Bargain Hunting (3 page)

My mood didn’t improve when I spotted the Mustang parked behind my car. “Liam McGarrity! You’d better have a freaking stellar goddamn reason for—”

As soon as I’d opened the door, Liam slumped inside, falling to his knees. I blinked twice, trying to wrap my sleep-addled brain around the sight before me.

The right side of Liam’s shirt was stained a deep scarlet from just below the armpit to the hem. His skin was ashen. He had one arm draped around the former Mrs. McGarrity, but Ashley was having trouble supporting his weight.

“Here,” I said as I worked my way under his arm and got him back up off the floor. “What the hell happened?”

“I got shot,” Liam said, his voice steadier than his body.

“We need to have him lie down,” Ashley said.

“No.” I pivoted on my bare foot and tried to steer his weight back toward the door. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

“No hospital,” Liam insisted. “Just some sleep and a Band-Aid.”

“You think a Band-Aid will help remove a bullet?”

“Through-and-through,” he said.

“Save your breath, honey,” Ashley insisted. “I’ve already tried. He won’t go.”

Honey?
I glanced at the bleached blonde. Had she actually called me honey? “Then why bring him here?”

“Nice to see you, too,” Liam said with a weak smile.

“Can we take him to lie down and then talk?” Ashley asked, exasperated. She started for the sofa. The
white
sofa.

“Let’s get him to the guest room.” Where he can bleed on my white sheets. Which, unlike the sofa, I can easily throw away.

Being one of Liam’s crutches was cumbersome, especially when we started down the hallway. We did a sort of crab step, and then maneuvered him into the virgin room. Never dawned on me that my first houseguest would be a private detective with a hole in his side. As I choked on the unappealing smell of gunpowder, blood, and Ashley’s ungodly strong rose perfume, I yanked back the crisp white comforter and tugged the corner of the sheets free. My tongue was coated with the metallic taste of adrenaline as I deposited Liam on the edge of the bed.

Ashley was immediately on her knees—and yes, I thought something unkind—and slipped off his shoes and helped raise his legs up on the bed.

Liam winced. “We’re gonna need some towels and some Steri-Strips.”

“Towels I have,” I said as I started out the door. “Steri-Strips I don’t.”

“You can get them at the store, then we can take the Mustang . . . oh . . . somewhere.”

“Take his car where?” I asked Ashley, who seemed to be the one with the plan.

Liam shook his head. “We’ve got to talk about this first, Ash.”

“You called me for help,” Ashley snapped. “You don’t get to complain about how I provide the help. I was the one who thought to bring you here, wasn’t I? It isn’t like anyone will come looking for you in Swankyville.”

I glared at Ashley. “You woke me up from a dead sleep just to diss my address?”

“No,” she said as she undid Liam’s belt.

This was getting awkward. Here I was in my house watching some other woman undress Liam. “Is that really necessary?” I asked when she began to unbutton his shirt.

“I’ve got to see how bad it is. Could you get those towels now?”

I decided fetching towels was better than watching Ashley and Liam interact. Yeah, so he was bleeding, but that hardly explained why he was so cooperative with her. If that had been me, he would have been arguing or complaining, or both.

Obviously three mojitos weren’t enough.

When trouble shows up on my doorstep, its ex-wife comes, too.

I gathered together a
stack of my less-loved towels and took them to Ashley. I brought along my first-aid stuff too, though I wasn’t exactly stocked like a
M*A*S*H
unit. Neosporin, aloe, and some invisible Band-Aids were about it.

When I walked into the bedroom, I really wanted to hurl. Ashley was pressing a bloody rag against the wound but not before I got a look at the two small holes where love handles would eventually grow. “We really should get him to a hospital,” I argued.

“No hospitals,” Liam insisted firmly. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Honey, run to the store for those Steri-Strips, ’kay?”

“I’ll get several packs,” I replied, wondering how Ashley would look with the strips taped to her mouth. She knows my name, and it isn’t Honey.

I yanked on a pair of yoga pants, a shirt and shoes, twisted my hair into a messy bun, and headed out the door. There was
a twenty-four-hour Walgreens just over the bridge, so I went there and with some help from the pharmacist, I found what I needed, paid, and left. My nerves were a little frazzled to say the least. I had no idea how or why Liam had been shot. Or why he’d called Ashley to the rescue. I had to admit, I was a touch jealous. Okay, so maybe more than a touch.

By the time I returned, the bleeding had slowed. “Got any Super Glue?” Ashley asked when I placed the pharmacy bag on the bed.

“Sure.” I went into my emergency clothing-repair Baggie and grabbed the tube.

Liam winced when she used the glue to rejoin the edges and perspiration beaded on his forehead. “Got a beer?” he asked through gritted teeth.

I went to the kitchen and retrieved a cold one from my refrigerator. I lingered a tad, not wanting to witness part two of the glue-Liam-back-together project. I handed him the open bottle just as Ashley was finishing with the Steri-Strips. “That should hold,” she said, admiring her handiwork, then she wrapped the gauze I’d bought as an afterthought around his torso.

“Wouldn’t stitches have been a better choice?” I suggested.

“Less painful,” Liam agreed. “But gunshot wounds have to be reported.”

“C’mon, honey. You and I need to go get my car.”

“Sorry, honey,” I returned. “I’m not in the mood for a road trip. Take a cab.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Liam said. “Even though your car is six blocks from the scene, if the cops are out canvassing, you don’t want to get caught.”

Ashley shrugged. “You want me to park the Mustang behind the house?”

“Um, hello? My backyard is all pool and no parking.”

“Put it behind the Dumpster for now,” Liam instructed.

“On the new sod?” I asked.

Liam offered me a weak smile. “I’ll replace it.”

“You take care of him, hon—Finley.”

She flipped open her cell and called a taxi while I tried not to notice that Liam wore boxers. It was like trying not to notice the sun. Flustered, I started gathering up bloody towels and clothing and twisted them into a ball. “I’ll wash this stuff.”

“I don’t suppose you have anything I can put on?” he asked as he gingerly sat up.

I opened the closet door and took out a shopping bag. “The pants will probably be too short but everything else should be fine.” I started to leave when he called my name. “Yes?”

“Can you toss these in there, too?”

Liam was shielded by the fold of the comforter but my throat nearly closed when he flipped me his boxers. There was some blood on the waistband. A fact I discovered as I struggled to keep from peeking at his nakedness. Shot or not, he still had the ability to make my breath hitch in my throat.

Before I had the machine going, Liam came out of the bedroom with deep frown lines between his eyebrows. “Which way to the bathroom? I need to wash my hands,” he asked in a clipped tone.

“Is there a reason you’re being all snotty to me?”

“I don’t like being lied to.”

“And just what is it you think I lied about?”

“Bathroom?”

I pointed down the hall and to the right. “I wasn’t lying, it actually is a bathroom.” I was actually getting pissed that he was pissed. After all, it was now nearing dawn and I’d abandoned sleep and reason to deal with his gunshot. I shook my head and muttered, “Gunshot,” as I went in to assess the damage to my guest bed. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

There were only a few drops of blood on the sheets. I grudgingly thanked Ashley for that but it didn’t change the fact that Liam had gone from gratitude to attitude in seconds.

I heard the water turn off and expected Liam to return to bed. Instead he walked down the hallway toward the living room. I turned and followed.

“Shouldn’t you go back to bed?”

The khaki slacks were about two inches too short and the shirt was unbuttoned. Hard to stay mad at a guy when he was flaunting his bare chest in your direction. “What?” I asked, irritated.

“These are Tony’s clothes, right?”

I nodded. “He left them here.”

“I thought the two of you had decided not to . . . ya know.”

I rolled my eyes. “He and Izzy came over for a swim and since he didn’t go in the water, he accidentally left his change of clothes here. Would you feel better wearing a sheet, like a toga?”

He raked his hand through his mussed hair. “So you didn’t . . .”

“So what if I did? Last time I checked I was a single woman with a perfectly healthy sex drive.”

Liam winced. I wasn’t sure if it was from pain or embarrassment but I hoped it was the latter. I wanted him to be thinking
about my sex drive because lord knew my mind was wondering about his most of the time. A matte of dark hair formed a V that tapered into the waistband of his pants. Kinda like a GPS directing me to the good parts. I should have been thinking about the gauze holding his wound closed, but for the life of me I couldn’t clear the lust fog from my brain.

I am a horrible person.

“Do you need anything?” I asked.

“Depends on what you’re offering.”

“Coffee, water, flight-attendant basics.”

“I’ll take another beer.”

“Self-medicating?”

“Yep.”

I settled on the opposite end of the sofa from him and glanced at the clock. It was nearly 4
A.M.
and it didn’t look like sleep was part of the agenda. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“I found a body.”

“So you had Ashley bring you here? A body shot you? Shouldn’t you call the sheriff’s office or
Unsolved Mysteries
or something?”

“The deceased
was
a member of the sheriff’s office. He was shot with my gun.”

My brain was spinning, trying to fit the pieces of his conversation into place. “Back up. What happened to make you kill a deputy?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“But you said it was your gun.”

“It was. But I haven’t seen that weapon for five years. I don’t know how José Lopez was shot with it.”

“How can you be sure it was yours?”

“Serial number.”

“Did you lose the gun?”

“In a manner of speaking. Look, I know this is asking a lot, but can I hang here for a while? If anyone saw my car at the scene, I’m sure the cops will go looking for me at my place. I doubt they’d come here.”

“Am I aiding and abetting?”

His eyes met mine. “Probably. But if it comes to that, I’ll swear you knew nothing about José or the gun.”

“But if you didn’t do anything—”

“It won’t play like that. Trust me.”

The thing was, I did trust him. Liam had saved my life on more than one occasion. “Is there blood on your shoes?”

“Probably. I’ll take them out back, rinse them, and then hit the soles with some bleach.”

I nodded. “To screw up any presumptive test for blood.”

He offered a half smile. “Very good. I see Tony has taught you a lot.”

“Stay put. The last thing I want to happen is have that glue and those Steri-Strips come loose. I don’t have Ashley’s stomach.”
Or her bond with you.
I took Liam’s shoes out back and took care of them, leaving them on the lanai to dry.

I couldn’t get over how different he looked in a blue oxford shirt that did magical things for his eyes. It was quite a change from his cargo shorts or jeans and Tommy Bahama shirts. As attractive as he looked, it just didn’t feel like Liam. He wasn’t the preppy-casual type. Other than my sister’s wedding, I’d only seen Liam in his signature attire. He’d looked magnificent in the tux for the wedding, but this ensemble made him look like a Ken doll.

When I returned I said, “There’s a comb in the guest basket in the bathroom.”

“No need,” Liam replied as he raked his fingers through his hair again. All that did was give him a tousled, just-out-of-bed look that made my stomach clench. Even in the midst of a crisis I couldn’t control my hormones. God, am I ever lame.

“Give me the bleach so I can rinse the traps in your bathroom.”

I handed him the bottle. As he walked away I got a sinking feeling. While I was happy to give Liam aid and comfort, and probably more than that, I felt as if I was getting in over my head. Liam didn’t need the help of a paralegal who had worked exclusively in estates and trusts for eight years before adding criminal defense work to her repertoire. He needed a lawyer. He’d probably get pissed, but it seemed prudent to call Tony. He’d know the best course of action. Besides, the two men had a friendship that went back more than a decade.

I reached for the phone and dialed Tony’s cell. I didn’t want to call the house phone in case Izzy was sleeping.

“Caprelli.” His voice was deeper than normal and a little scratchy. And a lot sexy.