Divorced, Desperate and Dead (Divorced and Desperate Book 5) (8 page)

And when she stumbled over one, she latched onto it like a hungry dog to a piece of beef jerky. Since Cary’s accident took place on Saturday, she’d obviously heard something about the shooting on the radio or heard someone mention it at the bakery, and that’s why her subconscious created this whole scenario.

There was no Room Six, no Beatrice Bacon, or any Johnny Depp lookalike. For all she knew, this Cary Stevens could be old, fat, and bald.

There. Now. Two deep breaths and she felt better. Why she hadn’t considered this earlier was beyond her. It made perfect sense.

Detectives Henderson and Calder pulled into the Hoke’s Bluff police station at the same time she did. Once inside, they were all escorted to a room where another detective and a composite artist met them. Before they got started, introductions were made and she heard the two detectives explain to the Hoke’s Bluff detective that they’d heard the call go out looking for a black Chevy truck. They also explained how two teen skateboarders, who’d found the unconscious officer in Glencoe, had seen a black Chevy driving away right before.

Chloe kept seeing her vision of Cary Stevens lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and she fought the emotional pull. She didn’t know the officer in a coma, it wasn’t the man she’d dreamed up.

As she started to describe the driver of the truck who hit her, Detective Henderson sat beside her, so close his shoulder brushed against hers. It wasn’t as if he was flirting, but all she kept thinking was how nice it had felt when her Johnny Depp lookalike had done that very same thing. And how with Dan Henderson she felt . . . nothing. And she could even give Sheri credit, the guy was hot. If one liked blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered guys with deep voices.

Thirty minutes later, she sat beside the artist and had him change the eyes and nose on the suspect three times, but when he finished the last sketch and turned to show it to her, her breath caught.

“That’s him.” A chill from seeing his face tap-danced up her spine. The artist picked up the sketch and showed the officers sitting on the opposite side of the table.

“Shit,” she heard Detective Calder say when the artist held it out for their inspection.

“What?” asked the Hoke’s Bluff detective.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just glad we at least have a face.”

Chloe wasn’t positive, but something told her he wasn’t being completely upfront. She recalled what her Johnny Depp lookalike had said.
It’s J.D. Andrews. He’s a kid mixed up with the Black Blood gang. Another officer and I arrested him not too long ago.

But that wouldn’t be possible. Would it?
Oh, hell no!

“Can we have a copy of that?” Detective Henderson asked.

“Sure, but you’ll get back with us on any new info, right?” The Hoke’s Bluff detective must have sensed something amiss as well.

“Of course,” Detective Calder said.

As they walked out, Detective Henderson moved beside her, and followed her to her car. “Thanks for everything,” he said, offering another of his charming smiles, that for some reason didn’t work for her.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“Oh, yes, you did.” His blue eyes twinkled. “Sherri’s right, you know. We need to go out. When things with my partner calm down, I’m gonna call you and we’ll have that dinner. I have your number.”

“Oh, well, I . . .”
Shit.
How could she let him down easy? Several excuses she’d used over the past few months came to mind.
Sorry, I gave up shaving my legs. I lost my appetite for sex. I’ve suddenly become allergic to orgasms.
“I . . .”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He winked at her.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything to fix this, but his phone rang. He looked at the number. “It’s the hospital.” He answered it.

“Is everything okay?” he asked in lieu of hello, his tone concerned.

Had something happened to Cary Stevens? Her own chest gripped.

“Thank God! Tell him that Turner and I will be up.” He hung up and smiled so big his blue eyes crinkled. “Cary woke up. He’s going to make it.”

Her heart did a sigh of relief. She told herself she was happy for the real Cary, not her dream Cary. But the relief she felt was far from imaginary. “Great. I’m happy for him.”

“And . . .” he said, grinning, “now that I know he’s okay, let’s make it this Friday night. I know a great restaurant.”

Her mind started spinning. Before she could say anything, he said, “Great. I’ll call you.”

Watching him practically jog to join the other detective, she mentally gave herself a swift kick in the ass for not nipping this thing in the bud. Frustrated, she jumped in her car, latched both hands on the steering wheel, then leaned forward and banged her head against the dang thing.

Crap! “Sorry, I’m washing my hair,” she muttered, suddenly finding it easy to say what she should have said. “Got a date with my Bob.” Or how about the truth? “My fiancé killed himself, and since then I don’t trust my judgment and I’m too scared to get anywhere close to romance. Except when it comes to imaginary Johnny Depp lookalikes.”

She hadn’t been afraid to get close to him. She’d let him crawl into her bed. Let him kiss her. And if she hadn’t woken up, she might have let him do a lot more.

Oh, hell, she was so screwed up.

• • •

J.D. collected his money for the drug drops he’d done for Jax, then bought himself enough cocaine to forget what had happened, and help him figure out what he was gonna do now.

Driving, feeling the need for a good high, but for some reason resisting, he drove to Hoke’s Bluff, down Walnut Street. He hadn’t even really meant to go there. He’d been on autopilot, but when he turned down Cypress Street, down the dead end street, he knew where he was heading. He stopped in front of his grandmother’s house.

She wasn’t there, of course. Like everyone else in his life, she’d abandoned him.

Only her abandonment hadn’t been on purpose. She’d died. When he watched them lower her body into the ground, he was watching the only person in his life who ever cared for his lily-white ass.

Oh, she got pissed at him all the time. She didn’t approve of him smoking weed. She even threatened to throw his butt out. She didn’t. She loved him. Looking back, he regretted that he hadn’t done better for her. But he’d still loved her.

The “For Sale” sign in the front yard told him the bank hadn’t sold the property yet. He pulled into the back and parked under the big oak tree on the grass. He sat there and stared at the house for a minute. He found his tiny pack of powder under the seat. Beside it was his gun. He pulled both things out and set them on his passenger seat, beside the Daily News.

He looked down at the paper. Her picture was there. She was pretty. Probably too old for him, but pretty. He didn’t want to kill her.

But did he have a choice?

He picked up the paper and reread the story. It didn’t say anything about connecting the cop shooting to the woman’s accident.

Maybe they wouldn’t put two and two together.

He knew Jax wanted him to take care of the problem now. He recalled one of his grandmother’s sayings
: You might not get what you want, but if you’re good, you’ll get what you need.
It wouldn’t kill Jax to learn he didn’t always get what he wanted.

But would trying to teach Jax a lesson end up getting him killed?

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head on the steering wheel. How had his life gotten this bad?

• • •

The doctor studied Cary’s stitched up leg where he’d been shot. “That looks great.”

“When can I go home?” Cary asked the doctor.

“What?” his sister, Kelly, asked, shaking her head. “You just woke up from a coma and you’re wanting to go home?”

Cary frowned. “Yeah, I woke up and now I should leave.” He hated hospitals. They reminded him of all the time he’d spent in one when he was fourteen and his mother’s cancer had progressed. He had hated seeing her in that bed, dying a little bit more every day.

“We’re going to do another CT scan just to make sure we haven’t missed anything. Blood loss and trauma can lead to a victim being in a coma, but it’s odd that you were in a coma for as long as you were,” the doctor said. “But,” he looked from Kelly to Beth, “I think I can say he’s going to be fine.” Then his gaze went back to Cary. “If all the tests come back negative, you should be able to go in three or four days.”

“You’re joking?? Three or four days?”

“You were shot and in a coma,” the doc said.

“Exactly,” Kelly said. “And when he does leave, he should go home with one of us, right?” Her voice dared the doctor to say no. And when he didn’t answer right away, she added, “Don’t you think so?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he answered as if under duress.

Oh, yes it would.
He hated being doted on, and his sisters were as expert on doting as they were matchmaking.

“Just a few days.” The doc looked at Cary with empathy, then back to Kelly, and walked out. Cary wasn’t sure who the guy was more afraid of, Kelly or him.

“That’s it, Peewee,” Kelly announced as soon as the door swished shut. “I’m calling your boss and telling him you are gonna retire from the force.”

“Cary.”

“What?” Kelly asked.

“My name is Cary. I stopped going by Peewee in kindergarten!”

His sister glared at him. “Great. I’ll make sure to use that name when I tell your boss you are quitting.”

“I’m not quitting. And both of you need to go home and stop hovering. I’m fine. And I don’t need to go home with you when I leave here. I can take care of myself.” Cary looked away from Kelly—his older and dominant sister—who was on one side of his hospital bed to Beth, the more reasonable Calder family member, who stood on the other side.

“You’re fine?” Kelly spouted, pulling his gaze back to her. “I’m telling you that you are not fine. I’m the only one in this room who has any medical experience.”

“You’re a receptionist for a foot doctor,” he said. “And my doctor just said I was going to be fine.”

“No, he said you should go home with me.”

“After you practically threatened him if he didn’t.”

“I did not threaten him.”

He exhaled. “Sisters.”

“Don’t you ‘sister’ me! You’ve been in a coma for two days. You almost died. I heard Turner say that the paramedic who brought you in told him they must have gotten to you in the nick of time, because he couldn’t even feel a heartbeat when he first assessed you. If it hadn’t been for those two skateboarders . . .” She hiccupped. “You’re giving up working for the force.”

Cary rolled his eyes and looked at Beth, mentally pleading for her to do something to control his out-of-control sister.

She must have gotten his subliminal message because she spoke up, “You know what, why don’t we let him recover just a bit before we kick his ass?”

“Now there’s a thought,” he said sarcastically.

That’s all it took to bring Kelly to tears. Wet liquid sadness filled her eyes, and that’s all it took for him to feel guilty. Eight years his senior, Kelly had put her life on hold after their mother passed away to get both him and Beth through high school and college.

“I was so scared we were going to lose you.” She grabbed his hand and held it so tight the bones in his fingers cracked.

“I’m too mean to die,” he said, and again thought about the dream he’d had—crazy old people, a cupid named after pork, and a hot brunette. He recalled the part of the dream about sharing secrets with that brunette and crawling into her bed and kissing her. He recalled how he’d felt when she’d told him about her ex fiancé and how he’d longed to fix the wrong done to her.

Closing his eyes, he ran a palm over his eyes. Good thing she wasn’t real. He didn’t want a woman like that. Not one he’d be tempted to confide his secrets to. Not one he wanted to bundle up close and protect. Not one he could love. He’d been there. Done that. He wasn’t getting back on that bull.

The door to his room swished open and in walked Turner and Danny. “About damn time you woke up,” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Turner said, “You get shot and expect us to find the guy without telling us shit.”

“That’s in part because he’s quitting the force,” Kelly said.

Cary turned and glared at Kelly and then sent another begging look at Beth.

She got it again, and said, “Why don’t we go down for coffee and let these guys argue with him for a while.”

Chapter Eight

The moment Chloe pulled up in front of the bakery and saw two Channel 34 vans parked out front next to her friend, Sheri’s car, she smelled trouble. As soon as she stepped out of her car, she smelled something else. Burning cake. Hurrying inside, she spotted Sheri standing in the corner chatting with the news media personnel, and Amber refilling coffee. She bypassed both of them to run to the kitchen.

Smoke was billowing out of the ovens. “Crap,” she said and hurried to snatch a pair of oven mitts. She knew it was too late to save the cupcakes, but maybe she could save the bakery from burning down.

Amber came running in behind her. “I’m so sorry. It’s been a zoo here today.”

Chloe set the extra brown cupcakes on the counter and looked back. “It’s okay. I burn a batch at least once a month.” Or she used to when she was writing regularly.

“Did you see Sheri is here?” Amber asked.

“Yeah, I spotted her.”

“I hope it’s okay. I was going to call you, but I was afraid you were still talking to cops. So I called her when the press showed up and started hounding me with questions. I tried to answer some, but then I got afraid I was making a mess of things, so I called her.”

Chloe sighed. “It’s okay.” She just didn’t want Sheri to turn this into a promo event. It didn’t seem right.

“You made the paper today,” Amber said.

“Oh, crap,” Chloe sighed.

“No, it was a good article. They even used the picture of you standing in front of the bakery.”

Sheri marched into the room with a big publicist smile on her face. “This is so freaking great.”