Chapter 1 #2
“I don’t have an ulterior motive,” she says suddenly, as if reading my mind.
I refocus on the road. “I’m in the city visiting a friend.
I thought I’d swing by and see you. Ella said you aren’t going to see her and the kids for Christmas.
” I grunt in response, and she chuckles.
“Grunt all you like, Chief. I’m here now.
You can entertain an old friend for an afternoon. ”
A friend. Is that what she is?
To me she’s an omen.
And not a good one.
“American supermarkets never cease to amaze me,” Monty says, strolling beside me, examine the box of cereal in her hand. “Everything is so colorful.”
“Just tea and porridge back home?”
She tuts. “Oh, hardy har.” She places the box back on the shelf. “So, who was the jean-clad guy?”
“A nosy neighbor.” I pause in front of the jellies. Is it acceptable to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Christmas Day?
“Do we dislike the nosy neighbor?”
I slowly meet her eye. “Don’t even think about it, Monty.”
She gasps. “What are you insinuating? That I’d break into his house in the middle of the night, move his furniture around and allow him to catch me doing it, but before he can say anything, I leave, then when he comes over to accuse me, I hit him over the head with a mallet?
He’ll have provoked me verbally on private property over a wild accusation that no one would believe, and I’d be a sobbing, terrified person, just going about my day visiting my good, chief of police friend Guy, forced to defend myself against an intruder.
Do you think I’d do that? Is that what you’re saying, Guy? ”
I can only stare at her. “There is something wrong with you.”
“Oh, I’m only kidding.” She grins. “I’d probably just seduce him then suffocate him with a pillow and say it was a sex act gone wrong. Should we get wine?” She spins on her heel and wanders away.
I follow her, shaking off the last minute or so for my own peace of mind than anything else. “What do you mean ‘we’? You’re staying at a hotel.”
“You’d really kick me out? How rude.” She stops in front of the wine selection, her tongue between her lips as she eyes the top shelf bottles. “Champagne for Christmas Day?”
“No, you are not staying until Christmas—”
She snatches two of the most expensive bottles off the shelf. “We can have one each.”
I grip the drinks before she can place them in the cart. “Monty, you are not staying with me.”
She stares at the food we’ve already collected, her expression stony, and for a moment I wonder if she’s fighting anger … or tears. Judging by the twitching of her lip, she’s biting the inside of her mouth rhythmically.
Slowly, she lifts her glassy gaze to me. Her green eyes pale under the haze of tears, and my shoulders soften as she looks at me with such vulnerability that the sounds and lights of the store fade away.
Plump lips part, and a rosy blush warms her cheeks. “Please, Guy. I just need somewhere to stay for a few days.”
Champagne forgotten, I lower my voice. “Are you in trouble?” She swallows hard and nods curtly, as if admitting it is the hardest thing she’s ever done. It’s clear she’s anxious, and if she’s come to me, then she must be desperate. Fuck me and my conscience. “Okay, you can stay a few nights.”
She cheers—the vulnerability gone, the tears gone, too. “Yay! You’re such a gentleman.”
My mouth drops open. “… Was that an act? Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Don’t be such a grump.” She tiptoes her fingers up my T-shirt, her grin vicious. “You kinda liked it, right? Saving me? Men love saving me.”
I grab her hand. “That is not fucking funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
Luckily for Monty, I’m distracted by the flash of bright red hair at the end of the aisle, and I groan when I spot the last woman in the world I want to see.
Fuck.
Think, Guy. Fucking think.
You’d imagine being a cop for as long as I have been means I can improvise, but every solution keeps coming back to the ticking time bomb of a blonde in front of me.
Fuck it.
“Monty, you know what you did in front of Tim? Do it again.”
She looks delighted. “Really?”
“Yes, my ex-wife is approaching, and she will not leave me the fuck alone since her latest boyfriend dumped her.” I lock eyes with a contract killer, and hate that I’m asking her for a favor. “Please, for the love of God, do this for me.”
“Then let me stay with you.”
I growl. “Monty—”
“Bye then!” She goes to saunter off, and I grab her wrist and yank her back.
This is a fucking nightmare. I’m being manipulated by a serial killer while my ex-wife storms over to me, and I don’t know which woman is worse.
“Fine, you can stay.”
Monty’s grin is beautiful—and absolutely fucking terrifying. “So, she’s harassing you?”
“Yes, but—”
As Vivien gets close, Monty whirls.
And smacks her across the face.
It all happens so fast. The crack of knuckles hitting cheekbone, Vivien hitting the floor and skidding away, Monty stomping her way over with equal amounts of fury and grace. She leans close to my ex-wife but doesn’t lower her voice.
“Listen here, bitch. Guy Gibson is mine. If you call him, talk to him, or even think about him again, I’ll remove your tongue. Do you hear me?”
Vivien’s eyes are saucer wide, and she nods rapidly.
Monty straightens before slinking back over to me. “So, white wine or red?”