Capturing the Cop. Michele Dunaway
do we know that you’ll really follow through? That you won’t just wimp out, call her back and cancel. Worse, you might stand her up.”
“I would never stand her up. That’s Mason.”
Mason took a step back and raised his hands in protest. “Hey, don’t bring that blind date into this. That wasn’t funny. I had to run. Did you see her? Murder one ready to happen. I was concerned for my life. Didn’t want you guys to have to be rolling yellow tape around me.”
Ben flicked his eyes heavenward, then returned his focus to Garrett. “No one’s questioning your integrity, Garrett, or your principles. I want to make sure you go on this date. Cliff and Mason date all the time. I’m engaged. Pete’s married. But you…If nothing else, I want to see for myself that this woman exists, that she isn’t some friend of yours helping you get out of a fix.”
Garrett’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you’re insinuating I would do something like that.”
“No, but I would,” Cliff admitted with a grin as he warmed to Ben’s current thread. “And you know Mason would.”
“Maybe,” Mason said slowly. Then he laughed. “Okay, I would.”
“So you can understand our concern,” Ben added. “Since you didn’t place the ad, so we have no real proof of your serious intentions to fulfill the bet, a bet—I might add, that you lost to me.”
“I suggest we go along on the date,” Cliff suggested. “I agree with Ben. I’d like to see this woman for myself.” He paused and glanced over at Ben. “That is what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”
“Something along those lines,” Ben said.
“Count me out,” Pete said. “My wife will kill me. I spend too much time with you guys already. She’s starting to harp on me to retire.”
“Count me in,” Mason said with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “I got nothing to do Thursday night.”
“I thought you were hot and heavy with what’s-her-name. Did you break-up with the latest one?” Ben asked. “I thought you were getting serious.”
“Not anymore. Now we just get together for occasional sex,” Mason said. “So I’m free.”
“No, you’re not,” Garrett said. He spoke so forcefully that all the men froze. “This is my date. You are not going. None of you. It may have been a while, but I think I can handle a date all by myself. A date is not like a car accident. I don’t require witnesses.”
Cliff folded his arms across his chest, and at that moment Garrett knew everyone had fully united against him.
“Tagging along is an excellent idea. We’ll sit at a table in the corner, have some lobster and crab legs, sip some beer, talk about our current cases—and monitor your progress. We work while you work.”
Garrett turned, but his six-foot-three frame failed to intimidate anyone. He needed only one date, and he’d prefer it to be alone. He had principles, for goodness sake. “You all are not going.”
Cliff smiled, and Garrett knew before Cliff’s next words that he was stuck.
“Yes, we are,” Cliff said in a tone that closed the matter. “Now, let’s get back to work. As you said, we’ve got multiple murders to solve.”
MELANIE’S was a little storefront establishment that Olivia almost drove by, until at the last moment she saw its name emblazoned on the kelly-green awning.
“Rats!” Olivia flipped on her blinker and ignored the honking from the Cavalier behind her, which had seen better days. Sorry, she mouthed to the irritated driver. Luck was with her and she found a convenient parking space on a side street. Steadying her nerves, she parallel-parked her car. The back tire ended up too close to the curb and she was between the lines, but—good enough. As she killed the engine, her phone rang. Thinking it might be Garrett, she answered before she checked the number on the caller ID.
“Olivia,” the familiar voice said. The voice of her conscience.
Olivia greeted her stepmother. “Hello, Sara.”
“I’m glad I caught you. I heard you left work early the other day. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” Olivia said. That was the one thing about living at home. Everyone knew your business, even if you had moved out back to the pool house.
“So are you on your way here? I thought you could come up to the house for dinner. Blake’s at a meeting and I’m by myself.”
Just when was her parents’ next stadium tour? For people who were always out saving the world, they’d been home an awful lot lately. Olivia peered in the rearview mirror and checked her lipstick. A touch-up wouldn’t hurt. The ravish me red had faded. “I’ll have to pass on the invitation. I’m meeting a friend.”
“A friend.” Sara sounded a tad too bright as she hid her disappointment that Olivia had plans. “Do I know her?”
Olivia groaned. “Actually, Sara, no.”
“So someone new?”
“I’m going on a dinner date tonight,” Olivia admitted, since the truth was easier than dreaming up some quickie lie.
Sara seemed stunned. “You have a date?”
Without air-conditioning, the car was heating up quickly, Olivia squirmed. “Yes. A date.”
“With who?”
“Someone new,” Olivia repeated, agitation growing as the car began to bake in the July heat. “We just met. You don’t know him.”
“Olivia, you’re terrible with men. And how can I not know him? I’ve met everyone in your crowd. You’ve been hanging out with them for ages.”
Which, when one thought about it, was exactly the problem. Olivia drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. One of these days she’d learn to keep her mouth shut. That was what bad girls did.
Bad girls kept secrets from their stepmothers, even if, in Olivia’s case, the stepmother had really been the only mother she’d ever known.
Sara considered it her duty to get Olivia married, and to a godly and righteous man. As Olivia’s age edged closer to thirty-one, Sara’s maternal instinct had grown. What made Sara’s constant meddling worse was that Olivia had her grandfather to contend with, as well. He was the ultimate matchmaker.
Grandpa Joe had successfully gotten Olivia’s brother, Shane, and her cousins Darci and Harry wed. Figuring that if Grandpa Joe could bring on marital bliss, then she could, too, Sara had turned into a regular dating service for Olivia. The last man she’d introduced Olivia to had aspired to be a missionary deep inside Africa. His plans for their life had driven Olivia crazy after three minutes. No way was she sacrificing running water and electricity to help the less fortunate. Maybe that made her shallow, but not even her parents did that.
A bead of sweat formed on her brow. Time to get going. “Sara, I’m really sorry I can’t stop by tonight. I’ll come up to the main house for breakfast tomorrow. Give my love to Dad. I’ve got to run.”
Satisfied she’d said enough, Olivia disconnected before Sara launched into the lecture Olivia could tell was coming. Olivia began to put the phone in her purse but on further thought, placed the phone securely in the glove compartment. Knowing Sara, Olivia was sure her stepmother would call back, and nothing was going to ruin this night.
Heck, Olivia’s younger half brother, Shane, had sown a bucketful of oats before settling down. If Olivia even mentioned sowing a seed, her stepmother had the whole worldwide constituency out praying for her wayward, virginal stepdaughter. She’d been a fixture in her stepmother’s ministry column for years.
Olivia touched up her lipstick and opened the car door. As she stepped out, the St. Louis humidity instantly enveloped her.