Page 7 of Jameson’s Salvation

“Sheesh, I don’t care about his balls,” I huffed.

“Reggie Coleman’s an asshole who’s been harassing Kennedy here, trying to get her to sell him her land. Land she doesn’t feel like parting with. She came here to talk to Nixon about diggin’ some shit up so she can use it to make the dickweed stop.”

“You go to the police?”

What just happened? How did we go from quite possibly the most embarrassing conversation of my life, one that under normal circumstances would’ve had me praying for a black pit to swallow me whole, to talking about the police?

“Yes. Several times,” I answered and Jameson’s brow went up in censure. “What? He’s in Nixon’s house. You're talking to him and you told him about Reggie. So, you seem to trust him but you’re gonna scowl at me for talking to him because he’s a stranger?”

“You don’t know him,” Jameson unnecessarily noted.

“Jeez, Jameson, should I ask to see his ID? A background check, maybe? I answered his question, I didn’t tell him where the bodies are buried.”

“You have bodies buried?” Jameson countered.

“Can’t tell you that, I haven’t completed your background check yet.” I smirked and Jameson nodded his approval.

“Now you’re catching on.”

Why did joking around with Jameson feel so good? He was kind of a jerk, albeit a good-looking one, and he frowned at me more than he smiled. But still, the banter between us was comfortable, entertaining. It made me want to bicker with him some more to see if I could get the grump to laugh again.

Don’t go there, Kennedy. Your life is already complicated enough.

3

Jameson

Kennedy Lane was something else. Jameson hadn’t enjoyed spending time with a woman as much as he’d enjoyed being in Kennedy’s company in a long time.

He’d been called a lot worse than a jerk through the years but no one had ever apologized and meant it before slinging an insult at him. The woman intrigued him, and she shouldn’t have. Jameson had to admit, she was beautiful. But she was too bubbly, too cute, too sweet for his liking. She was the type of woman who would normally drive him to insanity with the look-on-the-bright-side attitude she had.

Jameson wasn’t a bright-side-of-anything type of guy.

“Yo! Where’s everyone at?” Nixon asked, walking in. He stopped, scanned the room, and when his gaze landed on Kennedy, his back shot straight and his eyes widened before he schooled his features. “Kennedy Lane. Long time.”

What the fuck was that about?

“Hey, Nix.” Kennedy shuffled from foot to foot. She looked nervous as all hell. “Sorry to come by unannounced, I need to talk to you.”

“You came by to see me?” Nixon glanced at Jameson, then Holden, who’d only come home from work right before Nixon had stopped by, and finally back to Kennedy. “Everything all right?”

“Wish I could say yes, but you remember Reggie Coleman?”

“Yeah. He’s a contractor, right?”

“More of a developer now. Or at least that’s what he likes to call himself. He’s been acquiring land. You know that big development on the river?” Nixon nodded and she continued. “That’s his project.”

“How’d he get the permits to build there? It’s a tidal marsh.”

“When you’re drinkin’ buddies with the county commissioners, and you play golf with the head of planning and zoning, you can get whatever you want. You haven’t been gone long enough to forget the good ol boy mentality.”

Nixon and Kennedy shared a knowing look and Jameson felt a pang of jealousy. A feeling that was not only new, but very much unwanted.

“What’s Reggie got to do with you?” Nixon continued.

“Reggie wants my land and he’s not takin’ no for an answer. Hate to say it because I know how much you hate gossip, but I heard you do PI work. I was hopin’ you could find something on Reggie to make him back down.”

Nixon was quiet for a moment and Holden’s movement caught Jameson’s attention. He’d opened his laptop and his fingers were flying over the keys.