by Kathy Altman
“Charity?” Grady rattled the bag at her. “Tell me you haven’t already eaten.”
The sweet scent of maple syrup wafted her way. “Pancakes?”
“Waffles.”
She moaned and turned back to the door. “Follow me.”
Somehow she managed to lead him past her bedroom door. Once she’d gotten a whiff of those waffles, it wasn’t that hard. They took off their jackets in the kitchen. Grady poured juice into mismatched glasses—he’d ignored her one coordinating pair—while she set out plates, forks, knives, and napkins. They settled at the table, and Grady handed her a container from the Good Dog, Bad Dog Café. The Styrofoam cracked and creaked under the weight of a golden Belgian waffle, three links of sausage, a plastic container of butter, and another of heated syrup.
“Thank you,” she said reverently, holding the container in both hands and giving a mighty inhale.
Grady winked and reached again for the bag. Together they transferred the food to their plates, and Grady lifted his glass.
“To partnership.”
They locked gazes over the orange juice. Charity sipped loudly, set down her juice, and grabbed her fork. They ate in silence for several moments, until she looked up and caught him watching her.
“I thought we agreed to divide and conquer,” she said.
“The kind of conquering I have in mind requires togetherness.”
Her fork clacked against her plate. “Flirt all you want. I have a lot riding on this case. You won’t distract me from it.”
“I have a lot riding on it, too. I don’t want to distract you, I want…” Grady leaned in. “Drew told me he was here last night. I want to thank you.”
“For?”
“Believing in him. He’s been having a hard time.”
Charity could imagine. Still she couldn’t help feeling deflated as she gazed down at her waffle. “I like the way you express your appreciation.”
“A simple thank-you for who you are, not for anything you’ve done.” He leaned closer, letting her feel his heat. “When you’re ready for a more in depth expression, you let me know.”
Tiny spasms of need flickered up and down her backbone. It took everything within her to swallow the words that hovered at the back of her throat. Absently her gaze traveled from her plate to his. Slowly she raised her head. “Grady?”
“Yeah?” His voice was deep. Raw.
Charity licked her lips and smiled when his body jolted. “You have syrup all over your shirt.”
* * *
Grady looked down. Sure as hell. He’d pressed right into his plate.
He leaned back, tossed his napkin aside and willed his body to loosen and deflate. “So.” He picked up his juice glass and pressed it to his forehead and each cheek, enjoying the husky, delighted sound of Charity’s laugh. “What’s on the agenda for this morning?”
“You mean after you clean the syrup off your shirt?”
“Yeah.” He pushed away from the table and helped himself to the dishrag.
She stood, but instead of gathering their plates, she stared down at them. “First we need to find Allison. I’ve put out some feelers, but no one’s talking.”
“And once we find her?”
“We set her mother’s mind at ease, then pay a visit to Keith Tarrant.”
Grady glanced over his shoulder as he rinsed out the dishrag. “Should I bring my Taser?”
“I’m certainly not going to let you borrow mine.”
Five minutes later they were on the road. Grady had been prepared to argue against taking separate cars, but Charity didn’t say a word when he climbed into the passenger seat of her SUV.
Never underestimate the power of a waffle.
He buckled himself in. “When do you get your Camry back?”
“Clarabelle?” She grinned, and bounced in her seat. He turned a groan into a cough. All that vigorous jiggle, wasted on a car. “J.T. promised someone would drop her off today or tomorrow.”
“Planning a party?” he mocked.
“What I’m planning,” she muttered, “is an ass kicking.”
They didn’t talk much after that. They drove from address to address, slowly crossing out the names on the list Kate Young had provided. Charity had timed the visits well, catching the girls before they left for school, but none of Allison’s friends would admit to knowing where she was, which meant Grady’s plan to show Charity what a kick-ass team they made was crashing and burning.
They stood beside the SUV, watching as the last name on the list left her driveway in the passenger seat of a compact car. Charity’s handset came to static life, and she turned away to check in with the dispatcher. Grady’s gaze followed as she paced the sidewalk, her frustration apparent in the stiffness of her posture. The morning sun glinted off the hair she’d tucked behind her ears. She’d swallowed the last of her hot chocolate before they’d knocked on this final door, and she still had a small stain at the corner of her mouth. He looked away.
In the liquor store parking lot, he’d thrown out that suggestion about her visiting Seattle. Now that the idea was out there, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Charity signed off the radio and strode back to his side. “Brenda June forgot to tell me earlier. We won’t know for sure until the lab verifies it, but Mo didn’t find any fingerprints on the duct tape used to repair Allison’s earbuds.”
Son of a bitch. “Somebody is setting up Drew.”
“That text he received the night Sarah was killed does make it look deliberate. Any idea who could be holding that kind of grudge? Besides Allison, I mean?”
Grady shook his head. “We’ll have to ask him.” But the first face that popped into his mind belonged to Drew’s own father. Christ. “Wait. Couldn’t someone have followed Sarah, not knowing Drew would show up, too?”
“It’s possible,” she said slowly. “That’s a coincidence, something cops don’t usually like, but it’s something to keep in mind.” She squinted at him. “You’re already earning your keep.”
“My pleasure. Now what?”
“Now we go see Tarrant.”
Grady nodded. Charity had told him that despite laying on the charm, Deputy Morrissey hadn’t managed to get much more information about Sarah than what he’d learned while dating her. Her coworkers were being closemouthed. Charity said she couldn’t help wondering if it was more about self-preservation than respect for the dead. She also said she hoped Grady’s last name would loosen some lips. For her sake, he hoped the same.
“I’ll drive.” He lifted a palm in anticipation of a key toss.
Charity twisted her lips. Yeah, it was a smirk, but it was better than the scowl she’d been wearing. “In your dreams,” she said.
But Tarrant wouldn’t be in that day, according to the only agent in the office, a woman with short, slicked-back hair wearing a too-tight pantsuit the color of dead leaves. She—Claire—had been nervously licking her lips since the moment Grady and Charity walked through the double glass doors. It took some time, but after Grady’s name-dropping, Charity’s unashamed play of the guilt card, and an offer of four tickets to the next Pill Hill fundraising gala, Claire agreed to talk.
“But not here,” she said. “The other agent should be back from showing properties in about an hour. Why don’t you meet me at my house for an early lunch?” She recited an address on the outskirts of the county, and her expression turned sly. “Maybe you could bring something from Jerzy’s?”
Back in the SUV, Grady raised his palm for a high five. “Told you we’d make a good team.”
Charity smacked at his hand and started up the Tahoe. “Let’s hope what she has to say will be worth the cost of lunch.”
Chaos reigned inside the Shake Shack. Apparently Jerzy had popped the question to his girlfriend Edith, who was bouncing from table to table, showing off her left hand. Customers crowded the restaurant, laughing and clapping and shouting their congratulations. It took Grady and Charity fifteen minutes to navig
ate the twenty feet to the counter.
“My favorite couple!” Jerzy greeted them then looked abashed. “I mean, besides my wife-to-be and me. Whatever you want, it’s on the house. And help yourself to some cake.”
They congratulated him, Charity with a hug and Grady with a slap on the back. After placing their order, they moved out of the way. A beaming Edith maneuvered sideways through the crush, gave them each a chance to admire her ring, then pushed on to the next batch of well-wishers.
“Deputy Bishop.”
Charity turned toward a short, plump woman wearing feathered earrings that dangled to her shoulders. She grabbed for Charity’s hand and shook it. “You helped me out last month when I crashed my car after swerving to miss a deer. I wanted to thank you for all you did. I was a wreck—literally—but you helped me keep it together.” She giggled self-consciously. “Thanks for the ride home, too. My little boy still talks about the time he got to sit in a real police vehicle.”
“I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Good luck with the election.” The woman smiled and started to move away, then retraced her steps. “By the way, I work for the library, and every month we host a career night. We’d love to have you as a guest speaker sometime.”
“Th-thank you,” Charity stammered. “I’ll let you know.”
As the woman disappeared into the crowd, Charity turned back to Grady, her expression dazed. “That…doesn’t happen.”
“What? Getting thanks for helping someone out?”
“People don’t usually just come up to me. Unless they’re angry, drunk, or trying to take my order.”
“Maybe you seem more approachable today. You do tend to be tense.” He bent down, and let his lips brush her hair. “I could help with that, you know.”
Charity stepped aside to let someone pass, and didn’t step back. “For eight weeks,” she said stiffly.
“For eight weeks,” he agreed. Eight weeks he’d have to convince her they deserved more. But his evil plan didn’t stand a chance in hell if she kept pushing him away.
“So I asked myself.” Jerzy held aloft a plate of cake as he spoke above the noise of the crowd. “What am I waiting for? Life is short!”
Charity jolted, then swung toward the counter, but Grady hadn’t heard them call her name. Long minutes later she was back, a bulging paper bag hugged to her chest. “Ready to go?”
“Always.”
She shot Grady a dirty look and led the way to the SUV. He opened the door to the back so she could tuck the food behind her seat.
“You ever think of settling down?” he asked.
“As in, marriage?” Charity hesitated, then pushed an eyebrow upward. “Why, because it worked so well for you?”
“Because I’m curious. Where do you see yourself in five years?”
She rolled her eyes. “This sounds like a job interview.”
“Never mind.” He stepped back. “We have an informant to feed.” He rounded the back of the SUV, calling himself all kinds of asshole. A flash of white caught his attention and he stopped. Someone had tucked a note in the rear wiper.
Shit.
Grady swung around and scanned the parking lot. “Uh…Charity?”
Forty five minutes later, after the note had been bagged, Charity had taken a photo of every license plate in the parking lot, and Mo had arrived to canvass the area and switch vehicles so he could dust Charity’s for prints, Grady and Charity were on their way to the real estate agent’s house for a not-so-early-after-all lunch.
“Any ideas?” Grady asked, hating the silence but hating the half-pissed, half-hurt jut of her jaw even more.
What he hated most was that he’d been with her and still hadn’t managed to protect her.
Charity’s shrug looked forced. “Someone’s taunting me, but I doubt it’s the killer. He—or she—wouldn’t have risked getting caught leaving love notes in such a public place.”
Some love note. Think you always get your man? Think again, bitch.
The urge to smash in the face of whoever was harassing Charity rose up inside him, like foam charging out of a mug filled too quickly with beer.
“Or it could be that someone’s jealous I’m hanging out with you,” she said stiffly.
Grady considered. Maybe it was time for a conversation with his parents.
Claire wasn’t pleased they were running late. She was even less pleased with her lukewarm barbecue sandwich. Still she provided two fascinating pieces of information. One, Sarah and Keith Tarrant hadn’t been getting along. And two, there were rumors involving Tarrant Properties and a big-money deal gone wrong. Claire was able to give them the name of the investment group, but she couldn’t identify the individual investors.
Charity prepared to back the SUV out of Claire’s driveway, caught Grady staring, and frowned. “What?”
He shook his head, never looking away. “You really love this, don’t you?”
She had a glow to her, like she’d just come in from a brisk walk in the sun. “My job?” She checked her mirrors and merged onto the highway. “Yeah, I do. Though there are times I wish I was better at it.”
“You need to stop beating yourself up about this case. You’ll crack it. Besides, you’re doing the best you can. No one can expect more.”
“I wonder if you realize the same applies to you.”
Grady lifted his head from the seat back. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re constantly beating yourself up over Matt. But you have to know you’re a good father.”
He cleared his throat. “Where are we headed now?”
“To the courthouse, to see if we can get a list of Tarrant’s investors.” She smiled over at him tentatively. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”
Aw, hell. Grady turned his head to look out the window, barely registering the brilliant blues, greens, and golds as the Montana landscape flashed by.
Her voice had practically shimmered with excitement. And why not? She’d found out she had a fan and got a solid lead in Sarah’s murder, all in the space of an hour.
Oh, yeah. He was helping her case, all right—her case for staying in Becker County.
* * *
Charity ended up having to send Grady to the courthouse on his own. They were five minutes away from the county seat when every uniform was called in to work a ten-fifty-eight on Interstate 191. An auto accident with fatalities. Brenda June’s voice had quivered over the radio. Charity dropped Grady off at his car, and swung back toward the highway.
Hours later, when she was finished working the accident, she dragged herself home for a shower. She stood under the hot spray of water, too drained to cry, too tired to relax. Too bad she had to go back to work, but Grady would be dropping off Matt at the station in half an hour and she still had a butt-load of paperwork to finish.
After she got dressed again she called Grady, reveling a little too much in the sexy stroke of his voice. What he had to say distracted her from her sadness, her hormones, and her fatigue.
“Meet me at Red Top,” she told him, and scooped up her keys.
* * *
Grady turned into the lot, tires grinding over gravel.
Matt’s eyes rounded when he spotted the “Red Top Range” sign on the building’s scarlet metal roof. “A gun range?” he asked breathlessly. Not only were the words the first he’d spoken since he’d slammed into the car, he sounded like a little boy again.
Grady’s heart pinched. “Sure is,” he managed. He parked beside Charity’s SUV. When she got out, and Matt saw she was wearing her uniform, he jerked his arms across his chest.
“What, does their floor need sweeping, too?”
Grady eased a breath in and out and unfastened his seatbelt. “Let’s ask.”
Matt huffed a beleaguered breath before shoving his way out of the car while Grady hid a grin. When he got a closer look at Charity’s face, he lost all sense of amusement. Her jaw was tense, her skin pale, her eyes
full of shadows.
Grady moved closer, barely resisting the urge to touch her. “Rough afternoon?”
“It was definitely more than a fender bender.” She glanced at Matt and away, sending a clear signal. Subject not fit for young ears.
Grady shoved his hands in his pockets and swung toward Matt. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Deputy Bishop?”
“There was an accident? Did someone die?”
Grady winced. “I mean about what we’re doing here.”
Calmly, Charity answered Matt’s question. “We had two casualties, yes. Both thrown from their vehicle. If the victims had been wearing their seatbelts, they probably would have survived.”
“Are you just saying that so I’ll wear my seatbelt?”
Charity moved abruptly to the rear of the Tahoe. “I’m not just saying it, no. It is a good lesson. What else did you want to ask?”
Matt watched Charity closely as she opened the hatch and tugged at a duffel bag. She zipped it open to reveal a collection of guns, and the kid sucked air.
A moment later he backed away, eyes back on Charity, expression unfriendly. “Is this supposed to make me like you?”
Christ. “Matthew Thomas West,” Grady growled. “Adjust your attitude or we’ll call it quits right here.”
Charity didn’t seem fazed. “Like me or don’t like me, it’s up to you. Bringing you with me to the range was your dad’s idea. If I had my way, you’d be back at the station, cleaning out the break room fridge. But you’re not completely off the hook. We will have to pick up after ourselves. It’s bad form to leave empty casings on the floor.”
Matt offered up a solemn nod while practically shuddering with excitement.
Grady moved to Charity’s other side and leaned in. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Glad someone does.” She turned back to Matt.
Grady lingered, breathing in honeysuckle. He must have breathed a little too loudly, because she took a step back and let her heavy-duty assault boot grind his toes into the gravel.