Breathing deeply, he swallowed his libido back into his gut. “Ma’am? Do you need help getting up?” He cast a quick look to the side, noting that Miller’s blinds were closed tight. Hopefully he wasn’t sitting there in the darkness of his apartment, watching the world through his warped little drug-pushing eyes.
“I’m fine,” he heard as the woman pushed herself up to her knees, until she was on all fours right below him.
Lord have mercy.
Nick closed his eyes briefly, thrusting every low-down wicked Walker thought out of his head by sheer force of will. Trying to find the good manners his mama had tried so hard to teach him, he got hold of himself. When he opened his eyes again, the woman had risen to her feet. Thank God.
It took him less than a second to realize she was afraid of him. Though she jutted her chin out and kept her head up, she did step back. She obviously recognized him as the suspected pervert from the rust bucket parked at the curb around the corner.
He put his hands up, palms out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The tension in her body eased a bit, which gave Nick a chance to study her from behind his tinted sunglasses.
She was tall, and as nicely curved in the front as she was in the back. Though dark circles hinted of stress and her cheeks were a little pale—maybe even gaunt—her face didn’t suffer for it. In fact, she had a great face—wide mouth that would probably be beautiful when she smiled. Big old eyes that he figured were blue, but couldn’t tell for sure because of his glasses. Long lashes, creamy complexion, high cheekbones. Yes, indeed, his Nancy Drew was a pretty woman. Even if she was a busybody.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to get this done,” she said, her voice sounding shaky. As if she hadn’t completely accepted that he was merely a nice bystander wanting to help out. Considering how he looked, he couldn’t blame her.
Then she turned her back on him and bent over again—heaven help him for being a bad man—and tried picking up the mattress.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said, his throat tight.
“I’m stronger than I look.” Still bent over, she stared doubtfully at the building and added under her breath, “Though the stairs up to the third floor may be…difficult.”
“Third floor?” he snapped in disbelief.
“It’ll be fine,” she insisted, straightening up—without the mattress. “I’m just bringing a few things up there. Not much.”
He followed the airy hand she waved and looked into the truck. No, not much. Just a frigging box spring, dresser, small table, two chairs and a love seat. “You’re nuts. For God’s sake, wait for the movers.” Then, remembering he had a job to get back to, he added, “And you have to move this truck.”
She stiffened. “I don’t have any movers. Paige’s—my friend’s husband was supposed to be here, but he’s not.” Her voice rose a little and she stepped closer, as if she didn’t even realize it. “I have to empty that truck and return it before four o’clock or I’m going to owe Paige for another day’s rental.” Another step. Another flash of spirit. Another decibel and she was almost shouting. “And dammit, that truck is not going anywhere until I get this furniture into that building.”
Feisty. He liked that. He almost smiled, but figured she wouldn’t appreciate it.
Despite a little quiver in her bottom lip, and her initial fear of him, the woman was standing her ground. But that quiver, and a hint of moisture in her big eyes, made him suspect she was hanging on to her bravado by a thin thread. Remembering what Dex had started to say a few minutes ago, he realized this woman was probably moving out on her own for the first time after her…how had his partner described it? Ugly divorce. With nothing but a bed, a table and a few chairs.
His heart twisted, even while a voice in his head whispered, No, this is not your problem.
Damn. The last thing he needed was to worry about her, but he couldn’t help it. Despite being a better-than-average-height female, she had such a look of vulnerability. Particularly in that unsmiling mouth and those darkly circled eyes. Empty eyes. Frightened eyes, he’d say, if he didn’t already know she had guts, because of the way she’d been standing up to him.
Before he could decide what to do, a marked car pulled up behind the truck and a young beat cop Nick recognized from the station got out. Their eyes met for one second and the kid’s mouth quirked in a smile as he took in Nick’s getup.
“Someone’s going to have to move this truck,” he said as he approached them. “It’s blocking traffic.”
Nancy Drew’s friend finally realized what was going on and came running from across the street. “Wait, please, we’ll be so quick unloading it you won’t even know we were here.”
“I’m sorry, you have to get it out of here,” the cop said.
The pretty, sad-looking woman at the center of all of this blinked, looking back and forth between them. Then she wrapped her arms around herself, as if needing strength. Needing support.
Needing.
Nick mentally kicked himself. But even as his internal voice told him he was an idiot, he opened his mouth and surprised them all. “Officer,” he said, looking at the younger man, “between the two of us, we could empty this thing and have these ladies on their way within ten minutes. Don’t you think?”
The kid flinched, not expecting the response. With a slight shake of his head, Nick stopped any questions and got his point across. They were going to do this. If Miller looked out his window, he’d see a cop and a guy helping a lady move in. Not anything unusual in a Southern town known for its hospitality.
Dex might not agree, but Nick’s decision was made. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t understand it himself, really. But something inside him wouldn’t let this haunted-looking woman load her mattress back on that truck and drive away.
She needed help. And he was going to give it to her.
VANDALIZING A BILLBOARD to announce to the world that your husband was a cheating scumbag might not be the best way to save a marriage, but it was one hell of a way to end one.
Melody Tanner-Todd—now just Tanner again, thankfully—had discovered that when she’d sought retaliation against her bastard of an ex, who’d slept his way across Atlanta during their marriage. It had been hugely public, hugely satisfying and it had hugely entertained the city’s commuting population. It had also cost her nearly everything she owned.
“You mean he gets practically all your money just because you painted some graffiti on a billboard?” said Paige Winston—now Suffolk—sounding shocked and dismayed.
Rosemary and Tanya wore similar looks of disbelief, which probably matched the one that had been on Mel’s own face for the past two months—since the day a judge had given her ex most of what she had earned during nineteen years as a model and actress.
“This is unbelievable! The house? The boat? That cheating sack of shit gets it all? Gawd, I’m never getting married. Vibrators are just as good and they don’t come with six-foot-tall walking dicks attached.” Six years might have turned Tanya into a softer-looking, mature woman, but they hadn’t done anything to smooth out that ballsy attitude.
Melody had a flash of déjà vu. It’d been almost exactly six years ago that the four of them had been sitting in this same restaurant, with the same watchful owner, at this same table, drinking margaritas out of possibly these same glasses, on the night before her wedding. Her blissful, lovely, elegant wedding that was supposed to be the start of her perfect life.
The