“Georgia also tells me you have a date.”
Alex could have asked how his sister knew about the date but didn’t bother. She had radar, a fact he’d accepted long ago. “Yep.”
“I thought she was joking.”
“No.”
“So who’s the lucky girl?”
“Leah Carson.”
“The veterinarian who takes care of Rick’s dog?”
Their brother Rick had been a canine officer who’d been allowed to adopt Tracker after the dog had been retired. “Yes.”
“How’d you meet?”
“Rick is boarding his dog at the vet’s kennel. I told him I’d check on Tracker while he was gone.”
“What’s special about Leah?”
“She’s Deidre’s new best friend.”
Deke nodded. “You set this up.”
“I did.”
“How’d you get Rick to board Tracker?”
“Told him I needed an undercover officer with four legs. He liked the idea of his canine working again.”
“And now you and Deidre’s friend are going on a date?”
“That’s right.” Digging his phone out of his pocket, he texted Georgia. RUNNING LATE. GIVE MY DATE THE HEADS-UP. BUY HER A DRINK. BE THERE IN TWENTY.
“What do you know about her?”
“Not much. But that’s the point of a date. To learn.”
“Mixing business with pleasure?”
When it came to catching the bad guys, lying came naturally to Alex. He did what he had to do. In his personal life he never lied. Leah was the first time black and white had muddied to gray.
“Leah’s the only personal friend Deidre Jones seems to have these days. Wouldn’t hurt to find out what she knows about Deidre.” Alex’s phone dinged with a text. WILL DO. He slid his phone back into his pocket. “Have you gotten me a rundown on Deidre’s recent cases?”
“On my desk. I’ll send it tomorrow.”
Neither one of them liked the idea of investigating Deidre. But good cops went bad for all variety of reasons, and when they went bad, Alex had the unpleasant job of mopping up the mess. “I’ll call you when I have something.”
“Talk only to me.”
“Understood.”
Chapter Two
Saturday, January 14, 8 P.M.
Until death do us part.
The freshly tattooed wedding vow ran along the twenty-six bones of his spine, entwined by a thorny, flowerless vine that coiled around and cut through the neatly scripted letters. A delicate sparrow fluttered above a jagged thorn and the word Death.
Each prick of the tattoo artist’s needle had been a painful reminder of the love he carried for his sparrow, a lovely wife who, confused and misled by lying friends, didn’t understand the true depth of his commitment.
Though she’d left him, he’d never stopped keeping tabs on her, and he’d tracked her to her rented town house near Nashville’s West End Park. He’d cried when she’d begun flirting shamelessly with men. When she’d begun sleeping with them, hurt had turned to rage. His little lark had turned into a whore.
Now, he sat in his dark truck parked at the corner of Fourth and Broadway. Across lanes of traffic, he watched her sitting in her car, the engine running. He knew her routine well. When she went out, when she met her new friend for a glass of wine, when she arrived at and left work. No detail was too small. Not one iota missed.
She got out of her car, locked it, and, hands tucked in her pockets with head ducked against a cold wind, and marched up Broadway. She paused at a honky-tonk called Rudy’s and, for a moment, stared into the large window, studying the crowd.
A slight smile tweaked the edges of his lips. “Looking for me, babe? Think I’m inside?”
After a pause, another woman approached her, and the two exchanged laughs before she tugged open the front door and they moved inside. He knew the other woman as well. His wife’s new best friend.
He shifted forward in his seat, leaning against the steering wheel as he watched her through the window. Rudy’s, buffered from the cold and alight with music and laughter, was packed with customers.
His wife pulled her scarf free and opened her jacket as she lingered on the fringe of the crowd. She wore a long-sleeved black turtleneck that accentuated her full breasts. Black hair hung loose around her shoulders. He didn’t like the new look. Too dramatic. Bossy. She’d made so many changes, and he hated them all.
She smiled and raised her hand. His gut twisted, imagining the smile for another man. Even with dark hair, she was a pretty woman, and men wanted her. Pretty women like his wife didn’t go to bars unless they wanted to find a man. His sweet wife now consorted like a barhopping slut.
Jealousy knifed through anger, allowing the sadness to bleed free as images of those perfect first days of their relationship flashed by. She’d once looked at him with such trust and unfailing devotion, as if only he could make her world better. Her love had empowered him, stroked his ego and washed away the demons of his own troubled past.
Those days had been perfect. And they were gone.
Now, his wife melted into the crowd, no doubt nestling into another man’s embrace. Kissing him. Touching him. Whispering seductive words in his ear.
He gripped the edge of the steering wheel and pushed his spine into the seat, grinding hard leather into the fresh tattoo. Pain shot up and down along his spine, firing along all the tender nerves in his back.
“I gave you everything. And you left me.”
The men and women who streamed into the bar all had a look. Short hair. Swagger. Frequent glances from left to right before entering. A tug of a jacket over a sidearm. Counting secondary exits. This wasn’t an ordinary bar. It was a cop hangout.
Took one to know one.
The badge had attracted her. Her father had died, and she’d been lost and alone. Afraid. She wasn’t a badge bunny, looking for a quick lay. She’d needed a man who could take care of her. Be strong. That sweet young girl had needed his protection. And he’d gladly given it, and his love.
Regrets swirled, fluttering like buzzing bees. Maybe he’d held on too tightly. Maybe he’d worried too much about where she went or whom she befriended. He’d always asked, pushed for answers, never satisfied and never noticing how she’d chaffed under his love.
Her abandonment had been devastating and jarring. Anger had receded to desperation and, immediately, he’d set out to prove his love. Flowers, letters, phone calls, visits to her new apartment. All were signs of his love. But the harder he held on, the harder she’d pulled away.
Regardless of how long they’d been separated, there’d be no surrender. He would never give up on her. Ever.
“Until death do us part, babe.”
Yeah, he’d made mistakes, but the vows they’d spoken had been clear.
“Until death.”
Chapter Three
Saturday, January 14, 9:15 P.M.
No should have been the operative word. No, thank you. Thanks, but no thanks. Maybe another time would have worked. But Special Agent Alex Morgan had caught Leah Carson off guard when he’d asked her out. With no excuses in her back pocket, she’d fallen into a yes before she could think twice.
Leah had sworn she’d never date a cop again, and here she was on the brink. She’d recognized the signs that he was a cop when he’d first entered the vet hospital. The way he moved. His dark, crisp suit. The controlled, careful gaze, always assessing. A cop through and through. She had known. Should have run.
His visits to the clinic all made sense of course. He’d been checking up on his cop brother’s retired canine cop dog that was boarding for a couple of days. According to the clinic staff, the Morgan siblings were all cops. A sister worked forensics. Two brothers worked Nashville homicide. And Alex was an agent with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.