Jennifer Morey - Hometown Detective

“Who hasn’t heard of him? Wow. You’re the son of a celebrity. And Australian. You have a very subtle accent.”

“I was basically raised in the States.”

“You do have a Rick Grimes kind of look to you,” she said.

Great. She thought he looked like the star of The Walking Dead . “My dad’s not really a celebrity.” He made his next shot and missed. “That was your fault.”

She laughed lightly. “And your mother is a what? What’s an apothecary?”

“She bought an old pharmacy and turned it into an apothecary museum. She studied chemistry in college and developed an odd fascination with herbal medicine.”

“That’s not so odd. What’s odd is they have a son who became a crime detective.” A band had begun to play and she started tapping her foot to the beat.

“That’s odd?”

“Well...maybe not since your dad is a crime novelist. But your profession isn’t as...fascinating as theirs.”

“Are you always this blunt?” He didn’t dislike that about her.

“Best way to be. I wish everyone treated me the same.” Still holding her stick upright, her enchanted expression smoothed and her foot stopped tapping as though something came to her. “Wait a minute. I know that museum. It’s here in Chesterville.” She sucked in a breath. “Are you from here?”

She caught him. They now had a connection. She lived in his hometown. “It’s your turn.”

“You are?”

“Are you going to rob me of my chance to beat you?”

Laughing, she went to make her move, missing the striped ball. “How is it that you’re from here and assigned to my sister’s case?”

“There is no case yet. My boss made me come. He did that on purpose.”

“So you could see your family? How sweet. A lot of bosses aren’t like that.”

“I didn’t want to go see them.” This might venture into the Too Personal zone. When he’d lured her out tonight, he had done it with the intention of sharing a night with her before he went back to work in Wyoming or wherever the need took him. He hadn’t anticipated getting to know her and she him.

“What? Why not?”

He leaned over the table, aiming his stick.

“You do have a tragic story to tell.”

“No, I don’t. I just didn’t feel like seeing them now, that’s all.” He hit a ball and it plunked into a hole.

“They’re your family. Don’t they know you’re here?”

Standing up, he turned and stepped toward her, stopping close. “I came here to see you.” He moved around her to make his next shot, sinking another ball.

“Is it because they’re so much larger than you?”

“No. I love my parents and they love me. I had a painfully normal childhood.” He dropped another ball.

“What is that?” she asked as though she didn’t know.

“Normal. Bedtime stories.” He’d had lots of those. “Be home by ten. Eat your vegetables. Don’t drink. Don’t smoke. Don’t do drugs. You can do anything you put your mind to do. Love you and hugs.”

“What’s so painful about that?”

She didn’t get it and he wasn’t going to explain. His childhood had been painful because it had been so idyllic. But idyllic hadn’t prepared him for the world. All the encouragement to do what his heart told him hadn’t opened his mind and soul to awareness of what his heart told him. His heart hadn’t told him anything. He’d gone to school to become a crime detective because he’d always been fascinated with his father, his imagination, his success. He’d never achieve that kind of success. He had to be satisfied with what he had.

He continued to drop balls up to the eight. He was going to cream her. Noticing her slanted smile, he sensed her good-sport realization that she was going to lose.

Moving to make the final shot, he stopped close to her again, seeing her sparkling green eyes get all flustered again. “Any last words?”

She breathed a shaky laugh, one born of attraction.

He called the hole and won the game.

Wandering over to him, she held her stick in one hand, not having to tip her head back much to look up at his face. He took in her relaxed face that held a hint of flirtation and felt himself responding. “Are you as good at dancing as you are at playing pool?”

“Yes. And I love country music.”

Good because he liked the song the band had started playing.

* * *

By the eighth or ninth song, Kendra wrapped her arms around Roman as the melody slowed. She couldn’t remember having this much fun with anyone. They’d drunk more beer and danced the night away. Last call had been announced and she regretted the night coming to an end. She’d forgotten all about why he’d come to town. She cherished moments like this, when the world’s ugliest blows fell away and only celebration lifted her.

She didn’t think Roman paid much attention to how or why they’d ended up dancing this close, either. Maybe with whatever kept him from seeing his family he needed a getaway, too. Or maybe this had nothing to do with getaways. Maybe they just liked each other.

She leaned back to see his ruggedly handsome face, so dark and edgy with those light gray eyes that could be a wolf’s. His gaze moved down to her mouth, and then slowly rose to her eyes. The beer must be clouding both their judgments.

“All right, folks, time to close up.”

Realizing the band had stopped playing and had begun to pack up their equipment, Kendra stepped back from Roman.

“Why don’t you come back to my hotel room with me and convince me why I should start calling this a case?” Roman asked.

“Do you expect me to seduce you into taking it?”

“There’s nothing to take yet.”

“Stop saying that,” she said, unable to repress a soft laugh.

“And no, I don’t expect you to seduce me. I’d rather this night not end so soon, that’s all.” He swung her into a music-free turn and bent her over his arm.

“Me, neither.”

Grinning, he lifted her up against him.

“Why is that?” she asked with her mouth close to his.

“Let’s not think about it.” Moving back, he took her hand and led her from the pub.

With her head fuzzy and light, she stepped outside with him. “For the record, I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Good.”

She laughed because she heard what she’d been thinking and feeling, that together they’d enjoyed the evening and wanted to keep the momentum going.

Chapter 3

M aybe they just liked each other?

Kendra rolled her head to the side to see Roman’s sleeping face not three inches from hers. She lay in the curve of his arm, with her breast, ribs, hip and leg pressed against him. Thankfully, she still wore her clothes and he his. But how in the world had the night gotten so carried away?

What the hell had she been thinking?

After arriving at the hotel room, Roman had taken care of her, all without infringing on her privacy. She almost liked him. The unpredictability caught her off guard. She hadn’t seen their connection coming. And she had completely forgotten he never answered her question about why he didn’t want to see his parents.

What kind of man was he? She knew nothing about him personally.

Easing away, she sat up, and then stood from the bed. Tiptoeing to the door, she quietly left the room. Finding a pen and notepad, she scrawled a note, her last-ditch effort to get him to change his mind about investigating Kaelyn’s death.

* * *

Standing outside Kaelyn’s best friend’s small two-story Victorian, Roman leaned against the trunk of a tree. He hadn’t given in to the nagging compulsion to investigate Kendra’s twin sister’s death. Yet. He kept telling himself that. Spending last night with her changed the dynamics. The note she’d left, too.