Bending the Rules

by Susan Andersen

  And what he intended to do—whether Poppy liked it or not.

  Raising his head far enough to look down at her, he said in a voice that would have been a lot more impressive if it didn’t sound as if it had been run through a shredder, “Clear out some room in a drawer for me, Blondie. I’m moving in.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Okay. On behalf of independent women everywhere, I should have protested Jason’s big tell-don’t-ask policy much more strenuously. Or, okay—here’s a thought—at all.

  IT WAS ONE WEEK today since Jason had moved in with her, lock, stock and barrel. Well, barrel anyhow. He’d brought several armloads of clothing over, but not much else—except for his ever-present gun. That, Poppy admitted as she stood in the parking lot beneath the kids’ mural, was taking a bit of getting used to.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  Glancing up from the paper plate where she was mixing yellow into Henry’s lizard-green paint for him to dot along his much-adored reptile’s legs and belly to give it texture and depth, she saw that Danny had dribbled some paint from his own piece of Chinet, just missing Henry by inches.

  “Sorry, dude. I got sort of involved here and didn’t realize I was tipping my plate.”

  “Palette,” Henry corrected him, taking a hit-and-miss swipe at the spill with one of the wet rags she’d given the kids. “Jeez, and you call yourself an artist? Show a little pride in your tools, man.”

  No harm, no foul, obviously. After checking Cory to be sure she, too, was doing all right on her part of the wall, Poppy went back to her mindless mixing and her thoughts.

  Because the truth was, the whole situation took some getting used to. She not only hadn’t talked to her best friends this week, but she’d also actively dodged two calls from Ava. She sure as hell hadn’t mentioned to her folks yet that Jason was living with her. With luck he’d be gone before she had to.

  Ignoring the funny pang she got at the thought of him moving out when he had barely moved in, she concentrated on her parents’ probable reaction if…when…if they discovered it. Not that they’d have a problem with her living with a member of the XY species. They had raised her, after all, in an atmosphere of free love.

  But free love with the Man, as she’d grown up hearing cops called? Not so sure they’d be happy about that. And she knew they wouldn’t love the fact that the guy whose suits were taking up more of her closet space than any man’s clothes ought to went around with a weapon snugged under his arm. Pretty much 24/7. No, as roommates went, he wouldn’t be her folks’ first choice.

  She snorted softly as a blast of heat suffused her veins, her loins, her face. Because the way the two of them had been going at it, one, two and once three times in one night, the word roommate just seemed sort of a…weak, pallid—oh, my—definite misnomer.

  Unable to help herself, she looked up again. Her brow furrowed when she didn’t spot Jason in the lot or working with the kids. Although come to think of it, she vaguely remembered him mentioning something about going to Marlene’s shop to talk about…well, she didn’t know what exactly, since she was pretty sure he hadn’t actually said.

  Like a tongue to a loose tooth, her mind went back to the possibility—no, probability— of him moving out every bit as precipitously as he had moved in. This whole mysterious-madman-wanting-to-harm-her scenario was ludicrous and sooner or later Jason would realize it. And she already knew—the dilemma of explaining a gun-toting lover to her pacifist folks aside—that she’d miss him when he admitted she didn’t need protecting, threw his classy suits in his car and hit the road back to his own place. She’d miss him big-time.

  She had come to enjoy not only the four-star, toe-curling sex he brought to the table, but all the day-today stuff they did together as well. It was mostly just little things like brushing their teeth together or making the bed. Left up to her, she would have just tossed the blankets up. But Jason was much neater than she was and she found she didn’t mind taking the time so much when he was across from her chipping in.

  He made her feel…complete. Which was funny, considering she’d never judged her life lacking. But when they were together there was…hell, she didn’t know—a sort of airiness to her soul. At the same time she felt grounded, connected. Plugged in.

  She shook her head, because could she be any less coherent? This was the main reason she’d avoided her friends this week. If she sounded this stupid to herself—who at least appreciated these never before felt emotions, even if she couldn’t intelligently define them—how was she supposed to describe the suckers to Ava and Jane? To her mother or her father?

  Jason had made her laugh several times this week. She should no longer be caught by surprise by what a great sense of humor he had—and she wasn’t, really. Still, she did find herself tickled every time it manifested itself. As she realized she was grinning like an idiot but not caring, her mind drifted back a few days….

  POPPY HEARD the front door close and poked her head out the bathroom door to see Jason stripping off his suit coat in the living room. As she gathered her hair at the top of her head, she watched him sling the jacket over his shoulder. His free hand lifted to rub the furrow between his brows.

  She went out to meet him, whipping a rubber band around the ponytail she’d gathered as she walked.

  “Rough day?” she asked and saw some of the rigidity in his shoulders lessen.

  “More frustrating than anything,” he replied. “I feel like I’m spinning my wheels on some cases I’ve got going.”

  Wrapping both hands around his wrist, she backed toward the kitchen, tugging him along with her. “Come on,” she said. “You can fill me in while we get dinner ready. There’s a bottle of wine on the counter.” She pointed to it as they squeezed into the small space. “Why don’t you pour us a glass. Or there might still be a beer in the fridge, if you’d prefer that. I’m just going to throw together some eggs and Canadian bacon.”

  She gathered her supplies from the fridge, then bumped it closed with a hip and looked over at him as she began cracking eggs over a bowl. “Tell me about the pain-in-the-patootie cases.”

  His shoulders shifted. “There’s nothing concrete to tell. That’s the problem. Hohn and I have been working a series of burglaries. I know they’ve gotta have a common denominator—but aside from the fact that they’re jewelry stores, we haven’t discovered what that is.”

  “Yet.” She stopped whisking eggs to look at him. “You haven’t found the common denominator yet.”

  “Right.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I haven’t discovered it yet. Part of it’s because I haven’t got my rhythm yet living here, so I’m a little off my game. Usually I’d go home to an empty apartment and obsess all night.”

  “And how’s that usually work out for you?” She poured the egg mixture into a hot pan and gestured toward the fridge. “Grab a couple slices of that sourdough bread from the loaf in the freezer and throw them in the toaster.”

  He did as requested, pressed down the toaster button, then turned back to lean against the counter. And answered her question. “Most of the time? I don’t accomplish a lot. Occasionally, though, something shakes loose. Or sometimes I go up and talk it over with Murph.” As if he could read the question forming in her mind, he smiled wryly. “With, okay, pretty much the same results. So maybe I oughtta try setting it aside for the night. God knows it’ll still be there in the morning.”

  Her spatula poised midturn beneath a Canadian bacon round, she beamed at him. Because, really, if she’d learned nothing else the past several days he’d been living here, she’d come to understand that the man would work himself into the ground left to his own devices. That made his willingness to set aside his concern over his cases a sacrifice on his part.

  A sacrifice made to accommodate their living arrangement. “Maybe giving it a rest will enable you to look at it with fresh eyes.”

  “Maybe it will.” He crossed the tiny kitchen in a single long step and hauled her in f
or a kiss. Then he set her back on her feet and brushed back a curl he had disarranged. “You’re one smart tomatah, aren’tcha.”

  “Yes, I am.” She scrambled the eggs in the pan, sprinkled a pinch of kosher salt over them, then sent him a sidelong glance. “You’re one good kisser.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” Leaning back against the counter again, he grinned at her and—bam!—her knees went weak.

  The toast popped and she pulled herself together. “Butter that and we’ll eat.” She dished the eggs onto two hand-tossed pottery plates and added the Canadian bacon. “You want milk?”

  He declined it in favor of the wine they were still working on and they carried their dinner to the couch. Poppy grimaced as they sat down. “I really do need to clear enough space off the table so we aren’t constantly having to balance plates on our knees.”

  “I wouldn’t know how to act,” he commented and dug into his eggs. They ate in silence for a few moments, then he shot her a crooked smile. “These are great.”

  He was consistently appreciative of her cooking—far beyond what it merited—and it never failed to grab at something way down deep inside of her. To counteract the sappy feeling, she assumed a motherly smile as she reached over and patted his knee.

  “Yes, well, I do live for the challenge of preparing these gourmet meals.”

  “Smart mouth.” His gaze on her lips, he wolfed down the last few bites, then set his plate on the floor. “I’ve got a much better use for that mouth than listening to it make fun of me.”

  She dabbed her fingertip at a drip of melted butter on her plate and slid the digit into her mouth. Looking him in the eye, she gave her finger a little suck. “Ooh,” she murmured around it.

  Then laughed as he dove for her, divested her of her plate and glass and drove her flat against the couch cushions with the weight of his hard body.

  POPPY JERKED, coming back to her surroundings with the bump and burn of a space shuttle reentering earth’s atmosphere. Blinking, licking her lips, she looked down at her hands, which still held the plate of yellow-green paint, although the Popsicle stick she’d been using to stir it with was frozen midwhisk. Holy sh—She blew out a gusty exhale. Had she gotten sucked into the waltz-down-memory-lane time/space continuum, or what? Shaking the last of the lingering memories that trailed like cobwebs from her mind, she rose to her feet and took the paint over to Henry.

  She was soon absorbed in showing the teen how to dot the color along the lizard’s underbelly and around its protuberant eye. Yet her head inexplicably lifted several moments later. Looking toward the corner, she saw Jason rounding Harvey’s building.

  He moved with his habitual loose-limbed grace, a long, lean man in white shirtsleeves, loosened tie, slacks and suspenders. He had his hands in his pockets and his suit jacket looped over one arm. He must have locked his gun in the car, because he didn’t appear to be wearing it. That was a direct contradiction of the man she’d come to know this past week. Still, the day had turned sunny and warm, so perhaps he hadn’t wanted to publicly reveal the weapon when he’d removed his jacket.

  As she watched, his step developed an almost imperceptible hitch and he extracted a hand from his slacks to dig through his jacket’s inside breast pocket. His rummaging around made the jacket shift over his arm, and Poppy nodded.

  Aha. Mystery solved. The butt of his gun stuck out from his waistband, disguised up until then by the way he’d been carrying his suit coat.

  Retrieving a cell phone, he flipped it open, glanced at its screen and brought it up to his ear. He continued toward them as he listened to the person on the other end, but then stopped. Looking across the distance that separated them, he met her gaze and held up a lean finger in the universal gonna-be-a-minute signal.

  And why that simple gesture should trigger the abrupt rush of emotion that boiled through her like steam through a clam cooker she could not say. Yet all of a sudden she was suffused with dead-certain knowledge. She stared at him in wonderment.

  Ho-ly—

  Ohmigaw—

  She sucked in a breath. Blew it out again.

  And faced her reality head on. Dear. Freakin’. Lord.

  She’d gone and fallen in love with the man.

  JASE SNAPPED his phone closed a longer while later than he’d anticipated and noticed that the kids, directed by Poppy, were packing up their supplies in the trunk of her POS car. Watching her laugh as she supervised the positioning of the paint cans and various other materials and supplies, he was visited again by a suspicion that had been nipping at him for a few days now.

  Hell, more than a few. Truth was, except for the day they’d first made love and he’d announced his intention to move in, the feeling that he was chasing the wrong lead had nagged at him this entire past week. He’d been going ’round and around the track with no more apparent purpose than a greyhound blindly pursuing its mechanical rabbit. The more time he spent with Poppy, the less likely it seemed that she was the one who’d attracted the ladder-sabotaging, car-as-a-weapon-wielding enemy they appeared to be dealing with.

  God knew the woman wasn’t shy about giving attitude. For the most part, however, that was reserved for him.

  And even then, usually only when it came to her kids. She was the height of professionalism or easy friendliness with everyone else he’d ever watched her deal with. Hell, Poppy was an open book, period. What you saw was what you got. People always knew exactly where they stood with her; she simply wasn’t the type to hide her feelings. Which made her keeping a deep dark secret that would attract someone bent on taking her out of the picture very unlikely.

  There had been problems at the mansion last fall, but as far as he could see it had been centered strictly around her friend Jane. The Kavanaghs had come up clean when he’d run them in conjunction with the break-in there, and he wasn’t sure just where he could take an investigation beyond that.

  He’d been trying to deconstruct the situations that had gone down around here. So his first order of the day today had been to talk to Marlene Stories to find out whether she’d hired someone to work on her roof the day the wrench had damn near bounced off Poppy’s head.

  It turned out that, yeah, she had had a guy up there patching a leak around her skylight. A guy who matched the description of the man who had poked his head over the edge to apologize after the tool plummeted from the roof. So that appeared to have been a legitimate accident.

  Which was good. It cut down on the fricking psycho factor.

  But damned if Jase intended to write off the other two incidents as accidents as well. Like he’d told Poppy last week, he didn’t believe in coincidence. And while two back-to-back accidents were statistically possible, they sure as hell weren’t probable. Neither could he discount Poppy’s adamant conviction regarding her father’s dedication to keeping his equipment in tip-top shape. Or Henry’s oath that the car that had almost hit her and Cory had barreled without hesitation straight at them.

  At them. Her and Cory. Once you took the wrench out of the equation and figured that there was no eff’n way of knowing in advance which of them would have used the ladder that day, Poppy was no longer odds-on-favorite as the intended victim.

  Much as he wracked his brain, however, he couldn’t come up with a scenario that made any more sense for someone wanting to harm Cory. Still, something had been up with the kid lately. And his instincts told him she was the common denominator in this scenario. The connection he’d been looking for.

  Unfortunately, he knew demanding answers of a teenage girl before he had a glimmer of what the hell he was even looking for would be one huge exercise in futility. Might as well grab a ball-peen hammer and smack himself in the head with it a few times—he’d probably have the same degree of success.

  Not to mention the headache waiting to happen if he gave the girl the third degree in front of Poppy.

  Oh, yeah. He could just visualize that going down. Like the Babe would ever, in a million years, sit still for it. Hell
, without probable cause, she’d be right not to.

  But that had been his snitch on the phone. And the guy promised some very interesting information about tagger kids disappearing and how it might connect with Jase’s jewelry-store robberies.

  “Yo, copper!”

  He looked over to Henry, who yelled, “See ya!” and headed for the back door to Harvey’s, where he’d been working off and on.

  The other kids took off as well and Poppy was closing the trunk as he strode up to her. “Gotta go,” he said. “I’ve got an informant with a possible lead that might be connected to the shit going down around here.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “And he couldn’t just tell you over the phone?”

  “Snitches aren’t big on giving away intel without seeing the green.” He started to lean in to kiss her goodbye, then caught himself and snapped upright. “Where are you headed next?”

  “I’m free for the rest of the day. I’m gonna go to the mansion and get a little painting done on Miss A.’s bedroom suite.”

  “Anyone else going to be around?”

  “The Kavanagh bros are still working on the kitchen, so I imagine some of them.”

  “Okay, good. I’ll see you later.”

  She grabbed him by the tie, rose up on her toes and pulled his head down for a kiss. Immediately fired up, he was sinking into it, bracing himself against her car and pulling her close, his hands diving into her hair to grip her head, when she broke the connection and settled back on her heels.

  “Yes, you will,” she agreed, stroking his jaw. Then she stepped away and climbed in the driver’s seat. “See you at home.”

  Thrusting his hand through his hair, Jase pushed away from the car, then stood gripping the back of his neck as he watched her drive away. When she turned the corner and disappeared from sight, he crossed the lot to his own car.

  Jesus. Ever since he’d made love to her, he barely rec ognized himself. They’d had sex one time and he’d moved in?