The Sweetheart Game

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  How the thug and likely murdering felon ended up employed by Irving was a puzzle to Summer, and she still didn’t completely trust him; despite his rescue of her. After all, he’d once been hired to kill Taryn. That made him untrustworthy in her book. And helping her, though appreciated, didn’t erase all his prior misdeeds.

  However, she had no say in the matter so she chose to ignore him instead, focusing on her boss.

  “Good morning, Irving.” She breezed into the room, her gauzy blue-and-cream skirt fluttering around her legs. She glanced between them and wondered what they were arguing about. Maybe Irving would fire him? Probably not. Unfortunately, in the last few weeks of his employment, he’d been on his best behavior. A simple argument wouldn’t rise to a level of dismissal.

  Irving was nothing if not committed to his employees.

  “Good morning.” He grinned with his perfect white choppers. “You look lovely this morning.”

  He’d traded his old pair of teeth in a month ago when they began to fade to the creamy color of a Billy goat’s ass—his words—and were no longer brilliant white. Summer took his word for the goat’s ass thing because she was not personally familiar with that particular farm animal.

  She grinned back. Irving was eccentric and funny, and she loved him dearly. “And you look as handsome as ever.”

  A look of sheer happiness came over his crinkly face. Summer was certain she was his favorite, and told her friends so. Taryn and Jess playfully agreed.

  “You look like a parakeet today,” she said and sat in one of two chairs before his desk. “I like it. But I may need my sunglasses.”

  Irving had never met a pastel he didn’t like. A lesser man would look silly, but her boss carried off his bright plaids and polo shirts well. Summer had drawn the line on black socks with golf shoes and had bought him appropriate socks for his birthday. He’d smiled as though she’d gifted him with a day on the links with Arnold Palmer.

  At least he no longer bought Alvin matching outfits. The hulking goon had looked like a circus bear in the getups, fur and all. The only thing missing from that short-lived experiment was music, and a unicycle for him to ride around on, to the delight of cheering onlookers.

  “What brings you by today?” Irving asked.

  “I came to see if you’ve received any more letters?” The missives had been nonthreatening, although they carried an ominous undertone. They were usually a line or two along the lines of, “I’m watching you” and “I know what you did that summer,” a veiled reference to the movie of almost the same name. So far they hadn’t been able to trace the sender.

  “I have not.” Irving glanced at Alvin. “Not since I got a bodyguard.”

  That was one notch in Alvin’s favor. It would take a hand grenade or a wayward comet to take the hulking man down. Not even tangling with a Kentucky black bear last year had fazed him. If anyone could keep Irving safe, it was Alvin.

  “You still don’t have any idea who might be behind this?” She made a face. “You never ran anyone over with your car and disposed of the body? You haven’t run around with someone’s wife?” He shook his head, grinning. Clearly, if he could, he would. “Someone sure wants to scare you.”

  Irving sipped from his coffee cup. “I can honestly say that I’ve never killed anyone, by accident or on purpose. I still haven’t a clue why someone has it out for me. Unless it’s a former business associate, I’ve outlived all my enemies.”

  They talked for a few more minutes and Summer left, deflated. She hated knowing Irving might be in danger and she couldn’t help. People who sent threatening notes often followed through in some way—a flattened tire, a rock through a window, or worse. If someone hurt Irving, her heart would break.

  Inside the office, he was safe. She put in a few hours on current cases then ran a background check on Mel and his finances. Her stomach knotted when she discovered that he had two large life insurance policies on his wife, totaling over a million dollars.

  “Darn.” Mel solidified his place at the top of the suspect list. She’d have to tell Jason. This turned the case in a whole new direction.

  Her phone chimed with a text: Mary Crosby. Nothing is as it seems

  The knot turned to a burn. The source of the text was not a number she recognized. A check led to a disposable phone. She ran the information to the store that sold the item. After a quick call, she discovered the lead went nowhere. The store’s cameras had been down for the last two months and the clerk didn’t remember the purchaser.

  She grabbed her bag and headed out. This mystery went well beyond a missing wife. If Mel had killed Mary for money, someone had either witnessed the deed or had knowledge of the crime. The text proved that. Either way, the case had just taken two unexpected turns.

  Both leading in the direction of a murder.

  Chapter 16

  If there was one thing about Summer that delighted him, it was her passion for everything around her: her life, friends, her car, Mrs. Kravitz, and now the case. So when she breezed into his house that evening like a five-year-old hopped up on a sugar high, Jason wasn’t surprised. Something had obviously gotten her panties twisted. Maybe she’d ask him to untwist them.

  “Guess what?” she said as she spun to face him. She had her hair piled up on her head and wore an ugly gray sweater over a ratty t-shirt and checked PJ bottoms. She looked adorable if a bit red-eyed. She yawned.

  “You won the lotto?” Damn, no mention of her panties.

  “I wish.” she paused. “The case has taken an interesting turn. Two turns actually.”

  Okay, he’d bite. “Tell me before you have a stroke.”

  “Mel took out two insurance policies on Mary over the last eight months . . . and I got a strange text today.” She played with her phone and then held the screen out for him to see.

  “Huh. That’s weird.” He took the phone. “I assume you traced the phone?”

  “Yes, back to a burner. That lead went dead. The surveillance system in the store that sold the phone is broken—so no video. And even if they had a working system, they only keep the tapes for a week then reuse them. The phone was sold two weeks ago and the clerk can’t remember the customer.”

  “Damn.” He led her into the living room. “Even if they had a tape, it would be crap anyway. VCR tapes don’t last long with multiple uses.”

  “And the buyer paid for the purchase with cash,” Summer added. “Everyone knows that paying by card defeats the purpose of buying an untraceable phone. We’re at an end there.”

  “True.” Jason sprawled on the couch and put his bare feet up on the coffee table. “Why are you so excited then? The policies are not a positive lead.”

  “That’s correct.” She lifted an index finger in the air. “However, this solidifies Mel as my primary suspect. Yes, Mary might be alive, and we should hope for that end. If she isn’t, then the police can use this to build a case against her husband.”

  “Hold up.” Summer was going too fast. He had to rein her in before she had Mel hung in the village square. “Just because you don’t like Mel, and he stands to inherit a lot of money, does not make him a killer.”

  “Of course. But if not him then who else?”

  So much for not getting ahead of herself. Passion was good. Letting it rule her personal emotions wasn’t. Lesson one from cop school. “Mary might be in Bora Bora for all we know.”

  “She might. Unless you have clues in that direction, I say we look at Mel first.”

  Damn. She had him. Summer was a better field PI than she thought. Still, he wasn’t completely onboard.

  “So where do we go next? Renting ground-penetrating radar for his backyard?” he said. “Find a way into his basement to check for a suspicious freezer?”

  Summer took a chair and glared. “Not funny. A woman could be dead.”

  He lifted his hands. “You’re right. I apologize. I just refuse to pick out a funeral suit until we have proof she’s gone. Bora Bora aside, I still think t
here could be other explanations behind her disappearance.”

  “Like what?” Her eyes bore into him.

  “Maybe she left him for another man? Maybe she left him for another woman? Maybe she just left. It happens. People go missing for a variety of reasons.” He dropped his hands. “I’m sure the police have already checked the house for suspicious blood or other criminal activities. Since Mel was out this morning collecting his newspaper, I assume they didn’t arrest him.”

  The annoyance faded on her face. He’d gotten through to her. “Fine. That makes sense, although he’d have cleaned up the place before calling them over. But we still have the text and the life insurance policies to keep Mel as our number one suspect.”

  Now he was in the wagon. “Agreed,” he said. “Although the text doesn’t name a suspect, whoever sent it wants you to keep looking into the case. The policies point to Mel.”

  From what little he’d learned about Mel and his pudgy body, it was difficult to imagine Mel offing his wife and dumping her body in a hole somewhere. If he had harmed her, he’d likely had some help.

  That would be another can of worms.

  Summer looked around the room. “Where is Mrs. Kravitz?”

  “I think she’s sleeping under my bed. She’s been sleeping a lot the last two days.”

  She smiled. “She might be close to having her kittens.”

  He nodded. “That’s why I set up baby cams in my room and in the spare bedroom where I moved her bed. She likes to look out the window at the bird feeder from there.”

  “You put in cameras for the cat?” Her eyes softened at his nod. “That’s so sweet.”

  This wasn’t the first time she’d called him that.

  “Don’t get gushy on me,” he said, realizing he was about to ruin his tough guy image. “I just don’t want her having her kittens on my bed and ruining my grandmother’s antique quilt.”

  For a long stretch, she stared. “If you say so. I think you want to make sure you’re there when she has her babies, in case something goes wrong. You’re becoming attached to her.”

  “I think you’re reading more into this than you should.”

  Summer looked long into his eyes and shook her head. “Not a chance. You haven’t once complained that the flyers haven’t gotten any hits or grumbled about cleaning her box. For a man who swore he wasn’t a cat person, you haven’t been pressing for me to take her, either. I think you like her.”

  Suspicion welled in his eyes. “Wait a second. When we found her, you said you had cat allergies and I had to take her. I haven’t seen you sneeze or itch at all in the time you’ve spent over here.” He leaned forward. “You lied to me.”

  Darn, he had her. “I must have outgrown them,” she said weakly. She faked a sneeze.

  “Nice try.” He wasn’t about to be put off. “Come to think of it, you also said you grew up around cats.” He paused. “Shit. You duped me into taking her. Why?”

  For a minute she considered making up a story that would fit, but she wasn’t that good of a liar. Besides, they were past the serial killer thing. “I wanted you to have her so I could visit and look around for dead bodies.”

  His green eyes rolled up, accompanied by a sigh. “You risked yourself, and Mrs. Kravitz, so you could spy on me?”

  “I did. However, after seeing how gentle you were with her at the vet and during her bath, I realized that you wouldn’t hurt her.” She played with the edge of her top. “As for me, I know how to fight. Had you tried to drag me into your basement, I would have kicked your butt all around this house.”

  A cocky half-grin curled one corner of his mouth. It was fun to see her act all badass. “You think so, do you, tough girl?”

  “I know so.” Summer was all of five-seven, almost a head shorter than him. Dressed as she was, she didn’t look menacing or like a kick-ass angel. She looked kissable, and if he peeled her out of those clothes, there were places outside of her full lips that he assumed would be equally perfect for exploration with his mouth.

  There was a lot of confidence in that pretty package. He decided to tweak her temper for fun. “Too bad we don’t have any way to prove your superiority. I don’t think you’re dressed for combat and the house has no boxing ring or MMA cage. I guess we’ll have to call it a draw.”

  Her face showed she wasn’t ready to concede.

  “I think you’re just scared to test me.” She straightened her back. Doing so, strained the tee over her perfect breasts. “You don’t want to get beat up by a girl.”

  His mouth went dry. He fought the desire to press her back onto the couch and kiss the hell out of her. “That is not it. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

  She straightened to her full height and he was surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of her ears. For a girly dresser with a fluffy car and an aversion to swearing, she looked fit to kill.

  “Oh! Let’s go.” She stalked to the door, jerked it open, and stomped across the porch and down onto the middle of the grass. Spinning around, and curling her fists, she waited.

  “Summer, I don’t want to fight you.”

  A low sound, that resembled a chicken cluck, expelled from her throat. Aggravated, he stepped closer, hoping to talk some sense into her before this got out of hand.

  “Okay, I give. You’re tough. Let’s go back in—” The rest of his comment was cut off when he found himself flipped onto his back on the grass, and the breath knocked out of him.

  Oh, hell, no.

  Her face appeared over him as he struggled to breathe. “I will not let you give in just because I’m a woman.”

  He slowly pushed to his feet. “This isn’t a good idea,” he said, more to himself than her. A foot sweep dropped him back to his previous prone position. His winced as his spine crackled. “Damn,” he grunted. “You’re crazy.”

  She bent over and smiled. “You’re no fun at all. Couldn’t you fight back a little?”

  A second later, she was on her back beside him and he scrambled on top of her. “Give up?” She struggled, clearly not ready to concede.

  “Not a chance.” Before he could read her next move, she stuck a leg between his, twisted, and threw him off. He fell beside her. “Not until you see me as a badass PI and not just a pretty face.”

  “I’ve never thought of you that way.” In an instant, he realized this went deeper than just a desire to show how tough she was. He had a feeling that Summer had battled her whole life against preconceived notions because of the way she looked. Or maybe it ran even deeper than that. But to let her win would not solve any of her issues. She’d only be hurt that he didn’t give her his best.

  Summer started to get up, but he brought her back down. She tried another move, but he countered and she ended up over his head. He rolled over and up. She caught him in the knee with her foot, only hard enough to make him stumble, but not to damage.

  “How’d you like that, tattoo boy?” She stood and charged. He used a maneuver he learned when he did a stint at the FBI training facility at Quantico. The battle raged for a few minutes until they were both sweating.

  “Give up,” she said with a laugh and tried to break his hold on her arms.

  “Not yet,” he shifted, turned, and knocked her over with a hook behind her leg. He fell with her, making sure she didn’t hit hard. Before she could launch him, he pinned her legs between his and her arms over her head.

  “Get off me,” she hissed between her teeth. Each breath pressed her breasts against his chest.

  “Not until you concede to my greater skills and strength.” He dipped his head to breathe against her ear. “Tough girl.”

  Somehow the movement loosened his hold and she flipped him onto his back. How, was a mystery. But when she straddled him, pressing her lower body into his hips, he lost the will to fight. Both of them were panting, her hair had come loose from the knot at her nape, and her eyes softened.

  Slowly and with deliberation, her skin slick with perspiration and heat, and
maybe some desire, Summer lowered her parted mouth to his.

  Chapter 17

  God. She was burning up. The wrestling match had heated her physically and feeling his growing erection between her legs was driving her insane. What really left her emotions raw was the fact that Jason didn’t let her win. Although the match could have gone on longer, she’d earned a badge in the battle. He was on his back and she was the victor. Or was she?

  Yes, she’d won and claimed her prize—kissing him with every ounce of enthusiasm inside her. He had his hands on her butt and was pushing upwards to scrape his zipper against her. Had she been wearing something thin like yoga pants, she’d already be halfway to an orgasm.

  Pulling back, she peered into his eyes, smiled, and lowered her head again to kiss him again. When his tongue touched hers, she moaned deep in her throat.

  Warning bells tolled in her mind. The last thing she needed was an emotional entanglement with her mysterious neighbor, who might be a criminal arms dealer. Okay, she was pretty sure that he wasn’t, but she wasn’t ready to give that up just yet. Not until she knew more about him.

  Still, it felt so darn good to kiss him.

  A squeak, squeak broke through her consciousness. She ended the kiss in time to see a shadowy figure on a wobbly bike appear on the sidewalk and into the street lamp light. It took another beat to recognize the kid who’d wiped out the day she met Jason and for him to recognize her.

  For a minute, she was happy to see that he wasn’t dead.

  Then a stupid grin broke over the kid’s face as he clued in to what they were doing. “Hell yeah, dude. Can I go next? She’s hot!”

  So much for a touching reunion, the little stinker.

  Summer scrambled up and lit out after him. The teen squawked and took off on his bike. She could have caught him easily, but putting a scare in him was just as satisfying. She stomped her feet on the sidewalk like she was closing in and he yelped, making a zigzag pattern on a bent frame as he squeaked off into the darkness like his hair was on fire.