Shame on You (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

I
pull up to the address for Martin McFadden and even though I googled the area and I’m a little familiar with the neighborhood, I’m still a bit surprised that this is the house of the criminal I’m hunting. It’s not the typical residence of a person I’m tracking down. Those people lean more toward houses on wheels with Spider-Man bedsheets for curtains and one-room apartments that make crack houses look like the lap of luxury.

This house looks like a sweet, little old lady lives here, not a bail-jumping criminal. It’s a ranch with a gorgeous white wraparound porch and there are hanging baskets of flowers all along the railing. As I get out of my vehicle, I notice the lawn has been manicured right down to those crisscross patterns you see on baseball fields. I make my way up the front walk and when I see a decorative flag stuck in the ground by the porch steps that says “Welcome Friends!” I’m once again bolstered by the fact that bringing this guy in will be a piece of cake.

According to the file, he’s fifty years old, has never been married, and is kind of a hermit. I get to the top step and the loud rumble of a motorcycle has me whipping my head around and my hand automatically going for my gun. I didn’t see anything in the notes about McFadden owning a motorcycle, but you can never be too sure about these things.

I watch as a Heritage Softail Classic Harley pulls to a stop right in front of the house and feel my insides quiver. Even though this guy is wearing a helmet and I haven’t seen his face yet, I can already tell this isn’t my guy. McFadden is five foot five and a hundred twenty-five pounds soaking wet; this guy is wearing a tight, white T-shirt and the muscles in his biceps tighten as he clutches the handlebars and swings his leg over the seat of the bike.

With his back to me while he pockets the bike key, I have time to appreciate him. And by appreciate, I mean ogle. I’m staring at his ass and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Whoever this guy is, he has an amazing ass. I watch as he reaches up and slides his helmet off and I take note of the way his shirt stretches across the muscles of his back.

I need to get laid. I really, really need to get laid. I’m standing on the front porch of a bail jumper’s house panting like a dog.

This must be the guy my father hired. I can see his service pistol secured in the waistband of his jeans at his back. It’s a Beretta M9—the exact same gun I use. Maybe my father had the right idea hiring this guy. I don’t need the help, but at least he’ll be pretty to look at. And maybe if he’s lucky, I’ll throw him a bone. Or he can throw me
his
bone. My girly bits tingle just thinking about being anywhere near this guy and his bone.

“Come on, pretty boy. Turn around so I can see your face,” I whisper to myself as he secures his helmet to the back of the bike and finally turns to face me.

All thoughts of bones, humping, and great asses fly out the window and my mouth drops open in complete and utter shock.

This isn’t happening. This is SO not happening right now.

The corner of his mouth tips up in a panty-dropping grin, showcasing the dimple on his left cheek, and I want to stomp my feet and throw a temper tantrum right now because he
knows
I was staring at his ass. He knows I was standing here on this porch thinking about all of the dirty things I could do to him. He knows it and he’s enjoying every minute of it, the rat bastard.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I shout angrily as I stomp down the steps and meet him in the middle of the sidewalk.

“It’s nice to see you too, gorgeous. It’s been a while.”

Griffin Crawford. My ex-husband’s best friend and the guy I once had a massive crush on in high school. Even though I never did anything stupid like act on my attraction to him back in the day, he still knew. Somehow, he knew and he used it to piss me off on a regular basis. Griffin went to high school with me and Alex and he also followed us into the army. On my last tour in Afghanistan, it was Griffin whom I spent months with in the desert, fighting for our lives. It was Griffin whom I confided in that I thought something was off with Alex back home. It was Griffin who convinced me that Alex and I were just going through a rough patch, and that once I got back home, everything would be fine, and we’d work things out.

A few months after I kicked Alex’s sorry, cheating ass out of the house, I found out Griffin knew about the affair the entire time.

He knew and he had let me cry on his shoulder wondering what the hell was wrong. He let me pour my heart out to him day after day and he never said a word. Childish teasing aside, through the years, Griffin became one of
my
best friends too. You would think that would guarantee me a little bit of loyalty. But obviously, since I don’t have a penis, I wasn’t cool enough for the truth.

“Don’t call me gorgeous and don’t waltz in here like it’s no big deal,” I growl at him. “I don’t know what angle you’re playing at by getting my father to hire you, but you can just get your ass back on that bike. I am NOT working with you.”

Griffin takes a step closer to me and pushes his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Are you referring to the ass you were staring at when I pulled up? I just want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly,” he says with that stupid, cocky grin.

“Oh, get over yourself! I have a job to do and I don’t need you fucking everything up. I prefer to work with honest, loyal people. Not backstabbing, lying assholes,” I fire at him.

I’m actually shocked to see the cockiness wiped right off his face, replaced by a look of regret and anger as he stares down at me.

“I never lied to you, Kennedy. I was in the dark about Alex just as much as you were. If you stopped avoiding me and ignoring all my calls and texts at any point over the last few months, I could have explained it to you,” he tells me, moving even closer until I have to crane my neck to see his face.

I’m pretty tall, but Griffin towers over me at six foot four. Alex and I are the exact same height. Maybe that’s why I always felt more safe and protected when I was in combat with Griffin. Or when I was anywhere in the same vicinity as him. Griffin always has a five-o’clock shadow and I’ve never seen him in anything other than a T-shirt, jeans, and shit-kicker boots. Where pretty boy Alex is a lover (of anything with a vagina), Griffin is a fighter and intimidates everyone he comes in contact with. Except for me.

If he didn’t have such a big attitude and so many muscles, I’d say he could pass for a surfer boy with his blue eyes and dark blond hair that he usually keeps military short, but it had grown out a bit on top since the last time I’d seen him.

“You tried to feed me that same bullshit six months ago, remember? I didn’t believe it then and I sure as hell don’t believe it now. Are you forgetting about the fact that I
heard
you? I heard you talking to him. I listened to you tell him not to say anything to me.”

I can feel myself starting to get choked up as I remember the day I walked into Griffin’s house a few hours after I’d seen Alex with the nanny. Alex had no idea I’d seen him. I was too stunned to do anything other than run back out of the house and drive around aimlessly. When I came back to my senses, I immediately went to Griffin’s house to get his advice. I walked into Griffin’s kitchen that day and overheard him talking to Alex on the phone. I stood there while Griffin advised my husband to continue to lie to me about the affair and never, ever tell me the truth. I thought my heart was broken when I found out Alex had been screwing around on me, but it was nothing compared to having one of your best friends deceive you.

“Kennedy, that’s not how—”

I cut him off and cross my arms angrily in front of me. “Oh, shut the hell up! I don’t want to listen to your excuses.”

“And you don’t want to listen to reason either. You shut me out for six months, but enough is enough. We are going to hash this out once and for all. I’m not going anywhere this time, Kennedy.”

Turning my back on him so I don’t have to see his face, I walk away and head back toward the front porch so I can case the house and see if McFadden has been back here since he skipped out on his court date.

“Go away, Griffin. I don’t need your help on this job and I sure as hell don’t need you in my life,” I shout over my shoulder.

No sooner have the words left my mouth than gunshots ring out from somewhere in the house. I don’t even have time to reach for my gun before I’m tackled from behind and pushed down into the grass. Griffin’s body completely covers mine and his arms shield my head as shots echo above us for a few more seconds. When silence finally descends on the neighborhood, I feel Griffin slowly push himself up off me just enough so I can roll over underneath him.

This was a bad decision. A really bad decision considering how pissed I am at him and how sex deprived I am right now. Our bodies are touching from feet to chest and I can feel every inch of his hard, muscled body on top of mine. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man’s body pressing into me and I am not happy with how good it feels right now.

Griffin is hot. I’ve always thought he was hot, but he was my friend. Friend only, because even though I may have had a silly crush on him at one point, I was already dating Alex and obviously I had better morals than Alex did. And now, Griffin is no longer my friend because he lied to me.

Someone needs to get that message to my vagina because she isn’t having any of this “I’m pissed off at Griffin and want nothing to do with him” nonsense. Her engine is running and she’s screaming at me to shift into high gear.

I swallow thickly and look up into Griffin’s face. He’s scanning the yard and the house to find the threat and I can’t help but stare at his throat and chiseled jaw and wonder what his skin tastes like.

Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? Am I that desperate that I would lie here in the grass after being shot at and fantasize about my ex—best friend? Thirty seconds with this man and I’ve already lost my freaking mind.

The sounds of a crash and squealing tires pull my attention away from the man above me and I crane my neck to see a red Honda Civic crashing through the closed garage door of McFadden’s house. The man behind the wheel, whom I assume is McFadden because of the tiny little Chihuahua sitting on his lap, screams at us as he floors it backward out of the driveway and into the street.

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!”

His threat is punctuated by a short, yippy bark from Tinkerdoodle before he throws the car out of reverse and takes off down the residential street.

“So, what was that you were saying about not needing help on this job?” Griffin asks, the cocky grin back on his face as he stares down at me and makes no move to get the hell off me.

Placing my palms flat on his muscled chest, I shove him roughly away until he rolls to the side. I scramble up from the ground, wiping grass and dirt off my jeans and out of my hair before stalking across the yard toward my car.

“So, I guess I’ll talk to you later and we can go over our strategy?” he yells with a chuckle as I get in my car and angrily slam the door closed without answering him.

I am never going to be able to get any work done with him around, trying to worm his way back into my life.

GD Griffin Crawford.

CHAPTER 4

I
walk through the door of Fool Me Once Investigations and avoid my friends’ stares at the condition I’ve returned to the office in as I sit down at my desk. I realize my hair is filled with grass and my clothes are dirty and askew, but I was kind of hoping they wouldn’t notice.

“Boy, I could use some more coffee. Did anyone make a pot?” I ask as I drum my fingers on top of my desk, waiting for my Mac to come to life.

Neither of them answer me and I can see them looking at me out of the corner of my eye. Just act natural. Nothing to see here, folks.

“I’m in the mood to go shopping. Maybe buy some new shoes!” I exclaim.

Shit! I hate shopping. What the hell am I saying?

“Ha ha, just kidding! Shopping is dumb. We should sign up for a cooking class. Wouldn’t that be great?!”

What? NO! STOP TALKING!

“So no one made any coffee? I think I’ll make a pot. Who wants a cup?” I ask in a rush as I get up from my desk and make a beeline for the kitchenette in the back of the office.

Paige intercepts me halfway, her eyes narrowing as she looks me over from head to toe.

“Oh my God! Why do you have leaves in your hair? Sweet Jesus. Lorelei, get Sven on the phone, I can see Kennedy’s roots.”

Son of a bitch.

I don’t have time to sit in a chair for four hours and listen to Sven tell me about his Yorkshire terrier, Mrs. Justin Bieber, and her bowel movements. That dog is as dumb as her namesake. She walks in circles until she gets so dizzy that she falls down. Like those fainting goats on YouTube. Her legs go all stiff and then she just falls to her side and Sven leaves me in my chair with enough foils on my head to communicate with Mars to go running up to her in a screaming panic telling people to call 911. Then the dumbass dog immediately jumps up and starts the process all over again. Mrs. Justin Bieber is an asshole.

“Sorry, I have to be in court in twenty minutes,” Lorelei states, getting up from her own desk and walking toward me. “What happened?”

I do my own shrugging in response and continue with the act that this is just a regular day at the office. A regular day of being shot at and snuggling in the grass with a guy who makes my blood boil.

“Hey, I need you to pull up whatever information you can find on McFadden. My dad didn’t have time to get everything.” Time to change the subject.

“I figured as much. Here you go,” she tells me, handing me a file filled with papers. “Now, back to the issue at hand. Or should I say, tree bark in hair. What happened?”

Taking the file from her hand, I make a production of flipping through the pages, oohing and ahhing at what I see as she stands there tapping her high-heeled foot on the floor.

“Thanks, Lo. Speaking of the bail jumper, how about we switch cases? I think it’s about time you got your feet wet out in the field,” I tell her as Paige begins pulling leaves and grass out of my hair, mumbling to herself about wasted beauty.

Lorelei snorts, shaking her head. “Nice try. I’m pretty sure we have a rule somewhere in our mission statement about how each individual assigned to a case will see the entire thing through, right, Paige?”

Paige nods her head absently as she gives me a reassuring pat on the back before noticing another grass stain by my hip.

“Thou shalt not covet thy friend’s cases. Why do you want to trade?”

I smack Paige’s hands away from my hip and shoot her a dirty look.

“Really? The Ten Commandments are in our mission statement?” I ask irritably.

“Why are you changing the subject?” Lorelei demands.

Because I cannot work with Griffin.

“Because this is going to be a pretty boring, easy case. Perfect for one of you to handle to get some experience behind you,” I lie.

“A boring, easy case doesn’t usually involve coming back to the office looking like roadkill,” Paige says.

“Gee, thank you so much,” I tell her sarcastically.

“Fresh roadkill, but roadkill nonetheless,” she replies with a shrug. “Spill it.”

I can question insurgents in the middle of war-torn Afghanistan, but I am no match for these two. It only takes a few seconds of their stare-down before I cave.

“I WAS SHOT AT! I saw my life flash before me!”

Lorelei rolls her eyes at me. “You love being shot at—it gives you a cheap thrill. Try again.”

GD friends.

“FINE! Griffin Crawford showed up at McFadden’s house. On a HARLEY. And dove on top of me to protect me when McFadden started shooting. And my father hired him to work on this case. Can you believe that? My own father is a traitor.”

Paige lets out a low whistle under her breath. “A Harley? Oh, man. You’re screwed.”

“She speaks the truth,” Lorelei adds as she grabs her leather briefcase and Coach purse and moves toward the door. “You’ve watched every season of
Sons of Anarchy
thirty-seven times and instead of porn hidden under your mattress, you have
American Iron
and Harley-Davidson’s
HOG
magazines. You’re definitely screwed.”

Lorelei blows us a kiss as she exits the office to get to court and I turn to face Paige with a sigh.

“So, what kind of bike does he have?” she asks.

“Oh my God, it’s a Heritage Softail Classic with a Twin Cam engine, laced wheels with whitewalls, and studded leather. It’s beautiful,” I tell her as I close my eyes and picture the bike in my head. The bike with me on the back of it, my body draped around Griffin, and my arms clutching his waist.

Shit!

“What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t work with Griffin,” I complain.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. There is no way you can work with that man under these conditions. It’s a tragedy and I am going to do something about it.” Paige grabs her cell phone from her desk and starts scrolling through her contacts.

What would I do without my friends? Seriously? I knew Paige wouldn’t let me down. I know my father gave me this case and transferring it to another firm is going to piss him off, but he’ll just have to deal with it. Paige understands what a bad idea it would be for me to be anywhere near Griffin, Harley or no Harley. I don’t trust him. I can’t work with someone I don’t trust. Especially when he’s a cocky smartass with too many muscles. And a Harley. A fucking Harley.

“Hello, darling, it’s Paige,” she says into her phone. “I need your help. It’s an emergency.”

I can always count on my friends. This makes me feel warm and fuzzy to know she’s got my back.

“No, not for me, for Kennedy,” she continues, before turning to face me and staring me up and down before shaking her head sadly at me.

What the hell is she doing? She doesn’t need to look at me like that just to call another PI firm a few towns over for some additional help.

“Yes, I think it has to be today. She can’t go on like this anymore,” Paige adds. “Perfect! You are a lifesaver. Kiss, kiss. We’ll see you in twenty.”

Paige hangs up the phone and walks around her desk to retrieve her purse from one of the drawers.

“Why do we need to go see the guys at Osborne Investigations? Can’t they just send someone over so I can fill them in on the case?”

Paige pulls her keys out of her purse and walks back over to me, linking her arm through mine and pulling me toward the door.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t call Osborne. I called Sven. Your roots are atrocious. There’s no way I’m letting you anywhere near Griffin Crawford again with hair like that.”

She clutches my arm with both hands when she feels me start to resist, I don’t even bother hiding my contempt by calling her every bad name I can think of from
A
to
Z
, starting with
asshat
and ending with
…

GD zoo animal cray-cray.