Kickout Clause (Savannah Martin Mystery)

by Bennett, Jenna

  “Fine. The windows are replaced and the locks are new. I swept up the broken glass and the dust. The only thing left to do is make sure the back door is locked and all the lights are off.”

  “Let’s do it, then. I’m starving.” He pushed open the door and crossed over the threshold. Then he hesitated. “Coming?”

  “Sure.” I glanced over my shoulder, but the inspector was already on his way to the truck, and the agent and clients were probably taking a quick minute to discuss the preliminary results of the inspection before they parted ways. No one looked at me. Mr. TD&D was stabbing his finger in the air a scant inch from his agent’s face, and the shorter, skinnier man was trying not to flinch. Meanwhile, Small, Blond and Nervous was chewing her bottom lip and casting worried glances down the road in the direction of where the Buick had disappeared.

  I closed the door behind me, and after a second’s hesitation, locked it.

  “Nervous?” Rafe asked.

  I shrugged. “This car drove by and scared the bejeezes out of the buyers. Or out of her, anyway. I don’t think her husband noticed. But I doubt they’ll end up buying the house after all.”

  He arched a brow. “That bad?”

  “A bunch of young black guys in a tricked-out Buick. They rattled her.” There was no point in telling him what they’d said. I probably couldn’t get my tongue to shape the words anyway.

  He looked me over. “You OK?”

  I nodded. “I don’t think they were talking to me.” I had no idea why, but maybe they just liked waifish platinum blondes. I’m neither waifish nor is my hair that fair. I’m a blonde, but it’s more dishwater than platinum. With some lighter streaks when I can afford it.

  “I know most of the boys around here,” Rafe said, as he unlocked and relocked the back door with a determined snick. “They know better than to bother you.”

  That explained a lot. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “Door’s secure. Ready to go?”

  “Sure.” I glanced around the kitchen and realized I’d left my pencil and pad of paper on the table.

  Rafe got there before me. “What’s this?”

  “Just some notes about things.” I put my hands behind my back so I wouldn’t be tempted to snatch it away from him.

  He didn’t say anything, just focused on deciphering my scrawl. I had learned the proper elegant cursive in finishing school—a well-brought-up Southern Belle sends a lot of personalized, handwritten thank-you notes—but I’m afraid it has deteriorated a little from lack of use.

  Finally he lifted his head to look at me across the table, hands braced on either side of the pad and the muscles in his arms standing out. “You serious about this?”

  “It’s just a theory,” I said. “Marsha at the Shortstop did say the man Bradley met there looked like Dale Vandervinder. And if Bradley is planning to double cross his own client, what better reason for sneaking around?”

  “Guess I’ll have to schedule a visit with Bradley.”

  Uh-oh. “How are you going to explain that?”

  He shrugged, and muscles moved smoothly under the sleeves of the blue T-shirt. I have no idea how he managed to get away with wearing Tshirts and leather jackets to work, but I guess part of the point was that he didn’t look like a TBI agent. He still looked like he might be balanced on the line between right and wrong, and I guess that’s exactly what the TBI wanted from him.

  The shirt he had on today was soft and blue with a faded Corona logo on the chest, and I realized, with a slight sense of shock, that it was the same shirt he’d worn that night in September when I’d shown up here after surprising both Todd and myself by saying no to Todd’s marriage proposal.

  That was the same night Rafe and I had ended up making love for the first time, so I had fond memories of that particular shirt.

  It seemed particularly fortuitous that he should be wearing it today.

  “You know,” I said, “we never did get around to having sex on the kitchen table.”

  For a second or two, nothing happened. Part of me wondered whether I only thought I’d said it out loud, when I’d really only said it in my head.

  Part of me worried he was ignoring me because I’d said something he didn’t want to hear.

  And part of me wanted to take it back. But only part.

  He lifted his head to look at me. One eyebrow crept up and the corner of his mouth tilted.

  I blushed. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Rafe said. He pushed the pencil and pad of paper aside before crooking his finger at me. “C’mere.”

  I walked around the table with my heart thudding and my stomach swooping in anticipation. I’d lost count of the times we’d made love in the last few months. At first, every time had been special and precious and rare. But since Christmas, I’d had him in bed next to me every night, and while the sex was still wonderful and semi-magical, there’d been so much of it that by now, I couldn’t remember each instance individually. Nonetheless, I never did lose that knee-jerk reaction to him. When he got that look on his face, when his eyes turned dark and full of heat, and his lips softened in that certain way, my body softened, too. My skin tingled and my knees turned to jell-o.

  As soon as I got close enough, he trapped me between his body and the edge of the table. His hands wandered south. “Good thing you decided to wear this skirt today.”

  It was spring-like and flouncy and easy to move up. Before I realized what he was doing, he had slipped his hands underneath and up to my hips. He hooked his fingers in the sides of my panties and pulled them back down. “Up you go.”

  I found myself boosted unceremoniously up on the edge of the table.

  “Perfect.” He moved a step closer, nudging my thighs apart at the same time.

  “You’ve done this before,” I said, a little breathlessly, as I looped my arms around his neck.

  “No, darlin’. I’ve just thought about it a lot.” He slipped his hands around my back. “Let go and lie back.”

  I swallowed hard as I unhooked my hands from behind his neck and let him lower my back to the hard surface of the table. Looked like we were really going to do this. And now that we were, I wasn’t entirely sure I felt comfortable about it. We were very exposed here in the middle of the kitchen, with bright daylight shining in through the windows and back door.

  And what if the agent decided to knock on the front door before leaving? I wasn’t sure I could live down the embarrassment if he caught us in flagrante delicto. On the kitchen table, no less. Not to mention what it would do to my professional reputation if he spread the word that I was engaging in sex in the middle of the afternoon.

  I had locked the front door, hadn’t I?

  “Darlin’,” Rafe murmured, his hands busy working my skirt up, “you think too much.”

  “I just don’t want any interruptions.”

  His lips curved. “With what I’m gonna do to you, I promise you won’t notice if the ceiling caves in.”

  Having been on the receiving end of promises like that before, I had no doubt he could deliver. And anyway, that was just when his fingers did a certain something that sent my eyes rolling back in my head.

  I heard his chuckle from far away. “That’s my girl. Don’t worry about it, darlin’. Just let me take care of you.”

  No problem. I watched the ceiling fan revolve slowly through half closed eyes while my ears registered the faint rasp of a zipper being drawn down.

  Then he came back.

  “Ready? Lift this one a little, darlin’.” He draped one of my knees over his arm and nudged my legs farther apart. I caught my breath quickly when he brushed against me, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Sometimes I wonder if Bradley has any idea what he was missing.”

  “Probably not,” I managed.

  Bradley and I had never had an enjoyable sex life, and while part of that was certainly Bradley’s lack of prowess, part was my lack of desire, too. Desire for Bradley, I mean. I have no lack of desi
re for Rafe.

  “Good thing too,” Rafe said, “or I mighta had to kill him.” He surged forward, and I let out something halfway between a ladylike squeal and a very unladylike moan, and then clapped a hand over my mouth, blushing.

  Rafe laughed, his voice hitching, but he didn’t stop long enough to comment. I tried to keep an ear out for knocking on the front door—just in case I’d been loud enough to catch the attention of the realtor or his clients who might still be outside—but it didn’t take long before I forgot everything except Rafe. They could have been hammering on the door for all I knew, or pressing their noses against the windows—although I sincerely hoped not. But I didn’t see or hear anything outside our own little world.

  I’d been waiting for this for six months. And while it had taken me a good chunk of that time to get used to the idea of having sex in broad daylight on the kitchen table—with Rafe Collier!—the reality was everything I could have hoped for and more. Sex with Rafe was always good, but the long, drawn-out anticipation of this—and maybe even the fact that there were people outside the house who might just decide to investigate what was going on—contributed to one of those rare experiences I wouldn’t soon forget. Some of the other times we’d made love may be blurred in my mind, but this one wouldn’t be.

  “I like this kitchen,” Rafe said when he’d gotten his breath back.

  I looked around, from where I was still on my back on the table, with him standing between my thighs. “I do, too.” It was nice and big, approximately four times the size of my current galley kitchen—big enough for a table!—and he had renovated it very nicely, with granite counters and stainless steel appliances and polished hardwood floors.

  He had his hands braced on either side of me, and now he bent his head to brush a light kiss over my lips. “Thanks, darlin’.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said. “It was all you.”

  “Not all of it. You’re very good at being flat on your back with your legs spread.” He grinned.

  I smiled back. “You bring out the best in me.”

  That made him laugh. But then he sobered. “I’m gonna have to talk to Bradley, darlin’.”

  “Of course.” He didn’t need my permission to talk to my ex-husband. Although it was nice of him to give me warning. Not that it was likely to have anything to do with me, either way. “I don’t think he’ll recognize you, to be honest.”

  “No?”

  He took a step back and zipped up, before reaching out a hand. Once I was seated on the edge of the table, he retrieved the pair of my panties he’d dropped on the floor earlier and went down on one knee to help me put them on. Skimming them up my legs and into place went a long way toward making me want him all over again—and after just these few minutes!—but I squashed it.

  “I doubt it. He’s only seen you once, and it was dark. He was inside the car and you were outside, so he probably didn’t get a good look at you. And he... um...”

  I hesitated, trying to come up with a good way to say it.

  “Thinks all black people look alike?” Rafe suggested.

  “Something like that.”

  Rafe was only half black, but no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I wished it hadn’t. I wished I could stop feeling the need to point that particular fact out, since I knew it meant I still harbored some of my own racial hang-ups. Getting to know him, and falling in love with him, and making the decision that I wanted to be with him no matter what anyone else thought of it—and some people thought plenty—had only been half the battle. I was still mentally struggling with the need to justify myself.

  It’s not a pretty thing to realize about yourself.

  In fact, it probably made me no better than Bradley. His prejudices may be closer to the surface, but the fact that mine were better hidden didn’t make them any nicer to look at. It might even make them worse. At least Bradley’s prejudices were out in the open.

  So now I had just rationalized myself a worse hypocrite than my ex-husband, which did nothing to make me feel any better. The afterglow of wonderful lovemaking was fading fast, and Rafe noticed. “Darlin’?” He put his hands on my shoulders.

  I dredged up a smile from somewhere and plastered it on my face before I looked up at him. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll handle him with kid gloves. I promise.”

  That wasn’t the problem, but I didn’t want him to know it, so I just nodded. “We should probably go. You can drop me off at the office and get back to work.”

  “Food first,” Rafe said. “I just worked up an appetite.” He grinned at me.

  I smiled back, a little more genuinely. “What are you hungry for?”

  “Besides you?” He winked. “Barbecue.”

  Of course. Drippy, fattening stuff he could eat with his fingers.

  But I had just worked off a few ounces myself, or so I fervently hoped. “I’m game.”

  “That’s what a man likes to hear.” He put an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the front door. In the doorway he turned to look back. “I’m gonna miss that kitchen table.”

  So was I. I’d spent months fantasizing about it, and now that it had happened, I found I didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting it on in what I thought of as our spot.

  “It looks like we’ll have more time than we thought to get used to the idea. I bet you anything you want that the buyers are going to pull out and we’ll be left without a contract.”

  He glanced down at me. “You bet me what?”

  “Anything you want.”

  “Hold that thought,” Rafe said and opened the front door.

  We had sticky, goopy barbecue at Edley’s, and then he took me to the office.

  “Stay here until I come get you,” he informed me when he dropped me off. “If I can’t come get you, I’ll call, and you can get a cab.”

  “I could walk,” I said. “It’s only a mile or so, straight down the road. Maybe less.”

  “Down East Main Street. Where the soup kitchen is and the gangbangers hang out.”

  “It’s getting better.” In fact, as I had always had to tell Todd, whenever he took me to dinner and brought me back to East Nashville afterwards, the neighborhood is getting safer and more expensive every day.

  “Not good enough,” Rafe said. “You got an escaped convict gunning for you, darlin’.”

  “I’ve got you to protect me.”

  “Not if you decide to walk home by yourself. So just stay here until I come get you.”

  Yeah, yeah. I promised I would, then gave him a kiss before heading into the office through the back door. I didn’t hear the Harley roar off until the door had closed and safely latched behind me.

  The first office to the left inside the door—the big corner office in the back of the building—used to belong to Walker. When he left us to take up residence in Riverbend Penitentiary, Tim took over the reins—and the office. As I walked down the hall past his door, his voice floated out to me. “Is that you, Savannah?”

  I backtracked a few steps and stuck my head through the opening. “Something I can do for you?”

  Tim sighed exaggeratedly and threw himself backwards in his chair. “You can tell your pet detective to stop bothering me. When I hear something, she’ll be the first to know.”

  I stepped inside the room. “She’s not my pet detective. And she’s just trying to catch Walker. We’ll all be happier when he’s back behind bars.”

  Tim looked dubious, so maybe he wouldn’t be.

  “You better be careful,” I added maliciously. “Once he gets his money, he has no reason to keep you alive anymore.”

  He turned a shade paler.

  Tim spent a few years in New York trying to make it as a triple threat on Broadway, and although he’s getting a little long in the tooth, he still has the preternaturally glossy looks of a male model or soap opera star. Gleaming blond curls, bright blue eyes, and an excess number of teeth. They’re brilliantly white, and I
think they’re probably capped. At the moment, the ceiling light glinted off them with the brilliance of a thousand stars. Or had, until I scared him. Then he stuck his bottom lip out in a pout more suited to a five-year-old than a grown man.

  “You’re such a tease.”

  Not really, but I blushed anyway, remembering what I’d been doing just thirty minutes ago. And that brought the malicious gleam back into Tim’s baby-blues. He leaned forward. “Where have you been all morning, darling? Was that Rafael’s motorcycle I heard driving away?”

  I admitted as much. “The police have my car.”

  Tim clicked his tongue. “Getting in trouble again, sweetie?”

  “Someone slashed my tires last night,” I said.

  His eyes opened wide. “All of them?”

  I nodded. “We’re thinking it was Walker.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the guard who helped him get out of prison was in the vicinity when it happened. We think Walker might have been there, too.”

  “Oh dear,” Tim said faintly.

  “The police took it in to look over. Just in case.”

  He didn’t ask in case of what. I guess maybe he didn’t want to know. I added, “I would consider it a personal favor if you could just speed Walker on his way as soon as possible. So far he’s vandalized my office, my car, and my house, and tried to break into my apartment. And that reminds me.”

  “What?” He looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to fall.

  “I don’t think this second contract on 101 Potsdam is going to work out. Yesterday, someone broke several of the windows. From inside. With no damage to the locks. So when the buyers and their agent and inspector showed up this morning, there was a glazer and a locksmith there.”

  “Ouch.”

  Yes, indeed. “Hopefully something else will come along. Maybe we can get the original buyers back.”

  Maybe I should give them a call. Although it might be best to wait until I actually knew something for certain, one way or the other. Best not to do anything premature, or possibly unethical.

  “So how is your boyfriend this morning?” Tim wanted to know. He has a bit of a crush on Rafe. Rafe doesn’t seem to mind.