Double Trouble (22 page)

“That was some play. You still got it, Sugar,” Boone said as he opened the door to his Mustang. He tugged on her hat as she climbed in. “And you’re kinda cute with the long black braids. You might need to keep the wig when this gig is over.”

“For more undercover gigs?”

He slid into the driver’s side. “Forget I said that.”

“Ah, but you did. Which means you’re starting to accept the truth.”

She still couldn’t believe that Boone had shown up to watch her game. And the fact that he’d seen her winning throw . . . Whatever he said, he still rooted for her.

“
Accept
is such a wide term. Let’s say,
realize
. I wouldn’t even stretch it to
tolerate
.”

“Using your charm again, huh?”

“As much as I can spare.” He pulled away from the ballpark. “Want to change clothes?”

“No
 
—I have an idea. Let’s pick up a pizza from Hal’s, take it over to Connie’s. I need a peace offering.”

“You might need more than pizza, Sugar. Connie’s still fuming about everything that happened with Boris.”

PJ toed off her shoes, leaned back, and put her feet up on the dash. “That’s an understatement. But at the moment I’m more concerned about Gabby. Last night she came out into the rain sort of confused. She seemed to get me mixed up with Dally.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“She knows who I really am. And it’s more than confusion. I caught her acting out a scene from
Please Don’t Eat the Daisies
earlier this week, almost as if she believed it.”

“
Please Don’t Eat the Daisies
?”

“It’s a Doris Day movie. Who, by the way, Gabby says she knew.” PJ sighed. “I’m worried that all this time she
has
been losing her mind. Maybe just a little. And right now she could be lighting something on fire, maybe wandering around, getting lost. The first time we met, she must have been outside
 
—otherwise, how could she have heard me screaming? It’s always bugged me.”

“She
is
pretty old. What is she, a hundred?”

“No one could ever accuse you of being politically correct, could they?”

“Sorry.”

“The woman is more spry than I could ever hope to be. She’s over eighty, though.”

“Then it’s time for her mind to give out. It happens.”

She glanced at him, wondering if he was thinking about his mother. Only his mother’s mind had fractured long before
even her fifties and had more to do with her daily dose of vodka martinis than her age.

“Evelyn, Gabby’s daughter, is looking for a reason to put her in a home. And I hate to be the one who gives it to her.” PJ took off her cap, longing to take off the wig too. Soon.

Boone reached over, patted her knee. “That’s the one thing we can count on. Your good intentions.”

“What do they say about the road to hell . . . ?” PJ covered her face with her hands. “Not only that, but I blamed Missy and Sammy for kidnapping me, and now I don’t think it’s either of them. I suppose it could be this Roy fella that Gabby saw, although if she’s losing her mind, who knows what she saw? Besides, apparently, he’s a
cop
.”

“A
cop
is after you?”

“Besides you, I mean.”

“I’m not after you. Or at least . . . whatever. You’re not going back to Dally’s tonight. Maybe never.”

Great. She said nothing as they merged onto 394 toward Kellogg. Finally, “Why did you come out to the game, anyway?”

Again, he didn’t speak. Instead he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

She watched his chest rise and fall, and hers tightened. “Is it Boris?”

He shook his head. Pursed his lips. Sighed.

“You’re freaking me out.”

“It’s us, Peej. It’s me.” He tapped his brakes as they exited at the Kellogg sign.

The noise in the car cut in half, and she could nearly hear her own heart beating.
Us?
Me?

“Maybe I am accepting some truths. Like . . . you’re not
ready.” He glanced at her. “And I’m afraid of pushing you away.”

PJ met his eyes and nodded. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Boone.”

“Feels that way.” His jaw tightened. “Frankly, I’m not sure you even want me in your world.”

“That’s not true. You can’t believe that. Really?” She reached over and wove her fingers through his.

“When I came up to you at the game, I thought maybe you were expecting someone else.”

He let her fill in the blank, but by his expression, it wasn’t hard for her to guess whom he assumed she’d expected. “No, Boone, I was just surprised. . . . I didn’t think you knew about my game.”

He sighed. “I think . . . What if I took off the pressure? What if I . . . withdrew my proposal?”

She yanked her hand away. “You can’t do that.”

“I can’t?” He glanced at her. “I think I can.”

“No, you can’t. It’s like . . . taking back a Christmas gift.”

“One that you haven’t opened yet.”

“Yes, but you put it under the tree with my name on it
 
—you can’t just take it back. It’s unethical.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is it even legal?”

Although she couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark glasses, she could imagine them going wide. He managed to keep his smirk from turning into a smile. “Yes. I think it’s legal.”

PJ folded her arms. “It shouldn’t be. You give a girl a proposal, she has the right to answer it before you yank it away.”

“Then answer me,” he said softly.

PJ closed her eyes.

He turned in to Hal’s and got out. “I’ll pick up a couple of take-and-bakes.”

“And a couple two-liters, please,” she mumbled.

He disappeared into Hal’s.

“Then answer me.”

“Answer me.”

She stared at the sky, still pale blue like Boone’s eyes, no cloud in sight. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Her guy showing up at her softball games, cheering her on, buying her pizza? wanting to spend the rest of his life with her?

He deserved an answer.

Or maybe she didn’t deserve his proposal.

He returned, holding the two-liters under one arm, balancing two pizzas with the other.

She reached for the pizzas, set them on the backseat, then grabbed the sodas and cradled them in her lap.

They didn’t speak as they drove to Connie’s.

Boone pulled up. Stopped the car. “I need an answer or I’m taking it back.”

“Which is sort of an answer too.”

“No. I put out the question. But I can’t live waiting for an answer. It . . . hurts too much.”

She looked at the floorboards. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, Peej. Maybe it’s just too soon. Maybe we need more time.”

Yes, maybe. Although, deep inside, in a place she didn’t want to acknowledge, a dark truth lingered. Time might not be enough. She was never going back to the person she had been.

She swallowed and got out of the car. “Are you coming in?”

He ground his jaw tight. “Do you want me to?”

She stared at him, saw everything she’d always dreamed of in his beautiful blue eyes
 
—love, longing, even regret.

Oh, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to return to Kellogg, fling herself into Boone’s open arms, and feel a sort of completion, as if she’d come full circle. But even as he looked away, his eyes closing, as the summer heat beaded on the back of her neck, she tasted the chill building between them, like the trudge from autumn to winter, subtle but turning their relationship from something sweet and heady to crisp and icy.

She opened her mouth, but it stuck there, her pleading for him to understand. To believe in her. To look forward instead of behind.

She didn’t look at him as she turned and walked up the stairs, every step tearing her heart from her chest.

Connie’s front door was unlocked, and PJ shoved one two-liter under her arm as she pushed it open.

An angry voice spilled out. “
 
—following me, Boris. I saw you.”

PJ stilled just inside the door. Casey Whitlow, his outline blocking a view of Boris, stood in the kitchen, his back to her. Sweat dribbled down the back of his white T-shirt, and he held out his hand as if he held
 
—

“I should just shoot you now.”

A gasp, and PJ’s gaze turned toward Vera, clutching Davy to her, hands over his chest, her own eyes wide. Clearly they’d just come in from the backyard, what with Vera’s gardening shirt covered in dirt and Davy in a swimsuit, dripping wet from the sprinkler.

Where was Connie? and Sergei?

Casey let out a word that should have made Vera cover Davy’s ears; then he motioned them closer with his gun.

PJ shook her head when Vera glanced at her. Thankfully, Casey didn’t turn as Vera shuffled over to Boris. PJ crept inside, sidling over to the stairs, heart in her throat.

Outside, she heard Boone’s car pull away.
No!
Why hadn’t she insisted he come in?

“Did you think I wouldn’t see you sneaking around my lot, Boris? following me? What did you think you saw?”

She wasn’t sure where to move. Or how. And from this position, PJ spied Casey’s weapon
 
—a gun that looked a lot like Boone’s Glock.

“Nichevo,”
Boris said, but his eyes didn’t look like they’d seen nothing. No, they looked like twenty years of Russian law enforcement, hard and dark as Boris moved in front of his wife, his grandchild. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard.

“Speak English.”

“I no see anyzing,” Boris said quietly. He held his hands up, but he wore a flinty look that made PJ realize that only Casey’s gun gave the younger man an advantage.

Until Davy caught sight of her from the corner of his eye.

“Auntie PJ!” Davy ripped free from Vera’s hold and lunged toward her before Boris or even Casey could stop him.

Casey turned, his dark eyes narrowing on PJ even as she caught Davy with one arm and turned him away. “Run upstairs and play, little man,” she said softly.

Davy looked at her for a moment, then to her shock, ran upstairs. She heard a door slam, shaking the house.

And then only the thunder of her own heartbeat.

“Welcome home, PJ,” Casey said in an oily tone.

PJ surrendered when he motioned her into the kitchen with his gun. She had set down one bottle of soda but still clutched the second in a death grip.

“What are you doing, Casey?”

Sweat dribbled down from the edge of his cap, a trickle of stress, dragging with it the sludge of grease. He was a hostage taker on edge, the kind she’d seen in movies or on
Law & Order
 
—she probably watched that too often
 
—who ended up shooting his victims before turning the gun on himself. What was the first rule of hostage negotiation? Oh no
 
—she hadn’t gotten that far in her field manual. She was still on “How to Lose a Tail.”

Or maybe, how to lose a man. If only she’d had an answer for Boone, he’d be right here. . . .

“I’m trying to figure out why your Russian here is following me.”

“Maybe he likes you. . . . Nah, that can’t be it.” Oh, she couldn’t help it! Why did she have such a stupid mouth?

Or worse, why hadn’t she listened to her instincts about Casey and Allison and blabbed them to Boone? She was so good at doing it for every other crazy thought.

“They found her body last night in the Kellogg harbor.”

Probably now wasn’t the time to accuse Casey of Allison Miller’s death. But she put it all into her eyes as she obeyed and sidled up to Vera.

“I saw him following me
 
—in his flashy black Vic.”

Her Crown Vic? It wasn’t flashy. Just . . . large.

Boris didn’t move. Not a muscle in his face or his body.

Casey lifted the gun, pressing it against Boris’s forehead. “Who are you working for?”

Everything inside PJ coiled tight.

Vera gasped.

Boris’s jaw twitched.

Oh, why hadn’t she asked Boone to come in? Why . . . ? Except . . .

“She was working for me
 
—sort of an informant on an investigation.”

Her breath caught.
Boone had sent Boris to track down his car thieves.
Just like he’d used Allison as a source of information
.

Boris was working for
Boone
.

“No vone.”

Boris said it so softly, nonplussed, that PJ had no doubt he had a past buried somewhere in Russia that said he knew exactly how to stare down death.

Vera put a hand over her heart.

“Then I’ll start with her.” Casey turned the gun on Vera and, with the smallest of breaths in, pulled the trigger.

Except, PJ had seen his breath, and right before the shot cracked the air, she swung her soda bottle. Up and around like a fast pitch, it came down across Casey’s arm, just like Jeremy had taught her.

Granite chipped off the counter in a spray of needle-thin shards.

Vera screamed.

Boris leaped. He slammed Casey onto the tile floor, cracking his head against the surface. He finished off with a swing across Casey’s jaw that made PJ wince.

And right then Boone flew in from wherever he’d been
hiding and yanked the gun from Casey’s hand. Boris landed another punch before he let Boone haul him off.

Vera leaped into Boris’s arms as Boone tucked the gun into his belt. “Don’t move, Casey. For your own good. I have a feeling he’s not quite done yet.”

Casey wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth but didn’t move.

“What are you doing here?” PJ sputtered. “I thought
 
—”

Boone gave her an enigmatic look. “You left the pizza in my car.” He lifted a shoulder. “You may not love me, but I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Her mouth opened. “Boone, I don’t
 
—”

“What is going
on
?” Connie stood in the doorway, clutching a bag of groceries.

Sergei bumped up behind her, looking suddenly ferocious as he stared first at his mother weeping in his father’s arms, then at Casey lying on the floor.

Boone hauled Casey to his feet. “It’s all over, Connie,” he said, his voice turning professional.