Trouble Me: A Rosewood Novel

by Laura Moore

  She shrugged. “And what if he is?”

  “Then you should let this detective you hired do his job.”

  Dropping to one knee to check the fastenings on Valentine’s jumping boots, she muttered, “I am,” before scooting around to Valentine’s other hind leg, avoiding Margot’s skeptical gaze.

  “Bull. Jade, this has all the makings of a disaster. And what about Rob?”

  Jade straightened. “What about him?” she asked guardedly.

  “What are you going to say if Rob finds out you’re going out with Topher—a guy who has on the prowl written all over him? I can’t imagine he’d be too happy about that.”

  She couldn’t either, and it made the niggling worry in the pit of her stomach tighten into a hard lump of anxiety. “I’ll deal with it.”

  Margot gave her a long look and then sighed. “I wish you’d reconsider.”

  “I can’t, Margot.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Margot said sadly.

  WITH ITS leather-covered stools, dark-wood tables, polished-brass bar fixtures, and ceiling beams, the Brass Horn Pub had the sort of “olde English” feel to it that made it popular with tourists. The locals liked it too, because it had an excellent selection of beers and ales on tap and a decent-size parking lot—a bonus in a town where parking was limited.

  It appealed too because of its proximity to the Coach House. One could meet for drinks at the Horn and then mosey on next door and finish the evening at the more sophisticated Coach House—whose cuisine made it a destination restaurant. But a growing number of the pub’s customers were choosing to stay and dig in to the menu’s offerings of shepherd’s pie, fish and chips, or burgers and, on weekend nights, to listen to the live bands the owners hired.

  Luckily, the live music didn’t start until after 8:00 P.M. All to the good, since Jade wanted to be able to hear what Topher had to say. The sooner she could decide whether he really might have been her mother’s adored TM, the sooner she could split.

  She was running late for her so-called date with him, despite having given the minimum attention to her appearance. After showering off the sweat from her workout with Cosmo and Griffin—a two-year-old dark-gray gelding that Ned had suggested she might like to begin training—she’d pulled on a pair of pencil-leg black jeans and a multicolored knit wraparound sweater that she’d snatched up on sale at Anthropologie.

  Fussing with her hair had been out of the question; the day had been too long, the entire week too long, to exert that kind of energy. And why bother anyway? Impressing Topher wasn’t her aim. After blow-drying her hair, she let it hang down her back. Lip gloss was applied not out of vanity but to soothe her bottom lip. She’d unconsciously been gnawing all day, the result of second-guessing the wisdom of meeting Topher for a drink but also of fretting over Eugene Harrison’s continued absence from school. This last had worried her enough to ask Ted Guerra for advice. Far more sanguine about Eugene’s absence, Ted had nonetheless promised to call the Harrisons himself if Eugene didn’t return to class on Monday.

  Preoccupied with figuring out how to resolve what was clearly becoming an increasingly uncomfortable situation with the Harrisons—the elder Harrisons, that is—Jade could only muster faint amusement at the fact that she’d sought an authority figure’s help to handle a problem.

  Not so long ago, her rebellious self would never have dreamed of consulting her principal for anything. And as for that other authority figure who’d played such a huge role in her defiant youth, never in her wildest imaginings would she have predicted she’d find herself half in love with Rob Cooper.

  Her feelings for Rob were a topic she was trying not to think about. They were too big, too scary. Contemplating them was like jumping off a cliff into the waves of a dazzling azure ocean and then hitting the water and feeling its vastness close over her head.

  No matter how good a swimmer she might be, there was no stopping the panicky sensation that she might not be strong enough to navigate this new element or ever reach the surface.

  Fridays were Fridays; even the Brass Horn’s large parking lot was full. Jade was forced to circle the lot a couple of times before hitting the jackpot and spotting a car that was leaving. After pulling into the empty space, she got out and slammed the Porsche’s door, glanced at her watch, and frowned. She hadn’t been able to call to tell Topher she was late, since by asking Travis for his cell number she would have risked running into Margot and seeing the disappointment on her face.

  Her family had done so much for her, and once again she was letting them down. Better to get the evening over and done without involving them. She’d caused them enough distress.

  It would be a typical twist of fate if it were all for nothing and Topher, deciding he’d waited long enough, had left the pub, she thought, as she hurried to the entrance and pulled open the carved oak door.

  Rob loved his hometown, with its beautiful location among Virginia’s rolling hills. As a cop, he appreciated the fact that the crime that existed in Warburg was, for the most part, mainly property crime. As in most towns in America, drugs were to be found, but substances like methamphetamines and heroin hadn’t made any real inroads.

  Cocaine and prescription-drug abuse were a different story. The town’s profile—moneyed and sophisticated, with a sizable number of residents considering themselves quite the jet-setters, who liked to vacation in Palm Beach or Aspen in the winter and Cabo or Mallorca in the spring—created far too welcoming an environment for dealers. The drugs’ presence and the chilling potential for serious crime that accompanied them enraged him. Each time he was able to bust a dealer or nail a user was a sweet victory.

  Today was no exception. The bust had been especially fine—neat and serendipitous. Rob had pulled over an electric-blue souped-up Subaru Impreza that blew past his speed trap. The driver was a Caucasian homeboy who luckily wasn’t so stupid as to try to outrace him or use the heat he was packing when Rob asked for his license and registration.

  The license and registration both came up clean. But the kid was nineteen years old and living in a D.C. area that was seeing a spike in crime. What was he doing tearing through Warburg at 3:00 P.M.? Then there were his eyes. They held more fear than even a pricey speeding ticket should warrant.

  Heeding a gut instinct, Rob called for backup, and his brother Scott was there in two minutes. Seeing the flashing lights of Scott’s patrol car in his rearview mirror, Rob approached the Subaru and asked Jimmy Winn to step out of his car.

  The kid complied readily enough.

  But then Scott pulled up in front of the Subaru, effectively blocking it. Climbing out of his cruiser, Scott began to walk toward them.

  Having a second uniformed cop approach must have triggered the kid’s panic, sending it into the red zone. Abruptly, he tried to dive back into the car. Rob, already on high alert, was faster. Hauling him back, he pinned Jimmy against the side of the car.

  A pat-down that wasn’t nearly as invasive as a TSA search produced the Glock 19 the kid was packing. Sending a prayer of gratitude that the kid hadn’t been stupid or scared enough to fire it, Rob read Jimmy his Miranda rights.

  Jimmy chose to remain silent while Scott proceeded to search the Subaru’s interior. He changed tactics when Scott came upon the plastic-wrapped stash of coke tucked away in the spare-tire well, promising to tell them whatever they wanted to know. So while Scott stayed behind to have the Subaru impounded, Rob and a handcuffed Jimmy took a quick trip to the station, where they had a very successful chat.

  It turned out Jimmy Winn was a runner but still fairly new at the game of shuttling back and forth between the dealer and the users, who put in orders for their coke to be delivered to them like pizza or Chinese food. Caught red-handed and with the charges piling up fast against him, Jimmy had the wits to cooperate, understanding it might help him down the road in a plea bargain.

  Within an hour, he’d given them the name of the dealer in D.C. and the address in Warburg where he’d made a d
rop-off to a couple of high school kids. He’d also provided their first names (not even these kids were stupid enough to have given him their surnames) and detailed physical descriptions. To demonstrate his goodwill, he told them where in Leesburg he’d been heading to drop off the rest of the coke, information the Leesburg police would be extremely grateful to receive.

  Later, while Jimmy sat with a DEA agent and a lawyer, Rob’s uncle Joe sent Rob and Scott, along with Phil Grimaldi and Tory Bryant, two other officers on the force, to pay a visit to the address Jimmy had supplied. Their luck held. With the parents God-knows-where, the kids were starting their Friday partying early. The cops busted the lot of them.

  With the station populated by scared-stiff adolescents, Rob found himself comparing this bunch to the teenage Jade of years ago.

  She’d been just as scared and defiant as these kids. The difference was that underneath that defiance there’d been a deep unhappiness, an unhappiness caused by the tragic loss of her parents. These kids, slouched sullenly on the plastic chairs, exuded boredom and a gross sense of entitlement.

  Rob had enough experience dealing with teen delinquency to recognize that if Jade hadn’t been so mired in misery, she probably wouldn’t have gotten into the trouble she had. This wasn’t to say she wasn’t a real spitfire, however, he thought with an inner smile. She was that and more, and he was pretty stuck on her.

  If these kids were smart, they’d figure out a way to turn their lives around, as Jade had. He hoped for their sake they were.

  Pleased with the afternoon’s busts, Uncle Joe told Rob to head on home. “Phil, Tory, and I will talk to the kids’ parents when they get here. A talk I hope they never forget. You did good work today.” With a pat to Rob’s shoulder, Uncle Joe rounded his desk and sank into his creaky chair.

  Since Rob’s uncle was not a man prone to praise or favoritism, those words meant a lot. “Thanks.”

  Scott stuck his head through the open doorway. “My shift’s ending, Uncle Joe, but if you need me to stay—”

  “You’re on duty tomorrow, right?” At Scott’s nod, Joe said, “No, you go on. You’ll be back here soon enough.”

  “So how about celebrating with a brew at the Horn, since today you proved once and for all that you are a master of the speed trap?” Scott asked Rob as he stepped into their uncle’s office. “The beer’s on me,” he added with a grin.

  “I’d take him up on that, Rob. Offers like that come once in a blue moon from Scott.”

  Scott clutched his breast. “Uncle Joe, you wound me.”

  “Not funny, Scott,” Uncle Joe returned with a scowl. “Not when that punk was packing a Glock. We’re damned lucky he didn’t lose his head and start shooting. Christ. Cocaine and Glocks in Warburg. I hate it.”

  “Why don’t you show those parents just what the delivery boy who dropped off their darlings’ blow had stuck inside the waistband of his jeans? It might scare some sense into them,” Rob suggested.

  “Not a bad idea. I just might do that. Well, you two go enjoy that beer. You’ve earned it. And, Rob, hug Hayley for me. You both having dinner with Megan and Jim?”

  “Yeah. Hayley and Mom have been cooking. Dinner is Mom’s special meatballs and an apple cake. We’ve got more apples at home than we know what to do with.”

  Uncle Joe rubbed his belly. “Meatballs, huh?”

  Rob hid a grin. “You should drop by later. You know Mom always makes enough to feed an army.”

  “Might do that—if my appetite isn’t soured by these outraged, whining parents.”

  “You ready for that beer, Rob?”

  Rob checked his watch. He didn’t want to be late for dinner at his parents’. Hayley would be eager to have him taste the meatballs she’d helped make. “Yeah, but I can only stay for one.”

  “Hell, I wasn’t inviting you for two. You did good today, little brother, but not that good.”

  The after-work crowd filled the Brass Horn. As she entered the bustling pub, Jade scanned the patrons standing by the bar. Relief filled her when she didn’t see a single blond-headed man there. The relief was odd, since she was still consumed with the need to discover the identity of TM. So why was she just as happy that Topher wasn’t standing there, drink in hand?

  The question remained unanswered until she looked across the crowded barroom and saw him at a table next to the paneled wall. He must have been on the lookout for her. The second their eyes connected, a smug smile of satisfaction spread over his face. Half rising, he summoned her with a wave that was a tad too imperious. There was the answer to why she’d been happy not to spot him. Now there was no way to avoid his pompous attitude for the next hour.

  Threading her way past occupied tables, she was halfway to Topher’s when she abruptly realized he wasn’t alone. A woman was sitting at the table, her back to Jade. All Jade had time to note was a magenta blouse and long dark-brown hair secured in a high ponytail, and then the woman was rising and turning.

  The smile pasted on Blair Hood’s face was pure poison.

  “Hi, Jade. Long time no see.”

  “Hello, Blair. Yeah, it’s been quite a while.” She could have added that never would have been too soon, but that would have been catty. She didn’t intend to stoop to Blair’s level.

  “Hey there, Jade. Take a seat,” Topher said, and he gestured to the chair next to him and opposite Blair. “Blair and I have been catching up. You guys were in the same grade in high school, right? You two keep in touch much since graduation?”

  “No, not really,” Jade said. A glance at his frat-boy grin told her he was totally clueless. He had no idea that she and Blair had been mortal enemies in high school. His satisfied expression spoke only of a male ego deeply gratified at having two good-looking females at his side. There’d have been something else there, a sly smirk, if he was aware that Blair had been the architect of Jade’s most miserable moments in high school.

  And there were plenty to choose from. Blair and her friends had circulated rumors about Jade’s mom cheating on her dad; they’d amused themselves and all their Facebook friends by Photoshopping Jade’s face onto a naked porn star’s body. And though Jade had never gotten solid proof, she was pretty sure it had been Blair who placed the anonymous tip to the cops informing them of minors drinking at the Den, a call Blair would have placed after ditching Jade at the bar and only when she herself was at a safe remove.

  Jade was the first to admit that she’d been an idiot to believe, even for a millisecond, that Blair, after about twenty months of hating her, would suddenly perform an about-face and decide she wanted to be Jade’s BFF and hang with her at the Den. In her own defense, Jade had been pretty messed up, having just discovered her mom’s diary and all the ugly secrets inside those pages. Otherwise she might have recognized Blair’s offer of an olive branch as yet another of her nasty games, a setup. Blair had been so eager to get her into a place where she could get busted, she’d even given Jade a fake ID.

  Jade had never been a saint, not now and not in high school. Early on in their guerrilla war, she’d retaliated against Blair by making out with Dean McCallister. A football jock and pretty cute, he’d been extremely popular. Blair had been dying to go out with him and thought the house party would be the night it became “official”; Jade made sure it didn’t happen.

  The moment had not been Jade’s finest; she loathed having used Dean to get back at Blair (though at least Dean had enjoyed a serious snogging session before passing out from the shots and beer chasers he’d done).

  The memory made her pause.

  Blair, Dean, Topher, and her. The connections were a little too cozy. It would be too weird for words if, on top of everything else, Topher and her mother had been involved. But she wasn’t likely to find out about what he’d been up to seven years ago if Blair was with them.

  Jade had ignored Topher’s suggestion that she take a seat. “I can see you and Blair are enjoying the chance to reconnect, so I’ll just head off. You and I can have
that drink another day, Topher.” Or not, she added silently. She’d suddenly decided that Greg Hammond could deal with ferreting out TM’s identity without any amateurish help from her.

  At her offer to leave, a gleam lit Blair’s chocolate-brown eyes. It was quickly extinguished by Topher’s immediate protest.

  “No—no, stay! Among other things, I want to pick your brain about Carmen. I’m seriously considering buying her. Your older sister and brother-in-law gave a pretty good sales pitch yesterday, but, well, let’s say I have a feeling you could close the deal.” He grinned. “And Blair has a dinner date at the Coach, so she can’t stay much longer. You don’t mind if we talk horses a bit, Blair?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Blair breathed, doing a good job of acting all wide-eyed and bedazzled with him. Did Blair’s performance mean she had him in her sights? Probably. He was good-looking. He had a decent job with initials attached to it. He was rich. And he came from one of Warburg’s prominent families.

  And Blair was too stupid to recognize what a bore he was. She was also too stupid to realize that, while Topher would happily sleep with her, he’d never enter a serious relationship with her, for the simple reason that Blair didn’t ride. Jade suspected that Blair was scared of horses. A blessing, as Blair was the type of person who’d blame the horse she was riding rather than herself for anything that went wrong.

  Unfortunately, no matter how little Jade wanted to have a drink with Blair and Topher, she wasn’t going to pass up the chance to sell one of Rosewood’s horses. Although everyone in her family loved working with the horses—breeding, raising, and training them—selling was a crucial part of what the business was all about. She wouldn’t forgive herself if she blew off the chance to convince Topher to buy the mare. By selling Topher one of their horses, Rosewood Farm would receive lots of great exposure.

  So she sat and pasted a smile on her face. “Dinner at the Coach House. That’s nice,” she said to Blair as Topher hailed the waiter.