Licensed for Trouble (23 page)

“Yes, I can! I'm
not
trouble anymore.” She inched away from him.

“I don't want to disagree, but there are so many places for me to begin to argue, I have a hard time choosing. The bottom line is, I'm not letting you stay here.”

“You're not
letting
me stay?” PJ closed the pizza box on Max's hand. “Get out, both of you.”

Boone glared at her. Max frowned, yanking his hand back.

“You heard her.” Jeremy materialized from the screened porch, Glock first. Water dripped down his face, soaked through a black sweatshirt. His hard eyes took in the situation in one swoop, finally landing on PJ, and he lowered his weapon. “What's Boone doing here? Did you call him, too?”

Ouch. “No—I called
you
. Boone is my intruder. Shoot him.”

Jeremy tucked his gun away. He turned to Max. “What are you doing here?”

“We weren't really intruding. It just felt that way,” Boone said.

“You snuck into my house!”

“To keep you safe,” Boone growled. He stepped between Jeremy and Max. “There's a person squatting in the carriage house. And Max found a tunnel leading practically to PJ's bedroom.”

“Oh, brother. I'm perfectly safe. I have my cell phone, and—”

“Your lethal sock ball?” Boone pointed to the wound on his face. “She made a weapon out of a sock and a bar of soap.”

“It worked on you, didn't it?”

Jeremy moved over to her. His feet squished on the tile floor. He shot a look behind him, then bent close to her ear and cut his voice low. “Are you okay, Princess?”

“Hungry, but yes, otherwise. I'm fine.”

“She won't be fine if she stays here. Not until we at least get a lock on the door.”

PJ peeked out at him. “Stop being so paranoid, Boone.”

Jeremy stepped back and gently took her hand as if trying to infuse some of his legendary calm.

Boone, however, had reached a ragged edge. “I'm not paranoid; I'm realistic! I see people all the time who think they're perfectly safe—”

“He does have a point,” Jeremy said quietly.

“What?”

“You have to be careful. Especially when you're chasing down old mysteries and dangerous secrets.”

“What kind of dangerous secrets?”

Jeremy, whether he meant to or not, glanced at Max.

Max's eyes widened. “Hey.”

“I'm not accusing you of anything, but you have to admit, Max, the last twenty-four hours haven't looked so good for you.” Jeremy said it without apology in his voice.

Boone glanced at Max. “How is that?”

Max's jaw tightened. “Thanks a lot.” His gaze landed on PJ, though, and she picked up his defense.

“I told you, Jer, Max is innocent—”

“Innocent of what?” Boone said.

Jeremy lowered his voice just for her. “You have to stop investigating with your hopes and dreams and take a look at the truth.”

“What
truth
?” Boone thundered.

Jeremy closed his mouth, raised a dark eyebrow. PJ sucked in a breath and turned to Boone, trying to figure out where to start.

Max opened his mouth first. “I might have killed some woman and set fire to her house.”

Silence pulsed in the room, a beat of shock, inside which PJ realized she was doomed. Boone looked murderous, glancing first at Max, then at Jeremy, and finally his stare landed straight on PJ. “Come
again
?”

“It's just speculation,” PJ said, slipping over to stand in front of Max, a sort of shield between him and the two men who both suddenly turned into a couple of alpha male wolves, fur up, eyes slitted. A shard of pity shot through her for Max. “We tracked down someone who had a picture of a couple of guys—one who looks like Max—and a woman who died in a suspicious fire. But today, we followed the lead on this woman, and she might be Max's girlfriend, so I seriously doubt that—”

“What?” Max stepped around her. His eyes bright. “My girlfriend?”

PJ glanced at Jeremy. “I thought you told him when you stopped by here today.”

“He was gone.”

“I was crawling around under your house,” Max said, his eyes never leaving PJ's.

PJ put a hand on his arm. “We talked to a neighbor who said the woman who died—Bekka Layton—was seen arguing with a guy who had a tattoo . . . not unlike yours. And there's more. She had . . . a son.”

PJ half hoped this information might trigger something—light that new fuse he'd mentioned. Max just went very, very still. She heard him breathing, hard. Saw his jaw tighten.

“A son.”

PJ nodded slowly.

“Did he . . . oh . . .” He put his hand to his chest, breathing as if he might actually be in pain. “The little boy—he didn't die?”

“No. They think he's living with a relative. Bekka's mother.”

He looked away, blinked. “Is he . . . related . . . to—”

“Maybe. I think he could be your son.”

Max moved away from her, bracing himself against the counter. She wanted to put her arms around him, to pull him close, maybe reassure him. But, oh yes,
that
would send the right message to the two hulks behind her. Instead, “We'll figure it out, Max.”

He said nothing.

Jeremy and Boone had also gone quiet.

Outside, the rain continued to lash the house, thunder groaning in the distance.

Max finally seemed to rouse out of whatever dark place he'd run to. He turned and slowly shook his head.

“What?”

“I want you to stop searching for me. I don't want to know anymore.” He glanced at Jeremy. “I'm
not
afraid of paying the price for my crimes. But I can't live with the fact that I could have been that person and done those things. What kind of man kills the mother of his . . .” He winced, his voice emerging tight, raspy. “His own kid. I feel sick just thinking about it.”

“Max, it wasn't you.”

“You don't know that! And I agree with Jeremy. You gotta stop believing in me. I might be exactly that monster.”

“You're not.”

“Maybe I am.” He tightened his fist, released it. “Sometimes I feel it. A rage, like a coal inside me. Burning.” He took in a long breath, his jaw tight as he looked at the floor, shaking his head. “The truth is, it scares me. I can't escape it, and if I put a name on it, then it'll consume me. Maybe it's better to keep running. To not know.”

“Or maybe that fire is something else,” PJ said, despite the fact that Jeremy slid his hand over her shoulder, tugging her back. “Maybe it's the burn of injustice. Or grief. Maybe it's the pain of watching someone you love die.”

Max lifted his gaze to her, and it made her want to weep. “Then I don't want to know that, either.”

“Max—”

“No, PJ. Knowing isn't better. It's just terrifying.” Max turned and walked away.

Jeremy's hand squeezed her shoulder. “I know you don't want to leave. I'll sleep outside tonight, and we'll get a better look at this in the light of day. How's that sound?”

“I'll give Max a ride home. Call me if . . .” Boone's gaze shot to PJ.

PJ was no fool. Apparently Boone and Jeremy had silently worked out some two-pronged defense system, because beside her, Jeremy gave a small, approving nod.

Good grief. Even if she did attract trouble, it hadn't a prayer of getting past her guard wolves.

She watched Boone follow Max out, the darkness swallowing them before their footsteps faded away.

“You sure you're okay?” Jeremy asked. He turned her, cupped her face with one hand. “You're shaking a little.”

He drew her close, his arms enclosing her. She put her arms around his waist. Despite his sodden, cold clothes, his body radiated heat. Still, she shivered.

Maybe, right here, right now . . . yes, she might be okay.

* * *

“Are you sure you don't need a blanket? or a tent?”

Jeremy stood in the kitchen, a towel around his neck, wearing one of her oversize Disneyland sweatshirts.

“You're kind of cute as Goofy.”

“Don't go there. And no, I don't need a blanket. I have one in my car.”

“Your car? You have a car?”

“I couldn't rightly drive the bike in the rain, could I?”

“So do I get to see it?”

He smiled, something scallywag in it. “Hmm. I think you're finding out way too much about me these days. A guy has to have a few secrets.”

“About what kind of
car
you drive?”

He made a face. “Well, okay, I don't just drive it. Sometimes I sleep in it.”

“For pete's sake, are all the men in my life homeless?”

“No, I still have my loft downtown. But sometimes when I'm on a stakeout or up late, I just . . . Well, maybe you should see what I'm driving.”

“Most definitely.”

The rain had died to a hazy drizzle, the air murky and wet as she stepped out onto the front stoop. Jeremy flipped on the outside light, then walked out behind her, closing her castle door. “So what do you think?”

A candy apple red, split-window VW camper bus sat in the middle of the drive. “You're kidding me. This is your car? It's amazing. My dream wheels!”

He grinned. “I figured.”

“When did you get it? Is it a real camper bus?”

“I've had it since I got out of the military. And yes, the backseat folds down into a bed, and there's a little fridge and stove. I keep it in storage in my loft garage in the summer. It comes in handy in the winter, especially if I have to sit for long hours. There's a little heater, too.”

“It's not exactly inconspicuous.”

“No, but I have some tricks. And it doesn't scream
Cops
like your Vic.”

“Hey, I have my Bug, too—”

“Which, I have to admit, is one reason I sort of like you.”

He
sort o
f
liked her? He sort of
liked
her? What was that, another clue?

“It's a thing of joy and beauty.” She walked over to the bus and opened the side door. Sure enough, inside, the compact kitchen looked clean and in working order. And a rolled-up Army sleeping bag on the backseat suggested that yes, he might be just fine out here.

“Jealous, aren't you?”

“Completely.” She climbed inside and crawled to the backseat. Ran her hands over the vinyl. Sighed.

Jeremy levered himself in and sat beside her. “What?”

“Max. How can I watch his life unravel without stepping in to stop it? If I don't keep investigating, get to the bottom of this, for the rest of Max's life he'll think he's a murderer.”

“Maybe he is.”

“Don't.”

“I'm saying, maybe this time we give him a free pass. For the record, I don't hate the man. I just don't necessarily trust him.”

“With me.”

“
Especially
with you.” He wore that pirate smile again. Leaned near her. Something about this night had unleashed all his overprotective instincts, from the way he searched the house, room by room, to the way he stormed into the kitchen after securing the house and pulled her to his chest, holding her for a very long moment.

She'd let him, listening to his heartbeat, steady, solid.

Now he drew an S on her leg, tracing the Superman symbol. “I love these pants, you know. And I miss you sleeping at the office.”

“You said it was a good thing,” she said softly as he raised his beautiful eyes.

“It is,” he whispered. Then he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. She couldn't help but hold her breath, his kiss was so sweet, so perfect. He didn't move to hold her, just touched her cheek ever so lightly with his fingertips. Then he backed away, smiling. “Most definitely, it is.”

Heat rose to her face, and she found herself grinning.

Jeremy took her hand. “Listen. Max doesn't want to know his past. And maybe that's for the best.”

PJ wove her fingers into his. “Maybe you're right. I keep thinking of that word Max used—
terrifying
. I think I know what he means.”

Jeremy didn't speak.

“The more I dig into Joy and Sunny's past, the more I have this knot inside me. I know it doesn't turn out well for Joy, and Sunny's vanished off the planet. And the fact that my mother has left the continent is altogether inconvenient. I have a few questions for her. Somewhere in all this I can't help thinking that maybe I'm a Kellogg or at least connected to the Kelloggs. And I think my mother might know it.”

“Why?”

“Well, my mother went to school with Sunny—there is a picture of them together in my mother's yearbook. And apparently Connie saw my mother and Agatha Kellogg fighting not long after I left town ten years ago. She seemed to think that it might have something to do with me. Like Agatha might be angry at my mother. Maybe for letting me go . . . I don't know. I'm probably letting my overactive imagination—” she shot him a soft grin—“have its way with me. I'm not related to the Kelloggs.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“It seems that the more I probe around the Kelloggs' history, the more I see a legacy of pain. What if that's why I can never get out of trouble? Because I'm a Kellogg and it's in my genes? What if Boone is right—I just attract it?”

“Boone's not right.”

“Why not? It's true. I gravitate to danger and chaos. I mean, no wonder you ran through a storm to get here. No wonder Boone doesn't want me to be a PI. You guys are constantly having to rescue me.”

“I didn't rescue you. You rescued yourself. With
soap
. Which I find slightly ingenious.”

“I could have just as easily slipped on that very soap and ended up cracking my head open. Because . . . that's the kind of person I am. Trouble. No wonder Matthew broke up with me.”