Chapter 23
“So, I’ve been doing some digging on this case I’m not supposed to know anything about.”
My dogs look up at me, patiently listening if it will result in a treat for them.
“I know. You don’t have to give me the silent treatment. This isn’t my jurisdiction. But lives are at stake, and you know I live to save people.”
Gus tilts his head toward me. “Okay, I aim to save people from making bad hair decisions but it’s kind of the same thing.”
Gus is unconvinced.
“Don’t give me that look. You know I’d make a great detective.”
Shawn whines. Okay, I’ll be the first to admit I lack all the necessary skills to be a police officer.
“You’re a terrible support system, you know that?” If only I could talk to Maddie, or even Connor, about this. They went to law school. Maybe they’d have a sneaky way of gaining access to classified things.
If I can’t talk to them, and Caleb refuses to tell me anything, I’m going to have to get creative.
What would Shawn Spencer do?
First: something stupid.
Let’s see, I sat down at the wrong man”s table and kissed him. So…check.
Second: he’d make a wild accusation that the person of interest is innocent.
Check.
Third: he’d pay attention to every detail the cops missed and wrap up the case in a very dramatic fashion.
Easier said than done. Caleb told me so little, no wonder he can’t get a concrete case against the man. I need to know more. How did Shawn Spencer sneak onto so many crime scenes? It’s easier in the movies, I’m sure.
The only thing Caleb let slip was Chad’s real name. But when I searched for a ”Liam Hawthorne”, I found only one article mentioning him having a relationship with the late Scarlett Winthrop. Did Liam kill her? How many dates constitute a relationship? We’ve been on two already and I’m still standing.
There’s a knock at my door and I jump.
It’s Liam. He’s here to kill me.
Both dogs go crazy barking and chasing their own tails in anticipation of who might be coming to play with them. Much like their namesakes, they make a terrible protective detail. If Liam is here to kill me all he has to do is pet both of their heads, give them a treat and they will roll over and offer up their hairy bellies. I’m screwed.
I grab my phone off the coffee table and peel myself out from under the pile of laundry I’ve been trying to fold for the last twenty minutes. Shawn runs out of patience and leaps onto the couch, destroying every neatly made pile.
And this is why we can’t have nice things.
I tiptoe to the door, but it’s silent now. Whoever it was is gone.
Oh no, what if it was Gary trying to find his way home and now he’s going to wander down to the liquor store again?
I look through the peephole but all I see is a package.
Slowly opening the door, I tilt my head, taking in the box. It’s bigger than a toaster but smaller than a car. Obviously much smaller.
I scoop up the box. Then freeze. What if it’s a bomb?
I need to stop obsessing over this case. I’m going to lose my mind.
Carrying it back inside, I drop it by the pan of my partially burnt chocolate chip cookies. I grab a knife and cut through the layers of tape. There’s another box inside and I manage to slide it out. A note falls to the ground and I pick it up, reading it while balancing the box against my hip.
Dear Amelia,
I’m sorry I left our date so soon. I had some things to take care of. I hope you will allow me to spend more time getting to know you. Please accept this gift and my apologies.
Chad
The letter slips from my fingers. How did he know where I lived?
Shawn Spencer would not do this. Which is how I know I should.
I call Caleb.
“Amelia?” He answers on the first ring.
“I’ve got something.”
Caleb told me ten minutes, but it’s only been eight minutes and forty-five seconds by the time I hear the knock on my door, and for a moment I assume the worst.
“Amelia, it’s me.”
I rush to the door and fling it open. And then I about drop like a pound of cement. Caleb is shirtless and sweaty. And breathing hard. And tan. And very ripped.
This is my new favorite fantasy.
“Amelia,” he says again.
“Mmm?” I try to lift my eyes from his gorgeous torso, but I keep imagining how warm and strong it would feel under my palm. How many muscles are there? I should count. 1…2…3…
“You said this was life or death.”
I purse my lips. “That’s a dramatic claim.”
He clears his throat.
Oh, right. I did say that, and not about his chest. I shake my head and look up at his eyes. He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk. Which is fine. I didn’t bother hiding my ogling.
“Liam sent me a package,” I say, stepping to the side so he can come in.
“You said that on the phone.” He brushes past me and a rush of warmth comes with him, making me dizzy in his wake. He still smells delicious while all sweaty. It shouldn’t be possible but somehow it is. “What was it?”
“I, uh.” I slip back around him and point to the box on the table. “I didn’t open it.”
He doesn’t reach for it. “Why not?”
“What if it’s a bomb?”
“Oh, so you wanted someone else to die instead of you?”
“Would you like me to hold your hand while you open it?” I retort.
He snorts then picks up the box, ripping through the tape. I’m hypnotized by the way his muscles ripple in his arms with the effort. I will never see muscles the same way again. In my kitchen. The late sun filtering through the window, casting golden light across his glorious torso. The smell of barbecue out on the shared patio in the courtyard.
Now I’m hungry.
And maybe slightly delirious?
Caleb gets the box open and I crouch down, holding my breath as I squeeze Shawn and Gus as close to me as possible. Please don’t be a bomb. Please don’t be a bom…
Caleb snorts.
My heart stops. “What? What is it?”
He pulls a small pineapple-covered piece of material out of a box. “I believe it’s sweaters for your dogs.”
Oh. Well, that’s embarrassing.
His laughter pulls the rest of the tension from the room and draws me nearer simultaneously.
“This isn’t funny.” I smack his arm which is firm, very firm. As suspected. “You need to do something.”
He schools his smile. “Like what?” he asks, packing the sweater back into the box.
“Like take it in. As evidence.” Why am I doing his job for him? “What if the sweaters are a murder weapon?”
He looks at me as if I accused a man of killing someone with a piece of animal clothing. Oh wait, I did.
“A dog sweater?” He doesn’t even try to hide his disbelief.
“I’m sure it’s happened before.”
“I thought you said he was innocent.”
“I never said he was innocent.” I scoff, and he raises a brow. “Okay, fine. I may consider jumping ship to your side. Happy?”
“Immensely.” He grins.
“Just take the stupid sweaters in.” I shove them at him, but he steps to the side and pats his chest.
“I ran here. Can’t carry them back.”
“Tuck it into your shorts! It can be one of those sweat towel thingies. What are they called?”
He raises a brow. “A sweat towel?”
“That’s what I was asking you.” I roll my eyes. “Look, he knows where I live! I never told him that.” My voice borders on hysterical.
Caleb gets a serious look on his face. “Wait, you didn’t tell him?”
“No!” I smack him again. I’m not sure why at this point. I want to touch him because I feel safer the closer I am to him. Also, I like touching him.
“Hmm.” He scratches his chin and picks up the two boxes it came in. Finally, he’s taking this seriously.
“You said you moved recently but it wasn’t rerouted from your old address,” he says, pointing at a sticker from the post office. “When did you move?”
“Uh, two months ago my brother and I sold our parent”s home, but I’ve only been here for about a month.”
He pulls out his phone, tapping rapidly on it. “I need to look into something,” he mutters, eyes still down as he wanders toward the living room. He turns, and that’s when I catch sight of a large scar across the back of his left shoulder.
My heart jumps into my throat and without thinking, which is admittedly how I do everything, I reach for him. My fingers brush the smooth, raised skin.
Caleb tenses. Every muscle in his back on display right now.
“What happened?” I whisper.
He clears his throat. “When I was in the military, I got too close to a landmine. That’s where they had to dig the shrapnel out.”
I flatten my hand over the scar, trying to cover all its angry jagged edges. I can’t even imagine the pain. “You served?”
“For a couple of years.” His voice is hoarse, but he doesn’t move away from my touch. “I broke my mom’s heart.”
I slide my hand to the top of his shoulder. “Any mom would be scared to send their son into danger. But I’m sure she was proud of you.”
His head bobs. “She was the only one that was.”
I don’t know the story with his dad, and I don’t want to pry, but I hope someday he can let out the old pain his father caused.
I drop my hand and he turns. But his eyes slide right past mine and land on something behind me. “What’s that?”
“I made chocolate chip cookies. You want one?”
He physically shudders. “No. I”m talking about that.”
He walks around me and picks up my grandmother’s jewelry box I left on the entry table.
“It’s a jewelry box. Beautiful huh? It belonged to my grandmother.” I step up next to him, caressing the crystals on the lid.
“It was your grandmother’s?” he asks, doubt lacing his voice.
“Yes?” I cross my arms over my chest, confused by the change in temperature here. Maybe I should touch him again.
“I’ve seen this somewhere before,” Caleb says. “I think I should take it to the bureau and check it out.”
“Excuse me?” I snatch the box away from him.
He reaches for the box, but I tuck it behind my back. “It might be stolen.”
I can’t believe him. “Says the man trying to steal it from me. Sorry Agent Sticky Fingers, but you can’t take pretty things because you like them.”
He grunts, but his hand tries to slip around my back anyway. “Where did you get it?” he asks when he fails the third time to grab it. I wish he was this aggressive about reaching for me.
I was going to tell him, but now I don’t quite feel like sharing. “Neither here nor there.” I shrug.
“What does that mean?”
“The truth is…” I take a deep breath and Caleb tenses, watching me. “I am Iron Man.”
“Amelia, this isn’t a game. Can I please see the box?” He tries to take it again, but I duck under his arm and open the door, holding it open for him. This is my grandmother’s box, the last gift from my parents. I’m not letting anyone else have it.
“Thanks for stopping by but you can take your greedy agent hands elsewhere now.” Well, those are words I never thought I’d say.
Caleb purses his lips but doesn’t move. “I need to see that—”
“Darla?”
Gary! Beautiful, sweet Gary saving me from this jewelry-box-stealing man.
I drop the box onto the couch and step outside, holding Gary’s arm protectively. “No, it’s me, Amelia, remember?”
Poor Gary remains confused so I grab his arm intent on walking him home, but not until a very obnoxious agent leaves the premises.
Caleb’s eyes dart to the couch where the jewelry box is, and his hand twitches. I shoot him a withering look and motion him out with my head. “Come on, son.”
Caleb clenches his jaw and without a word slips out of my apartment.