Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2)

by Jessica Nelson

  “Good news for you, Miss McCormick. I’m redeemed now. No more flirting.” His teeth flashed.

  Rachel flushed. When he acted like this, every wall she’d erected seemed to disappear. And he looked so earnest. So honest. Well, he was a cop. He probably had some sort of moral structure. Something that made her long to believe him. She stuck the balloon to her lips and heaved air into it, twirling the end of the latex into a knot.

  “Friday night, Melting Pot?” With his head tilted to the side, he didn’t look so bad. Certainly nothing like Scott the weasel. Her stomach growled, urging her to say yes to his invitation. Sighing, she plopped her balloon on the floor. It half-floated, half-bounced over to a wall. As if it couldn’t decide what to do, just like her.

  “I’m sorry, Grant. I need a reason to go out with you. Right now I have too many reasons to say no.”

  “Doesn’t sound very nice, Rachel.”

  She shrugged. “Hey, you want to date me. You should know I’m not a nice girl.”

  He appeared to think her words over, then stood to his feet. “C’mon.” His hands reached down and without thinking she let him pull her up. “Why do you think you’re not nice?”

  Talk about being put on the spot. “I was teasing.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Belatedly, Rachel realized her hands still rested in his. She drew them away, flustered. How was she supposed to respond to that? Just like people knew he never dated a girl for long, everyone knew she played hardball. She made sure of it.

  “Wow.” He grinned and patted her on the shoulder. “You actually don’t know what to say. I think that’s a first.” He crossed his arms and the lines at the corners of his eyes creased. “Just so you know, I only like nice girls. Saying the truth, being bold, you do it in love. The Bible tells us to do that.”

  Rachel squirmed. “Using God’s word to rationalize my bad behavior?”

  “No, you’re still on the hook for your shady snooping.”

  “I told you I’m legit.”

  “Sure.”

  “I am. But thanks for trying to make me feel better.” A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and suddenly she felt like saying yes. Because she did feel better, thanks to him. God knew she didn’t want to hurt anyone. Acid truth just seemed to drip from her words before she could shut the faucet off.

  “I’m not trying to make you feel better. Katrina wouldn’t be friends with you if you were mean-spirited.”

  “Katrina would befriend the whole town,” she pointed out.

  “So you need proof. I heard that Eric’s boy—”

  “I’m not fishing for compliments.”

  “You don’t like fishing, do you? How about snorkeling?”

  “Love it, but only in the Keys.”

  “The Keys are awesome.” He studied her, a crooked smile carving dimples into his clean-shaven cheeks.

  Uncomfortable with the longevity of this silly conversation, she crossed the room to pick up some wayward balloons. He was far more persistent than she’d expected. Maybe going on one date wouldn’t hurt so bad. She plucked up two balloons near the wall and faced him.

  “All I need is a reason," she found herself saying. "Just one and I’ll say yes.”

  His thumbs pushed into the pockets of his tux. He leaned back on his heels, obviously thinking. Was it that hard? It wasn’t like she needed a lot of prodding to go out with him, but of course he didn’t know how she felt. The poor guy had been shot down by her twice already. She frowned. The balloons bobbed beside her.

  Grant snapped his fingers, his concentration melting into a Brad Pitt kind of smile. “We both love jazz.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah, months ago at dinner I heard you tell Katrina you wanted to go to a Miles Davis concert.”

  “He’s my favorite.” She tried to take in the fact he’d paid enough attention to know her music preferences.

  “We have that in common.” He crossed the room to her, bending so his face leveled with hers. Her chest constricted. She could see pinpricks of yellow in his irises, could feel the warmth of his breath fluttering near her lips. “Friday night,” he said.

  She nodded mutely as he straightened.

  “Good.” He tugged at his collar and winked at her. He scooped his clothes off the floor and opened the door. “I’ve got to hit the reception but I’ll call you later.”

  ***

  “He winks so much his eye should have a cramp.” Rachel tossed another silk skirt on the bed and continued rummaging through her closet. Grant had called Saturday night as promised and they’d set a date for the following Friday evening.

  Tonight.

  “Stop grumbling.” Maggie lounged on Rachel’s bed, blowing on her freshly painted fingernails. “If you don’t like the guy, why did you agree to the date?”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. Almost a week later, and she still had no clue. Only that the feelings he evoked were irresistible. They swamped her logic and weakened her control. She slid a crisp black skirt off a hangar and held it up to her waist. “How about this one?”

  “Too professional.” Maggie’s forehead wrinkled. “You’ve never been so fussy for a date. What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing. I want to feel confident.”

  “Do I know the guy? Ouch.” Maggie’s feet jerked off the ground and she scowled. A low grumbling came from beneath the bed. “Could you get rid of that cat? She hates me.”

  Maggie the drama queen. Rachel couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Miss Priss doesn’t like your foot by her mouth.”

  “How was I supposed to know where her mouth is? I really can’t handle this, Rachel.”

  Rachel placed the black skirt on the bed and picked up shirts to be rehung. The cool silk draped over her hands. “Get your own apartment then.”

  Maggie didn’t answer that, just kept blowing on her nails. Rachel’s jaw clenched. She was doing her sister a favor, not the other way around. She closed the closet door and then went to the bed. She sank into it, trying to push her annoyance aside.

  “Why don’t you have a place to live?”

  Maggie’s eyes lifted. Her chin trembled, a tell-tale sign she was upset. Rachel sighed. If she was going to be there for Maggie then she needed to set aside her bitterness over Scott and focus on trying to help her sister recover from the secret tearing her apart.

  Rachel reached over and took Maggie’s hand, careful not to smudge her nail polish. “I know in the past I haven’t been there for you. But I want to be now.” Rachel swallowed hard, pushing her misgivings firmly to the side. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need to.”

  The green in Maggie’s eyes darkened and Rachel thought she saw a suspicious glint before Maggie pulled her hand away and leapt off the bed. Her sweatpants hugged her figure and Rachel felt some relief. At least Maggie had gained weight living here, even if she’d scarfed down all the ice cream to do it.

  “Who’s your date?” Maggie crossed her arms and her face settled into a pixie mischievousness. “Is it Party Joe?”

  “You mean Pastor Joe?”

  “Whatever. He was more fun in high school. I can’t believe he’s a Christian now.” She said the word Christian as if it represented the lowest life form on the planet.

  “Well, he is,” Rachel shot out. “And no, it’s not him. Why would you even ask that?”

  “Mom said he likes you.” Maggie’s lips curved into a playful smile.

  “He doesn’t.” Why did this keep coming up? He must have looked at her funny once. If this got around town it would be so embarrassing for Joe. He worked hard to keep his reputation unblemished and reputable.

  Rachel hugged her ribs, gripping the sides of her shirt so she wouldn’t be tempted to throw anything. She’d talk to him soon. For now, the very idea needed to be nipped. And quick.

  “Joe is just a friend. The guy I’m dating is far from pastoral.” She frowned. A little too far. Tonight’s date would be one of the riskiest moves she’
d ever made.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Spit it out. Who is he?”

  “Grant Harkness.” Rachel crossed her legs, then jolted when Maggie’s rusty laugh burst through the room. Beneath the bed, Miss Priss yowled.

  “What’s so funny,” Rachel snapped.

  “Nothing. Just, well, he’s perfect for you.”

  Was her sister crazy? “We both like jazz. That’s all there is to it,” she said coolly, knowing her face flushed tomato red. The problem was that she thought he was close to perfect too. When he’d acted like he hated her, she’d never foreseen a date. But now that it was actually going to happen in a few minutes she wasn’t sure what to feel, what to anticipate.

  Maggie laughed again, sticking a hip out. “Oh, c’mon. You never dated someone just because you had music in common.”

  “It’s how Scott and I met.”

  Maggie straightened. Was that pain flickering across her face? “I didn’t know that.”

  “Scott didn’t tell you during your tryst?” Rachel bit her lip, regretting her bitter voice. It was years ago. Why couldn’t she let it go?

  “Have fun on your date.” Maggie carefully swept the bangs from her eyes and left the bedroom, closing the door behind her as if Rachel’s comment had sapped her strength.

  Rachel cringed. Great. They’d been getting along fine until she mentioned Scott. He was a burden on her conscience, a load that grew heavier with the passage of time.

  She flopped against her pillow, relishing the soft fabric against her cheek. Lord, I’m having trouble forgetting what Scott and Maggie did to me. To top things off, Grant is not my idea of love material

  Maybe you’re not his idea of love material, either. The thought hit her in the chest, made her breathless the same way her fall from a tree in fourth grade had done. A woman who couldn’t forgive, who judged people on every bad thing they’d ever done, didn’t make a great prospect for a relationship.

  A tear stung the corner of her eyes. Using her forefinger, she rubbed it away. Who was she trying to fool? She should cancel the date. Introspection wasn’t her strong point but now that she’d gone and looked at herself, she didn’t like what she saw.

  She could hear Maggie moving around in the kitchen, banging pots and pans, thumping. Hopefully putting them away and not trying to cook. Maggie could set an icebox on fire.

  A flutter of air and Miss Priss curled up against Rachel’s legs, her body warm and rumbling with content. Rachel blinked. This was the first time Miss Priss had shown any type of affection, instead of behaving like a cat from the netherworld.

  She sucked in a breath, then smiled. She would do this. She was Rachel McCormick, bold PI who never let anything stand in her way.

  Certainly never fear or self-recrimination. Not her style. Rachel popped up and ruffled Miss Priss’s fur before jumping out of bed to get dressed. Maybe Grant was perfect for her, maybe not.

  She’d find out.

  He showed up at seven. Maggie had disappeared into her room and Rachel had been twiddling her thumbs in the living room, wondering whether she should call Katrina and get advice. The doorbell decided for her.

  She smoothed her skirt then forced herself to walk slowly to the door and open it. Grant leaned against the doorway, his smile slow and appraising.

  “You look incredible.” The blue in his eyes seemed to deepen and for a moment Rachel couldn’t hear anything, could only feel a rushing in her ears and a weakness in her limbs. She widened the door, and when she could find her voice, she gestured him in.

  “I’ve never seen you in slacks.” She shut the door behind him, then turned. The dark gray pants added elegance to his frame and the powder blue shirt emphasized his broad shoulders. His jaw for once wasn’t covered with shadow. It looked strong, the line of it firm and clean. She wet her lips. “I just need to put on my heels, then we can go.”

  “No problem.”

  She rushed to her bedroom. Hands shaking, she held onto the wall while she slipped into her shoes. Nerves thrummed. Her palms were sweating. She’d never felt this nervous, not even prom night when they called her name as the new queen. No, this was new. Everything was new.

  She breathed deep, inhaling the fragrance of her perfume mingling with the remembered scent of his cologne.

  This would be an important night. The knowledge reverberated through her being. And God had orchestrated it. She knew that like she knew Maggie would never wake up before nine in the morning.

  Okay, Lord. She squared her shoulders. Bring it on.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Grant studied his menu but couldn’t seem to focus on the list of items blurring in front of him. His senses were alive to Rachel. To the rustle of her blouse when she moved, the motion of her slender fingers as they flipped through the menu.

  He was glad he’d brought her here instead of The Melting Pot. This restaurant was more intimate than he expected, but perhaps her presence changed his perception of the atmosphere.

  Ceiling lights surrendered their glory to candelabras that flickered dancing shadows across the tables. He and Rachel had been seated to face the stage where a band of four played. Not jazz, but some dark, smoldering harmony that caught Rachel’s attention. He saw the way her eyes fluttered, the half-smile on her lips. And he wanted, suddenly, to be the reason for it.

  The sax flared and he relaxed into his seat, content to absorb the mood of this place. He’d have to thank Alec later for recommending it.

  The band finished their number and dispersed. Rachel’s eyes, bright like polished emeralds, shimmered his way.

  “You like the saxophone?” Grant asked.

  “Yes. This place is beautiful. Lovely.” She smiled at him, the slope of her lips natural and at peace.

  He realized he hadn’t seen her this way before. With Katrina and Alec she’d always been stiff and formal. Cold, he’d assumed. But he knew better now. This was a Rachel who intrigued him more than his current case. More than any case or any lady in his past.

  He raised his glass for a toast, unable to will his eyes from her enraptured face. She’d done something to her hair, something that caused it to flow around the curve of her jaw in sleek folds. The smoky candlelight stroked her face with long shadows. His chest tightened.

  “Here’s to passion.” He lifted his soda.

  Her eyes widened and her lips firmed into something serious, something less than vulnerable. But she lifted her glass and in a room humming with low voices and seductive whispers, the glasses clinked a toast.

  “To Jesus,” she said, and set her glass on the table without drinking anything.

  “To the One who created passion,” he countered. He didn’t like the familiar look on her face. The ice look. The bored disinterest she’d displayed at almost every dinner he’d been to with her. So this was her façade. Passion scared her? Or him toasting it?

  He set his own glass on the table. She disapproved of his past exploits. Understandable. But he’d worked hard to get this date and he wouldn’t let her erect those glass walls where he could see but couldn’t touch.

  “Since we’re talking about Jesus, how did you meet Him?” he asked.

  Rachel’s eyes rounded. Maybe she thought his conversion was an act. Her fingernails, painted a soft rose color, traced circles on the tablecloth.

  “In college. I met a guy and followed him to church, trying to flirt.” She grimaced. “I wasn’t the reverential type.”

  “You still aren’t.” He kept his tone light and was relieved when she grinned.

  “No, I’m not. But eventually I lost my crush on him and one sermon, one night, hooked me into a longing.”

  “To know the truth.” That had been his hook.

  She nodded. “The truth had always been so unreachable. Intangible and invisible. Growing up, lies were our armor. We covered ourselves in them.”

  Her eyes shadowed. From the look on her face it was obvious her childhood had been far from ideal. A difficult realization to swallow. In
school, she and Maggie had been popular. They dressed cool, they looked cool, they talked cool. Apparently they’d duped a school, including him.

  Now, as a police officer, he’d seen enough to know that reality was often cloaked with dainty lies. His career seemed to support what he’d known as a child. No one could be trusted. No one cared.

  She seemed to shake herself and he let the questions on his lips die. Instead, he opened his menu. “So, you became a Christian?”

  “Yep. Truth sought is truth found.” She picked up her menu and when the waitress came, they ordered their meals. The waitress took their menus and left.

  “You just now started going to church.” Rachel slid her hair behind her neck. “Why?”

  She stared at him, and in the depths of that lovely gaze he saw the things that haunted him. Curiosity, and a soul-deep hunger for knowledge.

  “It’s hard to explain without going into my past.”

  “We have all night.”

  “Not if we want to make it to Miles Davis.”

  “We’ll make the concert. Spill it.”

  “I knew too many hypocrites.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s the story of my life.”

  “When Alec came back to town I thought for sure he’d get even with Katrina.”

  Rachel’s features changed. Softened. “Me too.”

  “He forgave her.” Grant shook his head, still in awe of what he’d witnessed. “His love changed his anger, or so I thought.” He picked up his soda, uncomfortable with talking about his conversion. It felt too personal to discuss out loud. “Then he told me one night that his love had nothing to do with it. God changed him. Took the bitterness away and put forgiveness there instead. He said that without Jesus, he would’ve barged in there, bought her store and ruined any future chance of reconciliation.”

  Rachel glanced down. “I thought he wanted to do that, too.”

  “And then he forgave the kid who killed his son. Basically, he showed me that there are people out there for whom God is more than some far-off deity. He’s real and He cares. And His love for us is passionate.” Grant wanted to say more, to tell Rachel that his love for her was passionate too.