Wicked Warning (An Ivy Morgan Mystery Book 5) (8 page)

“
I
don’t like it
,” Ivy said later that night, putting a bowl of pasta in the middle of the table and settling across from Jack. “It seems somehow … wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked, reaching for a slice of warm bread and holding it up so he could inhale the heavenly scent. “Seriously, honey, you could be the perfect woman. You’re the prettiest thing in the world to look at and you cook like an angel.”

Ivy arched a challenging eyebrow. “And what if I couldn’t cook? Would you still like me then?”

“More than anything,” Jack replied. “We could live on takeout, don’t get me wrong. Other than the feet-tasting mushrooms, though, you’re the best cook I’ve ever been around.”

“I’m going to get you to like morels if it kills me,” Ivy muttered.

“We’ll see what happens in May,” Jack said. “Now, go back to what you were saying. What don’t you like about this? You’re the one who came up with Dorsey as a suspect.”

“I know,” Ivy said. “I didn’t think he was a real suspect, though. I thought you would be going out there to rule him out. I don’t understand why he won’t answer questions.”

“It’s not just that he won’t answer questions,” Jack said. “It’s that he sits there and stares at a wall and pretends he doesn’t hear us talking.”

“Can’t you … I don’t know … beat him up and make him talk?”

Jack barked out a hoarse laugh. “This isn’t television, Ivy,” he said. “Dorsey has rights. We have a mental health expert coming in tomorrow. I’m not sure what good it’s going to do, but we have to follow the rules.

“It would be helpful if we could take Jessica to the station and have her identify him,” he continued. “Brian brought the subject up to her parents and they were … not thrilled with the idea.”

“I don’t blame them,” Ivy said, twirling her fork in her pasta. “Oh, crap. I cooked shrimp for your half of dinner and forgot it.”

“I don’t need shrimp. The vegetarian pasta is fine.” Jack always felt guilty when she went out of her way to cook meat for him.

“I already made it.”

Jack watched as she hopped up from her seat and moved toward the stove, grabbing a plate of steamed shrimp and delivering it to him at the table.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy said, “I meant to mix up separate bowls.”

Jack grabbed her wrist, directing her attention toward him. “I know you’re agitated and you want answers,” he said. “The sweatshirt is at the state lab. Jessica’s parents couldn’t positively identify it. Jessica claims she doesn’t remember what she was wearing that day. We’re moving forward, but it’s going to take time.”

“What about the baby?”

“I don’t know,” Jack replied honestly. “Honey, I need you to prepare yourself for the probability that there is no baby.”

“But Dr. Nesbitt said there was.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jack said. “A man who takes a teenager for what this man took Jessica for would have no need or desire for a baby. The baby might not have survived the birth process. The baby might’ve been killed after the fact.”

“I understand that,” Ivy said. “It’s just … I have a feeling, Jack. I think that baby is out there.”

“There is another possibility,” Jack said, rubbing his thumb over Ivy’s palm. “The baby might’ve been abandoned at a fire station or hospital. Michigan is a Safe Haven state. Someone can give up an infant no questions asked.”

“We would’ve heard about it, though,” Ivy protested. “Shadow Lake is tiny. You can’t keep something like that a secret here.”

“Maybe the baby wasn’t abandoned here,” Jack suggested. “It could’ve been dropped off in another city or town. Heck, it could’ve been given to some unsuspecting woman who wanted a child and she could be raising it. That’s kind of a good thing to hope for, isn’t it?”

Ivy nodded, although she didn’t look convinced. “I still feel like the baby is here.”

“Ivy, you’re an amazing woman,” Jack said. “You’re the most amazing woman I know. You’re not psychic, though. We share some interesting dreams – and I’m still trying to figure out that ghost thing you did – but you can’t see things that aren’t there.”

“I didn’t say I could,” Ivy snapped, jerking her hand back and shuffling toward her chair. “I don’t believe I’m psychic, Jack. You don’t have to worry yourself that I’m getting delusions of grandeur.”

“Oh, well, great,” Jack muttered. “We were having a perfectly nice meal and then I had to open my big mouth. I’m sorry I upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You look upset.”

“Well, I’m not.” Ivy stared at her plate a moment, frustration washing over her. “Let’s just eat dinner and then go to bed. I’m tired and … we’re going to have a long day tomorrow with another search on Dorsey’s property and Jessica possibly going home.”

“Ivy, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t hurt my feelings.”

Jack didn’t believe that for a second. He didn’t know how to fix things, though, so he decided to let her stew for a little bit rather than allowing things to explode into a fight. “Eat your dinner, honey. You need the fuel. We’ll figure this all out. I promise.”

B
Y THE
time
they were ready to turn in for the night, Jack was at his wit’s end. Ivy was barely talking – instead retreating into her head to mull things over, and probably thinking some mean things about him – and he wanted to shake her until the poutiness dissipated.

“Fine, you’re psychic,” Jack announced as he watched Ivy walk out of the bathroom. She was dressed in simple cotton shorts and a tank top, and any other night Jack would’ve found her irresistible. Tonight was another story. “I’m sorry for questioning your new and powerful ability.”

Ivy stilled, her face unreadable. “I don’t believe I’m psychic.”

“You clearly want me to believe it and act on your feeling even though we have nothing to go on,” Jack countered, whipping the comforter back. “You win. Tomorrow I’m going to tell Brian that all of our investigative decisions shall now be based on your psychic flashes.”

Jack had no idea why he was picking a fight with her. It was counterproductive and mean considering her mood. He was dying to get a reaction out of her, though, and if fighting was the only way to accomplish that, he was ready to do it.

“Oh, screw you,” Ivy hissed, narrowing her eyes. “I never said I was psychic. I said I had a feeling the baby was still here. You have feelings all the time. You just call it listening to your gut.”

“Screw you back,” Jack said. “I have gut reactions based on years as a police officer. You’re letting your feelings for Jessica cloud your judgment. The odds of that baby being here and alive are … tiny.”

“Do you want the baby to be dead, Jack? Is that it?”

Jack balked. “How can you ask me that?”

“Because it would make your job easier,” Ivy replied. “If the baby is dead you don’t have to find it. You don’t have to ask Jessica any hard questions. You also can lock Dorsey up and never look back.

“Here’s the problem, though: I don’t think Dorsey did it,” she continued. “I don’t think he’s smart enough. I’ve talked to him a few times in town and he’s not slow or anything, but he’s certainly not going to be applying for entry to Mensa tomorrow.”

“Oh, well, I’ll go back to the station and let him out right now,” Jack deadpanned. “Problem solved.”

“That’s not what I said,” Ivy argued. “I said that I didn’t believe Dorsey was guilty. I know you have a job to do.”

“Really? That’s not how it seems to me,” Jack shot back. “You want me to act on a feeling you have that’s not based in reality. The odds of that baby being alive and in Shadow Lake are like … one percent.”

“It’s still a possibility.”

“Oh, whatever,” Jack muttered, tugging a restless hand through his hair as he studied the bed. Part of him wanted to storm out and leave her alone to play nice with her new psychic feelings. The other part couldn’t bear the idea of walking out on her. He’d done that once and would forever regret it. He refused to make the same mistake again.

“What are you doing?” Ivy asked.

“I was thinking about going to my house so I could get some sleep,” Jack replied truthfully, the hurt expression on her face causing his stomach to flip. “I’m not going to do that, though, because I refuse to purposely hurt you.”

“I don’t believe I’m psychic, Jack,” Ivy said, adjusting her tone. “I just … can’t shake this feeling.”

“I know,” Jack said, blowing out a sigh as he climbed into bed. He watched Ivy as she flipped off the lights and then slid under the covers next to him. Usually she rolled so her head was on his chest, but she remained on her side of the bed this evening. Jack knew sleeping in the same bed but not touching her would be unbearable so he silently hooked his arm under her waist and drew her closer.

“I’m still mad at you,” Ivy said, although she rested her head on his chest.

“I’m still mad at you, too.”

“You’re kind of a jackhole sometimes,” Ivy added.

Jack chuckled. “You’re not exactly sweetness and light twenty-four hours a day.”

Ivy took Jack by surprise when she kissed his jaw. “Thank you for not storming out,” she said. “I would’ve cried all night – and then hated myself all day tomorrow for being so weak.”

“It’s not weakness, honey,” Jack argued. “I can’t sleep without you, though. I’m not sure when it happened, but there it is. We would’ve met up in our dreams to hash everything out anyway, so there’s no reason not to be in the same bed when it happens.”

“If you can believe that’s going to happen, Jack, why don’t you believe me when I say I have a feeling about the baby?”

Jack hated her plaintive tone. “Because I’m terrified you’re going to end up with a broken heart out of this situation and I really want you to be happy above all else.”

Ivy was silent for a few beats. “That was a good answer.”

“I do my best,” Jack said, kissing her forehead. “Now go to sleep. I’m exhausted and I want to make up on a sandy beach. You can pick the location tonight.”

“You just want me to wear a bikini.”

“If you can find one of those coconut ones, that would be great,” Jack said. “Now … sleep. The real world will be waiting for us tomorrow.”

“
I
F YOU
like
my cooking so much, how come we eat at the diner so often?” Ivy asked the next morning, snuggling in close to Jack’s side and resting her head on his shoulder. As promised, they met up on a sandy beach in sleep and worked out their differences. That meant they both woke up in the mood to celebrate their reunion – in a naked and sweaty way.

“Because this way you can touch me while someone cooks our breakfast,” Jack replied, pushing a mug of tea in her direction. “I like it when you’re cuddly. Sue me.”

“Oh, you two are so cute I could just puke,” Brian said, taking the couple by surprise as he slid into the opposite side of the booth. “You guys look … shiny … this morning. Did you have a good night?”

Jack scowled. “Actually we had a rough night,” he replied, opting for honesty. “We had a good morning, though.”

“Jack.” Ivy elbowed him in the ribs. “We had a fight and made up. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“You guys always have a fight and make up,” Brian said. “I’m starting to get used to the trials and tribulations of a Jivy union. How sad is that?”

Jack stilled, confused. “Jivy?”

Ivy snorted and shook her head. “It’s what the teenagers do with couples to shorten their names,” she said. “Like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are Brangelina, or Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes were TomKat.”

“Yeah, I don’t like that,” Jack said. “What kind of grown man says things like that?”

“One who had to listen to the kids out at that place on the river where they rent kayaks,” Brian replied. “I stopped in to question them because Dorsey lives less than a mile away. I thought they might know something, but it turns out the only things I found out from them is that Nickelback sucks and cable television is dead unless you’re ancient – or over twenty.”

Ivy grinned. “Nickelback does suck.”

“It does indeed,” Jack agreed, shifting his arm over Ivy’s shoulders. “So we’re nowhere?”

“We have a sweatshirt that may or may not belong to Jessica and a guy who refuses to talk,” Brian replied. “The state has a mental health expert coming into talk to Dorsey in about an hour. The interview could take most of the day.”

“I have an idea, if anyone is interested,” Ivy announced, sipping her tea.

Jack slid a sidelong look in her direction. “Oh, really?”

“I don’t want to fight, though, so if it’s going to result in a fight I’ll keep it to myself.”

“Don’t do that,” Brian argued. “I’m dying to hear what your idea is.”

Ivy waited for Jack to respond.

“I want to hear it, too,” Jack said. “I have faith all of your ideas are good.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Ivy pointed out.

“I was angry with you last night. I’m not angry with you any longer. You walk on water as far as I’m concerned.”

“Ugh, you two are just … gross,” Brian muttered.

“Says the guy who called us ‘Jivy,’” Jack shot back.

Ivy ignored the display. “I think we should talk to Frank Simpson.”

Brian raised his eyebrows. “Huh. I hadn’t considered that.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Jack intoned. “Who is Frank Simpson?”

“He’s Dorsey’s cousin,” Brian replied. “The family is in something of a feud. It hasn’t always been that way, though. It happened five years ago when Dorsey’s sister won the lottery and refused to share it with anyone. One side of the family had a fit because she refused to share the wealth.”

“At first the Dorseys protected her while the rest of the family showed up looking for handouts,” Ivy supplied. “Marcia and Frank Simpson asked for a pool, if I’m not mistaken. They called Dan’s sister greedy when she refused.”

“Then the sister – her name was Elizabeth – cut her family off, too,” Brian added. “They were bleeding her dry. So there were two family rifts, but everyone aired everyone else’s dirty laundry for a little bit there.”

“I still don’t understand why Frank Simpson is going to help us,” Jack pressed.