Courting the Cop (8 page)

She snickered. “Come on, don’t you have something less cheesy for me?”

“Okay. Let’s see. How could this stakeout be boring when I’ve got Betty Crocker with me?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I’m Betty Crocker?”

“Well, you do have that frilly apron in the kitchen…” And once more his thoughts had circled back to that apron tied around a naked Abigail. He pretended to suck a cigar as he put on a fifties gangster drawl. “Hey, dollface, how about you let me ice your buns, huh?”

She held her sides as she burst out laughing. Still giggling, she pushed a finger to her cheek, tilted her hip, and stuck out one leg as she answered breathily, “Sure, mister, just as long as you’ve got enough icing in that piping bag of yours.”

That got him chuckling. He loved it that she was getting into the spirit of things. “Oh, I’ve got plenty,” he drawled back. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll even let you lick the nozzle.”

Blue eyes sparkled back at him. “If you’re a good boy, I might let you taste my buns.”

Holy smoke. Her husky murmur struck a match to the combustible atmosphere between them, and there was no way he could fight back. He reached for her, and she spun into his arms like a yoyo smacking into his palm. She gasped as their chests melded together, her breasts pushing up against his shirt. Her eyes were huge and lit up with excitement. Her heart beat frantically, keeping time with his. Her fingers curled into his T-shirt.

“I can’t wait to taste your buns, baby,” he said, gruff with need. “But first things first.”

Threading his fingers through her hair, he angled her head so their mouths could meet. Her lips quivered slightly beneath his, and her whole body sighed into him as she melted into his kiss. At first her mouth was soft and sweet, and then it was hungry and eager. She was a vortex of pleasure, and he dived in eagerly. Using his teeth, he tugged gently at her lower lip, sucking and nibbling at her tender flesh, and she responded by pulling his head closer, her soft moans undoing his self-control.

He let go of her lip to run his mouth over her face and neck, exploring the smooth dip beneath her chin, the plump flesh of her earlobe, the warm sweep of her cheeks. She was so delectable and delicious, a smorgasbord of soft nibbles and mouth-watering delicacies.

He returned his attention to her mouth, kissing her deep until her lips parted and he could slide his tongue into her. He took his time tasting her, loving her moistness, her eagerness. She might not have thought much of his cheesy lines, but she sure was enjoying his kisses. Her fingers flitted through his hair, mussing him up, before sliding over his neck and shoulders, stroking and squeezing and setting his skin on fire.

He slid one hand down her back, following the contour of her spine, dipping below her waist to cup her ass.

“Mmm, so these are the famous Abigail Brightwater buns,” he murmured into her mouth.

Her butt tightened in his hand, and he squeezed a little harder.

“Brody…” she panted.

Her rosy-cheeked breathlessness was such a turn-on. His engorged cock swelled even further, pressing urgently against the zip of his jeans.

“Brody…”

God, she could make him come just by panting out his name.

“Yeah, Abby baby?”

The dazed look in her eyes gradually disappeared. She frowned at him. Uh-oh.

“Abby baby?” she echoed. “Why are you calling me that? We’re not in the store with customers. We don’t have to pretend we’re dating.”

“It just slipped out.”

Sighing, she slowly disentangled herself from his grasp. His hands fell to his sides, feeling achingly empty. The blood in his veins was pounding, his groin swollen with expectation. Someone was going to have to break the news to his balls that they weren’t going to be seeing any action tonight, and he hoped it wasn’t him.

“What’s the big deal?” he asked. “Why did you stop?” Oh yeah, he was desperate all right. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

She pushed back her tumbled hair, a guilty look stealing across her face. “Yes, I was, but I forgot.”

Her lips were crushed raspberries and her skin was whipped cream, and he wanted so badly to touch her it hurt.

“Forgot what?” he asked, more stung by her rejection than he wanted to admit. “That I’m not quite the sleazebag you thought I was?”

“True, but it doesn’t matter.” Her expression grew determined. “We’re still hopelessly incompatible, and I…I’m not going to repeat my mistakes.”

“Mistakes?
I’m
a mistake?”

“For me, yes.”

He couldn’t believe how much her words wounded him. Jeez, what was it about this girl that flipped him inside out? He’d been rejected by girls before—not very often, it had to be said—and it had never bothered him because there were always plenty of other girls who were more than keen on him. So why did he feel like sticking out his lower lip in a sulky, little-boy fit? Abigail was only stating out loud what they both already knew. They were very different people, and they wanted very different things. He couldn’t get too snippy at her for pointing that out.

He heaved out a sigh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

He could have been mistaken, but he was sure he caught a flicker of regret in her eyes.

Abigail cleared her throat. “That doesn’t mean to say I didn’t enjoy”—she waved her fingers at him—“all that. It was—it was lovely.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am.” He gave her a wry little nod. “Glad it was
lovely
for you.”

“Oh, Brody.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, a picture of guilty pleasure. “It was more than lovely.”

The sight of that plump red lip he’d been enjoying a minute ago made his brain cells misfire. “Well, good. And since we both agree on our mutual incompatibility, I don’t see why we can’t enjoy more
loveliness
in the future.”

Blue eyes widened to the size of saucers. “But we can’t…I mean, I’m not…”

“We don’t have to do the whole horizontal dance, if you don’t want to. Just a bit of kissing, a bit of touching.”

“What, you mean like first base?”

“Uh, sure.” What was first base again? Was it only kissing, shirts on, nothing below the waist? Hell, what had he agreed to?

Her brow wrinkled up. “I’m not sure. You don’t look like a first-base kind of guy.”

“Hey, I know you’re a fifties fan, so I’m getting into the spirit of things.”

“No, this is never going to work out.” She shook her head decisively and crossed her arms over her chest.

“We need the practice so we can appear more natural in front of your customers.”

“What we just did was more than my customers want to see!”

“So we’ll peg it back slightly. I won’t grab your ass in front of them.”

“You’d better not.” Her cheeks turned red, and her frown reappeared. She studied him for several seconds before exhaling in apparent exasperation. “You know what, this is too crazy to discuss. I’m going to do some knitting in the living room and leave you to your stakeout.”

“Aw, don’t leave me here on my own. I promise I’ll be good.” He genuinely didn’t want her to go, even if he had to keep his hands to himself.

She nibbled on her lower lip. “Maybe, but I can’t promise I’ll be,” she muttered, and she ran out before he had a chance to stop her.

When he was sure she wasn’t coming back, he dropped into his chair by the window and roughed his fingers through his hair. What the hell had happened there? Had he really tried to convince her that he’d stick to first base with her? First base. Wow, he must be frigging desperate. Restricting himself to just making out with Abigail would give him a serious case of blue balls within a week, so maybe he should be relieved she’d turned down his offer. If he was going to kiss Abigail, then he’d do a proper job of it.

Chapter Six

“Hiya, Abigail. Where you been?”

Abigail grinned at Carlo as she walked up to him. She’d known Mr. Mariano’s son since she’d moved in with Aunt Edna. They’d played together, hung out together, even exchanged a few harmless kisses. Carlo had agreed to join her cleanup crew for the day and was already attacking the graffiti scrawled across the back wall of his dad’s property.

“Glad to see you so early and eager,” she said to him. “I didn’t get too many volunteers today.”

Only a couple of others had turned up this Sunday afternoon to help clean up the rear alley behind the Main Street stores. Not many, but it was a start. They were equipped with buckets, brushes, chemicals and rubber gloves.

“Gina said she’d stop by sometime,” Carlo said.

“Gina?” Abigail was startled. “She’s going to help scrub this place up?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that, did I?” Carlo laughed. “We both know my sister ain’t the scrubbing type. I think she just wants to stop by to show you her new poodle skirt or something.”

Like Abigail, Gina had caught the fifties bug off Aunt Edna, and when she dressed up, she had even more men falling over her than usual. She was the last person Abigail expected at a graffiti cleanup, but she was a longtime neighbor and friend and always good for a chat.

Abigail got to work on the lurid splodges someone had sprayed across her wall. She wouldn’t have minded if the graffiti had some artistic merit, but the tags and scrawls along this back alley were only ugly vandalism, and she was determined to get rid of all of it eventually. Of course vandals like the Spikers would come along and mess it up again, but the theory was that promptly cleaning up graffiti discouraged others and had an effect on petty crime in the area. Even if the theory wasn’t true, at least they’d have a cleaner lane.

Carlo started whistling as he scrubbed away at a purple blob. He’d taken off his sweater, revealing a black T-shirt that molded to his abs. Carlo was a gym manager who took his body building seriously.

“Hey, want some help with that?” Carlo called out, nodding his head at the pink stain on her wall that was out of her reach.

“Yeah, sure.” She paused as he stepped next to her and began working on the wall.

“See? It’s easy when you’ve got guns like mine.” He popped his biceps at her, the cheeky devil.

“Show-off,” she laughed. She never took Carlo seriously.

“You’re just jealous because—” Carlo broke off as his glance veered beyond her.

She turned around, and her heart jerked when she saw Brody a mere few feet away. He must have rounded the corner seconds ago. His eyes narrowed as his gaze snapped from her to Carlo and back again.

“Hey, Abigail,” Brody said, moving in on her.

“Uh, hi.” A quick flush suffused her, and it irked that her body could react so violently to Brody and that she had no control over her response.

She hadn’t been able to stop herself thinking about him since Friday night, either. Over and over she’d replayed the kisses they’d exchanged, and she’d dreamed of those kisses going way, way beyond first base. Second, third, home run. The mere thought was enough to trigger another flush of heat.

Help. Breathe
, she told herself.
Breathe and act like nothing’s the matter
. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Carlo giving her some strange looks.

She cleared her throat. “Brody, this is Carlo, a neighbor of mine. Carlo, this is Brody, um, a f-friend of mine.”

The two men shook hands briefly. Brody turned to Abigail, his eyebrow lifting. “A f-friend of yours?”

Shoot, she was messing up his cover. “Sorry.” She glanced at Carlo. “I meant Brody is my b-boyfriend.” Dammit, she never stuttered, so why was she starting now?

Carlo looked thoroughly confused. “Yeah? You never told me.” He seemed almost hurt.

“She’s just shy.” Brody squeezed her waist, and she had to swallow down her squeak.

Carlo shifted his feet apart, looking vaguely antagonistic as he squared up to Brody. “Are you here to help with the cleanup?”

Brody scanned the graffiti-covered walls. “No, sorry, I can’t today…” His voice trailed off as his gaze sharpened on something further down the alley.

Abigail followed his eyes. A dark brunette minced toward them in an impossibly tight sky-blue skirt and figure-hugging blue-and-white top, all spilling boobs and tiny waist and curvy hips, a va-va-voom mankiller straight out of central casting. Gina had arrived, and she wasn’t wearing a poodle skirt, for heaven’s sakes, but a wiggle skirt, and she was giving that wiggle skirt a damn good workout.

“Hiya, Abigail!” Gina waved frantically at her. She wasn’t Italian for nothing. “I came down to show you my new outfit. Like it?” She twirled around on her high heels, giving everyone a good look at her assets.

“It’s gorgeous, Gina,” Abigail replied and she honestly meant that.

“You’ll catch your death in that,” Carlo said.

“Oh, Carlo, stop being so practical.” Gina barely spared her brother a glance as she fluttered her thick eyelashes in Brody’s direction. “Oh, hello, there, mister. Are you new in the neighborhood?”

“Kind of.” Brody flashed a smile at her. “I’m Brody.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.” Gina lifted her hand to him as if she expected him to kiss it. “I’m Gina.”

Brody squeezed her hand and dropped it, a grin hanging on his lips as Gina preened in front of him. She was practically thrusting her boobs up at him, Abigail thought, which accounted for the smirk on his face.

“Brody is Abigail’s new boyfriend,” Carlo said a little too forcefully.

“Oh.” Gina paused, mid-thrust. “Really?”

The incredulity in her voice rubbed Abigail the wrong way. She liked Gina, and the feeling was mutual even if they didn’t have too much in common, so why did Gina think it so amazing that someone like Brody could be her boyfriend?

“Yeah, really,” Abigail muttered, unable to unclench her teeth for several seconds.

Brody placed a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed her. She’d felt that hand two nights ago threading through her hair, tracing her neck, grabbing her ass. The warmth came flooding back, but this time she remembered the warning too. Brody was only her pretend boyfriend. He could never be her real boyfriend because they were too different. She had to remember that, and that therefore it was okay for Gina to jiggle her boobs at Brody.

Forcing her jaw to relax, she tried to smile at Gina. “Going to that fifties dance in three weeks’ time?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m already working on my new dress. What about you? You’re going, aren’t you?”

Abigail nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You’re taking Brody too, I suppose?” She fluttered a coy smile at Brody. Flirting came as naturally as breathing to Gina.

“I don’t think so,” Brody said. “Dancing’s not my thing.”

“But you’d look so divine in a velvet dinner jacket. Absolutely divine,” Gina sighed dramatically at him as she brushed her fingers over his shoulders. “Oh, yes, these shoulders are definitely worth showing off.”

The clench was back in Abigail’s jaw. She had no business getting jealous over Gina pawing at her “boyfriend”. Oh dear, she didn’t want to be all tied up in knots over Brody. It might be time to prove to herself that she wasn’t getting possessive over him.

“Gina,” she called out, “why don’t you take a walk with Brody and try to convince him about this dance? Then Carlo and I can get on with the cleaning.”

“Oh, good idea!” Gina giggled, quickly latching onto Brody’s arm and drawing him away. “Come on, I don’t want to get any of those nasty chemicals on my new clothes.”

Brody’s gaze lingered on Abigail. She didn’t know why he was here. Maybe he’d dropped into her apartment to check the surveillance tape, but he could have sneaked off without running into her and Carlo. If he wanted to talk with her, he could do it here in public.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Brody said to her, and his words sounded heavy with purpose.

Shrugging, she let him leave and turned back to the wall she was supposed to be cleaning. But even as she picked up her brush, she couldn’t help noticing how Gina snuggled up to him, her head nestled close to his. Gina could handle Brody better than she could, she told herself. Gina was gorgeous and sexy and super-confident. She was also super-fussy when it came to men and didn’t think twice about giving them the flick if they didn’t measure up. Yes, Gina was a good match for Brody. She wouldn’t let things run out of control and lose her head over him.

Brody picked up a packet of gum and slipped into the checkout line behind Katherine O’Brien, who was busy paying for her groceries.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. O’Brien,” he called out in a casual tone.

The elderly lady glanced nervously over her shoulder at him. “Hello, er…”

“It’s Brody,” he said. “From the yarn store, remember?”

“Oh, yes, of course I remember.” Her faded blue eyes darted past him, as if she feared someone else was following her. He could have told her not to worry. He’d been tailing her ever since she left her house an hour ago, and he hadn’t spotted anyone after her except himself. More than a week had passed since he’d begun his stakeout, and he had nothing to show for it except a strengthening gut instinct. Today, he’d decided it was time to try something different.

Katherine fumbled in her purse for the dollar bills to pay the cashier. Her winter coat was threadbare, her shoes were worn thin, and her groceries were all cheap home brands. She’d had a difficult life, and old age was no fun for her. Well, how could it be when the only family she had left was a scumbag son like Michael O’Brien?

“You help Abigail at her Knit and Natter sessions, don’t you?” Katherine said as she waited for her change. “Shouldn’t you be there now?”

Yes, he should, since it was Tuesday and ten thirty. But it wasn’t much good being at the Knit and Natter if Katherine wasn’t there. He’d been at his observation post in Abigail’s apartment when he’d spotted Katherine leaving her home an hour ago. As he’d tailed Katherine to the post office, the Goodwill store and the grocery store, he’d texted Abigail to tell her he probably wouldn’t make it that day. He hadn’t got a reply. Maybe she was fed up with him. She’d been sort of cool with him on Sunday when he’d caught her with that neighbor of hers. Carlo. Carlo, with the overdeveloped deltoids and macho grin. Carlo-Shmarlo.

“I’m having a day off,” he said to Katherine, bringing his mind back to business. He nodded at the bags of groceries waiting for her to pick up. “That’s a big load. Want some help with them?”

“Oh, I couldn’t…” But her voice wavered, and he noticed how matchstick-thin her legs were.

“It’s no trouble at all.” Even if he wasn’t tailing her he couldn’t let a frail woman like her carry those heavy bags. He quickly handed money to the cashier for his packet of gum before moving toward Katherine’s groceries. “Abigail would chew my ear off if I let you struggle home with all that.” Without waiting for permission, he hefted up the bags in two arms and blandished her with a guileless smile. “Where do you live?” Lucky he’d thought to ask that; he didn’t want to arouse her suspicion.

“Just around the corner from Abigail’s store.” She smiled uncertainly at him. “It’s very kind of you.”

“No problem at all.”

She wouldn’t be so grateful if she knew he only wanted an excuse to get into her home and have a snoop around for any sign of her no-good son. He tamped down the twinge of guilt. He wasn’t duping her. He was doing his job, trying to get a wanted criminal off the streets. If Katherine were as blameless as she made out to be, she’d want her son in custody too, if only to make her own life easier.

He walked with her out the store and down several blocks. The weather had turned nasty overnight, and a bitter north wind blew through the streets, sweeping dead leaves and garbage into the gutters. Main Street looked grim and hunkered down, a piece of hoarding from a boarded-up storefront flapping loose in the wind. Brody made a mental note to get the local patrol officers to check out the store. An empty building was a magnet for troublemakers, so the quicker the store was secured, the better.

Fifteen minutes later, they turned into Hillcrest Road and reached Number Three. Katherine opened the front door and ushered him in. Anticipation quickened in Brody as he wiped his feet and stepped into the house. He found himself in a narrow hallway with a living room opening off one side and a dining room on the other. Further down, he made out a kitchen and other rooms, probably the bedrooms. Katherine’s house was modest and tidy, as he’d expected. The carpet in the living room was thin and faded, the sofas and armchairs worn at the armrests, the wallpaper starting to peel at the corners.

His attention zeroed in on the display cabinet near the TV where a few photos of people were clustered. Family photos, probably. Was Michael in them? He didn’t have a chance to squint at the photos as Katherine was beckoning him down the hallway.

He followed her into the rear kitchen and deposited the bags on the table.

“Thank you so much.” The wind had whipped a trace of color into Katherine’s wrinkled cheeks.

“It’s no problem. If you need help another time, just stop by the yarn store. I’m around on Tuesdays and Thursdays, or you can leave a message with Abigail.”

“Thank you.” She eyed him tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with him. “Would—would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?”

Ah, here was the break he needed. Seemed him carrying her groceries was enough to overcome her natural caution. “I’d love that.” He beamed disarmingly at her. “Makes a change having someone make coffee for me.”

She nodded, a little flustered, and poked at the bags lying on the table. “I’ll just put the coffee maker on and clear these groceries away.”

“Mind if I wash up?” Brody asked. “My hands are a bit grubby.”

“Of course. The bathroom’s a couple doors down the hallway.”

Brody loped out the kitchen and moved quietly to the living room. Keeping an ear out for Katherine, he scanned the family photos and quickly recognized an old picture of Michael. The teenager in the photo was thinner, his hair thicker, but the ugly eyes and cocky expression were the same. Those eyes had stared straight at Brody as the bullet whizzed past his ear. Michael had shot at him and Dave Campese that night without a second thought. The only reason he wasn’t a cop killer was because of his lousy aim.