Borrowing Trouble (6 page)

“You live light?” No pictures on the wall. No knickknacks. No nothing.

Brady gazed around the living room at the thrift-store sofa, crate-turned-coffee-table, and flat-screen, and shrugged. “I'm hardly ever here.”

She followed him into the kitchen. He'd hung all manner of pots and pans—good ones if Sloane had to guess—from hooks on one wall and lined shelves with cookbooks on the other. This clearly formed the bulk of his possessions.

“Grab a seat and I'll heat you up some potato-leek soup.”

She watched him move efficiently through the kitchen, opening a bottle of wine, putting bread in the oven, and stirring the soup on the stovetop. Within seconds he put down place settings and the wine in the center of the table.

“Let it breathe.” He must've known how badly she wanted a glass.

“Can I help?”

“I've got it covered.” On a board he diced vegetables. His big hands working the knife like it was a third arm. His biceps flexing through the sleeves of his thermal shirt. “A lot of people out there at the scene?”

“Rhys and Jake. A bunch of kids, Clay McCreedy, and Harlee from the newspaper.”

Brady smiled. “She gets around. What was Clay doing there?”

“His son Justin was the one who found it. He called his dad. Clay called us.”

“Did it freak the kids out?”

“Probably a little.”

“How 'bout you?” He smiled at her and she could've sworn that her heart skipped a beat.

“I've seen worse. Hopefully we'll find more. All we've got is a torso. We think the person was an adult.” She moved the wine to make room for the salad bowl he put on the table. “What did you do today?”

“Met with Cecilia Rodriguez to finalize the menu for the reception. You going?”

Everyone knew that Sloane had worked with Jake at LAPD and that he'd brought her here for the job. “Yep. I'm looking forward to getting dressed up and dancing.”

He shot her another one of his amazing smiles. “It'll be a good wedding. They're nice people.”

“I've only met Cecilia a couple of times, but I like her a lot. I met Jake's ex number three once or twice. Her, not so much.” Then again, Jake had been a dog back in those days.

Sloane was still on patrol when Jake was with the department. They met at the scene of a triple homicide. As the responding officer she was eager to help, doing any scut work the investigators needed. Jake, the lead detective, must've sensed her ambition because he let her stay involved in the case long after most patrol officers returned to the field. A few of the guys said he was probably trying to get in her pants. But Jake had always treated her with the utmost respect. Sloane suspected that she reminded him of his daughters. Besides, she got the feeling that he only catted around with women outside the department: police groupies who hung out at the bar where the RHD guys drank, hoping to get lucky. Some called them holster sniffers.

Jake had been the one to encourage her to take the detective test. And he'd been the one to back her when she'd called him in a panic and told him how the department had turned on her.

“Will you have to work the entire party?” she asked Brady, hoping that she might get a chance to dance with him. Feel those strong arms around her.

“Pretty much,” he said, and ladled the soup into two bowls and pulled the bread out of the oven, serving Sloane first and then himself. “You want butter for that?” He didn't wait for her to answer, just pulled a crock from the refrigerator.

She waited for him to sit, gave them each a big portion of salad, and dug in. The soup was extraordinary—maybe the best she'd ever eaten. “Is that bacon in there?”

“Yep.” He poured the wine, cut a slab of bread and put it on her plate. “Try that.”

She spread butter on the slice, took a bite, and closed her eyes. “Holy cow, that's good.”

“I baked it this morning before I went to work.”

She must've slept through it. Ordinarily she could hear him moving around and smell his coffee brewing. Thin walls. “You'd make a great husband.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“I don't think so,” he said like it was a matter of fact.

Since she started it . . . “Why not?”

“Just not a settling-down kind of guy. I get itchy when I'm in a place or with a woman too long. How 'bout you?”

“If I found the right guy. Not a cop, that's for sure. You'd be surprised, though, how many civilian men have a problem with what I do.”

“No I wouldn't be surprised.”

“Don't tell me you'd have a problem with it.”

“I don't know, since it's not an issue for me. But I can see why a man would worry about his woman. It's a dangerous job.”

“But a woman shouldn't worry about her man being a cop?”

“I didn't say that. What I said is it's a dangerous job. For either sex. You ever have any close calls?”

“Once.” But it shouldn't have been a close call. It wouldn't have been if her own guys hadn't been gunning for her.

“What happened?”

“It was a domestic call. Robbery-homicide doesn't typically handle those, but the husband was wanted for questioning in a liquor-store holdup. I wound up embroiled in a hostage situation without backup.”

“Why didn't you have backup?” he asked.

Because no one came when she'd radioed for help. “It was a screwup. But it ended fine.” She really didn't want to go into it. “Where in LA did you say you cooked?”

“I didn't.”

She threw up her arms. “What's the big secret?”

“No secret. I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

He really was an exceptionally good-looking man, but she wasn't telling him anything. “Some other time.” She finished her soup.

“You want more? Dessert?”

“I'm stuffed. And I really should turn in. I've got a big day tomorrow.” She got up and started clearing the dishes.

“I'll get that, Sloane.”

“Nope. Rule in my house was the chef didn't have to do KP duty.”

“Suit yourself.” But he came up behind her while she stood at the sink and looked over her shoulder.

Sloane was no little wisp of a thing, but with his front pressed to her back she felt small, almost fragile.

“My place didn't come with a dishwasher, did yours?” he asked, and she shook her head, afraid if she talked she'd stammer. “I'll wash the pot.”

“I've got it.” It came out like a croak and she pretended to cough.

He backed away and busied himself putting away the leftovers. Together they got the kitchen cleaned up in record time. She grabbed her jacket and scarf and headed for the door.

“I'll walk you,” he said.

“I live three feet away.” Not to mention that she had a Glock strapped to her hip.

“Indulge me. I know you can take care of yourself, but I'm a Southern guy. It's a manners thing.”

“Okay.” She actually thought it was nice. And maybe, just maybe, he'd kiss her good night.

The more she got to know him the more she liked him. After all she'd been through, it was nice to have someone she felt safe with. And the best part was he seemed so comfortable in his own skin. He didn't have to one-up her or act macho to prove his manhood just because she wore a gun and carried handcuffs. With Brady Benson there was no question that he was all man. From his hard body to the confidence he exuded in everything he did. It was so appealing that she wanted a taste . . . his lips on hers.

But when they got to her door and she turned the key in the lock, he went back inside.

“D
id you hear that they found a body yesterday at the Meet Up?” It was the first thing Lina said to Brady when he walked into the Lumber Baron the next morning.

“What's the Meet Up?”

“It's a stretch of rocky beach, across from Nugget High, where the kids go after school or after games, to hang out. And yesterday, Justin McCreedy almost tripped over a skeleton.”

“I heard,” Brady said.

“Then why did you ask?”

“I didn't know it was called the Meet Up. So what's your brother saying about it?”

“You know him. Rhys doesn't tell us anything. But he put that new officer, the pretty blond lady, in charge of the investigation. Do you think it was a murder?”

“I have no idea. What does the
Nugget Tribune
say?”

“Not much. Hey, can I ask you something?” Lina followed him into the kitchen. “Do you know a real estate agent named Dana Calloway?”

“I met her once.” She'd had clients who'd stayed at the inn. Came to pick them up to show them properties and wound up staying for breakfast. That was the extent of his knowledge of her. “Why?”

“I just wondered what you thought of her.”

“Is this about Griffin?” He knew Parks had dated the real estate agent.

“Sort of. I'm just curious about her.”

“Can I give you some friendly advice?”

“Sure.”

Brady pulled a package of Canadian bacon and a dozen eggs from the refrigerator and started on a hollandaise sauce. “Don't go snooping into Griffin's life. Guys don't like it. If you're interested in him, be straight with him about it. If he's interested back, great. If he's not, let him go.”

“He was interested in me and I blew it.”

“How?” Not that he really wanted a front-row seat to the girl's love life.

“He wanted to keep it casual because of our age difference and because I'd gone off to college, and I pushed for more until I drove him away.”

He looked at her. “So don't make the same mistake twice. Men don't like needy.”

“But I care about him,” she said.

He let out a strained sigh, not wanting to get involved in a young woman's drama. He had enough of his own. “I'm not the best guy to talk to about this kind of stuff. Maddy seems like she'd be better.”

“She'll just tell my brother. You, on the other hand, can give me a guy's perspective. Plus, you're hot.”

What does being hot have to do with anything
? Brady decided to ignore that comment. “You want my perspective? Finish school. Then worry about men.” Jeez, now he sounded like the kid's father.

She blew out a breath. “What about you? You seeing someone?”

“Nope,” he said, and checked the list he'd taped to the oven hood with the number of guests he'd be serving this morning.

“Maddy says the new police officer moved in next door to you at the duplex. You know that's how Maddy and my brother met, don't you?”

“Yep, so I've heard.” He melted butter on the top of the stove.

“She's pretty . . . that new cop.”

He stopped what he was doing and turned to Lina. “Don't you have work to do?”

“You're no fun.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him and headed back to the front desk, only to pop her head back in five seconds later. “Hey, don't forget to give me the info on Jake and Cecilia's wedding. I need the cash.”

“I'll get it to you before you leave today.”

“Thanks, Brady.”

The girl was a little flirt—and a handful.

“Good morning.” Sam wandered into the kitchen as Brady dropped eggs into a pot of simmering water. “I'm pulling breakfast duty for Maddy. She and Nate went over to Gold Mountain. What do you need me to do?”

“You can set the sideboard with the usual spread.” In addition to a hot entrée, they put out cereal, yogurt, fruit, coffee cake, and a couple of juices. “I got the coffee going.”

For the next hour, Brady served up more than a dozen plates of eggs Benedict. Most of the guests had come down to the dining room early, wanting to get a start on their day. With few stragglers, they had the kitchen cleaned up in no time.

“So did you hear about this body they found at the Meet Up?” Sam asked Brady as she loaded the dishwasher. “Nate and I got in late last night from San Francisco. But I saw Harlee's story this morning.”

“Yeah, Sloane told me about it. It was just bones . . . a torso, maybe. She went back today to see what else she can find.”

“You think it's someone who's been dead a long time and just washed up from the river?”

“Could be. I suppose they'll run tests. They can probably determine stuff like that.”

“What else did she say? Did she think it was foul play?”

“She said it was too early to tell. But it's her case.”

“Good. You can pump her for information. How's that going, by the way?”

“How's what going?”

“Living next door to her. I figure you must be happy for the company. It's a little isolated up there on Donner Road.”

“Harlee and Colin live just over the hill.”

“Still.” She added soap to the dishwasher, turned it on, and straightened her back. “Are you at least neighborly?”

“Of course.” He left it at that. The whole town liked to play matchmaker. “Our schedules are different. We don't see all that much of each other.”

“She seems nice . . . and adorable. Harlee invited her to the next bowling party. She said Sloane seemed excited about it.”

“Yeah? When's that?”

“They have to figure out schedules so Wyatt and Connie can be included.” They were half the department. “You planning to go?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged.

“Wouldn't want to commit to anything?” Sam teased.

“I commit to the Lumber Baron every day.”

“Yes, you do. And we're incredibly thankful.” Sam kissed him on the cheek. “I'm taking a ride out to Lucky's cowboy camp to help Cecilia with sketching out a table arrangement for the barn. Wanna come?”

Brady rubbed the bristle on his chin. He'd forgone shaving this morning. “Nah. I've got some errands to run. But it's nice of you to help Cecilia. I know they're trying to do as much of it as they can on their own to save money.”

“I love helping Cecilia. Compared to the bridezillas I deal with at the Breyer hotels, I ought to pay her for the privilege. It'll be such a great wedding. I watched them fall for each other, you know? It was at Clay and Emily's wedding . . . at our table. You were too busy running the kitchen to sit with us.”

“It'll be Lucky and Tawny next.” The whole damn town was getting married. Brady hoped it wasn't contagious.

“That'll be quite a party.” Sam sighed. “I'm so happy for them.”

Brady was catering that one too, and of course he'd done Sam and Nate's wedding back in September. After Sam left, Brady pulled out some of the leftover bacon and made a BLT, wrapped it in plastic wrap, grabbed a bag of chips from the cupboard, gathered a couple of cookies from the jar, found a banana on the sideboard, and filled a thermos with coffee. He packed it up and jumped in his van. Five minutes later, he spied the spot everyone called the Meet Up. It wasn't difficult given that the place crawled with police and sheriffs' vehicles.

He parked over at the high school and crossed the road, scanning the rocky beach below for Sloane. It was cold but clear, and the river ran full, despite California's devastating drought. Brady supposed that the snow pack from the mountains continually fed the tributary. Yellow tape had been haphazardly strung across a roadside turnout used for parking—mostly by kids who hiked down the steep grade to the beach—to keep rubberneckers away and to free up more space for law enforcement.

He finally spotted Sloane near the river's edge, talking to a small group of men. She had on plain clothes and a Nugget PD baseball cap. Her blond ponytail swung through the back of the hat every time she moved her head. He tried to catch her attention without crossing the tape. His height gave him an advantage and eventually she lifted her head and saw him standing there. She flashed a beatific smile and he held up the lunch he'd packed. Signaling to give her five, she went back to talking to the men, then started her climb up the embankment. He couldn't help himself and crouched under the tape, went to the edge of the ridge, and lifted her the rest of the way up.

Her nose was red from the cold and her breath came out in white puffs. And for a minute he almost lost himself and kissed her. It surprised him. Kisses inevitably led to more, and his ordeal in Los Angeles had been enough to turn him celibate for the last nine months. But Sloane, who seemed so normal and beautiful, made him feel virile—and interested—again. She also scared the crap out of him.

“I thought you'd need fuel,” he said. “I parked my van across the road. You could sit in there and eat.”

“I only have about fifteen minutes, but that sounds like heaven right now.”

He put his hand at the small of her back and led the way. As soon as they got inside, he turned on the ignition and cranked up the heat. Sloane used her teeth to pull off her gloves.

“It's a lot colder here than LA.”

“But not as cold as Chicago?” He handed her the lunch he'd made and poured her a cup of coffee from the thermos.

“Well, not as windy.” She pulled the sandwich out of the plastic wrap, took a bite, and sighed in appreciation. “I can't believe you did this for me.”

“Just trying to be a good citizen. How's the investigation going so far?”

“I found the skull.”

“Shit.”

“No, it's good. With dental records we may have a better chance of identifying the person.”

“You any closer to that?”

“No. But after I'm done here, I'll go through law enforcement databases for missing people. Hopefully by then we'll know the sex and a possible age—whatever the forensic anthropologist can tell us. We might even get DNA.”

She ripped open the chips. “You want some?”

“I'm good.”

“I rushed off without breakfast.” She took a sip of the coffee and warmed her hands on the cup. “So good.”

He grinned because she was so damned pretty. “Are all those guys down there sheriff's deputies?”

“It's their crime-scene team. I kind of thought they'd be . . . you know . . . but they're really good.” She looked around the van. “You've got a lot of stuff in here.”

It's pretty much where he stored his sports and camping equipment: spare skis, snowboard, snowshoes, a sleeping bag, tent, and kerosene stove. Why clutter the apartment?

“Hey,” she said. “As soon as things slow down, I'm gonna make you dinner. I'm not much of a cook, so you can't judge.”

No one ever invited chefs to dinner except other chefs. Call it an occupational hazard. “No judgment.”

“You better keep to that.” She inhaled the cookies and took a few more gulps of the coffee. If she wasn't careful she'd burn her mouth. “I've got to get back. Thank you, Brady. This was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He doubted that because it wasn't much. Just lunch.

Brady watched in his rearview mirror as she crossed the road. She looked good in jeans and the blue ski jacket that hugged her curves. On the days she wore the uniform, she looked good in that too. He supposed a woman like her looked good in everything. And out of everything.

As she disappeared down the embankment, Brady drove out of the parking lot with the scent of Sloane's powdery perfume still fresh in the air. She was a nice woman and he enjoyed cooking for her. That's all.

 

Everywhere Griffin went he ran into Lina. At the Ponderosa, the Nugget Market, the Bun Boy, on the sidewalk in the square. Granted, there weren't a lot of places to go in Nugget. But did she always have to be wherever he was?

It was more than a man could take. Especially considering how beautiful she'd become. She'd always been gorgeous. Even the first day he'd met her in the Sierra Heights parking lot, puffy eyed from crying over her father's death. But in San Francisco she'd blossomed into a full-fledged woman. She even carried herself differently— more self-assured, more poised, more feminine . . . ah hell, he didn't know how to describe it. But she was different.

Also different was the fact that she barely gave him the time of day. There was a time when she couldn't get enough of him. And that had been the problem. She'd wanted more than he'd been willing to give due to their age difference. Now he wondered if that had been a mistake. Because if Griff wanted to be honest with himself, he was miserable.

He tried dating other women. He went to Harlee and Darla's bowling parties. He even let a few friends set him up. But he was just going through the motions. His mind was always on Lina.

The strange thing was, he and Lina hadn't even been together very long when she'd gone off to school. Yet, the first time he'd laid eyes on her he'd been spellbound. It was as if destiny had brought them together that day in the parking lot. He knew it sounded like a bunch of woo-woo crap. Until Lina, Griffin had never bought in to love at first sight or any of that other romantic nonsense. Before his inheritance, life had been too brutally realistic to believe in fairy tales. His mother had been a starry-eyed dreamer, and look where it had gotten her. Penniless and buried in a potter's field.