Chapter 22
22
FIONA
The sun was shining, the hint of fall was in the air. Tourists, even in the mud season–not summer and before the snow–were everywhere on Main Street. All the stores and restaurants were open. I meandered, trying to look like I was on vacation and didn’t have a care in the world beyond what ice cream flavor to pick at Arctic Scoops I just passed. I wore jeans and a gray sweater with leather boots. I even held a to-go cup of coffee. The only way to look more local was to borrow Scooter to tag along.
While I didn’t slow, I checked out the bookstore across the street. Looking past the fall display in the window, it looked ridiculously busy inside. It was lunchtime. I read, but usually through an app on my phone, so I didn’t know what the prime time was for paperback selling. I didn’t see Dax in there, but it was probably because he’d been mobbed by a few women.
That didn’t sit well with me, especially after the night before. Oh, and this morning. Dax was a cranky mystery, but he kept his word. Because when we got back from my little stakeout earlier, I’d ridden his dick, just as he offered. I’d done things with Dax I’d never done with any other guy. Like do what he said without kicking his ass. How the hell had he told me to drop to my knees and I just… did it?
I should’ve throat punched him. Instead, I gave him head. Then he fucked me. Then he fucked me some more. I wasn’t going to admit it to anyone–especially Dax–that I loved it.
And that was last night. This morning? I might owe the owner some damages the way the headboard rammed into the wall for an hour. And a half.
All that sex put me into an orgasm-induced coma, and I didn’t wake up until eleven.
He’d been gone.
Did I think he was out of my life? Hell, no. He was like a bad rash. A foot fungus.
A mysterious foot fungus because while I knew he had a mole on his left butt cheek, his dick was impressive and talented, I didn’t know much else about the guy.
We didn’t talk. Well, we did, but we argued. He pushed every one of my buttons.
Including my clit, so I was giving him a little slack .
What did he do for a living? Why did he carry a gun? Anyone else, I’d have had a full report pulled on him. Instead, I was going in blind. Smart or stupid, I wasn’t sure which one I was yet. My vagina didn’t care either way.
I passed a troop of Girl Scouts, with their green vests and patches, who all said hi and waved–to everyone on the street–and a couple on a tandem bike pedaled down the road.
I had to stop and stare, wondering what kind of alternate universe I’d landed in. Why would someone want to be on the back of a bike, being led to who-the-hell-knew-where while only seeing someone’s back?
Plus, Dottie seemed to have adopted me like a stray dog she put food out for. Really good food, but still. And I could’ve married Pops’ grandson, sight unseen.
Were there happy drugs in the water? Was this what zero percent crime looked like?
I was still pondering that as I dropped onto a bench and pretended to savor the extra tall coffee I picked up at the shop down the street. I took a deep breath and opened up my hearing to everything around me.
I could only imagine what I was doing was like putting in a hearing aid for the first time and setting the volume to the highest setting. Overwhelming noise that could be heard all at once.
Noise by noise, I concentrated on sifting through it all. The dang perky Girl Scouts, the cars, the chatter. Conversation by conversation, I listened, then moved on when it wasn’t right. Like swiping right on a dating app. I kept going until I found the one I wanted.
“–this shipment will need to be in Denver by Tuesday.”
“The boss expects the cash to be delivered that night.”
“This’ll bring in over two mil.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m getting sick of smelling pickle brine.”
An annoying, loud sound of a blender cut through everything else, and I winced. Turning around, I noticed the shop next to the Pickle Hole. The Juice Junction. Smoothies and fruity drinks.
My eyes drifted to the pickle shop. What were they talking about that was going to bring in all that money? I had a pretty good idea, but no proof. Not with a stupid juice store next door ruining my eavesdropping.
I stood, pounded the rest of my coffee, then tossed the cup in a nearby trash can. It was time to go in and check things out.
As I entered the pickle shop, a little bell above the door jingled. The tangy scent of vinegar was in the air which made my nose twitch.
The walls were the original brick, the floor covered in large black and white tiles. There were three small tables, two chairs at each. The counter was along the back. Green formica. A cash register. Beside the pickle penis guy on a chalkboard high on the back wall was listed their offerings. Or offering.
Pickles. Dill. Sweet. Relish. That was it.
No one was in store, no clerk behind the counter. I didn’t need to have strong hearing to pick up that someone was moving something heavy somewhere in the back. Something sliding across the floor, a few thumps and a bunch of muttered cursing.
“Hello!” I called.
After a few seconds, a man came from the back, and I pasted on my biggest smile. Dark eyes. Balding, a previously busted nose. Needed a shave because the gray sprinkled into the scruff on his doughy jaw made him look older than the thirty-something I suspected him to be. In dark pants, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket, he looked more like a used car salesman than a pickle store clerk.
“Hi there!” I said, pulling out my inner Girl Scout enthusiasm. I even gave him a finger wave. “I wanted to get a sandwich.”
“We don’t sell sandwiches.”
I let my smile slip to show my disappointment. And because it got to be too much to keep in place. I didn’t know how pageant queens could do it.
“Oh, my cousin MaryAnn’s karate instructor said this was the best place to get a turkey on rye.” I winked at him. “With pickles, of course.”
He looked at me like a mother dealing with kids who’ve already been told no and still pushed. “Look, lady, we don’t sell sandwiches.”
I blinked, trying to look confused. “Then you only sell pickles? Really?”
He pointed up, whether toward God or the menu board. “Only pickles. ”
“Okay, what kinds? Cucumber? Carrot? Onions? Do you sell any of that probiotic kimchi? That’s a pickle, right?”
The guy stared at me like I’d sprouted a second head.
“We sell pickles. Green ones.”
“Huh, okay, well then I guess I’ll take six.” I raised my hand and twirled my finger into my hair. “Can I have half dill, half sweet. Oooh, do you have them like in New York City where they’re well done?”
He blinked at me some more. “We’re all out.”
“Of which kind?”
“All of them.”
“You don’t have any pickles left?”
He shrugged. “There was a rush on them earlier.”
I tapped my finger to my lip. “Huh. They must be really good.”
The entry door opened and closed but I didn’t give it much of my attention. What did, however, was an arm slinging around my shoulder.
“There you are, sweetheart,” a deep voice rumbled in my ear. “Thought I said to meet at the coffee shop.”
I stiffened and turned my head. Dax’s face was right there. I only had to lean in slightly and we’d be kissing. His blue eyes held mine.
His fingers squeezed my shoulder to get me over my staring.
I cleared my throat. “I had a hankering for that sandwich with the pickles I told you about, darling. But they don’t make sandwiches.” I fake pouted .
Dax turned his head, grinned at the guy. “You know pregnant women. They love their pickles.”
I sucked in a breath through my teeth.
“They’re all out of them,” I muttered.
“Then I guess we’ll let this guy get back to work.”
I shook my head. This was my one shot, and I wasn’t letting Dax blow it. “Where’s your bathroom?” I asked the guy. I forced another smile. “Gotta pee all the time when pregnant.”
He grimaced and thumbed over his shoulder.
I slithered out of Dax’s hold and went down the side hall to the unisex bathroom. Then went right on by and to the swinging door with an Employees Only sign on it. After hearing someone else was in the back, I paused. Only a Fleetwood Mac song and something heavy being moved. I nudged the door open with my toe a few inches and peeked in.
A guy, pickle containers–some with lids off and empty, some with lids on–and nothing else. No jars of pickles or relish. No pickles of any kind that I could see. The back exit to the alley was propped open and he was carrying the closed containers out the door to the now-familiar waiting van. He did the same thing twice, before I remembered I was supposed to be peeing.
Returning to the front, Dax and the guy were chatting about which teams’ chances were the best to get to the World Series.
I barely had a chance to nod my thanks to the guy before Dax steered me out of the place and down the sidewalk. Once we were clear of the store’s front window, I tugged out of his hold and spun on him.
Set my hands on my hips. “Pregnant?”
God forbid. I didn’t want kids. I would suck as a mother, I never had one growing up and the shitshow childhood I had was beyond bad for my parenting resume.
“Peeing?” he countered.
“I had to see what was going on in there.”
“I thought we were doing this together,” he countered.
“I only went into the store. I didn’t serve them a search warrant.”
“You weren’t the only one carrying a gun,” he commented.
“You noticed that, too?” While it wasn’t a hot summer day, the leather jacket the guy wore was excessive, but hid a weapon well.
“There was a second guy in the back loading the five-gallon containers into the back of their van. What kind of pickle shop is all out of pickles?” I asked him.
“A good one. Maybe he’s loading up the van to pick up more.”
“Yeah, maybe, but have you seen people coming and going from the place? There’d have to be a mad rush to clean them out completely.”
“The mad rush is all in the bookstore,” he muttered.
I stepped closer. Close enough to see his eyes flare a deep, dangerous blue. “I think it’s drugs,” I said, my voice tempered so passerby didn’t overhear .
His dark brow went up, but didn’t seem all that surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“I heard them talking.”
His eyes widened for a sec. “Oh? When?”
Good point. When?
I shrugged. “Before you came in.”
“You overheard the guy in the leather jacket and someone else talking about drugs.” He ran a hand down his face. “Then decided to snoop? Jesus, sweetheart. Do you have a death wish?”
“If it looks like a pickle and smells like a pickle, it’s probably smuggled drugs.”
“That’s not how that saying goes.”
I waved him off. “Whatever.”
“Look, if shady shit is going on in there–”
I gave him a duh look.
“–then you can’t go in alone.”
“Why the hell not? I just did. I need to see what’s in those containers.” I reached my arm back toward the store.
“Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Maybe because that guy might be dangerous?”
I’d been in more danger with my dad as a kid than with Mr. Leather Jacket in the pickle store. For one, I was armed. For another, I wasn’t a little kid. I was wiser. Smarter. Prepared.
“My job is to handle dangerous people.”
“And you had a partner.”
Before I thought about it, I blurted, “Who was planning to frame me with planted evidence. ”
“What?” He stared at me, stunned. After everything we talked about, this was what caught him off guard?
I waved him off like having a shitty partner wasn’t a big deal. “Like I told you before, I work best alone.” I weaved around Dax and started walking down the sidewalk. He caught up, took my elbow in a gentle hold.
“That’s not happening, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Dax,” a woman called. She was passing by on the sidewalk but slowed to wave and smile at him.
Dax kinda smiled back, but he looked like he had stomach pains.
“Because I’m pregnant?” I snapped, keeping us focused. And because that woman was literally eye fucking him.
Now his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He might need a dentist while he was here to fix cracked teeth. “You need a keeper.”
“And that’s you?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, Dax,” another woman said as she passed. The other two women with her giggled like they were thirteen instead of thirty.
I frowned, ignoring them and focusing on Dax. I wasn’t going to think about the feeling these women brought out in me. Jealousy? Possessiveness? And why? “Look. This has been fun and all, but what the hell is this?”
“This?” he repeated.
I pointed back and forth between us.
“Not your fan club of women. You and me. Us. We’re not partners. We’re not… anything. I don’t know what you do for a living besides being a crappy temporary bookstore clerk who carries a gun.”
“That’s me in a nutshell.”
A guy with a double wide stroller came by. We were in the way, so Dax moved us to stand by one of the lampposts.
“Exactly. Why are you a temporary bookstore clerk and why do you carry a gun?” I tipped my head to the side to peek around his back. I didn’t need to have x-ray vision to know he had his SIG tucked beneath his t-shirt.
“Let’s talk about it.”
I was usually calm. Cool headed. Not with Dax. I felt like a tea kettle just shy of a boil. “That’s what we’re doing right now.”
“Over dinner,” he replied simply.
“What? No.”
“Look, I need you as much as you need me.”
“I know the sex is amazing and all, but–”
“I’m not talking about sex.” Then he grinned, clearly proud of himself. “And it is amazing.”
“Okay, then–”
“You need to save me from the women of Coal Springs,” he pleaded.
I stared at him. I’d never, not once in my life, ever heard a man say he needed saving from women practically throwing their panties at him. “What?”
“They’re crazy. Have you seen the bookstore? Do women have town-wide group texts? They’re like a militia but armed with estrogen.” He stepped close and ran a hand through his hair. This was the first time I’d seen him less than comfortable in his skin. “Do you have any idea what I had to do this morning?”
I shook my head and I knew my eyes were wide.
“I had to read a sex scene at storytime.”
I bit my lip and tried not to smile. He leaned in even closer, and I felt his breath fan my ear. It wasn’t with desire, but desperation.
“With two guys… and anal.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “That explains all the women. We all secretly want anal.”
His brows shot up. “You do?”
I shook my head. “No. But I’m sure they’re all imagining it, with you.”
He actually paled. “I’m flattered. And freaked. Be my girlfriend and you can save me from them.”
“Are you hearing yourself? You’re armed! You’re asking me to protect you from eager, aroused women who want you to fuck them in the butt? Were you dropped as a baby?”
“I don’t know any of them.”
“So you have what, a three date rule before you go for the kinky stuff?”
His gaze met mine. Held. “The only woman I want to do anal with is you.” Oh my. My pussy clenched at the idea. What he was saying was that he knew me, when he didn’t. “Just say the word.”
I swallowed hard. “That’s quite a step for fake dating.”
“Dottie’s cooking dinner,” he countered.
I raised a brow. That changed everything and instantly made my mouth water. I narrowed my eyes at his calm and very annoying expression. “That’s food blackmail.”
He shrugged because he had me. He knew it. Between the cheesy rice and the burritos, we both knew whatever Dottie made was going to be amazing. Turning down another covered dish of hers was plain stupid.
I growled. So did my stomach. “Fine. We’ll help each other.”
He grinned, then took my hand and interlaced our fingers. “Good. Then you’re coming with me to the shop.”