Divorced, Desperate and Daring (Divorced and Desperate Book 6)

by Christie Craig

  Chloe put her hand on top of Sheri’s. Her smile vanished. “Are you forgetting Jerry killed himself a week before our wedding?”

  Sheri made a face. “That wasn’t on you.”

  “Neither are yours.”

  “I picked them,” Sheri said.

  “And I picked Jerry. And before Jerry there was Howard. He cheated on me. Then I found Cary. One of these days, you are going to find Mr. Perfect. And you’re going to fall head over heels in love.”

  “That’s just it, I was in love. With Kevin.” And for one night, maybe even with Danny.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you ran into him?” Chloe asked, sounding a little hurt.

  “Because it would make me sound pathetic. Seeing Kevin is why I didn’t break up with Patrick. I thought maybe . . . I’d start feeling the magic. I want the magic.”

  “Did you at least tell Kevin off about cheating on you when you saw him at Starbucks?”

  “No.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  That was another painful question. “No. But it still hurts, you know?”

  “You sure you’re not thinking about giving him another chance?”

  “No.” Her heart said Kevin didn’t rate a second chance. Then her mind went to Danny. But hadn’t she already given him one when she’d followed him home that morning?

  “Good, because Kevin’s wrong for you.” Chloe twirled her empty glass.

  “He didn’t feel wrong when things were good.” Neither did Danny.

  Chloe chuckled. “Yeah, but when it’s really right, you’ll know it. And you’ll know when to hang on.”

  Yeah, I thought that with Danny. “We don’t know that,” Sheri said. “And you know what? Maybe it’s okay. Because honestly, if there’s a chance I could wind up like my mom, loving someone so much that I bury my head in the sand and put up with crap like she did, maybe I don’t want love.”

  Sheri’s phone rang.

  Thinking it was Danny, she grabbed it out of her purse and gave the screen one quick glance to see the number.

  “Shit,” Sheri said and put the phone down like it might bite her.

  “Shit what?” Chloe asked. “Is it Danny?”

  “No. It’s . . . Kevin.”

  “Answer it and tell him off! It’s been a long time coming.”

  Sheri inhaled. “What good would that do?”

  “Don’t you want to tell him off just a little bit?”

  “Maybe a little.” Sheri reached for the phone, but it stopped ringing.

  • • •

  “Don’t look at me like that. I fed you already. And if you fart again, you’re sleeping in a different room.” It was eleven o’clock when he got to Sheri’s apartment. Of course, he’d stopped by to feed Taco before going to the precinct. Sheri had said he needed to be fed by eight, and Danny wasn’t going screw that up.

  Not that the dog seemed to remember he’d had dinner. He kept looking at his bowl and then back at Danny. Drool leaked from his jowls.

  “Seriously, what does Sheri see in you?”

  The animal whimpered and dropped down by his bowl.

  “What?” he asked the dog. “You telling me some other creature broke in and ate your food?”

  Danny pulled out his phone to see if he’d missed a call. Or rather, Sheri’s call. When Cary had heard what happened—from one of the other guys—he’d phoned. Danny, stuck at the precinct doing paperwork, had filled him in, telling him it looked as if he might have found the right Sheri Thompson. In addition to the note with the second Sheri Thompson’s address, they’d found photos of her on the guy’s phone. But the kicker was learning what had kept Mr. Pain in the slammer for seven years.

  Attempted murder. He’d taken money from some rich dentist to make the man’s wife disappear.

  Not that the case was actually closed yet. The system required something called proof.

  There were all kinds of nefarious reasons Harry, known hit man, could have had the name and address, an unregistered gun, and pictures of his friend’s ex-wife. Planning a hit was only the obvious one.

  Before he’d hung up with Cary, Danny had told him to tell Sheri to call him.

  He’d barely stopped looking at his phone since. A call from her would be a sign she was moving toward forgiving him.

  She hadn’t called.

  Danny rubbed his cheek. His jaw hurt, his stitches itched, and his stomach was gnawing on his backbone from hunger. The hamburger and fries he ate hours ago had long since been forgotten. And the hope he’d found earlier was beginning to wane, too.

  Why hadn’t she called?

  He opened Sheri’s fridge in search of something to fill his empty stomach.

  No milk. No cheese. No eggs. Then he spotted a take-out box still in a bag. He pulled it out and flipped open the top to see what was in it. Chinese food. Looked like sesame chicken with a side of fried rice.

  He really liked sesame chicken and fried rice. His stomach growled.

  He set it on the counter and then leaned down to sniff it. He had no idea how old it was, but it smelled good. He did a quick check for anything green growing and didn’t see any.

  The dog came strolling over. And bam, drool started flowing. Danny tried not to look. “How long ago did your master go out for Chinese food?”

  The dog cocked his head to the side, and his ears perked up a bit. Probably at the word food.

  “No help, huh?”

  He remembered learning that a dog’s sense of smell was like four hundred times better than a human’s. Grabbing a fork from the dishwasher, he stabbed a piece of chicken and dropped it in the bowl. If Taco Grande deemed that piece good, Danny was going to eat the rest.

  The dog dipped his head down. After sniffing the nugget of meat, he consumed it and quickly looked up at Danny as if he was expecting more.

  “Good to go then.” Danny started checking the cabinets for plates, and when he found one, he dished out the food and stuck it in the microwave. As the appliance hummed and the smell of food filled the air, he worried she might be upset with him raiding her leftovers.

  A smiled worked its way to his lips. He could always offer to take her out to make up for it. The microwave beeped. He pulled out the food and sat down at the kitchen table. The dog inched over. When Danny saw the drool, he quickly looked away.

  “Towel,” he said, and the dog went, grabbed it and brought it to him. He cleaned the dog’s face and then had to get up and wash his hands.

  He’d downed half the food when his phone rang. He checked the number. It was her. He inhaled, and the air tasted sweet.

  “Hey.” Hungrier for her than food, he set down his fork.

  “You weren’t sleeping were you?”

  “No. I just got back to your place.”

  A beat of silence filled the line. “Cary told me you said to call.”

  “Yeah, I . . . I thought you might like to hear firsthand what happened.”

  “I would. So you found out which Sheri really had a hit on her.”

  “Well, it looks that way, but we still need a few more days to” . . . to win you over . . . “dig up some evidence and get a confession.” He repeated what happened, or most of it.

  “Cary mentioned you got punched,” she said when he skipped that part. “Are you okay?”

  “Just incompetent?” he said, half joking, half embarrassed.

  “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “I’m teasing,” he said, not wanting her to hang up. Pausing, he looked at his plate. “I came in starving. I went through your fridge.”

  “Sorry, I haven’t been grocery shopping in forever.”

  “I saw some Chinese leftovers.”

  “Don’t eat that. It’s over a week old. Oh, maybe two.”

  “Good to know.” He wiped a hand over his mouth and shot the dog a glare. So much for trusting Taco’s sense of smell.

  “You ate it, didn’t you?”

  “You got any Pepto-Bismol?” He frowned but then h
e heard her giggle. Music to his ears.

  “In my bathroom cabinet. Top shelf.”

  He walked out of the kitchen but stopped in front of the bookshelf in her living room. Having been blinded half the time he’d been here earlier, and he hadn’t had a chance to really check out her place. His gaze went to the framed photo of a younger Sheri standing by another young girl. He recognized the other girl, too.

  “How old were you in this picture of you and Chloe?”

  “You’re snooping?” she asked, but didn’t really sound like she minded.

  “It’s out in plain view! That makes it legal,” he said, a little tease in his voice.

  Was that another chuckle? He wondered how much wine she’d had. Was she a little tipsy? If so, she deserved it. She’d had a bad day.

  “I see,” she said and then, “Which one? There are two in plain view.”

  He started looking from shelf to shelf for the second framed photo. In his search, he found several other interesting images.

  “One of them is us when we were in kindergarten, and one is when we were fifteen.”

  “Okay. Yeah, I see it now. You were cute.”

  “In which one?” she asked.

  “Both,” he said honestly. “Although teeth are a nice accessory.”

  She laughed. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sound. What he would give to have her here and see her eyes light up with that humor.

  “Did you find the Pepto-Bismol?” she asked.

  “No, I’m too busy snooping.” His gaze moved from one framed photograph to the next. “Is that your mom in the picture standing with you in the pumpkin patch?”

  “Yeah, last year we went and picked out our own pumpkins to enter a jack-o’-lantern contest. It was for a charity.”

  “Did you win?” he asked and pulled the frame closer to get a better look.

  “No, but it was fun. And our pumpkins brought in over a hundred dollars.”

  He remembered her telling him about her mom’s cancer and then losing her dad. “How is your mom?”

  “Good. Cancer free.”

  “How’s she doing dealing with the loss of your dad?”

  There was a pause. “She’s coping.”

  He heard something in her voice, but what? Was Sheri still grieving over her dad? While he wasn’t sure, he suspected his own dad was dead. His mom had moved to Mexico. She sent him a Christmas card every year. Nothing like a mother’s love.

  But Danny could still relate. He’d grieved plenty when his aunt and uncle had passed. Both within the same year. The same year he’d grieved for his marriage and his child.

  He searched for an image of her dad. He didn’t find one.

  “How about you? You coping?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” her answer came too quick. There must be some emotional backstory. And he wanted to know it. Wanted her to trust him enough to tell him.

  His gaze went back to the one of her as a teen, dressed up in a formal gown, like for a school dance. She was already hot. He wondered if some lucky teenage boy had gotten to wrap her in his arms that night. He didn’t like thinking about it.

  “Bet your dad had to chase off all the guys with a big stick.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Then what would you say?” he asked.

  “He used a Bible, not a stick.” Her tone carried an undercurrent of pain. He remembered her father had been a preacher. And he recalled that when she’d told him that, she sounded as if something about that hadn’t set right with her.

  “How’s Taco?” she spilled the question almost too fast.

  He knew a ploy to change the subject when he heard one. Not that he’d fight her. Baby steps.

  “Good,” he said. He only ate a bite of the bad chicken. “I swung by before I went to the precinct and fed him on time.”

  “Thanks.”

  Danny glanced back, and the dog was back resting by his food bowl. “Of course, he acts like he’s starving now.”

  “Food’s his favorite thing in the world,” she said.

  “That’s because he’s neutered.” Danny teased.

  He scored another laugh.

  He was savoring that sound when another one intervened. The doorbell.

  “Is that my . . . ?”

  “Doorbell, yeah.” Danny’s right hand moved to his holster, but he realized he’d left his gun in the kitchen. Taco barked. “Who do you know that would show up this late?”

  “My neighbor, if it’s an emergency,” Sheri said. “But not this late. Oh, you don’t think . . . Don’t open it!”

  “I’ll call you right back,” he said when the person started knocking. He hung up and went to the kitchen for his gun.

  Dropping his phone on the counter, he went out the French doors, taking the same route he’d gone this morning. This time, however, he’d make it a point not to get pepper-sprayed.

  Chapter Nine

  The guy standing on the front porch, in the shadows, struck Danny as familiar, but with the hood of his jacket thrown over his head, he couldn’t identify him right off the bat.

  “Police. Don’t move,” Danny said.

  The guy raised his arms. Before Danny even saw his face, he knew who it was.

  Kevin Vey turned around. His eyes shot down to Danny’s gun.

  “What are you doing here?” Kevin asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same question. You armed?” he asked.

  “No.” Kevin frowned. “But you are!”

  “What are you doing here?” Danny asked.

  “I came to check on Sheri.”

  “At this time of night?” Danny asked. “It’s kind of late, isn’t it?

  “She wasn’t answering my calls, and I got worried.”

  So Kevin called Sheri and she hadn’t answered the call. That was music to Danny’s ears—not quite as good as her laugher, but close.

  “Open your jacket for me?” Danny said.

  “Why?”

  “So I can see if you’re carrying.”

  “A gun?” he asked as if insulted.

  “No, breath mints.” Danny shook his head. “Of course a gun!”

  “I don’t own a gun.” Kevin opened his shirt. There was nothing there.

  “Turn around,” he said, “and hold up your jacket.”

  He complied. “I’m not trying to hurt her. I care about her.”

  “Yeah, well that ship sailed, buddy.”

  “So I was right. You two are seeing each other.”

  Danny was tempted to lie and tell him yes, but instead he decided not to answer at all. “You should leave.”

  He heard his phone ringing inside Sheri’s apartment.

  “Is she here?” Kevin asked.

  “No,” Danny answered. “And considering the situation, I don’t think you should be here either.”

  “What situation?” he asked.

  That I’m about to claim her as my own. “That your ex-fiancée might have hired someone to kill her.” Not that he necessarily believed it anymore since Harold Pain, but until he knew for sure . . .

  “I told you Caroline wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yeah, but until the investigation is over, I would really advise you to stay away.” And when it was done, hopefully, he’d have another reason to advise him to stay away.

  “Why? You’re afraid she’ll come back to me?”

  That stung because it was true. “Go home.” Danny turned around and went back the way he’d come.

  “She loved me,” Kevin said.

  “You screwed up,” Danny called before he walked through the gate. But his conscience echoed back that so had he.

  When Danny called Sheri back, Cary answered.

  • • •

  When Danny woke up around seven, nothing felt right. Not his bed, his pillow or the God awful breath blowing in his face. And he wasn’t talking about his. When he opened his eyes, he dropped a four-letter word.

  It took him a second to remember he wasn’t at
home. To recall that the wrinkly schnozzle an inch from his face belonged to Taco.

  “Oh, morning breath,” he said and pushed the dog away. He hadn’t slept worth shit. His stomach had actually hurt, no doubt the bad chicken. The rest of the night, the competition was on to see whose gas smelled worse, his or Tacos. He was pretty sure the dog still won.

  Taco pushed back and ran his tongue across Danny’s cheek. “No! We don’t know each other that well.”

  The dog barked. “What? You need to go outside?”

  He barked again.

  “Okay, I gotta piss, too.” Danny rolled out of bed, running a hand over his face and frowning at his morning perkiness, which was going to stand in the way of a good morning piss. Having basically been celibate for the last six months, the morning perkiness problem seemed to hang on a little longer.

  Moving like the walking dead, he let the dog out and then went to the bathroom. Three minutes later, less perky and his bladder emptied, he went in search of caffeine. Sheri had one of those fancy coffee makers that made one cup at time. But she was either out of coffee or had a good hiding place for it.

  Frustrated, he filled the cup with hot water and sipped it, hoping to fool his brain. His brain was smarter than he was.

  Leaving the cup in the sink, he let Taco in. The dog went right to the bowl, stared up at him and groaned.

  “Okay.” He filled the dog bowl and then headed for the bathroom, hoping to substitute a hot shower for hot coffee.

  He shucked off his boxers. Reaching behind the curtain to turn on the water, he couldn’t find the nozzle. Pulling back the curtain, he stared at the extended pipe where the nozzle should be but wasn’t. She must be having some plumbing work done.

  “Noooo.”

  He snatched the towel hanging on the rack and headed into Sheri’s bedroom to her master bath. While attempting to wrap the towel around his waist, he noticed the thing was one of those fancy ones, with embroidery on it, which probably meant it was just for show and not for actual use. Why did women do that?

  He stepped back, tried to hang the towel back the way it was but it wouldn’t fold right. Finally, he gave up, half-assed draped it over the towel rod and stepped back into the hallway buck naked. Taco followed him, his cold nose butting up against Danny’s ass.