Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JACE

Mary is in my truck, which brings me equal amounts of joy and horror. The joy is obvious. This woman has captured my attention like no other. I worried she’d want a one-night stand because, really, a woman like Mary O’Shea doesn’t have a relationship with someone like me. The very fact that she insisted on being friends with benefits proves that. And while something deep down insists I should be offended, I’m not. I’m grateful. I meant what I said—I’ll take what I can get, because for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m living in the world, not just watching everyone else.

But Mary lives in an impeccable house—she’s an attorney, for God’s sake—and she’s sitting in my fifteen-year-old, beat-up pickup truck with ripped seats and a broken radio. She doesn’t belong in my truck or my world, and right now she’s getting a full dose of it.

What will she think of my apartment? Or Roger’s?

She’s not looking for a relationship, you idiot. She’s looking for a sexual awakening. That’s why she asked to be friends with benefits. So you’d know from the beginning not to expect more.

Then why is she with me now? Why isn’t she off to lunch with her sisters? Or shopping for Christmas presents? If she only wants to be friends with benefits, why didn’t she let me leave her house last night?

“So, Roger…?” she prods, probably to break the uncomfortable silence.

I give her a tight smile. “Like I said, he’s my neighbor. I met him when I moved to Asheville three years ago.”

“After you left Sydney?”

“Yeah.” I could leave it at that, but instead I add, “After I got out of prison. I went back home—well, to my sister’s house. My home was gone.”

“Gone?” she asks in alarm.

I take a breath. “I was renting, and with no income…” I pause, astounded that I’m telling her this. I’ve only told Roger and Mrs. Rosa, and that was after I’d known them for months. Still, it feels right, so I continue. “My sister disowned me after it became clear I was going to prison. She let me leave my truck and a few things in her garage, but only to appease my mother. I think she ended up selling most of my stuff. Honestly, she probably would have sold my truck too if she hadn’t needed my signature on the title.”

She draws her hand over her mouth. “Jace. That’s terrible! What about your mother? Did she feel the same way?”

I swallow the lump in my throat, keeping my gaze directed out the windshield. “She died while I was in prison. Cancer. She died only a few months after her diagnosis.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice quavering.

The memories are overwhelming, so I don’t respond for a few seconds, feeling the crush of them. “My sister blamed me for our mother’s death, saying the shame of having me as a son killed her. Amanda made it very clear that I wasn’t welcome in her house or her life. Just before I was released, she came to see me and stated in no uncertain terms she didn’t want me anywhere near her or her son. She parked my truck in the library parking lot with a few things in the back, then tucked the key under the mat. So after they let me out, I got in my truck and headed straight to Asheville.”

She gives me a long look. “You were, what, twenty when you destroyed that car?”

“Yeah.”

“But they arrested you nine years later and sent you away for three. That’s steep for a crime committed when you were basically a kid. That would be outside the statute of limitations for a lot of other states.”

I shrug. “Life in a small town.”

“Either the prosecutor hated you or you pissed off his best friend.”

I let out a short, uncomfortable laugh. “Or both.”

“Jace…”

“Water under the bridge.”

“Not for your sister,” she says.

“No, I don’t think my sister will ever let it go.”

Thankfully—or not—my apartment complex is up ahead. I’ve been keeping my eye out for Cleo, but there’s no sign of her. I’m alarmed when I see Roger at the corner of the parking lot, stumbling with his cane. He’s not wearing a coat.

“That’s Roger,” I say, my voice tight with worry.

“Oh no,” Mary says. “I can see why you wanted to help him.”

As I approach the corner, I slow down, then turn on my hazards as I pull up to the curb and roll down the passenger window. “Roger, what are you doing out here? I told you that I’d look for her.”

“I only left the door open for a minute. I went by your apartment to see if you wanted to go to the library.” His eyes are glassy, and his hand seems to be shaking more than usual as he clutches the cane. He casts a surprised glance at Mary but doesn’t comment, no doubt preoccupied by his worry for Cleo.

“Mr.…Roger,” Mary says, obviously fumbling for a last name she doesn’t know. She opens the passenger door and gets out, then gently takes his arm. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”

“I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking. “I have to find Cleo.”

Mary glances over her shoulder and sends me a pleading look.

“Cleo might still be in the building,” I reason. “You can look in there while Mary and I search outside.”

Roger looks uncertain, so Mary says, “I’ll go with you. And if we don’t find Cleo inside, then I’ll come back out and help Jace. But you need to stay inside. Cleo might come back on her own, and you’ll need to be there to let her in.”

“Mary’s sister runs the shelter where I got Bingo,” I said. “She knows what she’s talking about.”

After a moment of indecision, Roger conceded with a nod of his head. “Okay. That sounds smart.”

It is smart, and I mouth thank you to Mary as Roger turns to walk into the building. A tight smile turns up her mouth before she leads him inside.

This isn’t the first time Cleo has escaped, so at least I have some idea of where to look. I park my truck in the parking lot and get out, heading to the dumpsters first. She loves digging in Roger’s trash, and I’ve found her hanging out in the dumpster before. But there’s no sign of her.

Helplessness claws at me. Roger loves his cat, and if anything happens to her, I’m not sure how he’d take it. I walk around the block, looking like a prowler as I search the shadows and various nooks. When I strike out, I head back to Roger’s apartment to check in and come up with a plan of action. Maybe Mrs. Rosa will help.

When I reach Roger’s apartment, his door is cracked open, and I find him sitting at his small kitchen table with a mug in front of him while Mary taps on a tablet on the kitchen counter, her phone pressed to her ear. “I just changed that part. Any other suggestions?”

Roger looks up at me with a hopeful expression, which quickly turns crestfallen when I shake my head.

Mary looks up too, her eyes locking with mine. “I’ve got to go, Maisie. Thanks for your help.” She ends the call. “Nothing?”

“No. I checked the dumpster—one of her favorite haunts—and then walked around the block.”

Worry creases her brow. “Maisie says to make flyers and pass them out to the neighbors, so I already designed one based on what she told me to include. I’m about to send it to the nearest printing shop to get copies made. Maisie says a hundred should do it for now. I’ve already canvassed the neighbors on this floor, asking them to look out for Cleo, and a couple of them volunteered to pass out flyers. One was a Mrs. Rosa who seemed very interested in meeting me.” She gives me a smile I can’t interpret, then says, “In any case, Maisie says the best time to look for a cat is at night.” She casts a glance to Roger, then back to me. “But obviously, we don’t want to wait that long.”

I stare at her in surprise. Not only has she helped calm Roger, but she’s taken over the command center for Cleo’s search. “Wow. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mary says, already turning her attention back to her phone. “Wait until we find Cleo.” She taps on her phone a few times, then holds it up to her ear. “Asheville Human Society? Yes, my name is Mary O’Shea, and I’m calling on behalf of Roger Ditmore. His orange tabby cat Cleo has gotten loose, and we wanted you to know in case someone calls or brings her in. You can reach us at…” She rattles off a phone number, and I’m taken aback to realize she’s just given them my number. Which she’s memorized.

It’s startling to see Mary like this. She’s a powerhouse of organization.

I knew that somewhat, but seeing her in action is an intense turn-on.

She’s as appealing like this as she was last night, tipping her head back in her living room, her body flowing with the music.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Jace Hagan?” Mrs. Rosa asks in a low tone behind me.

I turn to see her in the hall. I start to claim I don’t know what she’s talking about, but the stern look in her eyes lets me know I’ll only be prolonging my interrogation. “It’s not what you think.”

Her brow shoots up. “And how do you know what I think?”

I step into the hall and partially close the door. “We’re just friends.”

She gives me a look similar to the one my mother used to give me when she caught me up to no good. “Friends who have sleepovers?”

“It’s nearly noon.”

“Exactly. And I know for a fact you didn’t come back to your apartment last night.”

I groan. “Mrs. Rosa…”

“I like her,” she says matter-of-factly.

I blink. “What?”

She’s only met a couple of the women I’ve previously dated, but she didn’t like either of them.

She briskly nods once. “She’s a take-charge kind of lady.”

I snort. “So you like her because she’s just like you?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she looks down her nose at me, no mean feat since she’s nearly a foot shorter. “Organization is next to godliness.” She points her finger up at my face. “Don’t screw this up.”

Then she brushes past me and bursts into Roger’s apartment. “I’m finished with my baking. What can I do?”

Mary turns to face her. “I called Cleo’s vet and several animal shelters to let them know she’s missing. Then I emailed photos of her to the shelters, along with Jace’s contact information. I posted on two neighborhood apps with Cleo’s photo and designed a flyer for us to hand out in the building and post on poles in a two-block radius. A couple of other neighbors said they’d help pass out flyers, and my sister Molly and her boyfriend said they’d join us if we need more bodies.”

Mrs. Rosa glances back at me with a look that says, You idiot. Why haven’t you brought this girl home sooner?

Something tightens in my chest. Because she’s not mine, and she never will be. Seeing her in action proves it. I suspect this is Work Mode Mary, and she’s a force to be reckoned with, which only makes it more obvious that she deserves better than someone like me.

“Jace, can you go get the flyers?” Mary asks.

“Uh…yeah. Of course.”

I start to walk out, but she hurries over and grabs my arm, lifting onto her tiptoes to get closer to my face. For one brief, hopeful moment, I think she’s about to kiss me goodbye, but then she whispers, “I tried to pay for the printing with my credit card, but they said they can only take payment in person. It won’t cost much since the flyers are black and white, and we only printed one hundred.”

At first, I don’t understand what she’s saying, but then I look around Roger’s apartment, and it hits me center mass. Roger’s place is furnished with very old furniture, some of the pieces dating back to his wedding. His cabinets don’t contain much food, and the apartment itself is old and run-down. It doesn’t take much to figure out that Roger is only a step above the poverty line, and since I live across the hall…

My back stiffens.

Her eyes go wide. “I wasn’t thinking about you , Jace. Roger is insisting—”

She cuts herself off as she glances back at him.

Grabbing her arm, I tug her into the hall and shut the door behind us. I want to tell her that I know my place and am aware that she’s much too good for me, but my pride wasn’t totally beaten out of me by my arrest and incarceration. “I live in this building too. I know how it looks. How my situation looks.”

She shakes her head. “I saw Roger’s medication on the counter. My grandfather had Parkinson’s, and I know how expensive it is. Plus, I made him a cup of coffee, and there’s practically nothing other than creamer in his fridge. Roger is insisting that Cleo is his cat and he should pay for the flyers, but he’s got enough to worry about. So when you come back and he wants to reimburse you, tell him they were donated, which is technically true. But it’s you who’s donating them, not the printer.”

For a moment, I’m simply speechless with awe. “Yeah. Sure.” With a start, I realize I’m still gripping her arm and loosen my hold. Then I lean in and murmur, “You’re sexy when you take control. I bet you’re a marvel in the courtroom, dominating .”

She draws in a sharp breath, her eyes dilating.

I grin and cup the side of her jaw as I lower my face to hers, our eyes and mouths only inches apart. “I like this side of you. I can only imagine what it will be like if you bring this Mary into your bed.”

Then I barely brush my lips across hers and raise my head. Blood has been shut off from my brain and sent racing to my cock, but I’m self-aware enough to take a step back. Every part of me wants to shove her against the wall and kiss her, to leave her breathless and begging for more, but Roger’s cat is missing, and he will be devastated if Cleo doesn’t make it home.

Priorities, asshole. I may have known the truth about Santa since I was five years old, but I’m not too dense to recognize a gift. Every moment with Mary is borrowed time, and I don’t want to waste a minute.

When I get back, Mrs. Rosa and three neighbors I’ve seen in the halls but never met are sitting in Roger’s apartment.

Mary is standing in front of them with her tablet in hand. “I’ve downloaded a map of the area around the apartment complex and cordoned off sections for each of us to canvass. The color key is at the bottom of the map.” She taps something on her phone, and several phones chime at the same time. “I just sent it to all of you. It’s important we go door to door, personally handing out the flyers and telling the neighbors about Cleo and how important she is to Roger.” She gives Roger a reassuring smile. “My sister says the more we draw on their emotions, the more likely they will be to keep an eye out for her. If you see or hear any leads, text the group chat I created for all of us.”

She walks over, takes the flyers from me, and starts passing them out.

“How much did those cost?” Roger asks me, reaching for his wallet.

“They didn’t cost anything. The printer donated them,” I say, keeping my gaze on Mary. It’s not a lie. Mary must have told the printer enough about Roger and Cleo to make him emotionally invested in finding her. He refused payment and even posted a copy of the flyer by the door. He asked that we let him know when we find Cleo.

Mary did that, just like she’d gathered four of our neighbors and coordinated a plan that would put any general in a battlefield to shame. I’m still struggling to mesh this confident, take-charge woman with the shy woman I took to bed last night. It only makes me more furious at Glenn for making her think she was anything less than the sexiest woman alive. Then again, I suspect the prick was intimidated by her, and the only way he could compensate for his inadequacy was to paint her as frigid and unsexy.

The neighbors start to leave, and I take a peek at my phone to see which area I’ve been assigned to canvass.

“You’re with me,” Mary says. “But first you need to change out of shorts. I’m not letting you catch a cold.”

“But…” Multiple thoughts are going through my head. That Mary is about to see my apartment. That she’s worried about my health. That she put us together.

“Don’t just stand there,” she says. “Go change.”

Relief washes through me. She means for me to go alone. But the relief is short-lived.

“Roger, you call or text us if you hear anything,” she’s saying as she follows me. “And we’ll do the same.”

I don’t stick around long enough to hear his answer. By the time he responds, I’m already in my apartment, headed to my room to change. I leave the front door open for her to follow me in, and when I emerge from my bedroom about thirty seconds later in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, Mary is looking around the living room and kitchen.

Her gaze jerks up. “The speediness of that wardrobe change puts you on par with stage professionals,” she says with an amused look in her eyes.

“No time to waste,” I say, grabbing my coat.

“I met your cat. Bingo, right?”

Bingo is sitting on the back of the sofa, judging me for not introducing him sooner.

“I shut the door so he wouldn’t escape,” she says.

I laugh. “He won’t run. He has it too good here. Cleo on the other hand…” We walk into the hall, and I lock my apartment. “She has a bit of wanderlust.”

We head outside and walk toward the section Mary has assigned to us.

“Not that I’m complaining,” I say, resisting the urge to hold her hand, which hangs agonizingly close to mine. “But how did we end up together when everyone else is walking alone?”

“Because if someone discovers something, you’ll need to go investigate while I continue canvassing.”

“And why will I have to go investigate?” I ask with a grin.

“Because you’ve actually met Cleo and can confirm that he’s Roger’s cat. I’ve only seen photos.”

We start knocking on doors, and Mary again takes charge, telling the neighbors about Cleo going missing and how much Roger depends on her for emotional support. Most are sympathetic and take a flyer, promising to let us know if they see her. Between houses, Mary keeps checking her phone for any response to her various posts.

Ten houses in, she stops on the sidewalk and looks up from her phone. “Does this look like Cleo?”

She holds up the phone and shows me the screen. Sure enough, the cat in the picture is the spitting image of Cleo.

“Where was that taken?”

“A block outside of the perimeter I set. Next to Mrs. Rosa’s section. Someone saw her in their next-door neighbor’s yard. Then the homeowner went out and dragged her inside. The poster is positive it’s not his neighbor’s cat.” She taps on her phone, saying, “I’m sending Mrs. Rosa the address and asking her to check it out. In the meantime, the rest of us will keep canvassing in case it’s not Cleo.” When she’s done typing, she glances up. “What?”

I realize that I’m once again staring at her like a starstruck little boy meeting Santa. “You’re just so…”

Her face falls. “Bossy. Controlling. Anal.”

It’s obvious she’s heard this litany before, and I have a pretty good idea who has recited it to her.

“No,” I say. “Extraordinary. Organized. A badass.” I gently grab her upper arms and tug her closer. “You’re amazing, Mary O’Shea. If Bingo ever goes missing, I want you in charge of his search and rescue.”

Her cheeks flush. “I thought you said he never escapes.”

“True, but it’s nice to know I have you on standby in case he changes his mind.”

A grin blossoms on her face, and pride swells in my chest, knowing I was the one to put it there. I suspect Mary’s life is much too serious. She needs more happiness in the mix.

Mary takes a step closer, her gaze locked on mine. Her lips are parted, and if I were a betting man, I’d bet that she’s about to kiss me, here on the sidewalk, despite the fact that she’s almost certainly not into public displays of affection. But just as she reaches up on her toes to close the distance between our mouths, her phone rings.

Her cheeks flushing, she pulls her phone out and checks the screen before answering. “What did you find out, Mrs. Rosa?” Her face is neutral, but then a storm of emotion comes into her eyes. “You stay right there. I’m on my way.”

“What happened?”

Her jaw sets. “Mrs. Rosa says Cleo is in a man’s house, and he refuses to let Cleo go, claiming possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“What?”

She starts walking the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?”

“To get Cleo back.”

Despite her long, angry strides, I easily fall into step with her. “And how do you plan to do that?”

She glances up at me. “By doing what I know best. Lawyering.”

I don’t ask her any questions, mainly because she looks like she’s ready to slay this man, and I don’t want to become collateral damage. But also because Vengeful Mary is a sight to behold. And if I’m totally honest, I find her hot as fucking hell. No way am I getting in the way of that.

Mrs. Rosa is ahead, standing on the sidewalk in front of a house littered with empty clay pots and garden gnomes. Her eyes are blazing. “That man refuses to give up Cleo.”

“Are you sure he has Roger’s cat?” Mary asks, her tone no-nonsense.

“I saw her in the window when I got here,” Mrs. Rosa says. “She was meowing loud enough that I heard her through the glass. When the guy opened the door, I called Cleo’s name. She tried to dart out, but the guy grabbed her and said she was his cat. He shouted obscenities at me and slammed the door shut.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s Cleo. I’m certain of it. She even has the mitten-shaped white splotch on her hip.”

Mary stares at the house, and I can practically see the wheels spinning in her head as she works out a plan. Finally, she gives a little nod as if agreeing with herself, then grabs her phone and starts typing.

“Do you want me to tell the others to stop canvassing?” I ask.

“No,” she says, deep in thought. “Not yet.”

We wait another minute. I’m unsure of what she’s doing, but then her phone rings. “What do you have?” She listens, muttering “uh-huh” and “I see,” followed by, “Thanks, Dennis. This has been extremely helpful.”

Then, without any warning, she marches up to the front door.

“Go with her, Jace,” Mrs. Rosa says, giving my arm a shove. “This guy is not to be messed with.”

In other words, he could hurt her.

Not while I’m around.

I take long, purposeful strides toward her as she knocks on the door, and stop a few feet behind her, my hands clasped in front of me.

The muscle.

The door opens almost immediately, and a large, muscular man with tattoos all over his bare arms and chest fills the doorway. He has a long, unkempt beard and a bald head.

“What the fuck do you want?” he barks.

I expect Mary to flinch, but she looks totally undisturbed by his outburst. “Hugo Sylvan?”

He flinches in surprise. Then he glares. “Who’s askin’?”

“You have a cat in your residence that does not belong to you. If you hand her over to me, my client agrees to chalk this up to a misunderstanding and let it go.”

He lets out a short laugh. “What do you think you can do to me?”

He puffs out his chest and stands taller, obviously trying to intimidate her.

I take a step closer, ready to intervene. There’s no way in hell I’m letting this man lay a hand on her.

“Oh,” she says calmly, as though he asked about her favorite coffee shop, “I can think of a number of things. Where to start? How about the fact that you’re behind on child support? Or that there’s a warrant out for your arrest for a reckless driving charge? And then there’s your previous arrests for dog fighting.” Her voice turns hard, and she holds up her phone. “You will hand over that cat within the next five seconds, or I’ll have the police out here within less than a minute to pick you up for that outstanding warrant and arrest you for felony theft.”

“Felony?” he shouts, his face turning red. “That cat ain’t worth no felony.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Sylvan. That cat is a Majestic Neapolitan worth twenty-five hundred dollars. My client has all the necessary paperwork to prove her worth and a chip to prove her ownership. Are you willing to risk your freedom over a cat ?”

Hugo Sylvan looks like he wants to strangle Mary.

“One,” Mary says in a calm voice. “Two. Time is ticking, Mr. Sylvan. Three.”

The man opens the door, and Cleo darts out of the opening and straight into my arms.

Mary looks the man over as though she finds him lacking. “If I hear about you kidnapping another cat, I will be back, and I will tear you and your dog-fighting operation to the ground.”

Then she turns on her heels and walks away like she’s the fucking Queen of England.