness under control, she eyed him. “Did you look at the drive I gave you?”

  Grant glanced at the other policeman. “Pete, get a few pictures of this footprint.”

  “Sure. We got pictures yesterday though.”

  “I want more. Focus on the indentation here. It looks like a heel.”

  “Maybe that’s where I walked around yesterday,” Rachel offered, intrigued despite herself.

  Grant shot her a look. “You and I are going to have a talk.”

  He ducked under the yellow tape and headed away from the perimeter of the scene. Feeling much like a chastened child, she followed him to the pathway.

  “Didn’t you guys check out the scene yesterday? Shouldn’t you be interviewing people, trying to catch my shooter?”

  “Mind your own business. You’re nosy and you’ve made trouble for our department before. I warned you to stay away.”

  Rachel notched her chin up as annoyance shot through her. “You don’t tell me what to do. I’m a fully licensed Private Investigator and something is telling me there’s more to what’s going on than what you’re saying.”

  “I don’t care what your gut is saying; back off. This is a crime scene and you nosing around only makes me think you’ve got something to hide. Something you’re not telling us. Care to share?”

  “Only if you will,” she said sweetly.

  “Get out of here.” He scowled at her.

  “I have every right to be here. And you didn’t answer my question. Did you look at the flash drive?”

  A strange expression crossed his face. “It’s in good hands.”

  “Good.” She studied him longer, until he pivoted and met up with Pete over by her footprint. She followed him. “That’s obviously my imprint. I was wearing heels yesterday.”

  “Get it from all angles, Pete.” Grant hooked his thumbs to his duty belt and ignor
ed her.

  Gritting her teeth, she backed up. He could treat her like this if he wanted. It only showed that she was right to distrust him and anything his department came up with. She hadn’t found her drive but that didn’t mean there wasn’t more evidence of something, somewhere.

  ***

  Grant watched Rachel leave. He felt like a jerk. She shouldn’t have shown up here, sticking her fingers where they didn’t belong.

  The bandage on her neck filled him with worry. Who’d shot at her? Why? This investigation was already so twisted he didn’t even know where to start looking. Furthermore, the chief told him to close this case, that it wasn’t anything.

  Manatee Bay’s veteran officer acted like he was ready for a permanent break from his role as chief. And that left who to fill the hole?

  Pete finished taking pictures and put the camera back in its case. “Ready to wrap it up, Sarge?”

  “Just about.” Grant walked to the print and stared down. Rachel was right. It looked like a heel. Feeling grim, he squatted and visually followed the direction of the impression. It disappeared at the pathway, as though she’d stepped off the cobblestones to look out over the river for a minute. She’d obviously returned to the path and according to her statement, she’d run through the woods to her car. No one had followed her though. There’d been only one set of foot impressions. He stood and scanned the surrounding area for anything he may’ve missed last night when he’d come out to the scene.

  Morning light tended to change the ways things looked. A different perspective might help him see something new. Moving toward the river, he kept his gaze on the edges of the path. Maybe if they walked back up the way Rachel came, out from the perimeter of the scene, they might catch something.

  He gestured for Pete to follow, then trekked away from the river and toward the parking lot. Sunlight filtered through branches and speckled the cobblestones with shadows. As they walked he checked out each side of the path, looking for different patterns, colors or anything that seemed out of place in the underbrush.

  This area had been inspected last night by some other officers, before Grant arrived at the scene, but it never hurt to check twice. Just as they reached the end of the path, his persistence was rewarded.

  He snagged the litter from the ground with tweezers, careful not to rip the frayed looking paper.

  “What’s that?” Pete edged closer.

  “I don’t know.” Very gently, he opened the crumpled note. Notebook paper, torn at the edges. Inside three short words trailed crookedly across the blue lines.

  Redhead. Tall. Kill.

  ***

  Mom couldn’t cut fast enough.

  Rachel wiggled on a chair in her mother’s kitchen, wishing her mom would hurry up and get done. She'd hoped a haircut might help get her mind off her problems but her mom’s annoying chatter only knotted her shoulders more.

  Not only was the loss of the flash drive stressing her out, but she also kept remembering Grant in the station when he got her statement. Asking about flirtatious men, acting like their worth depended on perspective. And then yesterday, how he’d ordered her away from the crime scene. She’d left feeling more depressed than a PI should over a brush-off from the PD.

  She traced the grayed flowers on the linoleum with her toe while his voice echoed in her mind.

  Did he really think she was being judgmental about Mayor Owens?

  A sharp pain made her jerk forward. “Ouch. Mom, quit fiddling with my bandages.”

  Her mother clucked her tongue. “Your hair is too long. How do you expect me to cut it with this . . . this thing in the way?”

  “Work around it,” Rachel snapped. She had to have dropped the flash drive in the woods. Going back wasn’t an option and breaking into the mayor’s house again definitely wouldn’t work.

  “What happened?” Her mother’s fingers threaded through Rachel’s hair, massaged her scalp, and she felt the muscles in her neck unkink.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Someone shot at me.”

  Mom grunted. “Sticking your nose in other people's business again, huh?”

  But she didn’t say anything else and her touch gentled.

  Rachel sighed and let her head fall back while the scissors clipped and cut. Mom gave the best haircuts in Manatee Bay. Rachel wasn’t one to pass up style or thrift. A free cut by the best hairdresser was reason enough to come back to a house that drove her crazy with its filth.

  With its memories.

  She cocked an eye open, swiped her forefinger over the one clear spot on the table. She faced her finger up and grimaced at the grit on it. Thirty years and Mom still didn’t know how to wash her table.

  “Mama, you home?” Maggie’s voice rang through the house, followed by the slam of the front door.

  The muscles in Rachel’s neck retightened. What was Maggie doing here? She didn’t want to face her sister, but she couldn’t leave with half a haircut.

  Mom dropped her hair. It lay wet against her neck as her mother went to meet her sister. Rachel drummed her fingers against the table, listening to the soft murmur of Maggie and Mom’s voices. The voices grew louder as her family stepped into the kitchen.

  Mom slid back behind Rachel and Maggie sat across from her. The scissor’s snip resumed but Rachel couldn’t relax.

  She wanted to ignore Maggie, keep the bitterness at bay, but it was hard to do with her sister sitting in her line of vision.

  Maggie fiddled with a coffee mug that had been sitting on the table for who knew how long. Rachel bit her lip. Her sister looked awful. Gaunt and pale, her skin stretched too tightly against prominent cheekbones. The hazel eyes that had once flared with passion now seemed devoid of life. Her red hair hung lank against bony shoulders. It wasn’t just Mayor Owens who’d done this to Maggie.

  A wave of sadness washed through Rachel. Maggie had practically raised her while their mother worked. They’d both been prom queens. Cheerleaders. But Maggie had ridden a rough road after high school. She’d faded until little remained of her former self.

  Rachel squirmed on her mom’s cheap plastic chair. “Are you sick?”

  “She needs a place,” Mom said, setting her scissors on the table.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Stress.”

  Rachel nodded, carefully keeping her face blank. She’d discovered Maggie’s secret weeks ago but no one else realized she knew. Sparing a glance to where her sister sat, vacant and alone, she turned in her seat to face her mom. “She parties for a living. What kind of trouble could she possibly have?”

  Mom faced her, hands pressed against her ample hips. “I warned you about going to that church. Would have thought y’all didn’t believe in casting stones.” Her eyebrow lifted, a slash of red against skin as pale as her and Rachel’s.

  “I’m not judgmental.” Even as she said the words, Rachel realized she was lying to herself. She sighed. “Okay, I might have a little problem with forgiveness. Don’t lay it at Joe’s door.”

  Her mother’s arms crossed. “I ain’t laying nothin’ on your preacher. The man’s in love with you for some crazy reason.”

  Heat rushed to Rachel’s face. “That’s not true.” Joe was just a friend. She crossed her arms and swung her foot over her knee. “Anyhow, God’s working on my merciful gene.”

  Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be bringing up God, young lady. Look at your sister. She needs a place to stay.”

  Rachel glared at Maggie, then turned to her mom. “Why can’t she stay with you?”

  “I don’t have the room.” Mom slitted her eyes and pursed her lips, looking more catty than any mother had the right to look. “You’ve got plenty for her.”

  Rachel’s fingers curled into fists. The last thing she wanted was to share her tiny apartment with Maggie. Even if it was the right thing to do. Her teeth ground and she looked at her sister, who sat quietly twirling her mug between skeletal fingers. />
  She looked to be in the throes of a nervous breakdown. She’d done a horrible thing and it showed. Rachel shook her head and stood. She didn’t need a mentally unstable person staying with her. Especially her back-stabbing sister.

  It was one thing to avenge her, another to take care of her.

  Rachel grabbed her purse off the only clean spot on her mother’s chipped counter. The spot she’d wiped down earlier. “Thanks for the cut. I’ve got to go. See you in a few months.” She spun around and left her mom standing in the kitchen, mouth hanging open like one of those gaping fish she watched on Discovery last night.

  Rachel marched out of the kitchen, picked her way through the mess in the living room, and reached for the door. Turning the handle, she flung it open and then let out a groan. Grant stood there, fist poised to knock. What was he doing here?

  Sunlight dappled his tan skin and illuminated the blond in his hair. He flashed her a white-toothed smile. No doubt the smile he used on all available females.

  Except for her, his smile was mocking.

  Rachel stepped forward. “Excuse me.”

  He blocked the narrow stairway that led from the rusted door to the grassless patch of land her mom’s trailer sat on. He’d raised up some dust with his patrol car, she guessed. It swirled through the air, burned her eyes and made her want to sneeze.

  Which only worsened her mood. “Stop grinning like that.” She pinned him with her best glare. “Move it.”

  He didn’t budge. “Why are you so grumpy?”

  “Why are you here?” she countered.

  “Charlie asked me to stop by since my shift is over and my place is down the road.”

  “Mom’s inside.” She parted from the doorway and beckoned him in. As soon as he entered, she’d slide past him.

  “I’m here to see you,” he said without moving.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Grant stepped into the dingy little living room and his head practically hit the ceiling. He looked out of place, all decked up in his black uniform. It fit him well, stretching across his broad shoulders and emphasizing the trimness of his physique. The black fabric contrasted nicely with his gorgeous smile.