Divorced, Desperate and Delicious

Chase gripped the phone. Betrayal tightened his chest. He had no reason to expect her loyalty, yet for some reason he had expected it. Hell, he’d more than just expected it, he’d needed to have someone believe in him right now.

  Her voice sounded over the line again. “Please believe me. I’m fine, Sue. I just wanted you to know that I’m excited about the editor’s letter.”

  Sue? She’d called her friend. She hadn’t called 911 to report that a lunatic had invaded her home. So she did believe him. The heaviness in his chest evaporated and his thoughts flipped to their shared kiss. Although brief, it had left him hungry for more. Much more.

  “I know how much this means to you,” Lacy’s voice came again. “Now I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later. Bye.”

  Before he could hang up, the connection went silent. Had she heard him pick up the line? He stood, then walked down the hall. If she asked him to go, he would do it. He hadn’t a clue where he’d go, but he’d do it.

  He stopped short when he spotted her in the kitchen. With her head poked inside the freezer, her shapely backside encased in gray sweats protruded outward. His next thought curled around the fact that she wasn’t wearing any panties. The image of the silky slip of material that had fluttered at his feet whisked through his mind and hung there like a piece of forbidden fruit.

  “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” She glanced back and over her shoulder, obviously having heard his steps. “I’ve got potatoes that I could bake, and some steaks.”

  He stared at her, his sexual hunger growing. And with only thin gray sweats covering his growing part, she would know all too soon about his appetite if he didn’t get himself under control.

  “What?” she asked, as if noting his gaze.

  “Nothing,” he said, and tried to shake the sexual pull he felt from just being near her. “You believe me now, don’t you?” He almost mentioned picking up the phone line, but decided to let her bring it up if she wanted to.

  She hesitated for a second. “Yes. I believe you.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “And I’m sorry about handcuffing you. I didn’t know what else to do. But . . . it wasn’t a smart thing to do. Your wrists okay?”

  “Fine.” She buried her head back in the freezer. “You want a steak or not? Because I’m starving and if I only cook one, I’m not sharing. I’m an only child. Never learned that sharing thing.”

  Her words, the lightness in her voice, told him she didn’t hold a grudge.

  “I was willing to share my dinner,” he teased.

  “Yeah, well . . .” Her bottom wiggled. “Could I tempt you with some milk bones or kitty chow?” She glanced over her shoulder, a smile on her lips.

  She could tempt him all right. Her smile could win awards, and that perky backside . . . “Steaks sound good. Thanks.”

  Grabbing a couple of packages, she stuck them into the microwave. “Steaks, defrost. Five minutes,” she said to the box.

  “It not only speaks, but it takes orders, huh?” he asked.

  She looked up, the teasing look reflected in her eyes. “Yeah.”

  He watched her, his curiosity growing, and questions about her formed on the tip of his tongue. The phone rang. He looked at the portable phone he had carried from the bedroom.

  “Does Jason have caller ID?” she asked. “Would he know to call back?”

  “I don’t think so.” He held out the phone. “Do you want to answer it?”

  “Nah. Let the machine get it,” she said.

  “Answer if you want. I don’t care.” If she trusted him, he owed her his trust in return.

  “Thanks, but I’d just as soon not chance talking to my mother. She might disown me for hanging up on her earlier.”

  “She’s a handful, huh?” he asked as the phone continued to ring.

  “More like an armload.” She looked back at the recorder while her message played. “My mother claims she’s missing the thingamabob in her brain that catches dialogue before it spills out of her mouth. She thinks it, she says it. And she thinks very blunt and tacky things—makes Rush Limbaugh sound like a pansy. So yeah, she’s an armload.”

  The caller came onto the line. “Hey, Lacy. It’s Kathy. Sue said you were down and out. Listen, girl. It’s my week to be depressed. My jerk of an ex-husband didn’t pay his child support this week, and my plumber is hinting that if I cleaned out his pipes, he wouldn’t need to bill me. The scary thing is, I’m considering it. So I’m winning the Most Depressed award this week, and probably the Horniest, too. The plumber is kind of hot. Besides, you won Horniest last week.”

  Chase leaned against the counter and smiled as Lacy’s face turned an attractive shade of pink. He said, “I’d say everyone you know is missing that thingamabob. Between that Sue girl and now Kathy, you’ve got some pretty . . . outspoken friends.”

  Lacy frowned. “They’re not outspoken. What you heard are just conversations that aren’t meant for a man.” Her tone left no doubt as to her loyalty to her friends.

  Chase shrugged, feeling a little chastised. “I was . . . just teasing.”

  She cleared her throat. The conversation on the phone continued: “And his butt . . .”

  “How do you like your steak?” she asked, perhaps to get his attention away from her friend’s wacky message.

  “Medium is fine.” Still grinning, he pulled out a chair and sank into it.

  She turned around, and a flicker of concern passed her gaze when he reached up to massage his side. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. More sore than anything.” The phone machine clicked off. Palming the phone in his hand, he dialed Jason’s number again, and on the fifth unanswered ring he hung up.

  “Where did you fall from?” she asked, holding two potatoes in her hands and leaning into the sink.

  “Some bridge about four miles north of here.” He leaned back in his chair. “By the old railroad tracks.”

  “Oh, my. If it’s the one I’m thinking about, it’s a wonder you didn’t break your neck.” She turned on the water in the sink then scrubbed the potatoes with a brush.

  “I was lucky,” he said, his eyes on the way her pantiless backside shifted with the scrubbing action.

  “Steaks, five minutes,” the microwave spoke.

  Chase pointed at the appliance. “I wouldn’t trust it. The last time I listened to an appliance I ended up eating a cat-food sandwich.”

  She chuckled. The sound came out purely feminine and somehow seductive.

  He’d been determined to get one smile and a laugh, and already he’d exceeded his expectations. In a purely male part of his brain—the one that women insist resides between a man’s legs—he couldn’t help wondering what else he might exceed at.

  Chase watched her step around the kitchen. She moved like an ice skater, with slow, fluid strokes, or like music that flowed effortlessly from one stanza to another. The woman had grace, a character trait he hadn’t noticed in a long time. Would that grace be revealed when she made love? Would her moves be slow, rhythmic, beautiful?

  She turned, knelt, and pulled a pan from beneath a cabinet. He watched her breasts sway slightly. The room’s temperature seemed to rise, and he remembered the kiss back in the bedroom. He licked his lips, expecting to find a taste of her lingering there.

  He shook his head, hoping the movement would send his thoughts scattering. But his gaze went right back to her. Barefoot, wearing sweats and a large shirt—somehow the woman made casual-sloppy appear totally sexy. He continued to watch her, his curiosity and desires growing again.

  “What is today? Why is everyone worried about you?” he asked, thinking conversation would help distract him.

  She turned from the sink. “If you tell me I look thirty again, I might come after you with a steak this time.”

  “You don’t look thirty,” he said, and chuckled. “I just remember . . .” My wife. He stumbled over the memory. “I know how women can react to their thirtieth birthday.”

  Her eyes seemed to widen as she
digested what he’d said. She bit down on her lip, hesitated and then spoke. “Are you married?”

  “No,” he answered calmly, but the question set him back to that awkward feeling of needing space, of wanting to pull away. He dialed Jason’s number again, gazing down at Lacy’s dog that bounced into the room carrying a chew bone for a beast at least three times bigger. Chase listened to the ringing phone.

  No one answered, so he hung up and stroked the dog with his bare foot. “So, you’re not going to tell me what today is,” he said, wanting to find level ground with his hostess again.

  “It’s nothing, really.” She didn’t look back.

  “Okay.” He knew all about not wanting to talk about things. Hell, he’d just half lied to her so he wouldn’t have to talk. No, he didn’t have a wife. But he hadn’t bothered telling her that the reason was because less than a year after her thirtieth birthday, an inoperable brain tumor had ripped her out of his world. And before he’d lost her, he’d stayed by her bedside for six months, held her hand, feeling impotent, and watched her die a little each day.

  “Can I help?” he asked, needing a distraction from the direction of his thoughts. “I’m really good in the kitchen.”

  She turned around. “I’ve got it, but thanks.”

  He nodded and dialed Jason’s number again. This time he heard a click as if someone answered. Hurrying to Lacy’s side, he handed her the phone. “I think he’s answered this time.”

  • • •

  Lacy dropped the aluminum foil and took the phone. The receiver still possessed warmth where Chase had held it. She met his green eyes and almost forgot about talking. Why had she asked if he was married? It made her sound interested in him. She wasn’t interested. She wasn’t. Uh-uh.

  “Detective Dodds.” The voice on the other end of the phone line sounded stern, serious.

  “Uhh, Jason?” She curled a handful of loose sweat pants in her hand.

  “Yeah,” came the hesitant answer, as if he were trying to figure out the voice.

  “Where are you?” she asked, remembering what Chase had wanted her to find out.

  ‘‘On my way to the hospital. Who—”

  “Who’s with you?” she asked in a casual tone, and bit down on her lip. He didn’t answer. “Jason?”

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  She froze, searching her mind for something to say. “Please, don’t tell me you’re with another woman.” She chuckled, hoping the lightness in her voice would put him at ease.

  “I’m alone.” He grew quiet again. “An officer was shot this morning. I’m going to see about his family at the hospital.”

  “You sure you’re alone?” She bumped against the counter.

  “Kay? Is this you?”

  “No. Uh, I’m not Kay. But just a minute.” Lacy placed her hand over the bottom of the phone. “I think he’s alone. He thinks I’m Kay.”

  Chase took the phone and his smile said thanks. Lacy stood there studying him and wondered how she could have ever been afraid. Even with a two-day five-o’clock shadow going on, the man didn’t look dangerous. Then her gaze swooped down his body and she had to amend that thought. Oh, he looked dangerous, but not in a life-threatening sort of way.

  “Jason, it’s me.” Chase pulled the phone away from his ear, as if Jason was yelling. Actually, Lacy could hear Jason’s voice clear across the kitchen. The man sounded furious.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Chase said. “I got with you as soon as I could.” He paused between sentences. “No. Yes, but I’m fine. Yeah. The whole freaking thing is a setup.” He paced the area between the kitchen table and the bar. “It’s Zeke. No, I’m serious. I’ll be damned if I know. No, I swear.”

  As Lacy marinated the steaks, she pretended not to listen. But of course, she listened.

  “I don’t know. He said something about a book.” Chase raked a hand over his face. “Hell, I don’t know what he’s talking about. Yeah, but you have to watch out for Stokes. I’m telling you. No, I didn’t see him do it, but he confessed to me.” He paused long enough to scowl. “Because he was about to do to me what he did to Stokes.” Chase’s voice rose with anger, then he closed his eyes as if to calm himself. “Sorry, it’s been a freaking bad day! Yeah, but I’m telling you, Zeke’s going to try something.”

  He moved back to the table, the phone held tightly to his ear. “The book is the piece of the puzzle that’s missing. All I’ve got to do is to figure what the hell book he’s talking about.” He sank into a chair and reached up to rub his shoulder.

  Lacy wondered about his physical condition. The man had been shot. Maybe she should insist he go to a doctor. Then again, he didn’t really look that worn down. He looked rather . . . good. Too good.

  Fabio pranced into the kitchen again and, wanting to play, he dropped his chew bone at the man’s feet. Chase knelt, grimacing as he lowered himself, picked up the bone, and tossed it into the living room for Fabio to fetch.

  “Well, I’d like to know that, too,” Chase said into the phone.

  The dog went careening to get the bone, and Leonardo came slinking into the room and brushed up against Chase’s leg. Lacy added another sprinkle of salt to the steaks as Chase continued talking to Jason, moving his hand downward to stoke the feline’s back. The cat purred and glanced at her as if to say, “This man has good hands.”

  Biting into her lip, Lacy realized that Chase Kelly had a weakness for animals. A tough cop with a soft spot for animals. A tough, sexy cop with good hands. Realizing her wayward thoughts, she turned back to the meat on the counter and tried not to focus on the prime cut of man sitting at her table.

  As she salt-and-peppered the steaks, her attention stayed trained on the conversation. Part of her felt rude for listening in, another part said he’d forced his way into her life and she had a right to listen.

  She sprinkled the steaks with garlic powder. Fabio came bumping into her with his bone. Reaching down, she tossed it for him. Then, piercing the T-bones with a fork, she continued eavesdropping.

  “I don’t know. I’ve . . . uh, kind of told her I’d be leaving soon. Scared her to death at first.” He stood and stepped closer as if he didn’t want to be talking about her without her listening in. “Clobbered me in the head with a singing fish.” He laughed. “No, now she’s fine.” He paused. “Must be my charm.”

  Lacy could feel him standing a few feet behind her and breathing became difficult

  “I’ll ask,” he said. “No, she’s definitely not hard to look at. Yeah, I just bet you would.”

  Lacy felt him staring, and her heart jumped around like a Mexican jumping bean. He was going to ask to stay for a while. Her pulse raced alongside her thoughts. She didn’t want him to stay, did she? But if his leaving meant he could be hurt . . . well, she didn’t want to be responsible for that.

  She took a deep breath. For two years she’d attempted to ignore the fact that her body had needs . . . that she wanted intimacy, sex! She’d been celibate, except for that one night with Peter. And hadn’t that been a joke? Early withdrawal, Sue had called it, but in truth the man didn’t even have much to deposit.

  Everyone and their pet gerbils assumed that her anti-man campaign came from an everlasting love she held for Peter. Wrong. Okay, maybe there were a few residual feelings lingering after two years. Feelings like hurt, disappointment, and a nauseating disgust. But it wasn’t those feelings that kept her celibate. She had her own reasons.

  She washed her hands and then went into the living room to retrieve a beer from the recliner’s cooler. Standing up, she twisted the top, took a long drink, then glanced at the photos on the mantel. Oh yeah, she had reasons. She was, after all, Karina Callahan’s daughter, and granddaughter to Sabrina Gomez. Between the two, they’d acquired twelve divorces. Add Lacy’s to the equation and the number went up to thirteen. And her mother already had claws in a man she’d met on her last cruise; Lacy gave her a month before she tied the knot again.

  “Why, isn??
?t love grand?” Lacy mumbled beneath her breath and stared at the picture of her mom and dad on their wedding day. They both looked so happy. At least for a while, until they’d decided to take a ride to Divorceville.

  Lacy’s gaze moved to the photo of her grandmother. We’re just fools for love, her grandmother had told her one day. Well, Lacy may have been a one-time fool. Okay, a two-time fool if you counted Brian Bankhead. She hadn’t made it all the way to the altar with him, but rings and promises had been given. More importantly, her heart had been broken. Twice.

  The third time wouldn’t be a charm. There would be no third time. Not when one engagement and one marriage had nearly taken her under.

  Somehow, some way, she would not follow in her mother’s and grandmother’s footsteps. And if it meant denying herself sex and men to avoid the path down Divorced Lane, then so be it. So what if she never had sex again! Who needed it?

  • • •

  Zeke had burned rubber straight from the hospital and gone back to Kelly’s condo. He couldn’t get to Stokes yet, but he had to do something constructive. He couldn’t slow up or his whole freaking world could come falling down on top of him. Time. He didn’t have much left. And neither did Stokes.

  Hospital policy wouldn’t let anyone in ICU except immediate family. Well, screw hospital policy. Zeke had screwed and been screwed by every other policy in his life. What was one more? That was why he didn’t care, why it didn’t matter how bloodshot that kid’s eyes had been, or how much pain he’d spotted in Stokes’s wife’s expression. As his English father would say, he’d been shagged by every damn thing in life. Time had come for the tables to turn. If someone got hurt, they wouldn’t be the first. They could join Zeke’s own world of hurt.

  He’d find a way to get to Stokes. But first things first. He wanted to do one more search of Kelly’s place. If Kelly had the book, Zeke had to find it

  Letting himself into Kelly’s apartment, he stood in the middle of the mess and tried to think where he might have hidden the book. Feeling his blood start to boil, he darted down the hall to the bedroom. He jerked out dresser drawers and emptied the contents on the floor; he slung over the mattress. Back in the living room, he took off the sofa cushions. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  He’d only seen the book once. Pablo Martinez had pulled it out to show Zeke his undercover work. Like a scrapbook, the man had journals, photographs, and plastic pockets that he claimed held recorded conversations from a long list of criminals. The lowlife punk thought of himself as a cop. He swore his plans included taking classes so he could enter the police academy. But right now the only academy Martinez belonged to was Hell. Zeke had made sure of it. He hadn’t messed up with him: the bullet to the man’s head had done him in.

  “Think, think!” Zeke grumbled, roaming around the living room, kicking anything that got in his way. “What did Martinez say that last night?”

  Zeke closed his eyes as the words replayed. “If you lay one hand on me, Kelly will collar your ass. He knows, he knows everything and we’re partners. Give us your sources and we’ll let you off easy.”

  As if Zeke would really give details to that piece of shit. Zeke cracked his knuckles and the popping sound vibrated through the silent apartment.

  Kelly had already used Martinez on numerous occasions when the snitch first approached Zeke, hinting he knew things. Zeke hadn’t believed him, but that night he’d had Martinez followed. Bruno had followed him straight to here, to Kelly’s place.

  Bruno said the man had stayed for over two hours. Two hours? They’d had to be up to something! That’s when Kelly had gotten called to go undercover. In truth, Zeke had arranged the assignment. He’d needed Kelly out of the way for a few days while he figured out how to deal with the situation. The beginning of Kelly’s end, and he’d had it all planned out. So why was it all falling apart? Why did he have to kill Stokes twice? Wasn’t once enough? Zeke’s head filled with the image of Stokes’s wife holding her son’s hand.

  Zeke grimaced. At least the man had family who would mourn him. Lucky bastard! If Zeke went down today who would grieve for him? Would his children, Lindsey and Phillip, even care? They sure as hell hadn’t wanted to see him in almost a year. And when Zeke had tried to force visits upon his teenage son and daughter, he’d been told by the lawyer that he couldn’t push. To give them time. Just keep making the support payments and they’d realize their mistakes later. So every month he sent money, hoping the five hundred dollars would buy him a little compassion. It bought him shit! Yeah, Stokes was lucky that someone cared about him. Zeke couldn’t and wouldn’t let him live.

  Slamming the door on his way out of Kelly’s place, Zeke hurried to his car. He had a man to kill, and he couldn’t let teary-eyed kids or a mourning woman get in his way.

  But even as he hurried to his car, Zeke saw their faces in his mind and acid churned in his gut. He cracked his knuckles again.

  • • •

  Lacy took another sip of cold beer and stared at the pictures on the mantel. Sex was bad for her. It messed her up. Like an allergy. People who were allergic to peanuts didn’t go around wanting Reese’s, they simply gave them up. They didn’t talk about it or hold group discussions about it with their friends. Maybe that’s where she’d gone wrong. Maybe she should tell Kathy and Sue that she couldn’t talk sex anymore.

  “I’ll give you five bucks for your thoughts?” Chase’s voice caused Lacy to jump.

  Chapter Nine