Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 7

  He eyed her in return and some intangible force passed between them. Her heart knocked against her sternum and her mouth dried. He looked at her almost as if he was attracted to her too. As if—

  “I have a question about your sister.”

  “Maggie?” Rachel frowned, not liking the jealousy that rose to the surface at his interest. “What about her?”

  “Does she know Mayor Owens? Have any connections to him?”

  Rachel’s spine stiffened. She felt a wall go up and knew Grant saw it because his gaze narrowed and he leaned forward, as if he could push her into spilling her guts. Like she would crack beneath pressure. What she knew wasn’t his business.

  “I gave you the flash drive. That should be enough.”

  “It’s not.”

  A wind whipped up out of nowhere, catching her hair and basting it against her face. She shoved at the strands. “Have you talked to Maggie? Gotten her thoughts on things?”

  “I don’t know where she is. Your mom won’t tell me a thing.”

  Rachel smirked. “Good luck with her. You’ll have to talk to Maggie. Is this for work or just personal interest?”

  “Both.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. A muffled thump interrupted her thoughts. Glancing at her car, she saw Miss Priss had somehow knocked the cage off the backseat so that it wedged between the seat and the floor.

  She turned back to Grant. “Maggie doesn’t need to be messed with right now. If it’s not official business, then you should leave her out of things.”

  Grant shrugged, a careless lift of his shoulders that somehow made Rachel’s breathing grow shallow. “Tell her I’m looking for her, if you see her.”

  “Sure.” She managed a small smile. “I’m going to head home before this storm hits.”

  “Drive safe.”

  “Have fun with your mom.” The words felt awkward. Weird that a kid who grew up in foster care took the time to visit his mother.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, confirming the oddness of the situation.

  Before he could turn, Rachel blurted out, “Why are you visiting her?”

  Mouth grim, he paused. The sky was darkening by the minute and his eyes looked as troubled as the clouds on the horizon. “She needs groceries.”

  “So you’re buying some?” Why did God keep hitting her over the head with all of Grant’s great qualities? It’d be nice to see a flaw of his. Anything to keep her brain attached when he was around. “That’s really nice of you,” she managed to say.

  Grant shook his head as though trying to negate her words. “She doesn’t have anyone else so I’m stuck with the job.”

  “No car?”

  “No money.” His gaze passed over her one more time, and in the deepening light she thought she saw something on his face that hitched her breath. Hair flew across her face and she didn’t brush it away. Their eyes locked and for a moment, time stood still.

  The clattering of a soda can, hurled by an angry wind across the pavement, broke the mood. Another car pulled into the empty gas station. Grant gave her a quick wave. She returned it before sliding into her car. She reached back and fixed Miss Priss’s cage.

  A familiar worship song played but the feelings in Rachel’s chest were anything but familiar. Painful and strong, they wracked her heart and left her stymied. It was only when the worship song faded and a new song came on that reason returned. The new song had been Scott’s favorite.

  And now she remembered why these feelings couldn’t stay. Generally speaking, men were unreliable. But even more than that experience, it was these feelings she couldn’t trust. Passion was good for many things, but not relationships.

  Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, Rachel shifted gears and headed for home.

  ***

  This guy was an idiot.

  Grant eyed the twit across the cheap plastic table where they sat. The forgettable mom and pop café located in a shoddy part of Orlando was filled with people getting off work and waitresses just starting their shift. Thick scents spilled into the restaurant from the bustling kitchen.

  After dropping off groceries to his mom, he’d had to turn and drive to Orlando for a meeting he wouldn’t have missed for anything.

  “Charlie Barrows has nothing to do with Slasher. He’s a guy on his way to a restful retirement,” Grant said.

  “Just keep an eye on him.” Twit swiped greasy hair off his forehead. Definitely a paper pusher and not a field agent. “You said you had information for the task force?”

  “Yeah.” Grant fished the flash drive from his pocket. “I thought about e-mailing it but figured this would be safer.” Especially if Rachel decided to try to hack into his e-mail. He wouldn’t put it past her. He still couldn’t believe she’d just handed evidence over like that. Didn’t seem her style.

  “Thanks.” Grease Head pocketed the drive. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Hey, I need those ballistics ASAP.”

  “For?”

  “I talked to another guy on the task force. Rich. I think the shooting is related to drug trafficking. Knowing what kind of bullets were used can help us find the shooter, who is important to nailing Slasher. We could close this case.” And his life could go back to some semblance of normal, without guilt hanging over his shoulders.

  The Fed grimaced. “I’ll get on it. Give me a call tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, keep your nose in every case the station gets.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Grant shrugged like he wasn’t doing something that made him question every part of his past. Not to mention the thin blue line of honor and department loyalty he'd crossed.

  The Fed nodded and slipped out of the diner, shoulders hunched beneath a plain jacket. No one would remember him. After sucking in a lungful of air, Grant expelled it in a rush. Things were getting a lot more complicated. This was supposed to have been easy. Quick. Painful but necessary.

  Now they were suspicious of Charlie, a guy who was as honest and solid as the Andy Griffith character. Somehow Grant had to nose around Charlie without Rachel catching on.

  He dropped some bills on the table and then headed out toward the nearest PD. Might as well stop by and see how things were going with Mullins, an old Miami PD friend who’d relocated to Orlando a year ago.

  Halfway to the department, his phone rang.

  “Harkness.”

  “We arrested the shooter,” Charlie said.

  “You’re kidding.” Grant swerved into the left lane and did a u-turn at the light.

  “He’s in holding. Chief said you should interrogate him.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Anything we should do or know?” Charlie sounded a little worried. Small-city officer, probably never dealt with anything more than drunks and punks.

  “Keep him cuffed. You read him his rights?”

  “Of course.” Now Charlie sounded offended.

  Grant grinned and floored the gas. “Follow protocol and you’ll be fine. Any reason the Chief’s not starting on him?”

  “You’ve got more experience.” Charlie cleared his throat. “He’s making accusations.”

  “The Chief?” Grant frowned. The old guy needed to retire soon. Laziness on the job hurt more than just fellow officers.

  “Naw, the shooter.”

  Grant tapped the wheel, anxious to get back to the small building that served as a police department. If only catching shooters had been this easy in Miami. “What’s he saying?”

  “Claims Rachel McCormick is in on this. Says she paid him to shoot the mayor’s wife.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Miss Priss was trouble.

  Hours after leaving the animal shelter, Rachel put a Band-Aid on the long scratch stretching across her palm. The devil cat hunched inside her cage, hissing.

  As soon as Rachel had walked into the house earlier, ears still ringing from the cat’s incessant yowling during the trip home, Maggie came out of the bedroom, saw the cage, wrinkl
ed her nose and disappeared back into her room.

  Rachel had set the cage next to the couch and then went to work on her computer. She wanted to question Maggie, tell her about Grant and his suspicions, but decided to do some research on her own first. Around nine, she shut the computer down. The session hadn’t been overly fruitful but she’d found a small link between the mayor and Slasher. One of the mayor’s previous hook-ups happened to be the dealer’s cousin.

  Definitely something to be explored.

  Deep in thought and assuming Miss Priss might be acclimated to her new surroundings, Rachel had walked to the cat’s cage. Big mistake. When she tried to open the cage door, the cat clawed her faster than she could blink.

  Now she balled up the Band-Aid wrapper and stood. At this moment she’d love to let out a good hiss too.

  “Why didn’t you get a kitten?” Maggie emerged from her room. She squatted beside the cage and peered inside.

  “I was going to get a kitten. But they were putting Miss Priss to sleep.”

  “I can see why.” Maggie’s tone implied Rachel was an idiot.

  Right now she felt like one. Shrugging, she grabbed the water dish she bought and went to the kitchen to toss the trash. Maggie followed her. When Rachel turned to the garbage can, Maggie propped a hip against the counter. The jeans she wore flattered her thin physique and her purple t-shirt put some color into her cheeks. There was the hint of attitude to her posture.

  “Feeling better?” Rachel brushed her hands together, then pulled cat hair off her slacks and dropped the fuzz in the trash can.

  Maggie smiled slowly. “Seeing you in a hissy fit is always entertaining.”

  “Very funny.” Rachel snorted, then jerked her head in the direction of the living room. “Do you want the cat?”

  “No way.” Maggie lurched backward, the look on her face comical.

  “Well, I couldn’t let them kill the poor thing. Maybe if I feed her she'll calm down...” Could be Miss Priss was hungry. Or queasy. Rachel winced. She hoped not. The thought of cat vomit on her pristine carpet made her feel nauseated. Gritting her teeth, she moved to the sink and filled the cat bowl with water. Once it was full, she slid past Maggie, bending to grab the cat food she’d picked up after leaving the shelter.

  Setting the water on the ground, she balanced the bag of food on one knee and poured it in the porcelain dish she’d also bought. She reached for the cage door again. Miss Priss curled against the back of the cage, watching Rachel’s fingers with narrowed eyes.

  “Are you hungry? Just let me open this door,” Rachel said under her breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Maggie situate herself against the bedroom door. A quick escape if killer cat decided to make a break for it. Rachel almost smiled at the mental image. She grasped the handle and, pressing down, opened the door.

  Miss Priss didn’t move but her growls grew louder.

  “Okay,” she whispered. She stood slowly and backed away.

  The house phone rang. Its shrill clamor pierced her ears as the cat screeched. Then Miss Priss darted out from the cage and into Rachel’s bedroom.

  “Great!” Rachel flung her hands through the air. She marched to the kitchen and snatched the phone off the receiver.

  “Hello?” It snapped out faster than she’d meant it to because images of cat vomit on her bedspread taunted her. She didn’t have time to chat, not with a crazy animal on the loose, not at this time of night.

  “Is this Rachel?” The deep voice cut through the receiver.

  Her head spun. She knew that voice, knew the goose bumps it gave her. Sometimes that voice was in her dreams, whispering I love you. She swallowed hard and turned so Maggie couldn’t see her face. “Grant?”

  “It’s me. When I saw you earlier I forgot to ask something.”

  Uh-oh. She felt her fingers tighten on the phone. “Something to do with your case,” she said flatly.

  “Nah.” She could almost hear him smile. He paused, then said, “Orlando is only thirty minutes away.”

  “And?”

  “There’s a Melting Pot on Sand Lake Road. I was hoping you might like to eat there with me Friday night.”

  Rachel couldn’t move. Her body tensed and the world seemed to spin. With her left hand she clutched the wall. The fingers on her right hand curled around the phone so tight she thought her knuckles would shatter.

  Grant was asking her on a date. Her belly did flip-flops. Why? The derision in his eyes only nights ago had been real. People didn’t change opinions so easily. On the Owens’ porch he’d been disgusted with her.

  But there’d been something in his eyes this morning when he apologized…

  “Rachel?” His normally strong tone sounded weak.

  She cleared her throat. There was only one way to know something. “I thought you didn’t respect me.”

  Evidently he hadn’t expected her reaction. The silence that stretched between them supported her theory.

  “Why would you think that?” he finally asked, his voice low.

  She closed her eyes, remembering the glacial look in his eyes on the mayor’s front porch. “Just a feeling.”

  “Look, I think you’re interesting.” His tone lifted and took on the quality she knew so well. Mr. Smooth was back in control. “Going on a date is a way to see if there’s more. But if you’re not interested, just say no.”

  Rachel scowled and straightened off the wall. He didn’t even sound nervous. He sounded as if it didn’t matter one way or the other to him.

  But it did to her.

  And it tore her apart.

  If she said no, she risked alienating any future chance with him.

  If she said yes, she’d risk her heart. He was a player. Just because he’d become a Christian didn’t automatically mean he was suddenly Mr. Perfect. Look at Scott. He was a youth pastor and how long had it taken for him to cheat on her? If Scott couldn’t be faithful, what made her think Grant would?

  Nothing. The man had a track record a mile long. She’d be one more notch on his weapon-laden belt.

  “Are you still there?” His voice drifted through, teasing.

  Rachel glanced into her bedroom where Miss Priss lay on the bed. Maggie lounged on the couch, pretending to flip through a magazine. Rachel walked to her bedroom, shooting Maggie a meaningful glare before shutting the door. “I don’t know, Grant.”

  “Get a mirror. That should let you know.” He chuckled. It was a sweet sound. Husky and strong. He hadn’t shared a laugh with her before.

  It made the pain rippling across her chest fiercer. “No, I mean we don’t know each other very well.”

  “We’ve been going out to eat with Katrina and Alec for months.”

  “And we didn’t get along.” Silence again. Rachel sighed and sat on her bed. Miss Priss hopped off and disappeared beneath the ivory bedspread. “I don’t know why you changed your mind about me so I’m going to make this easy on both of us.” Her voice quivered. She took a deep breath, forced herself to speak slow and clear. “Thank you for asking, but I can’t go out with you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He sounded genuinely perplexed, which genuinely annoyed her. Was the man obtuse?

  “We don’t know each other,” she said slowly, enunciating each word in an exaggerated fashion.

  “And just how do you think we get to know each other?”

  “It’s not a good idea. We’re not right for each other.”

  “You sound like the stuck-up investigator I always thought you were.”

  “See?” She let her words flow honey sweet. “We don’t suit. Good-bye.” She jabbed the end button on her phone and felt like throwing it to the floor. But she didn’t. Instead she lowered it to her lap and blinked to clear her eyes. She wouldn’t cry over him. Taking a deep, steadying breath she stood but didn’t move toward the door.

  She didn’t want to go in the living room and see the sister she’d lost touch with years ago. The woman who’d stolen her first love. Sh
e didn’t want Maggie, the sister who should have loved her, to see her upset over another man.

  A man who called names. Rachel jerked her head up and welcomed the anger that came so easily to her. Stuck-up?

  Ha.

  It had been smart to tell him no, despite how much it hurt, because a man like him would be dangerous to love.

  She didn’t love him anyhow. It was a minor attraction. Times of stress amplified emotions.

  She yanked her bedspread down to get ready for bed. Good thing Alec and Katrina would be out of town for some time. She didn’t think she could handle any more meals with that name-calling cop.

  Bigger issues concerned her anyway. Like finding a way to collect more evidence against Mayor Owens.

  ***

  Grant listened to his dial tone in disbelief before snapping his cell closed and clipping it to his belt. Rachel hung up on him.

  And told him no.

  He pulled into his driveway and killed the engine. He wanted to growl like an animal, but held himself in check. He’d specifically read this morning that he was supposed to be slow to anger. After the night he’d had questioning a tweaking shooter, it was hard to stay calm, though.

  Thank goodness Chief didn’t think Rachel needed to come in for questioning. There were major holes in the shooter’s story and the guy couldn’t keep his sentences logical. His whacked-out thought processes explained the three-line note they’d found in the woods. Easy instructions for a junkie.

  Charlie had worried him about Rachel earlier, but after this interrogation, even he had to know Rachel wasn’t involved. Though that note...how many redheads were there in Manatee Bay? The only ones he knew of were Rachel and Maggie. Their perp insisted Rachel wasn't the target. That he'd wrote the wrong thing.

  Trying to get his story straight had been grueling and Grant still didn't know what to believe. Except he'd have to keep Rachel safe, just in case someone really was after her. But what was the connection between Rachel and Slasher? She dealt with infidelity and white collar crimes, not drugs and murder.

  Evening sounds invaded Grant’s car. He popped the door open and stood for a minute in the night, listening, soaking in the peace.