Stay With Me (8 page)

This time he did laugh. “Do you have no filter at all?” He walked two steps before turning back to my truck. “I may not be gay, but I think Trevor is absolutely crazy for walking away from you.”

I went red as fire. “Thank you.”

“I also think you can’t put your whole life on hold for someone who may never come to his senses. I hate to tell you this, Mackenzie, but life is happening with or without you.”

I
WENT
home in a sour mood. Jordan had a lot of nerve telling me how to live my life. Or worse yet, that I wasn’t living my life. And pining for Trevor? Hah! I slammed my truck into park, and the transmission slipped a little, sending me into the parking stone with a little bump. Bessie was grousing again, and it brought Jordan’s words into stark focus. So what if I could afford a better car? Didn’t mean I wasn’t living.

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t enjoy the cool, dark interior of my apartment. Yeah, I could probably decorate a little. Clean a little.

Trevor had been the cleanbot in our relationship, often chasing after me with a dust rag and broom in order to keep my place presentable. I’d told him to relax, that it wasn’t important to me, but try telling that to a guy who alphabetized his cereal. I winced, rubbing my neck. I could see four pizza boxes next to the garbage can—the overfilled garbage can. When was the last time I’d cooked a meal? Or eaten more than the limp, frozen vegetables that Lean Cuisine deemed a serving?

I couldn’t hold Trevor responsible for the disaster that was my apartment and my diet. Or lack thereof. I rubbed a hand over my still-flat stomach. No definition anymore, but still not pouchy. Yet.

I stuffed a Pop-Tarts pastry in my mouth as I gathered my gloves and bleach. Oh well. Good-bye, abs. Three bags of trash, twelve soda cans, eighteen beer bottles, and an hour later, I could see wood surfaces. Nice wood surfaces. I eyed my dining room table with a can of lemon Pledge but decided enough was enough.

My phone chirped out “Who Let the Dogs Out,”
interrupting the music Bluetooth technology had magically been piping through my speakers. I was a bit outraged that someone would dare interrupt my old-school Madonna marathon, and my greeting was a bit gruff.

“What?”

“’Bout time you answered my call. God knows you never call me back.”

“Hello to you too, Dad.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for two days,” he groused. “You never call me.”

Good Lord, sometimes it pays to let your phone go to voice mail. I could be listening to “Material Girl” right now.
“What are you up to?”

“Fixing that TV in the den.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

My dad has never found an appliance he can’t fix. Only now that he’s retired, his attention span is ridiculously short, and he never finishes any of the projects he starts. We have a strange pseudo-Lowe’s going on in his backyard—any appliance you need, halfway repaired.

“It’s runs for about an hour before going out completely. You know what that sounds like?”

“Sounds like the picture tube to me.” Couldn’t believe he still had a TV with a picture tube, but that’s what it sounded like.

“Exactly.” His voice sounded muffled, like he was behind it this very minute. “I’m thinking about getting rid of the whole thing.”

“You’ve had it for a long time. Since I was like fifteen.”

“Longer than that, probably. Been thinking about one of those flat screen deals. You have to have a specific type of TV for that HD business, don’t you?”

“Yes, Dad. You need a TV with HD capability.” I decided to go ahead and attack the table and sprayed a fine film of Pledge across the top.

“I don’t know how I’d get it out of here, though,” he continued. “This thing is huge.”

“I think they’ll take the TV out for you if you have another delivered.”

“Would you go with Best Buy or Walmart?”

I was silent for a moment, uncharacteristically frustrated. There was no reason to get brand new. This was it between my dad and me. Meaningless conversation and talk of repairing things. When I retired from the force, that had been even one less thing for us to converse about. Sometimes I wished we could have a conversation about something that really mattered. But that just wouldn’t be Joe Williams’s style. He had a simple name for a plain, straightforward guy. And even though he hadn’t exactly enjoyed my “coming out,” he’d still accepted me the best he could.

I humored him. “You know I love Wally World. You going this weekend? I could give you a hand.”

Please say no
, I prayed.

“Nah, I’m going fishing with Robby. We’re going down to the Glades and make a day of it. You should come,” he added, almost like an afterthought.

“I’m good,” I said wryly. The only thing more painful than hanging out with my dad was hanging out with my dad and Robert. Fishing used to be fun before my dad learned I was gay and Robert became a dick. Besides the fact that he insisted on calling me Apple because of my nickname, “Mac.” When my mother had done it, it had been endearing. But my little brother? Oh, man, the annoyance. Pair that nickname with the fruit cracks, and I was just about done.

“Do you know how long it’s been since all of us got together on the water?”

“Dear God, not the boat.”

Dad had gotten the boat from Uncle Brennan, a collector of everything and anything with an engine. Uncle Brennan had lived about an hour away all my life, giving Robert and me plenty of time to hang out in his yard and play with things we shouldn’t. We’d driven the undrivable, everything from forklifts to ATVs, and had nearly given our mother fits worrying over us. If I had a nickel for every bone that Robert and I had broken, I’d be able to retire for real. Uncle Brennan had also been a mechanic, which made hanging out at his garage the ultimate thrill. There was nothing cooler to two little boys than hanging out with an uncle who collected and built racecars. He would be horrified if he could see Bessie.

“I gave your Uncle Brennan back the boat. You would know that if you called me more often.”

“You loved that boat.”

“It was a water hazard. It was rusting straight through. Not the kind of boat you want to take to Alligator Alley.”

I laughed. “You finally afraid of those alligators, old man?”

“It’ll take a lot more than a gator to get rid of me, boy.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“So, you busy or what? It would do an old man good to see his boys doing something together.” He paused to let it sink in and then pushed harder. “You know I’m getting on up in age.”

He may be getting older, but he had still obviously completed the mandatory requirements for Wielding Guilt for Parents 101. I grunted my agreement, and he finally let me off the phone. I swiped at the forgotten Pledge in hard concentric circles, in a better mood but dreading the weekend. God knew I loved my family, but the thought of spending my hard-earned weekend with them was enough to make me scrub the wood off that table.

I
PUSHED
my aviators on top of my head and set the tiny pair of binoculars to my eyes. Even though I was sitting there making money (my favorite type of sitting), I was irritated. And as I squinted at the closed door of her house, I realized the reason was a combination of three things: it was the crack of dawn (to me), I was working, and Jordan was inside with this Rachel person doing God knows what. Why the last should bother me, I didn’t care to explore. Why images of them would torture me, I had not a cl— All right, I knew why. I wanted him for myself.

Not for a relationship, and not for long. Love could keep all her hearts and flowers and fake crap to herself. No, I wasn’t looking for someone to share my breakfast table with. I wanted him in my bed, all long legs and soft, inviting eyes. He would look at me with that slightly amused expression and a raised brow and ask, “What are you waiting for?” The fact that my dream was impossible didn’t dampen my spirits or my erection, and Drew’s voice startled me out of my very pleasant musings.

“So what’s the deal with this chick?” Drew’s voice sounded close in my ear, and I adjusted the volume of my phone.

“Top of the morning to you too,” I said. “She’s Jordan’s fiancée. A real business type, legal shark.” Right now, Legal Shark’s yard was quiet and empty, and I grabbed a video shot of the scene. “It’s 8:40 a.m.,” I murmured into the device.

“I can’t believe you’re up this early.”

“
You
can’t believe it? If I had to come in to the office, I would be setting up a hologram of myself right now.”

He laughed. “And it would probably do more work than you usually do.”

“Shut it, Rodriguez.”

A woman in a short black dress elbowed open the front door, her hands full with two briefcase-type bags and a purse. I realized I was looking at her with a critical eye, almost as one would a rival, but I couldn’t help myself. She was flawless from the top of her layered haircut to the perfectly manicured claws that hit her key remote. I watched the red bottoms of her black stilettos disappear into her car and threw my car in gear.

“She’s on the move,” I said. “And so am I.”

“Don’t forget we have to meet with McGarrett at one o’clock.” When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “Don’t flake on me again,” he warned, and I groaned.

My phone buzzed again, and Jordan’s name flashed on the screen. “Gotta go,” I said even as Drew was complaining, and clicked over. “Shit,” I said as the white Beemer flew past me.

“Is that the way you answer the phone?” Jordan’s amused voice filled my truck as I put him on speaker and pulled out into the street. I was going to need both hands for this.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“She just left,” he informed me.

“Was that the white blur I saw?”

The Beemer made a high-speed turn and flew around the corner.

“Shit!” I exclaimed again.

If they’d ever seen any sort of TV at all, everyone knew the rules for following another car. Not close enough to get noticed, but not far enough to lose your prey. Actually doing it was another story. This Rachel character was in one hell of a hurry. My beat-up truck cried as I sped after her.

“Did I mention she drives like a bat out of hell?”

“No, you didn’t. Where is she supposed to be heading? Bank robbery?”

“She’s supposed to be going to work.” I heard the clatter of dishes on his end and had a vision of him puttering around in the kitchen on his day off. I was less interested in what I was supposed to focus on (my prey) and more interested in what he was wearing. I tried to concentrate. “Where does she work?”

He rattled off an address that gave me a vague idea of where I was supposed to be going. “You need me to repeat?”

“I’m good.”

“I hope you’re not writing this down while you’re driving.”

“You worried about me?”

“Hardly.”

His dry tone made me smile, and I realized it was the first time I’d done that today. I couldn’t hold back my curiosity a second longer. “So what are you doing?”

He paused but answered gamely. “Putting my coffee mug in the sink. Exciting stuff, huh?”

“It’s no high-speed car chase, but whatever.”

The sound of his laughter made my girly insides quiver a little. I could think of no further reason to hold him on the phone, and I concluded the conversation reluctantly. “I’ll be able to e-mail you the uploaded video and a report of what I found. Or I can deliver it if you don’t want the information electronically.”

“I’d rather you deliver it,” he said quickly.

My eyebrows shot up, and I smiled. He was probably blushing at how that sounded. I wanted to bang my head on the steering wheel. I’d found the perfect guy—smart, funny, adorable, and on a side note, good-looking—and he didn’t play for my team. God, I wanted to know what could happen if Jordan would relax and let things happen. But I couldn’t begrudge him his preference. How would I feel if someone told me to relax and let things happen with a woman?
Uh-uh, girlfriend.

“I probably don’t even have anything to worry about.” He stopped short and started again. “Everything’s still okay, right?”

I gunned it onto the main road, tires squealing a little. The Beemer made a quick U-turn, and I groaned. U-turns were never good. U-turns meant a change in pattern, a change from the normal routine. Excepting poorly designed roads, no one scheduled regular U-turns into her daily routine. She was coming toward me, but all I could see through her tinted windows was a pair of huge dark shades perched on what I assumed was her pale face.

“Perfect,” I said and winced. “I gotta run.” I didn’t wait for a response, but tossed the phone in the cup holder and made a sharp U-turn.

Bessie groaned.

I made it around the next bend just in time to see the tail end of the BMW fishtail onto I-95. I kept my eye fixed on her car while trying to navigate traffic, sliding neatly into her lane behind two smaller cars. They were big enough for a distraction between us but not too tall for me to lose her. She suddenly whipped into the HOV lane, and I glanced at my watch. The lane was restricted for another two hours, and I shook my head as she surged ahead. The highway crested into a high curve, and I watched her pull away with regret.

I wasn’t the police anymore, and I wasn’t looking to be stopped by them either. Nor was I going to get killed trying to see where this woman was headed. But it damn sure wasn’t to work. Coral Gables was the other way. It didn’t look good for Jordan, and I felt horrible that my first thought was pleasure. He would be devastated.
And then you’ll move in for the kill.

“For God’s sakes,” I snapped at my wreckage of a conscience. But no matter how much I scolded myself, I couldn’t deny that I wanted Rachel to be a fucking dirty cheater.

I pulled off the next exit and coasted to a stop in a gas station parking lot. I bought a Coke Zero and a bag of Fritos and wrote my report in my truck, muttering under my breath the entire time. I was a professional, and I didn’t like to lose my prey. But the woman drove like a fucking stunt driver. Not to mention all the illegal turns and breaking the speed limit on every street and interstate she’d been on. I’d hand off the next shift to Drew—the Mazda would do a better job keeping up with her than my poor old girl.