“Room 4486.” Tate rapped his knuckles against a door and eased it open. “Shaw? You awake, man?”
No answer, which didn’t surprise Holly. Who felt like calling out greetings to visitors when they were injured enough to be in the hospital?
Tate pushed the door open, stepped into the room, then stopped abruptly. “Where’d he go?”
Holly peered around Tate’s shoulder. The room was empty.
Not vacant, as in the guy was doing laps around the floor or at therapy or something, but empty. The bed had been stripped and the detritus of the prior occupant removed.
“Did you write the room number down right?” She stepped back and looked at the number plate beside the door.
Yep. Room 4486.
“He sure isn’t in here.”
They wandered down the hall. Was it completely rude to peek into rooms and check out the patients?
“Holly? You sick or lost?” ?”
She turned. Laurie was crutching down the hall toward them. Laurie worked on the hospital’s administrative side. With her slacks and blazer, her orange-streaked hair looked both tamer and more incongruous than it had at the Boulder Bounders event.
“Hi, Laurie. We came to see Danny Shaw, but we can’t find him.”
“Who?”
“That guy from the crash. Oh, Tate, you remember my friend, Laurie Gordon? Laurie, my cousin, Tate.”
They did the head-bob acknowledgement as Laurie subtly assessed the bruises on Tate’s face and the way he eased the pressure on his ribs. She turned back to Holly with a brisk, “Did you check his room?”
“No, we thought we’d roam the halls until we tripped over him. Of course we checked his room. It’s empty.”
“Maybe we moved him. This is the post-surgical floor.” Laurie hopped over to the nurses’ station and logged into the system. Leaning on her crutches, she waited for the system to do whatever it did.
“What’s his full name?”
“Shaw,” Tate supplied. “Daniel.”
Laurie typed, and then frowned at the screen. “Oh, no,” she murmured.
“What? Did he check out already?”
Laurie bit her lower lip, still staring at the computer monitor. She tapped more keys and frowned. “Are you friends with Mr. Shaw?”
Tate lifted one shoulder, grimaced, and said, “Yeah. We’ve been on the circuit together a long time.”
Something in Laurie’s face, or maybe it was her guarded expression, made Holly ask, “Why?”
Laurie hesitated. Holly figured she was looking at the fine line between patient privacy and where the hell was this guy?
“Mr. Shaw passed away this morning,” Laurie said quietly.
Shock flitted through Holly. “Oh, no.” My God. His poor family. “How? Why?”
Laurie shook her head. “That’s all I can say. Confidentiality and all.”
Holly swung from Laurie to Tate. He stood unmoving, in stunned silence.
The elevator door’s ding broke the silence. Laurie glanced up. Her frown turned into a three-point kitten smile. “This could be entertaining.”
JC Dimitrak stood in the elevator lobby, looking like the answer to Holly’s latest fantasy. Dark hair, wide, muscled shoulders, slim hips.
Infinitely kissable lips.
Maybe she shouldn’t notice when she was still processing Danny Shaw’s death. Or maybe it was true what they said about affirming life when confronted by death.
Or maybe she was a shallow, horrible person who was simply crazy about her boyfriend.
Hands planted on his hips, JC exuded a commanding presence, backed by a ton of sex appeal. The posture pushed open his jacket, revealing the pistol clamped to his hip—the weapon that went with his detective’s badge. He was doing his cop awareness thing—scanning the area, assessing the threat level. It seemed to be embedded in his DNA. She waited for the scan to pick her out.
A nanosecond later his eyes lit up, and her heart gave a happy bounce. A lazy smile, the kind that set her heart racing, warmed his expression.
Wait a minute.
She and JC may have kicked down a few old barriers, but as far as she could tell, he still mainly used that smile when he wanted something.
Sure enough, his scan shifted sideways toward Tate, and a thundercloud expression obscured his to-die-for dimples. Suspicion flattened both his gaze and his lips.
JC strode across the tiled floor. “What are you doing here?”
He kept his focus on her, but she suspected he was really targeting Tate with that question. She’d noticed her cousin had stiffened when JC appeared. She wasn’t sure if Tate’s tension was from yesterday’s arrest or due to JC himself.
Damn, but she was sick of male posturing.
She plastered on a smile. “Hello, JC. I’m fine. Haven’t seen you in a while.” Other than, what? Five minutes at the Boulder Bounders event? That didn’t count.
He closed his eyes, apparently doing a silent ten-count that only lasted to three. “Hello, Holly. What brings you to the hospital on a Monday morning when you should be working?”
She tugged the pharmacy paper bag from her purse and opened it. “I had to run an errand.”
Tate took the opportunity to wander over to the nurses’ station, either giving them some privacy or more likely, avoiding JC.
JC’s forehead crinkled as he peered into her sack.
“I saw my doctor.” She stepped closer. Okay, technically, her appointment was last week.
“Oh?” A hint of concern joined JC’s confused expression.
She leaned forward and whispered. “I picked up my script this morning.”
“Oh, really.” His tone changed, became warm and intimate as understanding dawned. “Is this what your text was about?”
“Different subject.” She shook her head. Kinda related though, since sex damn well better start being a part of their relationship—a big part—especially since she’d finally committed to staying in Richland and running Desert Accounting. Assuming she and her mother could solve the whole divorce settlement thing. “We have to wait until my next cycle, and we still have to use—”
“I bought condoms,” he said in a low, eager voice. “Lots and lots of condoms. Special ones, just for you.”
She clamped down on her laughter. He sounded just like the kid he’d been in college. Age hadn’t slowed his libido.
Thank God.
“So, Friday night?” he asked. “Dinner and a movie?”
She hiked an eyebrow. “Can’t you be more inventive than that?”
A ripple of male laughter fanned a warm glow in her chest. It headed straight south when he whispered in her ear, “Careful what you wish for.”
“Will you two get a room?” Laurie’s amusement rippled across the floor. She limped away with a shake of her orange-streaked head.
Holly looked up in time to see something hot flash through JC’s eyes, before he pulled on a cop-face—serious, boy scout, you-can-depend-on-me, I’m-a-professional.
He was the kind of guy who made you feel safe and protected, but a devil danced in his beautiful eyes. You never knew what kind of surprise he had in store for you, good or bad.
She squinted at him. Why was he at the hospital? He hadn’t been at the sheriff’s department or the Justice Center—who’d thought up that name?—when she bailed out Tate, but JC had been too involved in the entire Boulder Bounders incident for comfort.
He’d stepped back after Laurie’s comment. His eyes moved, scanning Holly, lingering on her chest. She fought the instinct to squirm. “Nice suit,” he said.
The designer suit’s cut emphasized what little cleavage she sported.
“Thanks.” She tried to ignore how good he looked. He wasn’t into thousand dollar suits, but he always appeared polished. His clothes fit like they were custom tailored. She stifled a sigh. It was JC—the man, not the clothes—that created the effect.
Not that she was going to feed his ego this morning.
N
ow that she thought about it, she was still annoyed with him about Tate’s arrest, and JC’s immediate, overbearing “stay-out-of-it” command.
Tate strolled back to them, crossing his arms, no doubt to bulk out his upper body and widen his stance. Holly figured straightening up cost him aching ribs, and he still didn’t stand a chance of out-posturing JC.
Before the testosterone could completely bubble over, she smiled sweetly. “What brings you over to Benton County? Franklin County can’t generate enough crime to keep you busy?”
“Why are you really here?” JC asked. “You didn’t drag Tate to the hospital to help you get those pills.”
Fine. Let’s talk about the elephant in the room. “Since you ask, Tate needed a ride. We came to see Danny Shaw.”
“What did Shaw tell you?” JC asked tersely.
“We really have to work on your conversation skills.” She dropped all pretense.
“Holly.” Exasperation threaded the word.
“Nothing. He didn’t say a word. In case you didn’t already know.” She studied JC’s expression, searching for a clue. Was he there because he’d planned to question Shaw, or did he already know the man was dead?
His eyes narrowed, but the glare seemed to be aimed at someone over her shoulder rather than at her. He stepped around her and, in two long strides, stopped in front of another dark-haired man. “Your presence here is an accident, right?” JC demanded.
“Oh, crap.” She grasped the edge of the nurse’s desk.
Frank Phalen didn’t move a muscle. He channeled his inner law enforcement bearing, despite his demotion to security chief. His security gig with the Tom Tom Casino, one of Holly’s clients, seemed to have led to his renewed interest in her, a situation that triggered her instinct to either run or howl with futile outrage.
He stared at JC in a stony silence.
JC pointed a finger at the man Holly secretly still called Creepy Security Guy. His tone held a dangerous edge. “Your answer is ‘Yes, sir. It was an accident. I was not violating the restraining order and following Holly Price.’“
“Holy crap.” Laurie had reappeared. She reached across the counter, took Holly’s hand, and whispered, “Think Frank’s stupid enough to still be stalking you?”
Chapter Six
I Will Possess Your Heart (Death Cab For Cutie)
The chirps and chatter of nurses, various machines, patients and visitors faded to white noise as Holly’s vision tunneled to one horrible detail.
Frank.
He couldn’t be fixated on her again, could he?
“Noooo,” wailed Holly’s inner teenager.
“Get away from me,” snarled the rest of her.
She couldn’t take another round of constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering if—when—Frank would appear. Of always worrying on some level. Expecting him to show up and harass her.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and stiffened her spine. “I think my Frank detector’s on the fritz. But he’s never been stupid.”
Obsessed, yes. Dumb, no.
“I don’t know…” Laurie began.
Frank stared at JC for what felt like an eternity. He finally spoke through stiff lips. “I’m not following Holly.”
That might be true. Since her car wreck—where he really had been trying to help her, even if he was following her—Frank hadn’t directly approached her.
Except for yesterday when the other security guard was breaking her arm.
Although, it was mighty convenient he’d been Right There when that disaster went down.
Of course, he’d been working the event and was supposed to be there.
But still…
JC moved a step closer to Frank. “Those aren’t the magic words that’ll keep me from arresting you.”
She’d noticed before that Frank was the only person who could make JC lose his personal control. Then again, Frank represented the antithesis of every belief her guy held—the law, the job, the uniform. Family and relationships.
Frank had disgraced all of them with his behavior toward her.
“You know as well as I do, that order expired.” Frank turned and walked away, his steps jerky with anger.
Laurie’s hand tightened around Holly’s fingers. “Crap,” she whispered.
Concerned his public humiliation would make things worse instead of better, Holly watched Frank leave. With each of his steps, she tried to absorb the impact of his words without melting down.
The order had expired? What did that mean and where did it leave her?
Her stomach clenched.
Defenseless?
JC spun around. “You tell me if Phalen bothers you.”
Pulling away from Laurie’s grasp, Holly saluted, giving the gesture every bit of smartass she could muster, while way down deep inside, her heart went pitty-pat over her Prince Charming charging to her rescue.
Not that she’d ever admit she wanted—or needed—JC to rescue her.
Shoulders straight, she pulled in a deep breath. She could handle Frank all by herself.
Probably.
JC closed on her again. “If he so much as calls you, I want to know about it. I can go straight to the court and get an emergency protection order if we need it.”
We?
If she was getting involved with JC again, did that make them a team united against a threat?
“And while we’re talking about people making stupid choices. If you’re giving my suspect a ride, does you that mean he’s staying with you?”
Maybe not a team.
She huffed an exasperated breath. “Tate’s my cousin. He isn’t a suspect in anything. And what do you expect? Of course he’s staying at my house. I can’t tell him to go check into a hotel.”
“I can find another place,” Tate began.
“No. It’s not a problem.” She kept her tone flat. It wasn’t open for discussion.
JC heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Damned if you aren’t the most unlucky, jinxed woman.”
Her fingers curled into fists. “Why do you only say things like that when things don’t go according to your plan? Why don’t you ever trust that I know what I’m doing?”
He changed tactics and smiled. Two dimples appeared. “What am I going to do with you?”
Laurie made a strangled noise.
Holly couldn’t stay mad at him when he smiled like that. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself his dimples were just a simple indentation of flesh. Dimples made serious, grown-up men look like they still had a mischievous little boy inside. The kind who put frogs in his sister’s shoes, built trees houses in the very tops of trees, and kissed like the best fireworks in the world exploding.
JC checked all those boxes.
Her bad imp whispered, “I can think of some things he could do...”
JC grinned, apparently picking up the vibe. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes grew a shade warmer. “Hold that thought. Listen, I have a few things to take care of. Why don’t you head back to your office and I’ll call you later?”
“Just when it was getting interesting,” Laurie murmured.
“Am I being dismissed?” Irritation poked Holly again.
“Would I do that?” He gave her the innocent-as-a-choirboy expression.
“Apparently. As amusing as you might find all this, we were actually in the middle of something when you walked in. So, why don’t you run along and do your cop thing. I’ll go back to the office like a good little girl when I’m good and ready.” She turned to Laurie. “When did Shaw...uhm...leave?”
Laurie inspected the computer. Her gaze slid sideways to JC before returning to Holly. “Earlier this morning.”
Holly pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. JC must be there because someone from the hospital had called for a detective, which meant the death was considered suspicious. She should’ve paid more attention to her first instinct—his flattery, the sex appeal, they were just more tools in his cop arsenal.
And he’d used them on her like a pro.
Damn, he infuriated her sometimes.
“Let’s go, Tate.” She turned to JC and slammed the paper bag into his chest. “Here. You take the damn things. I won’t need them.”
“Wait a minute.” JC tried to shove the bag back into her hands. “Why were you looking for Shaw?”
Really? That was where his mind went?
Fuming, she stepped back, hands up, palms out. “Danny is...was a friend of Tate’s. We wanted to make sure he was okay. Hoped he was okay.”
She still couldn’t believe the guy was dead.
JC turned to Tate, who’d been silent up until this moment. “I have a few questions.”
“Hold it right there, JC Dimitrak.” She whipped her hand protectively in front of her cousin. “I learned to hate those words, because ‘a few’ always seemed to mean about a million. Besides, why do you have questions for Tate?”
“Holly, stay—”
“Out of my investigation,” she cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. But Tate’s riding with me, so I need to know what this is about and how long it’s going to take.”
JC folded his arms. “It’ll take as long as it takes.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “No. You came to the hospital because Shaw died. Next you wanted to find out what we might’ve said to him. And now you’re calling Tate a suspect. A suspect for what?”
“It’s just a few questions, Holly.”
“Yeah. When pigs fly.”
A trace of humor crossed his face before it hardened into cop mode.
Damn. She stifled the memory of the caged pig in her office. She really needed to find out if the Future Farmers still had the llama.
“I can add two and two,” she said between gritted teeth. “You seem to think that one, something bad happened at the Boulder Bounders thing and/or to Danny Shaw, and two, Tate had something to do with either of those possibilities.” She poked a finger into JC’s chest. “Well, newsflash, a truck part broke and Shaw had a wreck. Period. It’s awful he died, but it was an accident.”
JC simply looked at her, his face revealing no emotion. “Did you ever consider it might not be an accident? You, of all people, should be familiar with that concept.”
In It For the Money Page 5