When A Stranger Calls (New York State Trooper Series Book 7)

by Jen Talty

  “It was a compliment.”

  “It was a backward compliment, so it doesn’t work.”

  “You said it to me when ripping your ex a new one. And by the way, your ex-boyfriend is blind because you’re hot. I mean smoking hot. He’s a moron to trade you in for a slut.”

  “Oy. I get you’re trying to make me feel better, but really, do you hear yourself?”

  “Okay, so maybe I could have said it differently.”

  “Ya, think?”

  “You’ve been handed a shit load of crap in a short period of time. Don’t let assholes like that make it worse. You’ve got a lot going for you and it’s not just nice breasts.”

  Immediately, her nipples puckered against the thin fabric of her tank top, reminding her she didn’t have a bra on, wondering what, other than her boobs, he’d noticed. She should be furious, but she found herself turned on and amused. “Instead of commenting on my breasts, maybe you could have actually told me what attributes I have going for me, because otherwise all I heard was ‘nice boobies’.”

  He laughed. “But they are really...”

  She tilted her head and gave him her best scowl. While she found him endearing, other women wouldn’t.

  “Okay. You’re smart. You’re funny. You can laugh at yourself and I get the impression you don’t take shit from anyone. I admire that. Also—”

  “Stop there. No need to risk putting your foot in your mouth again.”

  “Okay, but I’m confused. Women like it when men complement their bodies.”

  She shook her head and quickly regretted it when the pain ricocheted off her teeth. “Who has been giving you dating advice? Yeah, we like to be told we look beautiful in a little black dress, or that our hair looks nice. But that’s all you focus on.”

  “Women are complicated.” He tapped her plate. “Eat your breakfast. I’ve got to head out in a few minutes. I need to return the patrol car and I have a meeting, but I’ll be back around lunch time with a couple of security cameras. You have internet, right.”

  “I sure do.”

  He stood, clearing his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. She nibbled at her food, while watching him go about cleaning up the kitchen, putting the eggs and bacon away, wiping down the countertops, washing the egg machine. Other than he having no filter, he had to be one of the sweetest men she’d ever met.

  Awkwardly sweet. Only way to describe it.

  “I’ve got to go.” He touched her shoulder, before dropping his hand to his side. “See you later.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  She followed him through the family room, admiring his trim, but muscular frame. His biceps tightened as he opened the front door. She lifted her head as he turned.

  “I know it’s summer and everyone leaves the door unlocked during the day, but I think you should keep yours locked.”

  “Because of the break-ins? They seem to be looking for something of value, not hurting me.”

  “It’s not just that. The case I was reading this morning didn’t sit well with me, so humor me and lock the door, especially when doing things like showering.”

  “Great. Now I’ll be thinking of the movie Psycho.” She raised her hand and made a stabbing motion while trying to recreate the music from the movie, though it sounded more like a pig being castrated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wendell slow from a jog to a walk as he rounded the corner. “Jerk,” she muttered.

  “Excuse me?” Tristan questioned with a contorted face.

  “Not you. Wendell. He walks up and down this stretch of road every day after his run. He’s been doing it for years.”

  “Oh.” Tristan glanced over his shoulder.

  “Brooke.” Wendell waved, then scowled. “Tristan, what are you doing here?” Wendell had the nerve to step onto her property.

  “None of your business,” Tristan said, hands clenched to his sides.

  “I hope he didn’t force you into anything just to get out of a ticket.” Wendell stretched his arms up over his head.

  “You’re not going to bait me,” Tristan said.

  “Interesting how you’ll let a woman off the hook, but a rich white boy? Tisk Tisk.” Wendell waved his finger. “Piece of advice, Brooke. Stay away from him. He’s a dirty cop and—”

  “Don’t make me arrest you again.” Tristan tensed and Brook grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him steady.

  “Arrest me again, and I’ll have you fired for brutality and harassment.” Wendell drew his lips in a tight line. “I’m warning you, Brooke, he’s bad news.”

  “I can pick my own friends. Now if you don’t mind, Tristan and I have a few more things to discuss.”

  Wendell backed up a few steps. “Michelle really wants to see you and I hope you’ll be nice to her. My grandparents and parents would like to know when the service will be.”

  “Tell Michelle not to bother.” She leaned forward, letting her hands run down Tristan’s muscular chest. “I’ll put a notice in the newspaper.”

  Wendell shook his head as he waltzed down the street, taking baby steps, constantly looking over his shoulder.

  “You two have some history.” Tristan turned and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “So, do you.”

  “Wendell had tried to buy his way out of his DUI, which wasn’t just alcohol, since I also found a small amount of cocaine on him. He tried to use his influence to get out of doing a little community service. After that, it had been an all-out battle to find ways to make my life miserable, including filing a harassment charge. It was tossed, but only after I’d been put on administrative duty for a month while the review board followed up on the bogus complaints.”

  “That sucks, but Wendell is a spoiled child who has always thought money could buy his way out of trouble”

  “I feel bad for his wife, she seems like a nice girl.” His fingers grazed the sensitive skin at the small of her back. “He’s looking at us, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Her heart fluttered in a mix of toxic anger toward the memory of her best friend thinking she tried to get Wendell into bed.

  “By the way he looks at you, I suspect he’s got the hots for you. So, it seems like a moral imperative we suck face in front of him.”

  “We’re going to need to work on your terminology. Saying that doesn’t make me, or any woman, want to kiss you.”

  “But you’re going to do it anyway, right?” He grinned, which she found to be oddly boyish and cute.

  “This isn’t because I like you or anything.” She tilted her head, closing her eyes, and brushed her lips against his, barely touching them, not wanting to get too personal. Just enough to get under Wendell’s skin.

  He pulled her tighter, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and swirled it around in a smoldering, erotic dance. Any trace she had of her hang-over disappeared and was replaced with hot tingles across her skin. She moaned, wrapping her arms tighter around him, stroking his shoulders and back, trying to climb inside him, if that were possible.

  So much for an impersonal kiss.

  His hands slid down her back, cupping her ass. All she could think about was wrapping her legs around him and letting him carry her off to bed. She’d let him take advantage of her at least five different ways.

  He squeezed her hips, pulling away.

  She shivered.

  “That could easily get carried away,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “Not only do you have great breasts, but your ass—”

  She pressed her finger against hir lips. “While it’s nice to have my body appreciated, for future reference, this would have been a good time to say something romantic. Perhaps tell me that the way I kiss reminds you of a warm summer breeze. I mean for when you’re with someone else.”

  “Right now, I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

  She smiled. “You’re learning.”

  “I actually meant that.”

  “Oh.” She stared into his dark, smoldering e
yes wondering what it was about him that made her want to tell him everything there was to know about her and find out what made him tick.

  “I really need to get going.” He released his grip. “I will be back around one.”

  “You don’t have to do this today.”

  “But I want to. Now please go inside. You’re not wearing a bra,” he whispered.

  “Oh.” She crossed her arms, suddenly aware of her aroused body.

  She stepped back inside and closed the front door, moving to the window and watched as Tristan walked down the street and disappeared around the corner. Tristan was like no one she’d ever met before. Kind, considerate, and awkward, which on him managed to be sexy.

  But she had no idea what to make of that kiss. More importantly, why she’d agreed to it. Giving Wendell ammunition to humiliate her would only lead to more embarrassment, and when it came to Mr. and Mrs. Wendell Knoll Ramsworth, the III, she preferred to fly under the radar.

  Then again, considering recent events, she wouldn’t mind if Michelle thought she had a hunky trooper as a boyfriend.

  She shook her head. Michelle knew about the last boyfriend, so this would just make her look like a slut, all over again.

  The tile floor cooled her feet as she made her way to the bedroom, regretting kissing Tristan, but not regretting the actual kiss, if that made any sense. Just as she pulled her pajama top over her head, the doorbell rang. She let out a long sigh as she scrambled to put some clothes on before racing back to the front door.

  Her eyes narrowed and her blood turned cold as she stared at Wendell and Michelle. “What do you want?”

  “We wanted to give you this.” Michelle held out a card. “I also want to know if there is anything I can…can… do for you.” She touched her neck with her thumb and forefinger.

  “Not a thing.” She went to close the door, but Wendell shoved his arm through the opening.

  “My wife is trying to be kind, which I told her it was useless.”

  “Your point?” Her lungs screamed to take a deep breath as her body erupted into an inferno of flames. The same dizziness she’d experienced the day she went bonkers at Debbie and Larry filled her heart with a desperate need to hurt someone else.

  Wendell shoved another envelope in her face. “Take her card and this.”

  “What is it?” She stared at a manila envelope with her name on it. Visions of getting a knife to open it with, but instead slitting his throat, filled her mind.

  She swallowed the thought, shoving it so far down she prayed she’d forget she had it.

  “A very generous offer for the house and all the land that goes with it.”

  She laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me? You want me to sell? To you?”

  “I know you’ve never really liked it up here and—”

  She interrupted Wendell. “You don’t know shit about me or my life. Take your offer and get the fuck out of my house.”

  Wendell tossed the envelope and card inside before stepping away, looping an arm around his wife, her protruding belly enhanced when she turned sideways.

  “I guess congratulations are in order,” Brooke said with a tinge of disgust and a fraction of jealousy. Not that she was ready or wanted a baby, but it just reminded her that she’d spent the last four years on a man no better than Wendell.

  “You’ve turned into a mean girl,” Michelle said, shaking her head. “Can’t believe I thought we could be friends again.”

  Brooke’s body radiated a wrath so intense her fingers twitched to lace them around Wendell’s neck. She slammed the door shut, turning the lock. Her body trembled as she slid to the ground, tugging her knees to her chest. Tears burned the corners of her eyes. Michelle had made her choice six years ago when she chose to believe a lying cheat over her best friend since the first grade. It had taken Brooke a while to get over the betrayal, so it alarmed her now that seeing them sent her into an irrational state of panic.

  ***

  Tristan pulled his convertible Range Rover into the gravel driveway, parking next to Brooke’s Camaro. He strolled up the broken concrete walkway, looking east, eyeing the ‘twin peeks’ of Ramsworth Manor. He’d never been inside the gate, but Rusty had a few stories to tell about the place. Rusty told him that every five years, Mrs. Ramsworth would gut the kitchen, making sure they had the latest and greatest. After that, they’d sell their furniture at an auction house, their way of ‘giving back’, and replace it with the latest trends.

  The only good thing Rusty had to say about the family was that they paid a decent salary to their employees, though they still had a high turnover rate, which Rusty had decided was based on their lack of empathy toward those that worked for them.

  One of the things Tristan valued so much about his parents was that they, for their wealth, lived a much more modest lifestyle, though still lavish enough, but they didn’t have a staff of people running around, doing things for them. His mother did laundry and cooked all the meals. She had a cleaning crew that came twice a week, but only once a month to clean the children’s bathrooms and bedrooms, forcing them to do it themselves, along with other chores. The Reid family motto had always been, no one, or no job, is beneath you.

  He rang the bell to Brooke’s house, happy she’d locked the front door.

  The door creaked open an inch as she peered through the crack. “Oh,” she said, swinging the door all the way open. “Come in.”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you into hiding.”

  “You didn’t.” Her long-wet hair clung to her back. Her white tank top accentuated her tanned, toned skin, and the cut off jean shorts clinging to her hips heightened her curvy, but firm ass. “Reliving the music from Psycho in the shower did.”

  “Sorry about that.” His fingers twitched. “My buddy Doug wants to come over to do some measurements. He’d love the opportunity to renovate this place.” Tristan followed her back to the kitchen. A portable filing case had been tipped over on the table and papers covered the top. “And he said to send him an image of the key, which might help him in his search.”

  She reached into a bag and pulled out a key and a note. “Go ahead and send him an image, and if he wants to give me a free estimate, that’s fine.” She plopped her butt on a chair. “Looks like you didn’t get the security camera.”

  “Back ordered, so I opted for one day shipping from Amazon. They will be here by ten tomorrow morning and since I don’t work again until tomorrow at 4pm, I’ll be able to install it for you.”

  “Okay, well thanks for stopping by.” She lifted a few papers, twirling her hair with her free hand, dismissing him.

  He cocked his head back “You’re in a bad mood. What happened?”

  She pointed to a large envelope with her name on it. “That happened.”

  He reached out and lifted it into his hands, holding it up to the light, though it would be impossible to see through this kind of thick envelope lined with bubble wrap. “What is it?”

  “An offer for the house.”

  “From who and how much?”

  She rested her elbows on the table, her hands cradling her face. “Wendell, and I have no idea how much. I haven’t opened it.”

  “What the hell does he want with this property? It’s not on the water.”

  “Probably wants to build a small strip mall or something.”

  “It’s zoned residential.”

  “Only part of the property. The back portion that butts up to the Marina is all zoned commercial.”

  Tristan shook his head. “A strip mall would destroy his property value.”

  “The Manor isn’t his, yet. Why are rich people such asshats?”

  He swallowed, doing his best not to furrow his brow. “Not all rich people are jerks.” He regretted bringing his convertible. He knew what hers cost, and his was more than double that. “My boss is rich and he and his wife are really great people.”

  “Your boss is in the minority.”

  So is my family.
>
  Tristan pulled out a chair and sat down, holding up the envelope. “Are you going to open this?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not? Don’t you want to know what he’s offering?”

  She glared at him. “I’m not selling to him.”

  “Okay, but don’t you—”

  “You want to know, go ahead. Be my guest.” She tossed a card sized envelope at him, the corner hitting him in the chest before dropping to his lap.

  He ignored the temper tantrum and unsealed the large envelope, pulling out a legal document. He flipped the page and stared at the offer. “Seventy-five grand.”

  “What!?” She shoved her chair back, racing around the table, putting her hands on his shoulders. Her damp hair fell over his head.

  “That’s a horrible offer.” He brushed her silky hair from his face, but not before taking a lingering whiff of her tropical shampoo.

  “It’s insulting, is what it is.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, twisting his head left and right, trying to work out the knots, as well as the sexual tension.

  “What do you think this place is worth?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I rent my place, but I’m paying twice as much as I would in the village and the modular next to me is for sale for three-twenty-nine.”

  His muscles tightened as her hands slid up his arms, squeezing his biceps before shoving his hand away and digging her fingers into his shoulders. “Wendell doesn’t do anything without a motive.”

  “I would have to agree with you.” He tried to keep from groaning, but the way her hands moved across his aching muscles sent his mind and body into the pleasure realm.

  “The question is: why does he want this land?”

  “No idea.” He moaned the words. “But all the more reason to talk to my friend Doug. He knows the property around here and what it’s worth.” He reached back and curled his fingers behind her knee.

  Her body went rigid.

  He dropped his hand.

  “That was awkward,” she whispered. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Best massage ever. All it needs is a happy—”

  She covered his mouth. “And that’s why you’re single.”