Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (27 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Sunday's barbecue filled the state park by the river to overflowing. Cars lined up on the road that led to the parking lot. It was a good thing the church had reserved three pavilions.

Rachel scanned the parking lot, searching for Grant’s squad car. He’d been on duty more than his share lately. Besides church this morning, she hadn’t seen him since the afternoon he’d brought her Chinese, though they’d talked a few times on the phone.

But not about the Mayor. Not about her computer hacking. She sighed and leaned against the tree she’d parked beside. At some point she should tell him her suspicions about Mayor Owens and Slasher. She’d wanted proof, but the easiest way to get it was to break the law.

She couldn’t do that now. Not when God had convicted her it was wrong. That left more surveillance. She could try to find a snitch too.

“All these people belong to your church?” Maggie hopped out of the car and slammed the door closed. 

“I guess so. It’s really been growing lately.”

Maggie walked up beside her, forehead wrinkled. “More old people than I thought there’d be.”

“They’ve been here forever. Even before Joe was pastor.”

Maggie glanced down and Rachel’s gaze followed her line of vision. They both wore shorts and flip-flops, but while Rachel’s legs were bare, Maggie’s sported tattoos. Lots of tattoos.

“Maybe I should go home.” The unsure treble in Maggie’s voice saddened Rachel. She reached for her sister’s shoulders and squeezed quickly before releasing.

“No way. You love grilled chicken.”

“But not barbecue.”

“Come on.” She took her sister’s hand and led her to the pavilion with the most smoke pouring from its interior. This morning Maggie had announced she was ready to try church. Shocked, Rachel brought her. She couldn’t let her leave now. Connecting with others of like faith was a great blessing to church-going.

Not that Maggie had faith. But soon, maybe. She’d been absorbed during service, her gaze never wavering from Joe’s pulpit.

They marched across the grass and though Rachel caught a few raised eyebrows, no one dared say a word. They better not, she fumed to herself, outrage spiking through her when Widow Carmichael nudged her elderly companion and sneered at the two of them.

Finally they reached the barbecue pit. Wings and legs sizzled on the grill, their sweet fragrance stirring her stomach to rumble.

“You’re always hungry.” Maggie smirked at her.

“It’s my metabolism.”

“Sure, sure.” She grinned, even though the edges of her mouth looked tight.

Rachel leaned close. “Everything will be fine. Let’s find a seat with someone we know.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, implying she knew no one in this crowd. They backed out of the pavilion and walked to the edge of the river.

The water winked at them, sunlight a shiny starburst on the river's surface. Rachel inhaled deeply, thankful for the day. For her home and the sister who stood beside her. And for Grant, wherever he might be.

She’d thought long and hard about marriage to him. He wasn’t perfect and neither was she. It couldn’t be expected. Not once, though, had she seen him look funny at another woman. His reputation as a playboy seemed to be fading beneath a new reputation. One as a man to be trusted. Both by the town and by her.

Beside her, Maggie snickered. “You’re thinking of him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t sound so indignant.”

She fought the urge to sniff. “I’m just amazed at your powers of perception.”

“Anyone would know. There’s a funny quirk to your lips…”

“Where,” she demanded, horrified. Had anyone else seen her mooning at the river? She didn’t look around but faced the water. The breeze caressed her cheeks, hot and breathy. This would be a scorcher of a summer.

Did Grant like to snorkel? It would be awesome to take him to the Keys.

“Ladies.” His voice broke her thoughts, a pleasant masculine rumble that jolted her senses. She turned, not missing Maggie’s broad grin.

“I was wondering if you’d make it.”

He shrugged. “It’s been chaos at the station.”

“I think I’ll go get a drink,” Maggie said. “Want anything?”

Rachel nodded a no, flicking her sister an appreciative smile. Maggie was going to brave the wilds of an ancient congregation so that she could have alone time with the Grant. Very sweet. She’d have to get her sister something. Maybe a new nightie to make up for the one Miss Priss had clawed.

Maggie left and Rachel followed Grant to an unoccupied circle of chairs. “What’s going on?”

They sat. Sunlight glinted off the badge pinned to his uniform. “Lots of stuff.” He leaned forward, elbows on his legs, hands clasped. “We’ve had some upheaval. The chief just resigned.”

“Already? I didn’t realize things were that bad.”

“Some things may happen…” He hesitated and a churning started in her stomach.

“I don’t like the tone of your voice.”

His lip twitched. “You don’t, huh?”

“You sound afraid. That’s not like you.” Her fingers curled into fists. A clammy hand of panic squeezed her chest. He was hiding something. She’d sensed it before and now here it was again, the mask of a lighthearted man on his features. As if she didn’t know better.

The paranoia refused to subside, even when he flashed his grin at her. Her instincts could be off, she tried to tell herself. After all, she was in love with the guy. That made her vulnerable, less focused.

Grant’s smile faded. “I’m not afraid. I just wish—”

“Grant Harkness.” A woman whose gray curls coiled tighter than the purse of her lips walked up to where they sat. Her sleek black skirt lay stiff against her thighs, and her blouse looked as though it had been ironed with starch. She wore Prada.

Fancy government was Rachel’s immediate thought. The woman had the look of power, though possibly a subservient spin-off and not the source. Public relations?

She narrowed her gaze, watching Grant carefully.

Blank surprise crossed his features. He moved to a standing position in a fluid motion. Rachel followed suit.

“I’m Grant.”

“Marsha Elliot.”

Uh-oh
. A flash of panic navigated Grant’s features before he carefully covered the emotion with a cordial smile. Almost imperceptibly, he angled his body away from Rachel.

The muscles in her shoulders tensed.

“Ms. Elliot.” He shook the woman’s hand and gave her one of his dimpled grins. “Why don’t we step to the side and talk?”

Her thin features puckered. “I don’t have time for that. Do you see the third pavilion?”

Both Grant and Rachel turned to their right. A stage of some sort was being hoisted into place by younger church members.

“What about it?” A frown came through in Grant’s tone; he didn’t sound happy at all.

Rachel had no doubt he wanted her gone, but no way could she pass up studying Ms. Elliot. The woman exuded authority and some inner sense prompted her that whatever secret Grant hid from her, Ms. Elliot would bare it.

The breeze picked up and the shouts of young people splashing in the river rode on the current of air. They were unaware of the danger Rachel suddenly sensed.

“The mayor expects you in five minutes,” said Ms. Elliot.

“No one said the mayor would be here.” Rachel crossed her arms.

“A surprise announcement. He thought this would be the perfect place.”

“Why?” Rachel cocked her chin up, curious. Grant might not tell her, but she bet this lady would.

One fine eyebrow rose as Ms. Elliot turned to look at Rachel. “Because this is Mr. Harkness’s church. The mayor is congratulating him on becoming the new police chief of Manatee Bay.” She sniffed, then pivoted on her outrageously expensive heels and walked away.

Time seemed to freeze. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Maggie, scarlet brows prominent against her translucent skin, sprinting toward her. She turned to Grant, every movement feeling as though she slogged through water.

And then the dam broke. White hot heat arced through her, jolting her thoughts into a single question. “Did he buy you?”

Grant scowled. “We need to talk.”

“Answer the question.” She wanted to poke him but wasn’t sure she could keep her finger from trembling.

“No, he didn’t buy me.” He reached for her but she slammed back, almost losing her balance.

“Don’t overreact.” His brows lowered and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll tell you later what’s going on.”

The first sentence weakened the second. Before she could spit out a retort, Maggie showed up. Her lips were white slashes against her skin.

“Can we go home?” Desperation filled her eyes and Rachel cringed. She desperately wanted to duke it out with Grant but at the same time empathy overruled her instincts. Maggie needed to leave. Of course she wouldn’t want to be around Owens.

Carefully, she schooled her features into a calm smile. “Go get the car started. I’ll be right there.”

Maggie rushed off.

She turned back to Grant, pain splicing her, burning down the trust so carefully constructed these past months. One thing she had to know. Licking her lips, she met his gaze.

Sunbeams bounced off his face, turning his blue eyes into ice.

“Why did you tell me to stop investigating the mayor?”

“I can’t talk about that right now,” he gritted out. The skin on his face stretched tight over his cheekbones. “Later, I promise.”

She shook her head, eyes stinging. “All this time, you’ve been on his payroll. Have you helped him kill, too?”

He grabbed her arm faster than she expected and pulled her toward him. “Don’t talk to anyone. I mean it.”

The familiar scent of cinnamon on his breath made her breath hitch. She’d trusted him. Not just to change his womanizing ways, but to be honest with her. What could she think now?

She jerked out of his grip and glared at him. Her fingers itched to slap the anger off his face. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t lied. Every word she’d ever said to him had been honest and true.

“Will you have me killed like Slasher was? Stashed in a crack house somewhere until my body is eaten away?” The words spewed out faster than she could think. The main thing was to keep her arms at her side. Then she couldn’t throw anything at him, like one of those hard metal chairs behind her that might dent his skull nicely. She pressed her fists against her hips, knuckles aching.

“What do you know about Slasher?”

“I know who the number one drug dealer is,” she scoffed, meeting his shocked glare with a toss of her hair. There’d been virtually no coverage on the news, a fact that had bothered her at first.

Now she knew. If the mayor ordered Slasher killed, then Grant couldn’t be innocent. Someone had kept the victim anonymous. Someone with clout. She backed up a step because rage still made her hands shake. Grant wasn’t dangerous. But he was weak. And she’d had her fill of weak men.

A shrill whistle pierced the air. Cranky Ms. Elliot waved for Grant. He lunged at Rachel, caught her by the shoulders and pressed a hard kiss against her lips.

“We’re going to discuss this later,” he murmured against her ear. “In the meantime, talk to no one. Go home, sit in your house. Don’t call anyone.”

Yeah, right. She glowered as he strode off, his shoulders set in a way that made her think he was confident she’d obey.

Huh. Not after he’d used her to get her off the mayor’s back. This had all started when she’d been shot at. She’d given him the flash drive and suddenly he started showing an interest. How could she have been so blind? So breathtakingly naïve?

Hot waves of betrayal washed over her. Jaw aching and fists against her side, Rachel chased after Grant. She lost him for a moment with the crowds, but finally saw the top of his head behind the stage.

Someone was talking to him, their sound equipment blocking her view of Grant’s face. Thankfully they moved just as she reached the traitor. His face hardened when he saw her. Before he could speak, she jammed a finger towards his nose.

“You betrayer! Working with the mayor, cheating the people. How could you?” Her own voice echoed in her ears and for a moment she thought anger had made her yell louder than she should have.

Grant’s hand grabbed the neckline of his shirt, gripped it. “I told you to go home.”

“You lied,” she spat, the hurt of his choices gouging deeper than anything had before. “I trusted you—” Her voice caught and she had to stop talking, had to bite her lips from going on. Legs shaking, she backed up and almost stumbled over the electrical cords slithering across the grass.

Releasing the collar, his hand shot out and steadied her.

Yanking away, she gave him a scathing look. “The mayor is going down, you know.”

This time she clearly heard her voice echoing back at her. The meaning hit her with the power of a hurricane. Grant was wearing a microphone.

Face strained, he mouthed to her, “Go home.”