Rosemary's Gravy (15 page)

“Yes, well.” He paused. “Okay then.”

He turned to walk away but I called after him. “Wait, Pat. Do you know why the police came back here? How’d they know Alayna was here?”

He smiled proudly over his shoulder. “Antonio figured it out. Alayna was delivering a package to him when several police cars went screaming by, headed toward the house. He said she reacted very strangely. She raced back to her car and took off down the through the canyon. He flagged down one of the stragglers in the police convoy and got a lift to the house to tell them what happened. That junior detective—the guy who’s partnered with Detective Sullivan—pieced it together, and Antonio gave him a lift back here in one of his faster cars. And, well, I suppose you know the rest.”

“Sort of. Tell Antonio I said thank you,” I said with emotion. I didn’t want to think what might have happened if the cavalry hadn’t shown up.

“I’ll do that.” Pat turned back to face me fully. “Your job’s waiting for you if you want it back,” he said.

I thought about that for a moment. Then I gave my head a small shake, which I immediately regretted because the movement sent a searing pain through my skull. “Thanks, Pat. But no thanks. I’m starting my own business.”

He raised one silver eyebrow in response to that and then shrugged. “Well, then, good for you. Best of luck to you, Rosemary.”

I
was staring
at the ceiling of my hospital room, too keyed up to sleep but too drained to read a book or watch reruns on basic cable when someone eased the door open very slowly, the way you do when you’re trying not to make any noise.

I turned to face the hallway. “I’m awake,” I called.

The door swung open, and Detective Drummond peered in at me, backlit by the dim light from the hall. “Are you up for a visit? I’ll keep it short.”

“Come on in,” I said. I hit the button to raise the bed so I was sort of sitting up and arranged the thin, scratchy sheet over my chest.

He dragged the metal chair from the corner of the room over to my bedside and pulled it close. As he sat down, he eyed me closely. “How are you feeling?”

“Bored,” I told him. “I’m fine. I just have to cool my heels here until morning to prove I don’t have a concussion.”

Relief washed over his face in a wave, and he exhaled a long, ragged breath. He reached for my hand. “Thank God. I’ve been so worried about you.” His shoulders sagged as if he’d just put down a heavy weight.

“Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“I’ve been busy processing Ms. Ramirez. I haven’t had a chance to check on you. Last I saw you, you were unconscious on the floor, bleeding.” His voice cracked.

I squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. “I’m totally fine,” I promised.

He reached out and stroked my hair. “The log had a notation that you’d been transported to Ronald Reagan Medical Center with no other notes. I was imagining all sorts of things.”

We smiled at each other in the glow of the medical monitoring equipment. Ghastly green isn’t really my color, but at the moment, I didn’t care that I probably looked like a washed out hag. It was so good to see him. My grin threatened to split my face, and my heart felt all bursty with emotion.

Then his smile faded. “That was really stupid, you know. Rushing a woman who had a knife. Boneheaded, even.”

I bristled. “Hey—”

He put a finger against my lips to stop my tirade before it even started. “Listen. You can’t go around scaring me like that. From now on, you’re going to have to be less brave and more careful.”

From now on?

I searched his face but couldn’t read him. Finally I said, “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on wrestling with any murderers in the future.”

“Good answer.” He raised himself off the chair and cupped my face with his hands. My heart galloped at his touch, and I prayed it wouldn’t set off an alarm on one of the monitors behind me. “Rosemary, I—” he began in a raw voice, trailing a finger along my cheekbone.

Then the overhead lights blazed on. I winced and squeezed my eyes shut. He dropped his hands and jumped back like my face was on fire.

When I blinked my eyes open, he was planted firmly in the chair, and Detective Sullivan was standing in the middle of the room, clutching a clipboard.

“Uh, hi?” I said weakly, wishing she’d just go away, so he could get back to tenderly caressing my face.

“Ms. Field,” she said with a curt nod. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” Her gaze shifted to the seat next to my bed. “Detective Drummond, I didn’t realize you’d be here. I thought you signed out.”

He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to check on Ms. Field,” he said as he stood.

Don’t go,
I thought.

“I wish you’d told me. I could have saved myself the trip,” she answered with a tired sigh. I turned back to look at her and noticed the dark circles forming under her eyes. She was human, after all.

“Sorry, boss,” he mumbled, inching toward the door.

I let out a little sigh of my own.

“I wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken to your sisters,” Detective Sullivan said, bringing her attention back to me. “They’re both making arrangements to come out from the East Coast.”

“That’s not necessary,” I protested.

“Probably not,” she agreed. Then she cracked the tiniest of smiles. “However, they were both—how should I say this?—agitatedly insistent that you needed them.”

I had to admit that agitatedly insistent sounded like Sage and Thyme. Arguing would be futile. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome. I also wanted to let you know that Ms. Ramirez has an outstanding warrant from Juarez, Mexico, and isn’t going to be able to get bail. She’ll be held until trial.”

I raised an eyebrow at the news of the criminal past, but I was more interested in the part where Alayna wouldn’t be out roaming the streets. “Good,” I said.

“Good night, Ms. Field,” Detective Drummond said from the doorway in an impersonal voice.

For a moment I wondered if I’d hallucinated the tenderness that had just past between us. I
was
getting intravenous pain medication, after all. But as I looked up quizzically, he quirked his mouth into a quick smile and threw me a wink. Then he disappeared through the door.

I stifled a sigh and turned my attention back to Detective Sullivan, who seemed committed to running through the items on her clipboard before she left.

I
groaned
and smashed my pillow over my head. For a moment I thought I was having a bad dream. Or déjà vu. I’d been up way too late the night before, catering a reunion dinner until eleven and seeing my sisters off with one last night of cocktails and dancing before they flew back East. Now it was seven o’clock on a Saturday and somebody was pounding on my front door. The last time this had happened, I’d spent my day at the police station. I groaned and eased myself out from under the blanket, careful not to disturb the lump curled up at my feet.

I hurried to the door, pulling my wild hair into a loose knot at the back of my head in a movement that made my arms ache.
Everything
ached these days. The long hours of catering six days a week left me stiff, sore, and ridiculously happy. I was already looking forward to tonight’s event—a benefit dinner for Rescue Haven.

I tugged my thin tank top down over my shorts and pulled open the door.

Detective Drummond stood in the hallway with a small grocery bag in one hand. He was wearing street clothes and a wide smile. “Good morning,” he said cheerily, as if his appearance at my front door were an everyday occurrence.

“Um … hi?” I mumbled uncertainly.

“Can I come in?” he asked already halfway through the doorway.

“I guess so. Do you promise not to arrest me?” I cracked as I shut the door and turned to face him.

His smiled vanished and he spoke in his cop voice. “Well I don’t know that I can do that, Rosemary. I understand you’re harboring a fugitive.”

My sleepy brain was still trying to process that statement when Mona Lisa came bounding out of the bedroom and nearly knocked him into the wall with a flurry of dog kisses.

“She must have recognized your voice,” I said while he crouched on the floor and gave her a vigorous belly rub.

He smiled up at me. “I thought your lease prohibits pets?”

“It does. But it turns out the super is a widower who misses both his wife’s cooking and his recently departed canine companion. I make Mr. Rizzo a pan of lasagna every Sunday. In exchange, he looks the other way. Shoot, he does more than that. He takes Mona Lisa out for a walk when an event runs late.”

Detective Drummond scratched the pup’s floppy ears and then rose to stand next to me.

“I was surprised when I showed up for my shift at the rescue center last week and she was gone,” he said as he handed me the grocery bag, I peeked inside—bagels, cream cheese, and a peanut butter dog cookie.

“You want some coffee?” I asked.

“That’d be great. I figured I better bring breakfast unless the state of your refrigerator has changed dramatically since the last time I was here.”

“It hasn’t,” I assured him as I moved into the kitchen and got busy with the coffeemaker. He followed me in, trailed by the dog, and fed her the treat.

“I’m glad you adopted her,” he said.

“Me, too.” I smiled down at her where she lay making short work of the dog biscuit. I raised my eyes to find Detective Drummond standing closer to me than societal norms would dictate. My heart rate ticked up a notch. “I’m catering a dinner for Rescue Haven tonight. You should, uh, come.” I smiled nervously and rested my elbows against the counter.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said. “I don’t have a date.”

I chewed on my lower lip and tried to figure out what he was getting at. “I’m guessing Detective Sullivan doesn’t have plans. You should ask her,” I ventured, trying to keep a straight face.

“One, Lisa isn’t as terrible as you make her out to be. Two, she’s married. Three, she isn’t the girl I’d like to ask.”

“Oh? Then ask the girl you’re interested in, Detective—”

“Didn’t I ask you to call me Dave?” he said. He stared hard at me, and I stared back, mesmerized by the way the gold in his eyes picked up the sunlight.

“Right. Sorry, Dave.” I rummaged in the candy bowl on the edge of the counter and popped a mint into my mouth, suddenly very conscious of the fact that I hadn’t yet brushed my teeth. I extended the bowl toward him. “Mint?”

He took one, keeping his eyes locked on mine. “And the girl I wanted to ask, turns out she’s gotta work tonight.”

I inhaled sharply and nearly sucked the peppermint into my windpipe in the process. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He braced his hands on the counter, one on each side of me and leaned forward with a grin.

My heart jumped again. I swallowed hard and reached out a hand and felt one of his rock-hard biceps. Then I nodded. “You’ll do.”

He arched an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Since you can’t get a date, you can come with me. I could use some muscle to set up and tear down the tables. You could probably be trusted to pass trays of appetizers, too,” I said in a matter-of-fact voice as I trailed my hand along his arm.

His smile spread lazily and he dipped his head. A deep dimple revealed itself in his chin.

I reached up and laced my fingers together behind his head. “So, what do you say? You interested?”

In answer, he covered my mouth with a kiss. I leaned forward, my lips meeting his hungrily. He pressed himself against me, pushing me back against the counter with the weight of his hips.

“Oh, I’m interested,” he breathed.

I arched my neck back to appraise him. “Good.” I ran my hands along his muscular arms again. “I’ll just have to make sure you’re up for the job.”

He trailed his mouth along my ear. “How do you intend to do that?” he asking, nipping my ear lightly with his teeth.

I was losing my ability to think, let alone speak. “Uh, I’ll have to confirm your stamina,” I managed.

He reached out with one hand and pushed the spaghetti straps of my tank top off my left shoulder and then my right. “Stamina, huh?” he echoed, moving his mouth along my neck to my bare shoulder.

“Uh-huh. Also, flexibility,” I said, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Stamina and flexibility. Anything else?”

“Creativity is very important.” My thighs began to tremble, which he had to have noticed because his right leg was pressed between them.

“I think I’ve got it. I’m ready for my interview,” he said.

I undid the remaining buttons on his shirt, and it fell open. His chest rippled with muscles. I swallowed hard and ran my hands along his bare skin.

He caught my hand. “One more thing, before this goes any further.”

“What’s that?” I asked, suddenly uncertain.

“Promise me you aren’t going to make that damned gravy again.” Then he laughed, a throaty, full-bodied laugh, and pulled me tight. My hips bumped up against his.

“Detective Drummond, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I told you to call me Dave.”

I let a slow smile play across my lips before answering. “Why don’t you try and make me.”

M
elissa F. Miller
is a
USA TODAY
bestselling author and a commercial litigator. She has practiced in the offices of international law firms in Pittsburgh, PA and Washington, D.C. She and her husband now practice law together in their two-person firm in South Central Pennsylvania, where they live with their three children, a lazy hound dog, and three overactive gerbils. When not in court or on the playground, Melissa writes crime fiction. Like some of her characters, she drinks entirely too much coffee; unlike any of her characters, she cannot kill you with her bare hands.

T
hanks
so much for picking up Rosemary’s adventure! Next up in the We Sisters Three Series, it’s middle sister Sage’s turn in
Sage of Innocence
(slated for later in 2015), followed by Thyme’s story in
Thyme to Live
(no date yet set).

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