CHAPTER SEVEN
"Spencer here?" The older gentleman wraps his thick, dark brown trench coat around his body and leans closer, trying to see inside the house.
I instinctively lean back to keep my distance, and so the smell of stale cigars doesn't suffocate me. Frankie growls, then circles once around my feet and stops, sitting directly in front of me, working as a blocker. The old man peers nervously down at her, both his hands clutching the trench coat.
"No."
His eyes slither up and down my body. I cross my arms to cover up my chest, failing to ease the dirty feeling his gaze creates. "You the girl with him when he found the body?"
This damn town and its gossip. "Yeah."
"Tell Spencer to stay out of our business, or you'll both and up like Kevin." He turns, slinking to the side, his boots crunching on the light covering of snow over my walkway.
I step out the door after him, stopping at the end of my front porch. The snow seeps through my socks and freezes my toes. "Who is Kevin? What happened to him?"
He turns back before opening the passenger door of an old-style town car, its windows blacked out with dark tint. "You met Kevin…in his kitchen.”
He doesn't mean Kevin was the dead body, does he? Snow falls off the tree when his door slams, and the black town car peels away.
He did mean the dead body.
My bare arms prickle from cold, the fabric of my thin T-shirt not doing anything to keep the freezing air away from my skin. Although, I don't think it's just the temperature that gives me goose bumps. I’m calling Spencer before the door closes. It rings as I twist the deadbolt.
"Miss me already?" he asks playfully.
"Spencer," his name comes out breathlessly, like I finished running a marathon rather than walking the distance from my porch. The way my heart beats against my ribs, it feels the same. "How far away are you?"
"What happened?" His voice deepens, growing an edge normally lacking from Spencer’s speech.
“Spencer," I whisper into the phone, peeking out the curtain to make sure there’s no one in my driveway. I drop the fabric, allowing it to fall loosely.
"Well, what happened?"
"Frankie ate soap."
"Okay.” He doesn’t sound as upset as I expect.
"She threw it up." His lack of reaction opens the floodgates, and everything from the last two days bubbles up. "I found a dead body. I had to talk to the police. We slept together!” We were both under the covers, it counts! “Then Frankie ate my soap. Regina is reporting our relationship to Pearl. Do we even have a relationship? And then some guy knocked on my front door and said I’m going to end up like Kevin.” I suck in a deep breath. “And I think Kevin was the dead guy!”
"Whoa, calm down. It's okay." He uses soothing words like I'm a small child ready to have a breakdown. He might not be far from the truth. "Tell me about the guy."
"Don't you care about Frankie?"
"No, she ate a bar of deodorant when I first brought her home. I called poison control and waited for her to puke it up," he's quick to respond. “I’m sure the soap will be fine.”
“What?”
A vehicle pulls in my driveway and stops close to my front porch, but I’m too scared to check the window.
"Open the door, Joslin."
With Spencer’s reassurance, I release the deadbolt. He and another equally tall male calmly walk into my house—like my life wasn't threatened a few minutes ago. And while on the topic of annoying, does the military only accept tall people? Is there some kind of rule written down somewhere that in order to be in the military, you must be tall and hot? Maybe it’s just SEALS.
Frankie run circles and jumps, her paws hitting Spencer’s friend in the thigh.
"Joslin, this is Sloan. He's on the team."
Sloan tips his black-beanie-covered head in my direction. "Hey."
Wonderful. Just what Pelican Bay needs. Another monosyllabic tall guy with a military background.
"Yeah, hey. Is no one concerned that a bad guy was on my front porch?”
Spencer tosses his phone to Sloan. "He was likely casing the place to see if you were alone."
"Well I was." The words come out a little louder and snottier than I intend.
Spencer places his hands on my shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes. "And that will never happen again."
"Oh."
Oh.
"Sloan and I will take care of things here. You head into the bedroom and pack a bag.”
"A bag?" What do I need a bag for? I get a few feet closer to my bedroom, but then turn back to watch both men lean into each other, whispering back and forth. "You're calm. Why are you so calm?"
Sloan lifts his head. "Comes with the job."
I blow out a breath of air loaded with frustration. "I deliver babies!" I yell to no one in particular and stomp off to my bedroom.
Spencer laughs, following me down the hall. It's super annoying, but also totally hot.
"This is my expertise. If I had to deliver babies every day, you'd find me in a corner, crying. I only survived the plane because there was no time to think about what we were doing."
“I’m not crying.” Yet.
“No, you aren’t.” He smiles and runs a finger down my cheek.
The big gym duffel I use to cart clothes to and from the hospital is packed and ready to go if I ever need to grab it quickly. I like to plan like that. The problem is that bag is currently in my locker…at the hospital. Thankfully, I spot a small rolling suitcase in the back of my closet. One I used when Regina and I went to Vegas two years ago for her twenty-fifth birthday. Moving quickly, I pack it with enough clothing to get me through a day—one set of pajamas, a pair of pants, and a shirt, including fresh underwear and socks.
"Oh no." Spencer leans over, looking in the mostly empty case. "You’ll need much more than that."
"How long will I be gone? My pipes will freeze." It's December. I can't leave the place for long. Even with the heat on, the pipes underneath my kitchen sink will freeze because the wall faces the outside and there's no windbreak.
Spencer disappears into my small walk-in closet. He returns, his arms full of clothes still on the hangers. He shakes the stack over my bed, causing most of the hangers to fall out, and then shoves all the clothes into the suitcase. There's absolutely no rhyme or reason to what he grabs. An assortment of jeans and T-shirts. I swear I saw a flash of gold, which could only belong to a never-worn swimsuit I purchased two years ago but decided wasn’t my style. I don’t have the self-confidence to draw that much attention to my ass.
"Sloan will be stationed here, so the pipes are fine." Spencer crams the last shirt in and turns to my dresser, opening a few doors.
"Stop! I can pack those." I throw my back against the dresser, closing the drawer almost on his fingers. There aren’t just cute, see-through items from Victoria's Secret in my underwear drawer. I also have the big granny panties from Hanes that get worn during laundry day and period weeks. Plus, no woman wants a hot guy going through her underwear drawer on principle alone.
When he steps away while giving me a weird look and half smirk, I slip open the drawer just enough so I can see inside and grab a few pairs of underwear, stuffing them into a big ball in my hands and then under my arm. Socks and a few bras come next.
I hurry over to the bag and shove them in using the same method Spencer packed with. In the middle of my last shove, the house phone rings, which is odd because I only ever get telemarketers or the seven o'clock phone-tree call to my landline. Pearl says she doesn't like the reliability of cell phones in Pelican Bay. Her theory is landlines have worked for generations, and she doesn't plan to change anytime soon.
The ringing quits and then a deep, male voice yells from the front of the house. "Joslin, it's for you."
Spencer gives me a questioning look until I shrug as an answer. I don’t know who it is either.
I take the receiver from Sloan's outstretched hand in the kitchen. "Hello?"
"Hey! It's Tabitha Thompson."
I mouth, "It's Tabitha," to Spencer, and he visibly relaxes. "Um, hi."
"I'm Ridge's girlfriend."
"Yeah, I know." It's a small town. We all know who she is.
"It's the damn phone tree, isn't it?" she grumbles. "Anyway, I heard you were in trouble."
In trouble. Am I? "Maybe."
"Well, Spencer will take care of you. Trust him."
A quiet falls over the line. Spencer leans on my breakfast bar, waving his hands to tell me to hurry it up. Maybe he thinks I’ve settled in for a long-winded best friend talk, but before this, I’m not sure I’ve actually exchanged words with Tabitha.
“On second thought," Tabitha continues, "ask him if he's put up any cameras."
I rest the receiver on my shoulder and ask Spencer as he continues waving his hands to get my attention. "Did you put cameras in my house?"
"No." He’s startled like the question comes from completely out of thin air, but then when another moment passes, one side of his lips tip into a smile.
"He said no," I report back to Tabitha on the phone.
"That means yes." There's a clatter of metal behind her. "Have you ever left him at your place alone? Never mind,” she responds before giving me time to answer. “I'll come help you look later."
"…Okay."
In the background, someone yells Tabitha. "I’ve got to go, but come to the bakery when you're free. We'll chat."
The line goes dead before I agree or disagree to plans with Ridge’s new girlfriend. Spencer stands at the entrance to my kitchen, waiting. He carries the rolling bag by the handle and practically pushes me out the door.
"Where are we going?"
He opens the door to his big black truck, tossing my suitcase in the extended cab portion. "My place."
I pull myself into the truck, hesitating before shutting the door. "Your place?"
Good Lord. How will I survive another night in Spencer's bed?