“That’s it,” Kylie snapped, nabbing Jack’s cell phone from his inner jacket pocket. “I’m calling the county police. Those goons whacked the guy out of your jurisdiction, anyway.”
Shy whimpered, sensitive to the woman’s anxiety.
Jack pried his phone from Kylie’s clammy hand. “Let’s take a ride, Tiger.” Holding her elbow, he guided her away and toward his Aspen, motioning Ziffel to follow.
Unfortunately Max and gang continued to gossip.
“Maybe she thought she’d make the
Eden Tribune
by stealing Red Rover.”
“Or the six o’clock news by reporting a murder.”
“Mobsters. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”
“If it were real.”
“Which it ain’t.”
“Speaking of bull-hooey claims, what did you think of that legend Spenser debunked last night?”
Kylie sighed as Jack handed her into the front seat. He opened the back door for Shy, who also sighed. Seems his dog had bonded with yet another female in distress. The doe-eyed mutt had already glommed on to Jessie and Maddie. For a man who’d sworn off drama, Jack’s life suddenly resembled a damned soap opera.
Deep in thought, he circled to the tailgate to confer with his second-in-command. “You understand I’m obligated to investigate a reported crime.”
“Except she’s right. The lake is county turf.”
“Yeah, but Kylie’s my turf.”
“Really.” Ziffel scratched his head. “After one date?”
Jack had no intention of sharing details of their evening. Nor would he expand on his feelings for Kylie. Feelings he’d just fully realized when he blurted in essence,
she’s mine
. For Christ’s sake, he
was
in love. The epiphany packed a lethal punch. In one night, he’d fallen hard for a woman who’d been infatuated with him for years.
Well, hell.
Unbalanced, Jack redirected Ziffel’s focus. “I need you to run the prints I told you about with IAFIS. Also, those secrets you mentioned? Make a list. I want to know every thing you’ve heard about Frank Cortez, whether you think it’s true or not.”
Ziffel grimaced. “I’ve heard some doozies.”
“Like I said, I’m not easily shocked.” He rapped the man on his bony shoulder. “Call me if you need me.”
“Ditto.” Ziffel gave a mock salute, then trotted toward the station house.
Max peeled Red Rover toward the fire station.
Jack climbed into the Aspen, marveling at the difference a day made. Laid-back Eden was hopping with activity. Not all of it good. He frowned at Kylie’s disheveled appearance. “I’m torn between kissing and shaking you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead. “I’m not partial to either if that helps you out.”
He bit back a smile and keyed the ignition. “Relax, Kylie. I’m on your side.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You have to admit your story’s far-fetched.”
She turned and glared. “You think I
want
this to be true?”
Something in her eyes and tone grabbed his gut.
Damn.
He couldn’t buy the mobster angle, but something was sure as hell rotten in Paradise. Even Shy sensed trouble. As Jack headed for Route 50, the dog hopped into the front seat with a whimper and laid her head on Kylie’s grass-and-dirt-stained lap.
Some women would have shooed the dog away. His ex, for instance. Amanda had never wanted pets.
“They’re hairy and smelly, and who has the time to feed or walk them?”
she’d complained when he’d mentioned a fellow detective had found a stray hound in need of a home. Amanda used to cringe when she had to clean out the fridge. Forget scooping poop.
Kylie didn’t seem to mind that Shy was shedding all over her clothes. She smoothed a kind hand over the mutt’s head and body and Jack’s heart did another funny hitch.
Although he didn’t think Kylie had had a run-in with mobsters, he did believe she’d witnessed something out of the ordinary. Life crisis aside, deep down, Kylie Ann McGraw was a sensible, grounded soul. He reached over and smoothed her tangled hair from her face. “Okay, Tiger. Tell me about those wiseguys. And don’t leave anything out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
M
OLLIFYING.
T
HAT’S WHAT HE
was doing. Grandma McGraw used to accuse Grandpa of trying to mollify her. Kylie had asked once what it meant.
“Means he’s trying to calm me down by playing nice,”
Grandma had said.
“Gripes my cookies because it’s insincere.”
After looking up
insincere
in the dictionary (she’d only been eight at the time), Kylie decided if someone ever mollified her, she’d be just as miffed as Grandma. Just now, Jack was really griping Kylie’s cookies.
To think fifteen minutes ago she’d been thrilled to see him. Jack Reynolds. The man of her dreams.
The chief of police
. She’d sprinted toward him thinking,
salvation!
He’d protect her from those wiseguys! He’d track and arrest the goon who’d whacked a man just for spitting on his shoe! What kind of a person did something like that?
But the moment she’d mentioned the mobsters, Jack’s expression had morphed from concerned to annoyed. He thought she was
lying
. She’d been shocked and more than a little annoyed herself. Was this the same man who’d shared her bed last night? The man who’d transported her to another universe via multiple orgasms and bone-melting affection? The man who’d said they
clicked?
How could he have so little faith in her word? Granted, her story was wild, but she knew what she saw. And heard.
“This isn’t some pathetic cry for attention,” she said, still smarting from the Busybody Squad’s assumptions. “And I’m
not
jealous of Spenser. Envious, maybe. A little. Okay, sometimes a lot. But it has nothing to do with fame and fortune. I mean that would be really shallow.”
“There isn’t a shallow bone in your body, Kylie. I know that and so do Max and the boys. They’re just pumped.” He reached over and squeezed her fisted hand. “Where am I going, hon?”
She ignored the knee-melting warmth of his touch and shot him a perturbed glare. “Stop patronizing me.”
“Do you want me to investigate this alleged murder or not?” he asked calmly while slipping on his sunglasses.
She bristled at the term
alleged
, but bit back a snarky retort. “Frances Slocum State Forest. The birdwatcher’s lookout.”
“Where’s your bike,” he asked out of the blue.
“In Max’s barn. I ditched it because those goons were chasing me. I think it was them, anyway. It could have been a random black car, but I wasn’t about to take chances. I lost them, or whoever, when I jumped the road and cut through the field, but they know my bike. At least, I think they do. I winged my helmet at one of them and…” She trailed off. God, this sounded ridiculous.
“Where are your glasses?”
“I lost them when I tripped and fell. I didn’t bother looking for them since I was running for my flipping life.”
“Can you
see?
”
It was sort of like looking at the world through a fogged-over windshield. She fidgeted in her seat, shrugged. “Well enough.”
“Well enough to risk driving?”
“Did you miss the part where I said I was running for my flipping life?”
He slid her a look over the rims of his Oakleys. “So you got that welt on your cheek when you fell?”
She touched her fingertips to the wound and frowned. “No. I got lashed by a tree branch when I was—”
“Running for your flipping life.”
Blowing her top wouldn’t be productive, so she focused on stroking Shy’s sleek body. She’d read somewhere that petting animals promotes calm. She’d probably pet the poor dog bald before reaching Zen.
“Listen, Jack. I know I had that big meltdown at Boone’s. I swore I was going to shake things up in Eden and I’ve been trying ever since. But I swear to you, I’d never pretend I witnessed a mob hit just to create a sensation. Although…I didn’t witness the actual murder. And, I guess, technically it wasn’t a hit. They were after the finook’s money.”
“The what?”
“Or maybe it was finock. No. Fenick.” She rubbed her temples. “Some Italian word.”
“You know Italian?”
“Obviously not.” She resumed petting the dog and leashed her runaway emotions. Those goons had scared the crap out of her. She’d been high on adrenaline for almost an hour. While racing Red Rover into town, her imagination had spun a dozen awful scenarios, but she hadn’t imagined those legs sticking out of a trunk or the ski-masked thugs giving chase. She’d prove it, too. There’d be evidence to back her story. Tire tracks. Signs of a scuffle. Maybe even blood. Soon enough, Jack would be scrambling to apologize.
“I’m sorry for doubting you, Kylie.”
“You should be.”
“Finook
is slang for gay.”
Of course, Jack would know Italian. Or at least mob-speak. He’d worked Homicide. He’d worked Little Italy. Kylie glanced sideways. “Gay as in happy-go-lucky?”
“As in homosexual.”
“Huh.” She mulled over the possible clue. “So that means the stiff wasn’t from around here.”
“You can’t know every citizen’s sexual inclinations, Kylie. Some people keep those things private.”
“Eden’s a straitlaced town filled with straight people who lead Adam and Eve sex lives, Jack. Unless someone was in the closet big-time. Given Eden’s gossip mill, I can’t imagine how anyone could keep something that juicy a secret.”
“Then you’re naive.”
“Maybe you’re just cynical.”
“Tell me what you saw,” he said, not debating the issue.
She collected her thoughts, then spewed the story. To Jack’s credit he didn’t roll his eyes or interrupt. When she finished, her blood was pumping as though she’d tangled with the goons two minutes earlier instead of two hours.
Jack flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “Just want to make sure I heard right.”
Here it comes
. “Go on.”
“They killed a guy, a guy who owed them money, because he spit on the first goon’s shoes?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but Bruiser number one sounded like he had an obsession with expensive shoes. Or at least he paid a fortune for those particular shoes. The dead guy, too. He was wearing Salvatore Ferragamo’s. I’ve only ever seen them in a catalog, but they’re distinctive. Anyway, unless he scored them at an outlet, they probably set him back five hundred bucks. I’m all for superior quality, but a shoe like that? It’s more of a status thing.”
“You couldn’t make out the license plate number,” Jack said, “yet you noticed the make of a pair of shoes?”
“I always notice shoes. Plus, they were hard to miss, sticking up in the air like that. As for the plate number, I told you, the goons were standing in front of it.”
“But they moved when they heard your voice.”
“They did. But I was already backing away and my view was obstructed by foliage. Then I lost my glasses and everything got blurry.”
“Ski masks, huh?”
“They had accents, if that helps.”
“What kind of accents?”
“Kind of like the guys on
Omertà.
”
Jack raised a brow.
She cringed. “Okay. So, I’ve seen the show. I was curious. It’s the talk of the town—aside from Spenser’s show. Although I have to say I don’t get the appeal. I couldn’t even make it through one episode. It’s too violent. Too…disturbing. I don’t want to think that people are capable of that kind of barbaric behavior. I don’t…”
Kylie trailed off when she caught Jack clenching his jaw. She thought back on something he’d said last night. He wouldn’t talk about his work in New York as a homicide detective because he didn’t want to put
that stuff
in her head. Well, crap. She’d just confirmed his assumption that she couldn’t stomach whatever had contributed to his burnout.
A switch in her brain flipped and suddenly her thoughts centered on helping Jack conquer his demons. Maybe not this minute, but she at least needed him to know she was able.
“Not that I’m a wimp,” she said, scrambling to do damage control. “In fact, ask anyone. In a crisis situation, I’m a rock.” When Jack didn’t comment, she rolled on. “I’m not sure where I get it from, but when I need to be strong for a loved one, I’m flipping Hercules.”
Still no response.
“I’m just saying I could be there for you. I mean, if you ever needed me. Needed to talk. About…anything.”
Jack focused on the road as they neared the state forest. “Are you saying I’m a loved one?”
A fire ignited in her cheeks and blazed through her body. Why, out of everything she’d said, had he glommed on to that? “Are you making fun of me?”
“Definitely not.”
“Teasing me?”
“Trying to understand you. This. Us.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know how to answer. “Why?”
“Because it’s complicated and I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Oh.” Wow. Feeling vulnerable and insecure, Kylie concentrated on the passing scenery instead of the man who made her insides squishy. She’d been
in love
with Jack for what seemed like forever. But did she
love
him? As in reality-based love? As in for-better-for-worse-for-richer-for-poorer-in-sickness-and-health love? Did she even know what that kind of love felt like? Although she’d been ready to marry Bobby, she knew now that she’d fooled herself into thinking they were the real deal. If she couldn’t have Jack, Bobby would have to do, because no one else was a contender and she didn’t want to be single and childless forever. Now Bobby was gone and Jack was here. Surely her feelings for Jack weren’t motivated by a young girl’s fantasy and a grown woman’s ticking clock?
Three seconds of intense soul-searching told her, no.
Jack’s the one. He’s always been the one.
Even so, she was reluctant to confess undying love. He was right. This was complicated. And she was too pragmatic to throw caution to the wind.
“Here’s the thing,” she said, growing more uncomfortable by the moment. “In the light of day, in the frustration of this moment—you doubting me—this thing between us…what happened last night…it’s surreal. I crushed on you for so long, Jack…I’m having a hard time reconciling fantasy with reality.”
He parked his SUV alongside the bird lookout, took off his sunglasses and tossed them on the dashboard.
Sensing trouble, Shy hopped into the backseat.
Jack released Kylie’s seat belt and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her. Sweetly, softly. Then with an intensity that sizzled her brain. His possessive touch burned her skin and branded her heart. When he eased back, she swayed.
Kissed dizzy.
Wow.
Jack quirked a tender smile. “Did that help?”
She had to think about the question, then laughed—an odd combination of nerves and elation. Even though her vision was fuzzy, she could see the caring expression on his gorgeous face. “No, it doesn’t
help
. Jeez, Jack. I can’t think straight when you kiss me, heck, when you
look
at me like that, like you want me—”
“I do want you.” He brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “I know this is strange, Kylie. After all these years…” He blew out a breath. “Trust me. This is real.”
Her heart danced, but thoughts of a dead man in Italian loafers crashed the party. “If we weren’t parked near the spot where some poor man met a hideous end less than a couple of hours ago, I’d jump your bones, Jack Reynolds. Right here, right now. In broad daylight. But…” She glanced nervously about as a new thought occurred. “What if they’re still around?”
“Knowing you’d report the crime? Assuming cops would investigate?” Jack told Shy to stay, then nabbed his sunglasses and opened his door.
It occurred to her then. He hadn’t broken any speed records getting here. Even now, he was taking his time. “You still don’t believe me.” She hopped out of the SUV before he could answer. She was a lot hurt and a little mad. She’d show him.
“Skirt your actual path,” Jack said as she started down the hill. “If there are footprints—”
“Oh, there’ll be footprints,” she grumbled, then faltered. “Oh, no.” There were footprints, all right.
Dozens
of footprints and…tire tracks. Skinny tires.
Bicycles
. Kylie frowned when she heard delighted shrieks and peels of laughter.
Kids
.
Two boys on mountain bikes whizzed past them, jumping obstacles and weaving through trees. They’d traveled up and down the hill who knows how many times, obliterating any signs of Kylie’s flee for her flipping life.
“Okay,” she said, swiping her newly cut bangs from her forehead. “Never mind the running-for-my-life part. There’ll be plenty of proof of foul play at the actual—”
More laughter. Voices.
Oh, no.
Kylie rushed toward the noise. When she arrived at the actual scene of the crime, her heart officially sank. A pickup truck with a camper was parked almost exactly where the black sedan had been. A van and a car were parked nearby. Two or three families swarmed the area setting up mobile grills and tables. A picnic? A family reunion?
Just. My. Luck.
She looked at Jack. “This isn’t good is it?”
“Nope.”
“Contamination of a crime scene?”
“Yup.”
“Maybe we’ll still be able to find something. Like blood or…a shell casing or…” She grappled for a term Jack could relate to.
He smoothed her hair from her face. “I’ll take a look.”
He was mollifying her. Again. But instead of getting miffed, she felt unsettled. He had no reason to believe her wild claim, but he was still willing to investigate. She swallowed a sentimental lump and gestured back up the hill. “I’m going to see if I can find my glasses.” Given her crummy luck of late, Jack’s search would be a bust. No blood. No bullets. If she could just locate some piece of evidence. Anything to support her story.
Just then Shy trotted around the trunk of a tree with something dangling out of her mouth. Had she jumped out of the open window to catch a rodent?
Eww
.
Kylie approached and squinted closer. “My glasses!” Giddy, she stooped and retrieved her black frames. They were bent and dirty but not broken. “Good girl!” she said, ruffling Shy’s head. “Not for disobeying Jack,” she clarified, “but for being an awesome search dog.”