Then she whipped around, her heels clacking as she headed out. She pushed the door open, and squinted as the afternoon sunlight temporarily blinded her. A hand brushed her shoulder, rested there, then nudged her out of the doorway and onto the pavement.
Grant.
Angling her jaw, she didn’t look at him. “Why are you following me?”
He chuckled. “I’m done with my pizza. It’s not a crime to leave a restaurant at the same time as someone else.”
Jaw clenched, Rachel started forward.
His footsteps followed closely behind her. At her car she stopped and whirled around. “Okay, you can’t deny it now. You’re following me.”
“Rachel.” He rested his hand on the hood, then jerked away. “Man, that’s hot.”
“Get to the point.”
“You’re upset.” He touched her cheek. “Why?”
Feeling vulnerable didn’t seem like a good enough reason to be angry at him. At herself. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, deliberately ignoring the inquisitiveness of his gaze. “Seeing my sister upsets me. And I have an appointment, so if you’ll excuse me…” That sounded so fake.
“Why do you always hide behind that cold, angry mask?” Grant shifted a little closer.
His words flung her into the past. She thought of her dad, his face frozen during mom‘s diatribes. She thought of her mom’s incessant need to rage and weep and emotionally manipulate. To accuse. Mom’s machinations never seemed to hurt dad. He’d left without a backward glance, steel in his spine, resolve in his step. Unbreakable.
She remembered watching him, wanting to be as strong. And yet hating him for his ability to leave.
She gulped and tried to move away without Grant noticing the retreat. “I don’t hide behind anything.”
“Sure you do.” He stepped closer, his broad shoulders closing the gap between them. “And I aim to find out why.”
“I’m not hiding,” she repeated inanely. To get him off track, she speared him with a look. “If Barb was such a great caretaker, why did you arrest her son?”
“What?” Grant backed up a step, disbelief on his face.
“You heard me. You and your cop buddies kept Lee locked up on nothing more than a statement.”
“We had more than that,” Grant said coldly, all trace of the amorous pursuer gone.
“Did you? Circumstantial evidence. Yet you believed it because you wanted to.”
“Getting in the way of an investigation is punishable by law.”
“I never got in the way. You want to talk about hiding, then why don’t you admit that the professionals botched the investigation and quit trying to pretend you all didn’t want a scapegoat so your receptionist would have someone to blame.”
“Don’t bring Ms. Riccio into this.”
“It was her granddaughter’s friend. Tell me Lee would’ve still been charged if it had been someone else.” Rachel glared at him, focusing all her energy toward the confrontation she’d been waiting on for two years.
Grant didn’t seem inclined to argue. His expression turned to stone and his eyes hardened. Arms crossing his chest, he looked her up and down. “You’re being a really nasty person right now,” he finally said.
He couldn’t have chosen worse words. They smacked her in the face, stung her so bad that tears prickled her eyes. Ashamed, she brushed at her eyes. What was it with him and making her cry?
“Tell me you and all your men considered every suspect, rather than just Lee because of the physical description the victim gave you.”
“The case is closed. Lee got justice, thanks to you. What more do you want?” Grant’s voice was low. Sunlight poured over him
Rachel felt on fire. Sweat dribbled down her back. She gnawed her lip, considering his question, wishing the rapid fire of her heartbeat would slow. “I want vindication.”
“You don’t think you did the right thing?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. Surprised, unnerved by the truth, she covered her mouth. Grant moved forward.
“You were right,” he said in a level voice. “We weren’t objective but you were.”
“Lee has a rap sheet.”
“But he wasn’t guilty of the rape.”
Butterflies skittered in her belly, and she swallowed hard. “Why does the department demonize me then?”
“Awww, Rachel.” Again, he reached forward and touched her cheek. She leaned into the caress, loving the feel of his fingertips against her skin, loving the comfort he offered. “You understand pride. You embarrassed us.”
She pulled away. “I know. And I’m sorry for that, but the truth seemed important at the time.”
His hand dropped to his side. “Truth is always important,” he said soberly. “You’re bold and bossy, you act like you don’t care about anything but your agenda. Sometimes that will make you a target.”
She nodded as a small measure of comfort welled in her. “Anyone ever tell you you’d make a great counselor?”
He laughed, flipping his hands through his hair. “Nah. Been told I make a mean pot of chili though.”
“Really?” She arched him a suggestive look. “Can you back up that claim?”
“Sure can. I’ve heard some other things about myself too.” He trapped her against the car, arms on either side of her, his palms planted against the cooler windows. The movement made her dizzy with excitement, fear, longing. Was he going to kiss her?
“What else have you heard?” she asked breathlessly, not recognizing the sound of her own voice.
“I’m a really good—”
Her phone buzzed just then, cutting Grant off and giving her a reprieve from what was probably a huge mistake. When she saw the text coming through, she ducked under Grant’s arms. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
Or risk falling head over heels in love. Maybe she’d already hit the bottom, she wasn’t sure, but a kiss would definitely take her to the ground. Now that she was safe out of his arms, she could actually think.
She held the phone up to read the text:
I NEED SOME COFFEE
Pocketing the phone, she turned to Grant. “I’ve gotta go. Move it.”
“To?”
“None of your business.” She smiled to soften the words as she opened the driver’s door.
Grant caught it. “How about some company?”
“No way. This is business.” She sent him a patronizing grin. “Go play with the boys on your day off. I’ve got work to do.”
She slid into her seat and tried to pull the door closed but Grant held onto it and bent down, poking his head inches from her face.
“What?” She started the car and shifted the gear into reverse.
“Remember what I told you?”
“You tell me things all the time lately. Make a list and I’ll read it later.”
“I’m serious. Our personal relationship has nothing to do with our working relationship. I’m bound by law to report illegal activity. Honor bound to our town to protect it.”
Biting back frustration, she glanced at the clock in her car. It had been almost five minutes. How long did Mayor Owens take lunch? She had a sliver of time to get in and get out. Denise wouldn’t risk her job just for an owed favor. “You’re honor bound, blah, blah, I get it, Grant. The town did nothing for you as a kid and yet you want to protect it. Fine. Now let me go.” The words rushed out, but when she saw the quick flash of hurt cross his face, she felt instant pain.
“I’m so sorry, Grant. That was an absolutely horrible thing to say.” She chewed her lip, torn between the time it took to get to the mayor’s office and the hurt she'd just inflicted and couldn't take back.
“No, you’re right again." There was forgiveness in his smile. "I had some bad childhood experiences but people like Barb gave me happy memories. It’s for people like her that I serve.”
“I know.” Tenderness rushed through her and this time it was she who cupped his cheek. “You’re a good man, Grant Harkness.�
�
His teeth flashed. “I’m going with you.”
“Not a chance.” She shoved him out of her car and shut the door, but rolled the window down to say, “Call me later.”
“Yeah, sure. Even though a relationship won’t work.” He parroted her words back to her with a smirk on his handsome face.
Grinning, she stuck out her tongue. “I just meant to go running. That has nothing to do with relationships.”
“I’ll call you.” He jerked his chin. “You better go before you miss your appointment. Keep things legit, Rachel.”
He must’ve seen something on her face because his features rapidly dissolved into a scowl. “I’m serious. No law-breaking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Peeking at the mayor’s schedule wasn’t technically breaking the law, was it?
Rachel hovered behind Denise’s computer, scrolling down the screen and copying the mayor’s appointments into her iPhone. Denise had conveniently gone to get coffee so that Rachel could have a few moments to herself, and leave Denise inculpable for any consequences to private information getting out.
Not that she’d do anything with this information. Some stakeouts maybe. A little bit of following. She finished copying the appointments that looked like they’d be stalkable, then clicked out of the program and came around the desk.
Denise chose that moment to emerge from the break room, set off a ways from the main hall of the building. Town Hall was located in a small, freshly built structure. With the new building came updated computer equipment containing nice, expensive programs with which Rachel had much experience.
“Are you done?” Denise, a leggy brunette who found more trouble than was fair, balanced a plate of chocolate chip cookies in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. "Have a cookie."
Rachel snagged one. “Are these fresh?”
“Mayor Owens likes us to offer refreshments to town residents. He’s thoughtful.” Denise set the plate and bottle on the desk and perused a stack of mail. “Anything else you need?”
“Nope. Thanks for the opportunity.” Rachel bit into the cookie, chocolate melting in her mouth.
“I owed you.” Denise smiled and leaned against her desk. “Ron hasn’t come back since March. You were right about him.”
Rachel finished the cookie and hoped she didn’t have any crumbs on her face. “Have you dated?”
“Nah. I’m taking a break from guys for a bit. Trying the whole single thing.” Denise said it sardonically, but Rachel knew she was serious.
“Well, take care.”
“I will. You, too.”
Rachel nodded and scooted out. Once safely in her car, she pulled out her phone and studied the mayor’s schedule. According to his book, today he was meeting his wife for lunch. Right. She snorted and started up the car.
First. she’d head over to Hot Mama’s Grill. He ate there every Saturday, trying to be the good ol’ boy people thought he was. If they only knew. But he was a man of habit and that trait worked in her favor.
She thought about dialing Gerta Owens but changed her mind. If Mrs. Owens wanted her flash drive, it was too late. Based on her behavior, the drive was the last thing on Mrs. Owens mind. Unlikely she’d be at Hot Mama’s, but driving by couldn’t hurt.
Minutes later, Rachel let out a breath and pulled to the curb. Parked across from Hot Mama’s on the other side of the road, she gained a clear view of the mayor’s car situated in a parking space near the door. Thirty minutes later, when the mayor left the restaurant, Rachel followed. She flipped the radio onto a jazz station, hoping the throaty purr of the sax would calm her racing heart.
Following him, she swung onto Elm street, leaving the busy central streets of Manatee Bay for the darker section. The poorer section.
The place she’d spent her childhood.
What was the mayor doing back here? This must be the business meeting scheduled after lunch. Better to follow him by foot than risk her car getting jacked. It would be easy to spot his vehicle parked somewhere, and easier to hide if she needed.
Before trailing him deep into the neighborhood’s shadows, she parked at a CITGO, in a far corner of the parking lot. Opening the door, she looked both ways before hopping out of the SUV. She shut the door and opened the rear door. Climbing into the backseat, she reached for the bag she’d stashed behind the driver’s seat earlier. Ah, reconnaissance. Such a beautiful word. Her pulse trembled through her body, already laced with adrenaline. Clicking the door closed, she quickly changed while casting furtive glances through the window.
Finished, she slid out, pressed the lock button on her remote clicker and then slipped it in the pocket of her jeans. After clipping up her hair, she pulled the hoodie of her oversized sweatshirt over her head.
A tiny camera jostled in the zippered front pocket of her sweatshirt as she traipsed across the gas station’s tired lawn. She cut across Lincoln Ave., heading toward a dingy warehouse on the east side of the neighborhood. It was easy to dodge the trouble spots.
She’d lived here until the year she turned twelve, after all. Ran around, wild and strong. Until her father came back from whatever jaunt he’d been on, holding fistfuls of money and claiming he’d bought Mom a real home.
Rachel paused and surveyed the street before jogging across. She supposed a trailer could be called a home, even if it was in the middle of the woods. But, boy, had she disliked it. Living in a trailer screamed hick louder than Charlie’s twang. Maybe she was a snob but it was how she'd felt back then.
She'd hated that Dad bought her mother's love with a trailer. He saw her need and filled it with fluff. On Rachel’s seventeenth birthday he’d handed her a check before walking out their rickety screen door forever.
So Rachel went to college and left Mom in that old, beat up thing she called a home. Left Maggie to party her way through life.
Rachel didn’t regret bettering herself. She regretted her snobbery, the certainty that she was right in everything. Her religiosity pushed Mom farther away from God than her father’s final abandonment.
Rachel shoved the memories aside. At least she’d had a family, however disjointed it might be. Grant lost much more from his childhood than she ever had.
The warehouse loomed above the rickety houses lining the road to her right. In this section, the trees stood tall and straight, blocking the sun’s harsh glare and darkening the shadows.
It was time to slip off the sidewalk and into someone’s yard. She would need to be quick. People in this place shot first, questioned later. She spared a quick glance at her watch. Almost two. The mayor’s meeting scheduled for 2:15 took place somewhere. She’d try the warehouse first because it was centrally located and ideal, if not a bit cliché, for shady dealings.
Rachel plunged her fists into the pockets of her jeans as perspiration trailed a warm line down her neck. She stepped across someone’s meager excuse for a flowerbed and pressed herself against the peeling paint of their house. Grayed flakes floated to her shoulders as she inched across the yard. The warehouse squatted a few hundred yards in front of her. The perfect coop in which unsavory individuals could nest.
She tugged the hoodie farther over her eyebrows. Broad daylight was the worst time to follow someone but appointments clogged next week’s schedule. Today served her best. Plus, it was doubtful the mayor would do anything illegal during the week, when people flocked around him.
Was he meeting Slasher? No concrete evidence that the mayor and the drug dealer were connected, except for that file named S. And then there had been Corrine. Swallowing hard, Rachel focused on crossing the property.
Where had the mayor parked? Stifling a groan, she moved onto a patch of open grass, the sun punching her in the face with a fist of fire.
She hoped Mayor Owens planned on parking at the abandoned warehouse entrance. If he didn’t and she had to trek around to find him, she’d need to lose the sweatshirt. The jeans clung to her legs in damp patches. Could people get heatstroke in M
ay? She wouldn’t be surprised.
For now she needed to slink through the rest of the yard without being recognized. She didn’t know why the mayor knew her name, but she sure didn’t want him finding out she followed him. Maybe Maggie had talked about her to him?
Taking a deep breath, she sauntered through the grass like she’d seen junkies do, looking like a crazy chicken. Weave this way, weave that way. She lolled her head to the side and used the new angle to check out her peripherals.
No one to the left.
The grass thinned, slowly merging with a beaten road. The warehouse loomed just ahead. She could sprint to it. The urge strengthened her but she fought it back. No way. Running in broad daylight would blow her cover.
She hung her head to the side again, sweeping her gaze to the right. No one there, either.
Her best bet would be to stroll across the grass like she had nowhere to be. Gritting her teeth against the heat, she forced her legs to shorten their stride. To widen. Like a man. She just had to get there unnoticed. There were few sober people on this road. The warehouse had once housed a cement company. In the wake of their bankruptcy, they’d left an area of chipped roads and ugly views. Most of the houses on this street were abandoned.
Some, unfortunately, were not.
So close now. Almost to the warehouse’s shadow. She stepped into it and cool air settled like a blanket around her. Relief whooshed out of her in an exhalation of air. She felt safer now. She had to assume the mayor would be pulling into the main parking lot, which was just around the corner. Satisfied the hoodie obscured her face, she hugged the side of the warehouse with her back and moved forward.
She peeked around the corner. The glare of sun against metal made her squint. She adjusted the angle of her face and the metal morphed into the mayor’s Cadillac.
“Bingo,” she whispered. Was he still sitting there? She squatted. Her fingers found the mini-binoculars lodged in the pocket of her sweatshirt. She brought the binoculars to her eyes and tensed.
Someone was stepping out of the car. The mayor? It looked like him. She adjusted the zoom. Yep. He strode to the front of the car, shoulders squared beneath his expensive suit in a cocky manner.
Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 18