Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (24 page)

Maggie’s brow wrinkled. Color filled in the rest of her face, indicating her rising temper. “You really have it out for William.”

“Why don’t you?” Rachel stabbed her finger in the air, unsure whether she was more incensed with Maggie’s stupidity or her own. All these months following the mayor and she hadn’t even seen this so-called condo. Could that be the financial withdrawals? Trying to hide a real estate purchase?

“I’m not upset because it’s what I expected.” Maggie’s chin lifted. “Besides, when he couldn’t get the money upfront I began to suspect he hadn’t told his wife about us.”

“Well, duh.” Rachel poked the air again, for good measure. “What do you expect? He’s just like dad.”

“What?” Maggie popped out of her seat.

“Yeah, the adulterous, charming father who disappeared from our lives on my birthday.”

“Dad wasn’t the only problem in that relationship.”

Rachel did an exaggerated eye-roll.

“Mom was unfaithful too.”

That stopped Rachel’s pace cold. The bottom of her over-sized t-shirt flapped against her knees when she halted, as though protesting Maggie’s statement. “No way.”

“Yes, way.” Maggie’s familiar sass gave her words an extra edge. “Dad left because she told him to deal with it or leave.”

Rachel wilted. Maggie’s tone left no room for doubt. Whatever Maggie was, she wasn’t a liar. The strength left her knees and she grasped the wall for support. “But he was the one flirting all the time.”

Maggie shook her head, screwed her lips into a disapproving movement. “At least he was honest. She’ll lie about her part still.”

“I hated the way Mom nagged him.” Rachel sank into a chair. “How she screeched all the time.” She could still hear her mother’s voice piping through the paper-thin walls of their new trailer, sharp and hot. Slicing Rachel’s young heart to shreds with her bitterness. She shoved the memory away. Because of her parents she’d longed for a safe man, an honest man. She’d chosen Scott.

Maggie shoved past Rachel. “Well, now you know. Sorry to burst your bubble that all men are liars.”

She didn’t sound sorry, Rachel mused. She watched Maggie disappear into the room, then turned to the stove. Maggie had left a sticky mess. The eggs sat to the side, rubberized. Sighing, she dumped them in the trash then grabbed her lemon Pine-sol.

There were more important things that needed cleaning out than her kitchen. She’d start with the little stuff and work up to her mom later.

She scrubbed the stove, the aroma of Pine-Sol comforting her. Once the kitchen looked good, she went back to her room and fiddled in her laptop files until she found the Mayor’s statements for December. Sure enough, the withdrawals were there.

But Maggie had said he couldn’t come up with the money. So the mystery remained. Now, however, it wasn’t her business. Just for fun, she pulled up the one mental case who shared Gerta Owen’s birth date and initials.

Gail Orrick.

She’d checked into a prestigious facility that tended to house celebrities and officials who desired secrecy and room service. No physical description on file though. Rachel clicked around until she found a place to slip into. Medical records could be tough to hack, especially remotely. This place wasn’t an exception. She backed out of the site and bookmarked it to come back to later.

If she came back. Feeling guilty for even trying to hack in, she deleted the link from her favorites. Maybe it was time to leave this case alone. Stop following the mayor and focus on the cases that mattered. The people who mattered. Not slimy politicians.

She pushed the laptop to the side. Miss Priss immediately claimed her empty lap, jumping from the floor to the bed with surprising gusto. Her heavy, warm weight settled into a rhythmic rumble against Rachel’s legs.

She wasn’t soothed. If anything, she felt more indecisive than she had in years. Had she been judging her dad all this time for something her mom had been guilty of too? She'd let her heart become an ugly cesspool of bitterness. She stroked Miss Priss, the silky fur barely noticed beneath her trembling fingertips.

God would forgive her, she knew that. He was faithful and just. And dad had died years ago, according to some news articles she’d dug up in college. But would her mother forgive her?

With Grant, she’d seen her dad and feared becoming her mom. She owed Grant more than to watch him through the lens of a distorted past.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Rachel didn’t make it to her mom’s until Thursday afternoon. She’d gone to a movie with Grant Tuesday evening and afterward stayed up late with him at a Barnes and Noble, chatting about music, discussing the twisted minds of criminals.

Flirting.

Even now, pulling onto her mother’s dusty road, she flushed at the memory. Then last night after church they went to the park and sat talking on the swings. Mostly about their pasts.

He’d promised to buy her dessert tonight for apologizing to her mom. Four more hours to go.

She parked her car and strode into Mom’s trailer.

Five minutes later she slammed out of the house, a vise around her chest and rage in her steps. Dirt flew behind her as she squealed out of Mom’s yard. Her jaw hurt from gritting her teeth so hard. She took a deep breath, forcing it in, exhaling slow and calm.

It figured. Mom had always been faithful. Couldn’t believe her daughter was so judgmental as to think otherwise. Blah, blah, blah.

What could she think now? Maggie had sounded so certain, yet mom refused to admit to anything. Not that she’d asked her mom to. She’d simply gone in and apologized for judging her Mom and Dad for so long.

Somehow the conversation turned to his indiscretions and then boom, mom’s temper exploded like a cloudless night on the fourth of July. So Rachel left, trying her best to control the temper that always seemed to get the best of her.

She believed Maggie over mom, anyway.

What she needed to do was organize her office tomorrow. Organizing always leveled her emotions. She’d pray for patience and faith while putting things in order. Patience to deal with her lying mother, because even if Dad had been unfaithful there was no denying the guilt staining her mom’s neck red when she denied her own infidelity. And she needed faith to trust Grant.

Her relationship with him felt blind, like she didn’t know what to expect from him anymore, only what he claimed to be. That was tough to handle. His past with women ranked him pretty far down on her trust radar, yet he seemed to have changed.

Besides, predictable wasn’t always better, Scott being the prime example.

A little faith in the goodness of man might be what kept her safe this time around.

***

Grant watched Rachel over the rim of his coffee cup. They lounged in Roasted, the scent of mocha lattes inducing a line of customers to wait ten minutes for their fill. Though it was past eight, light remained outside. The dying sun bled streaks of pale orange against Rachel’s cheeks. The rays hued her hair copper. Like a finely polished penny, only softer. Most of the time her hair looked red, but tonight, the glow of sunset changed the strands into something different. Something unique to match the woman relaxing beneath sunset’s sleepy kiss.

“How’d your meeting with your mom go?” he asked.

She sipped her caramel macchiato without meeting his eyes.

Not so well, apparently. “I went to see my mom. too.”

That got her attention. “When? Why?”

“Today, because you inspired me. If you can forgive people that way, maybe I should too. Sure the Bible says to do it, but I haven’t met too many people who actually follow the rules.”

“You and your rules.” She shook her head. “What did your mom say?”

He grunted, realizing he didn’t want to share either.

“That bad?” A sympathetic look crossed her face, followed by a smile. “Did she throw anything at you?”

“She didn’t care enough to.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows arched. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

He loved the way her eyes glazed when that brilliant mind of hers sprung to action. In fact, he was starting to notice a lot of things he liked about her. Her eyes sparkled when she was happy, like on their first date. She helped when she didn’t want to, like at the wedding. Rachel gave more than she wanted others to know.

His jacket vibrated. The phone. Groaning, he retrieved it and checked the text message. The words jolted him, sent him to his feet so fast the table wobbled. Rachel leaned forward and steadied his coffee.

“Thanks. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.” He reached down for the cup, surprised when she didn’t move her hand. His fingers grazed hers. “Can I have my coffee?”

A mischievous smile spread across her face. “I’ll trade you.”

“For what?” He glanced at his phone. The Medical Examiner would be there any minute. He needed to get a move on.

“Let me come with you.”

“You’re not coming to a crime scene.”

“I won’t mess anything up.”

He glared at her, knowing full well she’d try to weasel her way into this investigation.

“I really won’t.” She rose from her chair, and the light shifted so that her hair became red again. “Pinkie swear.” Her hand stuck toward him and he had to resist the impulse to laugh. This was child stuff, but somehow he knew she was serious.

He’d have to pass the scene to take her home. It wouldn’t hurt to let her wait in the truck while he took care of stuff. See what legit detectives did.

“Fine,” he said. “But no funny business. You’re staying in the truck.”

“Touché.” She slid out from her seat and grinned up at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t get in your way, grumpy.”

Her perfume tangled with his senses. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then looked down at her happy smile. “This is serious business.”

“Vandalism?” Though she still smiled, the curve of her lips quavered. She’d heard his tone. Good.

He took her arm and guided her out of Roasted. A quick sniff told him the scent that had so befuddled him was actually her hair. “What kind of shampoo do you use?”

“What?” She kept walking, but he felt her back tense beneath his palm.

“You’re so suspicious.” Despite the grim scene awaiting them. she made him smile again. He couldn’t help it. The more time he spent with her, the more he was convinced that she both grounded him and lightened him up. A dichotomy he couldn’t figure out, but there it was. God sure had a sense of humor, giving him a sassy, cynical PI for a wife.

His step faltered.

A
wife
? Since when had he been considering that?

Maybe since he’d confronted her outside the mayor’s house, when her eyes had flashed emerald at him in the moonlight.

He recovered his balance and guided Rachel to the passenger side of his Ford. “This might take awhile.”

“No problem. I set my own hours. Besides, my office is a mess. When I get in tomorrow I’m not doing anything besides organizing.”

The truck door opened with a squeal and she climbed in. He shut the door behind her and headed to the driver’s seat. He cranked the engine and grimaced when it choked a little.

“You sound like you need a new truck,” Rachel said.

“Maybe.” He steered onto Main, aiming towards the older section of town. The address sounded close to where the old cement plant used to be.

“What kind of cars do you like?”

“Trucks. Big ones.”

She snorted. A distinctly unfeminine sound that sent a burst of pleasure through him. He’d never met a woman like her. Both professional and unprofessionally forward. Girlie and tomboyish.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flip her hair over a shoulder.

“Well, I like little cars,” she said.

“Sure, that’s why you drive a monster SUV.”

“That was a gift, thank you very much.”

“A gift?” The wheel slipped beneath his fingers and he rushed to straighten it. Who gave Escalades as a gift?

“From an older client of mine. He was one of the first to hire me. A nice man.”

“What did you do for him?” He glanced over, caught her in profile. Her nose was straight and firm, the lips slightly pouty. Her chin jutted forward like a ram rushing to gore someone. He snickered at the mental image.

Rachel’s arms crossed. “Nothing immoral, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He felt her scrutiny. “No, I’d never think that of you.”

Her lips relaxed and it was as though a softness entered the truck. Her smile kept doing that to him. Knocking things off balance, making it hard to concentrate.

“I found his daughter.” The seats groaned as she shifted to a new position.

Grant pulled onto Murphy Street. Up ahead, strobe lights cast blue and red circles against the shadowed trees.

“Runaway?”

She nodded, her attention fastened to the scene in front of them. “He couldn’t afford to pay me. Had to put her in the hospital, she was so sick. I told him not to worry about it. A year later he died. She brought me the SUV and said he’d left it to me in his will.”

“You’re driving a dead man’s truck?” That was a little strange.

“I only saw him drive a Mercedes. The Escalade must’ve been sitting in his garage. But technically he’s not dead. He’s in heaven.”

Grant gave her a look while parking on the sidewalk. Most people didn’t think of things like that. He was pleasantly surprised that Rachel did.

He surveyed the scene ahead of them. He’d have to walk a bit to get to there. And he hadn’t beat the ME. The white truck parked at the edge of the property taunted him, reminding him to push for more money to get a few more investigators instead of relying on the State Police Forensic Investigation Unit.

Oh. well. He’d just have to dig a little to get the details.

He hopped out and started for the scene. Behind him, a door slammed. He turned around. Rachel’s long legs stretched in their usual march as she barreled toward him. She always looked like a woman with a goal. What was her objective now?

Too bad he knew. “Go back to the truck.”

“Shouldn’t we get there before anything gets tampered with?”

“I’m the lead guy on this, so yeah, I’m getting there as fast as I can without running. I want you to wait for me.”

“I’ll stand outside the scene’s perimeters.” She studied him and even by moonlight he could see a question in her posture. “Why are you lead and not Chief Weathers?”

She wanted the truth. Because he respected her, he would give what he could. “I have the experience.”

“So where’s the chief? Shouldn’t he be here too?”

He shifted his stance, rocking back on his heels. “The chief is resigning.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. He’s getting old, maybe doesn’t care as much.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“He’s changed.”

Her lips parted in a smile. “Too bad you’re not the chief.”

“I’m not sure this town could forget the wild kid I used to be.”

Her smile twitched.

“My past will always be there,” he grumbled.

“No one remembers the kid you used to be. We all know you’re an upright, rule-following citizen, determined to make sure everyone else follows the law to the letter.” She smirked.

Grant’s throat moved in a dry swallow. Despite the bustle only feet away, he suddenly wanted to hug her and tell her how much her words meant to him. For a long time he’d been trying to show everyone how good he was. Trying to earn respect. He’d never verbalized it and now that she had, he realized how silly it sounded. And empty. People respected him. He’d earned it.

Thank you, God
.

Instead of hugging Rachel, he winked at her. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she informed him, waggling her eyebrows in a light-hearted way.

“Sure.” He couldn’t resist. He bent down to kiss her, but at the last minute angled to her cheek. There was a surprised intake of breath, her breath. He both heard and felt it, and had to force himself to step back after a quick brush of his lips against her cheek.

He straightened. “Let’s get to the crime scene. Remember to stay outside the perimeters.”

She nodded dutifully, but the movement didn’t fool him. Forcing back a sense of doom, he plunged toward the crime scene.

***

Rachel hadn’t expected her first crime scene to be a murder, but apparently Grant was full of surprises.

“Homicide,” he told her gently, then left her standing at the edge of the dilapidated house behind some carefully hung yellow tape. She backed into some dried up shrubbery and waited. From the smell of things, the victim had been there awhile. In this neighborhood, reporting a body stayed low on the to-do list.

Despite that reality, she was shocked to the core. Another murder? Hadn't Corrine's been enough?

She shuddered and stepped closer to the medical examiner’s van. People bustled everywhere. Photographers, crime scene investigators and even a guy who looked like he might be a reporter. His beady eyes and pinched expression made her think everyone was giving him the brush-off.

Two hours of long waiting crawled by before a clatter broke the steady sounds of movement as two men pushed a gurney towards the van. A lump rested atop the gurney and she had to swallow back a sudden surge of nausea.

She scurried out of the guy’s way and hid in a shadow. No one could pay her to be close to that stinkage. A dead body. She shivered and worked hard to keep from gagging.