Double Trouble (6 page)

And she thought she’d earned a look of authentic appreciation.

“Let’s try some real punches.” Jeremy walked over to the netting that held the padding, picked up a thin pair of gloves, and tossed them to her, then a helmet and a body pad. He suited up with the same.

“Seriously?”

“How are you going to get used to not flinching when someone comes at you?”

She was starting to see the merit of across-the-parking-lot surveillance.

“Put your body into it, like this.” He punched out, pivoting his feet. “Your power comes from your legs and your upper body.”

She mimicked him.

“I don’t think you need the sound effects.”

“It makes me feel like a ninja. Leave me alone.” She kept practicing. Watched herself punch.

“So, did you buy a car?”

“Yep.”

“What kind? Another Beetle?”

“Nope.” She kept punching. One, two, uppercut. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.

“What kind?”

“Not telling. But you’ll thank me next time we go on a stakeout.”

“Is it a pickup?”

“Nope.” She leaned back, threw out a kick.

Jeremy stood in her peripheral vision, arms down. “Throw a few at me.”

Hah! She pivoted and threw a punch at his padded chest.

Her grin vanished when he blocked her fist.

“Hey! Show me how you do that.”

Jeremy showed her how to deflect punches with her arms in blocks and parries. She deflected them all, faster and faster like a kung fu master. She was the Karate Kid.
Wax on, wax off.
“I’m pretty good.”

Jeremy was smiling as he threw easy punches. She blocked them, dancing on her feet. Yes, she could get into this.

She shadowboxed, jigging around the room, clapping her mitts together. “Let’s see what you got. Give me something real.”

He stood with his hands at his sides and shook his head, a sort of sad look on his face. “You don’t want to
 
—”

“C’mon, give me a good one. I want to see if I can block it.”

“No, PJ.”

“Jeremy!”

“Okay, if you
 
—”

“PJ!” The voice came from behind her, near the door.

She turned just as Jeremy’s punch flew at her.

“You hit her!”

Through a haze of pain PJ made out Boone’s voice hurtling toward her as she writhed on the mat.

Jeremy had connected with her shoulder, a jarring blow that rattled her clear through and sent her flying.

Boone dropped to his knees beside her. “PJ! Are you okay?” But he didn’t wait for an answer before he lunged at Jeremy, who’d also crouched beside her. The two rolled on the floor. Boone threw a punch; Jeremy blocked it, returned one of his own.

“You hit her!”

“She asked me to!”

“Stop!” PJ pulled off a glove and hurled it at Boone, who now had Jeremy in a full body lock, arm around his neck, leg around his torso. She half debated asking Jeremy to display his escape technique but decided against it as she threw the
other glove at the two. “Stop! I’m fine, and I
did
ask Jeremy to hit me.”

Boone jerked his gaze up and stared at her as if she’d just told him she was moving to Taiwan. “What?”

“We were sparring. I had everything under control and would have been just fine if you hadn’t distracted me.”

Jeremy’s hand closed atop Boone’s forearm, still tight against his neck. “But in a real-life situation there will be dist
 
—”

Boone squeezed his hold on Jeremy, who threw a backward punch at his head, then followed with an elbow to Boone’s ribs. Boone huffed out a hiss of pain but didn’t let go.

She wasn’t sure why pride speared through her. Boone could stand up to a Navy SEAL. Still . . . “Let him go, Boone.”

“Not everything is a teachable moment,” Boone growled.

“I promise I’m going to be okay,” PJ said, climbing to her feet. “Seriously, let him go.” Besides, apology furrowed Jeremy’s face as he stared at her. He’d probably
let
Boone take him down, penance for giving in to her goading to hit her.

Boone freed Jeremy, and she held out a hand to her boss. Jeremy took it, his expression unreadable as she pulled him off the floor. Boone bounced to his feet unaided.

Admittedly, Jeremy’s punch had hurt. Her shoulder thudded in an endless hammer of pain as blood pumped down her arm. But she wasn’t going to indict him more. She pulled off the helmet. “I
do
need to learn this stuff. Especially if I want to be a good PI.”

PJ noted that Jeremy barely looked at her as he peeled off his body armor. He picked up her discarded gloves and helmet and dumped them with his into the netting.

Boone stepped close and examined her shoulder. “Can you move it? Is it dislocated?”

“I’ll be fine. If anything, it’ll teach me to keep my eye on my opponent.”

“Oh no, you’re not doing this again. Your little fight club is over.” Boone pulled off her body armor and tossed it in the corner.

Now that she got a good look at Boone, he looked unhinged
 
—reddened eyes, unshaven, and he was wearing street clothes
 
—a pair of out-of-character ratty jeans and a T-shirt, as if he’d spent the night camped out in his pickup. Or perhaps one of those wimpy new Chevy Impalas used by the Kellogg police. He needed a Crown Vic.

“I suppose you’re wondering where your car is.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. I . . . need it back.”

“Oh.”

“Please tell me you parked it somewhere where it’s not going to get dinged by a kid on a bike or, worse, stolen. Like my truck. I came out of the gym this morning and someone had boosted it. It’s gone, and I need wheels.” He gave a sort of wry smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Boone, that’s awful! The Mustang’s safe, I promise. . . .” Especially sitting in Connie’s garage, where she’d parked it after Connie left for work.

“Safe and then a long pause? Uh, what aren’t you telling me?” Boone looked like he might be bracing himself.

“Well, I bought a new car, so the Mustang’s back in Kellogg.”

Boone nodded, his smile still cautious. Jeremy had disappeared and now returned with a couple of water bottles. PJ opened hers and glugged it down. Jeremy kept a respectable
distance from Boone but, as he promised, never took his eyes off PJ.

“It’s a . . . a Crown Vic.”

Boone’s mouth opened and then closed, and she saw words forming in his eyes. Finally, his voice tight, “Don’t you think that’s a little cliché?”

“I like it. I feel like I’m the captain of the SS
Minnow
.”

“An ill-fated tour if I remember correctly.”

“Ha-ha.” PJ took another drink and wiped her mouth. “How’d you find me?”

“Went to Jeremy’s office. There was a note on the door.”

So that’s what it said. “You’re really after your car? You promise you’re not checking up on me?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, his expression hardening. “I’m not checking up on you, but I’m glad I did. Apparently someone needs to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Jeremy’s mouth tightened in a firm, say-nothing line.

“Just for the record, I tried your cell. What’s the deal? It doesn’t even go to voice mail.”

PJ glanced at Jeremy, the keeper of her paycheck. “I didn’t pay my bill. And I didn’t want to have to pay reconnect charges.”

Boone shook his head, his patience visibly deteriorating. “Don’t you have any money?”

“I’m slightly on the lean side right now.”

And as expected, Boone lasered a dark look at Jeremy, who turned away.

“So, if your wheels were stolen, how’d you get here?” PJ asked.

“I got a ride.”

She tilted her head at him. “You didn’t come down here for
your car keys, did you? You could have waited until tonight or swung by the house.”

“Okay, I didn’t,” he snapped. “I came down to see . . . Well, we didn’t have dinner last night, so I hoped . . .”

Hoped that she had an answer to his proposal. The truth flashed on his face, followed by a flinch. He looked away.

“We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?” He asked it so softly, as if he were holding out his heart, right there in front of Jeremy.

She was opening her mouth to reply when Jeremy cut in.

“No. You’re not.”

PJ winced. Clearly Jeremy didn’t have issues with eavesdropping.

Or cutting Boone to the heart.

Jeremy stepped beside her. “She can’t have dinner with you.” He seemed to relish this statement way too much, based on his tone, the way he took another swig of his drink, his dark, cool eyes on Boone.

“I can’t?” PJ asked.

He wiped his mouth. “Nope. You’re going undercover. Today. We have a new case, and I need you.”

“I need you.”
Jeremy
needed
her. She so easily caved to those words, like she might be a cocker spaniel, her button tail a blur.

Good grief, she needed a support group or something.

“No, you don’t,” Boone snapped. “In fact, this game has gone on long enough.” He walked over to the wall and picked up her bag. How strange to see it in the clutches of the man who would barely carry a backpack to school. “C’mon, PJ, I’m taking you to lunch.”

“Do I get to change?”

Boone looked at Jeremy, his pale eyes icy. “How long will it take?”

“I’ll just go as is.” She grabbed her shoes and put them on, then took her bag from Boone. “But you need to know I’m coming back
 
—and yes, I’m going undercover.” Undercover.
Undercover
. As she glanced back at Jeremy, she couldn’t help but smile.

He didn’t match it, his gaze squarely on Boone, who put a hand on her shoulder and guided her outside.

They hit the street to a blast of summer air. Heat simmered off the sidewalk and scoured up smells from the sub shop alley across the street.

“How about Gopher Subs?” Boone reached for her hand as he walked to the corner and waited for the traffic light to turn. In the sunlight his hair gleamed like some legendary Norse prince, minus the battle armor, bloodied axe, and flowing cape. This Boone surprised her at every turn, from the way he’d morphed into a respectable, nearly stuffy, calm, and serious detective
 
—despite his current out-of-character rumple
 
—to his dedication to their future.

What surprised her the most at the moment, however, was his vitriol toward her new job. She slipped her hand out of his and walked without talking as they crossed the street and entered the sub shop.

The air-conditioning slicked over her skin, awakening the realization that she wore a pair of skimpy shorts and a sleeveless shirt. She gave a cursory search through her bag and found a rolled-up Windbreaker, which she pulled on.

“What don’t you have in there?” Boone asked, barely a smile on his stoic face.

“A shower. I should have cleaned up.”

“This won’t take long. Grab us a booth.” And before she could give him her order, Boone added himself to the line. Of course, he’d just assume she’d want a tuna sandwich. However, she’d moved on since her high school addictions. Now she liked the chicken Caesar.

Once the order came up, he slid into the booth across from her, handed over her tuna on wheat. “I’m sorry I came off so . . . raging bull. But he hit you, PJ. He
hit
you.”

“I had pads on. And we were sparring. How am I supposed to develop reflexes if I don’t practice?”

He unwrapped his sandwich, a dripping Philly cheesesteak. “I’m not sure I want you developing those kind of reflexes.” He stared at his lunch as if it might contain the words he struggled to find. Finally, “You just don’t know what you’re getting into, babe.”

The way he said it, soft and with a small groan at the end, made her put down her sandwich. She reached across the table and touched his hand. He covered her fingers with his thumb. Sighed.

“What is it, Boone?”

He closed his eyes a second before looking at her. “You have to trust me when I say this isn’t the job for you. Enough playing around, Peej. I thought
 
—and maybe this was stupid of me
 
—but I thought that after the Hoffman case, you’d figure out that nosing around in crime can get you and the people you care about hurt. Even killed.” He ran a finger down the side of her face. She resisted the urge to lean into his touch even as his eyes held hers. “I know I don’t have the power to forbid this
 
—”

“Forbid?”

He jerked away. Yeah, well, someone was about to lose a hand.

“Bad choice of words, maybe. How about . . . ask you not to do this? plead with you? beg you?”

“Why are you suddenly so worried about this? What’s going on, Boone?”

He leaned back, raking a hand through his blond hair. She’d rarely seen him this rattled. Boone epitomized cool, right from the days when he’d stare down defensive linemen as the Kellogg High quarterback. He’d even laughed through the tattoo artist’s needle the day they’d inked each other’s names on their shoulders.

But now he sat across from her with a darkness in his eyes that scared her. He stared at her a long moment while she watched his chest rise and fall. “I can’t go into details, but we had a murder last night in Kellogg. And it was someone we knew.”

Someone they knew? Of course in a town the size of Kellogg the odds of that were great, but . . . “Who?”

He pushed his lunch to the side and leaned over the table, his voice in sleuth mode. “Remember Allison Miller?”

PJ mentally scrolled through her yearbook. “Uh . . .”

“A class ahead of us, she was a cheerleader.”

PJ couldn’t breathe. Yes, she remembered her
 
—long blonde hair, an amazing toe touch. Too curvy for her age and a reputation to match. “Yes.”

Boone blew out a long breath.

PJ again reached for his hands.

He surrendered them to her, holding tighter than she’d
expected. “She was working for me
 
—sort of an informant on an investigation. They found her body last night in the Kellogg harbor.” He shook his head, the memory lingering in the back of his eyes, eating his words.

PJ waited, counting her heartbeats, trying to imagine what he’d really seen and then not wanting to.

Boone stared at their clasped hands on the table, running both thumbs over her fingers. “She was beaten to death. It was brutal. And . . . the truth is, it was my fault.”

“Boone . . .”

“Last time I talked to her, she said that they were onto her
 
—but she wouldn’t say who. She told me she could handle it. And I believed her.”

When he met her eyes, she recognized the emotion in them. Regret. And it was aimed right at her.

“She thought she was tough enough to stand up against a group of people who played by an entirely different set of rules.”

He didn’t have to fill in the proper nouns for PJ to know who he was really talking about. She held on to his hands a moment longer, then sat back.

“I’m really sorry, Boone.” But she wasn’t Allison. And besides, she could take . . . care . . . “I really am going to be okay.”

Based on his reddened eyes on hers, he didn’t believe her. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me show up someday to fish your bloated body out of the Kellogg harbor.” His voice hovered just above a moan.

“I want to do this. It makes me feel like, for the first time in my life, I could be good at something.”

“You are good at a billion things.”

“Name one.
One.
I have lost or quit so many jobs from one end of the country to the other that my résumé could wallpaper Jeremy’s office. I like this job. I have instincts
 
—”

“Instincts nearly got you hurt yesterday. Who knows when you’ll wind up in the middle of something dangerous?”

“My instincts might have saved Geri’s life for all we know.”

“If you do this, I’m going to spend every waking hour worried about you. I’ll think about you while I’m doing my job
 
—”

“Don’t put that on me, Boone. I’m not your wife.”

His mouth tightened. Behind them, the sub clerk called out an order. The bell over the door dinged. Boone’s eyes never left hers. “I am hoping there is a
yet
at the end of your sentence.”

PJ’s throat tightened. “Don’t you see? This is my chance to do something with my life. To be someone extraordinary. To finally make my mark in Kellogg.”