Detective On The Hunt. Marilyn PappanoЧитать онлайн книгу.
icicle-shaped addition. For a woman she didn’t really know and expected nothing from in return. That was the kind of thoughtfulness one expected of an Evans a few generations ago, not from the current one. If she made the right friends, fell in love with the right person, would Maura discover something of substance inside herself?
Possibly. But it didn’t seem likely that maybe-Melanie, maybe-Mellissandriennalou was the kind of friend who could anchor Maura in the real world. Instead, she appeared to have been along for the ride, enjoying the luxury until she’d gotten bored and moved on.
Leaving Maura one more loss to cope with.
Her muscles protesting too much sitting, JJ got to her feet. The rocker squeaked as Quint followed suit. “One last question, Miss Georgie. Did Maura say why she’d decided to stay in Cedar Creek?”
A rather sad look claimed Miss Georgie’s features. “She said it reminded her of home. You know, I never saw a person more lost than her.”
JJ felt a little sad, too, as she approached Miss Georgie and offered her hand. The old woman’s skin was dry and cool, marked with what Grandmother Raynelle had called wisdom spots, and her fingernails were painted a sparkly midnight blue.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Georgie.”
“For a copper, you’re not too bad.” The effect of Miss Georgie’s scowl was dampened by her sly wink.
“You’re not half as bad as you think you are.”
Miss Georgie chuckled. “You can come back sometime. We’ll see if I can change your mind about that.”
“I’d love to see you try.” JJ gave the thin hand a gentle squeeze, then turned toward the door.
She was halfway there when Miss Georgie spoke again. “Come over here, Quint.”
There was no doubt it was a command, and no doubt that he would obey it, JJ thought, hiding a grin, because that was the kind of person he was. She waited at the door while he did, indeed, obey and Miss Georgie took both of his hands in hers.
“How are you? Really?” Her voice was a murmur, but JJ shared one thing with the old woman: excellent hearing.
He looked as if he wanted to pull away, rush out the door and let the cold air drive away the flush to his cheeks. He didn’t, though. Instead, he muttered, “I’m okay. Really.”
Okay about what? It clearly wasn’t the throwaway question everybody used a dozen times a day. Something had happened in his recent past that worried the crusty old woman—something he didn’t want to discuss.
JJ turned her back, deliberately tuning out their conversation. She didn’t feel guilty for being curious. She wouldn’t be a police officer if she wasn’t curious about things, and she wouldn’t be a woman if she wasn’t curious about him. But she didn’t stoop to eavesdropping, not unless it involved a case.
After a moment, his footsteps sounded behind her. She opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. He closed the door and stopped beside her, looking to the right, the way they’d come, then to the left, where a red exit sign marked the stairwell. He looked like a man who very much wanted to take the stairs.
“Who’s in 318?”
His scowl wasn’t as fierce as Miss Georgie’s, but it was more sincere. “You noticed that.”
“I’m a copper.” The word made her grin. She might never call herself a cop again. “I get paid to notice things.” Turning 180 degrees, she started toward the stairway exit.
She was pretty sure that was relief radiating off him as he fell into step beside her. No answer was forthcoming, though, so she prompted him. “Family?”
The closing of the stairwell door was muffled by the sound of their boots, hers sharper, his more solid, descending the steps. He didn’t answer until they reached the second-floor landing. “Practically.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but that was okay. She didn’t have the standing to insist on more. Though they’d spent half the morning together, they were still strangers. His life was his, and he got to choose what he wanted to share.
Besides, it wasn’t his life she wanted him to share.
She had a healthy regard for sex. She was thirty-seven and unencumbered by relationships. She’d come close to marrying once, a decade ago. Ryan had been a fellow officer who moved to Evanston after two years with the Columbia Police Department. He’d been sweet and smart and funny and everything she wanted in a guy…until she made detective before him.
When he’d broken the engagement and moved back to Columbia, it had stung her pride and made her doubt her judgment, but it hadn’t broken her heart. Which meant he really hadn’t been even close to everything she wanted in a guy.
Since then, she hadn’t gotten within squinting distance of marriage. She’d dated her share of men, had sex with some of them and not with others. She didn’t indulge in one-night stands or stranger sex because of the inherent risks. She still had a yearning, not necessarily for marriage but for commitment. For that one special man who would brighten her day just by being in it, who would love everything about her the same way she would love everything about him and would make her heart flutter when she was eighty.
But if she waited to meet Mr. Forever before she had sex again, she would be a very grumpy and cranky JJ, and that wasn’t a pretty sight.
The air broke over her, offensively cold, when she walked out the front door. This time, though, she didn’t stop in shock. Her steps lengthened as she practically jogged across the lot to Quint’s vehicle. The exercise, brief as it was, felt really good to muscles cramping from the same position for so very long. On another day, she might even have told Quint she would walk back to her car, enjoying the exercise, the fresh air and the budding of the trees. Today, spending one instant more than necessary outside was out of the question.
“What now?” Quint asked as they fastened their seat belts.
“Where can I buy a coat?”
“Walmart. Atwoods. It’s a farm and ranch supply store. Or there’s a little store about a mile north. We can stop there on the way back to the station.”
Ooh, she liked a man who didn’t whine about shopping. Her father and both her brothers-in-law acted as if their fingernails were being torn out with pliers every time they had to hang out in a women’s clothing department. Though, truthfully, JJ felt the same way when she accompanied her middle sister. Kylie could spend an hour choosing between two pairs of nearly identical jeans.
“Little store sounds fine. When it comes to warmth, I have no vanity.”
He reached into the back, snagging his duty jacket, and offered it to her. “Until the truck warms up.”
She hesitated half a second before accepting it, huddling beneath it like a blanket. It was big and heavy and smelled enticingly of scents undiluted by cologne. Shaving cream, detergent, fabric softener, soap. No floral or woodsy intruders, but plain, simple Quint. She drew a deep breath, then sighed happily, her chin tucked into the faux-fur collar.
It was a quick drive to the shopping center where the clothing shop nestled between a coffee shop and a grocery store. The air blowing from the truck’s heating vents wasn’t much warmer than outside when they parked, but she handed the jacket back, anyway. He didn’t insist she keep it, didn’t pretend he wasn’t finally feeling the cold himself, but shrugged into it as he got out.
She appreciated that fact. She’d never understood why men always offered their jackets to women who’d failed to dress warmly enough. Like the chill didn’t cut through their clothes just as easily? She had never been a Boy Scout, but she knew all about the consequences of not being prepared. You don’t take an umbrella on a soggy day, you get wet. You wear a sweater on a hot day, you get sweaty. You don’t take a heavy coat to a place known for its iffy weather, you get frozen lungs and blue skin.
Sadly,