Mint Juleps and Justice Page 6

  “I knew that’s what you’d say, and don’t you worry. I am going to do just that. But you have to admit. It’s…weird. How can someone who once loved me enough to marry me suddenly do something so horrible? I don’t get it. Now he’s saying he wants to get back together after all he’s done. Not that that’ll ever happen.”

  “Hey, that’s a question for Dr. Phil, not your brother. And definitely not for me at this hour. What do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted you to know.” Brooke caught her reflection on the side of the toaster. This divorce was making her look old. Pulling a hand through her bangs, she noticed a gray hair. Thirty-three was way too young for gray hair. She plucked it, frowning at her reflection.

  “’Bout time you started listening to your big brother.”

  “I always listen to you.” Her childhood had been such a hodgepodge of unplanned events. Between her OCD daddy and manic mama, before she hit junior high, she knew the one thing she’d do different in life was always know what was ahead. The one sure thing she could count on was Dean. He was the best brother she could have ever asked for.

  “Yeah, right. As long as I’m telling you what you want to hear.”

  “Thank you, sweetest, dearest, most wonderful big brother.” Brooke wasn’t sure what a private investigator could even really do, but the constant looking over her shoulder and worry was beginning to wear on her. She had to do something.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It only took Brooke a few minutes to drive from her house to her office on Main Street. It never took long, but Saturday-morning traffic was nonexistent. She only had to work a half day today, and that was always a treat. Just as Brooke sat down at her desk, her phone rang.

  “Glad I caught you. It’s Connor Buckham.”

  She closed the folder in front of her and turned her attention to the call. “Hey there. Thank you for calling me back so quickly. Thought I might not hear back from you until Monday.”

  “If this is about that almost-ex-husband of yours again, better to not let it wait. Sometimes these things get nasty. I do have the name of an excellent private investigator. He’s got some military background, great guy, and really fair prices too. Got a crayon?”

  Brooke grabbed a pen and a sticky pad. “Sounds perfect. I’ve got a pen handy.”

  Connor rattled off the number. Brooke jotted each digit as he gave them. “Got it.”

  “His name is Mike Hartman.”

  She underlined the number twice.

  “His office is right upstairs from mine,” Connor said. “He’s good people. He’s usually in the office in the late afternoons if you’d rather just stop in.”

  “I’ll give him a call. Thanks again.” But rather than make the call, she stared at the number. Was it possible this was the same Mike Hartman that she just met over at Kasey Phillips’s farm? It was a common name, but it was also a very small town. He’d said he was just helping out, but how awkward would it be to hire him to help with her disaster of a divorce, after she’d agreed to go to dinner with him. Damn him for being so good-looking. She never should have said she’d have dinner with him.

  She got up and snagged the slim phone book from her credenza and flipped to the H’s. She swept her finger through the short list of Hartmans. Only one Michael.

  “It had to be you, didn’t it?” She closed the directory and tossed it aside. After an hour of pushing work from one side of her desk to the other and feeling anxious about another connection with Mike, rather than make the call, she got up from her desk and walked down the block to see Jenny at the yoga studio.

  “Knock-knock,” Brooke called out as she pushed through the tall doors on the old building. What a stroke of luck that the building had been for sale when Jenny was with her on the house-hunting trip, else Jenny may not have gotten the wild idea to relocate with her.

  She could still see the look on Jenny’s face when she’d spotted the bright-orange building. Brooke had laughed because it was about the tackiest pumpkin-orange building she’d ever seen, but the yoga chakras or good karma must have reached inside the car and tapped Jenny right on the shoulder, because Jenny had nearly jumped out of the car before they stopped to go look in the window.

  She’d bought and closed on the building before Brooke even closed on her own house. As crazy as it had seemed, Brooke wasn’t about to talk her out of it. Besides…she’d have missed Jenny like crazy if she hadn’t made the move.

  Jenny came skipping out from the back carrying an armful of colorful yoga mats. “Hey!” She dropped them off on a counter next to the door and gave Brooke a hug. “I didn’t know you were stopping by this morning.”

  “I had a few minutes.” Brooke stepped into the middle of the room and twirled in the wide-open space. “It’s great. It feels so peaceful compared to the bustle of the grand opening party.”

  “That was fun, but I like this better.”

  Brooke sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

  “A new candle. Lavender and vanilla. Isn’t it divine?” Jenny inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “I swear I’m tempted to wear it as perfume.”

  “Nice. You nervous about your first set of classes?”

  Jenny’s face lit up. “Not at all. I’m so excited. I have twelve people all signed up for the one this afternoon. The Monday-morning class is completely sold out. I thought I’d have to do a lot of free stuff to talk people into trying it, but that hasn’t been the case.”

  “Maybe that other lady had already whetted their appetite for a yoga class.”

  “Well, then I should find out who she was and thank her.”

  Brooke started laughing. “Yeah, about that…”

  “What’s so funny?”

  She winced, hoping Jenny wouldn’t take the news as bad karma. “I heard the story about what happened with the yoga center that was supposed to have opened up here before.”

  “What?” Jenny looked worried. “Tell me.”

  “Turns out that lady is in prison now.”

  “No way. Stop. You’re lying.” Jenny took a step back. “You’re serious?”

  Brooke nodded. “Dead serious.”

  “Bad joke, Brooke.”

  “It was a little funny, admit it.”

  “Okay, no thank-you notes to jailbirds. I’ll just take the good karma and roll with it,” Jenny said.

  “Good idea.”

  “Are you coming to the class this afternoon?” Jenny asked.

  Brooke hiked herself up onto one of the stools in front of the smoothie bar. “I wouldn’t miss it. I need the balance, that’s for sure.” But Brooke’s nerves were on edge and Jenny was giving her the look. She could always tell when something was on her mind.

  “What’s up?”

  Brooke let out a sigh. “I talked to Connor. I got the name of the investigator.”

  “Thank goodness. What did he say?”

  “I haven’t contacted him yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Maybe I’ll call Monday once we get past your first weekend of classes and all.”

  Jenny picked up the cordless phone on her counter. “Don’t you dare use me as an excuse to delay this any longer, Brooke Justice. Lord, girl, call him now.”

  “I think it might be the same guy I told you about over at the farm.”

  “The ‘not Cody Tuggle, but not a troll’ guy?” Jenny’s face lit up. “The one you are interested in whether you care to admit it or not?”

  Brooke hid her face with her hands to keep Jenny from seeing her smile. Jenny knew her too well. She dropped her hands and tried to look serious. “Stop. It’s not like that, but seriously, wouldn’t it be weird if it’s him?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said I’d go to dinner with him, and now I’d be airing my dirty laundry.”

  “There’s nothi
ng dirty in your laundry. It’s Keith that’s the dirty scoundrel. Call him,” Jenny said, nudging the phone toward her.

  “I can call him when I get back to the office. What if he can see me today, and that makes me late for the class? I just didn’t want to—”

  “Let me down? Don’t be stupid. If we don’t take care of this mess with Keith, you might not be around to let me down. And I have gotten used to you being around.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

  “I’m being practical. Dial!”

  “Fine,” Brooke said. She took the piece of paper from her purse and dialed the number before she chickened out. He answered the phone on the first ring. He could see her as soon as she could get to his office.

  “So? You’re on your way?” Jenny asked.

  “Yeah. Apparently. Just how good can this guy be if he can see me like right now? What’s he doing? Just sitting around waiting for business? Doesn’t sound like the best to me.”

  Jenny snagged the phone from Brooke’s hand and sat it back on the charger. “Is it him?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But yes…it sounds just like him.” Brooke let out a sigh. “It’s going to be so weird.”

  “Quit stalling.”

  “Fine.” She got up and gave Jenny a hug, waving as she walked out the door.

  “Call me and let me know how it goes,” Jenny called after her.

  “I will,” Brooke said, only her gut told her that was just Jenny’s way of making sure she really went.

  Brooke’s stomach swirled. Talking to someone she didn’t even know about this mess with Keith was embarrassing. Plus, it somehow just seemed more real when you said it aloud. Out of habit, she swished her hand through the top of her hair, then raked the bangs back into submission across the front.

  Brooke had walked as slow as she could but it still hadn’t taken long to reach his office. She stood in front of the law offices of Buckham and Baxter on Main Street. The numbers above the door of the old bank building were 11515. Ones and fives. Her favorite numbers. To some a mere coincidence. To Brooke, a lucky sign.

  HARTMAN SECURITY AND INVESTIGATION, LLC in red letters scrolled professionally across a metal sign. It swung from two lightweight chains at the second-story level. Flower boxes hung from the windows, filled with happy splashes of color from the marigolds that overflowed from them. She wondered if they were his doing or part of the Main Street beautification guidelines. It didn’t matter. She loved marigolds.

  “Marigolds. Good luck.” The ones and fives in the address may have been a stretch, but marigolds were a sure thing. They’d been her favorite flower since she and Granddaddy started planting them each year from ten-cent seed packets. Whenever she happened to see them, she felt happy for the memory and very, very lucky.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  If the car had a thermometer, Goto would’ve bet his life that it would read in the triple digits. If not, it had to be close, because it sure felt that way after sitting in the sweltering heat for over an hour.

  Suddenly, he straightened behind the wheel of the beat-up Grand Am, and wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-beaded lip. A whole six weeks of tracking the do-gooder, and all had seemed pretty much a waste so far.

  He cursed himself for letting pride win over practicality when he bought this piece of shit Grand Am. No air and the bucket seats made sleeping in it no picnic. He could’ve been chillin’ with some cool air-conditioning in that minivan. It wasn’t like he was out trying to pick up women, so why had he allowed himself to get sucked in by the sportier car when Wheelie gave him the choice?

  One mistake. He always allowed himself one. Didn’t do you any good to try to be perfect. That would just drive you insane. So he’d made his one mistake already and got it out of the way. Just as well. He wouldn’t want to make one when it really mattered.

  He leaned forward. “Well, well, well. How do you like that? It’s about time.” He hadn’t seen anyone interesting come or go from that office except Mike Hartman in the weeks he’d been watching—until now.

  He watched intently as a short brunette made her way up the stairs. His legs tugged against the seat as he leaned over to pull a small pair of binoculars out of the glove box. As he shifted his weight to his right butt cheek trying to unglue himself from the vinyl seat, his sweating legs resisted the movement. It was like pulling himself off a big-ass Band-Aid every time he tried to move.

  He raised the binoculars to take a closer look, but she was already out of sight.

  Coming back here after eight years of being in the slammer was like landing on a new planet. You used to be able to get a courtesy cup of ice water anywhere; now it cost you a buck just to quench your thirst. And nothing looked the way he remembered.

  He leaned back in the seat, fixing a stare on the front of the building. Maybe she wasn’t a customer. Maybe he was getting him a piece of that hot ass right this instant. He closed his eyes. He could almost hear the sounds of it, smell the sweat, and hear the screams. He did love a good scream. Not that kind, but a scream was a scream in his book.

  Goto slapped the steering wheel. Then slapped his face to make himself quit thinking about that girl and sex.

  When he was in prison they’d called him Goto.

  Not Franklin or Frank. Not Daniel or Dan like his mom always had.

  Not Gotorow. Goto.

  At first it made him mad that they didn’t get his name right, but then he’d fallen in love with it because the nickname had come from all the media coverage he’d gotten all those years ago.

  The “Goto Hell Murderer” had splashed national headlines.

  Those news guys—they loved a good story. And he’d loved the attention. He wouldn’t mind giving them another.

  He pulled a spiral notebook out from under the seat and flipped to a back page. Putting pen to paper he started drawing small circles and waves. Three circles and a row of waves. Three more circles and a row of waves. The exercise was supposed to help him get past that feeling whenever it came over him.

  His teeth ground. Three more circles and a row of waves.

  He’d faked it a million times when he was in prison, but now he needed it to work.

  Focus. That’s what he needed. He only had a few weeks to finalize and execute a plan. Not just any plan either. The perfect plan. He hadn’t waited this long to screw it up, but if he didn’t get it done and get the hell out of Dodge, he’d probably end up back in prison and he had no plans to do that.

  There was no room for error, and a woman would be a distraction. He bore down so hard on the next row of circles that he ripped the paper.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brooke stood outside the door of Hartman Security and Investigation, LLC trying to push back the swell of nausea. She let out a long, slow breath.

  Was she letting Keith win by letting him get under her skin? Was she overreacting? Sometimes it felt that way, but standing here made the situation last night feel more real, more threatening. More importantly, was the nervousness she was feeling right now an overreaction to Mike Hartman?

  She’d earned the reputation of being in control no matter what, yet these things were leaving her frazzled and feeling a bit helpless, and helpless was not a word she wanted to describe her.

  She patted her sweating palms against her pants. Asking for help wasn’t one of her strong points. With one last deep breath, she knocked and pushed the door open.

  The man behind the large wooden desk looked up and smiled.

  “Hello, again.” His confident smile reached his eyes.

  She extended her hand, almost speechless. She’d hoped she was wrong, but here he was…again.

  “You knew it was me when I called?” She shook his hand. Her skin looked so pale against his. Those fine lines that danced like exclamation marks around his bright-blue eyes ma
de her breath hitch. His muscular frame pulled the shoulders of the white dress shirt tapering into worn blue jeans, his slim waist accenting the width of his shoulders. He cleaned up nice. “Why didn’t you say something on the phone?”

  “Didn’t think it mattered.”

  “I guess it doesn’t.” She hadn’t mentioned it either. Guess that evened the score. She set her purse next to the chair, but remained standing, hoping her nerves would settle and he wouldn’t notice the shake in her voice. “Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “No problem.”

  “Connor recommended you. He says you’re good people.”

  “I put that on top of my résumé.” He smiled and those little lines danced around those blue eyes like skipping rocks sending out ripples. “That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

  Their eyes held for one of those extra-long moments, and she fought an unexplainable urge to bolt from the building.

  A bark from somewhere across the room sent Brooke into a spin. “What?”

  “Hunter. It’s okay,” Mike said. “Sorry about that. We’re still working on his manners.”

  Brooke laughed off the nervous energy, and stooped down as the German shepherd moved to Mike’s side and sat right next to him with just a hand signal. “He’s beautiful,” she said. She reached out her hand and Hunter not only gave it a sniff, but gently licked the top of it and then looked up at Mike.

  “I think he likes you,” he said.

  “Good thing. He’s going to be a big dog. Look at the size of those feet.”

  “He’s a good boy. Hunter, load up.” The dog ran across the room and went into his kennel and lay down.

  “He’s smart too.” She stood up, feeling a little less apprehensive. “I wasn’t sure if I should have called someone in Virginia Beach. I mean, we are kind of out in the boonies.”

  “I have all the same high-tech solutions as they do in any city. Trust me. I can take care of you just fine.”