by Dale Mayer
Surprised but realizing it was likely a smart idea, she said, “Okay. We’ll have to hand this over to the police as it is.”
“Let them have it. Maybe it can help solve his murder.” With a teary glance back at the keys, she returned to the front of the store.
Morgan approached. “Ready to go?”
“What time is it?” Jazz’s mind was trying to catalogue all the things she’d planned to do here and couldn’t think of anything else. Roxy was getting the locks changed here at the store and at her house, and she was already determined to beef up the security system so in theory, if nothing here was in a state of panic for her, she could leave.
It felt odd to walk away early yet another day without having put in her normal long day, but she could see Morgan was getting impatient.
“Are we going home?”
He nodded. “Dean is going to start with my security system. I’ve got work to do in the shop and you need to go to bed.”
She glared at him. “I need to rest, but not in bed.”
“You might be surprised at what you need if you’d actually lie down and give your body a chance.”
With his tone so reasonable and not demanding, she didn’t feel compelled to argue. Back at the house, he helped her upstairs where she slipped off her shoes and lay back down. He covered her up with a blanket and said, “Just rest. I’ll be in the shop.”
And he walked out.
She closed her eyes, realizing once again that he was right.
*
Morgan used the upstairs washroom then checked back on Jazz. Sure enough, she was sleeping soundly. He stayed for a minute longer, loving that she was in his bed.
He’d let her sleep for a while. He’d heard some of the admonishment she’d received from the doctor, and he’d received a similar dressing down from the nurse. Releasing her early from the hospital into his care hadn’t meant gallivanting all over town on a bike. Riding in his truck would be easier for her.
And that was on him. She’d never suggest an easier way. Most of the time he admired that in her, but other times… Her health had to come first and all the while she’d told him she was fine, she obviously wasn’t.
Now that she was back asleep and so quickly, he realized just how poorly she’d been doing.
Cursing himself for not noticing, he headed out to the shop.
Dean was already at work. Morgan had explained some of the issues they were up against, and Dean had raced in to help. That’s what being a friend was all about. Sure, they were paying him for his time and labor and materials, but his schedule would have meant not getting here until several more weeks.
They might not have everything installed on time, but he was going to do his best to make sure they did. In the garage, he set about cleaning up the rest of the mess. It occurred to him that given the general layout and organized chaos, this could be a good place for Billy to have hidden the cash. And possibly why the place had been destroyed.
But where? The guy last night had said he hadn’t killed Billy, and he doubted the intruder was wearing a dragon tattoo, but who the hell knew? He wasn’t going to ask him.
What the hell had his brother gotten himself into?
Chapter 3
Talk about bored. Jazz didn’t know what to do with herself. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get deep enough into it to hold her attention. It didn’t help that she wasn’t being allowed to do anything major. Morgan had come in once, seen her trying to push the vacuum around, and had taken it from her.
“Rest,” he’d said, dropping a kiss on her forehead.
She’d glared at his back as he walked away, even going so far as to stick her tongue out at him. He’d laughed and said, “I saw that.”
It was only after he’d left that she’d realized he’d been able to see her reflection in the big mirror.
Feeling like an idiot, she’d grabbed her sketchbook and sat down at the dining room table to work on a few designs. She had a lot of work coming up, and it chafed at her to know she couldn’t do anything but wait. She hated being behind and even more so, she hated the sense of being behind schedule and having to work overtime to catch up. That sucked big time. She already spent enough hours staying late at night to catch up on paperwork that just never seemed to end.
That was the problem with being a business owner. Roxy had come onboard after Jazz had the business up and running. She’d needed to bring someone in, and Roxy had invested in her business.
They’d kept the name and neither had looked back. It had been good for them.
She doodled on the paper, letting her mind work on a design through free association. She was an artist first and foremost.
Letting her pen sketch, she quickly realized she was doing a sketch of Morgan. Now why would her mind get stuck on that image? Her heart was well and thoroughly engaged and although they hadn’t returned to quite the same level they’d been at before he’d walked, they were closer now.
She added shading to the dark lean jawbone, realizing she’d been instinctively adding a heavy shadow across his chin. She loved him well-shaved, but he looked dangerous as hell and more sexy than she thought was legal with that shadow.
A happy sigh escaped.
“What are you working on?” he asked from the doorway.
Refusing to answer him, she slapped the sketchbook closed. “I’m just doodling.”
Her phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text. Roxy. She read the message and grinned. “She figures I can do some of the paperwork. There’s a lot of bookkeeping that Perl is struggling to keep up with. Not to mention some reconciliations.”
“Is that a good idea?” he asked, frowning. He straightened and walked closer. “How is that resting?”
“I have to do something. Paperwork is something I can do.”
“But you’d have to do it here.”
She nodded. “Roxy is going to drop by with the stuff this afternoon while she’s out running around if she can fit it in.” She paused and looked at him. “If that’s okay with you?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Is working okay with me, or is it okay with me that Roxy is coming by?”
“Both. Although I’m not asking your permission,” she snapped.
He grinned. “Both are fine. As long as you don’t do too much for too long and you get to stay here.” He turned and walked away. “See how reasonable I’m being?”
When the pencil hit him in the back of his head, he broke out laughing. “By the way, lunch is ready.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” She was starving. Morgan had always loved to cook and beat her skills in that particular area. However, being home like she was while he had stuff to do in the shop meant she could have cooked. As she entered the kitchen and saw hot soup on the stove and fresh buns sitting and waiting for her, she was glad she hadn’t. He’d made French onion soup with cheese melting all over the top.
“You remembered,” she said softly, falling in love with him all over again. Their first formal date…did people do those anymore?…had been to a small cozy French restaurant around the corner from the store. She’d felt so awkward and uncomfortable back then but would have done anything to make it work so she could jump his bones.
He’d ordered this for the two of them. She’d loved it. And had quickly fallen in love with him. And jumped his bones many times since.
“I did.”
She smiled happily and lifted her spoon. The French bread floating in the middle was drenched in melted cheese that ran over the sides of the bowl. She lifted a spoon of the broth and sipped at the hot liquid. “It’s delicious,” she said. That was one thing about Morgan. There wasn’t much that he couldn’t do and do well.
She could almost sympathize with Billy. Growing up in big brother’s shadow had to be challenging.
But no excuse.
“There’s still nothing new from the cops?” she asked after a moment.
He shook his head. He reached across the table, ripped a bun op
en, and dipped the fresh bread into the broth. “Not yet.”
He appeared so unconcerned that she was puzzled. “Surely something will break soon.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“Except you seem damn happy about it.”
“What’s to be upset about? You’re here. You’re safe. We’re alive, and Lord only knows there are lots of reason why that shouldn’t be.”
He had a point. She ate in silence for several spoonfuls. “I still think we should be proactive about this.”
“We’ve done all we can. We found the image on the website. Found the keys and found the letter. They can find the killer and the money.”
“I doubt they’ll find the money.”
“I doubt it too. But still not our problem.”
He continued to eat.
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“What?”
“That nothing is resolved yet,” she cried out, putting her spoon down in frustration. “That asshole could be out looking for us still.”
Damn, he knew that. “No. The guy had a completely different build.”
“Doesn’t mean he won’t be coming back for the money.”
“Only we don’t have it, and he already knows that.”
Morgan sounded so damn sure. “That doesn’t mean he won’t keep an eye on us and what we’re doing in case we find it.”
He paused for a moment, considered her suggestion, and nodded. “That is quite possible.”
“Right.” She grinned and continued eating. She wasn’t thrilled that she’d been right, but more that she’d brought up something he hadn’t considered.
Her phone rang again. “Roxy says she can’t make it for a few hours.” She groaned. “Damn it. Now what am I going to do?”
“I might be able to find something for you to do in the shop with me…” he said slowly. “But I don’t want to turn around and find out you’re re-arranging the whole place.”
“Ha. It would serve you right,” she grinned evilly. “You’ll never find anything after today.”
For a moment he looked almost afraid, then he laughed. “Come on. Do your worst. If you mess it up bad, you’ll just have to fix it later.”
She grinned.
*
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” He rolled his eyes at her, loving that she appeared to be over her irritation of that morning. He was determined that she rest. Somehow. She was determined to work. Somewhere.
He figured that having her in the shop would be the best way to keep an eye on her.
Bed was the alternative and his first choice, but Dean was here. And Morgan didn’t want a two-minute session with Jazz, he wanted hours. Just looking at her across the table, knowing bed was an option, was hard. Hell, he was hard.
Replacing his spoon in his empty bowl, he reached for a second bun to sop up the remaining juices when there was a hard knock on the door. Jazz gasped.
“Easy. It’s probably just Dean.”
She swiveled so she could see the front door, then relaxed as she spied Dean standing on the front step. “He said he might need my help this afternoon,” Morgan said. “Can you find something to do until we’re done?” Not the best wording and it did make her seem more like a child, something he hadn’t intended. He quickly added. “I need to know you’re safe.”
Her shoulders slumped and she nodded. “I’m fine. I’ll do the dishes then maybe go lie down.”
“Perfect.” Morgan let Dean inside and helped his friend carry in the boxes he had brought with him. There was a lot.
“It’s not all for your house. I have the stuff I need for Jazz’s as well.”
“Thank you,” Jazz said. “I appreciate it.”
He nodded. Dean had always been quiet, reserved. He’d actually been talking to Jazz more than Morgan had seen him talk to anyone. Then again, she was now a customer. Maybe that made a difference.
Dean was good people.
And a friend.
Both he and Jazz needed that right now.
Chapter 4
Jazz wandered aimlessly through the house. She was lost and needed something to do. She’d tried to work in the shop but without Morgan, there was no way to sort through the mess alone.
Morgan entered the living room where she was slumped on the couch.
“Hey. We need to go to your house now.”
“Awesome.” She bounded to her feet. “That would be perfect. I want to grab more clothes and a couple of my art books.”
He held out his hand. “Sorry you’re stuck here, honey. But it’s only until that shoulder is better.”
“I know. I’m just bored.”
“Let’s go then.”
They took the truck again and with Dean following behind, they made it to her house in decent time. The traffic had just started to pick up, so they managed the cross-town trek with minimal difficulty. She couldn’t stop the little catch in her throat as they drove into the driveway. But he understood.
“There’s no place like home, is there?”
“No,” she said quietly, “there isn’t.”
She walked up to the back door and unlocked it. It was small but hers. As she’d bought it after he’d left, she’d been able to keep the difficult memories at bay. And that had helped somewhat. It was too small for both of them now and had no garage, but it was hers. And as such, she’d missed the sense of home.
They’d been here late last night, but it had been a distraught rush to check the keys and leave again. Now she was able to stay for a few hours.
While the men worked on the system, she disappeared into her bedroom and pulled out a large bag. She really could use a few more articles of clothing. The weather had been shifting a lot, so she needed something warmer for the evenings. Hell, the mornings were damn cold too. She laid several sweaters on her bed and then added a stack of underclothes and long-sleeve shirts.
She dug back into her closet and pulled out a soft blanket she loved to have around her shoulders in the evenings.
There were other boxes in the back she hadn’t remembered stacking in there, and she grinned when she found her ski gear. There was a great mountain close by, but she hadn’t gone in a long time. She stuffed it back in and shifted around several other boxes for a pair of boots she knew were stuffed in the back. Dragging them out, she walked backwards to get out of the closet.
“How much stuff do you have stashed in there?” Morgan asked.
She gave a small shriek and turned to glare at him. “Did you have to scare me like that?”
He rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I figured you’d heard me.”
“I can’t hear anything when I’m in there. The closet goes on forever.”
He leaned in. “Weird. Nice to have the space, but they should have just opened this up and doubled the access space. You could have a third door in there instead of just two.”
“Now that would be lovely.” She tossed her boots onto the bed and turned to see what he was referring to. “And would make so much more sense.”
He turned to the bed and waved his hand. “Are you going to be able to pack all that up?”
“Sure. You’ve got a truck. So no problem.”
He shook his head, opened his mouth, and said in a hard voice, “What the hell is that?”
“What?” She stared in bewilderment at him and the bed now heaped high with her belongings.
“This.” In two steps, he walked over and lifted up a thick roll of money. “Is it yours?”
“Ah shit. No, of course it’s not mine.” She stared at her boot on the bed and the roll of money. “Is that from Billy?” She spun around to look in her closet. “He’s been in my closet?”
“He might have. If the money isn’t yours, any idea who else would be hiding this kind of money as a hidden gift?”
Numb, she shook her heard. “No.”
“I’m presuming it was in your boot and fell out when you tossed them.” He reached over for the boot and shook it again. It w
as empty. He picked up the second and dumped it.
A second fat roll of money fell out.
“There’s got to be ten, maybe fifteen thousand here in each roll,” he said.
She sat down slowly on her bed. “So that’s what he was looking for.”
“Yeah, the question now is what do we do with it?”
*
Morgan glared at the money. It was a big enough amount for someone to keep looking. He had no idea exactly how much was in there, but the rolls were too big for his hands to close around. He was only guessing but suspected it was a lot more than he’d said. They could hardly leave it here, but taking it with them now that they knew about it was a different story altogether.
“Damn it.” From the kitchen, he heard Dean call out to him, “Morgan, you there? I need a hand.”
“Coming,” With a warning look at Jazz, he stuffed the money back into the boots and walked out toward the hallway. Jazz had collapsed on the bed, staring at the money. If they’d found two rolls, then maybe there was more. Who knew how much his brother had stolen?
And how much the victim was expecting to find.
If the numbers differed, Morgan couldn’t imagine the fallout.
He just knew it wouldn’t be good.
Chapter 5
Jazz couldn’t stop staring at the rolls of cash. Fear like she’d never known rippled inside her soul. Her intruder would kill to get his money back. Did she want to tell him that she’d found it? If so, how? Personally, she never wanted to see him again. She could turn it over to the police but if the guy came back, then what would she say to him?
She rubbed her arms, hating the goose bumps dotting the skin. This was too much. Billy had a lot to answer for. She closed her eyes. Damn it. And who was to say that the biker had actually been the only one to have money stolen from him? What if Billy had stolen from two people? Hell, why stop there? Maybe he’d stolen a little bit from everyone he knew. Little amounts would be hard to tell. If he’d stockpiled it over time, he could have amassed a huge amount by now. And that was even more scary. The one dude had been horrible, but what if there were others like him?