J.D. pulled over on a dead end street in a not-so-good neighborhood. The streetlights were out, so darkness surrounded him. But he could hear some kids down the block playing. Laughing and being kids.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to just be a kid.
Even after he moved in with his grandmother, he’d been too guarded to just play. He’d already been beaten by his stepdad and stopped being a kid then.
He looked up at the sign at the edge of the street. Dead end. Just like his life. Or maybe he’d just hoped. He’d given that cop ample time to shoot him. Why hadn’t he? He was almost certain it was the same guy he’d shot last week. Hadn’t he even been limping?
It would have been easier if the guy would have ended it. J.D. would rather be killed by him, than that son-of-a-bitch Jax. At least he deserved to be shot by the cop. J.D. hadn’t done shit to Jax.
Damn it! He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. He wanted it all to stop. He looked down at the passenger side floorboard. His powder was there. It would offer him an escape.
It was then he realized he hadn’t even touched the stuff he’d gotten earlier. Maybe he was punishing himself? Not letting himself forget what he’d done. He didn’t deserve to forget.
He had to fix this. But was he too late? Had Jax already gotten to the woman? Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back. He knew that cop thought he’d been there to hurt the woman. Which meant if Jax got to her now, the cops would think he’d done it.
Who would believe him that he’d gone there to warn her?
No one. Not one damn person would believe in him.
He reached down for his powder, but shot back up when a splash of headlights flashed across his truck.
• • •
Chloe made her way through the restaurant, back to face Dan and Cary. She stopped when she got her first glimpse of the table.
Cary was sitting where Dan had been, pulling out a credit card from his wallet. Dan was gone. To the bathroom, maybe? She looked back to see if she spotted him.
Nope.
Finally, she moved closer, watching Cary reach for the black book that held the ticket.
“What are you doing?” she asked, standing beside the empty chair.
“Uh, just . . . taking care of the bill.”
“Why?” She looked around expecting to find. . . “Where’s Dan?”
Cary started tapping his card on the table. “He . . . had to . . .” tap, tap, tap . . . “go.”
Okay, this was a shocker. And a first. She’d never been dumped by her date. Then came the shocker. She didn’t mind at all. That’s when she recalled Sheri saying one option was to date Dan just to get Cary’s attention.
Had she set out to do that? Hell, she didn’t care.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested.
She dropped into the chair. Then she dug her wallet out of her purse. “Where did Dan go?”
“I don’t . . .” He ran a hand over his face, stared down at the credit card he continued to tap against the table. Finally, he glanced up. “I asked him to leave.”
Her breath caught. “Why?” Would he tell her now? That he remembered her?
“Would you believe me if I told you I was still trying to figure that out myself?”
“I might. Just a little bit.” She kind of felt that way herself. Trying to figure out why she felt this odd connection thing to him.
She sat her purse on the table, and searching for her wallet, she pulled her phone out. Wallet found, she retrieved her credit card then she reached for the black book that had the bill tucked inside.
“I got this.” He put his hand on top of the book.
“No, you don’t.” She held out her hand. “This isn’t even our date.”
“I kind of hijacked it. And I ate the dessert.”
“Why?”
“I like tiramisu.”
She frowned. He knew that wasn’t what she was asking. But part of her couldn’t blame him for not putting his cards on the table, when she held her own so close to her chest.
She stretched out her palm. “Hand it over, Buster.”
“So you’re one of those.” Humor filled his eyes.
She shot him a serious look. “One of what?”
“Independent types. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“Actually, I’m not one of those. I have no problem letting a guy pay when he asks me out on a date.”
“So what’s the problem?” he asked.
“You didn’t ask me,” she said.
“I see,” he said. He almost smiled, relented, and passed her the bill. “Fine. I’ll pick up the next one.”
Is there going to be a next one? The question sat on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t push it out.
The silence lingered, she glanced down at her phone still on the table and added, “I got your messages.” She couldn’t hide the smile.
“Yeah. I hate leaving voicemails.”
“I kind of hate walking into a room with a naked guy.”
“You do that often?” he asked, his eyes crinkling with humor, and darn if it wasn’t the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.
“All the time,” she said.
He laughed and so did she. And she felt it again. That feeling she’d gotten with him earlier. As if they were in sync. And she hadn’t felt that with his partner. Had she even felt that with Jerry? She couldn’t remember. Then she pushed thoughts of Jerry from her mind.
“Why are you here?” the question just spilled out.
Cary’s gaze lingered on her for a second and the humor seemed to fade. “I . . . went by your apartment. J.D. Stewart, the kid who shot me and hit you, was in your parking lot.”
“He was?” The butterflies in her stomach started fluttering to another tune. “Why would he be . . . and how . . . did you catch him?”
“No. Bum leg slowed me down.”
She shook her head. “But why . . . ?”
He told her about the news story. “Basically, the only proof we have that he shot me and was involved in another murder is your testimony that he was driving the same vehicle. That makes you a key witness.”
She frowned. “And he’s not wanting to meet up with me to congratulate me on the role, is he?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is this where you tell me to lock my doors and take a baseball bat to bed with me?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of you staying somewhere else.”
“Like leave my apartment?”
“Just until we catch him.”
Her mind raced and she thought of staying with Sheri, but Kevin was there. And Sheri had bought the new underwear. Nope. She was not coming between Kevin and that new underwear when that might be what fixed her best friend’s waning relationship.
“I have an extra bedroom,” he said. “And I’m off for the next week.”
Her heart stopped and those butterflies took a nosedive. Had he really said that? A part of her wanted to say yes, another part knew it would be insanely stupid. If she went to his house, she would wind up sleeping with him. She felt pretty certain of that. She was also pretty certain she wanted to sleep with him, but . . . it felt too soon.
Okay, it didn’t feel too soon—not with the strange connection they had going on. But she had a three-date minimum. And she wasn’t even sure she could call a hijacked date a real date. The Room Six experience was even up for debate.
“Thanks, but . . . I . . . have locks on my doors. And there’s a security guard—”
“Don’t. They know where you live. They—”
“They? This guy has help?”
“He’s in a gang.”
“So you think the whole gang is after me?”
“It’s the most likely scenario.”
“This just keeps getting better and better.”
He looked down for a second and then back up. “The sheets are clean. It’s not five star, but it’s comfortable.”
She bit down on her lip. “I appreciate it, but I . . .” she suddenly remembered. “I’ll go to my mom’s place. She’s on a cruise now, so it’s not even an inconvenience.”
“You heard the part about the extra bedroom, right?”
“I did.”
He slowly nodded. “I guess this is where I stop pushing, huh?”
“That would be wise,” she said, her fear of gangs fading as she once again started noticing how much she liked him. His sense of humor. His direct approach. Well, direct with everything but about the whole Room Six thing, but she hadn’t been forthcoming either. She supposed neither of them wanted to take the chance of coming off like a nutcase.
“No one has ever accused me of being wise.” He exhaled.
She pulled her napkin closer and folded it. “Do you know what surprises me?”
“Me not being considered wise? It’s understandable, most people assume I am.” A smile pulled at his lips.
She rolled her eyes at him. “At you being here. You . . . you didn’t seem all that interested earlier.” She held her breath a little, wondering if this was all it would take for him to tell her the truth.
“Yeah, I’m blaming that on the fact that I was covered in banana pudding and beef stew. Then again, being naked could have been a part of it, too.” His tone was all tease, and she loved it. “But actually, now that I think about it, I’m betting it was you hitting me in the balls twice that probably caused the delay of . . . interest.”
She chuckled. “I apologized.”
“And as soon as I quit hurting, I accepted. But you’d already hightailed it out of there.”
Their eyes met and locked. And right then, she knew she was right. If she went to his house, she’d sleep with him. It wasn’t just the attraction—not that there wasn’t plenty of that there—but the feeling of . . . belonging.
And that was a tad scary, considering she barely knew him.
Her phone rang.
“You need to get that?” he asked.
“Uh, no, but she glanced down and saw the name on her screen. “Okay, maybe I should. It’s from my alarm company.”
“An alarm for your apartment?” he asked, concern tightening his tone.
“No. For my Bakery.”
• • •
Cary turned down Main Street. The black and white car still had its lights going. Blue swirls flashed along the dark street. A very worried Chloe sat beside him. The alarm company had told her that someone had broken into her bakery. She had suggested he drive her to her apartment and she’d just come alone, but he refused. His gut said this was all related to J.D. and the case.
As he pulled up in front of her shop, he looked around to make sure no apparent danger lurked in the shadows.
He didn’t spot any, but as soon as he parked, a Honda started down the street. Chloe immediately reached for the door and he reached for her. The casual touch felt powerful, a jolt of feel-good emotion went right to his chest. And if they weren’t in the middle of a possible crisis, he would have loved to see how powerful it could get.
“Just a minute,” he said, trying not to react to the touch, as he looked over his shoulder at the car crawling a half a block away. Their headlights sprayed light down the old empty downtown street. Probably just a civilian rubber-necking, trying to see what was going on, but he couldn’t be sure.
“What?” she asked.
“Let this car get . . .” The headlights on the older Honda Civic went out. He spotted what looked like a gun come out of the passenger side window.
“Get down,” he yelled and yanked her to the floor just as the bullets started spraying.