Divorced, Desperate and Dead

by Christie Craig

  Oh, he knew it had to do with jealousy. Bastard had his hand up her skirt.

  So yeah, he’d sort of accepted that the whole Sheri issue had left him a little broken. That’s why he hadn’t seen any other women since. But he’d tried to convince himself it hadn’t been all her. Life had become a little simpler without dating, and he’d concluded that he’d started to like simple.

  He thought he’d moved past her.

  He hated being wrong. But now he knew. He’d been lying to himself. Because the thought of this guy making love to his Sheri had acid working its way through his second layer of stomach lining.

  Then he suddenly remembered something the guy said.

  He smiled. “You’ve been dating him a month and haven’t slept with him?”

  “Is your gun loaded?” she asked, her eyes tight and bright. Beautiful.

  He didn’t laugh, but he wanted to. Damn, she was cute when mad. “Always loaded.”

  “Can I borrow it?”

  A sudden, loud thump came from the back of the house.

  She whipped her head around. “Coming.”

  “Who’s that?” Had he lowered his guard too soon? She started hotfooting down the hall. “Sheri, stop!”

  She didn’t. He bolted down the hall after her, but before he got to her, she opened the door. When he saw what came out, his hand went back to his holster.

  He didn’t draw his weapon. But he backed up, really fast, and stopped only when his ass hit the kitchen island. “What is that?”

  “Taco,” Sheri replied, petting the dog as he stopped beside her.

  “That’s one big . . . Taco.” The dog, black and tan and the size of a large lion, kept coming. He finally stopped right in front of Danny, then yawned. The dog’s nose actually came to Danny’s chest. He displayed a nice set of choppers and a mouth so big Danny’s head would have easily fit inside.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t his head the dog was after. The beast lowered his nose and pressed it right in Danny’s crotch. Then he growled.

  Feeling the vibration all the way in his boys, Danny didn’t dare move. “Uh . . . Can you call off your dog?”

  Sheri smirked. And damn if it wasn’t kind of adorable. He’d forgotten how pretty she was. Not so much beautiful, like a stunning model. She was dimples-when-she-smiles kind of pretty. Touch-me kind of pretty. Treat-me-bad-and-you’ll-regret-it kind of pretty. He knew that one for certain. The monster of a dog growled again, as if to remind Danny he held his package under dire threat. Slowly, Danny put his hand on the dog’s head and gently nudged him away.

  Taco let out another low rumble, lifted his neck, sniffed at the air, and stared Danny right in the eyes. When the animal barked, Danny flinched.

  But that wasn’t the worst part. It was the drool. It started oozing out of the dog’s mouth. Only it didn’t really ooze out. It hung there. A long stream of it. He barked again. The drool gathered momentum and finally plopped to the floor. But then another long string appeared.

  “What . . . does he want?” Danny asked, sidestepping, trying to avoid being slimed.

  “His food. It’s on the island. Now start talking.”

  Danny looked at the huge bowl of dog food beside the open fifty-pound bag. The animal growled again. Or maybe it wasn’t so much a growl as a moan. But any noise that came out of a super-sized animal sounded threatening.

  “You want to feed him?” he asked.

  “I want an explanation!” she fumed.

  “Yeah, and Taco Grande here wants his dinner. So feed him and we’ll talk.”

  “You’re standing right beside his food.”

  Not by choice. He eyed the beast.

  “Coward.” She shot forward, snagged the food and placed it at Danny’s feet. He got a whiff of her scent, and it took him back to their night together so fast that he ran a hand over his face. He’d smelled it on a couple of women since, and each time he’d been hit with regrets and reminded of what a fool he’d been.

  “I’m not scared of him.” He watched the animal scarf down the kibble while crunching noises filled the kitchen. A mixture of drool and food oozed out of the animal’s mouth. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Danny!” she snapped, demanding his attention away from the beast, but it was like a car wreck, hard to look away from.

  “What kind of dog is he?”

  “He’s an English mastiff. What are you doing here?” She lifted one hand and Velcroed that sucker to her hip like an angry teacher.

  “Let’s sit down.” He motioned to the entrance of the living room.

  She shot out of the room, and he followed. His gaze took in the pissed-off swish of her ass as she moved. His mind recalled her naked. Her happy. Her laughing.

  Oh, hell, he wanted a rewind button to go back to that night.

  When she dropped down on the sofa, he went to the chair on the other side of the coffee table. Her light red blouse had a scooped neckline. The hint of cleavage gave him flashbacks.

  She slapped her palms on her legs. “If this is about Chloe finding out, well, it’s not my fault. She figured it out all on her own. And it sure as hell doesn’t warrant you showing up here!”

  “It’s not about that.” Where to start? “We did a drug bust last week. Today, one of the guys we picked up wanted to swap some info for a lighter sentence. It was about a hired hit. I—”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  His phone rang. He pulled it out to see the number. Cary. He almost didn’t answer it but then he remembered he’d left a somewhat alarming message on the guy’s phone.

  He glanced back up at her. Struck again by how pretty she was, even when she was unhappy. On the tip of his tongue was another apology. But what number would this be? Thirty? Thirty-five?

  “It’s Cary. I called him about this. Let me tell him I’ll call him back.”

  “Called him about what?”

  “One second.” Danny took the call. “Hey . . .”

  “What the hell’s happening?” Cary asked.

  Danny looked up at Sheri. His gut tightened at her ticked-off expression. “Uh, I . . .” Why couldn’t she understand he’d made a mistake? “Can I call you right back?”

  “No!” Cary’s voice rose. “Answer me. Chloe’s freaking out.”

  “Look, I’m here at Sheri’s now. She’s safe. I’ll call you right back.”

  “No. Danny, what’s—”

  Danny had been about to hang up, but Sheri shot up, jerked the phone from his hands and did it for him.

  She handed the phone back with a stern glare. “What the hell is going on?”

  He had to just tell her. “Someone approached this guy to do a hit.”

  “What in God’s name does that have to do with me?”

  Everything. “It was a hit on a Sheri Thompson.”

  • • •

  A what? Sheri sank into her tan leather sofa. As Danny watched her, a frown pulled at his expression. She blinked and was tempted to pinch herself again.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Her mind couldn’t wrap around it. Didn’t want to wrap around it.

  “Who?” She finally spit out the one-word question. “Who wants to kill me?”

  “We don’t know.”

  Her brain grasped for straws and found one. Someone hired a hit on . . . “A Sheri Thompson?” That’s what he’d said. “Not . . .,” she touched her chest, “necessarily me, right?”

  “Right.”

  “There are several other Sheri Thompsons here in Glencoe and the Hoke’s Bluff area,” she said, sitting up as she thought out loud.

  “I know,” he said. “But until—”

  “One of them never pays her bills. Another, or maybe even the same one, I don’t know for sure, is having an affair with a married man. Oh, and a redheaded Sheri Thompson skipped out on bail. I don’t know what she was arrested for, but it couldn’t be good.”

  His eyes tightened. “How do you know this?”

  “First, b
ecause that’s the reason I got rid of my landline. I got calls all the time looking for Sheri Thompson. The bill collectors. The angry wife. You wouldn’t believe the names she called me.” She leaned back on her sofa. Taco came strolling in with long strings of drool hanging from his jowls.

  “Towel!” she said. The dog turned and walked back in the kitchen.

  “Second, a bail bondsman showed up at my door. If that Sheri Thompson hadn’t been forty, redheaded and only five feet tall, I probably would’ve been carted off to jail.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “So maybe a few of the Sheris are better candidates, but—” He stopped talking when Taco came in with a towel in his mouth.

  She rubbed the dog’s face with the dangling ends of the towel to collect his drool. Then she chucked the towel to the corner.

  “Impressive,” he muttered.

  “It’s not just that they are better candidates, I’m not a candidate. I work PR. Most of my clients are either florists or children’s writers. I volunteer at the animal shelter. I don’t have enemies.” I’m a preacher’s daughter. “Who would want me dead?”

  He actually seemed to consider the question. “The guy who just left here seemed pretty pissed off.”

  “He wasn’t until you showed up. We were getting along just fine.”

  “Yeah, I saw.” His tone indicated he thought he had a right to tell her who she should or shouldn’t make out with.

  He so better not go there! The man was a horn dog. Full-fledged, pedigreed horn dog.

  “Look, this is silly. You are making a big deal out of something that doesn’t even involve me. And there’s a Sheri out there who needs to be protected. So why don’t you go—”

  “No.” His expression went from stubborn to damn stubborn. “Until we know for sure, it’s a big deal. And I’ve got someone checking on them.”

  Sheri’s cell, still in the kitchen, rang. She took off. Danny followed. She grabbed her phone and looked over her shoulder at him. “It’s Chloe. She’s probably all upset.”

  Right then, Danny’s phone rang again. He looked down and then added, “It’s Cary. He’s pissed. No probably about it.”

  She waved her hand. “Answer it and tell him you overreacted.”

  “I didn’t overreact,” Danny said.

  She glared at him. He glared right back. After three more rings, both of their phones stopped ringing, only to be replaced by another ring. Or rather a bell. Her doorbell. Taco barked and ran to sniff out the visitor.

  She took a step to answer it.

  Danny caught her arm. “Don’t answer it until you know who it is.”

  His touch sent currents of emotion right to her chest, bringing with it memories of their night. One night. It shouldn’t have left such an impression on her, but it had. How could something that felt that right have been all wrong? She stared at his hand holding her. He let go.

  She went to take another step.

  He caught her again but didn’t hold on this time. “From here. Ask who it is, from here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Who is it?” she called out. Taco made snorting noises as he sniffed around the bottom of the door.

  “Pizza delivery,” the male voice answered.

  Pizza? Her breath got stuck on her tonsils. She looked at Danny. Hadn’t she just seen a Law and Order where the hit man pretended to be . . .

  “You didn’t order pizza, did you?” he asked, but she could tell by his expression, and probably due to her own expression, he already knew the answer.

  He pulled out his gun.

  This had to be a nightmare! She reached down and pinched herself again.

  After captivating millions across the globe, the Shadow Falls saga reaches its final—and most unforgettable—chapter yet! Prepare to fall in love all over again with . . .

  MIDNIGHT HOUR

  For more information, visit www.cchunterbooks.com

  About the Author

  New York Times bestselling author Christie Craig grew up in Alabama, where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and regularly rescued potential princes, in the form of bullfrogs, from her brothers. Today, she’s still fascinated with lightning bugs, mostly wears shoes, but has turned her focus to rescuing mammals and hasn’t kissed a frog in years. She now lives in Texas with her four rescued cats, one dog—who has a bad habit of eating furniture, a son, and a prince of a husband who swears he’s not, and never was, a frog.

  If Christie isn’t writing, she’s reading, sipping wine, or just enjoying laughter with her friends and family. As a freelance writer, Christie has over 3,000 national credits, as well as three works of non-fiction, including the humorous self-help/relationship book, Wild, Wicked & Wanton: 101 Ways to Love Like You’re in a Romance Novel. Christie writes humorous romances novels for Grand Central, as well as the New York Times-bestselling Shadow Falls series, under the pen name C.C. Hunter. Contact Christie—she loves hearing from readers—or learn more about her and her work through her website: www.christie-craig.com.