Divorced, Desperate, and Delicious

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

  

“Where to now?” Bruno asked.

Zeke stared out the Chevy windshield and pressed a fist into his thigh until he felt it bruise. Twenty years he’d given to the force. He’d been shot twice, knifed once, lost his wife and kids because he gave so much of himself to the damn job. Now they wanted to hand him a gold watch and a joke of a pension.

“Take me back to my car.” For five years, Zeke had been subsidizing his retirement fund. Two months ago, when his last partner retired with a little cushion of his own, Zeke had been worried about taking on a new partner. But rumor had it Kelly was a suicidal maniac, a man who ghost-walked through life, waiting to join the ranks of the dead. Zeke had thought he’d be an easy mark. If he couldn’t pull it off behind Kelly’s back, he could always bribe him.

“What we gonna do if he turns us in?” Bruno asked, his tone more whining than afraid.

“I’ve fixed that. They already think he’s dirty.” Zeke pounded his fist on the dashboard. The rumors were wrong about Kelly. Sure, the man seemed to have a death wish, but he had some kind of black mojo keeping him alive. Every stupid risk the man took, he came out strutting high. And whenever Zeke would hint at maybe making a little extra income on the side, Kelly would blow it off as if he’d meant it as a joke. The man didn’t have what it took to go on the take. Zeke knew that, but was counting on the others not knowing it.

“Damn it!” Zeke spat out the words. “I didn’t want this to go down like this. He’s supposed to be dead. I’m supposed to know he’s dead! He could be holed up somewhere, biding his time. He’s shot, damn it! There can’t be more than fifteen homes he could have gotten to. I’m going to talk to every freaking homeowner in the area.” He cracked his knuckles to relieve tension. “You’re going to come back and drive this area until—”

“He’s probably dead.” Bruno started his car and put it into gear. “Besides, I gotta go dancing at six. Promised my girl—”

Zeke jerked his gun out of his holster and pointed it right between Big Bruno’s eyes. “You’re going to do what I tell you. And if you screw up, you’ll die regretting it.”

Bruno stomped his foot on the brake. The car jerked. Zeke’s finger slipped.

The gun went off.

* * *

Lacy swung the fish left, swung right. The intruder dodged her blows but never struck back. Somewhere in the recesses of her brain, it occurred to her that he had a gun and all she had was a fish. The thought brought on an overwhelming desire to run.

Swinging around, she started for the door, but her bare foot landed on a towel. With no traction, her feet flew up, and she landed headfirst against the chest she used as a coffee table. The impact loosened her death grip on her weapon and it skidded across the floor.

“Jeez! Are you okay?” His words rang in her ears.

He rolled her over, carefully. Her head throbbed. The fish started its song again. “Take me down to the river . . . ” The words, “You better not cry. You better not pout . . .” also pumped through the house. She closed her eyes as the lyrics merged together. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t going to the river. But she could do some serious pouting right now!

Masculine fingers moved over her head. A soft purr sounded in her ear and cat whiskers tickled her cheek.

“Lacy? You okay?” He sounded winded and concerned.