Chapter Eighteen
“Be careful,” Jess urged when she returned from locking Spike in the laundry room and retrieving the broom she’d used earlier. Sam took the cleaning implement from her and wielded it like a lance. Though it was unlikely the gift was dangerous, one never knew with their sniper on the loose.
“Stand over there.” He pointed to the end of the porch. She moved back. “Ready?” She nodded. He stepped partially behind the metal doorjamb and nudged the box. The corner of an envelope appeared from underneath the gift.
“There’s a note,” Jess said, and gingerly moving closer. Sam carefully collected the envelope and handed it to her. She opened the flap, and pulled out the card with flowers on the front, and read aloud, “Here’s an apology for being a jerk all those years ago. Darren.”
“Who the hell is Darren?” Sam asked.
“My high school boyfriend.” A blank stare followed. “You know, the man who interrupted the wedding right before the shooting?”
“Right.” Sam bent to pick up the box. “If he’s hot for the bride, why is he sending you gifts?”
Jess took the box from him and ripped off the wrapping. It was highly unlikely that Darren would leave a note with a bomb. Besides, he’d have to care about her enough to want her dead. And that wasn’t the case.
“How should I know? Until that Saturday, I hadn’t seen him in nine years.” Inside was a giant bag of butterscotch disc candies. “Awww. I can’t believe he remembered.”
She picked one out, unwrapped the gold cellophane, and popped it into her mouth. “Yum. I used to live off these in high school. They were kind of my thing.”
It was a dopey “thing” but she had been a dopey teenage girl living in a small town. What else did she have?
Leaning back against the doorjamb, Sam crossed his arms. “Maybe we should have them tested for poison.” She made a “seriously?” face. “Don’t you find it strange that the guy is at the shooting, still in town when Irving is shot, and now somehow knows you’re here living with me?”
Captain Suspicious stared. She frowned. He did have a point. “And now he’s a stalker-bomber-poisoner?”
Okay, Darren’s presence was pretty coincidental. Still, the idea of Darren trying to off her made no sense. Or Irving for that matter. “He has no connection to Brash or Irving. Besides, we’ve already established that the sniper is female. I never slept with Darren, but I’m pretty sure he’s male.”
Why Darren thought to give her a gift was so out of the blue. Had he seen her at the wedding, in that hideous dress, and realized she was the one that got away?
Highly unlikely. “He did hurt me when he slept with Mandy, and a couple dozen other girls. But he doesn’t want me back.”
“Are you sure?”
No, she wasn’t sure. “Of course I’m sure. He probably felt guilty for the way we ended and asked my landlady, Mrs. Carter, for my address. I gave it to her in case she heard from the insurance company.”
“I’ll have a talk with her tomorrow. She shouldn’t give out your address to anyone.”
“Fine.” Too tired to argue anymore, she held out the box. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.”
She went inside to free Spike and led the dog into the backyard. He spent ten minutes looking for the perfect spot of manicured grass to defile. She ate two more discs and felt her thighs expand inside her jeans.
“How did I ever forget how good these were?” Oh right. She’d had to fit into her Mighty Muskrats uniform. Weigh-ins were a mandatory requirement of the boss and kept the ladies in spandex and sequins. As Jess popped a fourth candy in her mouth, she felt not a twitch of guilt.
She’d hated those weigh-ins. “Come on, Spike.” The dog reluctantly followed her into the house. Sam was hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table.
“I’ve added your ex to the list of suspects. He could be working with a partner.”
“Still not seeing any connection, but you’re the law enforcement professional.” She went to get Spike some food as the doorbell rang again. This time a husky guy in a stained shirt stood on the stoop. He carried a large bag with the name of the diner printed on the side.
Sam collected the food and gave him a generous tip.
For the next few minutes, they ate. “Nothing is better than a gooey and greasy grilled cheese from a diner,” she said and popped a French fry into her mouth. Since she’d already eaten the candy, she might as well go all in.
“I can hear your arteries clogging from here.” Deep into his turkey on rye, he’d skipped the fries in favor of baked sweet potato chips. “Thankfully, I know CPR.”
The idea of his mouth on hers, forcing breaths in as he worked to jumpstart her heart wasn’t as sexy as they made it out to be on TV. In fact, no CPR attempt ever morphed into a hot kiss. She’d bank on that.
Smiling through another bite of her sandwich, she washed it down with bottled water. “I spent all of my college years and my pro cheer days watching every calorie. Now that I’m free, I don’t mind a few extra pounds.”
* * *
Sam couldn’t disagree. She looked damn good with her curves. He’d bet she looked better naked. “It isn’t your cute little butt I’m worried about. It’s your heart. Eat your pickle. It almost counts as a vegetable.”
Jess smiled. “You think I have a cute butt?”
He grunted and finished his sandwich. They were not having this conversation. He was already teetering on the edge of a cliff with her. One nudge and he’d fall headlong into an emotional attachment he didn’t want or need.
Spike was the recipient of a discarded chunk of bread as Sam cleaned up the wrappers and recycled what he could. He liked being earth friendly.
“I have to go out tonight for a few hours,” he said. “Will you and the dog be okay without me?”
She made a face.
“I take that as a yes.” He gave her a lecture about locking the door and answering to no one. Spike wasn’t a vicious guard dog, but he’d look menacing to strangers.
“What am I, Dad? Five?” she scolded. “I can take down a grown man with my little finger. Irving made sure of it.”
Staring, he thought to ask for a demonstration but knew it would be a blow to his ego if she laid him out flat. So he let it go. “I should be back by midnight.”
He changed and collected his bag. Jess and Spike had a movie on when he returned downstairs.
“I’ll lock the door behind me,” he said and left. If not for her gun and dog, he’d have second thoughts about leaving her alone. Hell, he was well into third thoughts before he opened the garage and backed out his 1968 Ford pickup.
Twilight cooled the air and crickets chirped in the dusk as he backed down the short driveway and headed up the street. He’d considered taking Jess with him, but dismissed it. After several days of close contact with her, he needed a break. The kiss had set him on edge. Having her under his roof made sleeping nearly impossible—too many images of her in his bed.
The gym parking lot was packed with cars. He drove around back and parked. Tonight was a big turnout. Good. The kids would benefit and he’d blow off steam. Anything to get Jess out of his head for a few hours was helpful, even if it was only temporary.