by A. J. Norris
Oh my God.
That was only her favorite restaurant. “Your friend owns Cocoa?” Her cheeks warmed. She liked this guy already, even if she had some doubts about him.
“I take it you approve.”
“Oh God yes. I love that place. Especially their desserts. Let’s go. I'm starved.” She snagged her purse off the back of the couch and ushered him out the door, forgetting about her stupid hair.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Harry
“What the hell is this now?” Harry said aloud. He closed the email account that collected tips from “do-gooder” citizens and other nut-jobs who thought they knew something about open investigations. Some of his peers lived by and pursued possible suspects based on the information. However, Harry loathed the primarily useless fodder.
The email he'd read had been signed “Scared,” and accused Mikey Hardin. Of what? Harry wasn't sure as there were no specifics. He shook his head and swore under his breath. He’d reconsidered his earlier thought at the roadside crime scene. It hadn’t set right with him. Hardin shared custody of his ten-year-old son with his ex-wife and owned a business, even if it was a tattoo parlor. However, he didn't exactly know the man well, apart from a couple of AA meetings from years ago he attended to remind himself why he no longer drank. During the sharing portion, the man never said anything that alarmed Harry or made him think Hardin would murder someone. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his jaw.
Putting his personal opinions aside, he flipped open the Hardin file and read the report again. Nothing made sense. He closed the file and grabbed the Jennifer Swanson murder file, reviewed the notes. She’d worked at Hector’s Coney Island and her car had been left in the parking lot after her last shift. The cook was interviewed and told police that the restaurant had been quiet that night. Harry sat up straighter the further he read, absently sipping his coffee. He spat the cold instant Folgers back into the disposable cup. A few new faces and some regulars had also come in that night. And one frequenter in particular—Mikey Hardin.
By the time Harry was done dissecting all the evidence that had been collected so far, all the photos were laid out on his desk and the papers were strewn about.
Amongst the mess a frame with his daughter’s picture stood out. There was no denying it he was relieved she wasn't a blonde and the furthest from a blonde with ebony hair. And God help anyone who would harm her.
He picked up his phone and dialed Mikey’s number to invite him down to the station in the morning for a talk over some bad tasting coffee. The call immediately went to voice mail. He left a message.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mikey
The easy banter on the way to the restaurant put any misgivings Mikey had about Grace to rest. She was much more down to earth than he remembered. He'd been somewhat edgy on the way to her house after the confrontation with Cynthia. Her insanity was exponentially worsening.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Mikey picked up his cell phone from the table. He silenced the “UNKNOWN” caller and set it face down.
“Did you have to get that? I mean, it’s okay if you need—”
“Unknown. I don't answer those.”
“Me either. If it’s that important they'll leave a—”
The phone chirped signifying a voice mail waited.
“Maybe you should—”
“Nope. I’d much rather listen to you.” His eyes lingered on her mouth. He’d wanted to kiss her ever since he’d picked her up for their date. Grace was lovely; black hair, hazel eyes, and full lips.
They stared at each other until the waiter came up to their table moments later. “Would you like to see our dessert menu?”
When Grace didn’t say anything right away Mikey started to ask for the bill. “No, just the—”
“Um, can I see the dessert menu, please?”
“Of course.” The waiter smiled and left the table.
Mikey grinned lopsidedly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted anything.”
“I love their red velvet brownie. I know I don’t need it, but it’s a special night…”
“It’s my favorite too. That’s so funny. And you’re right, this is a special night. I don’t date a lot. I travel for work a few times a month. As I said before, every other weekend I have my son. So…”
“Your job sounds exciting.”
He chuckled. “It has its moments. Sometimes the clients are assholes, though.”
Grace threw her head back and laughed. “How do you mean? What do they say or…do?”
“Well, some want tattoos that aren’t possible or in locations that I won’t do.”
“Where?” she asked, her eyes shining in the candlelight.
Mikey blushed, thinking about how to explain where. “Um, think of the weirdest place and you’re probably right.”
Now he could see she was conjuring up some wild stuff. Her eyes lit up with an idea, although she hesitated.
“What are you thinking?”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, getting ready to speak. The waiter showed up with the dessert menu.
Damn.
He’d been so looking forward to hearing what she’d come up with.
“I already know what I want,” Grace told the waiter. “The red velvet brownie. Mikey, do you want to split it or have one all to yourself?”
“I’m not a pig, we can share. They’re huge.”
“I know, right? I can never finish a whole one.” She handed the menu back to their waiter.
“Very well, thank you,” the waiter said before retreating.
“Okay. What did you come up with?” Mikey asked.
“Penis,” Grace gushed.
Now it was Mikey’s turn to throw his head back and laugh. “Actually, that’s not the weirdest. It’s more common than you might think.”
“No way!”
“People have asked for that and more. Like all the way around to their ass-crack more.”
“Ewww. Aren’t they embarrassed? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
“Not really,” Mikey laughed. “Only embarrassed when you asked me about it. It’s not a big deal.”
“So you don’t do tattoos there?”
“Nope.” He put his palms up and shook his head. “Once was enough and never again.”
“How many do you have?” She glanced at his arms. For an owner of a tattoo parlor and artist, he wasn’t covered from head to toe.
“Not that many. I like larger tattoos. Most of my back is covered with a single design. But they’re all over.
“Oooh. Of what?”
“I'll have to show you some time,” he winked.
The waiter returned with the dessert.
“Could I have another Chardonnay, please?” Grace asked, holding up her glass. The waiter whisked the long-stem away. “Thank you.” Grace glanced at Mikey’s half-full soda on the table. “I hope you don’t think I normally drink this much, I…I’m a little nervous.”
The waiter returned with her beverage.
“It’s okay,” Mikey said. “I wasn’t thinking you were an alcoholic. And I’m not a wine person.”
She raised her glass to her lips. “Why don’t you join me with a beer or something?”
“I’m driving. It’s not a good idea if I drink.”
CHAPTER NINE
Grace
Grace watched the blur of storefronts and pedestrians whiz by from Mikey’s passenger seat. Cocoa was located in the downtown area of South Webster. Their dinner had been excellent and the conversation flirty, but true to herself, her nerves took over and the car ride was silent. Her need for a different life, a more exciting life, wandered away and took shelter under a rock where it could stay comfortable, hiding behind Painfully-Lonely and Afraid-To-Take-Chances. She had a way of lying to herself about what made her happy and whole.
“Do you trust me?”
Mikey’s sudden question jolted her back to her present reality, riding in a car with a hot guy. She hoped he hadn’t se
en her reaction.
She swallowed. “Um, yeah, sure. Why not?”
“Okay. That was very convincing.”
“Well…” God, what was wrong with her?
“It’s all right. We hardly know each other. I’ll take you home.” The defeat in his voice was unmistakable.
Grace flopped her head back on the head rest.
Great.
The first night of trying to alter the course of her life; fail. She panicked and said the first thing that popped into her brain. “Give me a reason to trust you.”
What? What did that even mean?
“Hmm.” He glanced at her. “Do you like motorcycles?”
Grace twisted her face up. “Oooh, kind of frightening. Why?” she asked tentatively.
“Thought you might like a ride. And this way, if we don’t die, you’ll have a reason to trust me.”
“Funny. But uhhh, I don’t know, maybe. I’ve never been on one before.” She sucked in a breath between her teeth. “Not sure I’d like it.”
“Tell you what, I’ll show it to you and see what you think. If not, I’ll take you home.”
“Okay, but I’m not sure I’ll get on it.”
“Fair enough.” Mikey drove another block and made a U-turn back to his house.
* * *
Grace had to admit, he looked sexy as hell straddling his bike. The gas tank had a shiny black finish while the rest of the mechanics were a matte black. The whole motorcycle was black.
“What kind is it?”
Mikey pointed to the metal emblem on the side of the tank.
Her face turned red. “Yeah, I guess I can read.”
“You really don’t know anything about bikes do you?”
“Why do you ask?”
He stared at her with that lopsided grin of his. “One thing before we ride. You lean into turns. The natural reflex is to lean the opposite way, but not on a motorcycle.”
Mikey rose from the seat, put a key in the ignition, turned it, and did some other things Grace didn’t have a clue at, then kick-started the road monster. He’d said it was a street model with some letters or numbers after it. Truthfully, she hadn’t listened to what he’d said. Like it mattered anyway. She wasn’t going to get on it.
A helmet sat on a shelf behind her in the garage. When he pointed to it, she brought it over.
“Put it on!” he yelled over the idling engine. She shook her head, pretending not to hear him. “The strap adjusts.”
Grace counted on this being the worst experience ever. She placed the helmet on her head and fiddled with the chin strap, all thumbs. Her fingers didn’t want to cooperate, probably because this was going to be the last time they were attached to her hands.
Mikey watched her struggle and intervened. He fastened the strap. She ungracefully mounted the bike and sat behind him. His head rose above hers, even though his seat was positioned lower than hers. He reached behind, grasped her hands, and wrapped them around his waist. The engine roared and the death-machine lurched forward. Grace let out a whimper and clutched his torso higher up.
His body quivered as he chuckled. Mikey lifted his legs and pulled them in then they were off. He made a wide turn out of his driveway. Now what was she supposed to remember?
Crap. Lean into turns.
This proved more difficult to do. He was right; she wanted to lean the other way. To compensate she held Mikey closer and turned her head to the side. Maybe if she didn’t look ahead, she wouldn’t be so afraid of becoming roadkill.
Her entire body shaking gave her muscles a workout and sweat had broken out all over her skin. He increased their speed and the purr of the engine grew louder. Soon he would turn onto the main drag that ran next to his subdivision. The speed limit was forty-five and about forty-four miles per hour faster than she wanted to go.
The corner came up quick. Grace squeezed him tighter when the bike felt like it would fall over. She held her breath. They came out of the turn still on two wheels and wind roared past her ears, despite the helmet.
Cars on the road passed them left and right. She inhaled and exhaled in a steady rhythm, her death-grip starting to ease some. She explained to her inner wild child how much fun this was. Yep. So much fun; a rollercoaster-ride on two wheels with an asphalt cheese grater as a safety net.
The leather jacket Mikey had thrown on and the one he’d insisted she wear made it hard to feel the muscles he undoubtedly had underneath. She imagined sculpted abs and a fantastic chest.
Wait.
What do you know? The visual had a calming effect on her nerves.
After another turn she realized they were headed toward her apartment building. And she was just starting to get the hang of this. He must’ve felt her tension ease, because he throttled up and they went faster. The sudden burst forward made her stomach bottom out, but instead of feeling the overwhelming fear that was keeping its mouth shut for once, she giggled. She had fun letting herself go.
As they continued the ride back to her home with two more turns and stretches of highway, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face or her laughter inside. When they pulled into her parking lot, she wanted more.
“That was awesome!” Grace gushed after he cut the engine. They took turns dismounting the bike with her going first.
“Does this mean you trust me now?”
“We’re still alive, so yeah. Oh my God, we have to do that again sometime.” She took the helmet off and handed it over.
“Keep it. It doesn’t fit me.” His eyes were in shadow, but she knew they were smiling too, like his mouth.
He perched on the seat with both feet in front of him, looking up at her with that lopsided grin of his.
“What?” she asked, and traced the outline of his lips with her eyes.
“I wanna kiss you goodnight.”
She smiled at the ground. He reached for her hand and pulled her closer. His legs opened to allow her space between his knees. When she closed her eyes, his hands cupped the sides of her face. He pressed his lips to hers. A short, sensual kiss, followed by a longer, more intense one. Grace leaned into him, placed her hands on his chest. His hands left her face; one slid around her waist and the other got lost in her hair. She thought about pulling away, the heat between them too much. This feeling was unfamiliar. Her ex-husband had accused her of being icy. But she wasn't cold, was she?
Mikey moaned against her mouth. He tried to part her lips with his tongue. When she refused entry, he asked, “You all right?” Fire torched her face and she wondered if it were possible to turn a color past red. She looked away. “I…”
“It's okay. I should go anyway.” He set her back up on the curb.
Well that was great. Her first night of trying something new and this happened.
She turned to walk away then spun around and grabbed hold of the open halves of his jacket. He smiled briefly. Their lips met a second later. This time she opened up for him.
CHAPTER TEN
Mikey
The TV glowed in the dark of Mikey's living room. He'd fallen asleep on the couch after he dropped Grace off at her apartment. Even though it was six o'clock in the morning, the living room stayed dark. The blackout shades kept most of the daylight out of the room.
The sudden change in sound on the TV woke him up. Wired after his date, he'd flipped on the flat screen and dozed off. With his eyes still closed, he half listened to the news. He stretched his arms over his head and his legs out, bending them at the ankles, yawning widely.
“…possible serial killer…” the news anchor said.
This got his ears working properly. He glued his eyes to the screen as photos of a happy and alive certain waitress with pink streaked blonde hair were displayed.
“The victim, Jennifer Swanson, was found by a group of teenagers police say. Authorities are interviewing possible suspects and…”
According to the news, the body had been found last evening while he'd been out with Grace. Thank God she didn't have b
londe hair.
Mikey dangled his arm over the side of the couch and groped around in the pocket of his jeans for his phone. A voice mail notification showed on the screen. He had three messages. The first message was from Detective Hunter. He sat up and listened to the voice mail.
Shit!
When it was over, he called the number back.
“Detective Hunter,” the man answered with gravel in his throat.
“This is Mikey Hardin, you called?”
“Yeah. We need you to come to the station. When I didn't hear back from you—”
“I'll be right down.” Mikey didn't wait for a response before he hung up.
He shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed his wallet, keys, and ran out of the house, unsure why he was racing across town for another meeting with the cops.
There were one hundred ninety-two ceiling tiles in the interrogation room. Halfway into figuring out the number of floor tiles, Hunter walked in.
Harry Hunter stared at him. “I'm going to skip the bullshit. Where were you Tuesday morning between twelve and two a.m.?”
“I didn't do anything.”
“Where were you?”
“What's this about?” In the car on the way over, he’d convinced himself this wasn’t about Jennifer.
“You really need to watch the news,” Harry said and shook his head.
Mikey’s knee involuntarily bounced up and down. The detective stared at him for a couple of seconds.
“A girl was found. Took a fatal blow to the back of the head.” Harry’s brows knitted together.
“What girl? Oh, I saw that report. On the news. Just before—” A surprised expression appeared on the cop's face. “I fell asleep with the TV on last night.”
“Oh, so you do watch TV?” Hunter questioned.
Mikey shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Did you know her?
“She's a waitress at Hector’s Coney Island. I go there frequently. But I wouldn't say I know her. She waited on me the other night.”