by Molly Greene
That was her new goal, to seize the day. Life was good. In fact, it didn’t get much better than this. She could only think of one thing that would improve it.
A fish in the rotunda pond leaped after some unseen bug, punctuating the silence when it plopped back into the water. Gen followed the progress of the liquid rings. When they reached the shore, she saw Mack’s reflection in the water. He was standing behind her.
Gen didn’t turn around. “Isn’t it a grand morning?”
“Genny, you let me walk right up to you. I could have been a mugger.”
“Impossible. I was expecting a police escort. I knew I was safe.”
He dropped down on the grass beside her and mimicked her cross-legged position. It was only then that she glanced aside. She laughed, marveling at just how great it was to feel like the world was hers.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ve never seen your legs bare before.”
He was wearing long, baggy shorts. The gas station shades were hooked in the neck of his requisite faded t-shirt, and his brother’s dog tags were there, as always, reminding Gen that Mack had vulnerabilities that paralleled her own.
Mack’s calves were roped with muscles and his knees were scarred. She knew he hadn’t gotten those wounds from falling on them to beg anyone for anything. The thought made her smile again.
“What now?” He put a hand on the back of her neck and mocked choking her. It was the first time he’d touched her in these past weeks while they’d been dancing around, figuring out what they meant to one another.
She’d have to think back to be sure. Perhaps he’d brushed her hand. He’d touched her cheek once and another time he’d grabbed her arm, but for the most part they had kept their distance. It was time to ditch that. They were friends again, certainly, but now they needed to discover if it was destined to be more.
“Mack.”
“Yeah.”
He released his hold, and she reached over and laced her fingers with his. He didn’t say anything or act surprised, just held her hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m new at my job,” Gen said. “I’m still playing in the minor leagues. But so far I’ve learned something important from every case I’ve taken on.”
“What did you learn from this one?”
“We have to let go of the past if we want a happy future.”
His lips curved. That was Mack’s typical MO. He didn’t spill his guts, and he wasn’t going to make it easy for her to do it, either. She wondered what kind of setbacks he’d endured in his life, and whether he was the type of guy who could love deeply in spite of his wounds. She thought of old Nathan Formby and his wife with Alzheimer’s. Would Mack be able to feel that kind of love for her, no matter what happened?
It was time to find out.
She traced the scar on his closest knee with her free hand. He was a wily one. Hadn’t pushed or begged or pressured or appeared even once to be frustrated with her reticence about pursuing the possibility there might be a them. Maybe he’d just known it was going to happen, and had been content to endure her avoidance tactics and let it all evolve.
And he’d been right, hadn’t he?
“I’ve had trouble with that this year,” Gen said.
“Yeah, you have.”
“I think it’s because–”
“Genny.”
She looked up. His expression was loving and amused, almost like a father looking at a precocious child. She waited. Two can play.
“We don’t have to rehash anything.” His voice was soft, and that Tennessee inflection had never been so pronounced. “We both know how it is. We don’t need to talk it out. Let’s just live it. There will be plenty of things we’ll need to discuss, but what came before this, well, in general that isn’t one of them. Unless you have questions for me, I’m good to go.”
Gen smiled, then rose and brushed off the back of her shorts. “There’s only one thing I want to know.”
“What’s that?” Mack stood and drew her into his arms.
Gen rested her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, calm and sure and steady, just like the man it gave life to. She raised a hand and clasped the dog tags in her fist, then silently asked his brother to keep a close watch over Mack for her.
“Caroline,” she replied. “What were you thinking?”
He barked his snarky laugh and let her loose, then took her hand again and turned toward the paths. “Look, woman. Are you ready to get your booty kicked in a walk-a-thon?”
“Like you could do that.”
“I’m going to try.”
“I hope you try more than that, eventually.”
He laughed again and released her hand and started to jog, then threw a seriously heavy look over his shoulder. “Are you going to be calling me out for the rest of my life?”
She grinned. She could try. “Let’s just take this one day at a time, shall we?”
He turned back to her and flashed his trademark smile. “Genny, you know what I learned?”
“What?”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
# # #
Thank you so much for reading my book!
I hope you enjoyed Paint Me Gone, Book 3 in the Gen Delacourt Mystery series. I explore Gen and Mack’s relationship further in Book 4, A Thousand Tombs (excerpt starts on the next screen!), and I’ll drum up some sort of mystery with Madison and Cole (from Book 1, Mark of the Loon), and Bree and Garcia (from Book 2, The Last Fairytale), in the future. The question is, what kind of trouble should they get into down the road?
Email [email protected] and tell me what you liked, what you want to happen in upcoming books, even what you didn’t enjoy so much. I’d love to hear from you! And now that you’ve finished Fairytale, please write a review. Reviews make a difference. I’d appreciate it deeply if you posted a few words.
Amazon links for Paint Me Gone:
Amazon US – Amazon UK – Amazon Canada
Thank you so much for reading my books and spending time with my beloved characters. I am so grateful! You can find them all on my Amazon Author Page. For freebies, giveaways, deleted chapters, and periodic news about upcoming releases, join my Reader’s Club.
Molly Greene
~
An excerpt of Molly Greene’s novel, A Thousand Tombs, begins on the next page.
A Thousand Tombs ~ Chapter One
They were heading into dinner when the kid came pounding down the sidewalk. His arms and legs were pumping like pistons, and his fingers were splayed like he was trying to grab air. His breathing was ragged. He’d run flat out for a while, and from the looks of him, he didn’t have much left to give.
Genevieve Delacourt and Mackenzie Hackett had linked arms as they crossed the street, but Mack stopped and eased ahead of her at sight of the runner. His cop reflexes kicked in and he caught the kid by the back of the shirt as he raced by, then gripped his shoulder so he couldn’t break free and marched him into Tosca Café, slick as you please.
Gen followed and closed the door behind them.
The kid struggled, but he didn’t cry out. He was distracted, trying to haul in enough oxygen to re-fill his depleted lungs. Everything happened so fast, he was probably still trying to make sense of it.
“You don’t want to make a scene.” Mack didn’t have to lower his voice much. The restaurant was packed, and the noise level near the bar was as loud as a Bieber concert. “It’s a cop hangout,” he added, “and the place is rockin’ tonight.”
The kid went limp as a noodle, the fight blowing out of him like air from a balloon.
Mack and Gen exchanged a look. His eyes said he might have made a mistake, but Gen shook her head. No worries. She was amused by the cop comment, though. What a crock. Police personnel wouldn’t be caught dead in here, and he knew it.
“Hello, Sal,” Mack called. “Table for three when you have one please, my friend.”
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p; The maître d’ bobbed his head and waved, then pinched the fingertips of his upturned hand together and shook it. He was saying the place was crowded, but he needn’t have wasted his time.
Gen moved behind Mack and circled her arms around his waist. When she turned to rest her cheek against his back, she caught movement outside and shifted her focus from his abs to the window.
Two guys sauntered by. The duo was doing their best impression of casual but ruined the act by moving a skosh too fast. They were alert and scanning the Friday night crowd, on the lookout for something.
Or someone.
She moved beside him again and nudged Mack with her elbow. He rolled a nonchalant glance toward her, then flicked his eyes to take in the scene outside and back again. He planted a kiss on her mouth, then faced the room and used his body to shield the kid from the street, keeping a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder all the while.
“Sal, can you find us something quiet?” Mack called. “I can’t hear myself think.”
Sal pointed to the back of the house and raised his arms. Were they interested in a seat near the kitchen? Gen nodded. Sal beckoned. Mack grasped the kid’s bicep and propelled him into the raucous crowd.
The booth was a four-top. The boy slid in against the wall, and Mack sat beside him. Gen took the bench opposite and got her first good look at their guest. He was a teenager of indiscriminate age and nearly as tall as her. Right now, though, he was hunched over the table like an old man. Depleted was a good word.
He was skinny, and he looked frayed around the edges. His clothes were decent but they were rumpled, and one of his elbows poked through a rip in his shirt. Could be the run had rendered it a little worse for wear. There was no reek of cigarette smoke or sweat or lack of soap and water, but still, she wondered if he was homeless.
Something about him said he was not unhappy about Mack’s snagging him up like a fish in a net. Maybe the pair outside wouldn’t have been as good for his health.
Mack caught her eye and mouthed, Sorry.
Gen raised her shoulders and dropped them. For now, she was fine with sitting across from him, taking in the view, admiring the strong line of his jaw. They stared at each other for a beat, then Mack raised a hand and the waiter was there.
He hooked a thumb toward the youngster. “Would you please bring my friend here a platter of spaghetti and meatballs? Biggest plate the kitchen has. Don’t wait for us to order, he’ll still be eating by the time we’re done. Kid has a hollow leg.”
Mack and Gen bantered until the food came. The boy shot covert looks at the pair while they talked. He seemed oddly comfortable with the situation, not angry or terrified. He was worried about something, that seemed clear, but she guessed it wasn’t them. The fact that they weren’t peppering him with questions seemed to give him time to adapt, but Gen couldn’t help but wonder what he was adapting from. It would be interesting to find out what Mack had gotten them into.
She turned her attention to the menu.
Before long, the waiter hustled down the aisle with a plate of pasta as tall as Vesuvius. The boy’s fingers trembled as he grasped a fork and dug in. It wasn’t anxiety. Gen bet he hadn’t eaten today, and the Olympic track performance had done him in.
They ordered and sipped wine and held hands across the table, politely ignoring their charge while he inhaled carbs. She’d forgotten what it was like to be a teenager, forever hungry and seldom finding enough to satisfy. But Mack must have excellent recall. He’d known what to expect.
Ten minutes later the fork slowed.
Mack set down his glass. “So what’s your name?”
“Luca.”
“I’m Mack. This is Genny.”
The kid dipped his head. “Pleased to meet you.” The respectful tone in his voice spoke volumes. Gen knew he hadn’t been raised in a barn, that he had a Jersey accent, and that his mother, wherever she might be, was doubtless missing him right now.
“Sure,” Mack said. “The pleasure is ours. It looked like you needed a quick change of scenery.” His voice was tinged with a thread of sarcasm that the kid couldn’t have missed.
Luca’s face pinked; he was embarrassed.
When their food came, she filled a plate with antipasto and passed it across to the boy. Mack cut a generous slice from his eggplant parmesan, put it on a salad plate, and passed the plate to Luca. “So tell us what’s going on.”
“A couple guys tried to steal my guitar. I took off running and stashed it in an alley so it wouldn’t slow me down, but they picked me up again. That was eight or ten blocks from here.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble for a guitar. What was it, a diamond-studded Martin?”
“No, sir. They were just looking for trouble.”
“And you weren’t.”
The kid turned wide, innocent eyes to Mack and shook his head.
“You got a crib?” Mack asked.
“Sure. Yeah.”
“Let’s enjoy our meal. When we’re done, we’ll go get your six-string, then we’ll drop you off.”
Chapter Two
North Beach on a Friday night was a hot ticket. Groups of pedestrians wandered by, either on their way to dinner or coming from it and looking for a place to continue the party.
Mack’s Chevy truck was parked at the curb down the street, and he stayed close to Luca as they walked toward it. He didn’t keep a hand on the boy like before; he was either willing to let their dinner companion rabbit off, or he was testing the kid.
Luca kept his head down. If he had an exit strategy, it wasn’t obvious.
They reached the truck, and Mack unlocked it with the remote. “Genny, why don’t you slide in next to the console.”
Luca held the door and let Gen slip over, then clambered in after her. Mack angled himself into the driver’s seat and fired up the pickup. “Where to?”
“Cross Broadway, then go right at Grant.” Luca pointed up the street. “Then left on Green. Then go slow and I’ll show you.”
Mack followed instructions. Luca gestured at the mouth of an alley and he pulled to the curb and cut the engine. The three of them sat still for a beat, thinking their own thoughts. Gen got the feeling the boy wasn’t all that anxious to part company.
“I’ll just go on from here,” Luca finally said. He was staring straight ahead, through the windshield and into the night. “I really appreciate you buying me dinner.”
“No problem,” Mack replied. “But let’s go grab your git-fiddle. You and me. It’d be a drag if somebody was waiting for you. After that, we’ll drop you at your place.”
Gen cut her eyes right in time to see Luca’s jaw flex. She’d bet fifty bucks nothing was stashed anywhere, unless it was a purse he’d pinched or something snatched from the pair of thugs on the lookout for him earlier.
But she was wrong.
The guys climbed out and walked into the dark, then emerged two minutes later. Luca grasped the handle of a black case. Mack reached out and the kid handed it over, but slowly. He didn’t really want to give it up.
She was curious to see where this would go.
Mack pulled the driver’s seat forward and tucked the instrument behind it. They climbed in. Mack fired up the Chevy and pulled away. “Where to now?”
“You know the apartments on Medau?”
“No,” Mack replied.
“Right at the corner, then I’ll show you.”
They pulled up in front of a dingy building. “This is it,” Luca said. Four stories, built in a U-shape with a central quad. That was all Gen could make out in the dark.
“Thanks again.”
“Any time, Luca.” Mack stepped onto the curb. Luca slid out behind him and took the guitar. They shook hands. “See you around, kid.”
“Thanks, Genny,” Luca called.
“Night,” she replied. You see? Good manners. Whatever he was now, someone had given the boy a good start.
Mack pulled himself back behind the wheel and drove away, but all he did wa
s circle the block and return. He killed the lights and pulled to the curb just shy of the entry to the building’s inner patio.
Gen snuggled against him and he wrapped an arm around her, then turned his head and gave her the deep kiss she’d been missing since they walked into Tosca.
But it didn’t last long.
Mack raised his head and stared into the dark, and Gen soon caught sight of the shadow he’d seen. It was Luca, backlit by one dim streetlight. He was hurrying toward them on the sidewalk with the case firmly in his grasp.
Oblivious, he crossed the street and bore down on them, but he was too busy looking right and left and over his shoulder to sense that this time the trouble was dead ahead.
Mack was out the door and on him before Luca knew what was up. “Suppose you tell us what’s really going on?” He pried the guitar away from the boy, stowed it behind the seat, and told him to get back in the truck.
Gen slid over.
Luca obeyed, but he remained tight-lipped and stoic. He looked as though he planned to deny anything and everything.
“Don’t be a nitwit, kid. Give it up.” Mack’s tone was semi-gentle, but she knew he wouldn’t take much more baloney.
“There’s nothing–” Luca stopped.
Gen didn’t know much about teenagers, but she remembered well enough the urge to push back when an adult started slinging orders around. The easy-going tactic she’d learned from watching Mack might get the wheels turning. She wondered why he hadn’t applied his own routine; something about the kid must have hit a nerve.
“Oh, come on.” Her voice was mellow. “We’re all friends here. What’s going on with you, Luca? Maybe we can help.”
It worked. Luca sighed as if he was about to lose the weight of a two-ton tank. “Where are you going to take me?” His voice trembled with the question.