The Opposite of Wild (20 page)

She rummaged through that giant purse of hers and emerged with what looked like a Ziploc bag of homemade granola. “Organic trail mix?”

“No, thanks.”

She shrugged and popped some in her mouth. “Mmph!” She held up a finger and resealed the bag. “I also have, let’s see”—she rummaged further in the bottomless pit of her purse—“protein bars to keep up our strength, two apples, mints, and gum.”

He raised his brows. “That’s all?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m afraid so. I didn’t know what you’d like—”

He silenced her with a kiss. Damn, she tasted good. He broke the kiss and eyed the back seat. Considered how long until Idiot Husband went for his regular Friday night lay.

“You are a distraction.” He tapped her nose lightly.

She shut her purse with a snap and smacked him in the chest with it.

Oof.
“Hey!”

“
You
kissed
me
. I’m perfectly happy to wait here like a top-secret private investigator.”

His lips twitched on top-secret. It wasn’t exactly a classified federal investigation.

“That purse is heavy,” he said. “What else you got in there?”

She opened her purse and held it out toward him.

“Whoa,” he muttered. It was like an Emergency Survival Kit had thrown up in her purse: Ziploc bags of granola, apples, Band-Aids, Neosporin, Tylenol, tissues, a huge wallet, pepper spray, cell phone, brush, compact mirror, first aid kit, flashlight, batteries (for the flashlight?), a Swiss army knife, a lighter. Some shiny foil caught his eye. Did Liz pack condoms? He got hard thinking about it and considered the back seat again. He shifted the apples out of the way to get a closer look at the foil—two compact emergency blankets.
Damn
.

“That’s a lot of stuff,” he said.

She snapped her purse shut. “I like to be prepared.”

Ryan noticed movement at number three. “Here’s our guy.” He waited for his mark, Harvey Boomer, to pull down the street before following from a safe distance. Liz was quiet as he maneuvered through local roads. It didn’t take long. Harvey didn’t go far for his mistress. He pulled up to a fancy restaurant one town over.

“I’m going to get some pictures,” he said. “Stay in the car.”

He went in, pressed a fifty into the maître d’s hand, and parked himself by the restroom. He pulled a microcamera from his pocket and snapped a few pictures of Harvey and the petite blond half his age. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, even in this high-end clientele restaurant. Now he just needed some pictures of them going into a hotel or her place, anywhere that said they were alone together would be the proof he needed.

He left through the kitchen and out the back door. When he returned to the car, he told her, “Just one more stop. I need some evidence that they’re sleeping together.”

Her lips pressed tightly together. “Ryan, you are meant for better things.” She put a hand on his arm. “Truly helping people. Like you did as a police officer.”

He turned away, looking straight out the window. “I can’t go back to that. I froze, Liz. That little girl could’ve been killed.”

“What little girl?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He never talked about it.

Liz waited quietly. Several minutes passed.

“Nice try,” he said, “but I’m fine with silence.”

“Just tell me, and then you can ask me whatever you want.”

He turned to her. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She tilted her head to the side and gave him a small smile.

Where to begin with that one? Why do you leave while I sleep? Why won’t you go out in public with me?

He exhaled sharply. “This is just between you and me.”

She nodded.

“I got a call of a domestic disturbance; someone heard a shot. So, we get there, door’s wide open, and me and my partner Joe walk into this apartment. The place is a total shithole, like the kids have been on their own for a while, and this kid, this twelve-year-old boy, is holding a gun on some teenage punk. The punk has already been shot in the leg, but takes one look at us and throws himself out the window.”

Liz gasped.

“It was the first floor. He was fine. Least we didn’t see him when we came out. Anyway, our main concern is disarming this kid, who’s still waving the pistol around, his eyes big and scared, but now he’s pointing it at us.”

He paused, the painful memory coming back to him, clear as yesterday. Liz stroked his arm.

“And his sister…” His voice roughened, and he cleared his throat. “This two-year-old still in her Pooh bear pajamas comes out of her bedroom right toward us. She says, ‘I’m hungry.’ I froze, Liz. I should’ve moved in on that boy, but when I saw her, all I could think about is this innocent getting caught in the fray. Joe moved, tackled the boy, and the gun went off, catching me in the shoulder.”

“What happened to the kids?” she asked.

“The girl was shipped off to her grandmother down south. The boy went to juvie for shooting a kid and a police officer. So I quit the force. I just couldn’t report to a job that had me facing down a kid. Stakeouts on cheating spouses are a cakewalk compared to that.”

“I suppose they are.” She looked thoughtful. “You could still work as a cop in a low-crime area, or, I don’t know,
something
besides spying on people having sex with the wrong people.”

When she said it like that, his job sounded perverted. “It’s more than that,” he said. “I’m helping people. I give them answers, no questions asked. It’s peace of mind. Plus it helps them in the divorce proceedings.”

She said nothing, but he registered the disappointment in her eyes.

“Besides, cops can’t freeze up,” he said. “Your turn.”

“Okay, ask me anything.” She fidgeted with her purse, rubbing the strap nervously between two fingers.

Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? Actually, I’m not sure I want to know.

He went with something else that had been bugging him ever since that stupid dance class. “Do you ever think you should be with Shane instead of me?”

“What? No! Shane’s a friend. Kissing him would be like kissing my brother.”

He stiffened. “Have you kissed him?”

“No.”

He kissed her to remind her she was his. She clutched at his shirt and made those little whimpers in the back of her throat that got him every time. He broke away abruptly. He had to focus on the job.

She smiled dreamily at him, eyes soft, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

His voice came out low and gravelly. “I can’t wait to get you back to my place.” He glanced at the restaurant door again, still no movement.

“Me too.”

Their gazes locked, until he reluctantly turned back to the door.

She started talking about Gran, and he gladly let her rattle on about how well she was doing, how happy she was. He was glad she was still looking out for his grandmother. In the back of his mind, he kept thinking about what Liz had said earlier, that he was meant for better things.

Harvey finally left with his mistress, and they followed them to her condo in the same town. He snapped a few pictures of them walking up to the front door, his hand on her ass, her looking up at him under her lashes. Then kissing in front of the door and barreling through it in each other’s arms. Good enough.

“I got the evidence,” he said. “We’re outta here.”

“Good,” she said softly.

He headed toward home. “What’d you mean when you said I was meant for better things?”

“I’ve seen the way you help your family. You’re good at helping people. And I just think you can do better than the cheating spouses business.”

Helping family was one thing, facing a kid with a gun something else. With no real intention behind it, he told her, “I’ll think it over.”

~ ~ ~

Liz woke with a start to the sun peeking in the sides of the shades in Ryan’s room—way past dawn. Her arms and legs were tangled with Ryan’s.
Shoot
. She eased his leg out from where it had wedged between hers, slowly rolled over, and sat up on the side of the bed. She’d just started to stand when his arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. She gasped in surprise. She’d thought he was sleeping.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. “You want to grab lunch later?”

“I can’t,” she said. “I have plans with Rachel.” She didn’t, but she could stop by Book It anytime. This was the first time she’d ever been with a man just for fun, and she didn’t want to do anything stupid like get attached. She knew he wasn’t looking for long term. She had to keep him in this one compartment of her life—nighttime fun.

His fingers stroked up and down her wrist. She burned at his touch and found herself leaning toward him while her brain screamed at her to get out while she still could.

“You said you had plans with Rachel tonight,” he said.

“I do.” She stood abruptly. “I have both—day and night plans.”

He laid flat on his back and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You never go out with me in public.” He turned his head and pinned her with his sharp gaze. “Too ugly for you?”

She looked at his beautiful tousled caramel brown hair, hazel eyes, stubbled jaw, all that golden muscle—how could he think that? He was the sexiest, most gorgeous man she’d ever set eyes on.

She crawled back on the bed and kissed him soundly on the mouth. “You are too hot for your own good.” She pulled back, up and off the bed, before things could go any further. Grabbing her purse, she headed resolutely for the door, ignoring the throbbing parts that ached for him. “Go back to sleep.”

“Call me,” he said as she left.

She stopped in the hallway just outside his bedroom, struck with the fact that maybe he wanted more with her than just a casual fling. Then she heard him mutter, “Pathetic,” and feeling rather indignant, she took the stairs at a brisk pace.

Chapter Nineteen

Liz stood on the side of the library’s large meeting room for a special mystery author event, hosted jointly by the library and Rachel’s bookstore. The four cozy mystery authors sat in folding chairs at the front of the room, prepared to discuss their latest books—
Cupcakes and Corpses
,
Knit Killers
,
Meow is for Murder
, and
Killer on Ice
(part of the
Ice Cream Shop
series). Maggie sat right upfront, her knitting group across the aisle, all of them huge fans of the
Knit One, Kill Two
series. Rachel stood at the ready to refill the authors’ water glasses.

The
Cupcakes and Corpses
author went first, talking about the newest adventure for pastry chef/detective Cherry Parsons. Somehow Liz knew the moment Ryan arrived. Her eyes met his as he walked in with Shane and took a seat. What were the two brothers doing here? The audience was nearly all women, with a few husbands that were dragged along. Ryan smiled, and her heart sped up. She still had to get used to the effect of a full-wattage smile from him. Shane waved. She gave a little wave back.

Next, the author of
Knit Killers
explained how she used the Kitchener stitch as a key clue to discover the pattern of the killer’s crime spree. Maggie raised her hand and offered several suggestions for future books. One in Scotland: “A murder committed with an Aran sweater, and plenty of men with kilts!” One in Norway: “A murderer who leaves a different pattern of Norwegian knitted mittens at the scene of the crime, and throw in some hot Vikings too!” And one in America involving a “knitted patriotic bikini and a cowboy.”

Liz wondered if she should interrupt Maggie’s increasingly X-rated suggestions. She looked to Rachel, whose eyes were bulging. Rachel took a step forward to intervene when the author indicated they should hear more from the next author.

After the author panel, the audience poured into the main section of the library, where tables had been set up to purchase the authors’ latest books and have them signed. Liz spotted Shane and Ryan waiting in line to buy some books.

“Hi, guys, I didn’t know you were fans of cozy mysteries,” she said.

“I’m a diehard fan of the
Ice Cream Shop
series,” Shane said, holding up
Killer on Ice
. “Priscilla Matthews knows her stuff. She’s an ice cream shop owner up in Maine.”

“I didn’t know that. Very cool.” Liz turned to Ryan. “And you?”

Ryan grabbed a book from the next table. “I love
Meow is for Murder: the Purrfect Crime
. Where would Detective Tibbets be without”—he checked the back of the book—“Mr. Sparkles.” He snort-laughed, and she smiled, holding back a laugh out of respect for the author, an eighty-year-old woman not too far away, though thankfully the woman was hard of hearing as she kept asking the person waiting for an autograph to speak up.

“You and Rachel want to stop by Shane’s shop after for ice cream?” Ryan asked.

“I can’t,” Liz said.

Shane shifted to the other side of the table and picked up another book.

“Why not?” Ryan sounded annoyed.

“I have to help her close out the register and bring the unsold books back.”

He studied her for a moment. She could almost see the wheels turning.

“I want to show you something,” he said. “Back here.”

He took her by the elbow and led her to the 900 section, a corner of the library that was deserted.

She looked around. “What is it?”

He put a hand on the small of her back and tugged her close. “This.” He kissed her gently and, when she sank into his body, deepened the kiss. His tongue mated with hers as his hands untucked her shirt and slipped underneath to stroke the bare skin of her back. Her brain set off alarm bells.
This is a public place!
Her hands went to his chest, thinking she should push him away soon, but then he wedged a leg between hers, putting pressure on that sensitive spot, and her mind went blessedly blank. She moaned as he slid one large hand in her hair, his other hand firmly on her bottom, increasing the pressure. He urged her on, kissing, demanding, increasing the friction until she was panting and desperate to have him.