It was two in the morning and Elle was sitting in his truck, humming and swaying to the music on the radio. More of that fifties-sounding, great-balls-of-fire shit. All after her stint in the police station, the red-eye from hell, working her shift at the airport, hurrying around Boston for a flash mob, and being at Rosita’s over seven hours playing the perfect hostess. Jack was dead on his feet just from keeping up with her and she was fresh as a rose, humming and swaying. At two a.-fucking-m.
“Well, thanks for the ride. You going now, right?” she asked as he parked in front of her house, in a quiet residential area on the outskirts of Boston.
“Wrong. I’m staying here,” Jack said, gesturing toward the house.
Elle frowned. “You could plant another bug on me. I promise not to get rid of it. Them, if you want.” She lifted her arms, like a martyr. “Wire me. I surrender.”
“My place is across town.”
“And now that we’re on the subject, where’s your place?” she asked. “I would love to go take a look.”
“We are not on the subject.”
“Don’t tell me you already have a wife and a couple of kids there.” He held her scrutinizing gaze and kept quiet until she spoke again. “Either way, you can’t stay at my house. Don’t you have anything else to do than stalk me? What about that biker bar of yours? Aren’t you needed there now that you’re back from doing whatever it was you were doing in Florida?”
“I was saving your ass in Florida. And I’m not stalking you. I’m watching over you.”
“There seems to be a very fine line between stalking and watching over.”
“I don’t understand fine lines, pet.”
She snorted. “No shit.”
“You’re a good one to talk.”
“I do understand about fine lines,” she said, a saccharine smile on her face. “I just don’t give a damn.”
He stared at her for a long while. “If I have to stay in the car, I will. In a residential area like this, all the neighbors will see me and call the cops, and probably your mom and sister as well, but we can play it that way if you want.”
He’d noticed how she’d avoided answering Rosita’s phone. She was trying to dodge someone and his money was on Tate.
Elle caved. “Okay, come in if you must. The house is big enough that we don’t have to see each other. But keep in mind I’m doing you a favor. If my neighbor Mrs. Copernicus spots you, and she will, she’ll bring a thermos and sit with you. They take neighborhood watch very seriously around here. And they are very nosy and chatty.”
Fuck, no, please.
He’d had enough of that at Rosita’s. Thank God people seemed to understand he didn’t want to socialize and left him be. Not before bothering the shit out of him for a while though.
He gestured to the pink house. “Copernicus is that one, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
Because when he’d picked the lock to get in earlier that day, he’d bumped into her on his way out. He’d been swearing and looking mighty pissed, but the lady hadn’t even blinked. She’d smiled, handed him a plate full of cookies, and informed him that she’d seen him and Elle arriving and that the Coopers left a spare key under the second flowerpot from the right. No need to break and enter, she’d added.
“Met her already,” he answered curtly. “Cookies on the table. The spare key under the flowerpot I confiscated.”
“Oh, how romantic. You’ve barely kissed me, and we’re already exchanging keys.”
As if. She was getting the key to his place like fucking never.
He hoped his glare spoke volumes, but Elle didn’t seem to mind or care. She threw him an air-kiss and, smiling, opened the front door.
After dumping her stuff on the table and taking one cookie, Elle headed for the kitchen, opened the freezer, and took out a gallon of ice cream.
At fucking two thirty.
“Midnight snack. You want?”
He shook his head. How she could be hungry when they’d eaten a feast at Rosita’s once the last diner had left, it was beyond him.
She sat on the sofa, tucked her legs under her ass, turned on the TV, and began scooping ice cream.
At fucking two thirty.
Jack frowned. “You’re not tired?”
“Not yet.” She waved around. “I’ll give you the grand tour later, but basically what you see is what you get. You can park your things in the guest room upstairs. It used to be Jonah’s, so no fear of frilly anything.”
“You live alone?” he asked, looking around the huge Victorian house.
“Most of the time. Whenever Mom is back from Florida, she stays at Ron’s. She seems uncomfortable being here with him. She blushes.” Ron was Tate and Elle’s mother’s boyfriend. Nice quiet guy if Jack remembered correctly from James’s wedding.
What wasn’t clear to him was why Elle lived in the family home, surrounded by what must be painful memories. Then again, this was a perfectly good house. No reason to go empty forever.
“No Bowen wall of fame here?”
“Still shocked about that pic, right?” Elle asked, chuckling.