Divorced, Desperate and Dead

by Christie Craig

  “Luck? Are you friggin’ kidding me? Two witnesses die within twenty-four hours and you call that bad luck?”

  “Whoa. Slow down, Turner. Don’t go making this into something that it isn’t. One was a fifty-year-old man with a heart attack, and the other was a car accident with someone who’s already gotten three DUIs.”

  “I don’t care if one of them died from an ingrown toenail, two witness deaths in twenty-four hours on a case like Jonnie Harper’s can’t be a coincidence. Harper swore the day we arrested him that he would never go to trial.”

  “I told you to calm down!” Cox said.

  “I’ll calm down when you do your damn job! Contact the prison and make sure they keep Rick Morris away from the other inmates, then get Reese Morris into protective custody.”

  “And I’ll bet you would love to be the one in charge of her, too!” Cox slapped his chubby, fisted hand down on his desk. “Damn it, Turner. If this case is in any jeopardy, it’ll be due to you fraternizing with Ms. Morris. If Harper’s lawyer suspects you and the witness were dirtying up the sheets, her testimony won’t mean shit. Then all we’ll have is her criminal brother.”

  In spite of what his boss and a few other officers thought, he hadn’t had sex with Reese. The fact that he’d been tempted as hell, and had come painfully close—meaning for the first time in his life, he understood the meaning of “blue balls”—it wasn’t any of their damn business.

  “Look—” Turner said.

  “No, you look. Don’t think I don’t know what you did by talking to the DA and getting Rick Morris put away on a lesser charge.”

  “He thought he was working for a nickel-and-dime dealer. He never was present during the big drops.”

  “It was your job to put him away, not get him off.”

  Turner leaned both palms on Cox’s desk. “Get Rick Morris and his sister some protection, or I swear if something happens to them, I’ll go to the press, sing like a canary, and say you were fully warned.”

  Cox’s bushy brows puckered and his chubby cheeks turned red. “You know, son, if your daddy hadn’t taken a bullet for me before God took his sorry ass, I’d be asking for your badge right now. Hell, I’d have asked for it a long time ago. Since your divorce, you’ve gone off the ledge. And for what? A woman? I know you want to compare yourself to your ol’ man, but he just got lucky in love. Most cops go through wives like cheap wallets. Get yourself right, or even my debt to your daddy won’t stop me from doing my job and taking yours from you. You got that?”

  He got it alright.

  The temptation to reach in his pocket and slam his gold shield on the desk bit so strong, his hands shook. The only reason he didn’t was because since Cox wasn’t going to do his job, Turner would have to do it for him. And that badge, he might need it. But he would get the damn job done. He owed Reese that much. Even if he had to turn his badge in afterward. The look in her sky blue eyes when she’d learned he’d been undercover and was behind her brother’s arrest hadn’t stopped flashing in his head for the last two months. And by damn, he wasn’t going to let some goon of Harper’s lay one finger on Reese. Or her brother, for that matter.

  He’d have to find a way to get to the warden. And he’d find Reese. Just because his boss wanted to stick his head up his own ass and not see the truth, didn’t mean Turner had to.

  He shot out of Cox’s office. Grabbing his phone, he dialed her number again. It went right to voicemail. He left his third message.

  “Reese, it’s me, Turner. I know I’m the last guy in the world you want to talk to, but . . .” He paused. He hadn’t told her his fears in the other messages. He didn’t want to scare her to death. But damn it, she had a reason to be scared. And if she wasn’t going to take his calls, she needed to know.

  “Look, Harper might be locked up, but he still has clout on the outside. And two of the other witnesses have wound up dead. Call me, please!”

  • • •

  Reese sat on the opposite side of the booth and met Casey’s soft brown eyes. She looked about ten years younger than Granny, her gray hair and wrinkles around her eyes told her age, but her slim and trim stature made her appear younger.

  “I should say thank you,” Casey said.

  “You’re welcome.” Reese smiled, feeling confident for the first time, and ignoring her phone vibrating against her right butt cheek.

  “I said I should say it, I wasn’t saying it.”

  “Oh.” So maybe Casey was as difficult as Granny.

  “Tell me the only reason you did this today was because you want a free meal and I’ll fix you anything you want. Blueberry pancakes and even some whipped cream. Then I’ll say thank you.”

  “Actually, I was hoping for a job.”

  “Hells bells! That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” Casey leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms over her chest. “My blueberry pancakes are really good, you should take ‘em while they’re still on the table.”

  Reese didn’t blink. “I need a job. Not pancakes.”

  Casey shook her head and frowned. “Sorry. It’s nothing personal, but I only hire locals.”

  Think fast. Think fast. “Uh, well, it appears you don’t have enough locals to get you through the morning rush.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because a couple of my gals took up modeling and another two got some job acting in a movie that’s being filmed close by. But they are all good girls, and they’ll realize what their calling really is, and they’ll come back begging for their jobs. They always do.”

  “Great,” Reese said, “But until then, hire me. I’m only looking for temporary work. A couple of months.”

  Casey let out a deep sigh. “I don’t even like serving out-of-towners, I can’t hire one.”

  “I did a good job, didn’t I?” Reese gave her the look her granny called ‘puppy dog eyes.’

  “Now, don’t you go looking at me like that!” Casey said. “If you’re hard-up for money, I can give you a few bucks for your work today.”

  “I’m not completely an out-of-towner.”

  “You’re not?” Casey leaned forward as if to study Reese’s face.

  “My family and I came here practically every summer.” One summer, well, make that three weeks, but that didn’t sound as impressive. But to Reese, it meant the world. Those were some of her last memories of her parents. A week later, they’d been killed in a car crash.

  “Now you’re lying to me, Child.”

  Damn it, Granny always said Reese couldn’t lie worth a flying flip. “Okay, one summer.”

  Casey’s eyes tightened. “Try again.”

  “Three weeks—but it was a really good three weeks and we ate here almost every day. I remember it like it was yesterday. The pictures are the same and the swordfish still has his broken nose. And it was called Casey’s Honkytonk Diner back then, so I’m sure you were here, too.”

  The diner’s owner continued to study her. “So, why are you here now?”

  “I’m a teacher and wanted to do something different for the summer.” That was partly true.

  “What part of Texas are you from?”

  She hadn’t said anything about Texas, but she guessed her twangy accent gave her away. “Glencoe, right outside Houston.”

  “You’re here for the treasure, aren’t you?” Casey asked, with an accusing tone. “Damn treasure hunters, nothin’ but trouble, that’s what you are.”

  “Treasure? What treasure?”

  “All you out-of-towners are the same. You flood in here hoping to find it every year.”

  Reese vaguely recalled the town’s legend of a pirate burying some treasure. It also included something about werewolves, but Reese wasn’t looking for those either. “I’m not here for the treasure.”

  “Then what are you here for? And don’t make up no shit. I’m just like a human lie detector.”

  Reese swallowed and spoke with honesty. “Peace. I’m here to find some peace.”

  Casey leaned back in
the booth again. “Some guy break your heart?”

  More than one. Reese nodded. “Two years ago, my fiancé, my one and only soul mate, died the day before our wedding.”

  “And?” Casey asked as her eyes went to the front of the diner, where an older gentleman walked in. Reese noted the woman’s gaze lingered on the customer.

  “I didn’t say ‘and,’” Reese said when Casey refocused on her.

  “I heard an ‘and,’” Casey insisted and leaned forward. “Lookie here, young lady, the good Lord blessed me with three things: cooking, reading people, and a nice pair of tits that’ve only lost some of their bounce.”

  Reese didn’t let her eyes lower to the woman’s boobs. It just wasn’t polite. Neither was bragging about your girls to a stranger! Reese took a second to ask herself if she really wanted to work for this bat-shit crazy lady.

  The question hadn’t made a lap around her mind when the warm, homey smell of bacon filled her nose and she saw a family of four sit in the booth where she and her parents had sat all those years ago. The answer shot back. She wanted this job. Wanted to be here. Besides, Casey kind of reminded Reese of Granny. She got along just fine with bat-shit crazy.

  Casey’s gray eyes never wavered as she repeated, “And . . . ?”

  “And . . . after two years, I met another guy who made me question the ‘only one’ soul mate theory. He made me laugh. He made me want to love again. Then I learned he’d been lying to me all along. And for some crazy reason, my broken heart led me back here.” To remember a time before I had my very first heartbreak—losing my parents.

  Yup, there were things Reese wasn’t about to own up to. Things Casey didn’t need to know. Like her parents’ accident—Reese didn’t need pity—and her being a witness to a murder, and her brother being in jail for inadvertently working for said murderer.

  Reese held her breath, hoping the truth she’d offered passed Casey’s lie detector test. Then she pushed the past where it needed to go, in her mental compost heap. Letting out a bit of air, she didn’t look away from Casey’s intense scrutiny.

  “I hate broken heart stories,” the woman said, and her gaze appeared lured back to the man in the booth. “Unfortunately, out-of-towners don’t get my customers. And my customers don’t get out-of-towners.”

  The woman had no more glanced back at her, when in the corner of Reese’s eye, she saw the older man lower his paper and give Casey a once-over.

  Remembering her objective, Reese focused back on the diner’s owner. “I get your customers. I know what they want. Food. Service. A good time. Hot coffee. I . . . I make people smile, and your clientele will have a good time. They’ll enjoy your cooking even more. You’ll have happy customers.”

  “You can make people smile?” the woman asked and frowned.

  “Yup. I’m just likable. It’s the Texas charm.” That might be some Lone Star bullshit, but her desperation called for it.

  “You seem awful sure of yourself,” Casey said.

  “I am. Give me a job and I’ll prove it.”

  “No, you prove it then I’ll give you a job.” She crossed her arms over her ample chest and her gaze shifted again back to the gentleman behind the paper. Her expression softened and saddened. Then she refocused on Reese and continued, “But if you fail to prove yourself, you’ll eat my blueberry pancakes, take a little compensation for your work, and be on your way. Fair?”

  “Fair enough. How do I prove it?” Casey asked.

  “Take your Texas charm over there and make Frank smile.”

  “Who?”

  “Frank. The man in booth one, reading the paper. He lost his wife a year ago. He comes in here every day wearing that same sad face. The only thing he says is ‘give me the special.’”

  Casey heard the challenge in the older woman’s voice, but she heard something else, too. The woman cared about Frank—and not just because he was a local.

  “You make that grumpy, grief-stricken man smile, and you’ve got a job.”

  A challenge. Reese looked back at the long lost puppy face Frank wore. Not just a challenge, but a tough one. But she’d faced worse in the last two months. She’d faced watching a man get shot. She’d faced watching her brother get arrested. She’d faced Trey Freedman . . . or she should say, Turner Calder, and all his lies. Surely, she could make one sourpuss of an old man smile.

  Excerpt from Divorced, Desperate and Daring

  Keep reading for an excerpt from the newest book

  in the Divorced and Desperate series,

  Divorced, Desperate and Daring,

  available now!

  Smart and sassy . . .

  Sheri Thompson knew better. She could spot a horn dog from a mile away, especially when she’d been warned about him countless times by her best friend. Still, when Danny started smooth-talking Sheri at that same friend’s wedding, she couldn’t resist. It was the best one-night stand of her life. Heck, the best night of her life. And then she woke up alone.

  Divorced and determined to stay that way . . .

  Detective Danny Henderson didn’t like fear, but he’d felt a lot of it that morning he’d woken up feeling all warm and cozy next to the one woman that might just make an honest man of him. Six months later, fear has punched him in the gut again, but worse this time. He’s investigating a murder plot . . . a planned hit. The target: Sheri Thompson. This time his fear won’t get the best of him. He’ll kick ass to keep her safe and make sure he gets a second chance at countless more nights with the woman of his dreams.

  Prologue

  Sheri Thompson hated strapless dresses, especially bridesmaid dresses. Probably one of the few straight fashion designers had invented them just so women would feel the need to wear push-up bras. Hell, a man had probably invented that bra. And she hated them, too.

  Push-up bras. Not necessarily men.

  She was still uncomfortably straddling the fence about the male gender. The breakup with her fiancé had done more damage than she wanted to admit. No, it wasn’t really the breakup. It was the announcement of his engagement to someone else a mere two months later that had left her feeling romantically dysfunctional. Not a full-fledged man hater, just a man avoider.

  Still, she hadn’t completely boycotted men. She had a date next week with almost-tall, almost-dark and almost-handsome Mark. She even almost had a good feeling about him.

  Standing in front of the occupied bathroom, needing a little privacy to readjust her “girls,” she glanced up at the clock hanging in the hall. Five minutes ’til countdown.

  She heard the music start. Chloe, her best friend and the bride-to-be, was probably panicking that her maid of honor wasn’t standing court. But who wanted to walk down the aisle with one boob two inches higher than the other, especially when the other was being pinched to death?

  Sheri really should have checked the bra size again before buying it. When a B push-up did its thing on C-sized boobs, the result came out wonky.

  The music increased its tempo. Oh, hell, she didn’t have time to wait. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she leaned forward, stuck her hand into her bra, and readjusted her left boob.

  “Need some help?” a deep voice asked with a chuckle as smooth as warm fudge.

  Oh, friggin’ hell. Yanking her right hand off her left boob and out of her dress, she lifted her eyes at Danny Henderson, the best man, who obviously had been occupying the bathroom.

  “Real funny,” she said, her smile coming too naturally for a man avoider.

  “Hey, just trying to be helpful.”

  “My girls are in a bind,” she said.

  “Happens to me all the time.” His sexy grin was both contagious and flirtatious. The twinkle in his blue eyes was downright alluring. Add the well-fitted tux covering over six feet of muscle and brawn, and this man should be outlawed.

  Actually, he was. Not that he’d done anything illegal. He was a detective for the Glencoe, Texas, Police Department. But Chloe had made it clear—Danny w
as off-limits to Sheri.

  Oh, Chloe liked Danny. Sheri could hear her friend’s words just a few months ago. “He’d take a bullet for Cary. But no way is my best friend going to be on his conquest list.”

  Sheri first met Danny a year ago—while she was still engaged to Kevin—and she’d tried to set him up with Chloe. Luckily, it didn’t take, because that was before Sheri knew about his wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am reputation.

  Thank goodness her friend had found Cary before Danny had bammed her. Sheri would neuter anyone who hurt Chloe.

  And a neutered Danny—Sheri gazed up at him again, caught in his charm—would have been a shame. Not for her, because she wasn’t into whams, bams or thank you ma’ams. But for the women who were, it would have been a tragedy.

  She inhaled deeply. The pinch in her right boob slowly increased, and she felt like it might just pop up and out of her bra. “This isn’t going to work.” The music touched her ears again. Frowning, she accepted what she had to do. Only she couldn’t do it alone.

  She offered Danny a wanna-be-my-hero grin. “I’m sure you get asked this all the time. Can you unzip me and unhook my bra?” She swung around, glancing up at him over her bare shoulder.

  His soft laugh stirred her hair and tickled her senses. He touched the base of her neck. Then, slowly, as if time waited on him alone, he started unzipping. She held the dress to her chest as the pink chiffon loosened.

  His finger—just one—inched down her naked back with the zipper. A complaint danced on the tip of her tongue but then instantly dissolved like sugar.

  She couldn’t think. All she could do was feel. His touch moved so leisurely—down, between her shoulder blades, down to the small of her back—down way past her bra hook. Then lower. She bet he could see the trim of her pink silk panties. His intent? No doubt to seduce. And he’d succeeded.

  She shivered when his breath tickled the tender spot at the back of her neck. She could almost feel his lips against her bare skin. A vision of him kissing the same path his finger took filled her mind. Her knees felt shaky. Finally, his touch moved up and unhooked her bra.