Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (12 page)

It was a light-weight thing she’d picked up cheap at Macy’s. A flowy black skirt and white camisole type tank. She rubbed her bare arms, aware of how pale they were despite the summer sun. At least she looked better than she had at the hospital…

Finally, he glanced past her. “You okay, Ms. Riccio?”

A sniff. “I tried to tell her to leave.”

Doing an eye-roll, Rachel focused on Grant, blocking memories of the last time she’d seen him here, the kindness of his eyes, the gentleness of his touch.

The feelings he’d released.

Nope, this was business. In the corner, Charlie snorted. One of his feet slipped of the desk and crashed to the floor. The poor guy jolted mid-snore and almost fell off his chair.

A giggle bubbled in Rachel’s chest, especially when Charlie looked wildly around the room, dazed, hat askew. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she crossed to him and fixed his hat.

“Sleep well?” She pointed to his computer then patted his hand. “You better get back to work.”

Grant was sitting at his desk when she turned around. She marched to him, aware of the way her skirt flowed around her knees, feminine, making her feel vulnerable and in no position to demand information.

“You’re here for the ballistics report.” Grant shuffled through his paperwork, avoiding her as though he hadn’t just devoured her alive with his eyes only seconds ago.

“Can I have one?”

He looked up then and she felt foolish, dressed up with no Pete in sight, no one to impress at all. “I don’t know what you’ll do with it, but here you go. Make yourself a copy and bring me back the original.” He motioned to the copy machine.

Dutifully, she made her copy, feeling his gaze on her back the entire time. And why shouldn’t he stare at her? Maybe even dislike her? Heart sinking, she listened as the machine whirred. She’d enjoyed being the object of Grant’s desire. But she’d rejected him. Not once, but twice. Could she blame him for being, at the very least, annoyed with her? Possibly even hurt?

Frowning and heart pounding, she snagged her copy and Grant’s original, and then trudged back to his desk.

He wasn’t even looking at her.

Gulping back a sudden sadness that clutched at her throat, Rachel placed the original on Grant’s desk. “Thank you,” she said.

“No problem.” He typed on the keyboard.

Wheeling around, she flipped Charlie a quick wave and then scooted out of the office. Sunlight slapped her across the face, blinding her. She welcomed the pain.

Anything was better than going back to that cold truce she’d had with Grant. Was he reverting to their previous relationship? Just because she’d said no to a date? Or was it because she’d visited Corrine? His treatment of her seemed so immature, so unlike the Grant she’d come to know.

Sure, he dated too many women. Made them cry and acted like he didn’t know it. But he wasn’t the type to freak out when a woman said no. To be possessive or overbearing. She reached her car and had just opened the door when she heard her name being called.

She looked up, shielding her eyes. Grant stalked toward her, a sober expression painted on his face.

“About last night at church,” she began, then halted as the full scope of what she’d just said hit her.

“Yeah?”

Now what? Too surprised at herself to protest, she forged ahead. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings or anything. I just can’t date now.”

What was she doing?
Stupid, stupid
.

Grant didn’t grin at her like she hoped. He stared, jaw square and firm, blue eyes serious. “That’s over and done with. What were you doing last night after church?”

“What?” It took a second for her mind to wheel from fantasy land where Grant’s feelings were hurt to reality land in which Sergeant Harkness cared more about cases than potential dates.

“I’m just curious. Were you out snooping around? Asking questions even after I warned you to stop?”

Snooping
? Really? She drew herself to her fullest height, annoyed that it didn’t bring her eye level to him. “I’m always asking questions, Grant. It’s who I am.”

“Were you cozying up to the mayor?”

She recoiled. “No. Never.”

“Okay.” He shook his head slow, like he was processing her response and deciding whether to believe her or not.

“Am I still a suspect?”

“I would’ve told you if you were.” Grant stepped forward. “Be careful. Pay attention when I tell you to back off Owens.”

“You think he’ll hurt me, don’t you?”

He hesitated too long. “No. Not William Owens.”

“Someone else then.”

“Just stay clean. Stick to adulterous couples.”

“Adultery isn’t the full-scope of what I do,” she said hotly. “Any more advice?”

“Stay away from Miss Hadley.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.” He pushed a hand through his hair and looked off behind her. “I don’t know why I do this. You’re not going to listen to a thing I say, are you?”

“I might,” she shot back, confused by his annoyance. What did he care? He thought she was interesting. Wanted to take her on a date. That was about the extent she figured she played in his life, and it didn’t count for a lot considering all the women who’d played the same role.

When he didn’t say anything else but pinned her with that ice blue glare of his, she stiffened. She poked her chin in the direction of the building. “Better get back before Ms. Riccio sics some guard dogs on me. Why don’t you remind her that Lee was innocent? She seems to have forgotten justice and the rule of law is what works in this country, not the whims of a fickle crowd.”

Scowling, knowing it twisted her face but not caring, Rachel slipped into her car and started the engine. Grant strode back into the station before she’d even turned out of her parking space.

Feeling grim, she headed home to face a sister who didn’t feel like a sister and a cat who still hissed every time Rachel pet her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Your cat clawed my silk nightie.” Maggie whipped a skimpy red thing through the air as she spoke.

“Close your door.” Rachel sipped her coffee, trying to down the rest of it before she left for work. Exhaustion made her groggy. Maggie hadn’t been coming in the last few nights until early morning hours. Being a light sleeper was a definite curse for Rachel. Hopefully the caffeine would kick in quick. A glance at the kitchen clock told her she had less than five minutes if she wanted to beat Orlando’s morning traffic and open the office on time. Thank goodness she didn’t open on Saturdays until nine.

“I did close the door.” Maggie frowned and balled the nightie. “Miss Priss snuck in.”

Rachel scanned the newspaper she held in her other hand. “That’s nice,” she murmured. Maggie was beginning to get on her nerves. Her sister left things lying around, didn’t wash her dishes, and was an overall slob.

Definitely messier than Rachel remembered.

“I want a new one,” Maggie said.

The petulance hadn’t changed either. Her voice scraped against Rachel’s already raw nerves. She folded her newspaper and tucked it beneath her arm.

“Miss Priss is getting used to her new home. I don’t want you stressing her out.” Rachel glared at Maggie, remembering the disgusting cat mess she’d cleaned up last night from her bathroom floor. At least it hadn’t been the carpet.

“Look at this.” Hand fisted around the negligee, Maggie punched it toward Rachel and pointed to the slashes of missing silk.

“So what?”

“It’s your cat, your fault.”

“Who are you going to wear it for anyway?”

Maggie’s chin lifted. “I wear it for me. I like how it feels.”

“That’s all you’re about, isn’t it?” Rachel stalked into the kitchen and rinsed her cup in the sink. Carefully she loaded it into the dishwasher, then turned and left the kitchen. Maggie stood in the hallway near the door, hands on her hips.

A dull pink flush had crept up her cheeks. “Just what do you mean by that?”

As if she didn’t know. Rachel grabbed her purse off the wall table and hugged the paper to her chest. “I need to leave if I’m going to beat the traffic.”

Maggie didn’t move. “You’ve always hated me.”

“Not always.”

Color drained from Maggie’s cheeks. She stepped back, into the living room, shrinking before Rachel’s eyes.

Rachel swallowed and looked away. This was what bitterness did. It rose mean and ugly, choking goodness right out of a person. She wanted to tell Maggie she didn’t hate her but the words stuck in her throat. Tension stretched across her chest and made her head pound. She took a deep breath, wishing the memories would fade. If she didn’t leave now, she’d snap. Maggie didn’t need that. Not now.

“I’ll see you later,” she said and rushed out of the apartment.

The drive to her Orlando office didn’t take long. During it she called the hospital to check on Corrine, who she hadn’t seen since that first morning. The hospital receptionist refused to release any information. Annoyed, Rachel made a mental note to visit, maybe this evening.

When she reached her office, she unlocked the doors, turned on lights and booted up her computer. Thoughts of her sister, the betrayal, beat against her mind. She pulled open her lace curtains and turned the blinds. Routine would drown out the deluge of feelings trying to overwhelm her.

First things first. She walked to the small bathroom, filled a glass with water, and soaked the dark soil around her flowers. There weren’t many. Just a few hyacinths and other blooms Katrina had cut from her garden. They livened up the place. Made it smell soft and inviting. Filled it with natural color, God-designed.

Rachel could afford a nicer office, but she didn’t want one. People felt comfortable in here. The muted gray carpet hid stains well. Her cherry wood desk dominated the room and she’d placed a small couch opposite it, beneath the only window in the office. She liked her little space. It was convenient and in one of the nicer, albeit older, sections of Orlando.

After watering the plants, she sat down at the computer and straightened her nameplate.  Before anything, she wanted to review her most important case.

The mayor was into some dirty stuff. She scanned the ballistics report Grant had given her on Thursday one more time. There wasn’t much to go on. The gun had been unregistered, serial numbers scratched off. The shooter wasn’t credible, but definitely guilty. His prints were all over the weapon.

Had Grant closed the case? She should’ve asked. At least she had the make of the gun. It wouldn’t hurt to look into other cases involving similar weapon and ammunition.

Past the mayor’s cheating on his wife and making his speeding tickets mysteriously disappear, there were other unanswered questions. The checking account with large, unexplained balances. The mayor’s unaccounted-for absences. Although Mrs. Owens had hired her to get proof of adultery, these questions prompted Rachel to investigate the mayor of Manatee Bay.

Not only questions, but a need for justice also led her down this path. Despite Maggie’s betrayal, Rachel couldn’t bear to see the pain draining away her sister’s once wild joy in living.

She pulled up the mayor’s file. Of course, she hadn’t told Mrs. Owens about his secret account. She’d discovered it accidentally while chasing around a check he’d written to buy his mistress of the week diamonds.

Loser.

If only she had that flash drive. Instead of drooling over Grant she should’ve downloaded the files while she had the chance. She’d scoured the woods, her house, even the police station parking lot for the drive and come up with nothing. The S file contained something concrete, something that would send Owens to jail. She just knew it. Pictures, contracts. The possibilities were endless.

And now it was gone.

Sighing, she clicked the print button, listening to the whir of the printer as it spit pages out. She’d look over his paperwork and then file it away in her safe, along with Mrs. Owens’ house key.

Speaking of, Mrs. Owens hadn’t been in touch. She grabbed her iPhone and dialed the mayor’s wife. The call went straight to voicemail.

Weird.

Gathering the sheaves of evidence together, she marched to her bathroom and retrieved her safe from its secret place. Keeping multiple sets of files made things more secure. Not that she had a ton of evidence. Just enough to make her want to dig up more.

At the very least, the mayor was an adulterer. It galled her that she’d voted for the man. She popped open the safe, slid the papers in, closed the safe, and returned it to the hidden hole in the wall. Patting the barely discernible crack where the panel closed, she smiled, stood and went back to her desk.

The phone rang close to noon, just as she was finishing up some paperwork on the Caldwell case.

“McCormick Investigations,” she said, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear so she could keep working.

“Hey Rachel, it’s Annette Baker. Look, were you planning to come to Mary Jane’s renewal vows?” Annette’s voice quavered with uncertainty.

Rachel bit back her annoyance. Poor Annette quaked in her boots around her, as if she realized Rachel knew about the gambling addiction. That had been a few investigations back. Apparently Annette’s husband had confronted her and now Annette sounded like she lived in fear of discovery.

Rachel glanced at the time on her iPhone. “When is the ceremony?”

“Today, in an hour.”

She groaned, then tried to mask the sound by clearing her throat. “At the Presbyterian church?”

“Yes. You never RSVP’d.” Timid accusation barely strengthened Annette’s voice.

“Well, I’ll be at the service. Probably not at the reception though, so don’t worry about changing the food list.”

“I won’t.”

Rachel hung up and shoved away from her desk. Weddings weren’t her thing, but she’d promised Mary Jane she’d go. At least she’d worn her powder blue suit today. Not her favorite, but suitable for a sham wedding.

She groaned again. If Annette weren’t so anal then she could have skipped out of this easily. Now the office would need to be closed and she’d work out of her home this afternoon. No sense in wasting gas coming back to Orlando.

By the time she dragged herself into the church located on the outskirts of Manatee Bay, she was starving and grumpy. Though the service hadn’t started yet, the pews were packed.

Like her church, this one had been built at the turn of the twentieth century. The pews were oak-hewn and polished to a shine. Stained glass windows softened the spring sun into warm rays that stroked lavender clad pews with delicate fingers.

The ambiance relaxed her, even if the heavy scent of roses made her eyes water. She slid into a back pew, nodding to several people she knew, and waited for the service to start.

Hopefully, the thing would last less than twenty minutes. Why would Mary Jane spend the money on something so silly, so pointless?

Rachel had warned Mary Jane months ago that this wouldn’t change a man. But the former valedictorian seemed to lack common sense, despite her high IQ.

Oh, well. She glanced at her watch and sighed. As soon as this ended, she’d scoot. No sense in watching two people try to pretend their marriage could survive betrayal.

***

Grant pulled at the tie around his neck. He couldn’t stand the thing but suffered for David’s sake. He studied his friend, who was busy straightening his own tux. They stood in a tiny office that had been converted to a faux dressing room.

“You sure you want to stay married to her?”

David’s gaze shot up to Grant. He nodded, giving the tie one, final tug. “I’m just glad she still wants to be with me.”

“Are you done messing around?” Grant shrugged into his jacket.

David turned slowly, measured Grant. “I hope so. Do you think I can stop?”

“Can’t say I see it too often.” He dealt with the same people over and over. Few ever changed. Maybe with God’s help, a man could change.

“I want to be done. I think that counts for something.” David looked a little pale.

“I hope so.” Maybe he should have had this talk with his former drinking buddy before the wedding, but since getting saved he’d been staying away from the bars. He smoothed his hands over his chin. “You know,
you
might want to change. It won’t mean she will.”

David’s Adam’s apple jerked. Everyone knew Mary Jane nagged him. Word spread years ago that she could scream louder than a banshee. From the look on David’s face, Grant guessed memories were pounding through his skull.

Grant grimaced. He patted David’s crisp jacket. “Don’t worry, man. Love her more than yourself. That’ll go a long way.”

David shot him a strange look. For a second he reminded Grant of Mary Jane, the way she screwed her lips together and pulled her eyebrows down.

“What?” Grant grinned, thinking maybe it was a good thing they were patching their marriage up.

“Why haven’t you been down to Wiley’s for a beer?”

“Been going to church on Sunday mornings.” A casual answer for such a life-changing decision.

“Yeah, right.” David laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You been working extra shifts?”

“No.” Grant coughed. “Really, I've been busy with church stuff.”

David squinted at him. “You?”

He nodded. Was it that hard to believe?

“You’re the biggest atheist in Manatee Bay.”

“I wasn’t an atheist.”

“Sure, man. Whatever.” David turned away. Strains of piano could be heard in the sanctuary, only feet from the small room where they’d changed. “It’s time to go. Just don’t push your God stuff on me.”

Grant forced a strained chuckle. “No problem.”

They headed out to the sanctuary, joining the rest of David’s groomsmen. This wedding struck him as incongruous. Five years ago he’d walked the same aisle believing David and Mary Jane would make their marriage work. But now he saw the awkwardness of the situation in the shuffling feet of the groomsmen, displaying the same disbelief that coursed through him.

Mary Jane had been valedictorian of their class. David was a neurosurgeon who commuted to Orlando for work. Two smart people who couldn’t make a marriage successful.

It bugged him. He’d never thought much of marriage until he’d seen the way Alec and Katrina looked at each other. Monogamy and true love wasn’t something he’d grown up with, but their love revived a part of him he’d thought long dead. Their flame lit hope inside of him.

The sanctuary doors slid open and music filled the entrance where he stood. A petite brunette came and took his arm and they lined up behind the others. He’d just stepped into the sanctuary when he saw a familiar cascade of red curls. For a moment, his step faltered.

Straightening his shoulders, he evened his stride. Step by step, couple by couple, they marched down the aisle.

When he passed Rachel, he snuck a look at her face and something clenched in his chest, an emotion he couldn’t name.

She didn’t see him. Her eyes focused to the front of the room. She sat alone, her lovely, straight nose loudly proclaiming to anyone who dared to look that she didn’t care. Grant tightened his grip on the bridesmaid next to him and forced himself to look away. They parted ways at the altar and he went to stand in his position.