Divorced, Desperate and Dead

by Christie Craig

  “Not until after dinner,” she said without looking back. “I’m cooking your favorite. Chili dogs.”

  Damn, he loved chili dogs, but . . . “They give me gas,” he complained.

  She shot him a grin over her shoulder. “I know, that’s why I didn’t cook them last night.” She waved a hand under her nose. “You eat and then I’ll take you home. You can contaminate your own place.”

  “You know you are a pain in the ass,” he said.

  “And you love me as much as I love you.”

  She was right. He did.

  She stared at him for several long seconds. “You two really belong together. It’s fate.”

  “I don’t know her,” he snapped.

  She made a funny face. “I’m talking about you and Pooch. He needs a good home.”

  “How much?” he growled.

  “What?”

  “Don’t pretend. You’ve done it three times already. You try to get me to take one of your foster animals, and when I say no you start in on how the shelter doesn’t have money to keep feeding them, and I end up giving you a donation. So, how much?”

  “This time is different. He really likes you.”

  Cary made a face. “If you think I’m going to take this . . . this hairy guinea pig home, then you’re nuts.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Make the check out for a hundred.”

  “A hundred? Why so much this time?”

  “Because it’s gonna take a long time to find anyone willing to take that grumpy dog.”

  “He’s not that bad.”

  “Ha, I think the only reason he likes you is because you share his nasty mood.”

  • • •

  Cary thought that antsy feeling would disappear once he was back at his own place. No. He tried calling Danny for an update on the case, but he didn’t answer. He called Turner. He didn’t answer either.

  Looking at the clock on the wall, a little after six, he figured Turner and Danny were playing basketball. Every Friday, they met to shoot hoops. Unfortunately, the cell service there sucked.

  Flopping back on his couch, he felt like a slouch. Looking down at his attire—loose gray sweats and a navy T-shirt—he realized he was a slouch. He snagged his remote off the end table.

  He turned on the television. It was on a local channel, a Neighbor to Neighbor show that talked about the community helping others. He had his finger ready to switch channels when the scene started and it showed the reporter holding a book.

  For some reason, he didn’t change the channel. As soon as the reporter showed the entire book cover, he knew why.

  He’d just read that book today.

  They told the story of how Chloe Sanders had darted into the street and saved the little girl and ended up getting hit. They put the microphone in front of her. “I really didn’t get hit, just bumped. As you can see, I’m fine.”

  But that bump had ended up stopping her heart, Cary thought.

  Then they showed Chloe chatting with the girl and her sister. The older girl was about the same age as Bella and he could tell from the look on the kid’s face that she was a fan of Chloe’s work.

  His interest shifted to Chloe. She was wearing the same thing that she’d worn to the hospital that day—jeans and a light colored tank top. Had the program been filmed that day?

  His chest grew tight when he heard her talking to the two little girls. The way Chloe spoke to them was . . . so genuine. And right before the cameraman faded out of that scene, he could swear she had tears in her eyes.

  The reporter came back on the screen and began speaking to someone who worked at the bakery. The woman started telling how Chloe was hit by the same guy who had also shot a police officer.

  “Shit!” he said aloud. Who the hell had thought it was okay to put that information out there? If J.D. saw this, he might decide to take out their one witness.

  He found his phone and dialed Danny’s number again. No answer. Turner either. Pulling up his contact list, he considered calling Chloe. But what the hell would he say? Hey . . . remember me, the one you hit in the balls twice, and played in my banana pudding?

  He limped to the kitchen and found his keys. In person, he’d figure out how to put it. He didn’t know where she lived, but being a cop, he’d learned a few tricks. The trick being that you didn’t have to be a cop to find anyone’s address. He used his phone and Google and found it.

  Which meant J.D. could find it, too. Right before he reached for the doorknob, his doorbell rang. He moved to the window. A crazy thought hit. What if it was Beatrice Bacon? He carefully pried the blinds open, no way in hell did he want to face her. It hit then. Maybe the old lady was right. He was a coward. He ducked his head and looked out.

  All he saw was red.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cary’s gaze shifted up from the silky looking material, to the ample cleavage, then to the face. “Shit,” he muttered.

  Opening the door, he faced Paula, the flight attendant he’d had sex with a couple times a month for the last six months. He’d told her he couldn’t see her this weekend, hadn’t he?

  “Hey.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were shot? I had to read about it in the paper.”

  “Sorry, I . . .”

  “No, I apologize for stopping in unannounced,” she surged ahead as if his being shot wasn’t all that big of a deal. “But I tried to text you the way I always do, but my phone’s dead. And . . . I think I left my bracelet in your bathroom. And it matches this dress perfectly.”

  His head spun with all she’d said and landed on one thing. She’d heard he was shot, but she hadn’t come to see how he was doing—just to get her bracelet?

  Why did that feel wrong?

  She snuck around him and went to check for her jewelry. Right before she entered the hall, she looked back. “You could have at least told me you were shot.”

  It still wasn’t actual concern, but he guessed it was better than nothing. Still, he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Next time I’m shot, I’ll let you know.”

  She came out of his room a few seconds later, fitting her bracelet around her wrist. It did match her dress. The kind of dress a woman wore so a man would take it off. He didn’t have time to take it off of her.

  “Good,” she said and smiled seductively.

  He remembered his concern over Chloe. “I’m sorry, but I have to go—”

  “Oh, so do I,” she said. “I really just came for my bracelet. I . . . uh, have . . . plans.”

  Plans? “A date?” he asked.

  “You jealous?” She grinned.

  He searched his emotions to find the answer, and the answer was a clear no. “You’re a big girl,” he said.

  “You see, this is why we work.” She leaned up and kissed him and put her hand on his dick. His very loose, not interested dick.

  Seriously, the thing didn’t even twitch.

  “I’ll call you when I’m in town next week. I forget what day.” She continued to hold him in her hands.

  “Okay,” he said, getting slightly worried that nothing was happening down below.

  She glanced down at his crotch as if she was also concerned. “Hopefully, nothing else was hurt down there.”

  He watched her leave and realized he didn’t even like her. Why the hell had he been sleeping with her? Then he saw the way her hips swayed seductively.

  Okay, that was why.

  But it wasn’t enough. At least, it didn’t feel like it right now.

  He grabbed his gun, locked the front door, and limped to his car.

  • • •

  J.D.’s phone rang. He decided to let it go to voicemail. He and Carlos sat on the floor, their backs against the wall, as they ate the burgers he’d brought and drank the beers.

  “This place looks weird,” Carlos said. “You know, without your grandmother and her things here.”

  “I know,” J.D. said, but it still felt better being here than staying at the apartment Jax
had rented and allowed his members to hang at.

  “It sucks that she died,” Carlos said and J.D. couldn’t agree more. A knot tightened in his throat. He swallowed it hard and chased it down with a big sip of semi-cold beer.

  “You ever regret things?” J.D. asked Carlos.

  “Yeah,” Carlos laughed. “Not screwing that hot Carla Owens in high school. She had the hots for me for a while. I could’ve banged her if I’d tried a little harder.”

  J.D. shook his head. “Not those kind of things.”

  “What kind of things?” Carlos asked.

  “Like joining the Black Bloods. Not doing better.”

  “Better at what?” Carlos asked, looking confused.

  “Important things. Like school and . . .” Treating his grandmother better. Not that he meant to hurt her, but he did. He saw it in her eyes when he’d come in high or drunk.

  “You’re beginning to sound like that friggin’ social worker who kept coming out to talk to me. She said everyone needed to better themselves.”

  “Maybe she’s right.”

  “What’s wrong with you man?”

  “A man died because of me. I shot a cop. Hit a lady with my truck. That’s what’s wrong.”

  Carlos opened another beer. “Yeah, but if Jax had found out you knew that Tommy dude was snitch and you hadn’t told him, it would have been your ass dead. Besides, you didn’t pull the trigger.”

  “Maybe he should have killed me.”

  “Don’t go thinking like that, man.”

  They drank the rest of the beers and finished off the burgers and fries. J.D. handed Carlos a twenty.

  “You sure you got it? You can pay me later,” he said.

  “Nah,” he said. “Take it.”

  After Carlos left, J.D. got up to check his phone to see who called. As he feared, it was Jax again. He almost deleted the message, but for some reason, he put the phone to his ear to listen to it.

  “Look, Ghost. It’s show time. The news just did a story on that bitch you hit. They know you shot that cop, and were part of killing Tommy. You had better take care of her. I don’t like cleaning up other peoples’ messes. And if I have to do it, you become my mess. And it won’t be pretty, Ghost! All that blood on your white skin.”

  J.D. threw his phone on the wood floor and punched a hole in the sheetrock. His hand throbbed as he pulled it out. His knuckles were bleeding. He looked up at the angel on his ceiling. A few tears, from desperation, from fear, slipped down his face.

  He swiped them away. Then he grabbed his phone. Amazingly, the cell had less damage than his hand. And just like that, he realized Jax was right. This was his mess. He had to fix it.

  • • •

  Chloe stood in her bedroom, red dress, red underwear, and red lipstick. Before doing the marathon bath and dress up routine, she’d spent a good hour on the phone with her mom, assuring her she was okay and she didn’t need her to catch a plane home.

  “Enjoy yourself,” she’d told her mom, who hadn’t really gotten over the death of Chloe’s father. Now Chloe was trying to tell herself the same thing. Not that Jerry fell into any category near her father. The man had been a saint. To this day, she remembered the talk she’d had with him when the doctors told him he had only weeks. I really planned on being here for your mom to the end, Chloe. Make sure she does okay. Don’t let her shrivel up and die. She’s still young.

  That’s what she’d thought she’d been getting with Jerry. “Stop it!” she muttered. “No more Jerry. No more!”

  Putting on a silver necklace, she glanced in the mirror. All dressed up and wishing like hell she didn’t have any place to go. Twice, she’d picked up the phone to cancel. Twice, she’d remembered how good that dream with Cary Stevens had made her feel.

  Remembered how she wanted that in her life.

  But this wasn’t Cary. And everything inside her said that if it was him picking her up, she wouldn’t be so damn reluctant.

  She went to reach for her phone again to cancel for real, but that’s when she spotted the wedding gifts. No, Sheri was right. It was time.

  No way in hell did she plan on sleeping with Dan, but maybe she could just enjoy doing some light flirting. Hell, like Sheri said, Cary could hear she was dating Dan and . . . and what? What did she want him to do? Come running to her and admit he remembered their crazy experience in Room Six and in her dream? Tell her that . . . that he’d felt the insane connection between them and wanted to see if it was real?

  Yeah, that was what she wanted. What was the chance of that happening?

  Cupcake let out a meow from on top of her bed. She looked back at her. “What? Does this dress make my butt look big?”

  She meowed.

  “Thanks a lot. By the way, I’ve already put your food out. So go indulge.”

  She meowed again.

  “No, you don’t get treats until we go to bed.” The cat pawed at the air, looking too cute. “Sorry, no treat until bedtime. Your butt isn’t looking too small either.”

  Right then, her doorbell rang. Ready or not, it was show time.

  She slipped on her red sandals. Nothing too sexy. If anything, she hoped the simple shoes would tone down the dress. She caught her reflection in the mirror. There wasn’t cleavage showing, but the dress fit like a glove and showed her every curve. Oh, hell, the dress did say “take me off.”

  She looked at her closet and considered changing into the pink sundress. But the doorbell rang again. Blast it, , she was just being silly. Taking a deep breath, she took off for the door.

  Her palms felt a little damp. Nerves. But not the good kind.

  The doorbell sounded again. “Coming,” she said.

  She reached for the lock and then stopped. Stepping up on her tiptoes, she pressed her eyes to the peephole.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chloe saw blond hair. Then he shifted back and she saw Dan’s face. A nice face. Just not the face she wanted to go out with.

  Taking one more breath, hoping to find a sense of calm, she opened the door.

  His blue gaze met hers and he smiled and then went straight to the slow perusal men did. Not that it came off rude, just a bit bold. And it made her super self-conscious. But not so much so that she didn’t do her own perusal. Sporting a pair of khakis and button-down shirt that fit tight over his wide chest, he looked good.

  Yup, she had to give Sheri credit, Dan Anderson was indeed hot. Too bad she preferred the tall, dark and handsome types over the beach-looking charmer dudes. Too bad going in, she knew this wasn’t going to lead anywhere.

  “Wow. You look . . . great,” he said, going back in for another up and down glance. “Red’s your color.”

  “Not really,” she said, wondering how he would feel if she asked for a few seconds to change.

  “Oh, yes it is. And that dress is . . . It speaks to me.”

  Oh, hell! Why had she listened to Sheri? She really should have worn the pink dress. But it was too late now.

  She tilted her head up a bit. “Whatever this dress is saying to you, be fully warned, it’s lying.”

  He laughed. “Gorgeous and a sense of humor.”

  She sighed. Fine, she’d let him think she was joking.

  Snagging her purse off the entry table, she stepped out, hoping to make this a quick evening.

  • • •

  As Cary limped out to the parking lot, the sun hung low in the horizon, giving everything a dusty yellow glow. Looking up at the sky, he suddenly changed his mind about calling Chloe Sanders. He’d planned just to let her know he was on his way and for her not to open the door to anyone. When it rang, he got busy trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say.

  It was then, somewhere between ring one and two—trying to put his feelings into words—that he realized he was overreacting. He had no proof that anyone was going to go after Chloe. What were the chances of anyone who mattered, as in a gang member, actually watching a Neighbors to Neighbors show?

  He
stopped at his car, debated hanging up, and then decided what the hell.

  Phone still to his ear, he opened his car and climbed in. The afternoon heat seemed trapped in the vehicle.

  He pushed his keys in the ignition, his mind on so many things that he’d stopped listening to the ring. Her voice came on the line. Soft, almost lyrical. The line beeped for him to leave a message.

  He hesitated, completely unsure what to say, and then he just started talking. “Chloe, this is Cary. Cary Stevens. You . . . came up to my room. My hospital room. I was . . . naked.” He closed his eyes, wanting to kick himself for saying that. “Not that me being naked has anything to do with . . . Shit. Can you call me back ASAP, please?”

  He hung up and dropped his phone in the passenger seat. Then he just sat there, replaying his message in his head and wondering why the hell he’d said any of that. She was going to think he was a nut case.

  His phone rang. Was it her?

  He took a deep breath, and felt a thrill run down his backbone and grabbed his phone.

  “Shit,” he muttered, seeing Kelly’s number.

  He took the call.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Are you doing okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Resting?”

  “Just sitting here,” he said.

  “Okay, if you need me, call me, okay?”

  “I will, but I’m sure I won’t.”

  He started to hang up when he heard her say, “I love you.”

  “I know. I love you, too.”

  “We need to say it more often. The time while you were in the coma, all I could think was that I hadn’t told you that in weeks.”

  “Yeah, but even when you don’t say it, I know it.”

  “You can be sweet sometimes, can’t you?”

  “No, I’m just acting,” he said and ran his hand over the steering wheel.