Ten first dates, p.4
Ten First Dates, page 4
He stared at her. Okay… that was definitely not a dog.
“Since I do feed them now, every once in a while, they bring me gifts. I have rocks and beads and shells and marbles. And something that I think is a fake ruby.” She frowned and looked toward the balcony. “But I haven't had it appraised yet.”
“You think there's a chance that one of these crows brought you a real ruby?”
She shrugged. “It's not impossible. It’s not huge. They could have flown in through an open window in someone’s house and lifted it. They love shiny things.”
He studied her. She wasn't kidding. “And what will you do if you find out the ruby is real?”
“That's an excellent question,” she told him, pointing her finger at him. “I’ve thought about it a lot. Because, of course, I should sell it and put the money in the bank to draw interest or, better yet, invest it in an IRA or something. But there's something cool about having a ruby a crow brought to me. The idea of telling that story to people when I’m ninety is tempting.”
Again, for a few seconds, Spencer just studied her. And, again, he realized that she was not kidding.
Why did he have to want this very odd woman so damned much?
Because he was itching to kiss her right now. To touch her. To run his hand up the smooth column of her neck, and into that thick red hair, to the back of her head, so he could tip it just right before covering her lips with his.
“You could tell the cops. So they could try to return it to the rightful owner,” he suggested.
She laughed. “Tell the cops that my not-really-a-pet crow stole a ruby for me? How would they track that down?”
“Someone might have reported it missing.”
She scrunched up one eye as if pondering that. It was adorable. “Would I be implicated? I mean, could they prove my crows did it?”
“That might be tough,” he agreed.
“It’s not very big. They probably haven’t even noticed it’s gone.”
“What if it’s an heirloom with sentimental value?”
“Then they should take better care of it than to leave it out where random crows could find it.”
“I—”
A knock sounded on the door, and Max bounced up from the cushion, clearly oblivious to all of the feelings rioting through Spencer.
Because her having a possibly real, probably-stolen-by-crows-who-loved-her ruby and being utterly unapologetic about it made him want to kiss her even more.
That was not okay. He had been seconds away from complicating not just this night but possibly his life.
Which seemed like a hysterical statement.
But felt true.
Max returned to the couch and set two paper bags on the coffee table. She pushed one toward him, then reached for his phone.
“What's this?”
She was already tapping on the screen. “I have to leave a tip and a review.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant, but he said, “You put your credit card information in on my phone? You trust me with that?”
“I didn't put my credit card information in,” she said, handing the phone back to him. “I am a little surprised an FBI agent saves his payment info in an app. You’re the ones supposedly surveying all of us, though, right?”
“So I just bought you dinner?” he asked, unable to keep from smiling and not commenting on her poke at his profession.
“Well, I didn't invite you over, and you're crashing my evening plans, so, yes. But you bought yourself dinner too.” She gestured toward the second bag.
“I didn't give you my order.”
She gave him a little wink. “Trust me.”
He had to admit it all smelled amazing. But trusting her…
He wasn't so sure that was a good idea.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Spencer Landry bit into his bacon bourbon blue burger from Monte’s, Max was appalled at her nipples. They tightened right up as if he was moaning about something having to do with them.
Don’t be ridiculous, girls. It's a burger with bacon, Monte’s bourbon sauce, and blue cheese. Of course he's moaning. Only a vegetarian wouldn’t moan over a Monte burger. And she’d bet even some of them could be won over if they’d give it a try.
Still, the sound of Spencer moaning should not be that sexy. He didn’t know what he was doing to her.
Max pulled her hoodie together in front and hunched over to eat her food.
Oh, he knew she was attracted to him. That had been well established. Probably too well. She’d been all over him while they’d been dancing at the wedding and then when he’d pulled her toward the door of Ellie’s with a simple “Come here,” she’d gone along very willingly. And when he’d kissed her, there had been no mistaking that she was into it. But she couldn't just push bags of fries and burger wrappers out of the way, climb into his lap, and start licking him from head to toe.
Probably.
No matter how much she wanted to.
She didn't think he’d push her away. But it was a bad idea. She and Spencer were very different. She did not want to date a buttoned-up cop. Worse, an FBI agent. She was not turning her crow ruby in. She also wasn’t going to overanalyze why this guy made her hot and needy in a way no man had in a very long time.
He, on the other hand, had not been able to shut up about why do I feel this way about you when you’re so not my type last night.
Yeah, then there was the Spencer Landry’s Perfect Woman Criteria.
No one liked enchiladas enough to use them to make important life decisions.
Or so she’d assumed.
There was just way too much overthinking and I’m-always-right going on inside that hot, broad-shouldered, charming-grin-giving guy on the other end of her couch.
He moaned again and she frowned.
He was also really bossy. Last night he hadn’t even thought she should take an Uber back to New Orleans. She did not want to date a guy who thought she couldn’t handle getting herself home.
She glanced over at Spencer. He clearly wasn’t upset about her ordering food for him. Half his burger was gone, along with most of his fries. She grinned. She’d known he’d love Monte’s. It was one of the neighborhood places she frequented, and she’d love to take him sometime…
She frowned and bit into her burger again. There wasn’t going to be a “sometime” for her and Spencer.
He was a cop and not her type. But even more, she was not his type.
He thought that her not cooking or baking brownies was a flaw, and that her not having a normal pet was weird.
And maybe it was.
But it was ironic that her fascination with crime creeped him out, considering what he did for a living. Still, if Spencer wanted a girl who would like baking, and had a cat that would cuddle up in his lap, or a dog they could take for runs in the park, Max was not the girl for him.
Not just because of the dog. She did not run.
Max took another bite and thought about the pet thing. Her schedule was wacky, and it wasn’t fair to leave an animal alone for hours and hours on end. She didn't cook or bake for similar reasons. She was either working or falling into bed exhausted from work when she was here. She was a workaholic and loved what she did.
So what if she wasn't making gourmet meals and hosting dinner parties?
Besides, as she’d pointed out, she lived in one of the greatest food cities in the world. She'd never out-cook or out-bake the people who did it for a living in New Orleans. She was supporting the local economy and allowing other people to live their dreams of making food for people like her.
Truthfully, that made her way more considerate and generous than any of the women Spencer dated who stayed at home and made him brownies, or whatever the fuck he thought was so sexy.
Max chewed with a scowl on her face. She did not care about Spencer Landry and the women he dated. She didn't even care what kind of cookies he liked best.
But she was hoping chocolate chip was on the list, considering she’d just ordered him some.
Okay, they weren’t going to be homemade in her kitchen, and they weren’t brownies, but they were from a local company that baked them fresh and brought them straight to her door. That was the best she could do tonight.
Besides, he’d showed up here unannounced. Even if she was so inclined to bake him brownies at any point, for any reason, she was utterly unprepared to do so tonight.
“So, tell me about who killed who,” she said as she shoved three fries in her mouth.
Murder. That’s what she wanted to talk about.
“You want to talk about this while we eat?”
“Why not?” She reached for her iced tea to wash down the spicy seasoning from the fries.
“There are photos in there. They’re pretty gory.”
“Well, I’d hope so. I can’t give you all my thoughts on the case if I don’t see the crime scene.” Gory was good. It would take her mind off brownies, puppies, and Spencer's naked chest.
Not that she knew what his naked chest looked like. But she'd imagined it for months, felt it with only a thin dress shirt between her hands and all those glorious muscles last night, and it was now only a few inches away and covered with a single layer of blue cotton. Those buttons would take her no time.
“So eating a medium-rare burger while looking at human blood won’t bother you?” he asked. He almost sounded annoyed.
“Just tell me about the case.”
“Fine, I'll tell you before I show you.”
She rolled her eyes. She did not have a weak stomach, but whatever.
He set up the case. A teenage party at the river. An argument between a guy and a girl. The girl left with the guy and his friend an hour later.
Max kept eating, taking in the details as Spencer spoke.
Or most of them anyway.
God, he had a great mouth.
Focus, Max.
“So the kid disappears for four days. The town is looking. All of his friends are looking. There is no physical evidence anywhere in or around the car. The two kids who were in the car with him are the last ones to see him.”
Max frowned and shook her head. “Wait, which kid is missing?”
Spencer looked at her with one eyebrow arched. “Matthew.”
“The friend?”
“The one who was arguing with the girl.”
“Right.”
“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, that eyebrow still up.
She scowled at him. “Fine. Just repeat it.”
He’d doubtlessly covered this information, and she hated that she'd missed it. He was distracting as hell. And he didn't even like her. She was regretting ordering him cookies.
“Matthew drops Stephanie off at her house. Justin off at his. Their parents confirmed this. But Matthew never makes it home. Those two kids are the last ones to see him. Four days later, his body turns up by the side of a road leading from the party site back to town. A road that had been searched several times prior.”
Okay, see, this was interesting. She was sorry she'd missed this information. It was really unfortunate that Spencer Landry was so hot. And that she already knew that kissing him was amazing. If they hadn’t kissed, she could just pretend that he was an arrogant asshole who had nothing to offer.
“Do you have any pets?” she asked.
He blinked at her. “What?”
Yeah, okay, that was out of the blue. Or she was sure it seemed out of the blue.
She shrugged. “You just seemed overly interested in the fact that I don't have pets except for my crows. I'm just curious if you have pets.”
He seemed like a dog guy. A big dog guy. As in, his dog would be big. Like a German Shepherd or a lab. Something that would like to run and play. Yeah, a lab. That fit. Spencer had grown up down on the bayou. She could just imagine that he would take his dog out running and swimming.
“No, I don't have a pet.”
Oh. “Why not? You seem like a dog guy.”
The corner of his mouth curled. “Do I?”
“You do.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She lifted a shoulder. “So why don’t you have a dog?”
“Crazy hours. I'm not home enough to take care of a dog. They need companionship and to go out and exercise. Doesn't seem fair.”
She nodded. “That’s why I don’t have one.”
He turned partially on the cushion to face her more fully. “But I want to have one someday. You know, when I get serious with someone. Get married. I’m hoping she'll have a normal job and be home regularly and can take care of the dog.”
Right. That emphasis on “normal” did not slip past Max.
She was definitely not his type.
She nodded. “Good to have a plan.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “I think so too.”
“So what condition was the body in?”
He blinked but was able to shift right back into their conversation about the cold case.
“Beaten badly. The coroner said he died of blunt force trauma to the back of the head.”
“So, he possibly got into a fight with someone?”
“That angle was investigated. The coroner said that some of the blows were delivered by hand, but some had been delivered by an object. Likely a baseball bat. And some were inflicted nearly two days before he died.”
Max bit into her burger as she thought. “Who were the main suspects?”
“The two kids who’d been with him were questioned. But Stephanie was way too small to have delivered the force needed to cause the injuries. Justin could've done it but really didn't have a motive. Plus, they both had alibis. They were dropped off by a car matching Matthew’s car’s description.”
“The coroner’s report says he died between thirty-six and forty-eight hours after the party,” Max read. She looked up. “But that means he was killed up to two days before the body was discovered.”
“Right.”
Max finished her burger, chewing rapidly as her thoughts spun. “Which means the body was kept somewhere for two days before it was dumped. Wow.”
Spencer finished his last fry, wadded up all the papers into one bag, crumpled it, and tossed it to the side. “There's no way those two teenagers could've kept a body hidden for two days without any trace evidence. Or without someone finding out, for that matter.”
Max brushed her hands on her pants and reached for the folder. She started flipping through more reports and looking at all of the photos—and yeah, they were pretty gory. “I can’t believe that there were no leads.”
“Do you have scented candles or anything?”
She looked at Spencer. “What?” Did that have something to do with the case? Something else she was going to discover as she kept reading?
“I was just thinking… wondering… if you have any candles. You know, the kind that smell good.”
“Is that about the case?”
“No.”
“Does something smell bad in here?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“No. It's just…” He sighed. “I was noticing your shampoo.”
Her eyes widened, and she became aware that they were sitting extremely close. They were both leaning over the file, looking at it together, and her ponytail had fallen forward over the shoulder closest to Spencer. She was sure he could smell her shampoo and probably her body spray.
“You don't like it?”
She tried to tell herself she was offended, but she could tell by the look on his face that he did not find the scent offensive. He wasn’t leaning away from her, even now that she’d turned her head and their noses were mere inches apart. In fact, his gaze dropped to her mouth as she asked the question.
“No. It's… nice.”
Was he looking for another scent to cover it up?
“It reminds me of… dryer sheets.”
Max gave a soft snort. That wasn’t exactly romantic.
His lips curled. “Well, it does. Fresh and light and sweet.”
“Thanks.” Hey, dryer sheets smelled nice.
“And it made me think of other… smells.” He cleared his throat. “And I was just noticing that you don't have candles and potpourri and decorative things sitting around like a lot of women do.”
Right. A lot of women. The little Susie Homemakers that turned his crank. Her house also didn't fucking smell like fresh-baked brownies.
“Only candles I have are those.” She pointed to the candelabra on top of her bookshelf with five long, tapered candles.
“What do they smell like?”
“Nothing.”
“That looks like something that would be sitting on top of the organ in a creepy castle in a horror movie.”
She huffed out a small laugh. “It does?” She studied the black wrought iron candelabra with the maroon tapers with wax drips down the sides.
“Instead of blue pillar candles that smell like vanilla, that's what you go for?” he asked.
“I saw it in a window of an antique shop down in the Quarter and liked it. They’re just candles to light the room if the power goes out or something. They don't have to smell like anything.”
“A creepy, antique candelabra,” he said almost to himself. “It's probably haunted.”
She nodded. “There's a lot of that kind of stuff in New Orleans.”
“That isn’t a problem?”
“Well, I haven't seen any new apparitions since I've gotten it, but you never know. I have a gris-gris bag under my mattress, so I’ll be okay.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Any new apparitions?”
She lifted a shoulder. “It's an old building. In New Orleans.”
“You're telling me you have ghosts.”
She really liked messing with him. “No, I'm not telling you that. But you're pretty funny when you're creeped out.”
“But you do have gris-gris under your mattress, don’t you?” he asked after looking at her for several seconds.
She nodded. She did. The Haitian woman who’d given it to her had promised it would protect her. Max figured it couldn’t hurt.
Spencer sighed.
There was a knock on the door just then, and Spencer jumped. Max laughed and handed him the folder. “Be right back.”
