CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

Studying my reflection in the mirror, I would say I’m properly slutted up now, so Becca should be happy. My blonde hair is hanging in loose ringlets, my makeup is becoming, and my dress, well, it’s a stunner. It’s electric blue and fits like a glove. After having learned my lesson the last time I went to Vibe, I opt for a pair of much more sensible stilettos instead of stripper heels. I strike a pose in the mirror. Hmm. I would do me.

On the ride over to Vibe, I plead with Becca to tell me a little something about my date, but she won’t give me even the tiniest hint. I try asking Jack, but no one can interrogate a detective. Not knowing is doing a number on my nerves. At least I can feel secure in the fact that I’m bringing a cop along to the club with me, in case my date tries anything weird.

I gripe, “He better not be a creeper or a freak…or a cop.”

Both of them stare straight ahead, not saying a word.

Once we get to Vibe, I let Becca and Jack find us a table, and I find the bar. I need a few moments alone with a shot of tequila to get my freak-out under control. It’s packed in here (again), and it’s going to take a while to get my drink. I crane my neck to scan for Becca and Jack, but can’t see them across the sea of people on the dance floor. I hop off my barstool to try to get a better look, and the person next to me turns around at the exact same time. Splash! And now my boobs are wearing whatever was in the empty glass in front of them.

While I’m assessing the damage, a fistful of napkins appears in front of me and makes a move toward the affected area. I hear a man’s voice say, “I’m so sorry.” I snap out of my shock in time to grab the approaching hand before it makes unwanted contact.

“Watch the hands, pal,” I warn and look up to see who’s trying to cop a feel. Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me. It’s none other than Detective Dickhead himself. I growl, “You.”

Seemingly panicked, he looks at me, then back down at my wet cleavage. For some reason, he seems unable to form a sentence at the moment. Usually he’s a lot more articulate.

I snap my fingers in his face. “My eyes are up here.”

Still looking unnerved, he shakes his head and says, “I’m so sorry.”

“You said that already,” I huff, snatching the napkins out of his hand. I wipe myself off, relieved that my dress is dark enough to mask most of the stain.

“I hope I didn’t ruin your dress. It’s…wow.” And…he’s looking down at the girls again. He’s blushing, too, which is a little surprising.

I sigh, too tired to fight. “Whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had a drink dumped on me this week.”

He rips his gaze away and finally looks me in the eye. “This week?”

“It’s a long story. So why are you here? This place doesn’t exactly…suit you.”

“I have a date,” he says, a bit uncertainly.

Wow. Maybe he’s not a robot after all. I’m totally intrigued. “Who’s the unlucky lady?”

“Very funny.” He smirks at me, but his eyes look…scared. It’s kind of endearing how jittery he is. I mean, if he weren’t such a giant ass.

Now that I get a good look at him, I notice he’s cleaned up for his date—maybe a little too much. His light brown hair is short and normally a bit unruly, but not in a bad way. Tonight, however, he has it gelled and combed much too neatly. It doesn’t fit his tough cop persona. His beard, which was dead sexy on him, is gone. He looks way younger and much less menacing without it. He has on a black button down shirt, tucked in perfectly and buttoned up way too high.

I decide to take pity on him, but not before giving him a hard time. “So are you planning on getting laid tonight?” I ask conversationally. His mouth drops open. This is way too easy. “Well, trust me, you’re not going to get any looking like that. Let me help you.”

He’s still speechless.

I start with his sleeves. I unbutton each of them and roll them up to his elbows. He has wicked ripped forearms, not that I’m looking. Moving up to his collar, I flick open one button and stand back to assess. Still too uptight. I grab his shirt at the waist and start pulling, but am stopped when his strong hands clamp onto my arms.

He demands, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, and he lets go of my arms. I pull out the hem of his shirt so it’s untucked. Much better, but he needs one more thing. I reach up with both hands to fix his hair—a gesture that puts me dangerously close to him—and quickly mess it up, bed-head style.

Looking him up and down and liking what I see, I say, “Now you’re ready for a date. Go get her, tiger. And try not to bore her to death.”

His brow furrowed, he replies, “Thanks, I think.” He turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

I turn back to the bar, pleased to find my much-needed shot waiting for me. I down it, feeling the burn, and steel myself for another blind date from hell.

Becca appears next to me. “Quit stalling and get your ass over to our table. Your date is here.”

“Do I have to?” I whine, already knowing the answer.

She drags me over to a booth near the back of the club, and I find my “date” sitting across from Jack in the booth.

Yep. You guessed it. It’s him.

My favorite detective looks from me to Jack and asks, “Is this some kind of joke?”

Becca looks at us uncertainly. “Lizzie Hart, meet Brody Callahan.”

“We’ve met,” I grunt. I’m glad Becca used his full name, because I hadn’t remembered it from when he pulled me over. I’m horrible with names. I figured it was just a matter of time before I called him “Detective Dickhead” to his face, which probably wouldn’t earn me any points with him. Well, at least we can drop this blind date nonsense. Obviously this isn’t going to continue for more than a few seconds. I’m relieved.

Jack frowns. “So I take it this isn’t going to work for either of you.”

“No,” Detective Callahan and I say at the same time.

Becca shrugs. “Well, tough crap. We’re staying. You two are on your own.”

“But you guys drove me here,” I complain.

Callahan sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll take you home.”

“Fine,” I mutter. I’ll do just about anything to be done with this fiasco. I turn to Becca. “I guess I should say thanks for trying, even though it turned out to be an epic fail. I’m considering this payback for the favor I owe you.”

“Fair enough,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

I follow Callahan toward the front door, but as I walk past the dance floor, a hand reaches out and grabs me, pulling me into the crush of people gyrating to the music. I’m nose to chest with whoever dragged me in, and I look up to see the grinning face of Douchebag Todd. I groan inwardly. As if this night could get any worse.

He bends down to speak into my ear. “Hey, babe. Fancy meeting you here.”

Fancy meeting you here? Who says that? “I’m just leaving,” I reply, making a move to get away from him.

Todd wraps both arms around my waist and leers at me. “No way I’m letting you leave. You look good enough to eat.”

Gross! “Todd, let me go!” I try to push him away, but fail. For a loser, he’s pretty strong.

“You’re playing hard to get. That’s fun.” He smiles, leaning toward my face. I think he’s going to try to kiss me. That is so not going to happen. Cringing, I turn my head and strain against him. Suddenly it feels like he’s being ripped off of me.

A low voice growls, “Hands off my date, jackass.” I’ll be damned. It’s Callahan, coming to my rescue like a knight in shining armor. Callahan gives Todd a shove back and puts his other arm around my shoulder. He asks me, “Are you all right?”

I nod, and he steers me off the dance floor and out the front door. Wow. That was hot. The moment we’re outside, he drops his arm and puts some distance between us. Hmm. Oddly enough, I kind of liked it better when he was next to me.

Smiling, I look over at him. “Thanks for rescuing me in there. That was Douchebag Todd, by the way.”

He chuckles. “That idiot? Now I understand why you were so pissed at Julia for setting you up with him. That guy is a piece of work.” His face gets serious. “Although next time, maybe you shouldn’t get drunk to combat a crappy date. Someone could take advantage of you.”

“Aw. It almost sounds like you care. But rest assured, there will be no next time. I’ve already made up my mind. I’m running away to join a convent.”

Callahan looks me up and down thoroughly, making me blush. “That would be a crying shame.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, I look away. Out of the corner of my eye, I happen to notice Lydia across the parking lot. No way! She’s being helped out of a car by yet another new guy, and they’re coming our way. I crouch down behind the nearest car and pull Callahan down with me.

He jokes, “That wasn’t an offer to get it on in the parking lot.”

I glare at him and whisper, “Shh! Look who’s here with her next victim.”

He peers over the hood at Lydia and her date. “Just because you want her to be guilty doesn’t make her guilty.”

“I don’t want her to be guilty. I like her, except for the fact that I think she may be a murderer. She’s a good chiropractor.” I peek over the hood to see her date. My mouth drops open. No freaking way. “Oh, I don’t believe this.” She’s with Jed Stewart, the object of crazy Sarah’s affection, not to mention a shameless womanizer.

Callahan sneaks another glance as well. “What? Who’s the guy?”

“Jed Stewart, the sleaze who drove Sarah Rodgers to become a murderous psycho.”

“You probably don’t have much sympathy for this guy, then.”

“Not especially, but he doesn’t deserve to become Lydia’s next victim just because he’s a cheating asshole. So what should we do? Go back into the club and keep an eye on her?”

He’s giving me that “you’re an idiot” look again. “We’re not doing anything. You’re going home, and if I decide to do any surveillance, it will be done alone.”

“If you take me home, it’ll take you at least forty-five minutes to get back here. They could leave and be long gone by then.”

Hesitating, he gives me a hard stare.

I continue hopefully, “Besides, isn’t it, like, a law that everyone is entitled to one ride-along?”

“No, it’s not a law,” he says tiredly. I think I’m wearing him down.

“What if I throw in a burger and fries from next door?” I can’t resist adding, “Hold the bacon, of course.”

“Fine, you win,” he concedes. “But you have to knock it off with the bacon jokes.”

“I’ll try to behave, but I’m not making any promises,” I call over my shoulder, already on the way to get our food.

***

This is the…Best. Date. Ever! Not that it’s a date, because it isn’t. But how cool is it to get a ride-along with a hot cop (although it’s more like a sit-along at the moment) and eat greasy take-out in a police car? And Callahan is even being nice and conversational. Who knew?

“So you’re a mild-mannered copy editor by day, and you spend your evenings working at Becca’s funeral home. How do you handle all of that excitement?” He looks over at me, grinning.

“Ha, ha. Now you know why I have to go out and chase killers and get myself arrested every once in a while. Otherwise, my life would bore me to death.”

He laughs, making another visual sweep of the parking lot. Straightening up in his seat, he reaches over and nudges me on the arm. “There’s Dr. Thomas and her guy. They’re leaving. Buckle up.” All of a sudden, fun Callahan is gone and the hard-boiled cop is back in charge. After they pull out of the parking lot, Callahan starts his car and follows them at a distance.

I’m nearly squirming with excitement at being part of a real surveillance situation. Sure, I’ve spied on people before, but I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Callahan is a professional, and I have a feeling he rarely makes a mistake. He doesn’t say a word on the entire drive back to Liberty, and I don’t dare try to make idle chitchat. We follow their car all the way into town, and Jed pulls to a stop in front of a pretty bungalow. We park a block away, behind another vehicle. Jed runs around to the passenger side, helps Lydia out of the car, and walks her to the door.

Callahan says quietly, “That’s Dr. Thomas’s house.”

Lydia and Jed share a kiss, not too steamy, but not a peck on the cheek either. I wouldn’t mind being kissed like that, but not by Jed, of course. Then he walks back to his car and drives away.

“What the hell?” I huff, confused. “It’s out of character that Jed Stewart would bother to take a woman out on a date and not seal the deal at the end.”

“Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf.”

“Whatever.”

Callahan looks at me and asks, “Can you put your suspicions to rest now? She obviously didn’t kill this guy.”

“Maybe she doesn’t kill every guy she goes out with.”

Sighing, he mutters, “This was a monumental waste of time.”

So spending an evening with me was a waste of time? Ass. Well, I had fun, but I’m not telling him that. “No more of a waste of time than a sucky blind date,” I reply cattily.

He shakes his head and turns his car in the direction of my house. The tension in here is stifling. As we pull up to my house, I already have my door open and my foot dangling out, feeling a bit of déjà vu from my last disastrous blind date.

Turning to me, he says, “I didn’t mean—”

I cut him off. “Save it. Good-bye, Detective Callahan.” After slamming the car door, I hurry for the calming sanctuary of my house. I let myself in and collapse against the door. Why are men so exhausting?