Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (7 page)

Katrina’s face brightened. “That’s a great idea. Since he’s one of their donors, maybe they can somehow consider it.” She hugged Rachel. “I’m going to go see if it’s possible. Be right back.” She hurried down the hall to the exit, her heels clacking against the concrete.

Rachel sighed and turned back to the cages. Did she really want a hairy, stinky pet? Responsibility and commitment. That’s what it would mean. While she was debating the thought, a gray-haired guy clomped down the hall towards her. She smelled him before he turned into the room. Greasy sweat.

Nose wrinkling, she backed up.

“Hey.” He nodded at her then grabbed a cage off the shelved wall.

The one with Miss Prissy-evil-slanted-eye cat.

Before she could stop herself, she lunged forward. “Excuse me.” She saw her fingers, manicured and pristine, touching his overalls. His clothes weren’t exactly dirty. The shelter was professional and though the man wore a clean looking uniform, his odor overwhelmed her senses. She yanked her hand back and cleared her throat.

“Yes ma’am?” His dark brown eyes held her gaze questioningly. The cage in his hand rocked back and forth and Rachel heard a deep growl, followed by a hiss.

She swallowed, discomfited by the interest growing inside her. “Do you know anything about this cat?”

The man cocked his head. “Not much, except she’s scheduled to go down.”

Go down? That was a nice way to phrase death. Her head suddenly felt like it was going to explode. Calm down, she told herself. This wasn’t Scooter. Of course animals had to be put to sleep. It was far from murderous, and in Scooter’s case, it had been the only kind thing to do.

Still, her eyes stung and she blinked. “Is the cat sick?”

The man’s lips pushed forward, like he was thinking hard. “Nope. Not unfit, either.”

“Unfit?”

“She’s hissin’ but she’s not a mean cat. Just scared.” The guy reached up and scratched his gray curls. “I reckon the shelter’s out of room. Paperwork says she’s been here over a week. And she’s old.”

“Too many things against her.” Rachel studied the man, then smoothed her slacks and held out her hand. “I’m going to adopt this cat.”

The man’s eyebrows shot to his scalp. “Well now . . .”

Rachel smiled, showing her teeth the way she’d done in college. The smile seemed to work on overzealous guys, but would it on an older man? She wiggled her fingers toward the cage. Maybe she was crazy, but adopting Miss Priss felt right. “I’ll take her.”

His brown eyes were clearly filled with doubt but he handed her the cage. It was heavier than she’d expected and almost pulled the smile off her face. She set it on the floor and straightened. “Should I take her to the front?”

“Yep. Right out that door. They’ll ring you up and process the paperwork.” He gestured to the door Katrina had disappeared through.

“Thank you.” She picked up the cage, grimacing at how the cold metal handle dug into her palms. Not the best decision of her life, but she wouldn’t back out now.

Slowly, her heels scraping over the floor, she walked to the door. She’d have a pet. It would get her mind off of . . . stuff.

Handsome stuff.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Handsome stuff was following Rachel.

She eyed the truck behind her, a blond thatch of hair visible through the windshield. Grant Harkness better have a good reason for being behind her or she’d be putting in a complaint. After her experience with investigating a case a few years back, any interest from the cops felt invasive.

In the backseat, the cat yowled.

Rachel slowed at an intersection and turned into a gas station. Grant followed her. She got out of her car, leaving the engine running so Miss Priss didn’t die of heat stroke, to face him head-on. After his apology this morning at Mom’s, she didn’t know what to think of him.

Forcing a smile, she waited while he walked over to her. He wore civilian clothes.

“Is there a reason you’re following me?”

He smiled a slow smile. “Your tag’s expired.”

“No, it’s not.” She looked anyway. And puffed out an annoyed breath. “You lied.”

The corner of his mouth wobbled as if he was trying to hold back a grin. “Just joking.”

“I don’t have time for jokes,” she told him, even though her own lips were having trouble holding still. “Are you following me? You’ve been behind me since I got off the interstate.”

“Actually, I’m heading over to my mom’s. She happens to live on this road. Alec called and I mentioned you were in front of me. He asked me to have you call Katrina. I don’t have your cell number though…”

“Why didn’t he call me?”

“He said Katrina couldn’t get through.”

“Probably a weak signal.” She thought about checking the phone now to see if she had any missed messages, then decided to wait. Although evening had arrived, the air still felt thick with moisture. Clouds hovered low and she wondered if it was going to rain.

Grant must’ve thought the same thing because he held a hand out, palm up. “I think a storm front’s coming through tonight.”

“Yeah.” Since he was being so nice, she let her eyes linger on how attractive he appeared in cotton shorts and a t-shirt.

He eyed her in return and some intangible force passed between them. Her heart knocked against her sternum and her mouth dried. He looked at her almost as if he was attracted to her too. As if—

“I have a question about your sister.”

“Maggie?” Rachel frowned, not liking the jealousy that rose to the surface at his interest. “What about her?”

“Does she know Mayor Owens? Have any connections to him?”

Rachel’s spine stiffened. She felt a wall go up and knew Grant saw it because his gaze narrowed and he leaned forward, as if he could push her into spilling her guts. Like she would crack beneath pressure. What she knew wasn’t his business.

“I gave you the flash drive. That should be enough.”

“It’s not.”

A wind whipped up out of nowhere, catching her hair and basting it against her face. She shoved at the strands. “Have you talked to Maggie? Gotten her thoughts on things?”

“I don’t know where she is. Your mom won’t tell me a thing.”

Rachel smirked. “Good luck with her. You’ll have to talk to Maggie. Is this for work or just personal interest?”

“Both.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. A muffled thump interrupted her thoughts. Glancing at her car, she saw Miss Priss had somehow knocked the cage off the backseat so that it wedged between the seat and the floor.

She turned back to Grant. “Maggie doesn’t need to be messed with right now. If it’s not official business, then you should leave her out of things.”

Grant shrugged, a careless lift of his shoulders that somehow made Rachel’s breathing grow shallow. “Tell her I’m looking for her, if you see her.”

“Sure.” She managed a small smile. “I’m going to head home before this storm hits.”

“Drive safe.”

“Have fun with your mom.” The words felt awkward. Weird that a kid who grew up in foster care took the time to visit his mother.

“Yeah, right,” he said, confirming the oddness of the situation.

Before he could turn, Rachel blurted out, “Why are you visiting her?”

Mouth grim, he paused. The sky was darkening by the minute and his eyes looked as troubled as the clouds on the horizon. “She needs groceries.”

“So you’re buying some?” Why did God keep hitting her over the head with all of Grant’s great qualities? It’d be nice to see a flaw of his. Anything to keep her brain attached when he was around. “That’s really nice of you,” she managed to say.

Grant shook his head as though trying to negate her words. “She doesn’t have anyone else so I’m stuck with the job.”

“No car?”

“No money.” His gaze passed over her one more time, and in the deepening light she thought she saw something on his face that hitched her breath. Hair flew across her face and she didn’t brush it away. Their eyes locked and for a moment, time stood still.

The clattering of a soda can, hurled by an angry wind across the pavement, broke the mood. Another car pulled into the empty gas station. Grant gave her a quick wave. She returned it before sliding into her car. She reached back and fixed Miss Priss’s cage.

A familiar worship song played but the feelings in Rachel’s chest were anything but familiar. Painful and strong, they wracked her heart and left her stymied. It was only when the worship song faded and a new song came on that reason returned. The new song had been Scott’s favorite.

And now she remembered why these feelings couldn’t stay. Generally speaking, men were unreliable. But even more than that experience, it was these feelings she couldn’t trust. Passion was good for many things, but not relationships.

Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, Rachel shifted gears and headed for home.

***

This guy was an idiot.

Grant eyed the twit across the cheap plastic table where they sat. The forgettable mom and pop café located in a shoddy part of Orlando was filled with people getting off work and waitresses just starting their shift. Thick scents spilled into the restaurant from the bustling kitchen.

After dropping off groceries to his mom, he’d had to turn and drive to Orlando for a meeting he wouldn’t have missed for anything.

“Charlie Barrows has nothing to do with Slasher. He’s a guy on his way to a restful retirement,” Grant said.

“Just keep an eye on him.” Twit swiped greasy hair off his forehead. Definitely a paper pusher and not a field agent. “You said you had information for the task force?”

“Yeah.” Grant fished the flash drive from his pocket. “I thought about e-mailing it but figured this would be safer.” Especially if Rachel decided to try to hack into his e-mail. He wouldn’t put it past her. He still couldn’t believe she’d just handed evidence over like that. Didn’t seem her style.

“Thanks.” Grease Head pocketed the drive. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Hey, I need those ballistics ASAP.”

“For?”

“I talked to another guy on the task force. Rich. I think the shooting is related to drug trafficking. Knowing what kind of bullets were used can help us find the shooter, who is important to nailing Slasher. We could close this case.” And his life could go back to some semblance of normal, without guilt hanging over his shoulders.

The Fed grimaced. “I’ll get on it. Give me a call tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, keep your nose in every case the station gets.”

“Sure, no problem.” Grant shrugged like he wasn’t doing something that made him question every part of his past. Not to mention the thin blue line of honor and department loyalty he'd crossed.

The Fed nodded and slipped out of the diner, shoulders hunched beneath a plain jacket. No one would remember him. After sucking in a lungful of air, Grant expelled it in a rush. Things were getting a lot more complicated. This was supposed to have been easy. Quick. Painful but necessary.

Now they were suspicious of Charlie, a guy who was as honest and solid as the Andy Griffith character. Somehow Grant had to nose around Charlie without Rachel catching on.

He dropped some bills on the table and then headed out toward the nearest PD. Might as well stop by and see how things were going with Mullins, an old Miami PD friend who’d relocated to Orlando a year ago.

Halfway to the department, his phone rang.

“Harkness.”

“We arrested the shooter,” Charlie said.

“You’re kidding.” Grant swerved into the left lane and did a u-turn at the light.

“He’s in holding. Chief said you should interrogate him.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Anything we should do or know?” Charlie sounded a little worried. Small-city officer, probably never dealt with anything more than drunks and punks.

“Keep him cuffed. You read him his rights?”

“Of course.” Now Charlie sounded offended.

Grant grinned and floored the gas. “Follow protocol and you’ll be fine. Any reason the Chief’s not starting on him?”

“You’ve got more experience.” Charlie cleared his throat. “He’s making accusations.”

“The Chief?” Grant frowned. The old guy needed to retire soon. Laziness on the job hurt more than just fellow officers.

“Naw, the shooter.”

Grant tapped the wheel, anxious to get back to the small building that served as a police department. If only catching shooters had been this easy in Miami. “What’s he saying?”

“Claims Rachel McCormick is in on this. Says she paid him to shoot the mayor’s wife.”

CHAPTER NINE

Miss Priss was trouble.

Hours after leaving the animal shelter, Rachel put a Band-Aid on the long scratch stretching across her palm. The devil cat hunched inside her cage, hissing.

As soon as Rachel had walked into the house earlier, ears still ringing from the cat’s incessant yowling during the trip home, Maggie came out of the bedroom, saw the cage, wrinkled her nose and disappeared back into her room.

Rachel had set the cage next to the couch and then went to work on her computer. She wanted to question Maggie, tell her about Grant and his suspicions, but decided to do some research on her own first. Around nine, she shut the computer down. The session hadn’t been overly fruitful but she’d found a small link between the mayor and Slasher. One of the mayor’s previous hook-ups happened to be the dealer’s cousin.

Definitely something to be explored.

Deep in thought and assuming Miss Priss might be acclimated to her new surroundings, Rachel had walked to the cat’s cage. Big mistake. When she tried to open the cage door, the cat clawed her faster than she could blink.

Now she balled up the Band-Aid wrapper and stood. At this moment she’d love to let out a good hiss too.

“Why didn’t you get a kitten?” Maggie emerged from her room. She squatted beside the cage and peered inside.

“I was going to get a kitten. But they were putting Miss Priss to sleep.”

“I can see why.” Maggie’s tone implied Rachel was an idiot.

Right now she felt like one. Shrugging, she grabbed the water dish she bought and went to the kitchen to toss the trash. Maggie followed her. When Rachel turned to the garbage can, Maggie propped a hip against the counter. The jeans she wore flattered her thin physique and her purple t-shirt put some color into her cheeks. There was the hint of attitude to her posture.

“Feeling better?” Rachel brushed her hands together, then pulled cat hair off her slacks and dropped the fuzz in the trash can.

Maggie smiled slowly. “Seeing you in a hissy fit is always entertaining.”

“Very funny.” Rachel snorted, then jerked her head in the direction of the living room. “Do you want the cat?”

“No way.” Maggie lurched backward, the look on her face comical.

“Well, I couldn’t let them kill the poor thing. Maybe if I feed her she'll calm down...” Could be Miss Priss was hungry. Or queasy. Rachel winced. She hoped not. The thought of cat vomit on her pristine carpet made
her
feel nauseated. Gritting her teeth, she moved to the sink and filled the cat bowl with water. Once it was full, she slid past Maggie, bending to grab the cat food she’d picked up after leaving the shelter.

Setting the water on the ground, she balanced the bag of food on one knee and poured it in the porcelain dish she’d also bought. She reached for the cage door again. Miss Priss curled against the back of the cage, watching Rachel’s fingers with narrowed eyes.

“Are you hungry? Just let me open this door,” Rachel said under her breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Maggie situate herself against the bedroom door. A quick escape if killer cat decided to make a break for it. Rachel almost smiled at the mental image. She grasped the handle and, pressing down, opened the door.

Miss Priss didn’t move but her growls grew louder.

“Okay,” she whispered. She stood slowly and backed away.

The house phone rang. Its shrill clamor pierced her ears as the cat screeched. Then Miss Priss darted out from the cage and into Rachel’s bedroom.

“Great!” Rachel flung her hands through the air. She marched to the kitchen and snatched the phone off the receiver.

“Hello?” It snapped out faster than she’d meant it to because images of cat vomit on her bedspread taunted her. She didn’t have time to chat, not with a crazy animal on the loose, not at this time of night.

“Is this Rachel?” The deep voice cut through the receiver.

Her head spun. She knew that voice, knew the goose bumps it gave her. Sometimes that voice was in her dreams, whispering
I love you
. She swallowed hard and turned so Maggie couldn’t see her face. “Grant?”

“It’s me. When I saw you earlier I forgot to ask something.”

Uh-oh. She felt her fingers tighten on the phone. “Something to do with your case,” she said flatly.

“Nah.” She could almost hear him smile. He paused, then said, “Orlando is only thirty minutes away.”

“And?”

“There’s a Melting Pot on Sand Lake Road. I was hoping you might like to eat there with me Friday night.”

Rachel couldn’t move. Her body tensed and the world seemed to spin. With her left hand she clutched the wall. The fingers on her right hand curled around the phone so tight she thought her knuckles would shatter.

Grant was asking her on a date. Her belly did flip-flops. Why? The derision in his eyes only nights ago had been real. People didn’t change opinions so easily. On the Owens’ porch he’d been disgusted with her.

But there’d been something in his eyes this morning when he apologized…

“Rachel?” His normally strong tone sounded weak.

She cleared her throat. There was only one way to know something. “I thought you didn’t respect me.”

Evidently he hadn’t expected her reaction. The silence that stretched between them supported her theory.

“Why would you think that?” he finally asked, his voice low.

She closed her eyes, remembering the glacial look in his eyes on the mayor’s front porch. “Just a feeling.”

“Look, I think you’re interesting.” His tone lifted and took on the quality she knew so well. Mr. Smooth was back in control. “Going on a date is a way to see if there’s more. But if you’re not interested, just say no.”

Rachel scowled and straightened off the wall. He didn’t even sound nervous. He sounded as if it didn’t matter one way or the other to him.

But it did to her.

And it tore her apart.

If she said no, she risked alienating any future chance with him.

If she said yes, she’d risk her heart. He was a player. Just because he’d become a Christian didn’t automatically mean he was suddenly Mr. Perfect. Look at Scott. He was a youth pastor and how long had it taken for him to cheat on her? If Scott couldn’t be faithful, what made her think Grant would?

Nothing. The man had a track record a mile long. She’d be one more notch on his weapon-laden belt.

“Are you still there?” His voice drifted through, teasing.

Rachel glanced into her bedroom where Miss Priss lay on the bed. Maggie lounged on the couch, pretending to flip through a magazine. Rachel walked to her bedroom, shooting Maggie a meaningful glare before shutting the door. “I don’t know, Grant.”

“Get a mirror. That should let you know.” He chuckled. It was a sweet sound. Husky and strong. He hadn’t shared a laugh with her before.

It made the pain rippling across her chest fiercer. “No, I mean we don’t know each other very well.”

“We’ve been going out to eat with Katrina and Alec for months.”

“And we didn’t get along.” Silence again. Rachel sighed and sat on her bed. Miss Priss hopped off and disappeared beneath the ivory bedspread. “I don’t know why you changed your mind about me so I’m going to make this easy on both of us.” Her voice quivered. She took a deep breath, forced herself to speak slow and clear. “Thank you for asking, but I can’t go out with you.”

“Why’s that?”

He sounded genuinely perplexed, which genuinely annoyed her. Was the man obtuse?

“We don’t know each other,” she said slowly, enunciating each word in an exaggerated fashion.

“And just how do you think we get to know each other?”

“It’s not a good idea. We’re not right for each other.”

“You sound like the stuck-up investigator I always thought you were.”

“See?” She let her words flow honey sweet. “We don’t suit. Good-bye.” She jabbed the end button on her phone and felt like throwing it to the floor. But she didn’t. Instead she lowered it to her lap and blinked to clear her eyes. She wouldn’t cry over him. Taking a deep, steadying breath she stood but didn’t move toward the door.

She didn’t want to go in the living room and see the sister she’d lost touch with years ago. The woman who’d stolen her first love. She didn’t want Maggie, the sister who should have loved her, to see her upset over another man.

A man who called names. Rachel jerked her head up and welcomed the anger that came so easily to her. Stuck-up?

Ha.

It had been smart to tell him
no
, despite how much it hurt, because a man like him would be dangerous to love.

She didn’t love him anyhow. It was a minor attraction. Times of stress amplified emotions.

She yanked her bedspread down to get ready for bed. Good thing Alec and Katrina would be out of town for some time. She didn’t think she could handle any more meals with that name-calling cop.

Bigger issues concerned her anyway. Like finding a way to collect more evidence against Mayor Owens.

***

Grant listened to his dial tone in disbelief before snapping his cell closed and clipping it to his belt. Rachel hung up on him.

And told him no.

He pulled into his driveway and killed the engine. He wanted to growl like an animal, but held himself in check. He’d specifically read this morning that he was supposed to be slow to anger. After the night he’d had questioning a tweaking shooter, it was hard to stay calm, though.

Thank goodness Chief didn’t think Rachel needed to come in for questioning. There were major holes in the shooter’s story and the guy couldn’t keep his sentences logical. His whacked-out thought processes explained the three-line note they’d found in the woods. Easy instructions for a junkie.

Charlie had worried him about Rachel earlier, but after this interrogation, even he had to know Rachel wasn’t involved. Though that note...how many redheads were there in Manatee Bay? The only ones he knew of were Rachel and Maggie. Their perp insisted Rachel wasn't the target. That he'd wrote the wrong thing.

Trying to get his story straight had been grueling and Grant still didn't know what to believe. Except he'd have to keep Rachel safe, just in case someone really was after her. But what was the connection between Rachel and Slasher? She dealt with infidelity and white collar crimes, not drugs and murder.

Evening sounds invaded Grant’s car. He popped the door open and stood for a minute in the night, listening, soaking in the peace.

Hearing that shooter trying to trump up charges against Rachel had vividly brought back how she’d looked stumbling into the police station, face pale, blood trickling down her neck. Fight, defiance, glittering in her eyes until she realized the bullet grazed her skin.

It was after processing the shooter and getting everything wrapped up that Grant started for home and had the genius idea to call Rachel.

Yeah. Genius.

Neck tight, Grant rolled his head as he unlocked his front door and let himself into his living room. Being home always set him at ease. He’d worked hard for this place to belong to him, for it to be bought and paid for.

The black leather couch with the matching recliner.
His
. The big screen TV.
His
. The stereo system that had taken him a year to pay off.
His.
Five acres of wild land to call home, which he was still paying off.
His
.

A far cry from his nomadic childhood.

Pride filled him. Life had treated him shabby. He’d blamed it on God.

But God had shown him another way, a better way. When Grant saw Alec forgive Katrina for keeping his only son from him, a son who had died before ever meeting his father, something changed inside. Alec’s forgiveness had done something to Grant that he still couldn’t put into words.

It made him hungry. Illuminated the emptiness inside. A few weeks ago, like a starving man, he’d sat with Alec and discovered Jesus.

Grant moved to his recliner, plopped down and relished the cool leather beneath his hands. The smoothness of it.

Yet the comfort of his stuff couldn’t compare to what he’d experienced when he became a Christian. True peace. A filling and a light that just didn’t jive with all the so-called Christians he’d met in this city. That he’d met in his foster homes.

He needed that peace to fill him right now. He still felt like punching the wall and it was all his fault. He’d spooked Rachel with his annoyance, with his past judgment.

He closed his eyes.

“Lord, help me here. I’m not arrogant enough to think every woman wants to date me but her rejection is tearing me up. I’ve got no clue why so I hope you’ll give me back that peace and drain this anger. Forgive me if I’ve broken a rule or two in asking her on a date. You know I’m new to this Christianity stuff. Please help me not to mess it up.”

His eyes popped open. It was always a little embarrassing to bare his soul like that to the Almighty. Like someone pop by and hear an officer of the law talking to thin air.