by Kait Nolan
“You say that like it’s an accusation of murder.”
She took another gulp of coffee. “In this house it normally would be. But you made me coffee and breakfast—after a night of really excellent orgasms, so I’m finding it hard to hang on to my natural mad.”
He unsuccessfully hid a smile in his own mug of coffee. “Your brother wasn’t kidding about you not being a morning person.”
“No. No he was not. And that’s on a night when I get normal sleep.”
“I probably should’ve walked away last night. I’m trying to feel bad that I didn’t, but I’m having a hard time with that.”
“You were exactly where you were supposed to be.”
Ethan reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind one ear. “I was exactly where I wanted to be.”
Miranda leaned into the touch, closing her eyes. “Do we have to adult today? Can’t we call in sick and stay in bed all day?” She opened her eyes. “Catching up on sleep and…other things.”
Those smoky eyes went hot. “I have never wanted to play hooky more in my life than I do right now. But I have about a hundred things that have to get done today. Paperwork to finish, reports to file to make sure everything goes as it should. And much as I want to take you back to bed right now, nothing’s going to stop me from arresting Harley.”
Well that was a sufficient mood killer.
“That definitely takes priority. The sooner he’s off the streets, the better I’ll feel.”
“You and me both.”
They shoveled in the rest of breakfast in relative silence. Miranda thanked God that he understood she didn’t want endless inane chatter in the morning. By the time she’d finished and drained the coffee, she felt like she could face the day. Or at least the next four hours until she allowed herself another caffeine hit.
She showered—alone, sadly—and dressed for the day, while Ethan hopped in after her for what he promised would be a ninety-second rinse off. With a towel still wrapped around her hair, Miranda trotted back downstairs and went to get the paper.
As soon as she opened the door, the stench hit her square in the face.
“What the—”
Miranda looked down and promptly screamed.
Seconds later, Ethan came flying down the stairs, a towel wrapped around his hips, his service weapon in hand. He grabbed her, pivoting to put himself between her and danger. “What is it? What happened?”
She pointed to where the door was still open. “Front porch.”
Tightening the towel, he prowled forward and crouched. Miranda trailed behind and wondered that her breakfast didn’t come straight back up.
The pile of viscera and fur had once been a raccoon. The characteristic ringed tail was about the only thing still intact.
“Did something kill it and leave it here?”
Ethan’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Not something. Someone. Looks like it was hit by a car to begin with. But somebody gutted it right here on your front porch.”
Miranda squelched the rise of nausea. “Who would do something like that? Why?”
“I don’t know. To send a message, maybe. I don’t like it. The vandalism didn’t worry me overmuch. That was petty. This…this is something else. Somebody’s targeting you.”
The idea of it was utterly absurd. “Why on earth would anybody target me?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure as shit going to find out.”
Ethan rose, an incongruous picture with the towel riding low on his hips and a gun in his hand. Suds still clung to his shoulders.
“Is everything okay, Miranda?”
At the sound of the older woman’s voice, Miranda swore softly. Of course, of course one of the Casserole Patrol would be out for her morning walk, when Ethan was standing on the porch in nothing but a towel. She stepped around him, shooing him back inside. “Everything’s fine, Miss Betty.”
“What’s that on your porch?”
Miranda automatically shifted to try to block the old woman’s view of the raccoon as she came up the front walk. “Nothing you need to worry about, Miss Betty.”
“Why Chief Greer. Good morning.” Her wrinkled cheeks split with a delighted grin.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Monroe.” His voice was low and easy, as if he hadn’t just raced out of the shower.
“Been wondering who was gonna take you off the market. Good for you, young lady.” Bright blue eyes scanned him from head to toe. “If I were younger I’d have made a play for that myself.”
“Uh...”
“While I concede he is a fine view in the morning, we’ve got to finish getting ready for work. You enjoy your walk now.” Miranda put an arm around Miss Betty’s shoulders and steered her back up the walk.
By the time she got the woman on her way, Ethan had sensibly retreated inside and their reputations were mutually ruined but good. Miranda had a hard time caring. She was a lot more concerned with who’d been prowling around her house after three in the morning, carving up roadkill in some kind of macabre message of…what? Had they been waiting for her when Ethan brought her home? If he hadn’t been with her, would they have stopped with just leaving the grisly offering?
Gooseflesh rose on her arms and Miranda hugged herself. Getting ahead of yourself. It was probably just a vicious prank. Because this was Wishful. It didn’t make sense for it to be anything more serious than that. Ethan’s paranoia was rubbing off on her.
Either way, someone was making her life difficult, and she was getting really damned tired of it. Casting a searching glance around, wondering if the perpetrator was still watching, Miranda squared her shoulders. No matter who’d done it, this thing was left with the intention of getting to her. So she wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Circling around to the shed in the backyard, she went in search of a shovel. She’d take care of this mess and they’d both go on with their days, focused on the important stuff. She wasn’t going to give this asshole another thought.
“The police chief, on the front porch, in a towel!” Clay crowed it as if he’d just won a game of Clue when he answered the door.
“Shut up,” Ethan groused, shouldering him aside so he could bring in his guitar.
“Oh no. I gotta know how you ended up mostly naked on Miranda’s front porch just as one of the Casserole Patrol was going by. I deserve that much explanation since you’re late.”
Ethan set his guitar case on the sofa. “That’s actually related to why I was late.” He unpacked his Taylor and began checking the tuning as he explained about the gutted raccoon.
Clay’s amusement faded. “Why the hell would somebody do that?”
“I don’t know. Just like I don’t know why somebody would slash all four of her tires.”
“Jesus, when did that happen?”
“Night of the bonfire. They may not be related.” Though a knife had clearly been used in both cases. And if they were related, going from destruction of property to mutilation of an animal—even one that had already been dead—showed an escalation Ethan didn’t like. “Either way, I spent a big portion of my day tracking down Harley Forbes to inquire about his whereabouts last night.”
“I heard that’s where Corbett Raines got shot. Is he gonna pull through?”
“Yeah, thanks to Miranda.”
“Is it true Johnny was the one who did it?”
“Afraid so.”
“Shit. I knew the kid was a powder keg, but I never expected him to do something like this.”
“By all accounts and evidence, it was an accidental shooting. Well, partly. Johnny was trying to shoot Harley and Corbett got in the way.” Corbett had corroborated that himself when Ethan went by the hospital to see him, in between checking in with Ralph Slocombe and a handful of others on the list Miranda had given him. He’d been beyond relieved to see the rookie sitting up in bed, albeit swathed in bandages. It’d be several weeks before he healed up enough to get back to work, and Ethan had already called in his two reserve officers to help pick u
p the slack.
“What beef has Harley got with Miranda?”
“None that I know about. And he claimed to have been asleep on the sofa bed at his cousin’s place last night between three and six, which his cousin confirmed.” Ethan hadn’t had any logical reason to tie Harley to Miranda’s harassment, but figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. He wasn’t sure he believed Harley’s alibi, but couldn’t disprove it. His alibi for the night of the bonfire was equally flimsy. “He was staying there on account of nearly getting shot in his own house.”
“I’m not a fan of the guy, but I can’t blame him for that.”
Strumming his fingers over the strings, Ethan hummed a noncommittal note.
Clay crossed his arms and kicked back against the arm of a chair. “So why’d you go after him?”
“To finally arrest his ass on domestic battery charges.” And it had been so satisfying to see that arrogant prick’s smirk turn to outrage when he’d realized Ethan was serious. He’d managed a whole host of creative suggestions as to what Ethan could do with his manhood by the time he’d been wrestled into the back of the cruiser. Ethan had been a little disappointed the jackoff hadn’t taken a swing at him so he could add resisting arrest and attempted assault of an officer to the list of charges.
“Seriously?”
“Yep. This thing with Johnny was finally enough to push Rene into pressing charges.”
“Well, thank God for that. You think the charges will actually stick?”
“God only knows. We’re hoping documented evidence of the abuse will help support her son’s case and prove he legitimately feared for her safety.” What the district attorney would do with that, Ethan had no idea. He hadn’t been around long enough to have a feel for the man. “But either way, Harley Forbes is behind bars at County for the time being, and I, for one, feel better having him off the street.”
“I’ll drink to that. You want a beer?”
“Damn straight.”
Clay disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a couple of long-neck Shiner Bocks.
Ethan set his guitar aside, twisted the cap off, and took a pull, feeling the muscles that had been knotted since early this morning begin to relax. “I needed that.”
“I reckon an hour or two with your guitar ought to take care of the rest. And whatever’s left over can be worked out by the lovely Dr. Campbell.”
Ethan leveled him with a glare. “Watch it.”
Clay just grinned. “Oh no, it’s too late for that, son. You can’t be caught all but in flagrante on her front porch in a towel—by a member of the Casserole Patrol no less—and not expect to catch some shit. Everybody in town now knows y’all are sleeping together.”
Ethan winced. He’d been afraid of that. “It’s not just sex.”
“Didn’t figure it was after that little stunt you pulled at the bonfire the other night. You’re stuck on her.”
As Clay knew him better than anybody else, Ethan didn’t bother denying it. “Seems I am.”
Clay tapped his bottle in a toast. “Well, I say good for both of you.”
He took another pull and rolled the bottle between his palms. “I didn’t plan on this.”
“So the hell what? You can’t plan for everything. To my way of thinking, finding a good woman’s a bit like being struck by lightning.” Clay tipped his own beer back for a swallow, then pointed it at Ethan. “And you, my fine fellow, are still smokin’ from the strike.”
Ethan shot his friend a bland stare. “And are you already planning our wedding and two point five kids, too?”
“Just stating the obvious. I know you. You’re a slow mover, but once you set your sights on what you want, that’s that.”
“Yeah, well, after what happened with Becca, I’m a little more cautious this go round. Trying not to be blinded by lust or anything else.” And yet, despite his best intentions, every instinct he had wanted him to throw caution to the wind.
“Miranda Campbell is nothing like your ex-wife. As somebody who’s known her my whole life, I can say this with conviction.” Crossing the room, Clay picked up his own guitar from the stand.
“In most respects, no. But I don’t know if she can handle the realities of being with a cop long-term any better than Becca did. It worries her.”
Clay began to pick out some warm-up exercises. “Brother, it worries me. It worries my mama, who considers you a second son. It worries all of us who give a damn about you because we don’t want to see you hurt. That doesn’t make her like your ex. She deserves more credit than that.”
Ethan thought about what she’d said. That her need to see him safe didn’t outweigh his need to put himself on the line to save others. That was a concession he’d never have gotten out of his ex-wife. But that was after just one incident. What would happen in a few months? A year? Five years? Would her ability to tolerate it wear down?
No reason to borrow trouble. Where they were right now was very, very good. Ethan could roll with that.
“Let’s take the set from the top. I want to get out of here in time to swing by Miranda’s on the way home.”
“As you wish, lover boy.”
Chapter 15
“We need more lights!” Norah declared.
Miranda eyed the maze of outdoor cafe lights currently stretched across the floor of the community center gym in a spoke pattern. “You seriously need an intervention for your love of John Hughes movies.”
“First off, Footloose was not a John Hughes movie. Second, it’s going to be beautiful once we get them all suspended. We’ll have paper lanterns as accents, and I’ve got Kendall Westin from the Chadwick Gallery working on origami centerpieces for the tables.”
Shaking her head, Miranda slung an arm around Norah’s shoulders. “I love you, you know that?”
“I do. And hey, at least I’m not going overboard on the crepe paper streamers.”
“Thank God for small mercies.”
Cam strolled up, rolling another canister of helium. “Be grateful I talked her out of the Cinderella’s coach picture station.”
Miranda stared at her friend, aghast. “Oh God. You wouldn’t.”
Norah pouted. “You have no sense of romance.”
“You have always had enough for the both of us,” Miranda told her.
“I hear that may be changing.” Shelby arched both brows as she grabbed another balloon out of the bag and fitted it over the nozzle of the helium tank.
“I already told you that’s not up for discussion. I shall neither confirm nor deny.” Who knew she’d be legitimately grateful for an outbreak of strep to keep her staff hopping enough this week not to hound her about her love life?
Shelby snorted and tied off the balloon, passing it to Delaney, who attached it to the growing chain that would ultimately be an arch. “I’m off the clock, and honey, Betty Monroe is doing all the confirming you’ll ever need.”
“I would like it noted that this is me pointedly not demanding details for why Ethan was standing on your front porch in nothing but a towel,” Norah announced.
“Your restraint is noted and appreciated. Because I’m not gonna talk about it.”
Over the past week, Ethan had managed to keep news of the mutilated raccoon from spreading, for which Miranda was grateful. She didn’t want her family to worry about who was harassing her. But he couldn’t do anything about people’s wagging tongues. In the past several days, assorted versions of their encounter with Miss Betty had run rampant.
Time for some deflection. “What I want to talk about is who’s taking who to the dance.”
Norah’s eyes lit with humor. “All our crew is paired off, and with Mitch out of the country, there’s no speculating to do there. You and Ethan are the the topic of interest.”
“Well that’s no fun. Somebody fill me in. Any interesting matches coming up this go round?”
“Reuben Blanchard is taking Violet,” Cam offered.
“That’s no surprise. Everybody knows Mama Pearl�
��s been trying to make that happen since Vivian’s wedding.” Miranda scanned the assembly, looking for who could help dig her out of this hole. “What about you Cassie? Surely you’ve gotten the latest dirt on somebody at The Grind.”
Cassie Callister, everybody’s favorite coffeeshop owner, looked reflective. “I heard Charlotte Ballard asked that new guy. The volunteer fireman who used to be a hotshot. Does something with Eli Hamilton with the forestry service. What’s his name?”
“Sean Murphy?” Delaney suggested.
Cassie snapped her fingers. “That’s the one. He’s so pretty, I wonder he’s not having to beat the ladies off with a stick.”
“Is this really what y’all discuss around here?” Ethan’s voice cut through the chatter.
Miranda couldn’t stop the automatic grin as she turned toward him. “Oh, we bet on it, too. Omar keeps the official pool up at Dinner Belles.”
“I heard something about that. Autumn Hamilton’s reigning champion for picking pairings, I understand.”
“She is.” Miranda confirmed, then squealed in surprise as Ethan simply plucked her off her feet and kissed her until her brain fuzzed over with lust.
When he dropped her back on her feet with a satisfied smile, she was grateful he didn’t let go because her legs had turned to jelly. “So we’re that couple now?” He hadn’t struck her as a PDA kind of guy.
Ethan bent to her ear. “Considering word of our exploits has already spread far and wide, I didn’t see the point in further discretion.”
“Fair point. In that case—” She hauled him in, fastening her mouth to his in a claiming kiss—on the off chance somebody had missed the first one. “How was your day?”
His chest vibrated with a hum of pleasure. “Better now.”
“Glad to hear it. What took you so long? I figured you’d be here more than an hour ago.” Miranda dropped her voice. “Did something go wrong at the arraignment?”
“No. That went about as well as can be expected. Johnny’s been remanded into his mother’s custody until a further evidentiary hearing. I took him by the house to pick up his stuff and then drove him out to Monarch House myself.”