Maybe he’d found the key. That was probably it. He hadn’t been able to find out where it belonged before he died.
Grace threw it onto the bed and placed the jacket in the box, then went to pack some of his casual clothes.
Later, after she’d showered and changed, she carried three loaded boxes to the front door.
She walked to the kitchen, wondering how Cord was doing with the yard work. He was probably ready for a tall glass of lemonade by now.
Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, she went to the refrigerator to take out the pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade and filled the glass to the top. She headed out the back door.
The grass had been cut, and Cord stood shirtless in the walkway, trimming the shrubs that Vince had picked out.
She remembered when her husband had planted them. She’d warned him then they’d be too close to the path. Too bad he wasn’t there for her to tell him so. To chide him for his bad judgment. Instead, half-naked Cord was there, his back to her, a wide expanse that spoke of hard work.
He looked comfortable working outside, the wind whipping his wavy blond hair. He leaned over to trim the lower limbs, and her gaze landed on his rear end.
Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed past the lump forming in her throat.
He must have heard her or sensed she was there. He turned and smiled.
“I brought you some lemonade.” She held the glass out to him, hoping he hadn’t seen her checking out his behind.
He reached for the glass. “Thanks.”
“The grass looks good.” Grace glanced around the yard, trying to make polite conversation while her mind erased the image of his firm butt encased in faded jeans. Talk about quality and guaranteed to fit—in the palms of her hands. She literally itched at the thought of molding her fingers around his bottom.
Cord Rawlings had a magnetism she couldn’t seem to fight, no matter how hard she tried. Even with the memory of her late husband’s disapproving eyes as a deterrent.
“I’m just about done here. Are you ready to go to the shop now?” Cord’s question brought Grace’s attention back to him.
“Ah, yeah. Whenever you are.”
Grace wished she could kick herself. How pathetic she’d become. All goo-goo-eyed over a man she’d known for years—one who, up until yesterday, she hadn’t really noticed. What had changed that? Why was she so drawn to Cord now? Especially when he was nothing like her late husband.
“I’ll go load the boxes into the car while you finish up here.”
“No, Grace. I’ll do that.” He grasped her arm, the contact injecting a fiery heat all the way down to her toes.
Their eyes locked. Grace’s breath caught in her chest. Seconds passed. His eyes narrowed as if he were contemplating something; then, abruptly, he released her arm and backed off.
“I’ll just put the clippers up.” His tone seemed deeper than before, and Grace refused to think about why.
She turned and hurried into the house, sure if Cord had tried to kiss her, she’d have let him.
Geez, Grace. What’s wrong with you? Vincent is probably watching right now, angry at your wanton behavior, even if it is strictly in your head.
When had she become so attracted to Cord? The whole situation confused her.
One thing she did know as fact: she needed to keep her distance from him, or something might happen—something she’d regret.
****
Cord cursed himself a thousand times over for touching Grace. The simple contact had left him totally aroused. He’d never wanted to kiss a woman so much, but imagining Vincent’s angry face stopped him.
Cord felt sick inside. Why did he have no control when she was around? No woman had ever affected him this way. All he could think about was how soft her lips would feel on his.
Get control, Rawlings. You’d never be good enough for her. You’re the dirt under her feet. Besides, she’d never want you.
With that sobering thought in mind, Cord went to put up the clippers, in no way looking forward to the ride to Grace’s shop. Having to be that close to her for twenty minutes would turn him into a bundle of nerves by the time they arrived.
Thank God he planned to get away for a while. He needed time to regroup.
He slipped into his shirt and headed around to the front of the house, spotting Grace carrying a box. Cord rushed to her side. “Let me take that.” He reached around the carton and took it from her. As he angled the box on his hip, he reached for the keys in his pocket, then tossed them to Grace. “Want to pop the trunk for me?”
“Sure.” She stuck the key in the lock and opened it, smiling brightly at him.
Cord swallowed. Grace Diaglo had a smile that could light up an eclipsed sky. He’d always been drawn to that grin—those lips.
Crap. The drive to the shop is going to be pure torture.
When the boxes were loaded, Cord opened the passenger-side door and waited for her to get settled before closing it.
On the way to the shop, he tried to ignore the rich, floral scent, the heat of her body, and her slow, steady breathing just inches away. But it was damned near impossible. He couldn’t concentrate on anything.
“Cord, the light’s red.” Grace’s voice was raised with concern.
He stomped on the brake. With heat racing up his face, he glanced at her. “Sorry. I didn’t see it.” He was so distracted, he couldn’t even drive.
This was not a good time for his mind not to function right. Too much was at stake. He needed to go over what he planned to ask Captain Harris, and for the life of him, he couldn’t, not with Grace sitting so close.
“Why did you resign from Vice, Cord? I thought you liked being a cop.” Her out-of-the-blue question startled him. What could he say? He’d quit because of some dirty cops? Because he felt sure that Vince’s death was related in some way?
“I never fit in there,” he confessed. “Vince was really the only friend I had.” It wasn’t a lie, though it wasn’t the reason he’d left. Vincent was the only cop to offer him friendship. The others had looked at him as if he were a rabid, lone wolf. Hell, maybe he was. How could he be otherwise, with the upbringing he’d had?
He cringed. He’d always been afraid people would find out about his past, about his mother.
“Maybe you should have given them a chance. Vince gave you one.”
Cord gave her a half-smile. “Vince could get along with anybody. He was just that type of person. Should I park in the back?” He hoped his inquiry would turn the discussion another direction. This topic made him sweat bullets. Talking about himself was the last thing he wanted to do.
Grace looked around, apparently surprised they’d already arrived at Lightly Seasoned.
“Yeah.” She frowned as they pulled up next to a green Grand Am. Cord knew his evasiveness hadn’t gone unnoticed.
He turned to her. “Is that Emily’s car?”
She nodded.
“You go ahead inside. I’ll bring the boxes.”
Cord opened his car door. This time he didn’t bother to come around and open hers. He was afraid if he got within an inch of her right now, he’d kiss her. Besides, she was asking too many questions—ones he wasn’t ready to answer. He didn’t know if he ever would be.
****
Grace waited until Cord left the shop, then relaxed for the first time in hours. The man made her a nervous wreck. She couldn’t think straight when he was around. His scent, his aura, drew her to him.
“So, how did you end up with Cord?” Emily’s hazel eyes were sparkling.
Grace could see her sister’s mind working. “It’s a long story. One I don’t wish to talk about,” she snapped.
“Come on. You walk in here with a male oozing masculinity and you don’t want to talk about it. Look at me. I have Goodyear written on my backside. Believe me, I’m not getting any. I want to hear about someone who is.”
Grace’s jaw dropped. This was her baby sister. How could she say something so crude? E
ven if she and Cord had shared such intimacy, she’d never tell her about it. It’s not like Emily had told her about her adventures between the sheets. Not that she’d want to hear about them.
“Nothing happened. Cord volunteered to be my bodyguard. Last night someone was watching me take a bath. Chicago PD thought it might be a good idea to have someone in the house, in case the guy came back. Cord just happened to show up and offered to do it.”
Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. But Cord insisting on staying wasn’t my idea.”
Emily smirked. “I’ll just bet it wasn’t.”
Grace frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means, dear sister, he’s a man; you’re a woman. All alone in a big house. Do the math.”
Grace couldn’t keep from rolling her eyes at Emily. Her sister had the wildest imagination. Obviously, this pregnancy had diminished her capacity to think like a normal person. Sex on the brain, that’s what her sister had.
“Cord was Vincent’s partner, Emily. Nothing’s going to happen. Now, put your fantasies away and let’s price that jewelry we got in yesterday.”
“You’re no fun.” Emily shrugged and walked over to get the tag tool and checked to see if it was filled. “I just have to know one thing. Have you even looked at Cord Rawlings, Grace? I mean, the man is steaming hot. If I’d met him before Charlie, who knows whose baby I’d be carrying now.”
Grace was aghast at her sister’s comment. “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing. I have half a mind to tell Charlie,” she threatened. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be too happy about it.”
“Charlie isn’t an old stick in the mud like you. He’d probably agree with me.”
What had gone wrong in her sister’s brain? Cord, steaming hot? Okay, he was, but still. To think her husband would agree. “Oh, please. Just price the box of jewelry, okay?”
Grace rubbed the back of her neck. Emily could try the patience of a saint. Her sister didn’t have to remind her of how sexy Cord was. Hell, her body had been doing that all day. All she needed was for her sister to reiterate it. So much for a little relaxation.
Cord would be back from his errands in less than an hour, and she’d be just as frayed around the edges as before he’d left. Thanks to her sister, and her vivid imagery of Cord Rawlings and all his virile attributes—and Emily hadn’t seen him without a shirt.
Grace Under Fire
Chapter Six
Cord entered the precinct. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the cool glares he got. So he no longer worked at the Ninth; it wasn’t going to stop him from strolling in as though he did.
Everyone at the precinct had hated him, even when he was a cop, not that he cared one iota. Most were a bunch of ass-kissers anyway, and some took money under the table to keep the heat off illegal activities. He just needed to find out who.
“Hey, Rawlings. I think you missed a turn somewhere,” Detective Glen Dryer said, grinning. “Larry’s tavern is a block or two over. You’re just in luck, I heard they’re having their annual pop-a-shot contest. You’d better get over there. You’d probably win hands-down.”
Cord refused to let the jab rile him, but was thankful they were out of earshot of the other officers. “Thanks for your vote of confidence, Dryer. Is Captain Harris around? I need to talk to him.”
“I don’t think he has time. Unlike you, he has a job. Oh, wait. Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on Widow Diaglo? Not a bad gig, I’d say.” He arched a dark brow. “I wouldn’t mind it myself. Though she’s gotten a little bony for my tastes.”
Cord’s fists tightened at his side. Oh, how he’d love to punch that arrogant look off Dryer’s face. The hard part was listening to one of Vince’s so-called friends talk about Grace with such disregard.
“Just call Harris and ask if I could speak to him. I’ll only take a few minutes of his time.” Cord tried to keep his tone from coming off icy, but failed.
Dryer curled up the corner of his lip, his amusement gone. “You don’t work here anymore, Rawlings. You can’t tell me what to do.”
Cord mentally counted to ten.
“Cord, what brings you down here?” Bill Harris entered the room, his coffee mug dangling from his pinky finger.
“I came to see you. You got a few minutes?”
“Sure.” The captain walked to the coffee machine. “Let me get a cup of caffeine first. You want one?”
Cord shook his head. “No, thanks anyway.”
“If it was spiked with whiskey, he probably would,” Dryer said under his breath.
Cord glanced at the man, who smiled as if he’d said, “Have a good day.”
Asshole.
Captain Harris’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have paperwork on the Simmons case to do, Dryer?”
Dryer shrank down in his chair. “Yeah, I’m on it.” He opened a file on his desk.
“You coming?” Harris was already in the doorway of his office.
Cord rushed forward. Captain Harris had to be honest with him and tell him what Vince had been working on before his death.
“Take a seat.” The captain pointed to the chair in front of the desk and moved a stack of files, then took a long swig of his coffee. “Long night. So, what did you need to talk to me about?”
Cord studied the older man, noticing for the first time how gray his hair had gotten. Did he know anything about the corruption? Could he be involved?
“I wanted to know if Vince was working on something that I didn’t know about.”
Harris frowned, the wrinkles around his eyes becoming more prominent. “What do you mean?”
“Was he working undercover on anything? Something he wasn’t able to tell his own partner about?”
The captain shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cord. As I recall, you two were working on the crack house on Locus at the time of his death, right?”
“Yes, but what about the Neil chop shop case? Could he have been working on that, too?”
“No. Prince and Tidwell were on that. Why would you think Vince was working that case?”
Cord’s gut clenched. This was not what he had expected to hear. “I found a receipt in his garage. One from Neil Automotive. They’d done work on a Lexus that Vince paid for the repairs on. You and I both know he didn’t own one. I just assumed it was an undercover sting of some kind.”
Harris shifted in his chair. “If it was, it was done without my authorization. We both know Vince was a by-the-book cop.”
“True. That’s why I thought you and he were working together. I wish I knew what this was all about.”
“The only thing I can say, Cord—and this is strictly between you and me—is that I heard rumors that Vince had showed some interest in a woman working at the Tops and Tails. Might have been her car.”
No way. If Harris said Vince was a cross-dresser, he’d be more apt to believe it.
But why did that name sound familiar? “Wait a minute. Wasn’t that the strip joint we raided about a year ago?” Cord’s world crumbled around him. It couldn’t be true. Vince had been a saint. He would have never cheated on Grace.
“Yes, it is.”
“So, what?” Cord inhaled, afraid of what he’d hear next. “Is it possible?”
The captain took another sip of his coffee, then shook his head. “Like I said, it was just a rumor. You and I know how much stock to put in that around here.”
“Right,” Cord acknowledged, nodding in agreement. “Vince was a happily married man. He would have never done anything to jeopardize that.”
Harris returned his nod. “You knew him better than anyone, Cord. If he didn’t tell you anything, then most likely it wasn’t true.”
No statement was truer. Vince was his best friend. He would have told him if he were having an affair. Wouldn’t he?
Cord stood. “Thanks for your time, Captain. I appreciate you talking with me.”
When he re
ached the door, the captain’s gruff voice stopped him. “Hey, while you’re here, how about we talk about you coming back? You’re a good cop.” Harris gave him a hard stare. “We need you.”
Cord took a deep breath. “I’m keeping an eye on Grace right now. But I’ll think about it and let you know.”
The captain rose and walked over to shake his hand. “Good, you do that.”
Cord left the precinct with more questions than he’d had before he’d entered. Could Vince have hidden something from him, something unthinkable—a mistress?
The prospect seemed unlikely, but if he didn’t find out for sure what Vince had been up to, he’d never be able to think of his partner in the same light again.
****
Grace paced her bedroom floor, wondering why Cord had come back that afternoon so subdued. Something was wrong, but he refused to talk about it.
Dinner had been excruciating. He’d sat across from her in deadpan silence, barely touching his food.
Had she done something to upset him? If so, for the life of her, she couldn’t think what it was.
She sat on the bed and felt something under her. She moved to find the key she’d placed there that morning. She turned the cold metal over in her fingers. Maybe she should find out who it belonged to. Vincent would expect at least that much of her. But where could she start? She wasn’t a cop, didn’t have a cop’s mind.
But Cord did. Maybe he could help her find out where the key had come from. Yeah, and maybe he could also help her out in the sex department while he was at it.
Grace covered her face with her hands as heat crept up her neck. Oh, God, what was wrong with her? Had she lost her mind? Yes, definitely. She was as crazy as a loon. She should call a shrink before she did something she’d regret. Cord would never forgive her.
Light tapping on the bedroom door brought her halfway off the bed. Her heart raced hard in her chest. “Yes,” she managed in a less-than-steady tone.
“Can I talk to you for a minute, Grace?”
No way could she let him into her room. It would be too hard. All she would think about was Cord lying on her bed, naked, waiting for her to ride him.
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