"Romantic Suspense with a full dose of humor!"
Reviewed by Debbie Wiley
Posted December 7, 2015
Romance Contemporary
Sheri Thompson has gone out of her way to avoid Detective
Danny Henderson ever since that one night. She knew Danny
was a one night stand kind of guy, but he charmed her
despite all of the warnings from her best friend, Chloe.
Unfortunately, six months later Danny reenters Sheri's
life, this time with a potentially dangerous warning.
Someone named Sheri Thompson is the target of a hitman.
Is Sheri the intended victim? Danny is determined to do
anything he can to protect Sheri- and to win her heart.
Will Sheri and Danny overcome their relationship fears so
love can have a second chance between them?
Christie Craig is already one of my favorite authors when
writing under her C.C. Hunter pseudonym so I had to give
her romances a try. I'm glad I did as DIVORCED,
DESPERATE AND DARING is just flat out entertaining. I
still laugh thinking about Sheri's adventure at the salon
(and the results afterwards)!
Sheri and Danny are great main characters, both of them
bearing their emotional scars from past relationships.
Danny's story breaks my heart even now as I could
practically feel the pain, anguish and even the sense of
unworthiness he harbors due to past incidents in his
life. Christie Craig does a marvelous job at showing us
how these two broken souls learn to trust one another
emotionally, as the physical aspect of their relationship
is the easy part.
DIVORCED, DESPERATE AND DARING is the sixth book in
Christie Craig's Divorced and Desperate series.
While some reoccurring characters do occur, it is not
necessary to have read the earlier books to jump right
into DIVORCED, DESPERATE AND DARING. However, the
characters are so enjoyable that I can't wait to go back
and read the earlier books to see all the fun I've been
missing!
Christie Craig infuses humor into every aspect of the
storyline of DIVORCED, DESPERATE AND DARING as it's just
sheer fun to read! I laughed, I cried, and I worried
right along with Danny and Sheri as they tried to
navigate both the mystery of the hitman as well as their
budding romance. If you love romance, a good mystery,
well developed characters, and a full dose of humor, then
don't miss out on DIVORCED, DESPERATE AND DARING!
SUMMARY
Smart and sassy . . .
Sheri Thompson knew better. She could spot a horn dog
from
a mile
away, especially when she’d been warned about him
countless
times by
her best friend. Still, when Danny started smooth-talking
Sheri at
that same friend’s wedding, she couldn’t resist. It was
the
best one-
night stand of her life. Heck, the best night of her
life.
And then
she woke up alone.
Divorced and determined to stay that way . . .
Detective Danny Henderson didn’t like fear, but he’d felt
a
lot of it
that morning he’d woken up feeling all warm and cozy next
to the one
woman that might just make an honest man of him. Six
months
later,
fear has punched him in the gut again, but worse this
time.
He’s
investigating a murder plot . . . a planned hit. The
target: Sheri
Thompson. This time his fear won’t get the best of him.
He’ll kick
ass to keep her safe and make sure he gets a second
chance
at
countless more nights with the woman of his dreams.
ExcerptSix Months LaterAt five-thirty on Halloween, Detective Danny Henderson
and five other officers working with the narcotics unit
piled out of the police van and rushed around the corner
to the house where the drug deal was going down. If their
sources were right, Brian McCune, a known gang leader and
all-around bad guy, was in that house right now, swapping
his backpack of cocaine for a briefcase of hundred dollar
bills. Not that that was all he was guilty of. That was only the
tip of the iceberg, but it was a damn good place to
start. Slowing down at the side of the house, Danny pointed the
rest of the task force to their positions. The sun hung
in the western sky, making the world appear golden,
peaceful. The sun lied. The tension echoed in the way all the officers carried
themselves. They loved their jobs, but none of them loved
it enough to die. Everyone had on bullet-proof vests. They weren’t kidding
themselves. McCune and his gangbangers were hotheads. If
they thought they could shoot their way out of this,
shoot they would. Cary Stevens, fellow officer and friend, offered Danny a
got-your-back nod. Turner, another good friend, did the same. Ramon Marco,
the new guy at the precinct and Danny’s bar buddy since
both Cary and Turner had gone and gotten themselves
hitched, moved in a little closer to Danny. “Let’s go get some bad guys,” Ramon said, his attempt at
humor telling another story men didn’t like to tell. Fear
wasn’t just for wimps. As he stepped back, he added,
“Watch yourself. I need my wingman.” “Ditto.” Danny did another check to make sure everyone
was in place. He cut his hand through the air, giving the
signal. Gun in hand, he and Cary charged up the small porch, each
of them holding position at opposite sides of the door. Trick or treat, Danny thought, but said, “Police!” Danny kicked in the door. He’d expected three guys.
Wrong. Six bad guys reached for their guns. No trick. No
treat. Unless you counted the gunfire that exploded. Shouts rang out. The last thing Danny heard before he
took a bullet was Turner yelling, “Officer down!” Sheri accepted the glass of cabernet her best friend
handed her. “The wicked witch?” Chloe asked, looking at Sheri’s
costume. “Yup.” The floor-length sequined black gown, paired with
a pointed black hat, had been her last-minute, pulled-
together costume. “So how’s your cold today?” Chloe picked up Pooch, the
bad-attitude animal she and her husband called a dog but
looked more like a deformed squirrel, especially when
wearing a pumpkin costume. Cold? “It must have been allergies.” “You lying wicked witch!” Chloe dropped the costumed dog
and plopped her butt in a chair. “You didn’t use the cold
excuse yesterday. It was the stomach flu defense. And you
claimed to have a cold for the barbecue last month. So
’fess up!” Sheri took a sip of wine, hoping the alcohol would help
her wiggle out of this jam, because yeah, she was lying. Chloe pointed a finger at her. And when Chloe’s finger
came out . . . “You haven’t come to one of my parties since Cary and I
got married,” Chloe’s tone rang a pitch too loud. “Who
are you avoiding? It’s not me. We see each other all the
time. It’s not my husband, because you come over to our
place when it’s just us.” Sheri’s mind raced to come up with a believable piece of
fiction. She hated calling it lying. “I didn’t want to
tell you, because I know how much you worry about me, but
. . . if you must know, I’ve developed a . . . phobia of
crowds.” “Really?” “Crazy, right?” Chloe lifted her left brow. “What concert was it you went
to last weekend?” Sheri gave her wine a good swirl and watched the rich red
color race around the glass. “Yeah, it’s the weirdest
thing. It doesn’t affect me when there’s music involved.” “You came to my girls’ night out,” Chloe said in her
analytical tone. “So it’s not any of the female friends.” “Don’t overthink this,” Sheri pleaded. “So it’s a male.” Chloe deduced. “Single, because you’re
not other-woman material.” “Why am I not other-woman material?” Sheri asked, hoping
to derail Chloe’s direct path to the truth. “That means it could be Eddie, Ramon or . . . shit! You
slept with Danny!” “Noooo.” And she hadn’t slept with him. Well, she’d dozed
briefly. But he hadn’t. “When did this happen?” Chloe asked. Saved by the bell. Or rather the music and lyrics of “I
Will Always Love You.” A sign it was Chloe’s husband
calling her, which was so sweet but also a tad
nauseating. Chloe snatched up the phone. Whenever Cary called and was
at work, Chloe always answered the phone twice as fast.
She claimed to have come to terms with the fact that her
husband was a cop, but Sheri knew her friend worried. “Everything okay?” Chloe asked and then held her breath. Sheri took another sip of wine, debating making a run for
it, but when her best friend’s eyes instantly clouded
with terror, leaving wasn’t an option. “Oh, God.” Chloe put her fingers to her trembling lips. Sheri touched Chloe’s arm, feeling her friend’s pain
without even knowing what it was. “How bad is Danny?” Chloe asked. Air hitched in Sheri’s throat. Danny? “Is he going to make it?” Chloe asked. Instantly Sheri remembered how it felt to lay against
Danny’s bare chest, how sweet his kisses were and how
they had spent most of the night laughing and talking.
That part had been as good as the sex. And that was
saying a lot, because it had been the best sex she’d ever
had. “What hospital?” Chloe paused. “I’m coming up.” She hung
up and shot out of her chair. Sheri grabbed her best friend’s arm. “Is Danny . . .?” Chloe blinked and stared. “You care about him, don’t
you?” “No.” The you-just-lied knot crowded Sheri’s tonsils.
“I’m dating Patrick.” “You told me he wasn’t . . . doing it for you.” Sheri frowned. “I’m having second thoughts. Forget
Patrick!” And it was easy to do. “Is Danny okay?” “He got hit in the arm, but he’s fine. It’s Ramon. He’s
in surgery. And the doctors aren’t sure if he’ll pull
through.” A weight, a Danny-induced weight, lifted off Sheri. “I
hope he makes it.” “Me, too.” Chloe studied her. “Do you want to come?” Sheri contemplated it. Then logic intervened. “No, I’m .
. .” “Coming down with a cold?” Chloe grabbed her purse and
keys from the counter. “We’ll finish this conversation
later,” she snapped over her shoulder. “Lock up, and set
the candy on the porch when you leave.” The request was
punctuated by the too-loud whack of the closing door. Sheri sat there, her emotions about Danny stirring up
memories she’d previously sent packing. And with them
came emotions she’d thought she’d moved past. When her phone rang, she yanked it out of her purse,
eager for a distraction. “Hi, Mom,” she said after seeing the number. “What’s up?” “My baby is turning twenty-nine,” her mom said. “You’re
making me old.” “No, I’m not. Didn’t you hear? I sold my birthday on
eBay,” Sheri said. Her mom’s laugh sounded like soft music—music Sheri
hadn’t heard enough of lately. Was her mom finally moving
past her grief? “I made our reservations for your birthday dinner for six
on Sunday,” her mother said. “I have something special
for you. And I need you to save the following Wednesday
for me as well.” “What for?” Sheri stood and moved into the living room.
Her gaze went to a bookshelf where a framed picture of
her and Chloe in first grade held a prime spot. Sheri had
the same picture at her house. The two of them were more
like sisters than friends. Then her gaze shifted to the
second framed photograph of Chloe’s husband and his two
good friends. Her attention lingered on the blond in the
photo, his bad-boy charm apparent even in the snapshot.
She put a finger over Danny’s face. “Wayside Church is opening the new wing, and they are
naming it after your father.” Just like that, Sheri’s emotional dilemma changed
channels. “They’re having a ceremony and everything.” Excitement
made her mother’s tone almost too high. Only because you donated fifty thousand to them. Sheri
closed her eyes. Her mom, finally in cancer remission
after an almost two-year battle, was still fragile.
Hurting her was the last thing Sheri wanted to do, but .
. . “I know you have issues with your dad’s service to them,
but it would really be nice if you went with me. I’ve
even invited Bradley.” Sheri’s grip on the phone tightened with her chest. She
didn’t have issues with her dad’s service. Or even
Bradley, her father’s illegitimate son—who, by the way,
didn’t want a relationship with them. She had issues with
her dad. For her mom, her father’s death, or maybe his remaining
sober for the last six months of his life, had absolved
him of all sins. Amazingly, even being a preacher’s
daughter, Sheri hadn’t found it in herself to forgive. “That might be the day I’m working at the animal
shelter.” “Surely you can find someone to replace you.” Yeah, her mom would expect that. Sheri had pretty much
catered to her mom’s every whim since her cancer, and
even more so since her father died. “I really want you there,” her mom said. “It would mean a
lot to me.” Danny, guilt making his shoulders heavy, walked out of
the ER and made his way into the surgical waiting room.
Still groggy from the meds, he had to pay serious
attention to the arrows pointing the way to surgery. He
stopped, sure he’d made a wrong turn, when he heard
someone, a familiar someone, call his name. “You weren’t even going to tell me you’re in my
hospital?” Her accusation rang behind him. He faced his cousin. “I wasn’t sure you were working
tonight.” “You should have called me whether I was working or not!
You were shot, for God’s sake. I had to find out from
another nurse who came and told me!” “I was just grazed. I didn’t want to worry you.” Hurt added another layer of pain to her eyes, and seeing
it hurt him. “I worry you all the time, Danny. When my
sink is stopped up, when my car battery won’t start, when
I’m sure I’m going die from missing Trey.” And Anna missed Trey a lot. Not that Danny blamed her.
Life could be a bitch sometimes. “And you don’t call me when you get shot? Do you know how
that makes me feel?” “I should have called you, I’m just . . . Another
officer, a friend of mine, was shot. It’s bad. I’m trying
to get to the surgical waiting room now.” Danny’s chest filled with pressure. He’d been the one to
set up this bust. If Ramon, his wingman, died, Danny
doubted that pressure would ever go away. And living with
it would be hell. Empathy sounded in Anna’s soft sigh. “Come on, I’ll take
you.” “Thanks.” She looped her arm around his. Something she’d done for
years. While just her cousin, Danny had played the part
of Anna’s big brother. “You’re the only family I’ve got.
I can’t lose you.” “Ditto,” he said, the honesty in the one word deepening
his voice. “This way.” She led him down another hall. They walked into the crowded waiting room, filled with
families and friends of patients, each in their own kind
of hell. So much emotion hung in the air it hurt to
breathe. Cary saw them and nodded. Anna headed through
the door leading back to the unit. “She’s going to check on him,” Danny told Cary as he sat
beside him. “You should go home.” Cary motioned to his bloody shirt. “Not happening,” he told him. “Have you heard anything?”
God damn it! Tell me he’s going to live. “He’s still in surgery.” Anna came back out, and the two men stood up. She leaned
in and whispered, “They’re done. The doctor should be out
in a minute. They said it went well.” “Thanks.” Danny’s chest felt fifty pounds lighter. Who
knew guilt weighed so much? Anna looked at the door. “I need to get back to work. You
okay?” He offered her his pat answer. “I’m working on it.” She pressed a hand on his forearm. “You keep doing that.
I get off in an hour if you need a lift home.” “I’ll text you.” Danny watched his cousin leave,
realizing she really was his only family and vowing to do
better by her. After several silent seconds, Danny looked
at Cary. “I knew there was a chance McCune and his guys
would put up a fight, but I didn’t think—” “Don’t start that,” Cary said in a low voice. “This isn’t
on you.” “It feels like it is.” Danny glanced over at the four
Hispanic women sitting in the corner. “Is that his mother
and sisters?” “Yeah.” The fear and love in the older woman’s eyes had Danny’s
stomach knotting. He and Ramon had been buds for the last
three months. And although Danny hadn’t met Ramon’s
family, his friend had talked about his mom and his
sisters a lot. About how they drove him crazy, always
trying to fix him up since his divorce, but Ramon loved
them. Loved them the way family was supposed to love each
other. Danny’s gaze shifted to the variety of families
supporting each other. Some held hands, some rubbed
shoulders and others chatted quietly. Family support was
something Danny had found from his aunt, her husband and
Anna, but not from his own parents. Chloe, Cary’s wife, rushed in. Cary popped up, the two
met halfway, and they hugged. They held on to each other
like a lifeline. Danny thought he’d had that once. But no. His ex-wife,
Tanya, had taught him how wrong he could be. It was a
lesson hard to forget. One that had messed with his head
and his heart. One that would sabotage the rest of his
life if he couldn’t move past it. So far, he’d proved he
couldn’t. Cary looked back and waved as he and Chloe stepped
outside. Danny sat there, debating going and speaking to
Ramon’s family, but lingering guilt kept him planted in
his chair. Three minutes later, Cary and Chloe came back
in and dropped down beside him. He nodded hello to Chloe,
but she glanced away. Cary leaned in. “Turner called. McCune’s already lawyered
up. One of his guys and one of the buyers were shot, but
none fatal. They arrested four more.” “Marco family?” A doctor wearing scrubs appeared in the
doorway. Danny hesitated to let Ramon’s family be first. Chloe and
Cary did the same. But they moved in close enough to
hear. “He pulled through the surgery better than I thought,”
the doctor said. “The bullets didn’t do near the damage
they could have. I think he’s going to be fine.” After everyone in the room had been properly introduced,
and hugged by Ramon’s mother, Danny, Chloe and Cary found
themselves in the cafeteria drinking coffee. The pain
meds were wearing off, and Danny’s shoulder had started
to throb like a mother. Chloe kissed her husband. “I’m going to head on home.” “Drive safe,” Cary told her. “I’m not far behind you.” She rose from her chair, her gaze found Danny and she
dropped back down. “How are you?” Chloe asked. “It was just a scratch.” Seven stitches, but who’s
counting? “You sure?” Something about her tone sounded like a trick
question, and he recalled she hadn’t spoken to him since
she’d arrived. “Yeah.” Danny glanced at Cary, but he looked equally
puzzled. Chloe smiled, but it seemed loaded with something not so
pleasant. “Great. So let me preface this.” Her tone now
matched her not-right smile. “Preface what?” Cary asked when his wife paused as if for
effect. She ignored her husband and focused on Danny. “You know I
like you. You’ve got my husband’s back, and I appreciate
that. Heck, I love you for that.” “Now don’t go making your husband jealous,” he said,
uneasy. “When I married my husband it was a two-way package deal.
His friends came with him. And my friends with me.” Oh, shit. She knew. He glanced at the exit in case he
needed to run. “Yeah.” “Liking you is one thing. Standing by and letting you
hurt someone I care about is another. So when you are
around my friends, you keep your best friend in your
pants.” She stood, kissed her shocked husband’s cheek and left in
a choppy pace. “What did you do?” Cary asked. “I . . . Sheri—” “Not Sheri!” Cary pleaded. “I told you—” “It wasn’t . . . I tried to fix it. She’s the one who . .
.” “Who what?” Cary asked. Danny ran a palm over his face. “Nothing.” He’d screwed
up. Forgiveness wasn’t a guarantee, it was a gift. One
Sheri hadn’t been inclined to offer. First thing on Friday morning, Danny was called into the
sergeant’s office. He was ready to get an earful about
how badly the bust had gone down. “What’s up?” Danny asked walking in, not sure he didn’t
deserve an ass-chewing. Sergeant Adams, AKA, the boss, leaned forward at his desk
and motioned for Danny to sit down. “Did you recognize
any of McCune’s men?” “Yeah.” He had no idea where this was going. “Perkins.
I’ve brought him in a few times. Small shit. I didn’t
know he worked with McCune.” “Well, I just got a call this morning from his lawyer. He
and Perkins want to talk to you. Says he has some info
and wants to negotiate.” “Then send him to the DA,” Danny said. “I tried. The lawyer says he only wants to talk to you.” “Why?” “He likes you.” The sergeant’s smile said there was more
to the story. Danny frowned. “I’m not that likable.” “Look, Perkins said you worked a deal once. He thinks
you’ll work with him, and he swears he won’t talk to
anyone else.” “I didn’t work a deal. I went easy on him for being
honest. And that was before he tried to kill me and a few
of my friends.” “I know, but this lawyer is a pain in my ass. He’s
friends with my brother-in-law. Just talk to him. Hell,
maybe this guy has something we need.” An hour later, Danny walked into the conference room
where James Perkins and his lawyer waited. The guy had acquired a rap sheet a mile long since he and
Danny last met. Perkins didn’t deserve a deal—not this
time. Danny shot across the room and prepared himself to
be pissed. Hell, he was already pissed. His arm still
throbbed, and Ramon was still in the hospital—hating
every moment of the TLC doled out by his sisters and his
mom. The fact that his sergeant even considered
negotiating with this punk chapped Danny’s ass. All eyes in the room turned to him. Danny decided not to
bullshit anyone. “You better have something good, because
anyone who shoots at me or my friends gets on my bad
side.” “You’re the only cop I know who’s fair. You didn’t let
them charge me last time.” “Then that shows how little you know,” Danny insisted.
“I’m done being fair. Damnedest thing, it happens when
people try to kill me.” Sure, Danny knew it wasn’t Perkins’ bullet that had
gotten either him or Ramon, but not from his lack of
trying, and only because he was a piss-poor shot. “It’s good,” Perkins said. “Not so fast,” his lawyer said. “We want a deal on the
table.” “Don’t try to blow smoke up my ass. You know I can’t make
any deals. That’s the DA’s job. And I wouldn’t even
pretend to think about a deal until I know what he’s
got.” The lawyer already looked frustrated, and Danny had even
tried yet. “Someone contacted Mr. Perkins to do a hit.” “A hit on who?” Danny asked, vaguely interested, but only
mildly. The lawyer held up his hand to silence Perkins. “What are
you offering?” “I told ya, I don’t offer deals, and I’m not even gonna
think of going to DA until I know who it is. You see, I
might not give a rat’s ass if this guy lives or not.
Because chances are, he’s a piece of shit and deserves to
get whacked.” The lie left his lips easily. His job
required he give a rat’s ass, even to the undeserving. “She,” Perkins said. “It’s a chick, probably as innocent
as a puppy.” That knocked Danny’s argument down a notch, but he tried
not to show it. “Puppies don’t usually land on someone’s
hit list.” Perkins frowned. “This one got unlucky.” “Who wants her dead?” Danny asked. “Husband? Boyfriend?”
Nine times out of ten, that’s who was guilty. “I don’t know. He said a friend of a friend gave him my
name. He approached me at The Devil’s Bar.” “You don’t know his name or haven’t seen him hanging
there before?” “No.” Danny sighed. “When did this happen?” “Last Saturday. He offered me ten thousand. I told him I
didn’t off girls.” “You must be up for sainthood,” Danny said. Perkins snarled. “Some chick is gonna die, and it’s going
to be on your ass.” “Correct me if I’m wrong. You don’t know who this guy is,
or how to get in touch with him. How’s this going to do
me any good?” “I got her name. And if he approached me, he’ll approach
someone else.” “What’s her name?” Danny asked. “We don’t give anything else until we get at least your
word that you’ll help us work a deal with the DA,” the
lawyer said again. “Okay,” Danny said, pissed he had to do it, but he knew a
wall when he was against one. “Here’s what I can give
you. Tell me her name. If it’s the real deal, I’ll talk
to the DA about offering you a lesser sentence.” “Lesser? I don’t want to do time.” Danny shook his head. “There are no get-out-of-jail-free
cards. You’re doing time. It’s a matter of two years or
ten.” The lawyer whispered something in Perkins’ ear. He
moaned. “Sheri Thompson.” Danny’s breath caught. “Is this a joke?” “What?” Perkins said, and Danny could read the man’s face
enough to know he wasn’t pulling a fast one. Besides, how
would he know Danny had a connection to a Sheri Thompson? Danny felt his heart play base against his chest bone and
he could feel the rush of his pulse at the side of his
neck. Wait, there was only a one-in-three chance it was
her. He knew, because he’d personally done that search
when she’d refused to take his phone calls six months
ago. “Where does this Sheri Thompson live?” Don’t say in the
Forest Hill Condos. “Answer me!” “I don’t know. When I told him I didn’t do chicks, he
left.” “Do you have an age, a location, anything? Do you know
how many Sheri—” “I gave you a name. And there’s going to be one less
chick wearing that name tag if you don’t do something
fast. That guy was serious.” Danny swung open the door and called out for another
officer. “Get a sketch artist in here.” He looked back at
the lawyer. “I want to know what this guy looked like
down to the size of his dick!” He rushed out, telling
himself it wasn’t his Sheri. His Sheri? What a joke. She wasn’t his. Except for one night. One damn good night. He dialed Cary before he was out of the county jail, but
his friend wasn’t picking up. Shit! The line beeped to leave a message. “Hey . . . there’s a
problem. Sheri is . . . Someone’s trying . . . Oh, hell.
Sheri could be in danger. Call me!” He tried Sheri’s number. The fact that he hadn’t deleted
it from his phone said something. The fact that he hadn’t
added any new numbers since then said something more. Her phone rang twelve times before he reached his car. He
knew because he counted each one. Then he phoned his
friend, Paul Manning, who worked homicide and gave him a
rundown on the other Sheri Thompsons. Leaving the parking lot, he put his siren on his
dashboard and lit out to Forest Hill Condos. He spent the
entire drive trying to calm down and convince himself she
wasn’t in danger. But it wasn’t working. His car had barely stopped in her parking lot when he
jumped out. The sooner he laid eyes on Sheri, the sooner
he would be able think straight. Jogging to unit sixteen, he realized he didn’t have a
clue how he was going to deal with this. Should he tell
her? He had to, didn’t he? If he didn’t, she’d think he
was here for . . . something else. For penitence. And damn, he knew if she’d give him another chance, he’d
take it in a snap. But a man could only beg for so long. Arriving at her porch, he noticed her door wasn’t shut.
His heart picked up pace. Surely Sheri was smart enough
not to leave her front door open. Shit! He drew his gun. He debated calling out her name,
but if someone had his finger on the trigger, that might
jar him into doing something he shouldn’t. Instantly his mind replayed parts of their night
together. Hands down, it had been the best sex he’d ever
had. Add the hours they’d laid in bed talking and
laughing and . . . and he’d panicked. But not until she’d
gone to sleep and he’d just lain there, watching her. His
damn heart had swelled so big he thought his chest would
explode. Pushing open the door a bit, he listened for any signs of
movement. He inched into the living room. He’d only come
here once. He hadn’t even gotten inside. She’d opened her
door and, with a few choice words, told him where he
could plant his flowers and insisted he had to leave
because her date was waiting inside. She hadn’t been bluffing, because he’d stayed around long
enough to see them leaving together. Where are you now, Sheri? He heard a slight noise coming
from the room in the back. The kitchen? Someone was here.
Be okay. Please be okay. She could tell him to plant anything, anywhere. Just as
long as she was alive and breathing. He lifted his gun
and cut the corner into the kitchen. Sheri felt the cool wall behind her. Patrick’s mouth was
on hers. He was a good kisser. Just a little too much
tongue. She told herself to stop critiquing and enjoy it. His hand moved under her skirt, going for her panties.
The red panties she’d worn for this very reason. She
planned to let it happen. They’d been dating six weeks.
He’d been patient. It was time, but . . . was she feeling
it? A little. Maybe. He pushed his hips against hers, and the evidence of how
much he was feeling it pressed against her. Oh, hell. She wasn’t feeling it that much. And if there
was one thing she promised herself . . . not feeling it
meant no sex. She’d learned that lesson with Mark. And
the only reason she’d gone there with Mark was because
she wanted . . . well, she thought she could re-create
with him what she’d had with . . . “I want you so bad,” Patrick said. Nope. Not feeling it. She pulled her lips from his. His body still pressed her
against the wall. “Did you say you want a beer?” “Police!” a dark voice rang out, giving her a lurch. Patrick’s hand yanked out from under her skirt. He bolted
back so fast her knees nearly gave. She caught herself
against the wall while his hands shot up above his head. The sight of the gun had air hitching in her throat. The sight of the man attached to the gun had that air
releasing in a big gulp. She’d just thought about him.
Was this a . . . dream? She reached down and pinched her leg. It hurt. Not a dream. “What are you doing?” she snapped as she rubbed her leg. “This isn’t even my house,” Patrick said. What did that mean? She looked at Danny. He looked just
as confused. “Oh yeah, throw the girl under the bus,” Danny spouted
out. Then he dropped his arm, pointing the gun downward,
and focused on her. “I . . . Your front door was open.” “So you rushed in with a gun? Did they teach you that in
police training?” Sheri couldn’t tell if Danny was embarrassed or angry.
Maybe a little of both. She kind of knew the feeling. The
two emotions waged war inside her, too. “I . . . I didn’t mean to . . . interrupt.” His tone,
along with the emphasis he put on that last word, pissed
her off. Then he glanced at Patrick. Or rather at the
tent in the man’s khakis, emphasized by the fact that his
arms remained in the air. Oh yeah, embarrassed. “Do you know him?” Patrick asked in almost a whisper as
if Danny couldn’t hear it. “What are you doing here?” she bit out at Danny. “Wait? Is he a cop or not?” Patrick asked, hands still in
the air, looking guilty. What was he feeling guilty
about? “Yes.” Danny pulled open his shirt, flashing the badge
attached to his belt loop. Sheri looked at Patrick. “You can put your hands down.” “I can?” He directed the question to Danny as if he
didn’t believe her. “Yeah.” Danny frowned. “Unless you’re a criminal?” “I’m . . . not.” Patrick, who didn’t sound too sure,
dropped his hands and eyed Sheri as if this was her
fault. “Would someone like to explain what’s going on?” “Yeah, explain.” She’d love to hear that answer and
passed the question to Danny. “We need to talk.” Danny’s blue eyes met hers, and he put
his gun in his shoulder holster. “So you do know him?” Patrick asked, now looking angry. “Yeah, he’s . . .” She paused, unsure what you called
someone who screwed you and walked out. A one-timer? An
ex? Or maybe an asshole jerk who added her to his
conquests list. Patrick let out a deep gasp of air. “If you were seeing
someone, you could have just—” “I’m not seeing him,” she said. “Funny, I’m seeing you,” Danny spit out, his tone not
quite pissed off but close. Dumbfounded by what he implied, her mouth dropped open.
“I’m not . . . We aren’t . . .” Suddenly too mad to talk,
she just groaned. “I haven’t even slept with her,” Patrick said. “Could have fooled me,” Danny muttered, staring at
Patrick as if to draw more information from him. “Seriously, you can have her.” What? “He can’t have me! And I’m not yours to . . . give
away! How . . .” She tried to put words to her fury, but
nothing came out except an incomprehensible sputter. “Yo
. . . you . . . I . . .” “We need to talk,” Danny repeated as his gaze shifted
back to her. “Privately.” “Yo . . . you . . .” “Can I leave?” Patrick asked. “That would be best,” Danny said, sounding like a cop. “You are an asshole,” she finally bellowed out. “Really,” Patrick snapped, swinging around to look at
her. “We’ve been dating a month, you played hard to get
and . . . all the while you were dating someone else. And
I’m the asshole?” “I was calling him the asshole.” She pointed to Danny.
“But maybe you are, too, because I’ve already told you,
I’m not seeing him! And . . . and you just gave me to
him!” “But he said . . .” “Hence the reason he’s an asshole,” she bellowed. “I didn’t say I was dating you. I said I was seeing you,”
Danny added, as if she was gonna buy that. “We never dated!” “Well, that depends on how you define—” “Don’t. You. Dare!” Danny stopped talking but glanced at Patrick. “Leave.” He
waved an arm toward the door. Sheri watched Patrick storm out of the kitchen. When her
front door slammed with his exit, she turned her eyes on
Danny. “I have a question,” she said. “It might not
exactly be your forte, but . . .” She held out her
shaking hands. “How much time will I get for killing a
cop?”
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