Past Midnight (South Island PD Book 2)

by Ranae Rose

  “I’ll have the brisket special, please.” He handed the Tempest Café waitress the menu he’d barely glanced at. “And a glass of tea.”

  “Sure thing.” She took the menu and didn’t bother to write anything down. The café’s brisket lunch special was such a steal that it was probably all anyone ordered on Wednesdays. Plus, they gave him an extra ten percent off for being a cop.

  It was a pretty sweet deal, and yet, the memory of Miss Argent soured his good mood, making him feel … guilty, somehow.

  He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he hadn’t done much to help, either.

  “Hey man.” Jackson pulled up the empty chair across from Elijah and settled down at the table. “You put in an order of the special for me?”

  “Forgot.”

  Jackson flashed him a melodramatic look of betrayal. “Ever since I moved out, you’ve been getting colder by the day.”

  “Nah, you’re just used to getting sappy treatment from Belle, and it’s coloring your perception of everything else. I figure you’ll come back down to earth once your relationship gets past the honeymoon phase.”

  Jackson snorted. “Spoken like a truly jealous j—”

  The waitress reappeared. “Another brisket special?”

  “And a glass of tea, please.” Jackson nodded.

  “Gotcha.”

  “Maybe I’m not jealous,” Elijah said when she was gone. “Maybe I’m just pissed because my cost of living nearly doubled when you left.”

  Jackson’s expression sobered a little. “You thinking of getting another roommate?”

  “I don’t really want one, to tell the truth. The wriggle room in my budget was nice, but the thought of living with a stranger is about as appealing as dinner and a movie with Rogers.”

  Rogers was his archenemy around the department – a short, cranky little officer who held a grudge like a junkyard dog held onto a raw steak.

  Jackson snorted. “I’m sure she feels the same way about you, considering that she has a girlfriend.”

  “Good. I can’t think of anything more disturbing than a world where she actually liked me.”

  “You might wanna ask around the department about the roommate situation. Most of us are more or less on the same sad paygrade; you might find another officer who wouldn’t mind living with another cop.”

  “Maybe.” He forgot all about the possibility of a roommate as soon as the food arrived. The top-notch brisket drove thoughts of anything else from his mind, at least until a deep peal of thunder rumbled outside.

  A pre-school-aged girl eating lunch with her mother at the next table shrieked and dropped half a grilled cheese sandwich on the floor. “Eep! Mommy…”

  Her lip trembled as she eyed her fallen sandwich.

  Her mother sighed and picked up the other half. “Here, honey… You never eat the whole thing anyway.”

  “What’s wrong?” Jackson asked.

  Elijah realized he’d been staring at the fallen sandwich half – staring while he thought back to that morning and the broken window at Charmed.

  “I had a call over on Orange this morning. Someone busted the display window at a lingerie boutique and stole all the electronics.”

  Elijah’s gaze drifted toward the café windows and the street beyond. It wasn’t raining yet, but it would be soon. The sky was dark, and Elijah had lived in the Lowcountry his whole life – long enough to know how quickly storms could roll through.

  “I know there’s no way the owner has gotten the window fixed yet,” Elijah added, thinking of Peyton Argent glowering inside her shop with nothing to protect her and her merchandise from the rain.

  “In that case, it looks like her panties are about to get wet.” Jackson tipped his head toward the window.

  Elijah snorted. It was funny, but at the same time, he felt bad for the woman. He couldn’t really blame her for being in a bad mood, given the circumstances. It was tough enough to cut it as a small business owner without being sabotaged by thieves.

  Another round of thunder roared overhead, louder this time.

  He dug into his pocket, pulled out a bill and threw it down on the table.

  “Where are you going?” Jackson asked.

  “To keep those panties from getting soaked.” He took one last, huge bite of his lunch and pushed back his chair.

  Jackson stared. “You’re doing it wrong, man.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Elijah was already pushing his seat back where it belonged. “It’s the only thing I can really do to help, and somebody’s gotta do it.”

  He’d been about as much use to the shop owner that morning as a parka in August, and he hated leaving a call without making a difference.

  Jackson just shook his head.

  Elijah hurried out to his cruiser, a pang of regret sailing through him at the thought of his unfinished lunch. Maybe Jackson would box it up for him.

  Putting brisket out of his mind, he climbed into his cruiser and pulled out into the street, heading east. There were several hardware stores on the island, but he drove to the one he was most familiar with.

  Delaney Hardware was a mom and pop place, in business since the seventies. It didn’t have the widest selection or the lowest prices, but the owners – a senior couple – were good people, and more helpful than the big box store employees.

  Elijah knew because a year ago, he’d responded to a 911 call from Mrs. Delaney. She’d been alone in the store while her husband had been at the dentist, and she’d sworn up and down that she’d heard an intruder in the storage room.

  Upon inspection, he’d found one, but it hadn’t been human. Instead, the ugliest rat he’d ever seen had been climbing through bins of bolts and gnawing here and there on spools of rope.

  The rat had scared Mrs. Delaney worse than an ax-murderer probably would’ve, and so he’d captured it in an empty shipping box and moved it outside. Ever since, Mrs. Delaney treated him like he was the Pope come for a visit every time he saw her.

  When he arrived, he went straight to the counter. She was there, along with the cat she’d adopted to keep the shop rodent-free. By the looks of the thing, it’d been doing a good job – he’d have bet a paycheck it weighed every bit of fifteen pounds.

  “Officer Bennett!” She clapped her hands together while the cat regarded him with a look of bored suspicion. “What can I do for you today?”

  “I need some plastic sheeting.”

  “Well, you’re in luck; we’ve got plenty of it right here in aisle six.”

  She led the way, though the aisle was only a few steps from the counter. After selecting a sheet large enough to cover Charmed’s display window, he turned back to Mrs. Delaney.

  “Don’t feel obligated,” he said, “but I’d like to ask you a favor.”

  “Anything – what is it?”

  “Can I borrow a staple gun? I need one for an emergency repair. I’ll have it back by this evening at latest.”

  * * * * *

  A concussive blast of thunder sounded from way too close by, causing lingering bits of glass to tumble from the busted window. Lying on the carpet, they looked like little, crystal lost teeth.

  Peyton huffed and slung another armful of outdated newspapers at the floor below the window. She’d raided a newspaper recycling collection bin at a nearby café, which had been embarrassing but necessary.

  She needed something to absorb any rain that might blow in through the window – no way was she going to allow this ordeal to curse her with damp, moldy carpet on top of everything else. Lining the carpet was the first step in an admittedly flimsy plan to protect Charmed from the impending storm.

  The next step was to tape a tarp over the window, which would hopefully keep the rain out in the first place. She’d called half a dozen contractors, but had had to leave voicemail messages with four of them. Of the two she’d actually reached, neither of them had been able to fit her in any sooner than Saturday.

  More thunder spurred her into action af
ter she laid down the last of the papers. After grabbing the tarp she’d picked up at a home improvement store, she climbed onto the mini ladder she’d pulled out of storage. The tarp was thick, woven plastic – with any luck, it’d keep the storm out.

  Slipping a roll of duct tape off of her wrist, she tore off a piece with her teeth while holding the edge of the tarp against the window frame. She had to rock up onto her tiptoes, and her shoulders and biceps burnt beneath the weight of the tarp.

  She really needed to get back into the habit of going to the gym – too bad she wasn’t likely to make time for that within the next millennia.

  Pressing firmly, she secured the edge of the tarp first with one long piece of tape, then another. She reinforced each strip with several shorter pieces, purposely going overboard.

  It took her about five minutes to secure the top edge, and the fruits of her labor lasted for about ten seconds after that.

  The tarp didn’t just fall down, it parachuted, crumpling with the sound of tearing tape and billowing over Peyton, shrouding her where she stood at the foot of the ladder.

  Instead of blue plastic, she saw red. Throwing out an arm, she wrestled her way out from under the tarp, cursing. When she emerged, she saw that there was a man on the sidewalk outside her store, holding a coffee cup and staring.

  She wanted to ask him what he was looking at, but bit her tongue. The last thing she needed was for a passing stranger to write an online review about the foul-mouthed, crazy lady who wrestled tarps in the display window at Charmed.

  She settled for a glower, and he hurried away as thunder rumbled again and rain began to fall.

  It was only a light patter, barely more than a mist. But that could – and likely would – change on a dime. There was only one thing to do: gather the tarp back up and make it stick. Somehow.

  Too late, it occurred to her that she would’ve been better off with nails and a hammer instead of tape. A few holes in the window frame would’ve been a much smaller problem than a soaked shop.

  Just as she was climbing the ladder again, a knock came at the locked door she’d hung with a ‘closed’ sign.

  Sighing, she climbed back down and went to answer it, figuring whoever had arrived couldn’t be as unwelcome as the storm that’d just rolled in.

  She was wrong.

  * * * * *

  When Peyton Argent answered the door, she looked like a storm cloud personified. Her sandy brown hair gleamed in the grey, stormy lighting and her blue eyes were steely. As she stood in the open doorway, the chalkboard ‘closed’ sign bouncing against the lavender-painted wood, the air between them practically crackled with energy.

  Annoyed energy.

  Elijah second-guessed himself for the briefest of seconds, and then the cool spatter of rain against the back of his neck renewed his determination to help.

  “Did something turn up on someone’s security camera?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, drawing her short-sleeved shirt tight over their swells.

  He kept his eyes on her face. Hostile or not, she was pretty: a blue-eyed, pink-lipped doll whose soft curves tempted his gaze to stray far beyond the bounds of professionalism. Her Capri pants and collared blouse hugged a figure that was petite compared to his, but a little taller and curvier than that label usually implied. He pegged her as being under thirty, although she had the jaded mannerisms of someone older.

  “No, not yet, anyway. I came by because I thought you could use some help patching up that window.” He tipped his head over his shoulder, at the street. Raindrops were pelting the asphalt, and all it would take to send them through the window was a sideways wind.

  Her gaze dropped to the supplies tucked under his arm: neatly-rolled plastic sheeting and the borrowed staple gun. Her lips cracked, and for a moment, she said nothing at all.

  “Really?” she finally asked. “You’re going to help?”

  He nodded.

  “Why?” Her gaze narrowed again.

  “Why not?”

  She didn’t seem to have an answer.

  “How much are you going to charge me?” She nodded at the supplies he carried. “That stuff wasn’t free.”

  “I’m not going to charge you. I’m a police officer, not a handy man. And I have a connection at a local hardware place.”

  Her expression shifted, becoming uncertain.

  Although his Kevlar vest kept him from feeling any dampness on his body, his arms and head were growing slicker by the minute. “Can I come in?”

  She stepped aside slowly, her gaze lingering on the supplies he’d brought.

  “I tried hanging up a tarp,” she said. “It didn’t work.”

  “I saw that.”

  Her expression tightened, and he had to fight back laughter to maintain a neutral facial expression.

  “It didn’t work because you were using tape,” he continued. “I brought a staple gun to secure some plastic sheeting with.”

  He approached the ladder she’d set up. At 6’4”, he barely needed it, but the first step would make the job a little easier.

  “It’ll put a few holes in the frame,” he said, “but they’ll be small and this should keep your interior dry.”

  She eyed the plastic sheeting. “Are you sure it’ll work?”

  “When I was a kid, I sent a baseball flying through the living room window one summer. My dad made me patch it up myself, and this is exactly how I did it. It held up until we got it repaired, and we had some rain then too.”

  She nodded as he stepped up onto the ladder’s lowest rung. “What should I do?”

  “Hold the end of this.” He unfolded the plastic sheet and handed her a corner as he lifted the rest of it and centered it above the window. It was more than big enough to cover the entire thing.

  “That’s it?” She stood there with the plastic clenched in one fist.

  “Uh-huh. This’ll only take a few minutes.”

  He made good on his promise, stapling the plastic sheet in place within ten minutes. By the time he finished, raindrops were hitting its surface and streaking down.

  “I guess you were right.” She stood beside him and watched the raindrops merge and form rivulets. “This beats my crappy tarp idea.”

  “It’s only a short term fix,” he said, “but it should keep this storm out. Any luck getting a contractor out here yet?”

  She shook her head. “I spoke to a couple, but they couldn’t fit me in until Saturday. Other than that, I left voicemail messages.”

  “I have an uncle who runs a contracting company out of North Charleston. I could get in touch with him and explain the situation you’re in – he might be able to help you out sooner.”

  Her gaze flickered to his, and a telltale dent told him she was biting her lip. “He’s not busy like the rest?”

  “He keeps busy. He’s been in business for twenty-five years and is as reputable as they come. I have a feeling he’d do his best to get someone out here as soon as possible if I explained the situation to him, though. He’s a good guy.”

  “And you’d be willing to do that?”

  “Sure.”

  Her brow wrinkled, and she looked like she was trying to figure out a complicated math problem.

  “I’ve got his number in my cell,” he added.

  “Well…” She tapped a toe against the carpet – which was dry, thanks to the sheeting now hanging securely over the blank space where her window had been. “That’d be really helpful. Thanks.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “I don’t know why you’d go out of your way to do me a favor, though.”

  She still had that confused look on her face, like she was grappling with a type of equation she’d never been taught to solve.

  “It’s a one minute phone call – not much of a favor.”

  “I disagree.” She tipped her head toward the window. “And that certainly took longer than a minute.”

  He paused on the verge of calling his uncle. “I hate
to walk away from a bad situation without doing anything to help, and hanging plastic sheeting is a cakewalk compared to some aspects of the job. Give me a minute and I’ll have an appointment set up for you to have your window fixed professionally.”

  After a long pause she nodded slowly, the sparse movement just barely disturbing her sandy hair.

  “Uncle Howard? It’s Elijah. I’ve got a favor to ask…”

  As expected, his uncle agreed to help Peyton out.

  “Someone will be by this afternoon, probably around three or four. That all right?” Elijah asked.

  She blinked. “Yeah, that’s … that’s great. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He studied her wide-eyed look of surprise, a strange feeling rippling through him.

  To say that she looked stunned would’ve been an understatement. Did she really have that big of a chip on her shoulder about cops, or was it something else?

  He didn’t pretend to be an expert on the human heart or mind, especially when it came to women. But he’d run into plenty of people who didn’t like cops for whatever reason, and she seemed like she might be one of them.

  He hated that someone so gorgeous might hold his job against him, because now that the hostile expression had finally faded from her face, he could see that that was what she was: absolutely gorgeous.

  Her lips were fuller when they weren’t pressed into a hard line, and her eyes gleamed a soft blue when they weren’t narrowed. She had color in her cheeks – a soft, peachy color that made his own face feel a little hot.

  If she hadn’t been so blatantly annoyed by his presence – and he hadn’t been on duty – he would’ve been tempted to ask her out for dinner.

  “Name of the company is H. Bennett & Sons Contracting.”

  “That shouldn’t be hard to remember, Officer Bennett.” The irritation was gone from her tone, and her voice was surprisingly soft – almost sweet – without it.

  Almost. There was still a note of wariness, if not outright suspicion, in her voice.

  “Anything else I can help you with before I go?” he asked.