Six

Dayton

The rhythmic pounding of my feet on my treadmill's running belt soothed me while sweat trickled down my back and my hair clung to my scalp like a dripping cap. Snatching up my already damp towel, without missing a step, I scrubbed it over my head. On days like this one, this was the best part of my waking hours. My thoughts wandered, and my brain offered solutions and sometimes, pointed out things I'd missed, as if it were playing my day's behind the scenes B-roll.

Today, though, no matter how I pushed it away, my mind drifted to the mystery, the agony, that kept me up nights.

My coworkers accused me of being a dick. Yeah. Well, I didn't know many people who wouldn't be if they hadn't slept for the past five years. I'd never been an insomniac. Now, good sleep was a luxury I rarely got.

Even with therapy, the nightmares of my wife's murder were constant. The prescription pills to help me sleep just made it worse—and made me feel as if I had a hangover the next day. Drinking? That also made it worse. So most days, it was this or weights until my muscles screamed, drowning out my demons.

Not today. Today, memories and mystery taunted me. Belittled me. Enraged me.

I was a detective. With commendations. And I couldn't solve my own wife's fucking murder. Not that I'd been on the case. Though it was handled through our precinct, I hadn't been allowed anywhere near it, and the detectives on the investigation routinely sidestepped me. Not that I'd ever been a suspect, since I'd been on the clock when it had happened. Probably, it was their embarrassment over their failure—and yeah, that was my exact thought on their competence. And they knew I judged them for the lack of progress.

Okay, yeah, I was a bit of a dick.

Didn't give a fuck about that, either.

Knock, knock, knock.

My brow furrowed, and I pulled out my earbud, thinking my treadmill belt was thunking. When the knock came again, I realized it was the front door.

Shit. Probably Anderson checking up on me. For the last year, her mom instincts had been kicking in and I'd been her target whenever she sensed any tiny thing off with me. Not to be sexist at all—Anderson was the best partner I'd ever had—but I wished she'd just let Felix knock her up, so she could redirect her energy.

I scrubbed my towel over my face then haphazardly over my chest as I stomped toward the foyer, my legs rubbery from the hour run. The knock was started again just as I wrenched open the door.

"What, Ander—" My words cut off at the sight of my little brunette neighbor, plate of cookies in her hand and white shorts displaying tanned, mile-long legs that shouldn't belong to someone as petite as she was. I'd clock her at five-two and maybe a buck twenty-five. With curves I'd love to map.

No! Not me. What the fuck? But I could imagine most men would want to explore her—and why did that piss me the fuck off?

I realized suddenly that I was staring, but she was staring right back, her mouth dropped open while she scanned my shirtless torso.

"Um…" she started then swallowed hard. She lifted the plate she held while she shuffled her balance from one foot to the other then back, in an oddly familiar way. "I made cookies. My grandma's recipe. I thought you and Brennan might…"

She pushed the plastic-covered treats closer for me to take. Without thinking, I wrapped my fingers around the edge and accepted the offering. My brow furrowed, and my protective instincts kicked in—though I was pretty sure this pixie of a woman couldn't harm a fly, let alone a grown man.

"How do you know Brennan?"

"He came over and introduced himself. Offered to do the lawn work."

"Sounds like him. He's been doing the yard over there since he was twelve." It had given him something to do. After…

"Well… I guess… He'll be familiar then," she said, folding her fingers together. With her arms relaxed, her hands settled in front of the place I'd like to explore with my mouth and—

The fuck…?

What was wrong with me?

"Yeah, real familiar. Mrs. Johnson was basically allergic to the outdoors but liked her yard to look nice. I…um…" I knew I should invite my neighbor inside, offer her a drink, but with my rogue thoughts, that would be dangerous. My little neighbor—Vale. Her name was Vale, right?

I gestured vaguely toward my house. "Thank you for the cookies. I'd invite you in for coffee, but I just finished working out and I'm a pretty uninviting, rank ball of sweat. No one needs that."

Was that interest that sparked in her eyes? Nah. Her expression was schooled to a friendly understanding as she nodded. Clearly, any interest was the imagination of my wayward libido.

"No worries. I just… I love to bake, and I figured I'd share the wealth. Enjoy." With a final smile, she turned, and I stood there transfixed as she started to walk away, those white shorts molded to her pert little ass.

She stopped suddenly and pivoted back, and I averted my eyes, so she didn't know I'd been perving on her.

"I was thinking," she started. "Well, I know it's a big ask. But would you and Brennan like to come over to dinner on Saturday. Burgers on the grill."

"That doesn't seem like that big of an ask."

She chuckled, a husky sound from low in her throat that rasped over my skin like a lover's caress. Fuck, I needed to get in the shower and tug one out. Maybe, do a grueling circuit of weights and more cardio first.

"It is big when I ask you to put together the grill first. I should have probably paid for installation. You know I'm crap at anything handy like that. I mean…" She blinked like a deer in the headlights. "Well, you wouldn't know. But I am."

Now, it was my turn to give a small huff of laughter. God, she was adorable when flustered.

"No big deal. We'd love to help you out then have dinner. Thanks for the invite." I lifted the plate. "And the cookies."

She nodded then half-sprinted away, slowing her jog for a moment before she crossed the street. I stayed in my doorway, watching her until she disappeared inside her house. Shaking my head at her, at me, I headed inside, peeling back the plastic on the plate.

The aroma hit me first. So sweet. Oh my God…white chocolate cranberry. I had one in my mouth before I even thought about it. My legs buckled, memories slamming through me. They were the same. Exactly the same.

My grandma's recipe…

What were the chances?

My eyes closed as I set the plate beside me and dropped my head back against the door, memories of the past few minutes and memories of my life with Melonie assailing me. Was this a sign? I wouldn't put it past Melonie to reach out to me from the great beyond and tell me to get my shit together—though those weren't words she'd ever used. Didn't make them any less true.

After a deep steadying breath, I took another bite of the cookie and deliberately thought of the woman who'd delivered them to me.

Okay. Okay… Message received.

Maybe, it was time to let go and go on. Somehow.