Troublemaker (24 page)

Finally she went in to Miss Doris. She'd chosen Melody first because she'd judged Melody the most likely to press charges, in which case there would be no deal-making with Miss Doris. Again, she pulled up a chair and sat down. Miss Doris looked both guilty and angry, which meant she could tip either way.

Bo said essentially the same thing she'd said to Melody. “Melody has agreed not to press charges if you don't.”

Miss Doris's mouth opened in astonishment, closed, then opened again. “She did?” she squeaked.

Bo shrugged. “She's guilty of the same thing. It makes sense for both of you to drop it and walk away.”

“Well, my goodness.” Miss Doris paused for maybe half a second. “All right. If she's dropping it, so will I.”

“Good deal. Jesse said he'll take you home.”

“That's sweet of him. I imagine it's dark by now.”

“Yes, it is, but we wouldn't let you walk home anyway.”

And that was that. Jesse and Miss Doris went out the back door to his cruiser just as Morgan and Tricks came in, meeting them on the way. They stood in the door for a minute or so, saying hello and exchanging small talk, then the first two were gone and the second two came on into the station. Tricks went immediately to Bo, smiling her doggy smile and putting her paw on Bo's knee.

“I missed you too,” Bo crooned, doing some two-handed ear-rubbing as she bent down and rested her forehead on top of Tricks's head. She looked up at Morgan. “Why are you two here?”

“I figured you'd had time to get everything sorted out, short of there
being actual blood involved, and thought you might be hungry. We can get a hamburger at the drive-through if you want.”

A nice hot hamburger that she hadn't cooked herself sounded great. “Let's go,” she said, getting to her feet. She locked the station doors and they all got into the big Tahoe. The hamburger joint was just a couple of blocks away, so there wasn't much time for her to tell him anything other than her food order, which was a small hamburger, small fries, and a bottle of water. Morgan's choice was the deluxe cheeseburger, which was twice the size of her hamburger, large fries, and also a bottle of water. They took their food booty back to the station and arranged it on her desk, then Morgan dragged the chair over to their makeshift table and sat down across from her.

“Your truck driver friend called,” he said as he salted his fries and opened packets of ketchup to squeeze over them. “He went through Alabama and stopped to pick you up some Naked Pig; he figured you wanted some, so he didn't bother checking. He brought it over, and I paid him.”

“Thanks.”

“I also told him to double the next order. If I'm drinking it too, we'll need more.”

She hid a smile. “You don't want to get some Miller, or Bud?”

“I'm a convert. Give me the Naked Pig.” He paused and squinted at her. “That's a sentence I never thought I'd be saying.”

They both chuckled, then he said, “Fill me in on the drama.”

She did, glad that everything had been calmed down so easily and without anyone getting hurt. He had a laugh about Miss Doris's language; it was her turn to laugh when he described Tricks's escapade with the treadmill. She almost choked on a swallow of water because she could just see him trying to avoid killing himself while Tricks was blissfully unaware of anything other than chasing her ball.

As she swabbed a fry in a dollop of ketchup, she said, “How long did you make it on the treadmill?”

“Are you kidding? I'm still alive, aren't I? I stopped right then. There will be no treadmill while Tricks is anywhere around.” He winked at
her and popped a fry into his mouth. “We went outside and walked the hill a couple of times instead.”

This must be her day to be winked at, Bo thought. First Mayor Buddy, now Morgan. Hearing her name, Tricks laid her head on Bo's knee and gave her a sad look, letting her know how awful it was that she wasn't getting to share their food. Bo said, “Forget about it, young lady,” whereupon she promptly abandoned Bo and laid her head on Morgan's knee, subjecting him to the woebegone eyes.

“She's sharper than a switchblade,” he commented before saying, “No,” in the same firm tone Bo had used. He'd started doing that, she thought; the same words, the same intonation.

Bo started to reply, but a strange noise from outside caught her attention. It sounded like . . . She didn't know what it sounded like. A party? A ball game? She frowned, cocked her head to listen, but still couldn't nail down the sound. Then, through the window, she saw what looked like a . . . herd? flock? . . . of fireflies coming toward the station. Large fireflies. She said, “What on earth is that?”

Morgan had turned at the sound too. He looked out the window and very matter-of-factly said, “A mob.”

A . . . mob? In Hamrickville?

Frowning, she got to her feet. He stood too and put his hand on her arm. All humor had fled his expression and he looked tough and capable. “If you think this is in the least dangerous, you stay here and I'll handle it.”

He could, too. He was just one man, but he wasn't a man even a mob should take lightly. She said, “I don't think this mob will amount to much. I wonder what they want, what has them upset? Only one way to see, I guess.”

She cast a regretful look at the half-eaten hamburger and remaining fries; they'd be cold and not nearly as appetizing by the time she got back to them. He said, “Okay, but I'm right here at the door if you need me.”

She was tired and would rather be finishing up her hamburger, but facing this “mob” was her job. Opening the door, she stepped out on the sidewalk and squinted at the approaching crowd. The overhead street-
lights cast weird shadows on their faces, and the light was so ghastly some of them looked like zombies, but there were only a few people she didn't recognize.

“Crowd” was perhaps stretching it a bit. She estimated there were maybe thirty people there, crossing the street toward her—and jaywalking at that, not that anyone in Hamrickville paid any attention to silly rules regarding where they crossed the street. The lights were mostly cell phones, a modern-day nod to flaming torches, though a couple of smokers carried cigarette lighters. A lot of the mob members ran shops here in town, which meant they were friends with Miss Doris. She saw Harold Patterson, the barber; Miss Virginia Rose, who seemed determined to be in the thick of whatever scene was going on; Faye Wiggins, the florist. Even the librarian was here.

Each and every one of them wore a big white tee shirt pulled on over their regular clothing. Miss Doris's sweet face had been printed on each shirt, with black jail bars stamped over her, and printed under her face in big letters was FREE DORIS.

Bo clamped her hand over her mouth and pinched hard so she wouldn't laugh at them. This was so sweet. Really. Her heart gave a little bump, then swelled with emotion.

When she could control herself, she pulled out her cell phone and snapped a photo. The flash, and the realization of what she'd done, stopped them in their tracks. She hadn't done it for evidence, but because she wanted to remember this moment forever. Then she leaned against the streetlight post and crossed her ankles.

“What's up?” she asked casually.

Harold Patterson began sputtering. “What's
up
? I'll tell you what's up! You're holding Miss Doris in jail while you let that Gooding girl free to strut down the street like she owned it. That's not right, it's just not right. We've come to get Miss Doris out of jail.”

“We'll sign any bail papers you got,” added Miss Virginia Rose. “Whatever it costs to get her out of jail.”

Oh, man, they didn't know how a real mob was supposed to work, with violence instead of an offer to put up bail for Miss Doris. This was
truly so sweet that Bo thought she could get a little teary-eyed if she didn't control herself. She said, “First of all, I can't decide bail for anyone, only a judge can do that.”

“Where's Judge Harper?” someone from the back of the crowd shouted, and they began looking around as if they expected him to be marching with them, or maybe they were plotting a course to his house.

“There isn't any bail,” she said, raising her voice.

Harold Patterson gasped. “You mean you're holding her
without bail
?”

“No, I mean there's no bail because there aren't any charges. Miss Doris didn't file charges against Melody, and Melody didn't file charges against Miss Doris.”

“Then why is Miss Doris still in jail?”

“She isn't. She's at home.”

The barber turned red in the face. He was so upset he seemed incapable of seeing reason. He began shouting, “No, she isn't! No one saw her leave the jail! You've still got her in there and—”

Miss Virginia Rose said crisply, “Don't be a child, Harold.” She gave Bo a stern look. “Chief, be square with us. Is that truly what happened?”

It was all Bo could do to keep a big smile from breaking out. God, these people were great; she blessed the day she'd landed here. As seriously as possible she said, “It is indeed. Jesse took Miss Doris home about half an hour ago, maybe a little more. Emily had posted on Facebook that she was picking up Miss Doris for her court date, and Kalie is Facebook friends with Emily, so Jesse knew Miss Doris wouldn't have her car.”

That convoluted explanation evidently made perfect sense to everyone because smiles broke out. She heard several “Thank yous,” and “Sorry to disturb you,” and a “See, I told you everything would be all right.” Then, mission accomplished, the firefly crowd moved back across the street and began dispersing to their own cars and residences.

Bo stood on the sidewalk for a minute or so, watching them, then went back inside the police station.

Tricks was sitting there with a big doggy smile on her face, as happy as ever. Morgan was crouched on the floor, his arms around Tricks. He
was laughing, his shoulders shaking, as he fought to muffle the sound by burying his face against Tricks's plush fur. Her heart gave another of those little bumps, and the hairs on her arms lifted in alarm. She didn't want to feel anything for him other than concern over his situation; anything more personal was too dangerous.

Bo pushed emotion away and said, “You better not get snot on my dog.”

He lifted his red face from Tricks's fur and managed to gasp, “Free Doris!” before succumbing again, collapsing on his ass on the floor and holding his stomach.

She liked his laugh, deep and rolling. “Wasn't that great?” she asked, beaming. “All of it. And I got a picture.” Then she began laughing too because she couldn't hold it in any longer.

He rose lithely to his feet, snatched her into his arms, and whirled her around in a circle. She was astonished by the ease with which he lifted her, but she couldn't stop laughing as she clutched at his shoulders. “Put me down! What if someone comes in?”

He snorted. “What if they do? After what I just saw? There's no one in this town who would even blink an eye.” He smiled down at her, blue eyes still glinting with laughter.

She looked up, so close she could see the emerging beard on his strong jaw, the striations, both light and dark, in his eyes that made the blue so brilliant. The muscles in his shoulders bunched under her palms as he set her down.

“You have a good heart, Chief,” he said and kissed her forehead.

She could handle a forehead kiss, she thought; it was friendly without being sexual. Not that she wanted to be friends with him, but still—

Then he blew that out of the water by gripping her head with both hands, tilting her face up, and covering her mouth with his.

I
T WAS LIKE BEFORE—THE HOT TASTE OF HIM, THE
thrill of recognition, the instant hunger. But it was different, too, because neither of them was riding the knife edge of anger. There was a slowness to the way their mouths clung together, a laziness to the dip and stroke of his tongue. Did laughter give a different, lighter taste to his mouth? Did it to hers? He wasn't holding her head now; instead his hands were gripping her waist, the heat of his palms burning the softness of her skin as he brought her body close against him.

He nipped at her bottom lip, licked the tiny sting, moved his mouth down to her throat. Her head fell back, as if the touch of his mouth turned her neck to rubber, and holding it upright was too much effort. She didn't even try; she couldn't deny the thrill, the hot chase of lightning from his mouth to her nipples and down between her legs.

She'd been turned on before. She knew the allure of sex, the heat and pleasure of it. But even during her marriage she'd always felt somehow distant from the act, as if her mind couldn't quite engage with her body. This was different. This was scary. Not only was her mind right there, but she felt as if her body had the upper hand, as if touching him somehow made her mental gears shift into neutral. This was more than pleasure; she didn't want to have just the experience, she wanted to have
him
, to feel
him
on her, inside her. That wasn't sex, that was need, and
need was a completely different animal. She didn't want to need anyone.

And yet . . . she did
.
Him,
for reasons she couldn't pin down. Chemistry, maybe. Propinquity, probably. And he liked her dog.

His erection was a thick ridge against her stomach, inviting her to lift herself up, wind her legs around his waist, and let him do whatever he wanted.

Alarm clanged in her brain, but distantly. They were standing in the middle of the police station. He wasn't mostly naked, the way he had been before when he'd kissed her. They weren't being driven by raw emotion; she wasn't in danger of giving in to the subtle surge of need rising through her body—not here, anyway. She was aware of the alarm; that was all, just as she was aware of his thick hair beneath her palm. But—when she had moved her hand from his shoulder to the back of his head? His hair was cool on the surface, warm at his skull, so soft her fingers curled in it. She was aware of his chest rising and falling with every breath he took, she could feel the thumping of his heart.

His heart—the heart that had come so close to never beating again because he had a job and lived a life that put him in harm's way, because an assassin's bullet had damn near killed him.

The thought chilled her as nothing else could have, and with the chill came a return of common sense, of willpower. Bo pulled her mouth from his, tucked her head; her forehead was resting against his chest, her hand lying lightly over that heart that was still beating strongly, despite all odds, because he'd had the strength to overcome what should have been a fatal injury. She had to keep that reality front and center before she started doing stupid things such as hoping they could have something together. No, face the facts: she was already being stupid by kissing him; he'd been plain about what he wanted, and she'd just underscored her own weakness where he was concerned. He was too astute not to have realized what this episode revealed.

She felt the need to clarify her standing, despite what her present actions were saying, or maybe because of what they were saying. “Rules
haven't changed. No sex.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she winced in embarrassment. Mixed signals, much?

“How about a celebratory kiss?” His tone was low, his breath brushing her hair as he slowly rubbed his lips against the hollow just below her ear, then so lightly, delicately, licked it as if he were tasting her. All the nerve receptors in her skin lit up, and her nipples pinched tight, making her want to rub her entire body against him.

It would be silly to say no to what they'd already done. Just because she had no intention of getting involved with him . . . did that mean she couldn't allow herself the purely physical enjoyment of kissing him?
And that way lies a slippery slope,
she thought, because the same logic, or lack of it, could also be applied to sleeping with him.

Regretfully she made herself release him, step away. “We've just had it,” she pointed out. He let her go without effort, and a tiny part of her mourned that, wanted him to persist. How perverse was that? But it was human; she wanted him to want her the way she wanted him.

But he was smiling down at her, a crooked smile that invited her to join in his amusement. “Is there a rule about how many celebratory kisses are allowed?”

“Yes. One.”

“What idiot wrote that rule?”

“I did.”

“Scratch the previous comment.”

His prompt reply had her laughing. The man was a fast thinker. He'd have to be, though, or he'd have been killed long ago.

She sighed as she turned to the desk and gathered up the scraps of their now-cold meal. She wished he hadn't kissed her—but he had, and once again she'd been complicit. At least he'd done nothing more than kiss, though she suspected that was more because he was too damn wily than because his interest had cooled. He didn't strike her as a man who blew hot and cold, but rather as a man who went after what he wanted and was very good at planning his strategy.

That worried her. She didn't want to be the target of any strategy . . . or did she? She had no idea what she wanted. She knew what she
should
want, knew what was safest, but for the first time in a long, long while she wasn't certain she could stay the course she'd mapped out for herself.

He looked around the office. “Are you finished here?”

“I am. I'm getting out of Dodge—or in this case, Hamrickville—before anything else can happen.” Maybe, with the court hearing over and both Melody and Miss Doris out of jail, they would have peace again.

She locked up and they went to their respective vehicles. Tricks loaded up into the Jeep, looking very happy to be in her special place with Bo. Bo pulled her thoughts away from what she shouldn't, couldn't, have and concentrated on the very good things that were in her life now. She reached over and rubbed Tricks's neck. “Did you play ball with Morgan's machine? Was it fun?” Man, she wished she had a video of that.

Tricks gave her a tongue-lolling-out-the-side-of-her-mouth grin.

From his vehicle, Morgan motioned for her to lead. Fifteen minutes later, after a stop at the mailbox to retrieve the day's offerings, they parked side by side in the dark driveway. The security lights came on, and he'd left the porch light on to dispel the shadows on the patio. She didn't like going into a dark house, never had, so the light was a welcome relief. She wouldn't tell him that, though; he'd gotten his way about the added security and that was enough.

As she got out of the Jeep and let Tricks out, the mild spring night folded around her, rich with the sweet scents of wild rhododendron and fresh grass. The crickets were chirping, some night birds offering an occasional liquid note. She paused a moment to savor the smell, then joined him on the porch.

They went in together, man, woman, dog. It was almost like a family, she thought wistfully before she caught the recurring theme. Morgan was
not
family. She and Tricks were family, they were the ones who'd still be there when he was somewhere on the other side of the world.

Tricks ran to her bowls and first checked to see if food had magically appeared in her food bowl, then transferred her attention to the water.
Morgan dropped into “his” spot on the sofa, propped his boots on the wood and steel coffee table, and turned on the TV. Bo stood there for a minute, absorbing the new rhythms of her life that had become commonplace without her noticing.

“Stop watching me like that,” he said without looking at her. “Or we'll have to go upstairs.”

Damn it, she should have known he'd be able to pick up when he was being watched. She felt her face getting warm. There was no denying it though she wasn't happy that he'd noticed. Denying her interest would be silly; giving in to it would be downright dangerous. “No,” she said. “We won't.” Then she added, “You said it's my decision, remember?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Never said I wouldn't try to change your mind.”

Her mind shouted
No!
but excitement fizzled along her veins at the idea. She almost asked him exactly what methods he'd use before catching herself. Physical attraction was a bitch. She knew exactly what she should do, and too damn bad she had to battle chemistry and her own stupid hormones to keep her head straight.

Irritably she said, “Any relationship between us would be a waste of time.”

“How is that?” He looped his arms behind his head, linked his fingers. He looked totally at ease, which was at once both annoying and sexy. She didn't want him to feel at ease when she didn't, but his self-confidence definitely called to her. “Wouldn't the relationship be the whole point?”

“Been there, done that, don't see the
point
of doing it again. I'm not—” She started to say “
interested
” but swallowed the word before she made an even bigger fool of herself. “I try to learn from my mistakes. The fact is, I'm better off alone than I am investing time and effort in a relationship that'll be over in a few months at the most, maybe even a few weeks—hell, maybe tomorrow, for all either of us knows.”

His eyebrows lifted. “How do you know it would be over?”

“Because you won't be here,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “You'll leave, and—”

“And the roads go in only one direction? I can't come back?”

She wanted to smack him out of sheer frustration. If she hadn't already betrayed her attraction to him, she'd have simply lied, but she'd stood there like a fool and kissed him back in a way no man would mistake, especially a man like him who was trained to notice every detail. Now she was cornered, and she
hated
being cornered, hated not being in control. Damn it, why did he have to be so persistent and reasonable? He wanted sex; for a man, that was simple, but she wasn't a man.

“You're such a turd,” she said sourly and stomped upstairs.

Her feelings weren't helped by the laughter that followed her.

Morgan smiled to himself as he clicked to a softball game. Normally
Bo was as level-headed and contained as anyone he'd ever known; she got angry, but she didn't lose control. He was getting under her skin, and that was a good thing because it meant she wasn't able to distance herself. She
wanted
to—but, damn, their physical chemistry was so hot it kept blindsiding her, getting her flustered and annoyed.

He almost knew how she felt. He wasn't reluctant to get involved the way she was, but almost every day he'd get punched in the gut by the growing intensity of his fixation on her. This was new to him, scary new.

He'd wanted women before, but mostly he'd wanted sex. He hadn't been this focused on one particular woman since high school and his first major crush—and the situation was getting worse by the day. Instead of spending most of his time now thinking about regaining his strength, going over and over everything that had happened that last day in an effort to pinpoint exactly what had almost gotten him killed, he was thinking about Bo: watching her, evaluating her smallest response, learning her patterns and movements and likes.

He wasn't a navel-gazer; when he wanted sex, he got sex. Couldn't get any simpler than that. And after sex, he turned his analytical thinking back to the job. But he felt as if he needed to concentrate on Bo, to get the best read possible on her so he didn't make any missteps. He didn't know why not screwing up with her was so important but it was,
so he went about his campaign to get her with the same thorough attention he'd given to planning critical ops. His question about whether or not he could come back hadn't been rhetorical. No matter what happened with his job, he didn't want to lose touch with Bo.

Or her dog. Don't forget the dog.

As if reading his mind, Tricks trotted up to lay her muzzle on his knee and give him the full dark-eyed, furrowed-brows treatment. Then she woofed and looked at the stairs before looking back at him. He chuckled because the message was plain:
Aren't you going upstairs too
? If one of her humans went upstairs, she evidently thought the second one should follow.

He liked the way she thought. And he liked thinking of himself as one of her humans.

But Bo was giving herself time to cool off, and he didn't want to push her too much. She'd be back down in a few minutes. Next time . . . maybe next time he'd get his hands on those little boobs and find out if they were soft or firm. He was betting on firm, and his mouth watered at the thought. Shit, he had it bad. Or good. He hadn't decided which yet, but it was exciting as hell. He said softly, “Not yet, girl,” as he stroked Tricks's head.