Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (23 page)

“Romance. Maybe that new one with that blonde actress.”

Grant chuckled. “Sure. But I choose next time.”

The ‘next time’ left her speechless. Her whole body sagged against the hallway wall and quick as a flash, Miss Priss snuck out the front door.

Her apartment building, located in the tiny historic district of Manatee Bay, was nestled between Victorians that had escaped the conversion into medical and law offices so many others had undergone. The street stayed quiet both day and night.

When Miss Priss slid out the door, all thoughts of Grant’s future date plans evaporated. Her muscles jumped into action but not soon enough. Grant was ahead of her, stepping down her stairs and trying to coax Miss Priss from the shrubbery next door.

Rachel slowed her movements, not wanting to spook the cat. Miss Priss wasn’t on the light side. She’d be easy to catch if she decided to emerge from hiding. But who could dodge those claws? She grimaced, remembering Miss Priss’s first day home.

“Go slow,” she told Grant, sidling along the edge of the bushes to see if she could reach through somehow and grab the cat.

This was why she didn’t need a pet. Annoyances. Distractions.

Worries.

“I’ve got her.” He grunted and the bushes rustled as he pulled out a hissing Miss Priss.

He stood and Rachel followed him back into the apartment. She closed the door behind her and studied Grant. Miss Priss, fickle feline, purred against his chest. Even she was susceptible to his charm.

“Rachel.” Grant’s tone caught her attention. “Where did you get this cat?”

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

“The shelter. Why?”

“She’s Helga.”``

“Who?” The name battered at her. An ugly name that made her think of a warty witch.

“My cat.”

His cat? Then she remembered sitting at the police station, when she’d been grazed by a bullet. The scar at her neck itched and she lifted a finger to it. It had faded to a tiny ripple in her skin, a subtle reminder that her life had been in danger, if only for a moment.

The cat’s purr rumbled louder.

She moved her hand away from her neck and searched Grant’s face. “How do you know?”

“It’s pretty hard not to recognize her.”

True. Even though she’d lost weight, Miss Priss still had a mean look to the line of her nose.

“But,” Grant continued. “She has this nick in her ear.”

Rachel leaned forward, felt the cut herself. “How did that happen?’

“I don’t know. I found her half-dead on my property. Poor thing weighed almost nothing.”

“When I got her from the pound, she weighed fifteen pounds.”

“She likes Fancy Feast.” He grinned, his smile crooked.

She refused to be charmed by his display. The math didn’t add up.

“So,” she said, crossing her arms. “Why didn’t you pick her up from that place? You left her there to die.”

“To die?” His eyebrows lifted. “That’s a little harsh.”

“So you did leave her.” She resisted the urge to snatch Miss Priss from his arms.

“You think I would do that?” Amazingly, he looked hurt.

She mentally backtracked, but the calculations still didn’t make sense. And he’d deflected her accusation into a question. Brilliant, and very cold.

“I think you should tell me the truth.”

A soft meow came from the ball of fur in his embrace. He shifted Miss Priss. “I looked for her when I could. Never saw her there.”

“Did they keep her in the back?”

“Maybe.” Grant grimaced. “I didn’t realize she was missing until the morning of the day you came running in, bleeding.”

“Huh.”

“When did you get her?”

She cringed. Now the math added up. “I picked her up the next day.”

Grant smiled and stroked Miss Priss. The cat arched beneath his palm and her claws dug into his skin. A nuzzle from the suddenly affectionate feline brought a sting to Rachel’s eyes.

Clearing her throat, she stepped away. “I guess you’ll need her things.”

Grant didn’t respond. He set Miss Priss down and folded his arms against his chest. “You’re giving her up that easily?”

Not really. What she wanted to do was hide Miss Priss under her bed and tell Grant to go away. Or stay in the living room. Or she could hide him under her bed too, so she could keep them both forever.

Shaking those ridiculous thoughts away, she marched into the bathroom at the end of the hall. “Here’s her litter box,” she called, grabbing the small container by the handle and carrying it out of the bathroom. Grant remained planted in her hallway. Miss Priss sat at his feet, cleaning herself as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

Rachel ignored the pang gripping her chest and brought the box to Grant. It thudded to the ground. Miss Priss scrambled into the living room, but not before giving the box a spiteful hiss.

Grant leaned against the wall, crossing an ankle over a foot. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“She’s your cat.”

“Yeah, but you like her.”

“Maybe.”

“Admit it.” A teasing smile played at the edge of his lips. “I’ll bet she sleeps with you every night.”

Rachel wrinkled her nose and gave him a look.

“Why don’t you keep her?” Grant straightened and brought his hands to her shoulders. He always had such a firm, steady grasp that belied the quicksilver charm in his eyes.

She moved out from beneath those strong hands and sent Miss Priss, who hovered beneath the TV stand, a worried look.

“I think she may be happier with you.”

Grant laughed, a loud bark that made Rachel jump. “She wasn’t a house cat.”

“What?”

“She stayed outside, yowled all the time. Plus, I’m gone at weird hours, on call a lot. Her coat was never as shiny as it is now. You must pet her like crazy.”

Rachel slitted her eyes at him. “I do. You’re trying to get rid of Miss Priss?”

He laughed again, warm and rich. The warmth of it slipped right into her soul, even though she thought he might be laughing at her.

“You named the cat Miss Priss.” He laughed again, slapping one hand against his knee.

“It’s better than Helga.”

“Guess so.”

She could see he wanted to laugh again. It didn’t bother her, and that was surprising. Normally it didn’t take much to incite her temper but Grant calmed her. His easygoing, unflappable approach to life loosened her up. Except for his strange obsession with following rules. She knew why she broke them, but she wondered if he knew why he was so determined to follow them. Maybe it had to do with his childhood. It was worth discussing.

Someday.

Just the thought that there would be a someday melted the remaining bits of her armor.

Biting her lip, she met his gaze. Something passed between them. A connection so deep she thought her soul would burst from the thrill of it.

She moved toward him. He stayed against the wall, watching her through heavy lids.

“Tuesday night?” she asked.

He nodded. She reached up to touch his cheeks. The blonde stubble grazed her palms.

He gripped her hand, moved it so that he could place a chaste kiss against her fingertips. His eyes glittered, all traces of joking gone. “I’ll see you then.”

***

The next morning the smell of bacon roused Rachel from bed. She reached for her pillow and pressed it against her nose, groaning. Maggie must be in the kitchen.

Yuck. Memories of last week’s rubbery eggs tried to invade her dreams. She rolled over. Miss Priss growled and shifted out from beneath her toes.

Moving the pillow, Rachel sat up and yawned. She might as well face Maggie. The confession last night had been so much darker than she’d expected. No wonder Maggie had broken beneath the weight of her guilt.

Rachel heaved a sigh and tossed the sheets off. Well, she’d wanted to blame Mayor Owens for Maggie’s breakdown, but now it looked like the clinic was the only culprit.

First things first. Regain control of her kitchen before Maggie burnt the house down. Then she’d talk to her sister about that meeting at the warehouse.

When she reached the kitchen, it was in time to see Maggie standing at the stove, the scowl on her face blacker than the smoke billowing from the burners.

Alarm zipped through Rachel. She whipped into the kitchen, grabbed a towel from a drawer and wet it beneath the faucet. “Here. Smother that fire.”

Maggie turned, catching the towel against her chest by default. But she obeyed, moving the pan and wiping the flat-top stove until the smoke cleared. Rachel leaned against the sink, willing her pulse to slow to a normal speed.

The bitter fumes receded, but her annoyance didn’t. Who needed coffee now? Nothing woke a person up more than almost dying. She glared at Maggie and held out her hand. “Give me the towel and don’t ever cook in my kitchen again.”

“It was just a little grease.” Maggie tossed the towel over.

Rachel caught it, then let it droop between her forefinger and thumb. “You’re lucky you didn’t burn the house down.”

“Relax. Everything is fine.” Maggie moved with the lazy grace of a cat, sauntering to the table, sitting and crossing her legs like there hadn’t been a fire licking at her bacon only moments ago.

Huffing, Rachel tossed the towel into the washing machine. She’d start a load later. She spared the machine one last glance, wishing she could chuck Maggie in. The adrenaline slowed as she reentered the kitchen.

Maggie sat at the table, cradling a cup of coffee. A different mug, thin steam rising from its depths, waited for Rachel.

She crossed over and sank into the chair. The dregs of adrenaline turned her legs to mush. Caffeine should perk her up now that the danger had passed. “Thanks. Now I really need this.”

Maggie scowled. “Very funny. I just thought I’d do something nice for you.”

“Next time, money works better.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Right, ’cause you’re out of a job.”

Maggie’s eyebrows formed a scarlet vee. “Look, I quit. No one fired me. Will you ever get over that amazing chip on your shoulder?”

Surprised, Rachel set her coffee cup down. “I’m not mad. Just pointing out stuff.”

“Can’t you leave things be?”

“No. Truth needs air.”

Maggie glared at her, the wall between them rising by the moment. Obviously this wasn’t the way to handle things. Truth also needed time to absorb, tenderness to ease the sting. Rachel swallowed the automatic words that rose to her aid and instead cast a quick prayer heavenward. Now wasn’t the time to be snippy. Or defensive.

Lord, you know the things Maggie needs to hear. The truths. Please, give me the words.

“Last night opened my eyes.” She gripped her coffee cup and recalled Maggie’s anguished weeping. “I’m so sorry for judging you all this time.” She released the mug from her stiff fingers. “I forgive you, Maggie.”

Maggie went rigid, her hands curling into claws. Rachel saw her eyes flicker, heard the tap of her toes against the kitchen floor. A muffled pattering that betrayed her uneasiness.

“Forgive me for what?” Maggie tilted her head, daring her to make it real. To say the truth.

“For Scott.”

His name hung between them, a chain that bound them to the same prison.

Maggie banged her cup down against the table. Coffee sloshed out but she didn’t seem to notice. She stood quickly, turned her back and swiped at her eyes. “You had to make me cry again.” Her voice was muffled, but Rachel heard the strain.

She stood, a lump of pain in her chest where her heart used to beat. Would it be so hard to hug her sister? She forgave Maggie, even if hurt still lingered. She would choose this path though her nature burned for a more cruel justice.

She walked to Maggie, reluctance weighing her feet down as surely as guilt bowed Maggie’s shoulders. She slid an arm around her sister, turned her. Met her watery gaze, the eyes shaped like hers, but darker.

“And I’m sorry about your little boy.”

Maggie’s eyes filled to the brim. She fell into Rachel, and Rachel had to brace herself against the table.

“I didn’t know,” Maggie sobbed. “I pretended the baby wasn’t real, just tissue, but I didn’t know I was so far along.”

Feeling both sympathetic and uncomfortable, she stroked Maggie’s hair. Now there would be two things on her agenda. Bring down Mayor Owens and bring down the pregnancy center that did this.

But first she had to know one thing. She sat Maggie down at the table, grabbed some tissues from the bathroom, and came back to the kitchen.

Maggie blew her nose quietly, a lady’s clearing of the passages, mom always said. She’d taught her daughters how to have manners but not how to clean. She’d taught them how to find pricey clothes for bargain prices, but not how to find a man worth loving.

With a start, Rachel realized how much she’d judged her mom in the past. Hadn’t mom done what she could? Provided a home and food? Nice clothes and stylish haircuts? She owed her mom an apology.

She knelt beside Maggie and placed her hands on her sister’s knees. “I need to know what you were doing meeting with the mayor.”

Maggie’s head snapped up. Her fingers clenched the tissues. “What do you know about that?”

“I saw you,” Rachel said flatly.

Maggie sniffed. “He owed me money.”

“For the abortion?”

Her eyebrows surged upwards. “No. Just…stuff.”

“You’re not blackmailing him, are you?”

Maggie gasped, then threw the tissues at her. Ugh. Rachel dodged them as they fluttered to the floor.

“That’s so disgusting.” She jerked to her feet. “Tell me the truth. What do you have on Mayor Owens?”

“Nothing.”  

“C’mon. You had an affair with the man.”

Shock leached the color from Maggie’s face. “You know?” Then a crimson spot on each cheek appeared. “No wonder you let me move in, no questions asked. No interrogations.”

“Look, he’s dangerous. Just tell me what you’re hitting him up for.”

Her heart sunk when Maggie shook her head. Not a no, but a confused gesture that indicated the money was for something else.

“It was just for our place. We put money down on a condo together. Or rather, I did. But when I found out I was pregnant, he backed out.”

Rachel didn’t stop her gasp. It figured. She stomped her foot to get Maggie’s attention. “This is why you need a place to stay? Because that lecherous adulterer dumped you?”