Anything But Extraordinary (Extraordinary Series Book 1)

by Mary Frame

  He’s silent through two number calls.

  “If she doesn’t wait for you, I’ll drive you home.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  One corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

  The game continues. Miss Viola starts snoring again, softly at first and then progressively louder.

  Jared and I exchange fleeting glances full of mirth, and I struggle to hold in my laughter.

  But then he’s nudging her awake. “Bingo,” he says in her ear.

  I glance down at her card. She only has two spaces daubed—the ones Jared did since he’s been running her card for her—but there’s a card with a line right in a row, one of Jared’s cards, and he quickly swaps hers for his. “Bingo,” he says again in her ear, louder.

  “Bingo?” She snuffles out of sleep into wakefulness.

  “Bingo,” he says again, even louder.

  “Bingo!” she yells, fully awake now.

  He stands and pushes her to the front. Her purple wig is slightly askew, and she’s still a bit groggy from sleep but she has a big grin on her face.

  The cowboy checks her numbers and declares her the winner after a few moments of double- and triple-checking. There are groans and shuffles from the remaining participants, but the cowboy assures everyone that they will start the next game after a break, and in the meantime everyone can all enjoy the cakes and treats made by the women’s book club.

  A group of women are putting out cookies and baked goods on a long table in the back and I ask Jared, “Are you staying?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s best to leave now while everyone is still here instead of trying to fight through the crowds when they all exit at once.” He stands. “Come on, let’s see if Tabby is out there waiting for you.”

  We move through the crowd of people getting in line for cake.

  Everyone knows Jared and it takes us a while to exit the building. Every two feet, people stop him to talk and shake his hand.

  “Thanks for your help at the hospital the other day, Deputy,” a woman says.

  Then from the cowboy who was calling numbers up front, “Oh Deputy, we were hoping you’d come to our barbeque this Sunday to thank you for your help at the senior center.”

  “The ladies at the auxiliary were hoping you’d come model for us again, Deputy.” This from two elderly women, one of whom is giggling behind her hand.

  He nods. “I can do that.”

  “Modeling?” I ask.

  “They have an art class,” he explains.

  My brows lift. “Really?”

  “It’s not a nude,” he says, making the ladies titter.

  “We would be okay with it if it was,” the woman calls out as we’re walking away.

  He stops and spends time with everyone, waving off their thanks and then introducing me to new people as his friend and the owner of the new shop in town.

  By the time we get out of the building, I’m thoroughly convinced the man is a saint.

  “Is there anyone you haven’t helped here in town?” We’ve passed through the full parking lot and we’re walking along the sidewalk toward where Tabby parked, which is a couple of blocks away. There are street lamps every thirty feet or so, but they’re dim.

  He shrugs. “It’s my job.”

  “It’s your job to volunteer at the hospital and the senior center and the schools in your spare time?”

  “Well. No. Where did you say Tabby parked?”

  “Stop trying to change the subject. I think we parked on the next block.”

  “Here’s my car.” He clicks a button on the keys in his hand and the lights of his Jeep blink. He opens the door for me to get in. “We can drive over there and see if she’s left.”

  I comply, but this conversation isn’t over.

  He gets in and we drive over to the other block. I point out where Tabby’s car was. Now there’s an empty space.

  “She left me,” I say, dismayed.

  “She knew I would take you home.”

  She sure did. That bitch.

  “Why did you give your bingo card to Miss Viola?” I ask when we’re driving down the dark streets.

  In the glow of the lights from the dashboard, he looks uncomfortable. “She needs it more than I do,” he finally answers after a moment of silence.

  I can’t help but gape at him.

  He’s just so . . . good.

  I stare at him, flabbergasted, and realize that I am completely turned on.

  Which really pisses me off.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When we get to my house, he walks me to the door.

  “You don’t have to walk me in,” I say, still a bit ornery toward him and all his white-knight goodness. My tarnished and checkered history weighs on me, a million times worse in comparison. Plus, I don’t need this, this . . . unrequited crap. Why do I want this man so much right now? This cop? This is a horrible decision. He needs to leave before I do or say something stupid.

  “I want to make sure you get in okay.”

  I unlock the door and stomp inside.

  “Is everything all right?” He follows me inside, shutting the front door behind him.

  “It’s fine.” In the kitchen, I open the fridge, examining the contents for something that will make me feel better, but there’s no alcohol. Just lemonade. It will have to do. I pull the jug out of the fridge and set it on the counter.

  “You’re not acting like you’re fine. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  Ignoring him, I open the cupboard where the tall glasses are, but they’re on the top shelf. I reach for them, but I know it’s futile and the stool is on the other side of the kitchen where Jared’s standing, watching me with those dark eyes.

  Refusing to give up or turn around, I continue to stretch up on my toes, reaching for the glass.

  He comes up behind me, plucks the glass off the shelf and then sets it down on the counter in front of me.

  His hands are on either side of my body.

  “Ruby,” he says, his voice soft.

  That makes me even madder.

  Quit calling me Ruby. My name isn’t Ruby!

  I face him, my arm brushing his chest with the turn because he’s so close.

  He doesn’t step back.

  “I know why you’re upset,” he says.

  “You do?”

  “You can tell me.”

  Uh, no I can’t.

  I search his eyes. Whatever it is he thinks he knows, he’s wrong. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t be staring down at me with that face, like he can save me like he saves everyone else in this town. He should be arresting me.

  I shake my head. “You should go.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “I do trust you.” The lie slips out without much thought. Do I really trust anyone?

  He shakes his head, frustration making his eyes narrow on me. “Then tell me the truth.”

  My heart thuds in my chest. “What do you mean?”

  Does he know? He can’t know.

  He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me enigmatically. I know this ploy. People can’t handle silence and if you make them nervous enough, they’ll start talking. He can’t trick me with that.

  “You don’t know anything,” I say, hoping the words are true. “You should leave.” I duck under his arm and stalk down the hallway.

  “Ruby,” he calls after me.

  “You might be the law, but you’re not the boss of me.”

  Jesus, I sound like a toddler.

  I make it to the laundry room, trying to find something to do, anything to get out of his space and make him leave.

  I’m pulling clothes from the washer and tossing them into the dryer when he finds me.

  He leans against the doorframe, watching my angry movements.

  I slam the washer shut when I’m done and flick the dryer on. Humming fills the room and he’s in my space again.

  “What are you running from?”

 
My stomach drops, wondering again what he knows, or what he thinks he knows, and how is it so close to the truth? Then again, he could be referring to me running from him.

  It would be easy to slip past him and out of the close confines of the small, warm room. He’s a foot away, but there’s a big enough gap that I could fit, and I know he would let me leave.

  But instead, I do something I’ve never done before. I touch him.

  I put my hand on his cheek, my palm brushing the rough stubble on his jaw.

  He closes his eyes, his breath suddenly deepening. Without warning, he grabs me in a rough embrace and his mouth descends on mine.

  This is no sweet meeting of lips, but a harsh bruising of mouths, like he wants me so badly and it makes him very, very angry.

  Well, the feeling is mutual, asshole.

  I give it back as good as I’m getting, pulling at his hair, biting at his lips. He’s so amazingly frustrating. And good and kind. I want to palm that goodness like a wallet, steal it for myself and hoard it away, as if kissing him will make that innate integrity take root in me.

  He lifts me onto the dryer, his fingers digging into my hips as his mouth devours me.

  I wrap my ankles together around his waist, pulling him closer. Ruby’s thin dress is no barrier between our bodies, and the pressure of his arousal against me makes me even crazier.

  His lips move to my neck and I’m panting and grabbing his hair, ready to pull him back to my mouth, but then there’s a sound. A loud, beeping sound.

  He pulls back, his hand going to his pants to pull out . . . his phone.

  He pushes a button, suppressing the noise. After taking a few deep breaths, he puts the offending item to his ear.

  “Reeves,” he says, his voice deep and a bit hoarse.

  His eyes meet mine. His lips are swollen and his hair is a mess from my hands.

  I can’t look at him. He’s too sexy. My forehead drops to his chest and my eyes shut, breathing heavily.

  His free hand tightens on my shoulder.

  “Hey, Ben.”

  I open my eyes. On the floor of my laundry room is a pair of dirt-encrusted sneakers. They are too small to be mine, or even Paige’s. Under the dried, caked-on mud, they are red. I’ve seen those shoes before, somewhere else.

  I didn’t even notice them until now, I was so distracted by Jared. They must belong to one of the boys from the other day.

  “You know how she gets when she loses in any kind of game. She’ll get over it.”

  I chuckle. Tabby must have gone to Ben’s to drown her sorrows after being kicked out of the bingo game.

  “Yeah, I’ll come get her. Just let me know when she gets to be unbearable.”

  I should be worried about Tabby. I should probably go to Ben’s myself and get her, but I’m too distracted by the shoes on the floor.

  While Jared is still talking to Ben, I slide off the washing machine, nudging him out of the way so I can bend over and examine the shoes. The laces are stuffed inside, a part of one of them ripped off.

  And suddenly, everything becomes clear.

  The boys. Their dad isn’t just a dead beat. They’re stealing to live. Have things been so dire for them?

  I shut my eyes with a sigh.

  Jared hangs up with Ben, and I turn toward him, leaving the shoe on the floor.

  There’s no time for showmanship or a sit-down fake reading. “Greg and Gary,” I say. “They’re the ones behind all of the thefts. Do you know anything about their dad? Because I’ve never seen him.”

  “Wait, what?” He blinks at me, confused about the sudden subject change. “Greg and Gary?”

  “Yes. It’s them. They’re the ones stealing things and mugging people.”

  “How do you . . .” He shakes his head, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Where did this come from?”

  “I just know, okay? Like I knew about the cupcakes, but this time I’m completely right. You have to believe me.” I grab his hands in mine and focus on his eyes, willing him to believe what I’m saying. “We have to find them. Do you know anything about their dad?”

  What if they’ve gotten into something truly dangerous? The thefts have gotten more and more risky. They’re way too young to be pulling smash and grabs. If they break into the wrong person’s house, something could happen to them. Something worse than being separated or put in the foster system.

  “I don’t know anything about their parents,” Jared says finally.

  I’m not sure if he believes me, completely, but he squeezes my hands once and then pulls out his phone.

  I follow him to the front room while he calls it in. He paces while he’s talking. “Two boys. Greg and Gary. Do you know their last name?”

  It takes me a minute to realize he’s asking me and not the person on the other line.

  I think back. Have they ever told me their name? That day on the boardwalk when I bought Gravy . . .

  “Sullivan.”

  He tells the person on the phone, and then there’s more back and forth. It sounds like his dispatcher knows about the family.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen that guy, but not for a while. I thought he skipped town. I didn’t know he had kids,” he says to the person on the phone. There’s a moment of silence and then, “When did he get laid off? Have there been any reports from the school?”

  After a minute, he hangs up.

  “You’re right,” he says. “Apparently, their dad was working at a factory outside town. He got laid off over a month ago and bailed.”

  “And left them behind?”

  He doesn’t say anything, his lips pressed into a thin line. He turns and stalks to the front door with me close behind.

  Once we reach the door, Jared turns and faces me. “Stay here.”

  “Like hell.”

  “I have to drive out to his last known address. It might not be pretty.”

  “I don’t care.”

  There’s no time to grab my purse or anything else, no time for anything but locking the front door and running behind him out to his car.

  He gives a short, frustrated huff when we reach his car and I’m still behind him, but he still opens the passenger side door for me. “You’re going to answer some questions about the boys on the way there.”

  I don’t like his demanding tone, but I also want to be there if something’s happened, so I don’t argue. “Fine.”

  He shuts my door and jogs around to his side.

  “When was the last time you saw them?” he asks as he shoots down the road. Still less than five miles over the limit though.

  “They came over last Monday. They had some chores to do with Mr. Bingel and they stopped by to see Gravy and clean up because they got caught up in some mud. I let them use the washroom.” I shake my head.

  “The broken bottles make more sense now,” Jared says.

  “The dad drinks?”

  “That’s what I was told. I only saw him a few times at Ben’s. I didn’t realize he was the boys’ father.” His voice is full of self-recrimination and remorse.

  “It’s not your fault. You can’t have an eye on every person in this town at every moment. You’re only one man.”

  We’re silent and tense as he pulls up to a mobile home in a run-down park on the outskirts of town. The windows are dark. There are no cars parked nearby. In the dim light of a flickering street lamp, I can see papers taped on the door, flapping in the breeze.

  “Stay here.”

  I don’t argue this time. He jogs up to the door and knocks, obviously not expecting an answer because he’s immediately peering into the windows. He pulls the papers from the door. He tries the handle and after a moment of struggle, it opens. He disappears inside.

  I want to follow him, but I don’t. I sit there in the darkened car and wait for what feels like forever before he appears again.

  “There’s no one in there,” he tells me when he’s back inside the car and buckling up. He hands me the papers that he pulled from the d
oor. Eviction notices, letters of water shut off, power shut off . . . I focus on the dates.

  “This eviction notice is from a month ago.”

  Jared swears. “Why didn’t they tell anyone?”

  “They’re kids, they don’t know any better.” Panic flickers through me and ignites. “We have to find them.”

  “I’m sure they’re okay. They’ve been on their own this long, they’re going to show up again.”

  I nod, but something is bothering me. My stomach is churning with anxiety, and I feel like I’m missing something really important.

  “Where do you think they’ve been staying?” he asks, continuing to drive down the road, slower than before, unsure where to go or where to even start.

  The small muddy shoes from my laundry room keep flashing in my mind. I know I’ve seen them someplace before, only they weren’t muddy. They were a bright red that didn’t match the surroundings.

  “The building!”

  “What building?”

  “The old sock emporium, on the boardwalk, the empty one you said was condemned. They’ve been staying there.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks, but he’s already picking up speed and turning down a road to take us in that direction. He also pulls out his phone.

  “Yes. Remember that day? When you yelled at me when I was in there?”

  “I didn’t yell at you, but yes.”

  “I heard them. I thought I was imagining things. But I saw his shoe.”

  “Whose shoe?”

  “Gary’s shoe, it was sticking out from behind a shelf. I was going to investigate more, but then you told me to leave.”

  I’m not sure if he hears my entire sentence. He’s already barking at someone on the phone. “I need you to send the closest available unit to the boardwalk to the old sock emporium, right away.”

  The voice chatters on the other end.

  “Tonight? Are you sure? Well, tell them to stop.” He hangs up and curses, increasing his speed down the dark road.

  “Who was that? Tell who to stop?”

  “I called dispatch. Maggie said they’re demolishing that building tonight.”

  My stomach drops. That’s right, Tabby told me the same thing. “Tonight?”

  “They have to do it at night to avoid affecting traffic to the other businesses.”