Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (26 page)

“Thirty years without him was miserable. I’m hoping to do things right so that the next thirty will be fuller. Better.”

“They will be.”

They ate in silence for awhile, during which she speculated about his childhood. Had it made him the man he was today?

“Tell me why you decided to become a cop.” She waited, enjoying the lazy gracefulness of his movements as he set his food to the side and swiveled to face her. Could she ever grow tired of seeing the quick humor in his eyes?

“It’s kind of a long story.”

The self-deprecating sound of his tone made her smirk. “Juvie?”

A wry smile crossed his face. “Almost. Sophomore year I hung out with a bad crowd. Gang members. One night we were robbing a guy’s house when the owner came barging in, shotgun leveled at my head. The other guys scooted.”

“And you?” They’d left him. Sure, he’d been old enough to know better, not some young kid to feel sorry for, but she did, nevertheless. Had everyone in his life left him?

“I froze, certain it was my time to die.” He shook his head, and what looked like pain flickered across his features before being carefully erased. She made note of that look. People who were hiding things knew how to wipe emotion off their faces. Grant was no exception. She wouldn’t pry; he could tell his story how he wanted.

Maybe someday he’d feel comfortable telling her the whole truth. “But you didn’t die. What did the guy do?”

“Gave me a sandwich. Said he’d been keeping an eye on me.”

“Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds creepy.”

“It wasn’t. I had enough run-ins with the law that every cop in Manatee Bay probably knew me by name. Anyway, he basically took me under his wing and inspired me to spend my time upholding the law, not breaking it.”

“You uphold it alright,” she muttered. His hero had been an officer. Interesting.

“Someone has to.”

“True. And you do a fine job of it.” She flashed him a grin, contentment spreading over her like a soft blanket on a cold night.

Intensity lit his eyes to a shocking blue. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. She was too surprised to react, too astonished at the intimacy of such a gesture. The trust of it.

“Rachel,” his voice came out husky. “You haunt me.”

The scent of his skin entranced her, bade her to whisper, “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

His hand came up, stroked her cheek, then settled at the back of her head. “I have a question for you.” He shifted position, moving his lips to her cheek, then to her mouth.

His kiss was chaste, simple and yet more profound than any single touch she’d ever received. She let his lips linger on hers. When he drew away, the heat of his kiss remained.

He brought his hands to hers, clasped them and stared deeply at her, his irises such a deep blue she thought she might drown in them. A flutter rose in her chest, her heart a bird desperate to break free of its cage.

Was he going to propose?

No panic filled her at such a sudden prospect. Just this odd waiting, this vulnerable exposure of her secret dreams.

The warmth of his fingers seared her palms, sent frissons of excitement to thrum in her veins.

A fierce jangle made her jump. He pulled away from her. Disappointment washed over his face. At least she thought it was disappointment. Maybe she was hallucinating. For a second his hands tightened around hers, then he released her, nodding toward the desk when her offensive cell rang loudly again.

“You’d better get that.”

***

While Rachel talked about terms to some potential customer, her heels scuffing across the carpet as she paced, Grant cleaned up. He gathered their empty food containers and found a garbage can hiding beneath her desk.

A small can. It might be better to take the boxes outside and find a dumpster. It would definitely be better to escape this little office before he completely lost his mind. He sucked in a deep breath, fighting for composure.

He wanted to marry her. There, the thought didn’t give him a heart attack. Had been about to ask her if she wanted that, too. This thought made his knees feel weak, like a high school freshman with a crush.

Rachel talked into the phone, her tone low and professional. Tucking a red strand behind her ear, she sent him an apologetic glance.

He winked, even though his insides were cramping. Marriage. A huge, huge commitment. That wasn’t the part that scared him though. What if she said no? This woman who seemed to see past his bad boy persona, to the heart of who he was, what if she rejected him too?

He set the containers back on the floor, shoved his fingers through his hair. And he had secrets. She wouldn’t like knowing he’d kept them from her, both in a professional and a personal capacity. An image of her face, flushed so red he could no longer see the freckles, planted itself onto his mind.

She wasn’t one to forgive easily, but she would understand. There were responsibilities he had, promises to the people for protection and discretion.

He couldn’t let his town down. Not after they’d supported him, forgetting his misdeeds and praising his tenacity in pursuing crime.

He sat on the edge of her desk, his gaze wandering over the paperwork spread across it. Papers and files covered every inch of available space. Hurricane Rachel, blowing through. He’d been sure she had an orderly nature though. It looked like she was still in the throes of reorganizing. At least the couch was uncovered.

Briefly he considered plopping down for a quick nap, then discarded the idea. Her conversation was winding up, if the discussion of fees indicated anything. A brush of air stirred beside him as she neared. The drawer squeaked when she opened it. She pulled out a small pad of paper.

“Pen,” she mouthed to him.

He sifted through the paperwork on her desk until his fingers closed on some fancy silver thing that looked like it would get ink everywhere. He handed her the pen. Grabbing it, she moved to the couch. He remained propped on the corner of her desk, his eyes snagged by a wedge of paper sticking out from beneath his thigh.

Feeling like a snoop, he tugged the paper out and scanned it. A financial statement for Mayor William Owens. More law-breaking on her part. Though he couldn’t prove anything unless she confessed, which she wouldn’t because she was too smart for her own good.

The bubble of joy that had been building inside earlier popped. This was the woman he’d fallen in love with. Someone who broke rules, invaded privacy. He studied her, the way she sat on the couch, one long leg crossed gracefully over the other, her slender fingers scribbling furiously, her hair draping her face like a lovely curtain of scarlet silk. Not that he’d ever seen one of those. But he imagined it would gleam the way her hair did.

For the first time since his redemption, he doubted God. Surely the Almighty didn’t expect him to hook up with someone who was disrespectful of the law.

He flipped through the pages beneath the bank statement and stopped cold. There on the page, the black scrawl like a grisly omen of death, were words that made his heart a block of ice within his chest.

The paper trembled in his hands, flat and flimsy.

A simple message in Rachel’s flurried handwriting:
Check connection between Owens and Slasher.

He closed his eyes, breathing deep, willing the sludge in his veins to move. Only a second and the shock passed, followed by a mind-numbing fear.

She could be in danger. This feisty, hot-headed woman could ruin everything he’d worked for. Destroy his entire world with one phone call. If anything happened to her...

He set the paper on the desk and stood. What he had to do next required skill, a deft operation of both honesty and evasion.

Rachel’s phone beeped when she hit the end button. Phone call over, she rose from the couch, her every movement a graceful dance of balance and style.

“Another customer.” She smiled at him, her face so open and vulnerable that he almost considered ignoring what he’d seen.

But he couldn’t. He had a job, was duty-sworn to protect his city. Not only that, but he'd do whatever it took to keep Rachel safe. If that meant confronting her with the evidence of her criminality, putting her on the defensive, then so be. Regret coiled through his gut, a scorpion poised to strike, but he squashed it. No time for second thoughts.

Her investigations had to be stopped, before it was too late.

Rachel walked to the desk and set the pad beside him. “I need to put this in my database but writing it down first is easier.” She smiled up at him, eyes glowing.

His fingers curled tight against his side. No touching. No proposal, not yet.

Instead, he lifted the bank statement off the desk. “How did you get this?”

Her eyes narrowed but the vulnerable softness of her smile didn’t fade right away. “My usual way.”

“Hacking.”

Faster than he expected, she plucked the statement from his fingers.

“This is personal,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll shred it.”

“You’re still breaking laws.”

She shot him a look but didn’t respond. That frustrated him more than anything.

“You understand that I can’t look away from something like this.”

Before she looked down, her lips tightened into a thin line. A hot rush of blood roared through his ears, engulfing any reasonable thoughts. He just wanted her to think things through. She didn't have the same authority as he did nor the protection that came with that authority. It wasn't just her safety at stake, but a two year investigation.

“Does it matter to you that you’ve invaded someone’s privacy?” he managed to grit out.

Her head lifted. “Some people don’t deserve privacy. There’s something up with the mayor and I’m going to prove it.” She flicked the paper onto the desk and glared at Grant. It was as though he could see the color of her eyes hardening into a stony emerald.

Cold fingers of dread scraped along his neck. He wasn’t used to fear. Lived his life without anyone else’s well-being weighing on him. Now things had changed.

He slammed his hand down on the desk and pinned her with his gaze. Jaw tight, he scowled at her, determined to scare her off this case.

Before she got killed.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

“Stop looking at me like that.” Rachel brushed a strand of hair from her face, ignoring the tremor that tried to shake her confidence. She’d just landed a very lucrative job trailing some executive’s wife down to the Keys. Fortuitous? No, she had to think God was giving her a way out of the situation of loving Grant. Unlike him, she wasn’t completely sure God put them together for anything other than teaching her not to be so judgmental.

As much as she’d like to find out what God might have in mind, part of her shied away from another relationship headed toward marriage. It had been a crazy moment to even think Grant wanted such a thing.

So she matched his glare now, determined not to let him scare her.

The man could be intimidating, she’d give him that. When he’d slammed his hand on her desk it had taken every ounce of self-control to keep from jumping.

No way would he treat her like this. Especially when he didn’t have a valid reason.

She squared her shoulders and met his icy gaze with one of her own. “Why don’t you tell me what the problem is, instead of standing there growling.” Like a caveman, she wanted to add, but didn’t.

“I’m not growling.”

“Get to the point then.”

“You’re doing illegal things. How am I supposed to pro—” He bit the words off, a strange grimace on his face.

“To what?” She’d give anything to be able to read his thoughts.

“Never mind.” A deep breath gusted out of him and his shoulders drooped. “I’ve gotta get. You’ll be at that barbecue?”

“Yeah.” She wasn’t sure what to do to get the smirk back on his face. Surely a little bit of rule-breaking wouldn’t totally wipe away his good mood. Maybe he overheard her phone conversation?

“I’ll only be gone a few weeks,” she said, leaning against the desk so that she had to look up at him.

His forehead crinkled.

“To the Keys,” she added.

A lock of hair fell over his eye. He swiped it away, his hand pausing on his neck, kneading the muscles as though they ached. “I don’t get why you’re telling me this.”

“Isn’t that why you’re upset? Because you heard I’m leaving?” She pushed the words out, aware of how vulnerable they made her, and how the wrong answer could destroy her sense of security with him.

But he frowned, his face transmuting into an expression of worry. “I didn’t know you were going somewhere. This is too much, Rachel.”

She decided to stand. Eye level made confrontations so much easier. “Our relationship?”

“No,” he ground out. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her close, his chin grazing her hairline. “We’ll work things out. But I need you to do something. I need you to stop breaking the law.” His words floated over her head and she tensed, wanting to dismiss them.

The scent of his t-shirt lured her closer, so that her cheek rested against his shoulder. She exhaled in a deep sigh. Who was she kidding? He was right. Breaking the law, no matter how inconsequential she thought it was, didn’t make her a good PI. She should never have allowed herself to become lazy like that.

“I’m sorry, Grant.” The apology came out muffled but his grip tightened, letting her know he’d heard her.

“So you’ll stop?”

“I should never have started.” Reluctantly she pulled out of his embrace so that she could face him. It was important he see her sincerity. “It’s been wrong of me to break the law. As a Christian and as a PI. You were right the whole time.” Guilt swept over her.

He gave her a small smile, the fine lines around his eyes etching grooves into his tanned skin. 

Remorse receded, washed over by a more powerful emotion.

Love.

She wanted to trace those smile lines and make them stay forever.

***

Sunday morning caught Grant in his recliner, reading his Bible. He leaned in closer, tilting the book to catch the pale wreaths of morning mist that streamed through his living room window. The angle highlighted the words he’d been studying with startling clarity. Why hadn’t he seen this before? Did it mean what he thought?

He could find out. The clock on the wall read eight o’clock. Two hours before church started. Would Pastor Joe be there yet?

He set the bible on the floor next to his recliner and then jumped up. Getting dressed only took a few minutes. He’d showered before his daily Bible reading.

When he reached the church, Joe’s truck was the only vehicle in the parking lot. Grant pulled in beside the truck, grabbed his Bible, and loped up to the front of the church. The early sun left a ray of gold to warm the metal of the door knob.

Almost like a welcome.

Grant waited to open the door. He closed his eyes, gulping back the joy flooding through him. How many times had he gone to church as a child? He couldn’t recall, the memories dimmed by both time and self-preservation. He sure as certain couldn’t remember ever feeling this overwhelming happiness, a tightness in his chest that made a deep breath impossible. That propelled a smile to his face.

Only recently, since choosing to believe, had he felt so happy. So at peace. Even all the rules he’d thought he should follow hadn’t bugged him too much. But now, with this morning’s text still running through his mind, joy had blossomed into something new. A precious flower unfurled by freedom.

He grasped the door handle and entered the church. The sanctuary doors were closed but in the hallway, Pastor Joe’s office door stood open. The soft glow of lamplight lit the room. Hopefully the pastor would have time to answer this question before church.

Striding to the room entrance, he paused and knocked softly. No sense in disturbing the guy if he didn’t hear his tapping.

“Come in.” Pastor Joe’s voice rumbled surprisingly loud in the quiet sanctuary. 

“It’s me.” He walked into the room, feeling awkward. He hadn’t been in here too much. It seemed like a holy place, stacked with Bibles and reference books in oak bookcases.

Joe looked up from his desk, a gentle smile on his face. A sweet aroma scented the office. Maybe the colorful flowers on the windowsill had something to do with that. They gave the room a nice, comfortable feel. He sat in the chair, returning Joe’s smile with a stiff one of his own.

“You’re up early.” Joe folded his hands and rested them on the Bible lying open on his desk.

Grant cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Something struck me today and I was hoping you could help me with it.”

“Sure.”

“I just thought…” He paused, struggling to voice what had been driving him for longer than he could remember. “For a long time I’ve followed rules. Foster parents’ rules, law enforcement guidelines and now Christianity rules.”

Joe’s eyebrows shot up. It only confirmed his theory.

He set his bible on Joe’s desk, a soft thump in the quiet room. “This morning I came across a verse in Corinthians about not being subject to the law. What’s that mean?” Frustration brought his hands back to his lap to clutch at his slacks. “Aren’t there rules to follow? An order to things?”

So intent on making his voice not sound childish, Grant almost missed Joe’s chuckle. The sound of it relaxed something deep inside. He unclenched his fingers.

“This is what’s important.” Joe grabbed his bible and flipped through it, pages rustling. “1 John 3:23. ‘And this is His commandment: that we should believe on the name of His Son Jesus Christ and love one another, as He gave us commandment’.” Joe flopped the pages closed and sat back in his chair.

“You’re saying there are no rules?”

“The Bible is saying there are two main ones. Following the others will branch off of your love for God and your love for others.”

He shook his head, trying to make sense of things. “So there are rules.”

Joe laughed. “I didn’t know you were such a stickler. Yes. There are things a Christian has no business doing and things they should be doing every day. But Christianity is not following a doctrine or subscribing to a certain list of rules. It’s about a relationship with Jesus. From that relationship will flow the desire to do good.”

“Okay.” He leaned back in his own chair, thinking things through. “So, am I supposed to be trying to impress God? I mean, I want to follow everything I’m supposed to, but it’s getting stressful thinking about all the commandments I might be breaking.” He squirmed, wishing the confession didn’t sound so pitiful.

A thoughtful look crossed Joe’s face. His fingers scratched at his jaw line. “These are hard questions. There’s a balance to it. On one hand, you should be stressed. Everything we do and say counts for eternity.”

“Ouch.”

“Yep. But on the other hand, God offers us mercy and friendship. Fellowship. There shouldn’t be stress in that.”

He thought of all the times he’d felt peace since being introduced to Jesus. “I guess I see what you’re saying.”

“Any particular rule causing you stress?”

Grant grimaced. “How did you know?”

“Practice.” Joe glanced at his watch, then met Grant’s gaze. “I have time, if you want to spill your problem.”

This was going to be really awkward. Had Joe ever even kissed a girl? He studied Joe’s face, knowing it was what many women would find attractive. Square jaw and big eyes is how Grant would describe him to a sketch artist. Joe had been wild in high school, now that he thought about it. Probably could understand Grant’s issue.

He cleared his throat. “I want to marry Rachel.”

The smile slid right off Pastor Joe’s face. His head bobbed forward. “And that’s a problem?”

“No, not her. More like my reputation.”

A silent moment passed between them, until Joe’s eyes lit with understanding. Then Grant continued, ignoring the raw burning in his gut.

“People say I’m a player. Rachel thinks so. I’ve been trying to follow the rules, even before I fell in love with her, but now she’s all I think about. And I just don’t want my past to interfere with my plans for the future.”

He met Joe’s gaze, grateful the pastor managed to straighten his face into some semblance of counselor caring.

“You’re worried she’ll say no because you have a reputation?”

“Something like that.”

“We’ll talk about it, but how’s this related to following rules?”

“She breaks them.” His fingers raked through his hair, the gnawing in his gut eating away at his confidence. “How am I supposed to marry someone who doesn’t seem to care about obeying anyone, even God?”

The corners of Joe’s eyes creased. Grant’s hands fisted. This was ridiculous. If Joe kept laughing at him, he’d leave. He could be ribbed by any of his old buddies at the bar. Not that he’d bare his soul to those guys.

He scowled when Joe busted out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” said Joe, shaking his head. “It’s just you’re right, in a way, about Rachel. She’s always been…independent.”

Grant frowned at Joe’s inflection. “I like her independence.”

“So do I. She does have a tendency to be flippant where the law is concerned, but I’ve no doubt you could set her straight on that. She’s very serious when it comes to God.”

Grant thought about that for a second, remembering how when it came down to it, she forgave her sister. Kind of like Alec had Katrina. And last night she’d looked so earnest when she confessed that her law breaking was wrong.

The cloud that had muddled his thoughts since last night lifted. Rachel didn’t have to be perfect for him to love her. No one was perfect. As hard as he tried to follow the rules, he wasn’t perfect either.

Jesus was perfect though. And His plans were perfect. That much he could trust.

He grinned at Joe and rose from his seat. Joe met his hand and they shook. “Thanks Pastor. Things are clearing up for me.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Joe smiled back. “Just a warning though. Be honest with Rachel. She respects that.”

“Sure thing.” A twinge of panic fluttered for a second in his gut, but he stifled it with a clean swipe of logic. Some secrets were necessary. She would understand.