Divorced, Desperate and Dead (Divorced and Desperate Book 5) (32 page)

He stayed at the table, listening. Not wanting to be nosy but wanting to make sure everything was okay. As terrible as it sounded, he didn’t want her to take off to Florida. He wanted her . . . here. He . . .

It hit then. He needed her here. He needed Chloe Sanders. Needed her to make him feel complete. Needed her to make him feel . . . like his old self.

That was a scary thought. Needing another person. But he didn’t deny it.

Her smile into the phone told him that things were fine. When she looked up, he winked at her, picked up their plates, and moved into the kitchen.

Dropping the dishes into the sink, he spotted his phone. It buzzed with a message. He picked it up and saw it was from . . .  Shit. Paula.

Immediately, guilt went right to his chest. He needed to tell her it was over. He read the message. “Want some company? I’ll land in Houston in an hour.”

He looked over his shoulder to make sure Chloe wasn’t about to walk in, then he picked up his phone to text her back. His fingers hung over the tiny screen. He knew what he wanted to say: It’s over. Have a good life. That felt wrong somehow. He needed to call her and tell her over the phone.

So instead he typed out:
Not home now. But we need to . . . talk. I’ll call. Later.

Scared Chloe would catch him texting Paula, he quickly set his phone down.

He loaded the dishes in the dishwasher. When he finished he glanced again at his phone and suddenly and realized he’d neglected to check and see if he’d had any messages at work.

Dialing his office number, he hit the code to get his messages.

• • •

Chloe had just hung up when she heard Cary say a few four-letter words. He came running out of the kitchen, his phone to his ear. “Shit! I should have checked yesterday.”

“What?”

“One second.” He grabbed a pen to jot down something. He dialed again, frowned and started leaving a message. “It’s Cary Stevens,” he said. “Call me back at this number.”

He looked back up at Chloe. “That kid, J.D., he called me yesterday on my work phone. He wants to turn himself in, along with some evidence on who killed Marc Jones.”

“That’s good,” she said remembering him saying that was his goal, to catch the person who’d killed Marc.

He strode over, leaned down, kissed her, and darted into his bedroom. She followed. He grabbed clothes from his closet and made a call at the same time.

“Hey, J.D. Andrews called. I need to get his grandmother’s address. Yesterday. Yeah. Shit, I know.” Cary looked up at her and smiled as he now juggled talking on the phone and removing his long boxers. Naked, he opened a drawer and snagged a pair of underwear and one-handed, pulled them on.

“Then get it,” he said into the phone and stepped into his jeans, pulling them up. “Hell, yes, I’m going. I don’t give a shit. It’s my case. Fine, call Turner.” He hung up, slung his phone down on the bed, and zipped his pants up.

It hit then. What he did for a living. “Should I be worried?”

“Worried about what?” he asked and looked at the mirror, running a hand through his hair.

“About you,” she said. “He’s already shot you once.” She put her hand on her lips. “I just realized one of the downsides of dating a cop.”

“No. No.” He hurried over. “Don’t say that. I’m fine, Chloe.” He lifted her chin and looked her right in the eyes. “I’m going to be fine. Driving on the freeway is more dangerous than being a cop.”

She nodded and tried to believe it. His phone rang. Reaching back, he snagged it from the bed and looked at the number. “It’s Turner. I gotta take this. Okay?”

She nodded. “I just . . . I don’t want . . .”

He pulled her against him. “We’ll talk when I get back.” He pressed a quick kiss on her lips. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

His phone rang again. He took the call. “Hey. Yeah, I’m on my way. Did Danny get an address?” Pause. “Great . . .  No, we go in easy. He called me. No, he’s not blowing smoke up my ass.” Pause. “I just know. Okay, see you in five.” He hung up.

He grabbed a shirt from his bed, slipped it on and came back to her. “Work on your book and I’ll be back in no time.” He kissed her again. Soft. Sweet. “I want another chapter written. Your stripper muse insists on it.”

She nodded. “Call me, okay?”

“You bet.” He passed a finger over her cheek.

With her stomach in knots and heart heavy, she watched him leave.  Then just thinking of the danger he faced, she bolted and locked the door.

• • •

J.D. woke up, the sun already spraying in through the window. It must be about nine. He looked over at the food he’d bought last night: chips, a pack of cookies, and some pastries.

Realizing he’d made it through the night without Jax coming, he looked at the angel stain on the ceiling. “Am I just lucky, or are you helping me?”

His voice seemed to echo in the empty house.

Sitting up and leaning against the wall, he reached for the grocery bag. He’d left one pastry for his breakfast. But after this, he didn’t know when his next meal would be. He only had thirty bucks to his name, and today he had to buy a phone card and put gas in his truck.

It occurred to him that three months ago he’d joined the gang because he found himself in this same situation. He’d run away from the foster family. Living on the streets, hungry, and scared if he tried to get a real job the police would make him go back to the foster home. He’d let Carlos convince him to join the gang. His friend’s weed dealer had coerced him into joining a month earlier and he was making some good money.

Down deep, J.D. had sort of known it wasn’t a good thing, but out of options, he’d made a bad choice.

Of course, if he went to prison now, he wouldn’t need any money. He recalled what Carlos had said about Jax having friends and fellow gang members in prison. How long would he last there? What was the chance that this cop would make sure he got sent to a prison away from the Black Bloods? Still, wherever they sent him, if Jax wanted retaliation, he’d find someone to do it.

He picked up his phone to see if anyone had called or texted. The dang thing was dead. He must have accidentally butt-called someone. Which meant he was out of minutes.

“Goddamn it,” he growled and then looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry.”

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his frustration. It just meant he had to find a Wal-Mart earlier than he wanted to.

• • •

Ten minutes after Cary left, Chloe sat on his sofa, her laptop in her lap, trying to write. Her mind kept going to Cary, hoping he was safe. A thousand bad what-ifs rolled through her mind.

She wished she’d asked him if he was wearing a bulletproof vest.

Her phone rang and she shot up to snag it from the coffee table. It was Cary’s number.

“Hello?” she answered, her heart thumping.

“Hey . . . I found a text that came in a bit ago from Kelly saying she was coming after Pooch. I texted and asked her to wait and I’d drop him off later, but Bella texted me back saying she’d already left and had forgotten her phone. She has a key, or I’d tell you not to answer if you didn’t want to.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, not concerned about his sister coming over.

“Yes,” he said. “We’re down the street from J.D.’s grandmother’s house. We’re waiting on Turner. He’s only a few minutes away. I’ll call you when it’s over,” he said. “And nothing bad is going to happen, so don’t worry.”

“Are you wearing a bulletproof vest?”

“Chloe, I’m going to be fine.”

“Do you have a bulletproof vest?” she said, her tone sharp.

“Yes, Turner keeps them in his car.”

“Then wear one. Wear it for me.”

He was quiet for a second. “Careful. It sounds like you’re starting to care.”

His words had her heart spinning. “Would it be the end of the world if I am?” she said before she could stop herself.

“No,” he said. “We’ll talk when I get home.” She heard voices in the background. “I gotta go. Turner’s here. You get some writing done.”

He hung up.

Chloe leaned back on the sofa and wondered if she’d read Cary’s tone right when he’d said they’d talk. He sounded positive. Or was it wishful thinking and his game plan was to remind her that she’d told him she didn’t want promises?

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Ready to face Kelly, but not so much the questions about her and Cary’s relationship, she called Pooch and went to answer the bell.

She unlocked the door. It had only opened an inch when the slide bolt caught. She started to mutter an apology and shut the door, but a soft voice slipped through that little inch.

“You’d better hurry, big guy. I’m not wearing any panties.”

Chapter Thirty-five

Cary and Danny watched Turner park his car and get out. “I called it in,” he said. “If you want to handle it your way, we’d better do it now. But be warned, we don’t have a warrant. Chase is working on that as we speak.”

“I don’t think we’ll need a warrant,” Cary said. “He said he wants to turn himself in.”

“But he’s not answering his phone now,” Danny said as if that proved the kid was dirty.

Turner walked around and opened his trunk. “Vests anyone?” he asked, pulling one out for himself and glancing at them a little annoyed as if expecting he and Danny would both turn their noses up as they usually did.

It wasn’t as if Cary wanted to get shot, or to die, but he hated how the vest felt. Then he recalled the worry he’d heard in Chloe’s voice. Instantly, he knew that while he might not have wanted to die, he simply hadn’t felt he had a lot to live for.

Until now.

The thought of returning to Room Six and not making it out this time, of not having the opportunity of going home to Chloe, had him realizing the vest wasn’t that uncomfortable.

“Give me one,” Cary muttered.

Surprise filled both Danny and Turner’s expression as they stared at him, then Danny laughed. “The guy gets shot and turns into a wimp.”

“I disagree,” Turner said, his tone serious. “He got shot and got smarter.” He reached in his trunk and tossed a vest to Cary. Then he looked at Danny. “You should take his lead.” He reached in and threw another one at Danny.

Danny rolled his eyes, but this time, didn’t argue.

All three dressed for trouble, they checked their weapons, then started walking down the street.

• • •

You’d better hurry, big guy, I’m not wearing any panties
. The words echoed in Chloe’s head.

Chloe didn’t have a clue why she didn’t just slam the door and relock it. But she’d never been one to tuck tail and run. She unlocked the bolt, opened the door, and faced the pantiless woman. Who just happened to be a beautiful brunette.

Pooch growled.

Her come-and-get-me-loverboy expression dropped, along with the lacy black thong she twirled on the tip of her finger.

Chloe watched as the sexy underwear fluttered down and landed on Cary’s porch.  Then she watched Pooch run and snatch the panties up in his mouth and give them a good shake.

“Oh damn,” the woman’s muttered words brought Chloe’s gaze up. “Wait. Cary mentioned a sister. Tell me you’re the sister and that will make this so much less awkward.” She smiled.

Chloe didn’t smile. Her lips weren’t working, which meant she couldn’t answer either.  But the two words that spun around her brain and bounced on the tip of her tongue were:
He’s mine.

She held those words hostage in her mouth. She just stood there, jealousy spreading from one body part to the next.

“I don’t understand,” the woman muttered. “I texted him this morning and told him I was coming.”

This morning?
Right then logic intervened. She’d only known Cary a few weeks. This woman wasn’t the other woman. Chloe was.

Feeling like . . . like a fool, she tried to decide how one went about apologizing for this. Hadn’t he told her he wasn’t dating anyone? He’d obviously lied.

Chloe tightened her hold on the doorknob and her gaze lowered to Pooch, black thong still in his mouth, shaking it like it was alive. Swallowing, she glanced back up. “I . . . He . . . told me he wasn’t—”

“Sorry,” the woman said, almost as if she took the blame. And that made Chloe feel even worse. The woman swung around to go.

“Hey?” Chloe said. Her mind raced, wanting to explain.

The woman turned. And whatever Chloe was going to say flew out her mental window. Feeling like an idiot, she opened her mouth and words came out. “Uh. . . You . . . forgot your underwear.”

Not that Pooch was going to let her have them back.

“He can keep them.”

They locked eyes. Again, Chloe felt the need to explain. “I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t know he—”

“Hey . . . our relationship has pretty much met its life expectancy. Enjoy him while it lasts. He’s good, isn’t he?”  She sashayed off.

Chloe stood there, hurting, what had felt special now felt . . . dirty. Ashamed. Even if Cary’s girlfriend wasn’t furious at her, Chloe was furious at herself.

She was the other woman, who’d broken a relationship.  But he’d lied to her. He had. If he’d said there was someone, she wouldn’t have . . . slept with him.

Not that all the blame landed at his feet. She’d stepped into this pretty much knowing that Cary’s relationships all had expiration dates. Theirs just came a little faster than most.

She used her foot to guide Pooch back inside. She shut the door. Afraid the dog would swallow the thong, she tugged the panties from his teeth. Her eyes grew moist as she rushed to the kitchen garbage and tossed them. She closed her laptop, then hurried to the bedroom to pack her things and her cat.

• • •

J.D., deciding to head out, took his water bottle into the bathroom and rinsed out his mouth. He scrubbed his front teeth with his finger and then stared in the mirror. He’d left his toothbrush in the car, and had used it daily, but he hadn’t had toothpaste in almost a week. His teeth felt gummy.

He went to turn around, and he heard it. A loud thud. Loud enough to be someone trying to knock down the door. Heart pounding, he bolted back to the bedroom and found his gun.