Divorced, Desperate and Delicious

Both Chase and Jason had heard the footsteps at the same time.

  “Someone followed you,” Chase whispered. They drew their guns together and melted into the trees.

  Chase kept his gaze on the path. The concern gripping his gut wasn’t for himself or even Jason, but for the woman sleeping in the house. Would Zeke and his cronies go after her now?

  “No one followed me,” Jason whispered, his gun aimed into the darkness beyond the trees. Another sound came.

  A figured appeared, and both Jason and Chase lunged toward it. Jason made contact first. The figure went down.

  “Police. Hands out by your sides!” Jason said. “Move and I’ll shoot.”

  Chase’s heart pounded as he noted the size of their captive. He kept his gun aimed toward the path, waiting for Big Bruno or Zeke, and wanting to take off to the house to check on Lacy.

  “He’s clean,” Jason said, his voice still edgy. “I mean . . . damn! She’s clean,” he said, his tone low and unsure.

  Chase swung around. The darkness prevented him from seeing much, but the bright yellow Donald Duck slippers attached to the feet beneath Jason could only belong to one person. “Jeez! Get off of her!” Chase knelt as Jason rolled away.

  Lacy had her mouth open as if she were about to scream. He leaned closer. “It’s me, Chase. You okay?” he asked.

  She clamped a hand over her mouth. He slipped his arm behind her back and helped her sit up. Swearing under his breath, he checked her elbows and knees for blood and breathed easier when she appeared unharmed. Unharmed but . . . even in the darkness, he could see the anger in her eyes.

  “Did you hit your head again?”

  She pulled away. “I’m fine.” She moved her gaze from him to Jason, who stood a few feet away. “Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘Police. Stop right there’ and not jump the suspect and fondle her breasts?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” Jason tucked his gun in his side holster. “You must be Lacy. We spoke earlier.”

  “So that gave you a right to grope me?” She got to her feet and dusted herself off.

  “I’m really sorry,” Jason said. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “No,” Lacy mumbled, and Chase heard the edge of her anger slip away.

  Then Chase noticed her giving Jason a second glance. It was the kind of visual rundown Jason always got from females aged two to sixty. Make that ninety. Even Mim, Sarah’s great-grandma, had fallen for the man three Christmases ago. Jason, with his linebacker build, blond hair and blue eyes, was a chick magnet. Even Sarah used to tease Chase that he should be lucky she’d fallen in love with him before she met his best friend.

  “I’ll be right in,” Chase said, suddenly wanting her away from Jason. She cut him a look and then took off at a marching pace.

  Jason reared back on his heels and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. A smile curved his lips. “A bit uptight, but really nice breasts.”

  “Give it a rest,” Chase snapped. Let Jason meet a girl, and within ten seconds the man knew how her breasts felt.

  “What’s she uptight about?” Jason asked.

  “Sexually frustrated,” Chase answered, the truth slipping out before he thought.

  “Mmmm,” Jason whispered, and looked toward the path down which Lacy had disappeared. “If I can help . . .”

  Chase grabbed the bag that Jason had dropped beside the tree. “This one is mine. I’ve already decided to kill off all the competition, so save your life and go after her girlfriend instead.”

  Jason chuckled, then pointed to the bag, a seriousness entering his expression. “Don’t do something stupid. You might be able to dupe some crackpots on the street with that disguise, but Zeke’s no fool, and as you said, he’s not working alone on this.”

  “I just want to check my place and find whatever damn book Zeke’s looking for,” Chase said.

  “Whatever Zeke wants isn’t at your apartment. When we went to search for the drugs, your place had been ransacked. Somebody already searched there. I went back and did another myself. And I’ll do another one, but—”

  “I can’t just hang out here and do nothing!” Chase snapped, slapping the bag against his leg.

  “Yeah, it must be hell. Having to stay with a nice-breasted, beautiful, sexually frustrated woman . . .”

  “You know what I mean,” Chase said, kicking at a pinecone and wincing when his bruised body protested the sudden movement. “I feel as if I’m hiding. The guilty hide out. I’m not freaking guilty!”

  “Give me a couple days,” Jason said. “I’m just getting started going over the files. I know I’ll find something. And Stokes is doing well. He’ll wake up in a day or two and then he’ll set everything straight.”

  Chase ran a hand over his face. “Zeke is going to do everything possible to make sure he doesn’t wake up.”

  Jason nodded. “Well, he’s going to have to go through a cop to get to him. I mean it, we’ve got someone watching ICU twenty-four-seven.”

  “How’s Stokes’s wife doing?” Chase asked, and right then came a noise from the bushes. They both swung around . . . and it was a rabbit hopping through the brush.

  After the second of tension faded, Jason spoke. “It’s been hard. She brought the boys up to the hospital with her. Talk about heartbreak—seeing her with those two boys gets you deep. Real deep.”

  Chase drew a breath. “Zeke’s a bastard, Jason. If he could shoot Stokes, you know he’s capable of anything. Watch your back. If something—”

  “Don’t worry,” Jason said as they came to the edge of the wooded trail. “I’ll be fine. You just keep trying to put the puzzle together. Figure out why Zeke’s doing this so we can prove what he’s doing.”

  • • •

  At one in the morning, the hospital halls were quieter, dimmer. On top of the antiseptic smells came the scent of blood. The coppery scent seemed piped through the air ducts.

  Zeke tried to keep his footfalls from making noise as he drew closer to the ICU. In the pocket of the janitor’s uniform he’d stolen from the laundry room he had a syringe with enough heroin to promise Stokes the trip of a lifetime. His last trip.

  When he had called earlier to check on his “good buddy,” Zeke had spoken to the nurse on duty. Tonight only two nurses manned the station, and in about five minutes one of them would be heading out for a break. If he had to, he could take the other nurse. The knife he carried would cut a throat easily enough, but he hoped to slide in and slide out undetected. He didn’t enjoy killing.

  • • •

  The smell woke Lacy up—coffee mixed with hints of cinnamon and vanilla. She pulled herself up and gave the four obligatory pats to everyone in bed with her.

  Samantha, who always seemed to sleep the closest yet stayed farthest away during the daytime, purred ever so lightly. Only in the mornings would the cat accept affection. So Lacy didn’t hurry; she stretched back out and gave the animal what she deserved, a few minutes of her time. But even as she stroked the gray fur, Lacy’s thoughts went to the man who had obviously cooked in her kitchen. She couldn’t allow him to stay much longer.

  As she lay there, she practiced her send-off speech. Well, it’s been nice. Hope you don’t wander off and get killed. But you can’t stay here because I really want to have sex with you. And if I have sex with you then I’ll want to marry you. Yeah, that would send him out the door. Didn’t most men prefer death to marriage anyway? So she was doing the guy a favor.

  Crawling out of bed, she dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt and went to face the music.

  “Perfect timing.” Chase started talking as soon as she entered the kitchen. “I hope you like French toast. It’s my specialty. Sit down.” He pulled out a chair and placed a cup of coffee on the table.

  She sank into the chair, hesitantly, and tried to remember how the beginning of her speech went. The back of his hand brushed against her neck and she stared at the steam coming off the cup, wondering if he could see the steam coming from her
ears. It was way too early to start feeling this sexual pull.

  He leaned over her shoulder. “My dad used to say the way to a woman’s heart was through her stomach.”

  Lacy sat up straighter to escape the warm feel of his breath against her neck. “I thought it was the other way around—the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “It works both ways,” he said, his smile apparent in his voice. “You can cook lunch.”

  His hand glided across her back, leaving a trail of goose bumps. Why, she wondered, had she been so adamant that he had to leave right now? She had to work today; she would be in her studio and he would be in here. She wouldn’t have to look at him. And she wouldn’t have to worry about him getting killed yet.

  “Sorry about last night,” he said as he stepped to the stove. “I asked Jason to bring over a few things I needed.”

  Lacy sipped her coffee, and a plate of hot French toast magically appeared in front of her. Her mouth watered as the smell of melted butter, maple, and cinnamon drifted up to her nose. She heard him take the seat across from her and she raised her gaze. Sucking on her bottom lip, she took in his wide shoulders, sexy grin and hands. Hands that had touched her last night and made her feel things. Wonderful things.

  “Eat before it gets cold.” He winked at her, then picked up his fork and sliced into a piece of his own thick French toast.

  She wished she could have pushed the calorie-laden plate away, but she loved French toast almost as much as she did chocolate mint ice cream. Picking up her fork, she gave in to the temptation to eat. The man offered her French toast and sex. She’d resigned herself to saying no to sex, but the French toast was hers! Come to Mama, she thought, forking a piece of crusty fried bread into her open mouth. “Mmm,” she said, and closed her eyes as the warm sizzle of flavor moved across her tongue.

  When she opened her eyes, she found him staring.

  “You like?” he asked.

  “No. I love,” she answered, and continued to eat.

  While she devoured the best breakfast known to mankind, Chase talked about his friend Jason.

  “I could make more.” He smiled as she swirled the last bite around her plate to collect the remaining maple syrup.

  “Don’t tempt me. I’m full.” She hesitated, not wanting to think about temptation. “You look like you’re feeling better,” she said, noting the ease with which he moved.

  “My entire body hurts less, my shoulder hurts more. Or maybe my shoulder hurts the same, and I know it because my entire body hurts less.”

  “You should probably clean the wound again.” She lowered her fork and spotted a drip of syrup on the edge of her plate. Running her fingertip over it, she brought the syrup to her lips.

  His eyes widened with interest as she licked her finger. She was just a vanilla wafer, but he didn’t look at her like she was a wafer. He looked at her like he would look at one of those bakery cookies that had nuts and marshmallows in it. And right now she felt like a cookie with marshmallow and nuts. With her finger still in her mouth and him studying her with heat in his eyes, she felt sexy, like a seductress who had the power to make men go weak.

  She withdrew her finger. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” His gaze lingered on her face.

  A voice came out of the dining room. “Good kitty, now cover it up!” It was an electronic voice.

  Chase smiled. “I nearly shot your kitty box last night.”

  “I told you it talked.”

  “I forgot.” He set down his fork.

  Lacy wished she could forget last night—forget what it had felt like to have Chase’s hand running over her bare stomach. How he’d seductively dipped his finger into her navel, a unique ploy to make a woman think of . . .

  She downed her coffee in one gulp and got up from the table. “I’ll clean up later.” And she’d tell him later he had to leave. Like a girl on the lam, she darted out of the room.

  As she walked away, she felt like Ally McBeal in the old sitcom. In her mind’s eye her conscience had split into two halves, and she imagined one sat on each of her shoulders. One, a saintly presence dressed in white linen, said: “Turn back around and give him his walking papers.” The other wore a really hot little red dress, and after telling Miss Perfect to go sing a hymn, she suggested a few things that Lacy could do with her leftover syrup. Lacy ignored both of them and went into her studio.

  • • •

  Zeke chewed another handful of aspirin and washed it down with hospital coffee from the cafeteria. His head pounded with each thud of his heart. No sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d closed his eyes, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t rest.

  Last night, Lady Luck had been on his side. Right before he’d crossed the path of the waiting room, he’d heard someone talking to a nurse. Backing off down the hall, he’d waited and listened until he recognized the voice.

  Officer Candace. When the nurse suggested he could go home, that she’d make sure to call with any changes in Stokes’s condition, Candace had been blunt in telling her that he planned on staying the night. The question that bit Zeke and made his head hurt worse was why Candace felt the need to sit outside the ICU.

  He knew everyone at the precinct cared. Hell, they all would go out on a limb for another officer, but staying all night went beyond the call of duty. Zeke had stopped by the precinct this morning to find out if a guard had been assigned to Stokes. No paperwork led him to believe it, but something in Zeke’s gut told him that someone had unofficially set this up. Who? Only one person came to mind: Dodd.

  Last night Zeke had practically run back to his car. Sitting in the dark, he’d considered taking his nest egg and heading to Mexico. Then it hit him: that damn gold watch he had coming in two months, the one he’d scoffed at. Suddenly he wanted it. Someday he’d make sure his son got it.

  If Zeke got caught, if he didn’t pull this off, his ex-wife and his kids would feel justified for cutting him out of their lives. Right now he didn’t care if his wife rotted in Hell, but he still had hope about his two kids. Hope that, after he retired, when the children were away from the clutches of his ex-wife, he could find a way back into their lives. And he’d have enough money to give them things, things he hadn’t been able to give them earlier. That made taking out Stokes easier. Because if Stokes lived to turn him in, Zeke’s own kids would pay a price. What father wouldn’t kill to protect his own flesh and blood?

  Zeke’s cell phone rang and he jerked it out of his pocket. He’d tried to get Bruno at least a dozen times, but the man hadn’t answered. “Duncan!” Zeke said, hoping to hear Bruno’s deep voice.

  “Hey.” It was the man he was hoping for.

  “Where the fuck have you been? I tried to get you all night. You’re on him, right?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t come home until two this morning,” Bruno said.

  “I told you he was at the hospital.” Zeke squeezed the words out through clenched teeth.

  “By the time I got there he was gone. I wound up parking at his apartment and waiting. He still hasn’t gone anywhere this morning. Do I have to tail him all day?”

  “Only if you want to live.”

  Bruno cleared his throat. “I’ll let you know when he’s on the move.”

  “You do that. And answer your cell phone when it rings. I’m going to head back to the lake and snoop around the neighborhoods a little farther out. If I find him I might need your help.”

  “I’m not killing anyone,” Bruno snapped; then the line went dead.

  • • •

  The Christmas music started as Chase loaded the dishwasher. He had the kitchen almost cleaned, all to the time of “Silent Night,” when the doorbell rang. He took off for the living room just as Lacy stepped out of her studio and into the hall. Panic filled her face. “Go to my bedroom,” she said. “I’ll get rid of them.” Feeling a little of the same panic rumble in his chest, Chase grabbed his gun from where he?
??d stowed it under the couch.

  Chapter Thirteen