Reluctantly in Love (24 page)

“I’m sure she’s just had a rough couple of weeks with Pretzels gone. I would be distraught if my pet went missing too.”

“Yes. She was a gift from my father.”

“Well, I’m glad you were able to bring Pretzels home. It’s a relief to see Beverly so happy.” I glanced to the living room window, but the shades were drawn so I couldn’t see inside.

“Yes, well, she’s all the family I have left.” And there it was again, the underlying tone of feigned sincerity. Maybe it was my imagination, but I didn’t think so.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“I must admit, these claims of a prowler have been very concerning.” The frown was back, his brow troubled.

“You don’t believe the prowler was real?”

He pressed his lips together for a moment before responding. “She was certain someone broke in to steal Pretzels. She must have left the door open and Pretzels slipped outside. This could be an early sign of dementia or Alzheimer’s. I’ll have to keep a close eye on her.”

He didn’t know about the shoe print we found, and I kept the detail to myself. I didn’t trust his sincerity, and I didn’t like what he was insinuating. Also, his story was off. It made no sense to me why a person would return the cat anywhere but the address printed on the flyers, which was LM Security. It was all too convenient. If I paid fifteen thousand dollars
cash
to a stranger, I’d have thought to record his name somewhere.

“I’ve spoken to her on several occasions. Other than her being distraught over her pet missing, she seems healthy to me.”

He raked a hand through his dark hair then patted the locks into place. “But a prowler coming around, harassing her in the middle of the night? I find it odd that no one has been caught, that the police haven’t found any evidence of a prowler, or an intruder.”

“Yes, and yet Pretzels just—
poof
—disappeared.” I had a hard time keeping the distrust out of my voice.

His phone dinged and he reached into his pocket for it. As he read the display, he said, “I’m not sure what happened to her cat. I think she must have left the door open. Like I said, I’m worried about her.”

“And you’re worried about her mental health.” It wasn’t a question—he’d been beating around this point from the beginning of our conversation.

He perked up at my comment. “I am. Hearing things, seeing things, forgetting to shut and lock her doors, calling in reports to the police in the middle of the night . . .” He shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirked. “You’ve spoken with her. How would you assess her mental health?”

Well, there was the alien in a thong sighting . . .

“I find her to be a very candid and straightforward woman,” I said.

“I’m curious about what she’s told you, Ms. Moss. Has she said anything that seemed strange that would make you question her . . . state of mind?” He leaned against the porch beam and slid his hands into his pants pockets. “What kind of details did she give you about this prowler?”

An alarm went off in my head—he was fishing for something.

“She didn’t see the prowler,” I lied. “I really didn’t have much to work with.”

“Nothing?” His eyes narrowed and the muscles in his neck twitched. “She didn’t see anything at all?”

“No” I met his gaze head on—he didn’t believe me. “It’s unfortunate too. If she had gotten a glimpse of whoever has been taunting her, perhaps the case could have been solved sooner. But, I suppose none of that matters now that Pretzels is home.”

“Yes, it really is a miracle.” His cell phone beeped again, but this time he ignored it. “And now I suppose there’s nothing left for you to do here. We’ll pay you for your time, of course.”

“That’s generous of you.” I stood. “I’ll work the details out with Beverly.”

He walked me to my vehicle parked at the street curb. His red sports car was only a few feet away, parked in the driveway.

I hated the niggling feeling that this story wasn’t over, that I had to walk away without closure. I paused beside my vehicle and smiled up at him, turning on the charm. “It’s really too bad we didn’t have a chance to talk before this, Mr. Garrett. I was so interested in you and Garrett Properties. I admit I was a little star struck when I found out who you were and that the Garrett Mansion is your legacy.”

He drew to his full height. “Yes, well, that seems to be a popular reaction when people discover who I am.”

I laughed and landed a playful swat to his arm. “I bet.” Batting my eyelashes, I asked, “Garrett Properties is a big deal. What’s your position there?”

I already knew the answer. Over the last week, I’d been doing nothing but obsessing over his background investigation, his financials, every shred of information, hoping to scrounge up something incriminating. I knew how he took his coffee, that he liked to order in deli sandwiches for lunch if he didn’t have a lunch date, and that he had a lot of credit cards, but not as many as his wife. None of them were maxed out.

His eyes hardened. “Property Manager.”

Okay, then. He’s not happy with his tiny title.
I’d struck a chord; I could see it in his eyes. Being an heir to a fortune wasn’t enough, after all.

“Oh, wow.” I drew the words out and widened my eyes. “That must be a huge responsibility with so much real estate.”

“It is.” His words were short, his tone sharp.

“And you manage
all
Garrett Properties real estate?”

“Most,” he lied.

According to his business profile and public company information, Matthew Garrett, heir to the Garrett fortune, was not an executive officer, not even a member of the board, and had been given the title Property Manager of only a few real estate listings within the city of Lincoln. There were three other property management branches in the United States, including one corporate office with an Omaha address. Garrett Properties owned hotels in all major tourist cities in the United States, so I had to question why he’d been tasked with managing a small percentage of the company’s less lucrative properties.

Matthew Garrett was clearly not happy about it, either.

“Well, Mr. Garrett, I’ve taken up enough time in your day.”

He took my hand, then placed his other hand on top to sandwich mine between his. “It was nice to finally meet you. Again, I apologize. I’m also sorry you were dragged into this mess with the cat. I really do fear we might be dealing with an aging woman with deteriorating mental health.”

My smile felt like plastic on my lips. I tugged my hand free and made a show of reaching into my purse. Producing a business card, I said, “Well, please let me know if you find the name of the man who returned Pretzels. I’d love to question him and the family who found Pretzels. Just to cover all my bases and make sure the case really is closed.”

“Of course.” He pocketed the card without reading it. Without his professional position on topic, his smile was back. “You can also have the video camera out back removed, now that there’s no need for it.”

Opening my vehicle door and sliding in, I said, “I’ll send someone out first thing tomorrow.”

He waved acknowledgement as he turned away. I sat inside my vehicle and turned on my tablet while Matthew backtracked to his sports car and sped off toward the retirement community gates. I didn’t follow. While I attached the keyboard, my mind worked through the facts of the case. I needed to type up everything that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours since my last case update. Now that it was
closed
I’d have to present my final report to Leo.
Even if it doesn’t
feel
closed.

Frustrated, I pecked out the report.

Every few minutes, I glanced up at Beverly’s house. She deserved the truth, and my gut told me this . . . this—
this crap!—
wasn’t the truth. Pretzels was home, but the story wasn’t finished.

There’s something bigger going on and it’s not aliens or Beverly going loony.

I turned the key and pulled away from the curb. It was true that I could be a little obsessive when I couldn’t figure something out. But when I found a puzzle, it was hard for me to put it down until it was solved.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The brush of Chase’s lips against the small of my back sent shivers up my spine. The warmth of his breath tickled my nerve-endings with each butterfly-soft kiss.

“Knock it off.” My words lacked conviction. I wanted his mouth on me and he knew it. His lips grazed the dip at the small of my back and my toes curled. My words breathy, I said, “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“I’m feeling neglected.” The next kiss was pressed to my shoulder where my oversized sweat shirt hung loose. “You never spend time with me. I feel like I’m just a piece of meat to you. ” He topped his comment off with a dramatic sigh.

“A super
hot
piece of meat.” Smiling, I rolled to my back. As always, the piercing blue of his eyes made me suck in a breath of wonder when his gaze connected with mine.

He dropped a kiss to my lips, soft but firm. “Should I start dinner?”

For the last two months, life had taken on a simplistic pace I’d fallen into with an ease that surprised me. We had a routine—no matter where we were during the day, we ended the evening together. The fluttering in my stomach wasn’t as incessant as it’d been in the very beginning. Now, the flutters were slow and steady, emanating from my core to spread warmth throughout my entire body.

Today was a lazy Saturday. We were spending the weekend at his place—an unspoken plan. I loved afternoons like these at his house; the bungalow was cozier than mine. All the rooms had been designed around the living room, with wide windows looking out through the covered porch and onto the neighborhood. The people here were friendly, waving at us during our evening walks. Not like my neighbors, who regarded passersby with suspicion or haughty regard.

Laughter drifted through the open window from the children next door playing in their backyard. Mid-October was unusually warm, even as the leaves changed from green to russet and gold. At night, when the evenings cooled, I didn’t feel the chill, not with Chase’s arms around me.

Whatever this was between us, I was happy. I didn’t care to analyze it, as I did most other things in my life. He made it easy to live in this moment with him.

“We’ll do it later. Come here.” I ran my thumb against the stubble on his chin. He’d decided to grow a beard—he called it winter-prep. “I’m thinking if I can distract you long enough, you’ll just let me take over.”

“You don’t trust me? I’ll do my best not to burn our supper this time.”

Pressing a finger to his lips, I said, “
Shh.
That meatloaf recipe is sacred.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know this. You’ve been saying it ever since we brought the ingredients home from the grocery store.” He kissed my temple. “Maybe we should make our own meatloaf recipe.”

“That sounds very . . .”
Domestic.
“Nice.”

My heart raced in my chest.
What is going on with me?
Jesus. I’d practically set this up for a conversation about . . . serious shit.

I blinked back a wave of nausea. All of these ‘firsts’ in our relationship had gone to my head.
Cool it, Roxanna.

“I think we’ll just stick to the same recipe. And I’ll make it; I know it by heart.” I tugged on his earlobe. “You sure you don’t want to meet the guys for the football game?”

“Nah. I’d rather stay in my pajamas all day with a smokin’ hot woman to keep me warm.”

“Smokin’ hot, huh?” I nipped his bottom lip.

“The smokinest.” One of his hands closed around my waist, drawing me nearer.

“That’s not even a word,” I circled my arms around his neck.

“I love it when you get all author-ly on me.” He dipped his head to the curve of my neck.

“That’s not a word either.” I let my head fall to the side to give him better access, and he kissed his way up the side of my neck to the sensitive skin just under my earlobe.

“God, you turn me on.” The teasing laughter resonated in his voice.

“Should I talk about punctuation now?”

“Only if your plan is to seduce me.” He nibbled on my earlobe.

“You know it. With an exclamation point.”

“You turn me into an animal, woman.” He growled and nuzzled my neck with his forehead, at the same time reaching to tickle my ribcage, where he knew I was most sensitive.

I squealed and wiggled out from underneath him. “Don’t do that!”

“What?” he asked, reaching for my leg just above the knee. He squeezed once before I hit him in the arm. It was a gut reaction—being tickled made me laugh and lash out at the same time. I hadn’t realized how ticklish I was until it became a pleasurable form of entertainment for Chase. Apparently, tickle-torture had been a thing in his family. I would never have survived.

“You’re so cute when you get violent.”

I put a pillow between us. “You know I can’t help it. It just happens.” I jerked my arm out, my hand fisted, and waved it around. “Like that.”

“It’s weird.” He grinned. “Like you.”

I turned onto my back and clasped my hands over my chest to stare up at the ceiling. “Let’s talk.”

He groaned and flopped to his back beside me. “Fine. But I’m telling you right now, I don’t prefer this over you being on top and—”

I dropped a pillow onto his face.

He laughed. “Okay, okay.” He set the pillow under his head then tugged me against him. I snuggled up into his side and traced circles onto the chest of his T-shirt. “What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

I considered his question. I’d never been great at settling for just one. “Red. And blue. I think I like them both equally. And all variations. Because I also like pink. And black goes with everything.”

He laughed. “Noted—you like all colors.”

“Except for green. Like, tractor green. That color is boring.” I leaned back to look into his eyes. “What about you?”

“Brown.”

I quirked my brows. “What? No one’s favorite color is brown.”

“Mine is.” He grinned at me. “Pukey, poopy brown. Like your eyes.”