“Just wipe your nose and you’ll be fine.”
“That’s disgusting terminology.” She paused. “So this is what dinner is about. You’re working me.” She fought down the disappointment sweeping through her.
“No, dinner is personal.”
“Like your interest in Maggie? Whatever, Grant. You’re a man who follows the rules. You’d never get involved with a—” She hesitated. “What am I? A suspect?”
“No.” A vibration interrupted him and he pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got to go. You’re not under investigation. You’re just…suspicious.”
She threw her hands up and whirled away from him. “That’s great. Keep up the good work, Officer Harkness.” The words bit out, short and clipped. She slid into her car before he could reply, gunned the engine, and spun out.
***
Grant watched Rachel leave, memories tangling his thoughts. He’d watched his mom leave him one time, exactly like that. Spinning out in the fancy car she’d bought the day before. She hadn’t come back for years.
Sighing, he looked down at his phone and read the text. Then reread it. What was going on? He slid the phone into his pocket and trudged towards his truck. He’d have to stop at the station before going home. Another long night. As he opened the driver’s side door, a shout split the night air.
He turned and waited for the pastor to catch up to him. He didn’t know Joe well. The pastor had been a partier in high school, hanging out with Rachel’s older sister and other jocks.
Grant had been a loner. He’d kept to himself, even after discovering in high school that girls were drawn to him. Magnetism, as girlfriends labeled it, carried him through college, marked him as a ladies’ man when he’d come back home sporting a badge. The ability to put people at ease proved a useful tool.
Joe stopped beside Grant’s car, a warm smile reaching his eyes. “I’m glad I caught you. Everything okay?”
“Sure.” Grant shrugged, then wondered if he’d just lied to the pastor.
“Good. Being a Christian can sometimes be rough. If there’s anything you ever want to talk about, I hope you’ll give me a call.”
Man, Joe sounded like a father and he was only a year older than Grant. It gave him a strange feeling. Grant nodded anyway. “No problem.”
Joe offered him another one of his understanding smiles before turning away.
Grant leaned against his Ford. On second thought, Joe probably could help him with something. He was a pastor, after all, despite the closeness of their ages.
“Hey, Joe.” Grant pushed himself away from the truck and jogged to where the pastor waited in the middle of the parking lot. “I have a question about Rachel McCormick.”
“Rachel?”
“Yeah, you know that tall redhead? Maggie’s little sister.”
A trace of amusement flitted across Joe’s even features. “I know who she is. We’re friends.”
“Even better.”
“What’s your question?”
“Is she a good woman?”
“Maybe you should ask Rachel that,” Joe suggested.
“Rachel thinks highly of herself. I need a second opinion.”
Joe’s face grew serious. “Rachel doesn’t think highly of herself. She’s guarded and there’s a difference.”
“You’re saying her attitude is a front.” Grant thought back to how Rachel had stood only moments ago, cool as the river in summer, and told him she wasn’t dating right now.
Joe chuckled, but his eyes kept their somber look. “No, Rachel is a fire. She burns with passion. Her attitude is a part of who God made her.”
“She seems aloof. Uncaring.” Grant shifted, uncomfortable with showing how much Rachel intrigued him. But this was the pastor. He should be the one guy Grant could trust.
Besides, who else could he talk to about Rachel? He was having trouble understanding the woman. If there was one thing he liked in life, it was to know. Simply that.
Joe’s face had taken on a quizzical expression, as if he were moving puzzle pieces around, trying to fit them into place. Then the expression cleared, replaced by a knowing twist to his lips. “You like her,” he said.
“She’s confusing.”
“Take the time to get to know her. You'll find her less confusing than you think.” Joe cleared his throat. “And I should probably stop talking like this about her. You’re a good guy, Grant Harkness. I’m happy to see you in the kingdom of God. Let Him lead you in this.”
“Yeah, sure.” They nodded to each other and Grant walked back to his truck. He’d try to let God take the lead, strange as it felt. Right now he needed to head to the station.
He’d think about Rachel later.
Four hours later, Rachel was the furthest thing from his mind. He pulled his unmarked car into a small grove of trees and killed the engine.
After leaving the police station twenty minutes ago, he drove to the Mayor’s home in an unmarked car, carrying a few gadgets the FBI agent dropped off earlier for him. If Gerta and William Owens were still together, he could’ve done this easily in Gerta’s presence. But William was too astute. He’d notice if Grant tried to bug the house.
Picking up his phone, he dialed a familiar number.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said when Grease-Head answered.
Keeping an eye on the house caddy-corner to his position, he listened as Grease-Head sputtered for a few minutes. Then Grant broke in with what he’d discovered tonight. “Mayor Owens wants me to be Chief.”
“How’s that a problem?”
“I’m working for you, not him.”
“He doesn’t need to know that.”
Grant shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a little too close to deceit. He trusts me.”
“Even better.” The line silenced and Grant heard Grease-Head talking to someone in the background. “Look, this is perfect,” the Fed said, coming back on the line. “This is what you’re going to do.” He outlined a plan and then hung up after securing Grant’s cooperation.
Clenching his jaw, Grant snapped the phone closed and studied the mayor’s house. A light shone in the living room but he didn’t see any movement. It felt like he was betraying William Owens, and he shouldn’t feel that way because if the Feds were right, William had betrayed this city many times over.
Just as he’d betrayed his wife.
The adultery had started years ago but Gerta never seemed to care.
William’s current vices overshadowed his past infidelities. Did Gerta know how her husband had bought this big house? Had he been honest when he bought it? Overextended himself and needed money? Grant thought about the mayor’s wife, the high-pitched, frenetically-paced persona that disguised a huge heart. Was she involved too?
He shook his head and readjusted his position in the seat, eyeing the mayor’s house, wishing the porch light would flicker on so he could have a better view of the yard.
Unbidden, his memories conjured visions of Rachel with that ridiculous ski mask on her face. A smile wiggled around his lips. If she wasn’t dabbling in dangerous waters, if she wasn’t so absurd, he could actually admire her boldness.
A movement caught his eye and he froze, pressing his head against the back of his seat to meld more firmly with the shadows. Silhouettes in the living room appeared to merge then separate. Moments later the front door inched open and light speared through the unbroken darkness of night.
Grant squinted as a woman stepped out. Tall, lean, but he couldn’t see her face. The door closed, cloaking the mystery woman in shadows as she shuffled across the porch and down the steps. There wasn’t enough moonlight to see who she was but something struck him as familiar about her shape. The woman walked in the opposite direction of his position.
Perfect.
He turned off the dome lights so that when he opened his door, they wouldn’t alert her to his presence. Reaching over to the passenger side, he plucked two bugs off the seat. Quickly and silently, he cracked his do
or and slid out. He didn’t bother shutting the door completely. Body low, he rounded the car until he knew he was folded into the deep darkness of foliage. Night sounds enveloped him. The hum of insects swelled, a perfect covering for any noise he might make. Glancing down the street, he saw nothing but expensive cars and photo-perfect darkened homes. Whoever the woman was, she’d already cut a corner and wasn’t in sight.
He darted across the road, only releasing his pent-up breath when he reached a shadowed corner of the mayor’s house. No yard lights installed, unlike the other houses on the block. That had been one of Gerta’s biggest complaints, Grant remembered. She hadn’t felt safe.
Did she know how much danger she was in now? No one thought that bullet had been meant for Rachel, despite the note. Somehow she’d gotten caught in the crosshairs. Unfortunately, Gerta hadn’t been answering her cell phone for the past week. Mayor Owens said she’d gone out of town to visit family.
Grant didn’t know if he believed that but for now, he’d have to let it go. He squatted near the siding of the house and took out a bug.
Standing up, he peered over the porch. The family room light bathed the window and Grant could hear the faint tones of television. Probably the eleven o’clock news, accompanied by the slow sipping of fine scotch.
Pushing memories and feelings to the side, where they belonged, Grant crossed the grass, tiptoed up the porch stairs and placed the bug beneath the welcome mat. Audio might be a bit muted, but it should be good enough for now. Once the feds sent him some paperwork okaying a search, Grant would get into the house and find better locations.
Heeding a strange, unwelcome tug of emotion, Grant sidled up against the wall and peeked into the window. Sure enough, William rested in his recliner, feet propped up, a glass of Scotch babied in his palm. His eyes were closed, the cheeks relaxed and unlined.
For a second, emotion clogged Grant’s throat as memories of the past drenched him with guilt. It seemed like yesterday he’d been standing on this porch, contemplating the best way to break in without being seen. That night had changed his life forever.
Grant pressed the bug beneath the sill.
He studied the man who’d been a part of his teen metamorphosis one final time before setting his jaw and moving away from the window.
No matter the past, the mayor had fallen too far for help now.
A sliver of moon hugged a cloud as Grant strode across the road to his unmarked car. If anyone saw him, they might assume business brought him to the mayor’s.
He started up the car but kept his eye on that lighted window. Neighbors were one thing, but if the mayor saw the car, he might not be so easily fooled. He’d seemed paranoid tonight, offering Grant the chief’s position in a reluctant manner. Grant didn’t want the responsibility of chief. Too much paper pushing and politics. Sergeant was better, a good balance between the lower and higher ranks.
But William said his other applicants had fallen through, that Chief insisted on retiring and that Grant was his only qualified choice.
His phone beeped. Missed call. Grant picked it up and called Charlie back. “What’s up?” he asked as he pulled out onto the road.
“Me and Angel are cooking up some late night steaks on Friday. Wanna come over?”
Grant pressed the accelerator and headed in the same direction as mystery woman. “Thanks man, but I’m beat.”
“You’re off Saturday.”
Grant heard Angel in the background, telling Grant to sleep in. Before Charlie could repeat her, he interrupted. “I have a wedding Saturday. I’m a groomsman so I’m going to be tied up all day.”
“A wedding, huh?” Charlie cackled. “That sounds like a good idea.”
Grant held back his grin, even though no one was around to see it. He slowed to a stop as another vehicle approached the intersection. “Thanks for the invite. Some other time?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Charlie hung up and Grant flipped his cell into a cup holder.
The car opposite him stopped at the four-way. From out of the shadows of the trees, a woman stepped forward. The mayor’s houseguest. She loped in front of the car and the headlights highlighted her long enough to cause the air in Grant’s throat to suction out, replaced by a deep knot in his gut.
He’d warned her. Told her to stay out of things.
Afraid the other car would notice him still sitting at the stop sign, he crept through the intersection, scowling as the other car’s dome lights flashed and drew attention to the mystery woman’s mass of red hair.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grant woke up the next morning seething.
He’d been an idiot.
Since when did Rachel McCormick follow the law? Let alone advice. He’d been stupid to think she’d stay away from the mayor. Basking in his ire, Grant headed to the office for an early morning shift. Pete had an appointment and they’d swapped shifts. He squinted at the road in front of him, gulping more coffee to chase the fatigue that gripped him. The restlessness. He felt like a kid again, settling into something, then everything getting ripped up out of nowhere. A new house. New parents.
Then his mom coming back…
He shook his head and chugged the rest of his espresso. Childhood was over. He had a life now that didn’t include chaos. There was safety in rules. People didn’t get that sometimes. They only saw the law as something to keep them from what they wanted, rather than protecting them from danger.
He pulled into the station, groaning when he saw Owens’ car in the lot. Could he even pretend to like the guy anymore? But he had to do it. For the city he’d grown up in, for the citizens' sakes. Corruption couldn’t go unpunished.
He parked his truck then went around back and did a basic inspection of his patrol car. Oil check, fluids check. Once satisfied that everything was in order in the front, he popped the trunk and made sure it held a first aid kit and other essentials.
Bracing himself for the inevitable face to face with Mayor Owens, Grant went into the station to check out a shotgun for the trunk and to call dispatch and let them know he clocked in.
William Owens didn’t notice him at first. The suave politician bent over a junior policeman’s computer, studying the screen. Charlie lounged in the corner of the station, boots propped up and hat tipped forward. The chief wasn’t in sight.
Grant moved to his desk. Unloaded his coffee, booted up his computer and sat. Reports waited on his desk, both to be filled and to sign off on. Their receptionist, an older lady who’d moved to Manatee Bay to live with her granddaughter a few years ago after her New York condo had been condemned, peered at him over thick-rimmed glasses.
“I want those pronto,” she said, accent hewing her words into sharp syllables.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Riccio.” He winked at her, satisfied when a blush climbed her age-softened cheekbones. At least he could still have an effect on some women. Because apparently Rachel just traipsed off into danger whenever she felt like it. Didn’t matter how many warnings he gave her, she did whatever she wanted.
What he couldn’t get was what she saw in the mayor. Why she’d been in his living room when from the way she talked, she hated the guy. Not only that, but it had looked as though their silhouettes had been embracing.
He glanced over at William, who now stood at the coffee pot refilling his cup with some of Mrs. Riccio’s thick-brewed sludge. The woman made a mean cup of coffee, that was for sure. Too strong for Grant’s taste.
She didn’t hold it against him, though. She had a bigger problem when he didn’t finish paperwork for her to file. Sighing, he studied the report in front of him. Another complaint from Ms. Dalwigger about Crazy Al marking his territory in her backyard.
He had more important things to deal with. “Hey Charlie, what’s going on with Crazy Al?”
Charlie didn’t move an inch from where he sat. “Thirty days, trespassing. Or a restraining order. Old maid can’t make up her mind and Crazy Al’s enjoying the free food in his cell.”
“Grant.” William sauntered over, steaming Styrofoam cup in his hand. “Have you decided about the issue we talked about?”
Grant felt the attention of everyone in the small station arrowing in his direction. He nudged his chin toward the door to the only interrogation room they had. “Let’s talk in there.”
He followed the mayor in, shoving the door shut behind him. “I decided to take the position.”
Owens’ eyes crinkled at the corners and a grin split his face. “That’s great.” He set his coffee on the table and reached for a quick hug.
Grant endured the pat on his back, taking in the mayor’s familiar cologne overlaid by the thick smell of black coffee. His stomach churned and a deep unease crowded in his chest so tight he felt like gasping for air.
Instead, he pulled back from the hug and ignored the claws of guilt that dug into his conscience. He gave William a tight smile. “Thanks for the promotion.”
“You’re perfect for chief. I’m proud of you, Grant. A boy goes through a lot and you’ve risen above your challenges, become more than what anyone thought you could be.”
“Thanks.” Grant shifted. “I came by last night to tell you my decision.”
“Oh?” William’s brow lifted.
“But it looked like you had company.”
William frowned and reached for his coffee. “This divorce with Gerta and I, it’s been difficult. An old friend was over last night. Have you heard from Gerta, by the way?”
“You haven’t?”
“She was supposed to leave her mother’s yesterday.” William actually had the temerity to look worried. Or maybe it wasn’t an act. If Grant hadn’t seen the proof himself, he would be tempted to believe the Feds were wrong.
“If I hear from her, I’ll tell her you’re worried,” Grant managed to say past the lump in his throat.
“I appreciate that, son.” William swigged some more coffee while Grant tried not to cringe at the familial endearment. “I’m making the announcement in June at the big summer festival on the river. I think your church is sponsoring it? Think they’d have me in to speak?”
Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 10