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“Who says that’s what I want? And if someone can’t accept my friendship with Rafe, then they probably aren’t worth my time anyway.”
Jackson stared at me for a long time, his hazel eyes seeing way more than they should. He seemed to just absorb that information, giving away nothing. “I wonder if he’d place the same value on your friendship.”
“Doesn’t matter. He has plenty of friends and I don’t, but Rafe’s been a true friend to me. Maybe that doesn’t mean a thing to you, Detective, but it means a lot to me.”
“You don’t know me—” he began, and I cut him off.
“And you don’t know me, either. Remember that.” Angry and frustrated, I dumped the towelettes on the table in a heap and stormed off, upset that I’d let him get to me. Again.
“Everything all right?”
I glanced up at Rafe’s concerned frown and nodded. “Just peachy. Ready to go?”
He nodded and held his hand out, wiggling his fingers. “Only if I drive. You seem angry, and I’m not in the mood for blood or stitches.”
“Party pooper,” I groaned and tossed him the keys. “Thanks. Again.”
“No problem. It was worth it just to learn who gets your panties all twisted in a bunch.”
“No one does anything to my panties!” Ever.
“What a pity.”
He wasn’t wrong.JacksonI sat in the park doing a good job of pretending to be people-watching when the truth was that I was watching two very specific people. Teenaged people who fancied themselves as gangsters. Wannabe gangsters, anyway. Right now, it was just pills they’d stolen from their parents and the other people in town, but if they went unchecked, it would get worse. A lot worse. The money was too alluring for any other outcome.
I watched and took notes, snapped the occasional photo, and they were completely oblivious—which was just another reason they didn’t have what it took for a life of crime.
“Jackson, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Except here,” I muttered under my breath, because Janey was easily excitable. I suspected she thrived on drama. “What’s up, Janey?”
She snorted and took the seat beside me. “You know exactly what’s up. The only Hometown Hero harder to pin down than you is Rafe.”
Rafe. Again. “You found me. Now what?”
She flashed that girl-next-door grin that hid the will of a lioness. “Your assignment, should you choose to accept it—and you will, because you’re a good guy—is to be Reese’s number two in the upcoming cook-off.”
Reese’s number two. “Nothing else I can do?”
“No.” She let out a long sigh as if preparing to combat my rejections. “Don’t worry, Reese won’t be expecting you to actually cook. Just assist.”
“I didn’t think she would, but uh, did you clear this with Reese yet?” It didn’t sound like something she’d agree to, based on my experiences with her. But Janey had a way of making people do exactly what she wanted regardless.
“No, but I will. Soon. Besides, I happen to know Maven has a big project coming up and won’t be able to put in any extra hours.” The fact that Janey knew so much shouldn’t be surprising, but somehow, the way gossip flowed in this town always managed to shock me.
It seemed everything was already settled. “Then I guess I have my assignment, don’t I.”
Her shoulders sank in relief. “Thanks for not being difficult about this, Jackson. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. It’s for a good cause, right?”
“Exactly! And we’re in the home stretch, so close I can already see Tulip all gleaming and proud in the sunlight.” Always the idealist.
“Send me the details and I’ll be there.”
Janey flashed a grateful smile and pushed off the wooden bench, sending me a wave as she bounced her way out of the park.
I didn’t know what the hell it entailed to assist Reese, but I’d take any one-on-one time I could get with her—maybe I could change her mind about me. Definitely get another night with her, and possibly even find out what I did to piss her off so badly. That was for another day. Now, my focus was on Tobias Slater and Mack Murray, wannabe gangsters in training.
Except my phone chose that exact moment to ring and it was a ringtone I didn’t hear often, which meant I had to answer it. “Ma. What’s up?”
There was a long pause, just long enough to make me wonder what had prompted today’s call when I hadn’t spoken to her in six months. At least. “It’s Steve. He’s had a heart attack.”
Good. I know it’s not exactly the response you’d expect when a man hears his stepfather was gravely ill, but Steve was Ma’s husband. End of story. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ma. How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” She said it on that exhausted sigh that’s been her tone ever since Steve came into our lives. “He comes home from the hospital tomorrow and I’ve spent the day getting things ready.” Which meant she’d been cooking his favorite dishes, cleaning, and probably making sure to record all the sporting events he’d missed yelling at while he was laid up.
