Divorced, Desperate and Dead (Divorced and Desperate Book 5) (23 page)

Cary cut off the engine and looked at the house as if checking it out and looking for potential danger. Chloe tried not to let Cary’s caution affect her.

“You got the key?” he asked.

“Yeah . . . well no, but she leaves it under the mat.”

He frowned. “Why do women think that’s safe? That’s the first place a burglar looks.”

Perhaps it was due to being shot at tonight, but for the first time, she felt a tingle of unease about being alone. Completely alone.

She wouldn’t even have Cupcake. Not that Cupcake offered any source of protection. But she was good company.

“Well, you’re going to go with me and make sure there’s not a burglar inside and then I’ll remove the key. Problem solved.”

He got out of his car, and she did the same. She stooped down and collected the key and unlocked it. The house smelled like home—like books. She ran her hand over the wall and hit the light switch.

She saw Cary look around, probably noting all the bookshelves. Her mom, having owned and run a bookstore most of her life, loved books. So much so that even after she sold the bookstore, she’d brought a fourth of her stock with her.

“Wow, your mom loves to read?”

“Everybody has a cause,” Chloe said. “Some people are tree huggers, some are all about saving dolphins or feral cats. My mom’s cause is books. Her motto is simple, ‘every book deserves a home.’”

Chloe walked a little farther into the living room and hit another light switch. “My parents ran a bookstore.”

“I know,” he said and moved closer to the shelves on each side of the fireplace.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I looked at your website.” He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “Is this you?” he asked, pointing to a whole shelf of her baby pictures.

“Yup,” she said and then moved in, hoping her mom had taken down the naked ones.

Nope. They were still there, including one of her standing up in a bubble bath, completely naked. One of her naked, face down on a blanket reading a book, her round bottom exposed. Another of her naked, hugging her first kitten.

“You were cute,” he said, glancing at her. “And you didn’t like clothes.”

“I guess we’re even,” she said.

“Even?”

“I saw you naked, now you’ve seen me.”

“I wouldn’t call that even,” he said, grinning.

She laughed, but the sizzle of his smile sent tingles down her spine. And that quick glimpse she’d gotten of him naked flashed in her mind.

He moved over to the other shelf and checked out the other pictures, but right then the phone rang.

“That will be my mom’s neighbors. Elsie and Evelyn. Twins. I think they’re a hundred years old now.”

She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Frances?” the elderly voice said.

“No, this is Chloe. Mom’s on a cruise.”

“Then who’s in her house.”

“I am. It’s okay.”

“Okay,” Elsie hung up.

Cary looked back at her. She smiled at him. “The two sisters . . . they work neighborhood crime patrol. Actually, they are the neighborhood crime patrol.”

He nodded then glanced back at the pictures. “You look like your dad.”

“Yeah.” She moved in and looked at the pictures of her and her dad. One with her wearing a cap and gown the day she graduated high school, several of family vacations.

Then there was the other one. The one that still brought a tear to her eye. The one of her and him on their last trip, deep-sea fishing.

“You like to fish?” Cary asked.

“He liked to fish,” she said. “I liked being with him. So I went fishing.”

“A daddy’s girl, huh?”

“One hundred percent.” She ran her finger down the side of the frame.

“He died four months after that picture was taken.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“He’d been having headaches. Went to the doctor and was diagnosed with brain cancer. It was inoperable. And fast. And so damn unfair.” She swallowed the tightness.

For the first time, she wondered if that was part of the reason she was so damn angry at Jerry. People out there were fighting to live. People who would do anything for just a little hope, a little more time. And then there were those who just gave up. Took their life as if it meant nothing—and for reasons no one even understood.

“Until you’ve been there . . . loved someone and were told there were no options, no hope . . . it’s hard to understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” he said. “I lost my mom to cancer. They found it too late. They said the only thing they could do was make her comfortable. And the doctors sucked at doing that, too. She suffered.”

She looked at him, feeling his pain. “How long ago?”

“Almost fifteen years,” he said. “I was fourteen. We’d lost my dad in a car accident three years earlier. So it was pretty tough.”

“Fourteen? Who raised you?”

“My sister.” He got a sad smile on his face. “The bossy one, with the daughter who loves your books,” he said. “She was twenty-one and suddenly became the parent of two teenagers.”

“Wow, that couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” he said. “Not once have I ever heard her complain.”

Chloe smiled, remembering meeting his sisters. “She didn’t seem bossy.”

“She is, and she drives me crazy at times, yet whenever I get frustrated, my other sister, Beth, reminds me that Kelly put her life on hold to raise us. If she’s mothering us, it’s because she sort of was our mother.”

“Sounds as if they both care a lot about you. That’s nice to have.”

“Did you miss the part about her driving me crazy?”

She chuckled.

“You don’t have any siblings?” he asked.

“Nope, I’m an only child. Hence my selfish nature.” She grinned.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Maybe I just haven’t seen that side of you, but I don’t see you as selfish. But the only child syndrome explains your books a little more. Did you have imaginary friends when you were young?”

“If I say yes, will you think I’m crazy?”

He smiled. “Maybe. But I think I could like your kind of crazy.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft, less heat than the one at the bakery—as if he didn’t want to pressure her. Yet for some unknown reason, it almost seemed more intimate. As if this time together had brought them closer.

She wanted that so badly. The connection. Ahh, but she also wanted the heat.

She opened her mouth and deepened the kiss—asking for more.

She asked. She received.

His hand slipped around her back and bought her closer. His tongue moved against hers, tasting sweet like syrup. Her breasts came against his chest. And she felt her body respond to the closeness. Felt her nipples tighten.

His hand shifted down to her bottom, and ever-so-slightly, brought her pelvis closer to his tightness. A thought ran amuck in her head: She wanted that, too. Wanted to make love to him.

Realizing where this was leading, and not sure she was ready, she pulled back and put her fingers on top of his lips. “I’m sorry. I. . .” She inhaled, trying to find a way to say what needed to be said when she wasn’t even sure what that was.

He glanced down at her. “I should go, huh?”

She swallowed, and fought back the need to tell him he could stay. “I . . .”

He took a small step back. Taking the warmth and thrill of his nearness away. “It’s okay.”

No it isn’t
. But she didn’t say anything.

“I get it. Too soon. It’s okay.” He ran a finger over her lips, still wet with his kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning. You’ve got my number. Call me if . . . you need anything.”

He got to the door, had it open, with one foot out, and . . . God help her, she didn’t know what inspired her to do it, but the words just slipped out.

“So, you’re not afraid of me anymore?”

He stopped. His back was to her so she couldn’t see his face. But she noted the tightening in his shoulders.

For a second, she thought he would just leave. Pretend as if she hadn’t said anything.

But he brought his foot back inside. For a long second he kept his hand on the doorknob—as if deciding to run or not.

He exhaled. She heard it and it sounded as if he’d resigned himself to something. But was it to get the hell out or to stay?

With his back still facing her, he shut the door. The sound rang too loud in the night’s silence. And in that stillness of those long seconds, she found herself terrified that he would deny remembering any of it.

Then slowly, he turned to face her.

Chapter Twenty-five

So you’re not afraid of me anymore?

Chloe’s question bounced around Cary’s head. The answer shot back.

Hell, yes.Even more so now.

He looked at her and he felt like a coward for not being the one to say something first, but how did one go about asking if she remembered meeting him in the afterlife?

Cary knew they couldn’t keep talking around it. But damn it, talking about it felt crazy.  He met her blue eyes.

“Sorry,” she said. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to point out the big pink elephant in the room.”

“It’s a crazy elephant.” He ran a hand over his face.

“I know.”

He reached back and rubbed his neck. “I thought it was just a . . . dream.”

“Me, too. Then Dan and your other friend showed up at my door. So I convinced myself that I must have heard something about you being shot. But I had to see for myself. That’s why I went to the hospital.”

“I told myself I must have heard about your accident on the news—that you weren’t blue-eyed and beautiful. Then you walked into my hospital room, knocked me on my ass, and busted my balls.”

She smiled. “I had you down as a retiring cop with a pot belly.”

He studied her. Damn if her smile didn’t just reach down inside his gut. It hit him again, that feeling, as if he wanted to pull her in his arms and hold her, protect her. Not just from the Black Bloods, but from life. The pain of losing her father, the insecurities of having someone she loved kill himself. He wanted to convince her how good she was at writing and make her sit down and pound out the next book and the next.

He put a hand on his stomach. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She went and sat on the sofa, and somehow sensing the invitation, he joined her.

“Were you already a believer?” she asked.

“In Room Six?” he asked.

“No, I mean, not just Room Six, but the afterlife?”

“Yeah. But it still threw me for a loop.”

“Me, too.”

“And when she keeps popping up, I mean, it really makes you question your sanity.”

“Who keeps popping up?” she asked.

Okay, now he was feeling even crazier. “Beatrice Bacon. I keep seeing little ol’ ladies who look like her.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Probably.” She bit down on her lip. “This might sound bad, but I don’t really want to share this with a lot of people.”

He chuckled. “Oh, hell no. They’d think we were bat-shit crazy.” And he might be, since she hadn’t been seeing any elderly angels.

She nodded and looked right at him. And right then, he didn’t care if he was crazy. Damn she was beautiful. He wanted to kiss her again, but she’d made it clear she wasn’t ready for that. Was he?

“I’m not looking for promises,” she said. “I sort of gave up on that with Jerry.”

He glanced at her and everything inside of him said she deserved promises. She deserved better than Jerry. She deserved better than what he was offering.

“What are you asking for?”

• • •

J.D. parked in the back of a restaurant two blocks up from where he needed to be. He didn’t want to chance anyone seeing and recognizing his truck. Picking up his phone, he looked at the time. Taking a deep breath, he considered calling to check on Carlos, but Moses had said he’d call when he had news.

God, he hoped the news was good. Closing his eyes, he remembered the water stain that looked like an angel’s face. If she was looking after anyone right now, he hoped it was Carlos.

He didn’t think he could live knowing Carlos had died because of him. Looking out into the dark night, he realized he might not have to live with it. His plan wasn’t a sure bet. In truth, this was a shot in the dark. He didn’t even know who was working this corner.

He reached down under the passenger seat for his gun.

It felt heavy in his hand. Sticking it in the waist of his jeans, he tucked his white hair under the rim of a hat and tugged it low over his face, then got out.

Moving into the alley, he kept his head low. He heard people talking and he slowed his steps to make sure it wasn’t some of the gang. Sometimes they had members do lookout. If they did, he was screwed.

He spotted a couple of homeless guys leaning against another closed down establishment. Nothing seemed to make it on this side of town. Nothing but girls selling their bodies and gang members selling drugs. And half the time, it was the girls buying the drugs. Or swapping sex for a hit. A lot of the gang members did that.

J.D. had never done it. Carlos had tried to talk him into it one night, but he’d backed out at the last minute. Not that he hadn’t done ‘it’ as in sex before. He had. Twice. But he didn’t really like any of the girls. They always teased him about being albino. Except that one girl, Tracie. She was nice. He felt sorry for her. He could tell she didn’t like selling her body.

A few cars passed at the end of the street, spraying light onto the dark streets. Probably a couple of people looking to score—sex or drugs.

He moved closer to the building, hoping not to be spotted. Hoping to be able to see which of the gang members worked this corner.

Let it be Pablo, he thought, and imagined the angel on his ceiling. Please let it be Pablo.

• • •

“What are you asking for?” he repeated the question.

Chloe had to stop and think.

“To know that I’m not . . . just another notch on your belt.”

He reached over and took her hand in his. “You would never be that.”