by Brandon Witt
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
He didn’t. And really, I’d gotten what I wanted. I knew he wasn’t there for Blake, and that should be enough. But my curiosity was begging me to dig, like a dog wagging its tail. If not for Blake, then why was he here? My incessant curiosity and attention to detail made me an excellent PI. It was also what was going to get me stuffed in a garbage can with duct tape around my mouth one day.
I leaned on his car. “You know, I bet one of the neighbors in the area would know who you are. Maybe I should just go door to door and ask.” I widened my eyes. “You think one of them would recognize you?”
He leaned his head back on the seat and let out a sigh. “You really are an annoying cuss, aren’t you?”
I beamed. “I haven’t been called a cuss since my days on the Ponderosa, Hoss.”
“Bonanza references? Really?”
The sound of a diesel engine drowned out my next Bonanza impression, and I watched the UPS truck pull up in front of the house two doors down. A man in brown shorts hopped down and started rooting around in the back of his truck.
I looked down at Jordan, surprised to see his face look pinched. “Get in,” he said, knuckling the door unlock button.
“Why?” I asked, my brow furrowing.
“I don’t want to be seen, that’s why,” he said through gritted teeth. “Will you get in the car?”
“You’re a stranger,” I said disdainfully, doing my best Kevin McCallister impression because well, that Home Alone movie still rocked.
Really, I had few qualms about getting into the car with him, but my radar had always been a little off. He seemed respectable enough, and he’d certainly had plenty of time to grab me and demand what pitiful little money I had on me. He also knew Trevor (not a ringing endorsement, but whatever), and Drew was literally eight feet away. And I liked a little danger with my Cheetos.
“Can I see your ID?” I asked, and I wasn’t kidding.
“Are you serious?”
“Do you want to be seen?”
He huffed and stretched up, reaching in his back pocket. Within moments, I was palming his ID, noting that even he could look like a stoned late-night gas station clerk in a DMV photo.
“All right, you’ve seen it. Now get in!”
I took pity on him and opened the door. As I slid in, I knew Drew was probably having kittens watching this go down.
“Thank you.” Jordan sighed and looked over at me tapping on my iPhone. “What are you doing?”
“Googling you, stranger,” I said, pulling up his law firm’s website. And there he was, smiling under an associate photo under the “who we are” tab.
“Why don’t you just ask me what you want to know?” He sounded annoyed.
“This is more fun,” I said, scrolling down. “So you’re a Pisces.”
“It doesn’t say that,” he said, hitting the door lock.
Ah, vintage kidnapper’s move. I might get to use my judo after all. Actually, it was more like high-cardio Tae Bo, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“It also says you prefer boxers over briefs.”
He looked at me for a moment before sighing. “I don’t know you, but suffice to say that sarcasm is your deal?”
I smiled a little. “You’d be right, Channing.” I hit the sleep button on my phone and turned slightly in the buttery leather seat. “So. What’s going on with either the peach house or the UPS man?”
“It’s a long story,” he said after a pause.
“Fortunately for you, I have plenty of time.”
“Are you always this nosy?”
“When I’m on my job?” I pretended to think. “Yes.”
“And what is work for you, exactly?”
“Private investigator,” I said.
His eyebrows went high. “Should I be nervous?”
“Do you have something to hide?” I bantered back and then paused, confused. What was I doing exactly? I cleared my throat. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe unless you hire me.”
“Are you any good?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Good enough.”
“Better than your people skills, I hope.”
“Cute. That’s a thirty percent markup for you.”
Suddenly he was very interested in the mahogany and leather steering wheel. “Maybe I do have a job for you.”
“What kind of job?” I asked curiously.
“Do you follow people? Looking for certain information?”
“I’m surprised the firm doesn’t have someone on retainer.”
“This wouldn’t be for work,” he said, tracing the silver logo with his fingers. They were long and ended in neatly trimmed, clean fingernails. “It would be… more personal.”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”
He was silent, clearly in some sort of debate with himself. Then, “How long have you been doing investigations?”
I shrugged. “Ten years or so.”
“Are you licensed?”
“Of course I’m licensed.” My response was a little terse, but I understood his caution. They were good questions to ask a PI before you allowed him to dig into your life.
“Well, what kind of things would you do in your investigation?”
“What would I be investigating?”
He let out a brief puff of air that sent his hair flying.
“Are you planning on telling me anytime soon?” I demanded.
“I think I changed my mind,” he said.
I squinted and cocked my head to one side. “Let me guess, an insurance scam. Or a lost pet. No, no, a cheating spouse.”
He gave me a level look, and the smile slipped off my face. “I’m not married” was all he said.
But a cheating girlfriend/fiancée/something, then. As if to buttress his silence, the door opened and a woman greeted the UPS man. She was pretty even from a distance, with a high ponytail and fitted yoga pants. She signed for her package and shut the door.
“Sorry,” I murmured, hating the fact that I’d destroyed our easy banter. Well hell, he’s the one who brought up the private investigating business.
“You get a lot of those?” he asked, a self-deprecating smile on his face.
“What’s that?”
“Cheating spouses.”
“You’ve just described the majority of my day,” I said with a shrug.
He sighed and looked at me. “You feel up for coffee?”
I pointed at the Starbucks cup in his silver-rimmed cup holder, wondering how severe his brain injury was. “Are you aware that you are drinking coffee?”
He picked it up and shook the Grande cup side to side. “I’m due a refill.” He turned the cup up to his mouth, and I did not watch the strong muscles in his throat working as he finished what was surely cold by now. “Ready?”
I looked around for a moment, pondering, as if I wasn’t going to go with him. “I have to let Drew know. Then I’m ready.”
“Drew?”
“My partner,” I specified, winding down the passenger window and waving an arm briefly.
“Partner?” Was it just my imagination or did he look slightly disappointed?
“He owns half the business,” I specified. I didn’t care to examine why it was important that Mr. Unattainable was clear on the fact that Drew and I were platonic. “And he’s pulling up next to you, so unwind your window.”
Drew’s car pulled up next to Jordan’s car, and his window went down again. “Are you about finished?” he asked, ignoring my companion completely. Drew wasn’t exactly known for his people skills.
“Actually, I’m going to go have coffee with Mr. Channing, here.”
“Go?” Drew repeated it as if it was a dirty word. “You’re going to go with this man? In his car?”
“I think his flying carpet is in the shop,” I said, being an ass as usual. Jordan appreciated my humor, though, snorting lightly.
“Mac, a word?” Drew said, his eyebrow
s snapping together in a way that boded ill. He waved me over to his side of the car, his expression saying don’t give me any crap.
I got out and sidled over to his window.
“I’m cooking spaghetti tonight. Are you in?”
An unexpected opening that I took cautiously. Unexpected but pleasant. I’d expected him to blast me for potentially riding off with a perfect stranger. I shook my head with real regret. A couple of forkfuls of Drew’s delicious spaghetti with homemade sauce would go a long way toward redeeming this day. He’d learned how to cook in the military and rubbed it in my face when he didn’t invite me to dinner.
“I’m bushed. After this meeting, I’m probably just going to head home and gnaw on a Lean Cuisine or something.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, nodding. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, are you out of your fucking mind?”
Well, here we go, then. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, he says.” Oh, it was never good when Drew started repeating you and talking to himself. “You’re actually going to get in his car and let him drive you someplace? Why, because he’s a hot piece of ass? Has all that blond streaking finally seeped into your skull?”
So he had noticed.
“He works with Trevor, and he’s straight, by the way,” I said, irritated. “And for the last time, I got these streaks surfing.” It was true. Not that there was anything wrong with L’Oreal, but a little time in the sun had burnished my brown hair with some golden highlights that I adored. And so what if a man sprayed a little lemon juice on his hair before hitting the beach with his board?
He ignored my declaration about both Jordan’s sexuality and the genuineness of my hair color. “And Trevor is so trustworthy.”
“Trevor’s a jackass—agreed. But he’s not a murderer either. He’s a lawyer at the firm. I saw his card… and his ID,” I added. “He’s legit.”
“Did you at least call Trevor and see if he’s heard of this Jordan Channing?”
“I did better than that. I googled him on my phone.”
“Because the Internet never lies.”
“For God’s sakes, Drew. We’re just going to a Starbucks. You can follow us if you wish. I have to schmooze a little.”
“And it just so happens that you get to schmooze with a guy that looks like that? Where were you when the Bobbsey Twins parked their respective rears in my office this morning?”
The “Bobbsey Twins” were actually two sweet old ladies who thought their neighbor was… well, there’s no easy way to say it… a murderer. And by sweet old ladies I mean harridans that argued with strangers, argued with us, argued with each other, argued with themselves… I shuddered to think of it. Really, I did owe Drew for that one, especially since I had been surfing with Asher and not doing anything remotely productive. The sisters swore the ax-murdering neighbor brought home a different woman every night, and she never left. The two bickering sisters also swore that he was stealing their TV Guide, and to be honest, I think that was the most important issue of all to them. Not the murdered women who were stacking up by the dozens, if their testimony (gathered from a pair of binoculars) was to be believed.
“Hey, if he happens to be good-looking, well, that’s just one of the perks of the job. Like stealing paper clips. Eating the extra french fries off someone’s plate. Snacking on grapes in the produce section. That kind of thing.”
Drew wrinkled his nose. “Good God, you don’t do that, do you?”
“Anyway, I’ll call you when we’re finished, and you can pick me up from the coffeehouse.”
“Because I have nothing better to do?”
“Exactly.”
“This had better be worth it,” he grumbled.
“Hey, this guy may be our newest client.”
“He may also be a freaking serial killer.”
“Ahem.” Our gazes swung to see Jordan standing slightly past my left shoulder, dumping his coffee cup in a street receptacle. He did a nerdy move, using his index finger to push up his frameless glasses on his nose. It should have been nerdy. Of course it made him even more attractive, and I almost stuck my tongue out at Drew. “I’m actually not a serial killer,” he continued, a slight smile on his lips. “But if I were, I would have definitely rerolled my duct tape and cancelled my plans by now.”
Even Drew’s mouth lifted a little at that one.
“Coffee?” Jordan asked with a lifted eyebrow.
“Coffee,” I said in confirmation.
Drew pointed a finger in my direction. “If you don’t call me in an hour, I’ll assume you’re dead.”
“And then call the police,” I said in a way that let everyone know I’d heard it all before.
“No, then I’ll just assume you’re dead and move into your office. You’ve got a better view.”
I blew him a kiss. “I love you too,” I said sarcastically.
As he peeled away, I got back in the car with Jordan, feeling strangely excited. I quickly banked the feeling. He was a potential client. Nothing else. I looked down at my cargo pants, glad they were loose fitting. Tell that to my dick, apparently. I sighed and buckled my seat belt, annoyed, as Jordan took the gearshift in hand. He even looked sexy driving. Glad to know my gaydar was still on the fritz.
Chapter 2
I’D FORGOTTEN how far the Starbucks at Riverwalk was from the parking lot. Not that I wasn’t enjoying walking with the best-looking man I’d seen in a long time. We ambled down the red-bricked street, passing little shops and corner cafés and saying very little—I had taken the proverbial class of small talk and failed miserably. By the fifth block, my teeth were gritted miserably as my leg began to voice its complaints, and I knew I didn’t have long before I’d have to sit down. The damn thing had been a pain in my ass since the accident, and I’d never quite forgiven it for making me quit the force. Although I suppose it could have been amputated, and that would certainly suck. As is, I’d had four months of rehabilitative therapy, and the right thigh was still numb in places and tingly. Of course, by tingly I meant that sometimes I’d get sudden pains like someone had shoved an electric poker up my ass.
I cast a side look at Jordan. “Hey, where is this Starbucks, exactly?”
“Not sure,” he said.
Helpful lad, he was.
We turned a curve, passing another café, and I swore silently. Soon I’d be limping like a three-legged dog, and I didn’t want to ponder why that bothered me. There were no possibilities here with Jordan—hell, I wasn’t even looking. We were just guys, two guys getting coffee while we discussed business. If one guy noticed how they were the exact perfect height to complement each other, then that was all right.
I’d never been gladder to see the green awning of the Starbucks and even managed a smile at Jordan as he let me go in front of him. Soon we were at the sugar and cream station, a caramel latte in my hand as I watched Jordan open sugar packets efficiently and dump them into his cup. Grande again.
“Maybe you’d like some coffee with all that sugar,” I suggested.
He grinned. “At least I didn’t order that froufrou caramel latte.” After another handful of yellow sugar packets disappeared into his cup, he took a sip and nodded. “Good.”
“Hey,” I protested, “compared to other Starbucks patrons, my order was relatively simple.”
“Double skim milk, a shot of french vanilla, and oh, do you happen to have any Truvia? No? All right, then three Sweet’N Lows.” He copied my mannerisms and tone exactly, making me blush. If he’d been my brother, I would have socked him in the arm or at least cuffed his ear.
“Funny.”
I pressed my fist into my upper thigh and couldn’t avoid the wince.
“You all right?” His eyebrow raised in query.
“Fine.”
“I noticed you favoring that leg on our way down here.” He paused. “There are chairs right here.”
Though the Starbucks was overflowing with business, most of the customers wer
e getting cups to go. Only two of the tables were occupied. The contrary part of me wanted to remain standing in case he pitied me. My leg made the deciding choice, as well as his matter-of-fact tone, and I sank into one of the chairs gratefully. Now I really needed a smoke.
“When did you get injured?”
“You ask a lot of questions, Channing.” Questions I didn’t feel compelled to answer. I took a sip of my latte.
“You answer very little, Williams,” he said in a way that made me laugh.
I dug deep and forced myself to exercise little-used conversational skills. “You from around here?”
“In the Boca area, actually. Originally from Dearborn. Michigan. You?”
“Fort Lauderdale born and bred,” I said. “Went to school in Miami, so I lived in Coral Gables for about five years, but then right back here.”
“University of Miami?”
“Where else? You?”
“Duke.”
“Well, la-di-dah,” I said with a grin, and he laughed. “What made you come down here?”
“I was offered a job straight out of law school down here, with the contingency that I pass the Florida bar. The firm made me an amazing offer, and I have no ties anywhere else. I would have been crazy to pass it up.”
“No family back in Dearborn?”
“I have two sisters that both live in Philly, and my parents are retired. They spend all their days traveling now, so there is no home base. Last I heard they were touring vineyards in Tuscany.”
“Must be nice.”
“That’s what I said.” He grinned.
God, his grin should be illegal. I blinked away the sight of Jordan’s amazing smile and spent a moment people watching through the Starbucks window. It was silly, really, but I didn’t want to know any more about him. I didn’t want to know any more about his life or his family, his interesting parents or his success at his job. I already liked him way too much. Besides, who was I kidding? I didn’t want to get to know him. I wanted to do him. Or be done by him. It didn’t matter what order.
“The only thing I regret about the move is the weather,” he said. “But the benefits are good.”
“If that Benz is a sign of how much they’re paying you, they must be pleased with you indeed.”