Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (15 page)

And maybe she had trouble forgiving Maggie for doing the same thing to her, but that didn’t mean someone else got to do it to Maggie.

“Is this date really your way of prying into my life?” She studied Grant, catching the concern that flashed across his face before his cheeks dimpled.

“I have better ways to do that. I’m trying to get a clearer picture of who you are. I was surprised to see you at the hospital with Corrine.”

“And?”

“You showed up in two houses, unexpectedly. I guess I’m wondering what exactly you’re pursuing?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to expound, but he switched the topic to the church food drive coming up. Forcing herself to let his comment go, she chatted about the drive with him, but she couldn’t forget the apprehension she’d seen. Why did he care that she’d gone into the mayor’s house? That she’d went to see Corrine? He showed too much interest in the investigation against Owens for her to ignore. What was going through his handsome head?

***

Maggie woke Rachel when she walked in sometime during the night. Rachel hadn’t been sleeping deeply anyway. She kept hearing Grant’s laugh, kept seeing the way his gaze lingered on her during dinner. And the concert had been more than wonderful. It had been a hazy dream, fragile and liable to fade from existence the moment she woke.

He hadn’t made any moves on her, either. He’d treated her like a lady and dropped her off at the house without so much a kiss on the cheek. Now that had been a shocker, but it did a lot to uphold his new good-guy image. Rachel sighed, burrowing into her pillow.

A kiss from Grant was something she couldn’t allow herself to think about. She was almost asleep, her body heavy with exhaustion, when Maggie came home.

The door slammed, announcing her wayward sister’s arrival. Rachel grit her teeth. She swung her legs out of her bed, careful to avoid Miss Priss. Sitting up, she waited for her head to clear and then padded into the living room.

“Hey,” she hissed, stopping Maggie in her tracks. Rachel glanced at the clock. Two in the morning.  “I told you no partying.”

In the darkened living room, Rachel could barely make out Maggie’s face. Though her features were shadowed, the dark couldn’t hide the stench of whisky. Maggie’s silhouette wobbled.

“I’m home, alright,” she slurred.

As if that made any sense.

“You’re drunk.” Rachel slapped her palms against her hips. This was just like Maggie, to go and break one of the few rules she’d lain down. “Go to the bathroom before you throw up.”

Maggie laughed, a cold sound that hollowed out Rachel’s heart.

“Give me a little credit.” The outline of her body sank to the floor and Rachel huffed with exasperation, pushing her concern to the side. She marched to her sister, lifted her and half-carried, half-pulled her into the guest bedroom, flipping on the light as she passed the switch.

It was the first time she’d been in there since Maggie had moved in. The trim bed and spotless floor reassured her. At least Maggie had kept part of her bargain. Rachel laid her on the bed and began to pull off her shoes.

“Wait, I can do that.”

“Let me. You can’t even sit up.” Rachel couldn’t help the sympathy overriding her irritation. Even Maggie’s smile sagged. She was miserable. The realization slammed into Rachel, prodded her conscience. All this time she’d avoided Maggie because of Scott, because seeing Maggie brought back memories of the life she could have had. The man she could have loved.

The woman passed out on her guest bed didn’t resemble the monster Rachel wanted her to be.

It was just her older sister. The one who’d made her macaroni and cheese for dinner because Mom was too busy working. The one who’d burned the waffles and cleaned the bathrooms and taught Rachel how to put on makeup.

Rachel chewed her lower lip, listening to Maggie’s breathing deepen as she sank further into sleep.

God, I want to forgive Maggie. I do. I feel so bad about what happened with her and Mayor Owens. I should tell her I know all about it. But every time I see her I get so angry. So bitter. Letting it go is difficult for me.

Pray for her
. Resonating deep within, the words pulsed through Rachel, overruling her indecision. Her fingers bunched into the sheets. If it was what God wanted, she’d do it.  Licking her lips, her eyes fluttered closed as she offered the first prayer she’d said for her sister in five years.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rachel wasn’t going to stalk Grant.

Just a little visit to his house after stopping by Corrine’s. Visiting didn’t constitute stalking, right?

Rachel inched down the road that led to Corrine’s apartment. Traffic was light despite the lunch hour. Heat was keeping people inside.

She parked and traipsed up to the door. She lifted her hand to knock but the door opened before he knuckles touched the scarred wood. Corrine beckoned her in.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the apartment. Curtains were drawn and stale cigarette smoke flavored the air. The place needed a good cleaning. So did Corrine, for that matter. The woman’s hair ratted around her face and make-up smudged her cheeks.

Thanks to a still swollen face, Corrine couldn’t smile well, though Rachel wasn’t sure she would anyway.

“You texted me to stop by?” Rachel offered what she hoped was a sympathetic look.

“I just needed to say thank you. For helping me.”

“Okay, I get that.” Rachel met Corrine’s gaze, concern throbbing through her. “You’re welcome. Why are you home though? It’s not safe.”

Corrine fingered her hair. “I got new locks.”

“Do you feel safe?”

Corrine froze, fingers hovering near her battered face. A musty smell rose up from the carpet as Rachel waited.

Corrine’s head moved faintly. Side to side. No.

Rachel squelched the urge to gather Corrine in a hug. Grant needed to be called. He’d do something. “You should leave now. Find a hotel.”

A short, bitter laugh coughed out of the woman in front of her. “Right. With what money?”

“I’ll get you a hotel. Out of town.”

Corrine looked away, mouth pulled into a deep frown. “I don’t need handouts.”

“He’ll find you here,” Rachel persisted.

Corrine shrugged. She looked…resigned.

“We’re going to change this. You can stay with me.” As if propelled by some unseen force, the words plopped out of her mouth and landed in the middle of that dark living room.

Corrine shook her head.

A desperate feeling wedged in Rachel’s throat. Suddenly, helping Corrine represented something she couldn’t quite name. “I have room. Let’s pack a bag.”

She started forward, determined to save this woman from herself. What had the police been thinking anyway, letting her come back here?

Corrine touched her arm before she’d taken two steps. She shook her head at Rachel.

“Why?” Rachel demanded. “They know where you are. They’ll be back.”

Corrine’s phone chirruped from the couch. Flicking Rachel a quick, unreadable look, she snagged the phone and read the text.

“You have to leave.” She tossed the phone on her couch, marched over and pushed Rachel to the door.

“Now? Why?”

Corrine’s palm planted in the middle of Rachel’s back. Unsure what was happening, Rachel let Corrine push her out of the apartment.

“I hope everything is okay,” she managed to say before the woman shut the door in her face.

Great. She’d give anything to read that text. There were ways but it would probably take too much time.

She trudged out to her car, basking in the sun’s warmth, wishing it could melt the stiffness from her shoulders. Even the thought of covertly checking out Grant’s place didn’t ease the worry that lodged in her heart.

Did Grant know Corrine was home? That he could very well be investigating a murder soon?

After their date last night a compulsion to see where he lived, how he lived, gripped Rachel and she’d spent the morning trying to shake the feeling off. Like a persistent crush, the idea hounded her until finally she’d given up and called her mother, who happened to live near Grant and served a perfect excuse for her to be in the area.

She glanced at the hair supplies she picked up from Wal-Mart. They lay bunched in the passenger’s seat. Drop them off to her mother and then leave a different way, a way that conveniently passed Grant’s place.

She pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Mom’s. Of their own volition, her fingers picked Grant’s name on the screen of her phone. His number dialed. She put the phone to her ear and waited. It rang twice.

“Harkness,” he barked into the phone.

“It’s Rachel. Did you know Corrine is back at home?”

“Who?” Background noise drowned out his voice. It sounded like a scuffle.

Rachel swerved onto a back road that coasted through the woods and passed both her mother’s house and Grant’s, according to MapQuest.

Something clattered. Had he dropped his phone? “Grant, can you hear me?” Sighing, she waited for him to come back on the line.

“Hey, Rachel, now’s not a good time. Can I call you back?”

“Actually, this is really important. I think Corrine needs some security around her apartment. Police detail, something.”

“I really can’t talk. Call me later.” A broken yelp squeezed through the phone before being replaced by the click of Grant hanging up.

Scowling, Rachel ended the call and set the phone in her cup holder.

Maybe Charlie could do something about this. But did he have the clout? Probably not. She frowned and slowed as her mother’s driveway appeared. When she turned, dust puffed up behind her, coating her vehicle in grime. One more hazard of visiting Mom.

She parked, grabbed the Wal-Mart bags and then cruised into the trailer. Mom sat at the table,
People
magazine open and a cigarette smoking in her favorite ceramic blow-dryer shaped ash tray. Muted sunlight drifted through the grime-painted window beside the table.

“Here you go.” She plopped the bag on top of a pile of laundry left on the table. “Do you want help with anything before I go?”

“Nah.” Her mom plucked the bag up. “You got me the wrong brand.”

“Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter, I guess.” She heaved a sigh, gusting an unruly red strand of hair away from her face. “How’s your sister doing?”

“She hasn’t been by?”

“Not since last week.”

Rachel shrugged, eyes watering from the cigarette smoke. “Fine. Eating my ice cream.”

Mom grunted at that. Her eyes looked more tired than usual and when she reached for her cigarette, her fingers shook. An unwelcome spurt of concern filled Rachel.

“Are you sick?”

“Nope.” Her mother’s mouth rounded for a puff. Smoke weaved to the ceiling. “I’ve got worries and your sister’s making them worse.”

“Well, stop worrying.” Grudgingly Rachel reached over and laid a palm on her mother’s sloped shoulders. “She’s going to be fine, I promise.”

“I don’t know where I went wrong,” Mom murmured.

Rachel moved her hand, uncomfortable with her mother’s vulnerability and not knowing how to overcome the feeling. She didn’t say anything. She put her hands in the pockets of her capris and sealed her lips so the wrong words, truthful though they may be, wouldn’t leak out.

The ancient clock ticked seconds on the wall.

Should she tell Mom she hadn’t gone wrong? That Maggie was the way she was through no fault of her raising?

That would be a lie. A whopper of an untruth.

“You think I did y’all wrong, don’t you?” Mom’s eyebrows rose in attitude. She tapped her cigarette into the tray, then brought it to her lips again.

“Maybe things would’ve been different if Dad stuck around longer than a few months at a time,” Rachel offered.

Mom grunted and looked out the window.

“I’m going to head out now.”

Her mother didn’t even turn her head.

***

Rachel almost forewent the trip to Grant’s house. Stomach roiling, she turned the SUV around in Mom’s yard and crept away from the trailer, knowing her mother still sat at the table, staring out the window.

It hadn’t occurred to Rachel that her mother might have regrets. She always seemed like the type of person who’d rather point the finger than take the blame. Maybe she was growing up a little, maturing.

Rachel edged out of the yard and stopped at the apex of driveway and road. Turning left would bring her back toward town, toward home. If she went that way she’d stop by the police station and get someone out to Corrine’s.

A right would lead her past Grant’s. According to MapQuest on her phone, he lived about five miles away. Trees wreathed with Spanish moss loomed over the road, casting shadows as she considered her options. The air conditioner blasted as seconds puttered by.

Consumed by a need to learn more about Grant, she took a right. After a mile the road became twisty as ancient oaks and stately palms hugged the landscape. A deep swell of peace passed through Rachel as she drove through the scenery. No wonder Grant lived out here. A policeman’s job, whether in the city or in a small town, gouged holes in a person’s psyche. The need for beauty, for goodness, probably prompted him to buy this place.

He owned the house, according to property records she’d looked up. An interesting tidbit of information.

She slowed when she spotted a simple black mailbox ahead. No name on the side, only numbers. Private. Another facet to his personality.

Is that why she rubbed him wrong? Her job required stripping away the private lives of people to get to the truth. Cops didn’t do that. Not regular, on-the-streets guys. Maybe detectives, but Grant had been a homicide detective. He probably figured the dead didn’t need privacy.

She stopped at the mailbox, glancing into her rearview mirror to make sure there were no cars behind her. She was alone on the light-dappled road. The afternoon sun stretched shadows along the road and cloaked the narrow drive by Grant’s mailbox in shade.

Did she dare drive down that narrow, dirt road to Grant’s home? Trees hid the view and she really wanted to see how he lived. Although he was only five miles from her mother’s trailer, the neighborhood was different. She’d passed nicer homes, newer, with side garages and fresh paint.

She gnawed her lip. When she’d called Grant almost an hour ago, he’d sounded busy. As if on duty. He probably wasn’t home yet. He’d never know she glanced around.

If she wanted to play it safe, she could use Google Earth and peek on him that way.

But she was here already. Decision made, she pressed the gas and eased into his drive. The hard-packed dirt of his driveway made for an easy entrance and the farther she went the more things widened until her SUV broke out of the trees and crawled onto a paved driveway.

Grant’s small house sat on oak-studded property. The lawn was green and untrimmed. A wild emerald expanse hedged by forest. The house perched in the center of the yard, an uncluttered home that sported white trim and a closed side garage. She parked before reaching the garage.

Was he home? No lights, but then again, it was the middle of the day. Heart fluttering, she took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.

Heat smacked into her, the air so heavy with humidity that drawing a breath took work. Or maybe it was being on Grant’s property and knowing she could be caught at any moment. Admiration rippled through her despite the nerves. His house was so nice. Cared for. Even though the lawn hadn’t been mown, there was a certain order to its growth.

His home put her at ease. Maybe dinner hadn’t been a mistake. Maybe she and Grant could actually work out a more serious kind of relationship.

She traipsed closer to the house. Did she dare look in the windows? Find out if Grant was messy or neat? Sweat dampened her shirt against her skin. She flicked off her sunglasses and sidestepped a palm in front of a window. She pressed her face close to the window to see past the glare of sun against glass.

His living room. Dark furniture. Simple, clean lines, arranged nicely. All male and not slobbish at all.

Grinning, she turned around and screamed.

Grant stood behind her, hair dark with water and glistening in the sun. His hands straddled his hips and a smug smile tugged at his lips. “Looking for me?”

Heart thundering in her ears, Rachel gulped the moist air and hopped from the mulch near the window back to the grass. She slid her glasses on.

“Actually, yes, I was looking for you,” she managed to say coolly. “We need to talk about Corrine.”

Good save there.

“It’s taken care of.” The smirk didn’t leave his face. “I sent an officer over a few minutes ago, but we don’t have the manpower for anything long term.”

“She needs protection.”

He grimaced. “I’ll do what I can.” The smirk returned, dimples defining its edges. “In the meantime, I’ll give you a tour of my place, since you’re obviously curious. Or did you just miss me?”

An unwilling smile forced itself onto her face. She tried to stop it, but Grant was just too good-looking, too cute.

“I’ll plead the fifth.” She gestured to his shirt which sported damp spots as though he’d just jumped out of the shower. She tried to ignore how the clothing clung to his body. “I thought you were at work.”

“Crazy Al marked his territory on me.”

“You’re kidding.”