Borrowing Trouble (18 page)

She'd barely made it to her desk when Wyatt and Connie cornered her.

“What happened?” Connie asked.

“Rhys kicked some booty.”

“You don't mean literally, do you?” Wyatt said.

Connie rolled her eyes. “Don't mind Wyatt, he has a learning disability.”

Sloane glanced around the room. “Where's Rose?”

“Her brother picked her up,” Connie said. “Uh, nice Camaro. Not. It was okay that I let her go, right?”

Sloane looked at the clock. Jeez, it was late. “Yeah, of course. Hey, Wyatt, did Jake brief you on the info we got today about the John Doe?”

“Yep. You taking off?”

“I was thinking about it. There's nothing I have that needs following up on for the night shift. Today was pretty quiet.”

“Okay. I'll just ride patrol, maybe take some of those fliers”—he motioned to the stack on her desk—“to the Gas and Go and the Nugget Market.”

“Sounds good.” She grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and was just about to leave when Maddy came in with a big bouquet of flowers.

“These are for you.” She handed the flowers to Sloane. “Thank you for filling in for Rhys and giving me four blissful days alone with my husband.”

Sloane was at a loss for words. It hadn't been that bad. Some of it had even been kind of fun. “Uh, no problem.”

“I just want you to know how much I appreciate it . . . how much Rhys appreciates it. Did he tell you how much?” When Sloane stood there silent, Maddy said, “He didn't, did he?”

“Yeah, he did. He totally did.”

“I did what?” Rhys came down the hall and nuzzled his wife's neck.

“Tell her how much you appreciate her filling in for you,” Maddy said.

“She knows I do.”

“Rhys!” Maddy put her hands on her hips.

“What? You know I appreciate it, right, Sloane?”

“Absolutely. He gave me six days off just to show his appreciation.”

“Four. Don't push it, McBride. You have a pilot program to run.”

“What pilot program?” Maddy wanted to know.

“I'll tell you later. Let's go home, sugar.” Rhys pulled his wife out the door and Sloane watched them hold hands across the square.

Ah, she thought.
I want that
.

B
rady waited on the porch for Sloane to get home. He knew she'd want to go for a run and didn't want her going alone. Not if this Buck guy was really in town. He could be renting one of the day cabins favored by hunters and fishermen, or even staying in one of the plethora of campgrounds in the state park. Hell, he might even have a room at the Beary Quaint, for all they knew.

Sloane had managed to convince herself that she'd only imagined it was him. But Brady was more inclined to trust her initial reaction. It's not like she over dramatized things. If anything, Sloane was more likely to downplay it.

He heard her truck before he saw it come over the hill. A few minutes later she came down the driveway and parked next to his van.

“Hey,” she said, and hopped down onto the running board.

“Nice flowers.” He cocked his brows.
Who the hell got her those?

“Maddy gave them to me as a thanks for filling in for Rhys.”

Ah
. “Good having him back?”

“Oh yeah. A lot happened today. I'll tell you about it, but first I want to go for a run.”

He'd called that one right. “I'll go with you. You can tell me on the trail.”

“I can't even keep up with you, let alone talk at the same time.”

“I'll slow down for you.” He winked. “Go put your running clothes on.”

While she went inside her apartment he quickly checked his laptop to see if Sandra had hit again. Nothing. Perhaps she had found someone new to obsess over. Doubtful, according to the textbooks. Although Brady wouldn't wish her on anyone else, he desperately wanted to be free of her.

“You ready?” Sloane came out onto the porch, slung her bare leg up on the railing, and did a few stretches. She really did have great legs, but was going to freeze her butt off in shorts.

Brady stashed the laptop back in his apartment.

“Anything?” she asked, and it struck Brady that they had each other's habits down.

“Nope. She's been quiet for a few days.”

“That's something. Maybe both our troubles are over?”

Brady wasn't counting on it. Best-case scenario was that Sloane really had imagined Roger Buck being here and that the bad boys at LAPD would eventually stop the texting and phone calls. But he didn't think Sandra was ever going away. Not entirely. He'd read about women like her. They are called simple-obsession stalkers and are the most likely to be violent, even deadly. Just like Sandra, they need extreme control, can't take rejection, and exhibit obsessive and vengeful behavior. The worst part: They are incapable of taking responsibility for their actions. The studies and reports he'd read said that these types of stalkers bolster their self-esteem by terrorizing their victims. Their self-worth is so wrapped up in the object of their obsession that they'll stop at nothing to get him or her back. Nothing. So Brady would forever have to have eyes in the back of his head.

That's why this thing with him and Sloane couldn't go too far. As soon as he felt confident that she was safe, he'd back off. It was for the best in more ways than one. Sloane hadn't said it, but it was obvious that she wanted what they had to go further. And he didn't do long-term. Not with a woman. Not with much of anything. Working at Pig and Tangelo had been his longest commitment on record.

“Let's hope,” he replied, and jogged down the steps. “You up for the fire trail loop?”

“I am if you are.” She took off in front of him.

“You gonna tell me about your day?”

“We heard from the state's forensic anthropologist,” she called over her shoulder, and slowed down to tell him what they'd learned and about their theory that John Doe could be connected to Nugget's November crime spree.

“Makes sense,” he said.

“Rhys totally stood up for me today. You should've seen how he took on this hotshot lawyer guy. It was awesome.”

“About the John Doe?” Brady was confused.

“No. I'm jumbling my stories. Sorry. I told you about Rose, right?”

“The kid with the pepper spray.”

“Yep. Well, the other girl's father came in today to complain that we hadn't sent Rose to San Quentin.” Brady laughed. “Yeah, can you believe it? Anyway, he's chief counsel for the Silver Luck Resort in Reno but moved here for the safe schools. And he really came on strong with Rhys, who I thought for sure would cater to him. But I was wrong. First he told the guy that we were running a pilot program for at-risk teens—just pulled that one out of nowhere. Then, in the nicest way imaginable, he told the guy to go screw himself.”

“I don't know why you're surprised.” Brady ran backwards. “Everyone knows that Rhys doesn't take crap. He's got a reputation for being a fair chief, but if you try to push him around, he pushes back. I also get the impression that when he was a kid he and his old man were the town outcasts. So perhaps he identifies with Rose.”

“She's really a sweet girl. She tries to act apathetic, but you can tell that she's eager to please. I get the impression that her mother is so busy trying to keep a roof over her family's head that she doesn't have a lot of time for Rose.”

“What about the father?”

“No father, just a super creepy brother named Skeeter.” She made a face.

“Hey, don't make fun. Where I come from there were lots of Skeeters.”

“What's it a nickname for?”

She was short of breath so he slowed down. “Mosquito.”

“Get out. Seriously?”

“Yup. You know, like a pest. Skeeter.” He went heavy on his South Carolina accent to give her the full flavor.

Her lips curved up. “You ready to go back?”

“Sure. Sloane, did you talk to Rhys about the text and Roger Buck?”

“I did. He wanted his friend in Houston to try to trace the text and go to LAPD internal affairs. I asked him not to.”

“Why?”

“Because it would only make it worse. I haven't received any more messages, and the more I think about it, the more I'm sure that it wasn't Buck who I saw. But if Rhys goes to IA the harassment will start all over again.”

Brady was quiet for a few seconds. Honestly, he had no clue about what to do in a situation like this. But he didn't like the idea of these guys getting away with menacing Sloane the way they had. Hell, he didn't like the idea that they were allowed to wear badges—and carry guns.

“Okay,” he finally said. “But let's continue to be vigilant.”

She tacitly agreed and they ran the rest of the way home in silence. When they got back, Sloane bent over and put her head between her knees. Brady did a few quad stretches.

“You should go inside before you catch a chill in those shorts.”

She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. “You're in really good shape.”

He shrugged. “My legs are twice as long as yours.”

“You're not competitive in the least, are you?”

“Not with you.” He tugged her against him and kissed her. “Want to take a shower?”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her apartment.

“Hang on a sec. Let me get some clothes.”

“Okay, but hurry.”

Damn, he liked her. Inside, he grabbed his shaving kit, boxers, socks, sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and the cowboy boots Tawny had made him. He didn't feel like cooking tonight and decided to see if Sloane was game for the Indian restaurant in Glory Junction.

Once in her apartment, he could hear the water running and picked up the pace. She was washing herself when he got in, letting the spray from the showerhead sluice over her. He took the washcloth and slowly soaped up her breasts. Sloane leaned the back of her head against the tile and moaned.

“Good?” he murmured in her ear as he moved the cloth down her body.

“So good.”

He kissed her neck and then her shoulders while he sponged her belly and moved the washrag between her legs. She gasped and he smiled.

“You okay?”

“Never been better.” She spread wider to give him more access and he pushed the ridge of his erection against her stomach while he brought her to orgasm with his hands, rubbing the terrycloth against her sensitive nub.

“More?”

“God, yes,” she pleaded.

He reached outside the shower and fumbled around in his shaving kit until he found what he wanted and had the condom on in less than five seconds. Then he turned her around, told her to grip the wall, and made love to her until the water turned cold and they could no longer stand. Brady carried her to the bed where they lay in each other's arms, recovering.

“I'm excited about this restaurant,” Sloane said.

“Then I guess you better get up.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, and he playfully slapped her bottom so they could get a move on.

She padded across the floor and rifled through her closet for something to wear. Brady enjoyed the way she unabashedly moved around naked. Not too many women he'd known did that.

“You don't have to dress up, Sloane. It's still the Sierra.” He forced himself to get up too, and started putting on the clothes he'd brought.

“I know, but I want to. I feel like all I ever wear anymore is my uniform or exercise outfits.” She pulled a black dress out of her closet and moved to her chest of drawers to find the right underthings.

He watched her shimmy into a black thong. “Nice.”

She did a little stripper dance for him while she put on the matching bra.

“You're supposed to take it off, not put it on.” He grinned. It scared him how much he liked her. “Hey, that time we didn't use a condom . . . we okay on that?”

“We're fine,” she said.

Sloane rubbed lotion on her legs and slid into the dress. Holy Mother of God, she looked good.

“Those are gorgeous.” She pointed at his cowboy boots. “I assume Tawny made them.”

“Yup.” He pulled them on.

“She copied the design of your tattoo—the fork and knife. Tell me the truth, did you guys used to have a thing?”

“Nope. She's always had a thing for Lucky.”

“But you would've if she hadn't?”

“Who can say? But it was never like that. I count her as one of my best friends here . . . anywhere. She's good people and so is Lucky.”

“The other day when I met him at his cowboy camp, he said that Tawny had told him all about me. You know what that's about?”

He grabbed her around the waist and bent her backwards for a kiss. “Can we go? I'm starved and it'll take a half hour to get there.”

“Let me just dry my hair and put on some makeup.”

“You don't need makeup.”

But she put some on anyway. Finally they got in Brady's van and made their way to the resort town. Fifteen minutes into the drive, Brady pulled onto a side road that wended around a lake, the mountainside dotted with matching cabins.

“Where are we going?” Sloane asked, peering out the window at the view.

“This is Nate and Maddy's new acquisition—Gold Mountain. When they're done with the rehab, it'll be awesome.”

“I think it's awesome now. Is it a resort or something?”

“Yeah. The same families rent the cabins summer after summer. Nate's winterizing them to take advantage of ski season . . . if we ever have snow again. They're also planning to put in a casual restaurant. I'm working on that with them.”

“Will you cook for it?”

“Nah,” he said. “We're talking really simple dishes. Sandwiches, pizzas, hamburgers, and hot dogs. Stuff people can take out and bring to the lake or the pool or eat at picnic tables inside the restaurant—a glorified hamburger joint, except we'll serve beer and wine for the adults.”

“So where do you come in?” Sloane asked.

He loved how she was genuinely interested. “I'll do the business plan, design the menu, and come up with the recipes.”

“The business plan? What does that entail?”

“Coming up with a concept, which is pretty much what I just described. Determining profit margins, that sort of thing. A lot of people are under the impression that restaurants make bank, when in fact there is very little markup on food. The money is in volume and liquor sales. That's why I'm trying to design a menu where they can do lots of turnover.”

“You know how to do all that?”

“Yep. That's what executive chefs and restaurateurs do.”

“So you did that at Pig and Tangelo?”

“Me and the owner, who didn't know dick about running a restaurant. Just thought it would be cool to have a place where he and his friends could hang out.”

She continued to stare out the window. “This is totally the kind of place my family would go in the summer. Sometimes we took vacations at Table Rock Lake near Branson, Missouri. They were the best.”

“I think the Breyers are on to something here. The place needs a lot of work. But when it's finished it's gonna be a beaut—and a moneymaker.”

Brady got back on the highway. “I wanted to show you while there was still daylight.”

“I'm glad you did. How soon until they open?”

“Nate hopes that it'll be done by summer, since the place is already booked out. He doesn't like losing money.”

“Is it true that he owns nine other hotels?”

“Yep. He's a helluva businessman, and between him, Sam, and Maddy, the best bosses I've ever had.”

“But wouldn't you like to go back to being your own boss?” she asked.