Divorced, Desperate and Dead (Divorced and Desperate Book 5) (17 page)

“So, how does someone like you not have a guy attached to your hip?” Dan asked, staring at her over the rim of his wine glass.

For one second, she considered telling him the truth. But it wouldn’t come out. Why had it seemed easier to tell his partner? Because it hadn’t actually been real. But it had felt real. More real than this right now.

“Maybe I’m not that good of a catch,” she said.

“I don’t believe that,” he said.

“Oh, so you didn’t check me out for priors?” she teased, hoping the humor would ease the awkwardness.

“You have priors?” he asked, missing her attempt at humor and looking almost scared.

“No, I promise. I was just joking.”

“Not funny,” he said. “I once dated a woman for a week before I learned she had a warrant out for her arrest.”

The conversation throughout dinner had been better than the food. While she felt no sparks for Dan, she could admit he was pretty good company. He talked about his years on the police force, and shared a couple humorous stories. For a second, she almost wished she was attracted to him. She even searched her heart to try to find some little spark.

She was sparkless.

He ordered them both another glass of wine and a couple of times, he put his hand over hers, as if a subtle attempt to heat things up. She would slip her hand out in hopes her subtle resistance of his proposed heat would prevent him from making any other advances. Perhaps saving her from having to spell out the fact that their first date was going to be their last.

• • •

When no one answered Chloe’s door, Cary called Hoke’s Bluff police to report seeing J.D. It took Cary five minutes to find the apartment manager, but only two to convince him to open the friggin’ door. Loud and demanding wasn’t his favored mode of operation, but people paid attention.

Thankfully, Chloe wasn’t in her apartment bleeding or dead. After calming down, he reentered her bedroom, hoping to find it didn’t match his dream.

It did.

There were even two wrapped presents on a chair.

Right then, Chloe’s cat came sweeping into the room. A black cat. It had been real. All of it. But what about Beatrice Bacon? If real, why would she be messing with him now? Thoughts of the old woman had something she said playing in his head like a recording.

Aren’t you a cop? Did they train you at all? Where did you get your license? In the bottom of a box of Cracker Jacks?

His mind flashed to an image of Chloe in that bed wearing the angel nightshirt and them sharing their secrets. But damn it, she’d been hurt too much, she didn’t need anything else to happen. And just like that, he realized that just because Chloe wasn’t here, didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger. He needed to find her.

The cat came and did figure eights around his ankles. He reached down and gave the feline a scratch behind her ear.

When the cops hadn’t arrived in ten minutes, he got pissed. He called Glencoe force and told them to be on the lookout, too. The sergeant in homicide called him back and jumped his ass for working the case. He hung up on him. He’d deal with that later.

He’d already called Danny twice and left messages, but he hadn’t answered. He’d called Turner, too, but his phone went to voicemail. What the hell?  Where were his two best friends when he needed them?

Since he was only a mile from Turner’s house, he left instructions with the apartment manager of what to tell the cops, and shot over to Turner’s. His friend’s car was parked out front of his small brick home. Why the hell hadn’t he answered his phone?

Cary’s leg throbbed as he limped to the porch and took his frustrations out on the door.

Turner appeared there in few seconds, shirtless with wet hair. “Could you have knocked a little louder?”

“I’ve tried to call you and Danny both. Several times.”

“I was in the shower,” Turner said. “Didn’t hear the phone. And Danny’s off somewhere trying to get laid.”

Reese, Turner’s fiancé, walked into the room behind them, and edged up beside Turner. She slipped her arm around Turner’s naked waist as if she belonged there. Turner placed his arm around her shoulders. Tenderly.

Reese, blond and beautiful, had wet hair too, which explained the real reason Turner hadn’t answered. Shower sex. A crazy thought zipped through Cary’s mind. He hadn’t had good shower sex in a long time.

Hell, he hadn’t had really good sex in a long time. Nor had he had a woman touch him like that—as if she belonged beside him.

“Hi, Cary. How are you? You want to come in, get off the leg?” Reese asked, noticing that he was leaning his weight on the doorframe.

Chasing shower sex thoughts away, he smiled at her. He liked her. He really did. But the petite little siren had managed to convince Turner to give love another shot. And that was exactly what Turner had sworn he didn’t want. And it had been Danny and Cary’s job to make sure it didn’t happen.

They’d failed—miserably. They’d been beaten by a woman who weighed less than a hundred pounds. But each one of those pounds was placed just right on her tiny body.

“Thanks, but I just need to chat with Turner for a second,” he said. “I promise to give him back.”

She grinned. “There was a time I worried you might not give him back. But not anymore.”

Oh, he and Danny had tried to do their jobs. Well, not if you considered the guidelines Turner himself had outlined. Turner, a part of their
No Ball & Chain Gang
, a group of three divorced men who’d sworn off love, had stated if he ever got serious about another gal, they were to beat the shit out of him, then beat some sense into him.

They hadn’t hit him. Though Danny had come close.

“I’ll loan him to you,” Reese said, “but he’s taking me out to dinner tonight. Oh, have you gone and been fitted for a tux yet? You and Danny are the only two who haven’t gotten measured. If you haven’t done it by next week, I’m borrowing my hubby’s handcuffs and driving you two down there myself.”

“I’ll do it. I promise,” he told her.

“Great.” She gave Turner a squeeze around the waist and moved off.

Cary saw Turner watch Reese sashay away—watched her in the way a man looked at a women with whom he’d just had really good shower sex. Like he knew he was a lucky bastard.

But was Turner really lucky? Sure, he seemed happy. Hell, for that matter, so did a few of his other friends who had married women who’d had their own anti-love club. Cary just didn’t think he’d get the luck part of the deal. Yup, he’d just get stuck with the bastard portion.

Or maybe he questioned his ability to know real love if it bit him on the ass. He’d thought he’d had it with Korine. He had the scars to prove it, too.

“What’s up?” Turner asked, stepping away from the door to let Cary inside.

Cary stayed where he was, leaning his weight on the door. “We got problems,” he said, remembering his unexplainable gut feeling that he had to find Chloe.

“What?”

“Channel 34 did a show on Chloe Sanders saving that girl, and one of her friends got on camera and told the whole story about me being shot and them thinking the two cases were connected. I went to check on her to make sure she was okay and I spotted J.D. there.”

“Shit! You got the bastard? Oh, hell, why didn’t you say something?”

“No. He got away.” Cary remembered the way J.D. had just stood there, as if waiting to get shot. It hadn’t been right, but he didn’t have time to contemplate that now.

“Have you called it in?”

“Of course I have. It took place in Hoke’s Bluff. The black and white hadn’t gotten there when I left to come here. I’ve spoken to them, they’ve put a BOLO on J.D.”

“Why don’t we put a call in to Glencoe PD, too?”

“I did,” Cary said, feeling the edge of panic. “What I need is to find Chloe Sanders and make sure she’s okay.”

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so? She’s okay.” Turner spoke with certainty.  “I mean, I’m pretty certain she is.”

“How . . . do you know?”

“Because she’s with Danny.”

“What?” he asked.

Turner tucked a hand into his jeans. “Chloe is with Danny.”

Cary shook his head. “I thought you said Danny was . . .” His gut tightened. “Danny’s dating Chloe Sanders?”

“Yeah,” Turner said.

Cary remembered Danny saying he was getting laid this weekend. “No.”

“No, what?” Turner asked.

“No!” Cary said. “Hell, no!”

“Hell no, what?” Turner asked again, sounding baffled.

Cary ran a hand over his face. “Where is he?”

“What’s wrong?” Turner asked, looking at him oddly.

“Just friggin’ tell me where he took her!” he said, his patience running thin.

“Probably to that cheap Italian place on First Street. Why?”

“He took her to that dive?”

Turner looked concerned, but answered, “Yeah, you know him. He doesn’t spend a lot until he knows if the girl’s worth it.”

“She’s not a damn prostitute,” Cary growled.

Turner’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t say . . . I’m missing something here. Do you know Chloe Sanders?”

“What the hell does that matter?” He might have accepted the whole Room Six thing was real, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. Nope. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“It . . . doesn’t.” Turner paused, now looking even more confused. “I’m just trying to make sense of this.”

“Well, just stop. There’s nothing to make sense of.”

“I don’t know,” Turner said, confused. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Cary turned to leave. But to do what? What right did he have to barge in on Danny’s date?

He got back to his car, and when he dropped into the seat, he felt the tape pull off a good three inch strip of hair as the bandage loosened on his leg. And damn, it hurt.

Then he looked down at his leg. A dark blotch of blood had soaked into his gray sweats. Oh, just friggin’ great.

He needed to go home.

Change his bandage.

Drink a few beers.

Forget that Danny was getting lucky with a gorgeous brunette angel he’d met in his close encounter with Heaven.

• • •

Chloe looked away from Dan’s sexy smile and pretended to need a drink just to pull her hand out from under his . . . again. Either the man was slow at getting hints, or he’d never been turned down before.

Noting his good looks, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. In her head, she started planning ways of dropping the bomb.
It’s me, not you. Wrong time of the month. I suddenly have a migraine. Sorry, I just had an afterlife experience with your partner and he’s the only guy I want crawling on top of me right now.

The dinner plates had been cleared and they were waiting on the tiramisu. Just one. No way could she eat more than a couple of bites.

She wanted the date to end.

Setting her glass of water down, she found him still staring at her. “Red is definitely your color.”

“Thanks.” She had a feeling she was going to have to spell it out for him, and the sooner the better. Heck, maybe she should offer to pay for the bill. That usually sent the message.

The waiter showed up and served a huge portion of the sweet concoction. Danny took a spoon and scooped up a big bite, then leaned over and put the utensil to her lips.

Okay, this was odd. She started to tell him no, but it felt too rude, so she opened her mouth and accepted the offering.

“She can’t feed herself?” The voice came at her side.

Mouth full of sugary goo, she looked up. The shock of seeing Cary Stevens there had some of the goo going down her throat and some wanting to spill out.

Chapter Eighteen

Cary had bypassed the hostess asking him if he needed a table, as she’d given him a disdained look. Evidently his bloodstained sweats and gray T-shirt didn’t meet the dress code. He moved into the restaurant, spotted Danny and Chloe, and stopped a few tables away.

Why was he so pissed?

He recalled Beatrice Bacon saying they were connected. But that was a crock of shit. He was pissed because . . . because Chloe Sanders didn’t deserve to be “Dannied.”

He and Turner had coined a name for it. Basically, it meant a woman had been wined, dined, screwed, and dumped. He never kept the same woman for more than three weeks.

Sure, before Reese, he and Turner had dated their share of women and it never went anywhere. But both of them were cautious as to what type of woman they dated. Women who knew up front and didn’t mind if the relationship never went anywhere. Women like Paula. Women that scratched your itch, but didn’t really care if you were shot or not.

Just like that, he noted that Chloe wore red. Red like Paula had on earlier. Chloe’s, however, was a much more sedate dress. But it was still red. Red for ready. And Chloe looked hot in it. Maybe Chloe wanted this. ‘This’ being more than her in-house, battery-operated boyfriend.

And Danny was going to be the lucky bastard to give it to her. Jealousy filled Cary’s chest. Damn it to hell and back. He didn’t do jealousy.

He’d been about to walk away when Danny scooped up a bite of dessert and held it to her lips. And there, in that one second, he saw hesitation in her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t so ready. And she still didn’t deserve to be Dannied.

“Cary?” Danny said. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t look at his partner. He was too busy watching Chloe try to swallow. She reached for the napkin in her lap, but it had slipped off and landed on the floor. He knelt down, never mind it hurt his leg, and handed the slip of cloth to her.

Their fingers met, and he felt it. That magical, emotionally-charged jolt of pure, raw attraction.

So why the hell had she gone out with Danny?

She jerked her hand back, napkin in tow, and pressed the dark material to her lips. He stood up.

“Shit,” Danny continued. “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”

He saw Chloe’s gaze shift to him and to his leg. Her almond-shaped eyes widened even more with what looked to be concern.

Concern.

Oddly, he’d expected to see just a little of that in Paula’s eyes, but nope, not a flicker. Her only concern had been that his dick still worked.