“Like what?” she asked warily.
“Like kiss you in my kitchen …?” Law laughed at the look on her face. “Relax, Hope. It’s not like you have to do anything. He’s interested. And I can tell you are, but that doesn’t mean you have to do anything. He’ll ask you out, probably soon if I know him. You’ve got time to decide what you want to do.”
“But I don’t know what I want.” Her hands were sweating, she realized.
Sweating. Swiping them down the front of her jeans, she muttered, “This is stupid, and it’s probably nothing but crap anyway. That man is not interested in me. He’s not.”
Then she grabbed her tea—her tea this time, not Remy’s—and settled down in front of the box at the island. “You’re paying me to be an assistant—I should probably get to work on that instead of talking about this. So why don’t you go kill somebody?”
After he’d left the kitchen, Hope dropped her head into her hands and told herself not to get worked up, not to think about it.
Remy might have kissed her, and maybe he was a little attracted. She wasn’t ugly—she might have self-esteem issues, mental stability issues, and a lot of other issues, but she knew she wasn’t ugly, and guys did put a lot of stock in looks.
But that didn’t mean he was looking to ask her out … or anything else.
Law didn’t know what he was talking about. Yeah, he usually did.
But not this time.
Not this time.
CHAPTER
TEN
“YOU GOT ANY IDEA HOW BAD A MESS YOU HANDED me, Jennings?”
Remy managed not to wince as Beulah Simmons’s voice echoed through his office, but just barely.
Her voice was … big—like her personality.
Beulah, by comparison, was tiny. The other district attorney barely stood four foot eleven and she made up for that fact by wearing heels that added a good four inches to her height. She also had the sort of attitude that dwarfed those around her. Her skin was the color of polished mahogany, her hair cut in a close, cropped style that very, very few women could carry.
Once upon a time, Remy had entertained a fantasy about this woman. Briefly. Very briefly. Then he realized that she mostly terrified him too much—and she could run circles around him.
She was fifty-two years old and her current lover was in his thirties.
Today she wore a suit the color of peaches. Her mouth was drawn in a tight, unhappy smile and she had arms folded over her impressive chest. One nail, painted almost the same shade of peach as her suit, tapped impatiently against her arm as she stared at him from the doorway and waited for an answer.
Remy was still trying to figure how to answer.
“Good morning, Beulah,” he said, flashing a smile at her.
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you good morning, Beulah me, Remy. I’m tempted to tan your hide.”
“Oh, come on, Beulah. I thought you’d be all but drooling to get your hands on a case like this,” he said, leaning back from his desk, still smiling.
“Case?” She reached up and rubbed her ear. “Case? As in one? Sure. If you had just turned over the homicide of Deputy Prather. Or the murdered girl, although you better be aware, I plan on looking at the homeowner a hell of a lot closer than you obviously did. But this isn’t a case, Remy, and you know it. This is a fucking mess and you dumped it on me without any warning.” She scowled and heaved out a heavy sigh. “At all.”
“Beulah …”
She just shook her head and came inside. Her heels, the same shade of peach as her suit, as her nails, clicked smartly on the floor. She lingered only long enough to shut the door behind her and then she settled into a chair in front of Remy’s desk. Her eyes, sharp as a blade, narrowed on his face. “ ’Fess up, Remy. What’s going on? Why did you go and dump this on me?”
“I didn’t have much choice,” he said quietly. He might have danced around it if it had been anybody other than Beulah, but she knew him, a little too well.
One slim black brow arched.
“Oh?” That was all she said. But there was an entire conversation, all of it unsaid, in that dark gaze. She crossed one leg over the other and propped one elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her chin in her hand.
Then she waited.
Remy looked away, unable to hold her gaze as he tried to figure out how to explain this—how did he say he had turned this over because he was too tangled up with one of the victims? A woman who didn’t seem to want to even breathe the same air as he did?
Shit, it didn’t matter, in the end, what she felt, though. He was too tangled up in her and it left him useless.
Hearing the familiar rustle of pages, he glanced up and saw that Beulah had drawn a fat file out of her briefcase. “So,” she murmured, pursing her lips. “What is it?”
She lifted a sheet of paper and then leaned forward, laid the report aside on the desk. “It’s not him,” she said dismissively. “Although I still don’t know why you didn’t look into him further.”
Remy lowered his gaze long enough to see the report on Law. “He was out of town.”
“Confirmed?”
“Yes. At a funeral attended by hundreds.” He cocked a brow and added, “That’s in the report.”
“Hmmm. Still, we need to look more at him.”
“No. Not we. I’m off this case, Beulah. I have to be.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She curled her lip again, flipped another sheet of paper.
This one was an autopsy—Prather’s.
“It’s not that one.” Sympathy lingered in her face as she looked up at him. “I didn’t like the man. He was an old-fashioned bastard, and very often, a mean one. Mean as a snake, if you get my drift. But still, he was bled like a stuck pig—suffered a lot. Died slow, and painfully. He didn’t deserve that.”
“No,” Remy agreed.
“Hmmm.” Beulah turned a few more pages and then stopped.
Remy felt the slow crawl of blood rise up his neck. Even before the woman looked at him.
“Well, well.” Beulah flicked a glance at him. “I’ve got to say, Jennings, I’m surprised here.”
“About what?” he asked, his voice stiff.
“She’s cute. But I didn’t think I’d ever see the day when you turned over a case because of a woman,” Beulah said, clicking her tongue. “What did she do, flutter those pretty green eyes at you or what?”
Remy snorted. “Shit, I wish,” he muttered before he could bite the answer back.
Beulah lifted her brows and then smirked. “Ahhhh. I see. What’s the matter, lover boy? You finally find a girl who hasn’t fallen under that spell of yours?”
“Shut up, Beulah.”
She started to laugh. “Holy shit. That’s it. Although, damn it, boy, backing down from a case over a woman?”
Scowling, trying not to squirm, he said, “It’s not that.” He sighed and looked away, staring out the window.
From where he sat, he could see the municipal building where the sheriff shared offices with the small city police department, as well as a few other city and county government offices.
“It’s not that … or it’s not just that. I’m too fucking close to this, Beulah. Way too close, somehow. And not just because she fluttered her lashes, not that she ever has.”
“Wait, you mean she’s not fluttering her lashes at you?” Beulah asked. She started to chuckle. “She’s not falling for that smile of yours?”
He rubbed his hands up and down his face and sighed. “There was an event at Lena Riddle’s home a few weeks, maybe a couple of months ago. That’s when unusual stuff started. I used to date Lena. Then this mess with Law, and while I’m not close friends with Law, I can’t deny that I’m attracted to the woman who currently lives in his household. It’s just a mess right now.”
“A mess?” She snorted. “You think a mess is descriptive enough? And have you considered talking to a shrink? Are you sure this girl isn’t involved?”
Remy shot her a
withering look. “I’m not an idiot, Beulah.”
“No. You’re a man, and you’re thinking with your dick. What about all the information you got from her ex?”
Remy curled his lip. “All that information was false, deliberately given in such a way to make her look mentally unbalanced—her ex is a cop, and he used to beat her. And that’s not something she told me. I got that information from another source—a trusted one.”
“Oh.” Beulah’s face softened with sympathy. “Oh, my. Damn, Remy. You sure as hell know how to pick a complicated mess, don’t you?”
He snorted.
“But …”
He looked at her.
She lifted a finger. “But … what if your source isn’t entirely wrong, and what if the ex isn’t either? After all, an abused woman is going to have a lot of issues. You and me? We both know that. Shit, more than likely she is going to have a lot of issues. You really want to risk getting involved with somebody with that sort of history?”
“Nobody said we were getting involved,” Remy muttered.
“Kid, I see that hook in your mouth from a hundred feet away.” Beulah stood up, smoothing down the impeccable peach suit she wore. “You’re involved, even if she isn’t. Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you like it or not. And that could get pretty damn ugly, if you ask me. So again … are you sure this is what you want?”
He was silent. Then finally, meeting her eyes, he jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “Well, as you said, I’m involved. Whether I like it or not. It would seem I don’t have much choice in the matter, huh?”
Beulah studied him for a long, quiet moment and then she just sighed and shook her head. “You really did land yourself in it this time. And she’s not falling for that legendary charm of yours, either, so you’ve really got your work cut out for you, huh?”
With that, she turned and grabbed her briefcase. Her heels rapped sharply on the wooden floor as she headed to the door. “Good luck, Remy. And I still think you ought to consider getting your head examined. In the worst way.”
Then she winked at him over her shoulder. “That’s the lawyer speaking. The woman is curious about meeting this lady. Once this mess is over.”
After she left, Remy closed his eyes and rubbed his stiff neck. Mess.
This wasn’t a mess.
It was a fucking nightmare.
Hunger gurgled in her belly as Hope left the post office. She’d mailed off another box full of books and envelopes for Law. She still had to hit the grocery store before heading back to his place, but as she headed for her car, she slowed down by the café.
Something smelled good—really good.
“Hi, Hope.”
She glanced over as a slim blonde came out of the café, arm in arm with a man. The woman looked vaguely familiar, but Hope hadn’t met the guy with her, she didn’t think. “Hi … ah, it’s Roz, right?”
“Yes.” Roz smiled. “We’ve only met once. And you haven’t met my husband … this is Carter, Carter Jennings.”
Jennings. Hope arched her brows, cocked her head. “Jennings?”
Carter gave her a smile. “Yeah. This town is lousy with them. My dad and Hank and Remy’s dad were brothers. There were seven of them, although only four of them stayed in the area.”
“Ah.” She studied him closer, trying to see something of Remy there. The eyes were blue, but not as blue. He was a little older, too, she thought. Didn’t seem as … well, warm, as Remy was. “Just how many of you are there?”
“I don’t know. I stopped counting.” He smiled at her. “How are you feeling? I’ve heard about your … ah … ordeal.”
“I’m fine.” She jammed her hands into her pockets and looked away. The hunger in her belly faded, replaced by a heavy, leaden weight. Ordeal—what a polite word. And which ordeal had he heard about? The bullshit version or the real one?
She started to turn away, but a laughing group of women came out of the café at that exact moment. They caught sight of her and their laughter died—cutting off so abruptly, it was almost painful.
Most of them looked past her, through her, around her.
But one of them just stared at her.
Her face was familiar—too familiar.
Hope didn’t know her name, but she knew that face; she’d been one of the women trying to talk Remy into arresting Law.
Her pale, almost colorless eyes locked on Hope’s face and a sly smile curled her lips. “Well, hello … Hope, right? How are you, Hope? Recovering well? You’ve had a traumatic few weeks … I tried to tell you that Law Reilly was trouble, but you wouldn’t listen to me, would you?”
“I never was very good at listening to malicious old gossips,” Hope said, curling her lip.
Next to her, Roz made a strange choking sound, like a smothered laugh. Hope ignored her, too busy staring at the malicious old gossip in question while she opened and closed her mouth like a landed fish.
She finally sputtered a few furious words. “You … I … why …”
Hope snorted and shook her head. “You’re pretty vocal when you’re talking about others, but when it’s directed at you, you get kind of tongue-tied.”
“Hello, ladies.”
A shudder raced down Hope’s spine. Remy.
Heat flooded her belly and she had to lock her knees to keep them from melting on her.
All from the sound of his voice … and the memory of one all-too-innocent kiss.
Her mouth dry, she glanced over as he strolled up to them. He wore one of his slick lawyer suits, a briefcase in one hand. The sight of him should have been enough to chill the rush of heat his voice inspired—lawyer, trouble, hello—but it didn’t.
Now it was her turn to be at a loss for words as he came to a stop, subtly placing his body between her and the other woman. Without looking at her, he said, “Lovely day, Deb. You and the gardening club working out the details for the town meeting?”
“That’s for Wednesdays.”
Hope smothered a smile as the woman drew her shoulders back, her face pinching with disapproval. “Today is Tuesday, Remington. We discuss books on Tuesday.”
“Oh, yeah. How silly of me.” Then he glanced at his watch. “You always do lunch before you have the club meeting at the bookstore, right?”
Deb sniffed. “Yes. I’d better get going—Morgan Henshaw is always looking to take my place as the discussion leader, too.” With her skinny shoulders rigid, she sailed away and her cronies fell in step behind her.
Roz flashed Remy a grin. “You know just what buttons to push.”
“Part of the job description.” He shrugged. “Hey, Carter.”
“Heya, Remy. You out for lunch?”
“Yeah. It’s about that time.”
Small talk … awesome. They were making small talk. Hope measured the distance to her car, decided she could just sort of quietly mosey her way toward it as these three chatted—so far, Remy hadn’t so much as given her one look. While that might have crushed any ego she possessed, if she had one, it was going to make it easier to just slip away, too. Trying to cheer herself up, she figured it would also give her a reason to go I told you so to Law.
But as she went to take the first step, Remy shifted his body, placing that lean, oh-so-nicely muscled form directly in her path. “Roz, Carter, I hope you two don’t mind, but I’m going to be rude and ditch you. I want to talk to Hope for a while.”
Mind! Please. Say you mind! Hope shot Roz and Carter a desperate look, but the blond had already tugged on her husband’s arm, pulling him along down the sidewalk with a chuckle.
Her heart slammed against her rib cage, then shifted to lodge up in her throat as she stood there on the sidewalk.
“Have you had lunch?”
Lunch—Hope swallowed, then darted a glance at the café. Had she had lunch? “Um. No.”
“Me, neither. Why don’t you eat with me?”
“I can think of a hundred reasons,” she mumbled, looking everywhere but at him.
“Ouch.”
Hope shot him one quick glance and then looked away, staring at the window of the café. People were staring at them—some pretended not to, but others weren’t that polite.
“So, you can give me a hundred reasons why you shouldn’t, but are any of them a no?”
Blowing out a breath, she made herself meet his eyes. She couldn’t keep just standing there looking everywhere but at him, after all. For one, it was making her feel a little foolish.
But once she met his eyes … whoa.
The world just fell away. Again.
“Well?”
Hope blinked. “Well, what?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Are you going to have lunch with me or not?”
“Oh. Lunch.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Lunch—
“Look, I’ll make it easy … I’m going to go inside and sit down.” He gestured to the café. “And you think about those hundred reasons of yours. If one of them has something to do with not being attracted to me, then you just get back to whatever you were doing. But if maybe you are, well … the invitation is open. Your choice, all the way. No pressure.”
He gave her another one of those slow, easy smiles and then started toward the restaurant.
A fist wrapped around her throat.
My choice.
Hope closed her eyes.
Okay, her choice.
And she didn’t even have to think through her hundred reasons.
But no pressure?
Shit.
Remy focused on the menu. Of course, he knew the damn thing, front and back, including the prices and the daily specials that weren’t even listed. But it was either focus on the menu … or stare out the window and see what Hope was going to do.
He gripped it so damn hard, his knuckles were going white. And when the bell over the door jangled thirty seconds after he’d sat down, he refused to let himself look up.
If it wasn’t her, it was going to gut him, he knew it.
But then the chair across from his scraped against the floor.
If You See Her Page 15