He glanced at the newspaper clipping Nicole was now placing on the very large stack of reports, memos and requests already in his in-box. “A private detective?” he asked.
“She’s got a bit of an edge. She basically guarantees dirt on anything with a penis.”
Ballbusters were great for ratings. He’d book her in spite of becoming a traitor to his gender. “Sounds interesting. You know, you don’t need to have me okay your ideas anymore. Feel free to call anyone for an initial Q and A.”
“Well, she’s from your hometown. I thought you might know her. According to the article, she’s just a few years younger than you.”
He’d come from the small town of Thrasher in rural Georgia, and most everyone had stayed in the general area after graduation. Some worked for the many businesses that still thrived there. Others worked on the tree farms, taking care of the tall pines Georgia was so famous for.
He reached for the newspaper clipping and quickly scanned the top paragraph until he found a name. Jessie Huell.
A smile spread across his lips. Sweet little Jessie Huell. Strange profession for someone as softhearted as Jessie. But with her father being chief of police, maybe investigation and research were in her blood.
He’d always wondered what had happened to the police chief’s good-natured daughter after he’d left. She probably never knew it, but one night she’d saved his life. Did she ever think of him?
He doubted it.
“Do you have a home phone number or just the office one listed here?” he asked.
“Just the office. I figured you’d want to contact her yourself. Plus, with your ‘finger on the pulse of women’s interests,’ I figured you’d have her booked in no time.”
And here was the reason for the over-the-counter meds. He tried for stoic.
With a laugh, Nicole quickly left his office. A wise move on her part.
The man with a special insight into the needs of women. Cole scowled. It was enough to make a guy want to shop. For power tools. A good handsaw. Nothing that plugged into the wall. Just something that required plain brute strength.
2
JESSIE ROLLED OUT OF BED and groaned. She flipped off her sleep mask. It was always hard waking up when most people were already several hours into their jobs.
But that wasn’t what made her heart start pounding. It was a sense of trouble. The nagging sensation that she’d agreed to…to something…wouldn’t leave her. After rubbing her eyes, she spotted an envelope by her bedside table, with her handwriting on the back.
Oh, yeah. Phone call. The faint memory of desperately searching for a pen. Writing something down.
Resignation filled her. How many times had she told herself not to answer the phone after being out all night? But with the loss of potential business, she’d never turn her ringer off.
Fully awake now, she could make out the details of the call.
Who the hell had phoned her at the ungodly hour of nine in the morning? Sure, that was probably a normal working time for most people. However, most folks reserved their dirt-worthy behavior for sometime after twilight. Good thing she was a night person.
She stretched, loosening her muscles. The dark panels covering the windows ensured that no bright Atlanta sunshine sneaked into her bedroom while she was trying to sleep.
It had also made finding her ever-moving lamp difficult, until she’d added that clapping device. Great gadget for a fumble-free life. Jessie fluffed one of her pillows, leaned against the padded headboard and took a calm, soothing breath.
From the cloud-soft shades of her pale gold comforter to the harmonious apricot of the drapes, everything about her bedroom was designed to fool her body into sleeping in the middle of the day. Now, if only Jessie could get her phone to cooperate.
She’d probably say yes to anything at nine in the morning, just so she could go back to sleep. She scanned her chicken scratching and prepared herself for what she’d agreed to.
Okay, not too bad. Interview for Just Between Us. The Atlanta afternoon talk show she usually watched while eating her breakfast.
Hmm, if this interview worked out, it could be better for business. That profile of her in the newspaper had already provided a nice spike in her income. More weeks like those, and she might be able to pay off the night scope and bullet camera.
Some women bought shoes.
Others liked purses.
Jessie couldn’t resist spy gadgets, and she’d been eyeing the Espion Digi-Cam Pen. Illegal in all fifty states, and with a price tag of over two grand, it was enough to make any gal squeal.
She rubbed the muscles of her neck. Sitting in the car always did hellish things to that area of her body. Then she saw the name she’d written underneath the time of her preinterview.
Cole Crawford.
Jessie blamed the fact that she’d fallen into bed way past four for not instantly recognizing it when she’d heard it. She was totally aware now. Her heartbeat quickened and her palms grew moist.
Hell, she was surprised she hadn’t written the O in the shape of a heart, as she had when she was sixteen. Over and over again in her history notebook she’d also doodled, “Jessie Crawford.”
What her sleep-deprived body hadn’t experienced this morning, she felt now. Full force. Her mouth went dry. The butterflies in her stomach decided to reemerge.
Maybe it was a good thing Cole Crawford had never kissed her. She probably would have dropped on the spot. Although dropped happy.
He’d been tall and lanky, and her idea of what a boy should look like.
What the hell? Her palms were tingling, for crying out loud. His name alone had her reverting to age sixteen. Without even trying. But then, that was always the way. Cole Crawford had never tried anything with her. Not once.
After dropping the envelope on the bed, she stomped into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her heated cheeks. She didn’t want to see Cole Crawford again. He was her ideal fantasy man, placed high atop his pedestal before she’d realized men could be jerks. He was all that a boy of her dreams should have been. Handsome. Smart. Big shoulders. Why would she ruin it by seeing him now?
Surely what she thought was hot in high school would not be what looked good today. Maybe those “big shoulders” had only appeared muscular and strong, because he was two years older. Maybe he was actually quite scrawny. What if he had grown a unibrow? A mullet? A person could change a lot in nine years.
Stop. Why was she doing this to herself?
Jessie had learned the truth long ago that Santa didn’t exist and neither did the tooth fairy. But for some reason she just didn’t want to destroy her faith that Cole Crawford was somewhere out there being perfect.
Almost every other illusion she had about life, like soul mates and fidelity, had been stomped into the ground. Couldn’t fate allow her to keep this one?
Unfortunately, she’d agreed to a fantasy-snatching appointment when she wasn’t thinking straight.
After a quick shower, she padded into her bedroom to peruse her closet. Her wardrobe didn’t elicit a lot of “oohs” and “ahhs.” She’d never needed much of one to begin with. Until she’d left the force, Jessie had worn her Atlanta PD uniform with pride. Home was casual—jeans and a T-shirt.
Maybe she should have tossed a few bucks toward adding another skirt or shirt in