So About the Money (38 page)

Holly: Okay, so you can incorporate anywhere, but there’s something that’s not right. The companies don’t do anything except move money around.

She could hear JC’s derisive snort, his snide comments about civilians and investigations.
Stay out of my investigation unless you have something tangible to add.
 

All she had was suspicions and theories.
 

If she was going to talk to JC, she’d better have something real to tell him. Unless and until she had conclusive proof Tim was doing something illegal or illicit—or even that he might be having an affair—she wasn’t going to say a word about any of it to Detective JC Dimitrak.
 

She’d painted a wide strip next to the ceiling and had almost finished the wall around the windows when the doorbell sputtered.
Thank God
. Gwen and Laurie. Reinforcements to help her move the blasted contraption.
 

She hesitated at the edge of the scaffold. She knew she ought to go peek through the side window and personally open the door, but it was her friends, right on schedule. “Come in.”
 

The bell
britzed
again.

She rested the brush against the scaffold crossbeam.
Dammit, don’t make me climb down
. “It’s open.”

The front door flew open. JC’s leather-clad shoulders did an excellent job of filling the doorframe. Faded jeans clung to muscular thighs and lean hips. He stepped into her foyer. The overhead light danced across the subtle highlights in his hair and accentuated the planes of his face.

Yummy.
 

Her mouth went dry while other parts had a different reaction.
 

He propped his hands on his hips. The movement revealed a pistol-free waistline.
 

She unstuck her tongue long enough to lick her lips. She ought to smack herself upside the head to get her brain functioning, but given the paintbrush, that could get messy. “I take it this isn’t an official visit.”

He clenched his teeth so tightly she was afraid she might have to call for the jaws of life to reopen them—which would be a real waste of that infinitely kissable mouth.
 

“Let me get this straight.”

Uh-oh
. It was his cop voice. Completely cool and detached.
 

“Not only did you not lock your door, but without knowing who it was, you yelled ‘Come on in’?”

Oh, yeah.
This
was why she shouldn’t start dating him again.
 

Right
, snickered her inner teenager.
 

“And your point is?”
 

He pushed the door closed, then twisted the deadbolt. “It’s a simple process called Locking The Door. I know you aren’t stupid. What is it that you don’t get about this whole situation?”

Holly gaped at the furious man. “Which ‘situation’ are you referring to? The investigation? The unfortunate incident in the parking lot?”
 

Their quasi-reunion?

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” he ground out.

Good thing the pistol had been optional tonight, given how pissed off he was.
 

Her hand tightened around the paintbrush. For a long second, she considered winging the brush at him, but then she’d have to climb down to retrieve the damn thing, which meant she might get close enough to touch him. That could get even messier, and she had more than enough paint on her already.

He dragged a hand down his face. “Goddamn it, you couldn’t keep your pretty little nose out of my investigation and now some nutcase is gunning for you. So I’ll make it real simple. Lock your doors. Check to see who it is before you unlock one, much less open it.”
 

Typical. One weak moment on her part—she
knew
she’d regret leaning on him in that parking lot—and he thought he could order her around. She shook the paintbrush at him, although she really, really wanted to throw it. “Who do you think you are? What makes you think for even one
tiny
little minute you can tell me what to do?”
 

“You know exactly who I am.” He advanced on her like a purposeful panther, all barely restrained power and gliding athleticism. “I’m the cop who can’t keep his mind on his work because he’s worried about what some pain in the ass CPA is going to do next.”

“And this is
my
fault?” She glared at him.
 
“No one asked you to worry.”

“That’s one of the things I worry about most.”

She straightened, stunned. His face was saying a lot more than that. It said he was totally into her. Every female part of her jumped up and down in response, going “Ooh, ooh!”
 

“This isn’t a game of Clue.” His tone approached
growl
. “Stay out of my investigation.”

“Need I remind you, you’re the one who dragged me into it?
You’re
the one who found my language skills so convenient.”

“Damn it, Holly. That’s not the point. Did you blank out the part where someone tried to run over you last night?”

“That was an accident.”

“An
accident
?” His hands swept through an exasperated motion. “What is it going to take to get through to you?”

“There’s nothing to
get through
.” She stabbed the air with her paintbrush for emphasis, which JC completely ignored.
 

“Someone tried to
kill
you. And what do you do? Do you take any precautions?” He threw out his hands. “Hell, no. Not only do you leave the damned door unlocked, you yell at the fucking thing for any maniac in the world to just ‘come on in.’”

“Yeah, and look at what maniac walked in.”

His eyes narrowed. “Lose the paintbrush and get down here.” He jabbed a finger at the floor. “Now.”

“No.” Her pulse pounded in her temples and her fingernails dug into her already sore palms. “I have stuff I need to do and it doesn’t involve you.”

“Like hell. You’re gonna tell me exactly what you’re up to.”

“I’m not
up to
anything. I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt me. I’m not convinced someone is.”
 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” He looked as though he was ready to pull her off the platform and shake her. “And if you halfway figure something out, would you tell me? Of course not.”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” She glared at him through the charged atmosphere. “And for the record, I am
not
messing in your investigation.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell making
someone
nervous.”

“Sounds to me like that person is you. What’s the matter? Frustrated I won’t let you make up the rules anymore?”
 

“You’ve thrown that line in my face one time too many.” His chest rose and fell on sharp inhalations. His muscles bunched under his jacket, reminding her how powerful he was. “You may not like it, but I have rules for a reason, and it’s usually a good one.”

“Really.” She slammed her hands onto her hips and winced at the protest from her sore palm. “How frickin’ convenient. You have rules until they get in the way of something
you
want.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Figure it out. You’re the hotshot detective.”
 

He stalked across the floor, wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her off the scaffold.
 

“Get your hands off me.” She wiggled free, and shook the paintbrush at him.

He threw up his hands and headed wordlessly for the door.
 

“That’s right. Walk out. You’re good at that.” The words were out before she could swallow them.
 

He spun. “Wait. Are you saying
I
walked out on us? That it was
my
fault?” He gave her an incredulous stare. “That’s rich. Since you’ve conveniently forgotten, let me remind you.
You
dumped
me
.
You
left.”

She threw the paintbrush on the floor. Paint splattered, ignored. “
Me?
You have the nerve to stand there and blame our breakup on
me
?”

“I asked you to
marry
me. I wanted to build a life, a family, but all you could see was the big city and the bright lights.”

“And like a fool, I said yes to marriage, but
after college
. I asked you to come with me to Seattle, but, no, you always had to be the one in charge. It always had to be
your
way. And in case
you’ve
forgotten, I may have left, but I came back.”

She stopped, afraid angry tears might overwhelm her. She’d come home that night to talk to him, to surprise him. Well, she’d surprised him all right. She’d walked into his apartment and found him on the sofa with Meredith.
 

If he’d hoped to make her jealous, it hadn’t worked.
 

If he’d wanted to break her heart, it was an Oscar-winning performance.

“It didn’t mean anything.” He’d clearly followed her thoughts down memory lane.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t you realize that makes it even worse?” She opened them to stinging pain. “You
cheated
on me. How was I supposed to trust you? And in case you’ve forgotten, you
married
her. I hope it meant
something
.”

“I screwed up! Is that what you want to hear?” With two quick steps, he towered over her. Anger radiated around him. “And yeah, when you dumped me, I got shit-faced drunk and turned to someone else. It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ve paid for it in more ways than you’ll ever know. But aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I remember every detail of that night.”
Every heartbreaking, gut-wrenching second
.

“No, you don’t. You remember what you wanted to see—me with someone else. That way you can lay all the blame on me.”
 

“You’re saying it was
my
fault you ran around behind my back?”
 

“I was with her because— You. Walked.
Out
.” His voice rose with each word until he was shouting.
 

“Did you come after me? Did you even try to call?” she yelled back. “Hell, no. I came home because like an
idiot
I thought we still had a chance to make things work. I’d been gone one goddamn day, and I found you screwing another woman!”

“You told me we were
over
. You threw the fucking ring at my head. I was angry. Hell, I was furious.”
 

“I asked for time to think and you said no.”
 

“Think about
what
? We were crazy in love.”
 

“That was never the question. At least
I
thought it wasn’t a question.”

“No,” he overrode her. “The question was, I asked you to marry me and you didn’t love me enough to say yes.”
 

“That’s not true. I’ve always loved you.”
 

Oh, shit.
Had she said that out loud?
 

The expression on his face—shock, satisfaction, and—
oh God
, was that a smidge of hope?—said far too much.
 

Her throat tightened with a strangling squeeze. She swallowed past the painful lump. “The issue wasn’t love. It was you and your damn rules.”

Just like that, the spark in his eyes vanished.
 

She plowed ahead. She’d waited six long years to say this, and she was going to get it all out. “You wanted to decide everything. Where we lived. Where we worked.
If
I worked. Everything! You never listened to my dreams. Never cared what I wanted.”
 

They glared at each other, bristling like a pair of junkyard dogs.
 

Slowly his expression changed from furious to grim, a look of raw pain in his eyes.
 

She didn’t know what to say. In spite of everything he’d put her through—the tears, the hurt, the loneliness, all of it—she still loved him.