Troublemaker Read online

  That too was a good note to hit. She was aware of the possible danger, but also of reality. If Jesse thought she was being reckless, that could tip the scale the way they didn’t want it to go, but she’d just reassured him she was on guard.

  “I wouldn’t have come here if I thought there was any danger to either Bo or the town,” he said, putting a thumb on the scale to tip it even more in his favor. “If it helps, I’m armed.”

  “Got a permit?”

  “One that covers every state. But I also have one issued by West Virginia, so I’m covered there.”

  “Mind if I see them?”

  Axel had covered that too, getting him concealed carry licenses in the Morgan Rees name. He hitched his left hip up and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket, extracted the permits and handed them over.

  Jesse’s eyebrows rose as he looked at them. “They’re issued to a Morgan Rees. I thought that wasn’t your name.”

  “It isn’t; if you thought you’d find out my real name by this, it won’t work. I do this shit for a living, and the agency paperwork behind me is solid. These will stand up.” They weren’t legal, but they’d stand up.

  Morgan could see the ire and frustration in the cop’s eyes; he knew what Morgan was admitting and didn’t like not being able to investigate something his instincts told him he should. He had no reason to believe anything Morgan was telling him, but he also realized that it could be true. Jesse glanced at Bo, and once again his trust in her was the deciding factor.

  “If you’re okay on this, boss, then I guess I am too.”

  “Even though I think it’s okay,” she replied, “I also think we should be smart about this. We won’t let our guard down.”

  That seemed to settle the matter. After a few minutes Jesse left, not satisfied but reassured anyway. Bo immediately put on her coat and took Tricks for a walk. Morgan watched out the window as she and the dog disappeared into the tree line, the dog all but bouncing around her as she chased the tennis ball Bo tossed underhanded—and with her left hand, which struck him as odd—and brought it back to her with a happily wagging tail and an eager expression that was easy to read even from that distance.

  He clicked into analysis mode, going over every nuance of Jesse’s tone, exactly what he’d said. He thought the cop would be a good ally despite his misgivings. To cover the bases he needed to let Axel know exactly what had been said and that the cop had been partially read in on the situation, but he wouldn’t call again unless it was an absolute emergency because he had no way of knowing where Axel was, or with whom. Any contact would have to wait until Axel initiated it.

  He got to his feet and walked around, knowing he had to start pushing his body to do a little more each day. The hours of driving the day before had unexpectedly knocked him flat, telling him he still had a long way to go before he reached full recovery. He could wait patiently in ambush for days at a time, but this physical incapability was maddening. There was no way of knowing when whoever was behind his shooting would find his location, so he had to be ready.

  Bo and the dog returned in about half an hour. The dog looked happy, and Bo’s cheeks were flushed from the cold. She used her left hand to open the door.

  By then he was back on the sofa. He said, “What’s wrong with your right arm?”

  “Shoulder,” she corrected, her tone matter-of-fact. “I banged it in the fight. It’s just bruised.”

  “Did you have it checked out?”

  “It’s just a bruise. I’ll ice it down before I go to bed.”

  “Is it swollen?”

  He saw a flash of annoyance in her eyes, then she smoothed it away and pulled her emotions back, hid them. “No, just sore.”

  She did that a lot, he thought. Most women were naturally more open with their emotions than men, but not her. She battened down the hatches and let very little show—except with the dog. She was as open as a book when she was dealing with her pet. Her expression both lit up and softened then, and her voice took on a subtle croon. With people—or at least with him; she might be more open with her friends—she was brisk and businesslike.

  Maybe she didn’t like being fussed over. Maybe she had a hard time admitting to any weakness. He could understand that because he was right there with her. He was so damn tired of being fussed over he sometimes thought he’d punch the next person who tried to plump his pillow or adjust a blanket over him. Thank God Bo didn’t seem to have any instinct to fuss, such as when she’d simply put a sandwich in a Ziploc bag for him, along with a bottle of water, and left him alone for the day. The solitude had actually felt good.

  Despite her reserve there had been an ease between her and the cop, one that said they worked well together, and, yes, a real friendliness. Morgan supposed he couldn’t blame her for any reserve, given the situation and that they had just met.

  “Let me see what I can scare up in the way of food,” she said, changing the subject. “I bought some guy food today. I’m not much of a cook, but I can do basic stuff like spaghetti.”

  The mention of spaghetti made his mouth water. His food for the past month had been so bland he’d had a hard time working up any interest in it. Where was the logic in trying to stimulate someone’s appetite with food that tasted like paste? “Spaghetti? With garlic bread?”

  She actually smiled. “I guess that’s the answer to my question. C’mon, Tricks, let’s get you fed before I get started on the people food.”

  He wasn’t surprised that the dog came first.

  She went through some weird routine with the dog while she was feeding her, something that involved a lot of sweet talking and a couple of “Let’s try this ones.” He didn’t turn around to check it out. She was feeding the dog—how interesting could it be? Not very.

  She slapped the spaghetti dinner together pretty fast, but from what he could tell, she opened a jar of sauce and didn’t bother fancying it up with extra meat and spices.

  Trays were another thing he was ready to do away with, so he made his slow way to the small table and sat opposite her. She poured a glass of real milk for him. He’d have preferred a beer or even a glass of sissy wine, but at least the milk wasn’t skim. The pasta was a little chewy. The spices and the garlic bread, though, were like heaven. The only thing that came close in taste was the fast-food hamburger he’d stopped for on the way down to West Virginia. He’d managed only a couple of bites, but, hell, the ketchup and pickles and onion had almost made him moan as the taste exploded on his tongue.

  “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours,” he finally said after they’d eaten in silence for a few minutes. The truth was, he was already full, but maybe if he wasted a little time in small talk, he’d be able to eat some more. Besides, he was reluctantly curious about her. This whole setup she had, the chief-of-police thing, was interesting.

  She looked up, mildly puzzled. “I have?”

  He ticked the items off: “Choking, hurting your hand when you punched me, getting punched in the face, hurting your shoulder.”

  “Oh.” Her face cleared. “Also banging the back of my head on the floor. I have a knot back there.”

  “That type of thing happen very often?”

  “Brawling in the bakery? First time for everything.”

  “I’d expect the police force to be small enough that you’d be called in on almost every arrest.”

  “I’m administrative, not enforcement. I was hired as someone to do the paperwork and handle the work schedule.”

  He frowned, forked up another bite of spaghetti. “But you had to have training to qualify for the job.”

  “Not in West Virginia, you don’t. It’s a small state with a small population, so I guess there had to be other options or half the towns wouldn’t have adequate staff. The position of chief can be purely administrative. Jesse didn’t want to deal with the paperwork or headache of scheduling, so Mayor Buddy worked out something else. He knew I’m fairly tech savvy because I do technical writing, and he offered the j