Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 9

  “I’m not officially on the clock right now. Are you and Miss Hadley friends?”

  “No.”

  “Why are you visiting her then?”

  “I wanted to make sure she was okay.” The admission made her feel vulnerable. She slid him a quick glance and wondered if he remembered last night, her response to his proposition. Was he still irritated?

  He was watching her. He didn’t look irritated. He looked interested. She quickened her walk, belly flip-flopping with both dread and excitement.

  “Just a few questions, Rachel. Were you working when you went to see Miss Hadley? Pursuing a lead?” Grant kept pace with her.

  They got into an elevator and Rachel punched the lobby button. “Who told you I was there?”

  “Charlie saw the report.”

  “Charlie has a big mouth.”

  “He cares about you.”

  I wish you did. The thought snuck into Rachel’s mind, unbidden and completely annoying. She was the one who said no to a date. If anyone shouldn't care, it was her. She pursed her lips, and as the elevator dinged open, she gave him a flippant look.

  “Have a good day, Grant.” She practically dashed out of the elevator but she couldn’t escape the heat of his gaze, the way it bored a hole right into her heart and even when she was safe in her car, his intense stare stayed with her like a brand on her soul.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rachel didn’t plan on going to church Wednesday night but after a day of everything going wrong, the urge to throw something grew so strong she decided she’d better go before she completely lost control of her temper. Maybe attending would help fix her mind on more heavenly things.

  She hadn’t heard anything else about Corrine, and the lack of news failed to ease the concern overwhelming her. Charlie could have at least called her…

  She swiped a pair of hoop earrings from her dresser and walked into the living room. Maggie lay on the couch, looking through a magazine. People, based on the celebrity faces glaring up from the pages.

  “Do you want to come with me?” She nudged Maggie with a toe.

  “Yeah right.” Maggie’s brow wrinkled. “Since when do I go?” She waved her hand at Rachel. “Go on, get your fix of churchy stuff so you can feel better about yourself.”

  Rachel’s teeth ground. She clasped her earrings and counted to ten. It was a curse, having a short fuse the way she did. As soon as she’d become a Christian, God had convicted her of it. That had been ten years ago and her temper still gave her trouble. When she felt able to speak without verbally flaying her sister, she said, “If you think church makes me feel better about myself, then why don’t you come and get a fix?”

  “You don’t have to be snippy.” A brief flare lit Maggie’s eyes before she looked down.

  “I’m not getting snippy. Church is—”

  “Can’t you see that I don’t care?” Maggie shot off the couch and made a quick retreat to her bedroom. “Just because I’m staying with you doesn’t mean I want to hear about God.” She slammed the door.

  Rachel grimaced at the hollow echo. What a show. Maybe Maggie hurt more than she’d thought. She squared her shoulders. Even though she wanted to avenge her sister and take the mayor down, it didn’t mean Maggie could be let off the hook about Scott. There was no excuse for that. Ever.

  Rachel left the apartment, careful to shut the door quietly because temper still made her nerves hum.

  The drive to church only took five minutes. Manatee Bay was a tiny city located next to a river fed by fresh springs. It wasn’t far from Orlando, either. Rachel divided her PI practice between the two cities. She didn’t get much business in Manatee Bay, though right now she had the potentially explosive case about the mayor sitting on her desk. Most of her other cases came from Orlando residents.

  She liked the investigating part of her job. Uncovering secrets, exposing truths, pursuing justice, that was her passion. Sharing the results with clients, not so much. But the money paid the bills and the work fulfilled her.

  She pulled into the church parking lot and took a deep breath. Her shoulders relaxed. Grabbing her purse, she stepped out of her car and then pushed the door shut. She hadn’t been to a Wednesday night service in months. Being here felt right.

  Her grip on the purse relaxed as she walked toward the doors. Having Maggie at her house and dealing with the riotous feelings Grant stirred up was exhausting. She needed the reprieve from herself. Focusing on God would pry her mind off things she had no control over.

  The first warm splat of rain hit her just as she reached the stone steps of the church. The weather mimicked her mood, dark and restless. Grateful to be under the cover of the roof’s overhang, she grasped the rough wood doors that dated back a hundred years and hauled them open. The hum of voices greeted her, flowed over her and washed her with renewal.

  It’s been awhile, she thought, and basked in the comfort of a place that had once been more familiar than home. The scarlet-pillowed pews and stained-glass windows welcomed her in their elegant way, reminding her that despite the modernity of their worship band, her beliefs stretched to a time when faith was more than the church you attended, more than the music you sang.

  Rachel stroked the polished wood of the pew beside her before finding a seat near the rear of the church. She set her purse on the floor and leaned against the cushioned back of the pew. Then she froze. The blond in front of her looked familiar. The way his hair curled, just a little too long, over his ears, the tanned neck, the broad shoulders.

  It was him all right. In her sanctuary. The place that gave her comfort. Anger had always been like a second skin to her, one made of steel, and she waited for its protective shrouding.

  Her body betrayed her. In anger’s place came a hopeful yearning so strong she wanted to leap up and run out of church to flee the feeling. People moved around her, talking and greeting each other, but she felt as if she were encased in a bubble.

  Grant had asked her on a date. She’d told him no, but here he was at church, rising to his feet, shaking Mr. Henry’s hand and helping Widow Carmichael sit beside him.

  Rachel shook her head and looked down. Okay, so Grant came to church. Big deal. Scott went every time the doors opened. Church attendance did not a good man make.

  The band of emotion cinching her chest didn’t go away despite the logic of her thoughts. She fumbled though her purse for her offering check.

  “We meet again.”

  She clenched the check, drawing it out slowly. “Hello, Grant.” He’d twisted around, arm slung casually over the pew in front of her. She let her eyes meet his, then wished she hadn’t.

  He dressed up nice. His hair had been combed and his white polo shirt complemented the dark tan of his skin and the brilliant blue of his irises. The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. A real smile. Not the flirty one, not the sarcastic one. A lovely smile. She couldn’t help but return it, despite the misgivings that trembled at the back of her mind.

  “I didn’t know you came to this church,” he said.

  Guilt knocked her smile loose. “I haven’t been in awhile.” She looked for the envelope to put her check in.

  “Here.” He held one out to her.

  “Thank you.” She took it and her fingers brushed his. Hastily she slipped the check in the envelope and sealed it.

  “Sure thing.” But he didn’t turn around to face the front.

  “Katrina didn’t tell me you come here either,” she said, hoping to fill in the space between them. Only one more minute and worship would start. She both hated and loved the time she had left to be in his gaze.

  “Just started,” he drawled, his arm resting on the back of his pew.

  “It must be strange, going to church after a lifetime of avoiding it.”

  “Different than I expected.” He kept looking at her, not saying anything, which made her nervous.

  She wet her lips. What did he want? More information on her intentions? He’d never behaved
this way before. He always had something to say, usually some sort of dig or intrusive question. “What are you staring at?”

  He cracked a grin. “A good-looking woman always snags my attention.”

  Mortified, Rachel leaned forward so that their heads were only inches apart. “You can’t say that in church,” she whispered. Please, please God, don’t let Widow Carmichael have heard him. Everyone knew the stuffy widow suffered from the sin of gossiping.

  “Is it against the rules?” he whispered back, the scent of his cologne swirling around her. She struggled to keep her thoughts straight as she moved away from his intoxicating fragrance.

  “No. Not against rules, just. . . outlandish. What do you mean rules?”

  One eyebrow rose. Music filled the air and interrupted whatever he’d been about to say.

  They both stood and he faced forward. Rachel shifted to the right, annoyed when she couldn’t see over him. Her heels put her close to six feet and normally she could see the music screen above the people in front of her. Grant was tall, taller than she’d realized.

  One more point in his favor.

  She shifted to the side, removing Grant from directly in front of her so that she could focus on the lyric screen. There wasn't much room, due to the packed pews. She hadn’t seen this many people ever. Especially on a Wednesday. Good for Joe. People were obviously being touched by his sermons. She gave herself to the praise and when Joe went to the pulpit and preached on patience, several people in the crowded church shouted amen. That jolted her a bit, though inwardly she felt the same way.

  Church ended at eight-thirty. She tried to slip out but Joe grabbed her hand at the door and held her captive.

  “Hi, Joe.” She flashed him a reluctant smile.

  “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Everything okay?” His handsome face creased with concern.

  “I’ve just been busy.” Rachel pulled her hand back. Joe was a good friend and her pastor, so why did her mother’s words still ring in her ears? Mom had to be wrong. Surely Joe didn’t have any kind of “thing” for her.

  Joe’s gaze popped past her. “Grant Harkness.”

  “Hey, there. Great sermon, Pastor.”

  Joe beamed, his gentle eyes so different than Grant’s. Rachel thought she might be holding up the line so she began to move forward, but Grant caught her purse with his fingers. “Hold on there.” He nodded to Joe. “I’ll see you around.”

  Joe returned the nod, then shot Rachel a question with his gaze.

  Rachel shrugged and gave him a reassuring smile. She allowed Grant to lead her down the steps and to her car. The rain had stopped, leaving the night air warm and muggy. There was the occasional plop as rain dripped from tree branches to hit the moist earth.

  As soon as Rachel was sure no one would hear, she whirled on Grant. “Just what do you think you’re doing? No one grabs me.”

  “We didn’t finish our conversation earlier.” He put his hands on his narrow hips, set his feet apart in a stubborn way.

  Rachel stiffened. She recognized a challenge and didn’t like it one bit. “Holding my purse like that is so rude, so—” she sputtered, unable to come up with anything more scathing.

  “Look Rachel, is my presence here going to be a problem for you?”

  She searched his eyes, unsure whether he was being sarcastic or sincere. But they were shuttered, showing nothing except a blue intensity that upped the patter of her heart.

  “I don’t know,” she said quietly, stuffing her indignation away for now. “It shouldn’t be and if it is, that’s something I need to deal with.”

  “Good. About our conversation . . .” His lips twisted.

  “That I’m a good-looking woman?” She chuckled and tried to keep her voice light, even though her heart felt like it was being twisted apart. There was just no way she could fall for a charmer. They were unreliable. Unfaithful.

  “You’re gorgeous, but I’m sorry if I broke some kind of church rules.” His hand reached up and kneaded the back of his neck. “Truth is, this church stuff is new to me.”

  The look on his face, all confused male, almost made Rachel laugh despite the electric crackling of nerve-endings over his compliment. But she swallowed the chuckle because she could see he was completely serious about “rules.”

  “I was probably overreacting. There’s no rules really, other than keep your voice level down during service.” She remembered the few hollered amens and grimaced. Grant must have remembered them too because amusement flittered across his face.

  “Okay, some stuff is fine. I just—” she pushed her fingers through her hair. “I just didn’t want the lady sitting next to you hear you say that.”

  His brows drew together. “The widow?”

  “She has a penchant for gossip.”

  “So no personal remarks at church?”

  “Not in front of her.” Rachel smiled, relieved they were finally having a conversation that didn’t involve sniping at each other.

  “Gotcha.” The humid breeze played with his hair and the lights illuminating the parking lot cast shadows across his face.

  Her mouth went dry suddenly. It wasn’t fair to feel like this, to want something so badly when she knew it wasn’t good for her. “I guess I should be going. There’s a juicy story waiting for me at my desk.”

  “Juicy, huh?” He stepped forward and leaned against her car, his posture casual, his long legs relaxed. “Why don’t we go catch some dinner and you can tell me about it?” There it was, the charmer’s smile. It flashed across his face, deepened his dimples.

  She pretended to misunderstand him. “Sorry, I don’t fish. Have fun, though.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” His eyes narrowed. “On the phone you sound like ice. But here, beneath the glare of these lights, I see what you’re trying to hide.”

  Rachel stiffened. “Oh?”

  “You’re scared silly of me.”

  She snorted and faced her door, fumbling with the keys in her purse. Was she that transparent? It was probably part of his plan to rattle her. Some cop act to get the truth out of people. She smacked the door with the palm of her other hand. His act was working; he was driving her nuts.

  She jerked her head up and looked down the bridge of her nose at him. “I’m not scared of anything, least of all you.”

  She wanted to poke him with her finger but remembered in time the badge that proved to be a constant source of irritation. She busied those itchy fingers in her purse instead. He must’ve read her intentions because he smirked.

  “Don’t think your snooping goes unnoticed,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “What do you mean?” Curiosity got the better of Rachel and she stopped searching for her keys.

  “How’d you get into Corrine’s house?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “She only remembered you calling 911. She didn’t answer your knock, did she? Or maybe you thought she wasn’t home and decided to go snooping. You’re dangerously close to getting your PI’s license pulled.”

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not doing anything illegal.” Just investigating the mayor for possible involvement with a drug dealer, but Grant didn’t need to know about that. Not until she had real proof.

  “Well, you’re scared of something, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  Rachel shook her head and reached back into her purse. Her fingers were trembling when she felt the cold metal of the keys. Relief, pure and strong, flowed though her. Grant thought she was scared of his uniform. That she was doing something illegal and was afraid she’d be caught. For a moment she’d felt like a deer in front of headlights. Had thought he knew her secret fears, her secret wishes. It didn’t feel good, thinking she’d been exposed.

  But he hadn’t exposed anything.

  She pulled the keys out with a flourish, knowing triumph was probably plastered all over her face. The keys clacked together as she unlocked the car door. She pulled on
the handle. The door didn’t budge.

  She’d forgotten Grant, propped against the edge of it. “Excuse me.”

  “Please go to dinner with me.” He spoke quietly, his eyes earnest in the deepening night.

  She looked around. The parking lot had emptied. A sole light shown at the back of the church, probably Joe winding down. It was her and Grant.

  Alone.

  This time she was careful to create an emotionless expression. No fear, no yearning, no hope. She kept her tone even. “Why do you want this so badly?”

  “I don’t know.” His gaze locked on her, his fingers came up and traced her jaw. “I only know that I’ve been wanting to see you smile again.”

  She should pull away. Right now. But his fingers were warm and silky against her skin, gentling her defenses. Resisting his charm was proving more difficult than anticipated.

  Who could’ve known he’d be here like this, pursuing her with all the patience of a panther on the prowl?

  She had no intention of being his meal.

  Moistening her lips and schooling her features into a bland mask, she summoned the strength to back away from him.

  His hands dropped to his sides. He straightened and stepped from the car.

  She pulled the handle and the door clicked open. “I’m sorry, Grant. Dating is out of the question for me right now.” She wanted to tell him it wasn’t him, anything to wipe the stony look off his face. But that would be a lie. It was totally and completely him.

  “Got it. Keep your fingers clean, Rachel.”

  “Yes, Mr. Cop.”

  “I mean it. My interest in you isn’t going to change the fact that there’s some suspicion about you.”

  Suspicion? She paused halfway into the car. “What exactly do you mean?”

  His brows slanted together. “The shooter brought up your name during interrogation.”

  “You found him already?”

  “He was too high to care if he got caught.”

  “And you’re going to believe him over me?” Rachel slapped her hands on her hips and pinned him with an icy glare.