Double Trouble (18 page)

Oh, Boone
. She touched his hair, that cowlick above his right eye. Of course she loved him, like she loved the smells of summer over the lake or the taste of the wind on a late Saturday night. Boone was her history, the fabric of all her childhood dreams, and once upon a time, the voice that called her home.

“Please, PJ, say yes. Marry me.”

She’d always found it sort of intoxicating
 
—the way he looked at her as if she might be a mystery, one he couldn’t help but want to solve. But tonight his expression seemed more desperate as he touched his lips to hers, cupped his hand around her neck.

Boone had always been easy in his affection, sweet and tender. Almost casual.

But all the casual had gone out of his touch as he took her mouth with his. He kissed her almost hungrily, with an urgency that she didn’t recognize. It thrilled her, the not-so-dormant feelings of being in his arms so earnestly awakened. As he deepened his kiss, she curled into his embrace, let him pull her up to the sofa.

But when he tried to lean her back into the cushions, she put a hand on his chest. “Boone.”

It took a second but he pulled away, his eyes in hers, his heart tattooing beneath her touch. He met her eyes, then lowered his head again.

“Boone.” Her voice had more strength to it now, despite the burn in the middle of her chest. An honest part of her wanted to dive back into his arms and lose herself in the easy past.

Boone’s arms were still tight around her. He stared into her eyes with a confused expression that made her want to cry. “Peej, I love you. . . .”

She nodded, even as she pushed again, away from him, untangling herself from his arms, from the danger of his affection. She trembled, her heart in her throat, bottlenecking her words. Her eyes burned as she clenched her jaw tight and shook her head. How easily she became a person she’d thought she’d escaped when caught in Boone’s charisma. She pushed off the sofa.

He scooted back, his mouth a dark line, and held up his hands. “My fault. I know the rules.”

She closed her eyes. Rules. That’s all they were to him.

To her, it was more about pledging to live in a relationship
not cluttered by guilt. About leading with her mind
 
—even her heart, her faith that God had something better for her if she’d wait for it
 
—and not her desires.

He’d risen and come to stand near her, and when she opened her eyes, he was reaching out to her. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “It’s not you, Boone. It’s the fact that I want to be more than I was. It’s about trusting God enough to wait
 
—”

“Wait. Until marriage?” He knelt in front of her. “I love you. And I want to marry you. Isn’t that enough?”

“But we’re
not
married.”

“Yet.”

She didn’t repeat his word, and after a moment he drew back, hurt in his eyes. “Peej, I understand wanting to wait until you love someone, but certainly that’s okay with God. He is all about love.” He touched his hands to her knees, a smile meant to charm on his face.

“God is about love
 
—loving me and you, by the way, enough to ask us to wait for the best. Which is His way. But that’s our problem, Boone
 
—you don’t want to do things His way. Not like I do.”

“That’s not fair. I believe in God. I just think you take this religious thing too seriously. Are you going to be a nun or something?” He added a chuckle on the end.

“C’mon,
that’s
not fair.”

His humor evaporated. “You certainly can’t say that a Christian should be breaking and entering.” He gestured to the door.

“Jeremy would understand.”

“Why? Because he approves of your little PI crimes?”

“Because he’s a Christian and he grapples with the gray areas too.”

Boone stilled. Looked away.

She tried to soften her silence with a smile. “Boone, listen. The truth is, you’re just too tempting. Always have been. And I can’t think with you this close.”

He considered her, running his eyes over her, sighing. “Apparently not tempting enough.” Then he turned away, staring again at the files.

PJ whisked the moisture from her cheeks and resumed her hunt in silence.

What Boone couldn’t know was how much she wanted to be with him. And how much she feared it. The closer she let him get, the harder it would be to say good-bye.

Good-bye
. The word clanged in her head, then fell through her heart like an anvil.
Good-bye?

He picked up another file and perused it. “Hey, I think I found something. Associated Insurance. They have three claims here that Jeremy investigated, all on late-model SUVs. All of them were stolen and came back stripped.” He paged through it and lifted off a sticky note. “In fact, Jeremy’s written a little note here to follow up.”

She swallowed another rise of blistering tears and let a little bubble of pride swell inside for the Kane and Sugar investigative team.

Boone must’ve seen it because his lips pursed. “Boris is still in trouble, but I can admit that I’m biting. You might be onto something.”

PJ found a smile. “See, I am a supersleuth.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

If she perished today, the last real day of Minnesota summer
 
—aka Labor Day
 
—she’d die a happy woman. PJ tunneled her toes into the balmy sand and lifted her face to the late-afternoon sun, letting it splash over her, caressing her face, loosening the knot in her brain. Behind her, a hot dog vendor tempted the beach bums with the aroma of dogs on the grill, and children laughing in the spray near the docks nearly coaxed her to dive off the end into the sparkling freshness of Lake Minnetonka.

Not that she particularly wanted to perish. In fact, with the dawn creeping into her room and the ribbon of sweet summer breeze tickling her awake this morning, and with nothing scribbled on her agenda for the day but a full plate of potato salad and a game of Frisbee with Davy, she had been reminded of how close she’d come to boiling to death in the trunk of a Chevy Impala less than forty-eight hours ago.

Which apparently didn’t belong to Missy, according to
Jeremy and the FBI guy, Lee, who’d tracked her down for a face-to-face. How PJ wanted to have been in on that chat. If Missy’s Impala was still in her possession, it wasn’t the same vehicle now sitting in impound in a St. Paul lot, marinating old gym socks.

In other words, they were back to
nichevo
on the “bad guy who wanted to kill/harm/scare Dally” list. Although, PJ had started to drift in the direction of Sammy Richfield and his so-called ring alibi. Why had he
really
broken into Dally’s house?

Oh, she shouldn’t think this hard on a holiday.

Today all she wanted to think about was Davy and their Labor Day picnic and freedom. Freedom from worry about Gabby and what might be happening to her jewelry
 
—or her mind, for that matter. Freedom from Dally and whatever she and Jeremy might be doing . . .

PJ sighed.

Freedom from the fear that she’d somehow land someone
 
—perhaps Vera this time; she’d remained relatively unscathed by the PJ touch so far
 
—in trouble, again. Although Boris’s arrest wasn’t technically PJ’s fault, Connie blamed her and still wasn’t talking to her; she was a walking iceberg of righteous anger. Probably the only reason PJ hadn’t been kicked out of the house to take up residence in her Vic was because Boone had allowed Boris to walk out of the Kellogg City Jail a free man.

“Auntie PJ, come into the water with me!” Davy appeared, garbed in a pair of swim fins, a Speedo like Daddy, goggles, a snorkel, and a pair of water wings. Lake water dribbled off the saggy back end of his suit and onto her ankles.

“Oh, little man, I’d love to, but I can’t. No swimming for
me today. But when you’re done, you and I will make a sand castle, okay?” For the first time since letting Stacey paint Dally’s tattoo down her arm, PJ wanted to scrub it away, go back to being just plain old PJ Sugar. But she hadn’t heard from Jeremy, and until she got the all clear, she was still on the job. A sound night’s sleep behind her, she planned on returning to her post right after today’s picnic.

Davy stuck out his lip in an exaggerated pout but splashed back through the sand to the water’s edge, where Baba Vera waited to swing him into the waves. And to think, only a few months ago, he’d been terrified of the water. Yes, she’d created a monster
 
—the kid needed constant attention to keep him from floating away, but at least his Sugar genes had kicked in and he’d developed the appropriate passion for the beach.

“I’m glad to see you made it.” The voice preceded the appearance of her mother, a thin shadow of elegance cast over PJ’s sunbathing form. She held out a bottle of SPF 30. PJ hadn’t tempted fate by wearing a swimsuit, lounging instead in a pair of shorts and a tank, but she still hoped to add another layer to her tan.

“Mom, you’re in my sun.”

“You’ll get cancer. Don’t you know that?”

PJ closed her eyes. “It’s my one vice. Let me live large.”

“If you want to be a wrinkled, dried-up apricot, not my
 
—”

“Okay, fine.” PJ sat up, grabbed the bottle, and began to work the lotion into her legs.

“I realize that a little skin cancer is hardly the danger you’re used to . . .”

Something in her mother’s tone made PJ look up with
a frown. Elizabeth wore her dark hair tucked into a wide-brimmed hat and now stared out at the water, her hands on her hips, her lips in a tight bud of emotion.

“Mom?”

“Boone told me you were kidnapped.”

PJ’s mouth opened, unable to figure out . . .

Oh. There he was, the rat, sitting at the picnic table with Boris, eating a hot dog. He didn’t even look in her direction. Good thing, too.

“Did you invite him?” PJ looked back at her mother.

“Of course not. But he showed up, and despite my misgivings, it certainly wouldn’t be polite to run him off.”

Not like she had earlier in the summer, when PJ had appeared in Kellogg, and Boone had materialized on her doorstep like a homing pigeon. Or perhaps a hungry wolf.

But if the guy was on the hunt for allies, he wouldn’t find one in Elizabeth Sugar. She disliked Boone only slightly more than she disliked PJ’s newest job title.

“I didn’t invite him either.”

“Well, he certainly seems to be worried about you; I’ll give him that much.”

PJ finished slathering on the lotion, closed the top. “He’s overreacting.” Okay, even to her ears, that sounded weak. “I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”

Perhaps she should quit while she was ahead.

“He mentioned that he asked you to marry him.” Elizabeth said it casually, clearly not wanting to start a fight. PJ had to give her credit for her groomed, nonchalant tone.

Like the woman didn’t want to choke Boone on the spot with her silk scarf. But Boone, the Instigator and True Reason
why PJ had spent the last ten years roaming the planet, must be pushed to the edge of desperation to confess to her mother that he wanted to marry PJ.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing. You know what I think about Boone Buckam.”

If her mother kept it up, PJ was just liable to say yes.

“Yes, Mom, he proposed. But don’t panic. I haven’t given him an answer . . . yet.” She got up, wiping her hands on her shorts.

“Why on earth not? Is it so hard to figure out that he is only going to break your heart?”

“Uh . . .” PJ glanced again at Boone. He was laughing at something Sergei said. Like they were already brothers. She put a hand to her chest, sighing through the nettles. “Yes.”

“Okay, I can admit that I’ve been hard on the man, but . . .” Elizabeth shook her head as if even she couldn’t believe her own words. “Maybe he
has
changed. He’s a cop now; I suppose that counts for something.”

“He’s a detective, Mom.”

“Exactly. And . . . well, I guess he loves you, PJ. That’s never been in debate.” She looked away, out toward the lake, her face scrunching up as if she caught the wrong wind.

“Maybe that’s not enough.” PJ said it so quietly, it could have been a thought, but her mother glanced at her, the brim of her beach hat ruffling in the wind.

PJ had an image suddenly of Gabby, years earlier, wearing a movie-star smile. Beautiful Gabby, who had lived a life of glamour and fame . . . if only in her mind.

For a fraction of a second, something like a soft, empathetic smile surfaced on Elizabeth’s face. “I suppose I should learn
to trust you more.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, cupping her elbows, and sighed.

The gesture appeared so frail, so resigned, that PJ reached out to touch her mother’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, PJ. I just don’t sleep well since your father passed.”

Twelve years ago? Liar. Probably, more accurately, for the past two months since PJ came back to town. Since she started attracting international assassins or getting manhandled in the middle of the night. Since she started putting her nephew, and even her shirttail Russian relatives, in danger.

So much for the tangy breeze, the sounds of laughter, the day of freedom. PJ cupped her hand over her eyes, darkening the sun, her thoughts roiling. “Mom, listen. I know you’re worried about me and Boone and my new job. But I really like my job. I’m pretty good at it. I think I even helped Boone find another clue to his carjacking ring. And . . . I wasn’t on vacation. I was protecting this woman who is testifying against a drug dealer. I’m even trying to help her neighbor figure out who is stealing her jewelry.” PJ turned back to her mother. “I want to do this. I want to help. I want to do some good.”

Her mother looked at the ground, then up at PJ. Exhaled a long breath. “That’s never been your problem. It’s knowing when to stop ‘doing good’ that you have issues with.”

Was this about Boone or her job or . . . “I have people depending on me, Mom.”

Elizabeth considered her a long moment. Then, “Yes, you do, PJ. Yes, you do.” She took the lotion from PJ’s hands. “Where did you get that awful tattoo? Please don’t tell me it’s permanent.”

“I don’t think it’s so bad. It’s a magnolia
 
—a symbol of something beautiful fighting to survive amid the trials of life. And don’t panic. It’s just paint. It’ll wash off.”

“I’ll get the soap.”

“Not yet; I need it for my job.”

“I suppose it suits you. At least it’s not as bad as a tattoo.”

As in, a tattoo you couldn’t wash away with a little Ivory and water. It followed you, branded you. PJ resisted the urge to put her hand over where
Boone
marked her, choosing instead to hear her mother’s words:
“It suits you
.
”

Hmm.

“I think the hot dogs are ready,” Elizabeth said as she turned away.

Boone looked up at PJ as her mother walked to the grill, where Connie rolled the dogs into a new position. He smiled, lifting a hand. He looked easy sitting there with Sergei, laughing, the wind twining through his hair, his legs and arms perfectly tanned. Oh, boy.

From the abyss of her bag, a canvas puddle in the sand at her feet, she heard her ring tone
 
—Scooby-Doo. She grabbed at her bag, expecting to see Jeremy’s number and instead reading
Caller Unknown
.

“Hello?”

She pressed a hand to her other ear, trying to cut off the voices from the beach, and finally heard sniffling or . . . strangled breath?

“PJ, is that you?”

“Gabby?”

“Oh, PJ, where are you? It’s gone. Seb’s necklace . . . it’s been stolen.”

* * *

“I promise I’ll bring the Vic back, Boris.” PJ stood outside Connie’s house, the sprinkler across the yard hissing into the evening, Boone glowering behind her, swinging his key around his index finger as she went toe-to-toe with the Russians for her car.

“I need it for vork.” His burly arms folded across his chest, Boris conjured up grainy Cold War–era images with an expression that suggested she might be trying to sneak out of the motherland with nuclear secrets, using
his
Crown Vic to do it.

“You’re not going to work,” PJ started.

“Like I said, I’ll drive you, PJ,” Boone interjected, a looming voice-over to the drama before her.

“I don’t want your help, Boone.”

“I need to vork
 
—”

“Do you really have to go?”

PJ rounded and stalked past Boone to the Mustang, opening the door. “Just drive.”

Boone wore a tight expression that italicized his martyrdom as he climbed in beside her. “Tell me again why you have to go rushing to the aid of this old lady?”

Boris waved, showing gold teeth as they pulled away.

“She’s not just an old lady; she’s my neighbor, and I think her grandson is stealing from her.”

Boone said nothing, his chest rising and falling. “I wanted to take you for a drive tonight.”

“I could have guessed that.” And maybe she should be the slightest bit relieved that she’d avoided that scenario. Not that
she didn’t enjoy being tucked inside Boone’s embrace, but it could be true that she liked it too much for her own good.

“Besides, the chinchillas need me. I need to get back.”

“You’re killing me here, Peej.”

She gave him the smallest of smiles. “Thank you.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She reached over and turned on the radio, humming to KQ92, then dialing over to the country station. A little Waylon should fit Boone’s mood.

Boone let two songs roll by before turning down the volume. “I think I should stick around tonight. I don’t like you being there alone.”

“I have Gabby.”

“Cute. I’m not kidding, PJ.”

She turned toward him. “Okay, listen; calm down, hero. Jeremy is working with this FBI guy named Lee. Apparently he’s watching Dally’s house. He’s the one who called Jeremy when I got nabbed. I will be perfectly safe. Plus
 
—” she pulled out her cell phone
 
—“you’re on speed dial 1.”

He angled her a look that suggested he wasn’t impressed.

They pulled into her neighborhood and down the alley. “You can just let me off. I have to check the chinchillas, and then I’m going over to Gabby’s.”

“At least let me go in and sweep the house.”

“Unless you’re talking with a broom, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Boone grabbed her wrist as she moved to unlatch the door. “Speed dial 1?”

PJ leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “And 2, just in case.”

She waved as he drove away, then unlocked the back door, dumping her duffel inside. The chinchillas came to life with a screech of complaints as she lifted their cage door, checked their water, and dropped in more food.

She stood in the living room, listening to the house, the echoes that greeted her. Had someone been here while she was gone? Who watched her, and from where?

She approached the window, peering at Gabby’s house.

The sun had begun to tuck in for the night, the shadows long across her groomed lawn. Gabby’s front door light had flickered on but cast only a feeble spray of light, not enough to darken the front window. In fact, she could make out movement, and then . . . Wait. Something big. Or
someone
big. And the Big Someone had a little someone in his clutches, and he was . . .