2. Reid
Chapter 2
Reid
I S THIS REALLY happening? Every pair of eyes have locked on me in the past five minutes, even the ones that look like they belong to tourists. Less than twelve hours in town and I’m already the center of attention in this small town diner.
It’s…unnerving, to say the least.
But I can handle it. I’ve spent eight years in the Miami Police Department, three of those undercover, so what’s a little staring? Besides, these people are far less intimidating than the scum I’m used to. The diner itself is cozy, decked out in retro red booths and black and white Formica floors. An honest to goodness jukebox is nestled in one corner, and a yellowing Coca Cola clock hangs on the wall behind the counter. I get the sense that the place has been around a long time, and while it’s clear there are modern updates, the hat tip to nostalgia is alive and well. I take a sip of coffee and turn my attention back to the grinning man opposite me.
“Good, huh?”
I raise an eyebrow. “It’s no Cuban coffee, Uncle Jack.”
He chuckles, then points a finger at me. “Watch your tone, young man. And it’s Chief Mac around here. ”
“Got ‘em all fooled, huh?” I joke.
“Exactly.” Then he crosses his arms and leans across the table, all traces of humor aside. “You sure you’re safe here?”
I scoff. “Perfectly. With the arrests we made thanks to my undercover work, the Bunnies are on the run.”
“You were shot .” His voice is full of pain when he says it, as though he was the one who took the bullet.
I shrug it off. “It’s a scratch, and it could have been a lot worse. You, of all people, know it’s a hazard of the job.”
He levels his gaze on me. “Let me rephrase this. You were shot when you were found out.”
Okay, fine. He’s got me there. I shift in the booth, trying to find a spot that isn’t too lumpy. “Listen, Chief Mu?oz knew I needed a break, and what better place than a little town on the coast of Alabama? Charming, by the way.”
Jack harrumphs with a smile, letting me off the hook like always. “It looks charming, but we’ve still got our share of crime, Reid. No drug cartels like what you’re used to dealing with in Miami, thank goodness, but it’s not exactly a leisurely stroll every day on the job.”
The waitress, Willa, brings us our food, and I flash another smile at her. I can’t help the little bit of harmless flirting. She blushes furiously, and it’s stupidly satisfying. In Miami, guys like me are a dime a dozen, and no one gives me a second glance.
Willa’s cute. Natural. Nothing like most of the women I’m surrounded by back home. She wears no makeup, and her long dark hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail with too-long bangs falling into her eyes. Her clothes are worn and appear way past their prime. The overall effect is of a woman comfortable in her own skin—most of the time. Right now, she can’t look at me without turning multiple shades of red, and I’m far too pleased by it. She leaves, as flustered as the two other times, and I turn my attention to breakfast. It’s good. Solid food that’s easy to do, but there’s something extra in it that tells me it’s made with care .
After a few minutes, another person approaches the table. There’s no stopping the cataloging my brain does on autopilot: male, late twenties, trim build, glasses, neatly trimmed beard, no visible tattoos.
“Chief Mac, good to see you.” The man turns a friendly glance at me. “And who’s this?”
“Reid, Matty. Matty, Reid,” Uncle Jack grunts, then goes back to shoveling hash browns in his mouth. Clearly the man is a fan of the food, as well.
I hold my hand out for a shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” Matty responds. “You look like a…wait, don’t tell me.”
I glance at Jack, who stays focused on his breakfast. I’d be suspicious if it weren’t for the way his mouth twitches.
Matty snaps his fingers and points at me. “Got it! Horses.”
I lower my fork. “What?”
“Goats, then. Definitely a hooved animal.” Matty crosses his arms and studies me. “Llamas?”
I eye him. “Respectfully, what the hell are you talking about?”
He laughs, completely at ease with what feels like an incredibly insane conversation. “I’m a veterinarian. I can usually tell what kind of animal a person likes within seconds. You seem like a horse person.”
It takes me a minute, but then I start laughing. What kind of town have I found myself in? Even better, what kind of people have I surrounded myself with? “I’m from Miami, my friend. No horses for me.”
He narrows his eyes. “No goats, either?”
“Definitely no goats.” I pick up my fork.
He snaps and points. “Ah. Rabbits.”
I grimace as Jack hoots across the table. “Goats before rabbits.”
Matty looks thoughtful. “Okay, well, I have time to sort you out. ”
I hold my hands up. “No pets. I’m only here for three months.” After I explain the situation, using the storyline we’ve discussed—I’m in town on a break and covering for Jessica while I’m at it—Matty grins.
“Police dog it is.”
“You’re relentless.” But I have to smile. This guy is just as charming as the rest of the town, if a little pushy.
After breakfast, I follow Jack to my new place, a fully-furnished two-bedroom with more space than I know what to do with, and a massive backyard and fire pit just begging for me to sit out there with my guitar. And bonus: The price is ridiculously low. I scan the property, noting the places I’ll need to install security cameras. I may only be here for three months, and I’m certain I’m out of the Bunnies’ range and off their radar, but I’m not stupid. Lucky for me, the owner was thrilled with my request for a three-month lease, and he was even more delighted when he found out I was a cop. I got the feeling he was used to the standard week-long vacation renters.
“Great place,” I tell Jack. “Thank you for everything.”
He pulls me into a hug and slaps my back a little harder than necessary. “Anything for my brother’s baby boy.”
I groan. “Keep it up and I’ll tell him about all the times you let me drink Mountain Dew when I was a toddler.”
His eyes are bright with mirth. “You would never.”
“Try me, old man,” I retort with a wink.
Laughing, he jerks his thumb to my truck. “Let’s get you settled.”
It doesn’t take much. The only things I brought were clothes, so it takes all of five minutes before my bags are sitting in the middle of the living room floor, a pile of black amidst the oceanside chic that decorates the room.
“That’s it?” Jack eyes my paltry set of possessions.
“I’m only here for three months, Chief Mac .” I make sure to emphasize the name .
He exhales, the movement making his graying mustache puff out. It’s a rare man that can truly pull off a mustache—I don’t care what the college kids are doing these days—and Uncle Jack is up there with Magnum, PI. Dude can flex the facial hair. “Wish you’d stay longer, kiddo.”
My chest squeezes at the affection. “You know I’m not cut out for the small-town life, Uncle Jack. I need the bright lights and the glitz. Does this place have any good dance clubs?”
He makes a face. “Do you even know how to dance?”
“Who says I’m going to clubs to dance?” When his expression gets even more sour, I hoot with laughter. “I’m kidding , Uncle Jack.”
He grunts. “Maybe you are, maybe you’re not. But I’ll tell you, this place has a way of working its way into your heart. I’ll ask you to stay again in a month.”
Yeah, I doubt that. But I don’t argue as I walk him to the door. “See you for my first shift tomorrow, Chief.”
Later that afternoon, after running some due diligence on the houses surrounding me—like I said, I may be temporary, but I’m not stupid—I’ve cracked open a beer and have made friends with one of the Adirondack chairs in the backyard. The house behind me has a couple in it, no kids, and a yippy Schnauzer named Mr. Tink. The one on the left has a retired couple and no visible pets. To my right is a two-story with only a widow in it; her daughter Betty is the station’s receptionist and general office manager. Something tells me I’ll meet the woman before too long. There’s a smaller, one-story place behind the main house, too; I think it’s called an in-law suite or something like that. Carriage house? I don’t know what it’s called. “Small house” works. It’s closer to where I sit in the backyard than to the bigger house that Betty’s mother is in. No records on a tenant, but based on the grass pattern leading to and from it, someone definitely lives there.
I’m on beer number two and have pulled out my guitar when the tenant herself shows up, and it’s the waitress from this morning. Willa. I stop strumming, figuring she’ll see me and at least say hello, but she blazes right past, the twenty yards of distance enough to make me invisible.
She opens her door and walks right in. The light goes on, and two seconds later, she’s visible through the open kitchen window once more.
Oh.
She’s a little more than visible, because she’s in the process of removing her shirt. I watch as she peels it off to reveal a black bra, and then she takes her pants off. I can’t see that part, but the motions she’s going through make it pretty obvious.
Suddenly, she turns her head and meets my gaze through the window. She freezes as I smile and hold a hand up in greeting, then she ducks, and I hear a muffled yelp. A few seconds later, the light goes out.
Laughing to myself, I lean for my beer and take a deep swallow. If half-naked neighbors are part of the scenery, maybe it won’t be so bad around here, after all.