“You look manly beautiful,” I amended, but that sounded even more stupid. “Okay. That was dumb. You look hot.”
He chuckled as he moved in, brushing his lips over the curve of my cheekbone. He kissed the scar again, and I tensed, but it was for a different reason than the norm, because his lips had skated to the space below my ear.
“I’m hot and you like me,” he murmured. “It’s my lucky day.”
“Shut up.”
Another deep chuckle and then his mouth claimed mine. I liked—no, I loved—the way Jax kissed. It started off slow and then became something entirely different, definitely not slow, and very much deep and hot. Before I knew it, my hands were flat against his chest, sliding up to his shoulders.
“Dinner.” He kissed me again, his mouth lingering in the sweetest way. “We’re going to be late.”
My fingers dug into his shirt as I all but clung to him. I didn’t get the chance to respond, because he was kissing me again, in a way I felt devoured.
“Dinner,” he repeated, and his lips brushed mine. “I made reservations.”
Moving my hands down his chest, I tipped my head back and opened my eyes. “Yeah. Food.”
“Steak.” His arm tightened around me. “Really good steak.”
A grumble came from my stomach, and I broke away as he laughed. “Shut up,” I said again.
“It’s cute.” His hands dropped to my hips, so I didn’t get very far.
I rolled my eyes. “More like it, as in my stomach is hungry. Not cute. So if we don’t get—”
My words were cut off as something heavy hit the front of the house. Swallowing a startled squeak, I jumped and turned around. “What the hell?”
Jax was already starting toward the door when I heard tires peeling out of the driveway. My heart lodged into my throat as I followed Jax.
“Stay back,” he ordered, reaching the door.
I didn’t listen.
The muscles in his shoulders tensed as he unlocked the front door and yanked it open.
Slapping my hands over my mouth, I took a step back out of horror. Jax cursed and turned, shielding what waited for us on the front porch, but it was too late. There was no way to un-see the still, ghastly pale body or the small crimson hole smack dab in the middle of its forehead.
Twenty-two
Dinner at Apollo’s was canceled.
A dead body thrown—literally—at the front of the house would do that. And the body was still out there, right where it landed, while the police did whatever forensics they saw fit.
The body had a name, I learned—a name that sent a jolt of fear and dread straight to my very core.
The body belonged to one Ronald R. Miller, also known by the street name Rooster, and rumored to be my mother’s boyfriend.
This wasn’t good.
Rooster had a bullet in the center of his forehead, and I had heard Reece outside talking to another officer. Rooster’s jeans had grass stains on the knees, and it didn’t take a huge leap of logic to imagine that he’d been on his knees when that trigger was pulled.
Classic execution style.
Where was Mom? That question played over and over again, because everyone said she’d run off with Rooster.
Who now had a bullet in his head.
I shuddered as I focused my gaze on Jax. He was standing by the window, back tense and his jaw a hard line. He hadn’t said much since this all went down. We’d already given our statements, which wasn’t much.
Clyde reached over and squeezed my hand. “You doing okay, baby girl?”
I nodded. He’d shown up about an hour after the police. How he’d found out about what happened, I had no idea, but he arrived in his old-ass truck, shouting and bellowing to be let into the house, to see his “baby girl” through this “traumatic” experience that “ain’t right” and a whole bunch of things that included curse words. They wouldn’t let him come up on the front porch, for obvious reasons, and they hadn’t wanted him coming in, but he yelled until he got his way and he came in through the back door, which was off the kitchen.
“How much longer do you think . . . ?” I paused, swallowing against the sudden nausea. “Do you think it will take before they move him?”
“Soon,” Clyde said gruffly. “It’s gotta be soon.”
My gaze shifted to him, and I noticed a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his bald head.
Jax turned from the window and walked over to where I sat next to Clyde. He didn’t say anything as he perched on the arm of the couch. A second later, I heard the front door open and Reece walked in with a detective wearing tan dress pants, and a white button-down like Jax’s, but paired with a tie that matched his pants.
For some odd reason, I thought about what Roxy had told me about Reece being involved in a shooting. It was the last thing I needed to be thinking about, but I wondered if it bothered him seeing Rooster like . . . like he was. Then again, he probably saw that a lot.
I’d almost forgotten his name—the detective’s. He wasn’t that much older than us, maybe late twenties or early thirties. He was handsome, very much so, with neatly trimmed brown hair and clear blue eyes.
“We’re wrapping up now,” he said, his gaze tracking over the three of us. “Right now, we’ve got some suspects, and we’re going to find who did this.”
I nodded. “Okay. Um. Thank you?”
His lips twitched. “Now, Officer Anders told me you two have been looking for Miss Fritz.”
Officer Anders? I blinked slowly and then I realized he was talking about Reece. My gaze moved to Reece and then to Detective Anders. Wait a sec . . . “Are you two related?”
“Brothers,” Jax answered.
“I’m the handsome one,” Reece said, grinning.
Detective Anders tilted his head toward what was now obviously his younger brother. “Most definitely not the smart one.”
Cop brothers. Hot.
Sigh.