*
I drove my old, beat-up, dirty, fading red Ford van by Buzz’s place but no one was home. That meant they were at Lindsey’s. By the time I got there so had the ambulance and the police. Lights flashing, the front yard of Lindsey’s broken down house not just holding straggling tufts of grass, weeds and patches of dirt but also uniformed police officers and pajama’ed neighbors.
Worse, parked on a street was a shiny black Ford Explorer.
I knew what that meant.
One of the Nightingale Boys was there.
“What the ef?” I whispered, a chil sliding over my skin (for several reasons). I parked in front of the squad car that was parked in front of the Explorer.
The Nightingale Boys were famous in certain circles of Denver – the circles occupied by cops, felons and others in need of their unique services. They were on the Nightingale Private Investigations Team, al of them highly qualified, intensely skil ed, moral y dubious but total y super cool.
Mace was one of them.
I clipped the leash on Juno and swung out my door, Juno fol owing me on a huge, big dog sigh.
Please don’t let Mace be here, please don’t let Mace be here, my brain chanted.
Then I switched topics.
Please let Linnie be okay, please let Linnie be okay.
I rounded the back of my van, the door to Lindsey’s house opened and Luke Stark, Hot Guy and Nightingale Man, walked out. Black, super short hair, kil er, trimmed mustache that ran down the sides of his mouth, mouth-watering handsome and body designed by the gods.
I knew Luke; I’d met him when I dated Mace. I knew him now because he was living with my friend, Ava Barlow.
His eyes scanned the yard and stal ed on me.
Okay, cool. No worries. Al was wel . I could deal with Luke. Luke was good. Luke was great.
I smiled at Luke.
The door opened again and Mace walked out.
Fuck! My brain shouted and my smile vanished.
My eyes did a sweep of al that was Mace.
I wanted to find fault in him, I real y did. I wanted him to be growing a paunch. I wanted him to be developing a bald spot. I wanted him to look like he was wasting away, pining for me. Something, anything but what he was. Tal at six foot four, flat, tight abs, square jaw and last but not least, arresting green eyes and great skin that showed the Hawaiian ancestry that he got from his Mom’s side.
He didn’t scan the yard. His eyes came direct to me like he sensed me there.
When his eyes caught my eyes I worked hard to keep my face blank.
Mace didn’t appear to have to work hard at al . His expression didn’t change. Not in the slightest.
I felt it like I always felt it when I remembered him, when I remembered us or when, on the odd occasion, I’d see him – that sharp kick in the gut and the sharper desire to flee.
I held my ground. I was ashamed to admit, holding my ground took a lot, even after a year.
Luke hesitated.
Mace approached.
Bad luck. I would have preferred Luke to approach.
Effing hel but my luck sucked.
Juno went wild. Final y happy with our ungodly hour adventure, Juno was straining at the leash, wanting more than anything, even hard food covered in melted bacon grease, to get at Mace. Juno loved Mace. She took Mace’s defection almost harder than me. She’d pouted and waited at the door for him for months after he broke it off. She hadn’t seen him in ages.
I held on tight to the lead but struggled to keep my big dog stil .
“Juno, sit,” Mace commanded, five feet away.
Juno sat, as always, obeying Mace without hesitation but she wasn’t happy about it. Her tail swept the dirt, her tongue lol ed, her life brightened.
Mace got close and Juno butted his hand with her wet nose, neck stretched to the max but keeping her doggie-heiny to the ground.
I watched as Mace’s long fingers slid through the fur on top of Juno’s head and the gut kick feeling came back.
Jealous of my own damn dog.
How far had a sunk?
I straightened my spine and tipped my head back to look at him.
“Go home, Stel a,” Mace said when my eyes caught his.
Not “hey” not “how are you?” not “you look good” not “I made the worst mistake in my life breaking up with you.
Please forgive me and marry me and live with me until we both die at the same exact time holding hands when we’re one hundred and seven.”
To hide my disappointment at his non-greeting, my eyes went to the door of the house then they scanned the area.
Luke had moved to talk to Wil ie Moses, another friend of mine and a police sergeant for the Denver Police Department. The ambulance was stil there but I saw no paramedics.
Something was not right.
I looked back at Mace.
“Is Linnie okay?” I asked.
“Go home.”
Yep, something was not right.
“Is Linnie okay?” I repeated.
“Stel a, nothin’ you can do here. Go home.” Oh hel . Something was definitely not right.