CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Huge snowflakes landed gently on the ground, making a pretty picture outside while I zipped up my boots and pulled on my coat. It was Saturday, five days since the cops had resuscitated Ziggy and hauled Gwen Scarpoli away. Like it or not, they were both going to spend a long time behind bars.

I still felt jittery in public places and jumped at loud noises—more so than usual. And I still expected to greet a grotesque gadget on my porch when I left the house. My scrapes and bruises had faded, but the horrible memories and emotional wounds were a different matter. Past involvement in murder cases told me those would take time to heal. More than anything, I was grateful to be alive, knowing this nightmare was over.

Things slowly returned to normal at work. Phyllis proudly displayed her completed-course certificate on the wall by her station, and Max took pains to restrain himself from bringing up Austin’s strange appearance at Friar Tuck’s.

I grinned, recalling Max’s bravery in my time of need, and his quick thinking using the pizza dough. In the end, his bread machine had been a godsend. Sure, Max wasn’t Tarzan, or even Robin, though he’d probably rock the tights. Still, he was the best male friend a girl could have, and that was something I’d never forget.

Jock cornered me in my office the first day back and told me that now that Stoaks and the doctor were locked away for good, life was only going to get better. Not sure what he meant by that, I tilted my gaze up from his taut chest muscles, straining through his shirt, for the answer in his deep, compelling eyes.

He touched my jaw, his fingers lingering at the base of my hairline. “Speaking of life getting better…” His voice was low, smooth. “Know what I’m learning to love about you?”

I swallowed thickly, not trusting myself to move. I stared steadfastly into his cognac-colored eyes, melting from the hypnotic impact. “Do I really want to know?”

He brought me closer, cupping his hands around my face. All humor vanished from his eyes. “You stay true to yourself. You may be impulsive and headstrong, but I like a woman who knows who she is.”

My legs weakened, and my insides fluttered. Jock had a knack for making a woman feel beautiful, confident, and secure, even if she was an impulsive, headstrong wreck.

One thing I’d learned this past week was that he was a man I wanted in my life. I didn’t know in what context, and maybe I’d never know. But for now, I’d cherish what I had with this stunt-doubling, ex-navy master-at-arms. In a word, Hercules.

He’d pressed a kiss onto my forehead and, as was Jock’s style, left me wanting more.

* * *

I told Yitts I wouldn’t be late, then locked up, and headed to the Wee Irish Dude. I had a date with a tall Italian stud.

By the time I stepped into the busy restaurant, the snowfall had stopped and the temperature had risen. Perfect night for a grand opening. An Irish tune, boasting a flute, a fiddle, and a banjo, played merrily in the background. And sparkly green shamrocks—the sparkle being my idea—added a little je ne sais quoi to the walls and staircase.

Beer flowed heavily from the wooden kegs on the bar, and a blend of smells from lamb stew, to corned beef and cabbage, to burgers and fries filled the air. Great, because I was starving, and something with a hint of garlic was making my mouth water.

I’d taken extra care tonight with my clothes and appearance. I hadn’t seen Romero since the case had ended, and I wasn’t sure where we stood. He’d been the first on the scene at the puppy mill and had wasted no time cuffing Gwen and saving Ziggy from suffocating to death. Our moment there together had been brief, but the look in his eyes had said there’d be words later.

We’d agreed to meet at the restaurant since he thought he’d be working late. But when I shrugged off my coat and straightened my figure-hugging dress in the foyer mirror, I noticed he was already sitting at a table in a black tight-knit shirt with a beer in front of him, eyeing me up like I was a tasty Irish Cream.

I waded through the crowd and slid onto my chair. “Whew! Who would’ve thought Jimmy’s first night would be such a success?”

I stuffed my coat behind me and was so busy looking around that it took me a second to note Romero hadn’t said a word. My heart skipped a beat, and my core trembled. Fear of the unknown, I told myself. I swiveled my legs forward and forced myself to face his intimate stare.

His beard had grown since the case had begun, and it added a new dimension to his dangerous, sexy appearance. That, mixed with the passion in his eyes, engulfed me, and suddenly it was as if the music and chatter had stopped, and we were alone in a bubble.

My cheeks heated, and my lower parts tingled with anticipation. How could one man make a woman feel so desired in a roomful of people? Romero did that without even trying.

An attractive woman at the bar in a low-cut top batted her eyelashes at Romero, hoping to catch his attention. At one time, he might’ve given her a nod. But tonight, his focus was totally on me.

I returned his gaze cautiously, a hesitant notion warning me the passion in his eyes might not be from adoration. What if it was anger, and he was about to explode? Yikes. I needed to say something before he—or I—burst.

Suppressing the queasiness in my stomach, I worked up my nerve, offering the first thing that popped to mind. “Nice weather we’re having.”

He raised an eyebrow at the entrance where a couple stomped in from the cold, brrr-ing and dusting snow off their coats. Then he tilted his head back at me.

“It wasn’t snowing a minute ago.” I paused at the blank look on his face. “And the temperature must’ve dropped.”

No reaction.

I pushed down a swallow. Might as well get it over with. “Go ahead.”

“Go ahead?” His tone was deep, sensual.

“Yes. Aren’t you going to yell at me for ignoring your request to stay away from the puppy mill?”

“No.” He studied me in his predatory way that told me he liked when I was unsure of his mood.

“What about when I called you pig-headed?” I ducked, thinking this might set him off.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

I straightened. “Are you mad at all?”

“Mad? Mad doesn’t cover the emotions I’m feeling right now.”

I blinked down at my hands, scrunching my fingers into balls, waiting for the inevitable. Suddenly, I’d lost my appetite. I mean, this had to be it. He was done with me.

He reached across the table and lifted my chin. “I’m trying to understand how one person can get herself into so much trouble in one day.” He looked at the wooden barrels lining the stairs, then dragged his gaze back to me. “You find a dead body in a beer keg, discover a sex toy on your doorstep, then you cause me extra grief by trekking to a prison to question inmates. And that was all before noon.” His voice rose a decibel, and a couple at another table gave us a guarded look.

I fidgeted with my hands on my lap. “Actually, it was after lunch when we visited Luther.” I winced, doubting my next comment would help things either. “And I only questioned one inmate.”

“My mistake.” He rubbed his beard like he was considering his next words. “I probably don’t need to express my thoughts on the Kuruc’s episode or the chopper mishap. Again, all in the same day.”

I squirmed in my chair, focusing on the wooden ceiling fans, circling ’round and ’round, absently thinking about Ziggy flying off the propellers into Neverland. “Nope. I have a pretty good idea what your thoughts are.”

“Good. Just so we’re clear.”

My gaze dropped back to his face. “That’s it? You’re not going to holler or wave your arms in the air…or swear in Italian?”

“What good would it do?”

True. I peered into his eyes with the bigger question. “Are you ending it?”

“Ending it?” Was it my imagination, or was there a roguish gleam in the corner of his eye? “Is that what you thought?”

I drummed the tabletop nervously. “Maybe?”

He extended his arms across the table and curved his large, strong hands over mine. The warmth from his grasp and the way he stroked my skin calmed me and, at the same time, sent electrifying jolts to my pelvis.

He took a deep breath, then blew out air. “You’re impossible to stay mad at. And the truth is, despite all your meddling…despite how many times I had to scold you…despite—”

I erupted impatiently. “Could you get past your spite and tell me what the truth is?”

He grinned at my cheekiness. “You were so busy tracking Stoaks, it made it easier for the police to concentrate on Scarpoli.”

“Glad I could be such a help.” I sniffed, fighting to keep my tone sweet.

His smile waned. “We knew Scarpoli was involved in the case. We just weren’t sure to what degree. Further investigation at the prison revealed private meetings and conversations between the two before Stoaks escaped.”

He paused, and I tried to read the look that crossed his face. It wasn’t exactly lighthearted, but it wasn’t serious either. “Then there were his phone records, which weren’t easy to find. Looked like someone tried to cover up the calls.” He leaned in and gave my hands a playful squeeze. “By the way, thanks for the tip to search our boy’s files. But fascinatingly enough, sometimes we detectives think of these things for ourselves.”

I gave him a prim look. “Well, it never hurts to get assistance on the matter.” I tried to remain uppity, but it was useless. He granted me one of his sexy, macho winks, and instantly I felt stripped in more ways than one.

“And finally,” he said, “when forensics couldn’t get a match on Stoaks from the saliva on the paper bag, we knew we had to act fast to catch the real shooter.”

He took a swig of his beer and sat back comfortably. “We moved Scarpoli to another jail tonight. I wanted to be there to make sure the transition went smoothly, but everything went according to plan, and I got here earlier than expected.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his brows creasing in concern at me. “How are the bruises?”

“Better, thank you.” I tried to sound carefree. “Didn’t you see me cartwheel coming in?”

The corner of his mouth slid up a fraction of an inch. “And on the inside?”

I gave a slight shrug. “In all honesty, going back to work helped in finding normalcy.” There was nothing normal about Beaumont’s or the people working there, but it was what I had, and I’d keep it.

He nodded, his face tough as ever, but his eyes softened in a way I’d seen before. “Not that I’m condoning your actions heading out to the puppy mill on your own, but I’ve got to hand it to you, you saved the day. That underground shelter Stoaks and Boyle had made was well hidden and well camouflaged. No wonder my men thought the place was abandoned. Congratulations on the discovery.”

I didn’t see the point in bringing up the fact that Max and I’d placed our bets on the building being Ziggy’s hideout and the roof being his entrance. I was too busy feeling triumphant.

“What’s more,” he said, “Scarpoli was the sweetest-smelling perp I’ve ever known. A nice change from the reeking scum I lock up every day.”

I blushed at the reference to my Musk, then thought about Max and the pizza dough. “I did have help with the capture, but I’m flattered you’re pleased.”

He gave me a grim look that all but wiped my smugness away. “You wear my patience thin, and just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you do something that shocks me and sends my tail spinning.”

Before I could defend myself with a list of my worthier traits, he raised his palm to stop me. “But I’m learning to appreciate things I have control over and accept things I don’t.” He shook his head in resignation. “And one thing I’m discovering about you is that nothing I say or do will restrain you when you’ve got your mind set.”

“You could try to restrain me,” I peeped, uncomfortable with his assessment, not sure if he was playing with me.

“What would be the point? You’d flip out, make a scene, and probably get injured in the process.”

Now I knew he was playing with me. “You’re right. I’m stubborn. Impetuous. Determined. And a Type A. And if you don’t like those things, well…it’s who I am.”

He gave me another thick-lashed wink, and my heart soared in my chest. “I’m beginning to know who you are. I don’t want you to change. And if you do, I’ll tie you up until you beg me to release you.”

Whew. All this tension and emotion and heat were arousing me, in an Irish pub, no less, with a hundred people surrounding me. I grabbed my napkin and fanned myself, bringing a low chuckle from Romero.

He extended his arm in the air, getting Jimmy’s attention from the other side of the room. Another of Romero’s gifts. He raised his hand, and people came running.

“Hey, dudette!” Jimmy chirped in his green Celtics jersey, sliding his scrawny butt onto the empty chair between Romero and me. “Pretty righteous night, don’t you think?” He waggled his bushy black eyebrows a foot from my face.

“It most definitely is.” I avoided Romero’s fiery stare sizzling through me and smiled at Jimmy, a sense of relief hitting me again at how much he loved his new look.

“And I got you, Jock, Max, Phyllis…and this big guy here to thank.” He did a fist pump on Romero’s toned shoulder, then winced and rubbed his knuckles from hitting Romero’s wall of muscle.

My staff and I had all helped Jimmy prepare for this day, and I’d finished assisting him last night with the final decorations. But where did Romero come into play?

“Like your crime-squad dude saw to it that I had a full cooking staff in place. I mean, whoa, there’s no way I could’ve managed that on my own this week, especially with the way things transpired.”

Romero had come to the Skink’s rescue? Helping someone who’d earned a living scalping tickets? Someone who was related to a convicted felon? The respect and admiration I had for Romero leaped a couple of notches, but before he saw the delight in my eyes, I centered on Jimmy. “He’s pretty amazing, isn’t he?”

“I’ll say.” He lowered his head for a moment and sniffed. “Like Dools would’ve loved this.”

I leaned over and patted Jimmy’s hand. “No question about it.”

He wiped his eye and bobbed his head up, his blond curls springing all over his head. “Come on.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the table. “I’ve got to show you this.”

I shrugged at Romero as I was being dragged away, and he gave me a wave that said enjoy.

Jimmy and I bounced into the kitchen, the trail of garlic I’d smelled earlier ending here. Now I knew why.

I stood there, gaping from my mother to Tantig, wearing chef’s hats and white aprons, placing hot shish kebab on plates with sides of grape leaves and hummus. “Mom?”

“Surprise, dear!” She passed the loaded plates to a couple of servers. Then she tossed a spoon to one of the other four cooks, who looked suspiciously like one of the cops I’d seen before at the police station, and who was obviously enjoying working in tandem with my mother and great-aunt.

I gawked open-mouthed at the action in the kitchen. Bowls clanging. Pots boiling. Cooks hustling. Before I could utter a word, Max strolled out of the walk-in fridge with his own chef’s hat perched on his head, carrying two pizzas ready for the oven.

“Max?” I blinked wide-eyed, spotting his bread machine on the far counter.

“Lovey!” he called over the din.

I gaped from Max to my mother. “What’s going on?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “Romero asked if we’d help out in the kitchen until Jimmy was on his feet, and we thought why not? My time is my own, and you know how Tantig loves to cook. It’s given her a purpose.”

“Uh…and Dad?”

She gave a glib wave. “He’s in heaven, eating everything on the menu.”

My gaze swiveled to Tantig. “Isn’t this too much for her?”

Tantig gave me her disinterested look, her monotone voice competing with the clatter in the kitchen. “I told them they needed kay-bob on the menu, and that kid with the curly hair said he’d add it as a featured dish.”

Jimmy howled with laughter. “Like did I ever, Tiggy-mama. It’s so popular, I might have to keep it on the menu.” He plucked a piece of lamb off a skewer and stuffed it in his mouth. “Like far out!”

I looked at Max again, trying to establish a time and place Romero had lined all this up. Why bother? It didn’t involve me, and everything seemed to be running smoothly.

“You see?” my mother chimed. “A win-win for—”

Suddenly, there was a crash. We all spun our heads to the back door where Phyllis had bustled in, arms full of clean dishrags. She’d knocked a dishwasher on his ass, taking with him a stack of plates.

“—almost everyone,” my mother finished, rolling her eyes at the mess.

She poked her head outside the kitchen door. “Look at your father at the bar, wearing that ridiculous leprechaun hat, joking it up with everyone. He’s having more fun than watching Bruce Willis in those silly action movies every night.”

I twisted around and spotted my father doing a jig around a beer barrel. Go figure.

The wooden keg had me thinking again about Dooley and all that had happened in a few short days. Though his life had ended too soon, his character had been restored, and he could rest in peace now that his killer had been caught.

Jimmy had held a small service yesterday afternoon in Dooley’s honor and even had a picture of him hanging over the bar. A short inscription beneath read: Dooley, the greatest cousin there ever was.

I wiped a tear from my eye and ambled back to the table. “Wonders never cease.” I plunked myself down in my seat and stared at a glass of something fruity that had appeared in my absence. “What’s this?” I looked from the tall drink with a pink umbrella piercing an orange slice on top to Romero.

“I ordered it for you. A Shirley Temple.”

“Thank you.” I took a hearty sip of the sweet, tangy drink and gazed back at this handsome, noble Iron Man sitting across from me. “And thank you for helping the Skink.”

“It was nothing.” He shrugged it off like it was no big deal. “Just a few phone calls.”

“It was a grand idea, and I adore you for thinking of it. It’s like a well-oiled machine in there.” With one exception. Then again, the fact that Phyllis was helping someone else showed she didn’t have ice in her veins. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.

A sense of well-being filled me inside. Maybe Jimmy wouldn’t have Dooley to help run the restaurant, and maybe life for him felt low right now, but he’d be okay. If nothing else, Jimmy was resilient. He’d come from modest beginnings, scraped his way scalping tickets, and was now sole owner of the Wee Irish Dude. For someone who’d once told me working was the pits, he’d developed a strong work ethic, and I was even more confident this place would be a success.

Romero felt in his jacket pocket behind him. “Now that the case is over…” He pulled out my gingerbread-scented hand cream that he’d confiscated the day of the shooting. “This is yours, I believe.”

He slanted over the table, moved my drink out of reaching distance, and drew my right arm toward him. His rugged appearance was melting me, and his sexy gesture stirred me.

As usual, I was full of questions. “What are you—?”

He put his finger to my lips to silence me, then slid his hand up my sleeve until my inner arm was exposed. Next, he flicked open the lid on the cream, his eyes not leaving mine. Without a word, he placed the nozzle on my wrist and squeezed a line of cream straight across.

The rich emollient tickled my skin, and it was torture having my arm pinned down with Romero staring into my soul.

“I…” He studied me, his expression serious.

My hands trembled, my impatience getting the best of me.

He knew the effect he was having on me, and he was loving it. His striking blue eyes twinkled like there was nothing in the world that could drag him away from this. Mutely, he took the tube of cream and squeezed out a C.

By now, nearby diners were ogling us, whispering and nodding, wondering what Romero would write next. My heart thumped wildly. I wanted to know what Romero would write next.

The C was followed by a U.

“I see U?” Jimmy landed on the spare chair out of nowhere, his nose an inch from my arm. “Like, whoa, dude. That’s majorly cryptic.”

Romero gave Jimmy a devilish grin, then squeezed a backward C that joined the other. With his finger, he swiped the bottoms of the C’s down until they came to a point.

I blinked at my arm. It wasn’t a C at all. It was a heart.

Jimmy bolted up on his chair, his spindly arms flailing in the air. “He hearts her! Whoa! Like riiiiighteous!” He waved to the crowd. “Drinks on the house!”

Everyone was cheering and applauding, and again it was as if I were in a bubble with this gorgeous hero. A cop. A leader. A tough, hard-headed man who spent his life devoted to capturing criminals. A man who had won my affection.

“You heart me?” I said softly, the noise in the background playing in the distance.

“Undeniably. Uncontrollably.” He got to his feet, pulled me off my chair, and framed my face in his hands. “Unequivocally.”

Not bothered that the place was full of onlookers, he gently stroked my bottom lip with his thumb, then closed the gap between us, and pressed a gentle kiss on my lips.

He stole a look up at Jimmy entertaining the crowd, tapping his own Irish jig atop the chair seat. Romero shook his head in amusement and dropped his gaze back to me, his face, without question, full of adoration. “For once, it’s nice to know you’re not the one making a scene.”

I tamed the powerful rush from his kiss charging through my body and moved in until my mouth was an inch from his ear. “Don’t underestimate my abilities.” I gave his ear lobe a playful lick and felt his breath catch in his throat. “Nobody knows what tomorrow may bring.”