Catching Her Heart (Scored, #3)

by Marquita Valentine

  His stomach roiled.

  Not even his CIT training had kept his true feelings at bay. He’d nearly gone off the deep end, and had to be restrained by two other detectives when he lunged for the pimp, a hard-faced woman with a permanent sneer on her lips and a calculating look in her eyes. She’d be back to her old job as soon as she could. He knew it. They all knew it. Too many powerful people were involved...until they broke the case wide open and a video of the horrors that had gone on at the club went viral.

  Thank God for social media.

  Reason number two hundred he needed to get away.

  He needed to forget.

  He needed peace.

  He needed quiet.

  But, damn, it was quiet. Too quiet for a city boy like him.

  Bryce missed the sounds of the city—the blare of horns, the wail of sirens, and the serenade of drunks below his fifth-floor walk-up punctuated by screams of ‘You fucking suck’. By nature, police detectives were suspicious bitches, and this solitude he thought he’d been craving was already driving him insane.

  Three months ago, he would have had someone to talk to when he came home. Three months ago, he would have had someone waiting in his bed, with open arms and thighs. Ready and willing to help him forget about what he had to deal with each day.

  His girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—couldn’t stand his job, his hours, or the pay. She was pissed he didn’t live off his inheritance from his mother’s family, live in a Manhattan apartment, and have a Wall Street job like one of her brothers.

  As far as Bryce was concerned, she could stay pissed and the hell away, because he was a cop—now a detective—and some day, he would be chief of police, just like his old man, his dad’s old man, and his dad before him. It was in his blood. A legacy handed down from oldest son to oldest son on his father’s side.

  It hadn’t been his ex’s dream, so she walked away and never looked back. Since then, he hadn’t had time to date, much less hook up with anyone. Clubs of any kind left a stale taste in his mouth, and his mother’s friend’s daughters were too damned pampered, which left online dating sites, dating apps, and weddings.

  Honestly, his ex did him a favor. He wasn’t ready to settle down, no matter how much his parents and grandparents reminded him that a man of twenty-nine should have a couple of kids by now.

  Lifting his head, he shoved the covers off and headed to the bathroom, scratching his chest and yawning along the way. He needed a shower—possibly a shave. As the water warmed up, Bryce brushed his teeth and examined his face.

  Yeah, forget the shave. He was on vacation, damn it.

  Maybe while he was here, he could find a cute local with a hot body and no expectations beyond multiple, mutual orgasms.

  He had to smile over that one as he stripped down and jumped into the shower. When all was said and done, the hot water did little to get rid of his lack-of-sleep hangover, but he toweled off, got dressed, and walked to the kitchen.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said to the coffee maker, which was steaming with the heavenly brew. Old habits were hard to break, even on vacation. He always started his day with a cup of liquid ambrosia. So, last night, even though he was too damn tired to see straight, he managed program it and remember to use the gallon milk jug his nana kept filled with water in the fridge, instead of what came straight out of the tap.

  “Water’s too chlorinated to make a good cuppa,” she reminded him when he picked up the key.

  Lifting the mug to his lips, he murmured, “Come to Daddy,” and took a nice, long—he spewed the liquid shit all over the kitchen. “What the hell?” Grabbing the jug from the fridge, he popped off the lid with his thumb, held it to his nose, and took a deep breath.

  “Shit,” he mumbled. It smelled exactly like watery vinegar. Or was that vinegary water? In any case, it made a shitastic cup of coffee.

  Cursing under his breath, he set the jug down on the counter and reassessed his situation. He had one option, really. Go into the village and shop for what he needed.

  His stomach rumbled.

  First, however, he’d grab something to eat.

  Striding back to his room, he grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone, then headed outside to his Jeep. A short while later, he spotted the welcome sign as well the sign that was slightly hidden by some overgrown bushes, lowering the speed limit to thirty-five from fifty-five.

  Welcome to Holland Springs. Population Four thousand and One

  He always wondered about those signs. Who maintained them? What if someone moved away—was there an official painter to go take away the one? Births, deaths, relocations, and transplants...those would all have to be factored in. Then there were the snowbirds like his grandparents, but even they’d gone further south to Florida. So the official counter couldn’t include those—

  Jesus, Mary, and all the Saints. He shook his head to try to clear it and turned up the volume on the radio.

  This was why he needed to eat. He sounded like a fucking idiot, even in his own head, when he was starving.

  It was May, early still for tourist season, so there weren’t many shops open during the week, but he took a chance on the first nautical-themed strip mall of sorts he found, pulled in the parking lot, and parked.

  Scanning the signs, he nearly crossed himself in relief when he saw an ‘Open for Business’ sign under the image of a basket of blue crabs that was painted on the third storefront window.

  Café Blue and White, Home of Award-Winning Crab Cakes

  He climbed out of his Jeep, making sure to adjust his shirt so his holster wouldn’t show, and headed to the café. Inside, it was homey, with tables of varying sizes, wide chairs, and a bar that stretched the interior. Yeah, he was digging this place already.

  A couple of locals, if he hazarded a guess, sat on stools with their backs turned to him while the most mouthwatering scent filled his nose and went down his throat, only to make it growl for being a tease.

  But none of that, not even his must-be-satisfied-this-instant appetite had anything on the hottie behind the bar.

  Yeah, he liked what he saw. From her honey-colored, curly hair to her—he peered over the bar—to her nicely rounded ass. He allowed his gaze travel further, down her long, tan legs and back up again.

  In a word, from this angle, she was perfect.

  And the exact opposite of his ex.

  Black hair, icy blue eyes, pale skin. She was Irish with a fiery temper and a slim body kept in shape by whatever latest fitness craze hit Long Island, but damn if she hadn’t always reminded him of winter. While this woman...with just one look, he thought of summer. Of hot nights and sweaty bodies tangled together.

  He blew out a breath at the image.

  Whirling around, she laughed at something one of her customers said. The sound made his gut clench, and the sight of her mouth open like that...well, the sight damn near sucker punched him, but not as much as when her gorgeous face lifted. Eyes the color of his favorite chocolate bar glanced at him. Black lashes framed them perfectly.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  For a moment, speech deserted him. She cocked her head to one side as she walked closer. So close he could see the smattering of freckles across her nose.

  He almost let out a groan. Bryce always had a weakness for freckles on a woman, especially one who was gifted with nice breasts that filled out her white-and-blue checkered shirt. Slicing his gaze to her left hand, he noticed two things. One, she wasn’t married. Two, she had a few scars—curved slightly and white.

  Not self-inflicted, the angle wasn’t right. No... He scanned the open kitchen behind her. There was a griddle, a huge stovetop with a four pots of water boiling, and an oven. Yep, her scars were from cooking.

  “Sir? Can I help you?” she asked again, more slowly and with a touch of wariness.

  Pulling himself together, he forced his mouth to smile. “Still serving breakfast?”

  Her answering smile and dancing eyes set off something in his blood
. From his training, he already noticed a lot about her, but the man inside of him wanted to know more. Like what she looked like spread under him. How flushed her cheeks would get and if she were a talker or a screamer.

  He preferred...a little of both, honestly.

  As she grabbed a menu off the bar, he took the opportunity to search her shirt for a name tag. There wasn’t one.

  Damn.

  “You can sit at the bar or in fr—”

  “How about over there?” He pointed to a table for two in the back corner. Easier to keep an eye on her and his surroundings that way.

  Not that he was expecting trouble way out here in Holland Springs. Although he knew it took all types to commit crimes, there was still something innocent about places like this. Places small enough that locals gave guys like him the stink eye because he was checking out the waitress.

  “Sure.” She skirted around the bar, grabbing a pot of coffee as she went. “Follow me.”

  Bryce had absolutely no problem following her or the coffee. She pulled out a chair for him, but he took the opposite one. He’d rather have his back against the wall than that open space behind him.

  As she handed him a menu, she deftly flipped over the coffee mug on the table and filled it. After the first swallow, he seriously considered marrying her.

  “Where have you been all my life?” he asked with a wink. “I need someone like you to get me going in the morning—”

  Her smile grew bigger, but it didn’t reach those gorgeous eyes of hers.

  “I’m Bryce Fitzpatrick. And you are?”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “They all say their name is Bryce Fitzpatrick?”

  The barest hint of a genuine smile nearly reached her eyes. “No.”

  “You sure, because it’s against the law to impersonate a cop.”

  She fisted her hand on one hip and lifted a brow. “You’re a cop?”

  “Detective.”

  “Got a badge?”

  “Soon as you show me your ID, I’ll show you mine.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she wanted to laugh—he could see it on her face. “Well, Detective, I’ll give you a minute or two to figure out what you want to eat. This morning’s special is a Denver omelet with a side of fresh fruit and grits. First cup of coffee is always on the house.”

  Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and only nodded before she walked away, her hips swinging. Maybe he’d come on too strong, too fast. But he’d always been the type to go for what he wanted, and right now, he had the time to go for what, or rather who, he wanted.

  Besides, she intrigued him with that sassy mouth. Maybe he should order something first, praise her skills, and—

  The door bounced open. Lanky kid, about six feet, with watery blue eyes and multi-colored hair, stepped inside, gun drawn. His hand shook as he leveled his weapon straight at...her—whatever her name was.

  So much for a vacation away from it all. “Fuck my life,” Bryce muttered as he reached for his gun.

  Chapter Two

  Kayla White nearly screamed when Tommy appeared in her café, but she took a deep breath and counted to five.

  “Tommy Boone, you’re missing school right now. Why don’t I—?”

  “Just give me some money, Kayla, and I’ll be on my way.”

  This wasn’t the first time she’d been robbed, but it was the first time she’d actually had a gun pointed at her. And a toy gun at that. She could see the orange tab at the back, right where water was supposed to go to fill the interior chamber.

  She let out a sigh of relief and resumed her walk around the bar. “I’m calling your momma.”

  “Put the gun down,” she heard a man say with authority.

  Bryce Fitzpatrick —the self-proclaimed detective who wanted to get in her in pants—stood only a couple of feet away, his gun drawn and his legs apart like a professional.

  Tommy’s jaw clenched. “Not aiming at you, man.”

  “But you are aiming at someone who’s defenseless.” Bryce’s voice became soothing. “Put the toy away and we can talk about what’s bothering you.”

  Tommy titled the gun sideways, like he’d probably seen in a movie. Or on television. “I’ll pop a—”

  “The hell you will,” Bryce said, striding up to him. “Put the gun down now.”

  Kayla’s gaze bounced between them. Though Tommy had given her the scare of her life, she didn’t want him to get hurt. He was a troubled kid with an even more troubled home life who was attempting to rob her with a toy.

  “It’s only a water gun,” she said softly. “Tommy would never hurt me.”

  “I know it’s a water gun. This time.”

  Hand still shaking, Tommy focused on Bryce. “I wouldn’t hurt Kayla. I just need some money.”

  “Better ways to get it,” Bryce pointed out.

  “Not fast enough. I need it now.”

  “What for?”

  Tommy blinked. “S-stuff.”

  Kayla watched in disbelief as Bryce holstered his gun and adopted a more laid-back pose. “What stuff?”

  Tommy started to glance at her, but Bryce snapped his fingers. “Hey, man. Right here. Stay with me. What stuff?”

  “Rent,” Tommy mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor. “We’re late. About to get kicked out.”

  “Oh, Tommy,” she breathed.

  Bryce gave her a sharp look. “There are other ways to ask for money.”

  Tommy shuffled his feet and held the gun down, using his other hand to pop off the back tab. Water leaked onto her floor with a steady drip.

  Better than blood, she thought.

  “Call the cops,” Bryce mouthed and took the water pistol from Tommy.

  She nodded, but there was nothing she could do now. The sheriff’s office had already been alerted by Joe Stancil, who sat directly in the middle of her bar. His friends had left right before the action started.

  “Why don’t you come sit with me and we’ll have a bite to eat, talk about your situation?”

  Although she didn’t think Bryce was asking, Tommy nodded and said, “Yeah, okay, man. Whatever.”

  Her shock must have shown because Bryce winked at her. She felt a rush of warmth everywhere. It was good feeling, way better than her initial fear.

  Her heart still pounded, but it was slowly settling down. And it looked as though Bryce was telling the truth about being a detective. Though given her track record with men, she wasn’t exactly the best judge of who was a big, fat liar, and who was being honest.

  “Kayla, could you bring Tommy some coffee too?”

  “Sure,” she said a little shakily as she grabbed the coffee pot. She practically ran to them, pouring a cup for Tommy.

  Staring into Bryce’s grey eyes, she felt another frozen piece of fear melt away. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Yeah, thanks, Kayla,” Tommy echoed.

  Bryce covered his hand with hers and lifted. Confused, she looked down. Tommy’s cup was about to overflow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears starting to form. She swiped at the corner of her eyes with her free hand.

  “It’s okay,” he said with that charming smile of his. If she weren’t so emotional right now, she’d say he was handsome...sexy even with his smooth-talking ways. But she was coming down from being scared and still raw from her ex, so there was no way she’d notice anything about his fine body. Or the thrill of sweet sensations that zoomed inside of her when he touched her hand.

  “Tell her it’s okay, Tommy,” he said.

  “It’s okay, Kayla.”

  “That’s Ms. Kayla to you,” Bryce said, his voice and demeanor just as calm as anything. Maybe he was the juvenile-delinquent whisperer. “Try again.”

  “That’s okay, Ms. Kayla.”

  She nodded tightly. “What can I get y’all to eat?”

  “Chief’s special. Make it two.”

  “I ain’t got no money,” Tommy whispered loudly.

  Kayla fully expected Bryce to say
something along the lines of ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  “You can wash dishes and do any other chores around here that Ms. Kayla needs to work it off.”

  Her mouth dropped open, but she quickly snapped it shut as Bryce gave her a big smile and added, “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. The grease trap needs cleaning.” She took a breath. “I’ll go get that started for you.” Hurrying to the kitchen, she started cooking. Due to only opening for breakfast two days a week as a trial run, she only needed a line cook at lunch, but right now, she wished Lenny were here so she could be nosy and listen to what Bryce and Tommy were talking about.

  She made the quickest Chief’s special times two in her life and practically ran to their table, setting the plates in front of them.

  “My mom lost her job, and my dad hasn’t come back from fishing,” Tommy said quietly. “So, it’s up to me to be the man of the house and help take care of things.”

  “I get that. But men don’t point weapons, real or fake, at defenseless women. You have younger siblings?”

  “Four—two brothers and two sisters. They’re in school right now.”

  Kayla’s heart went out to them. If she had known about the Boones’ situation, then she could have done something. But, not knowing everything about one’s neighbor’s personal business was something Holland Springs prided itself on.

  Bryce’s gaze flickered to the door, and his brows creased. “Thought you’d have a few more at breakfast by now.”

  “I think the breakfast crowd is running a little late.” Meaning Joe Stancil’s text message to them had been not urgent in the least.

  Bryce bit into a piece of bacon, his silver eyes assessing. “Is that a regular thing? Or is that only for days when kids come into your café, waving a gun?”

  Kayla glanced at Tommy, who was devouring his food and barely paying attention to anything beyond his plate. She tried not to be offended by Bryce’s assumption, but it did look pretty bad for the cops to be late. Even if she knew the reason why they weren’t in a hurry.