Read Online Mint Juleps and Justice by Nancy Naigle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nancy Naigle
Tags: United States, Suspense, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, series, Contemporary Fiction, romantic suspense, Mystery & Suspense
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the first ring. He could see her as soon as she could get to his office.
“So? You’re on your way?” Jenny asked.
“Yeah. Apparently. Just how good can this guy be if he can see me like right now? What’s he doing? Just sitting around waiting for business? Doesn’t sound like the best to me.”
Jenny snagged the phone from Brooke’s hand and sat it back on the charger. “Is it him?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But yes…it sounds just like him.” Brooke let out a sigh. “It’s going to be so weird.”
“Quit stalling.”
“Fine.” She got up and gave Jenny a hug, waving as she walked out the door.
“Call me and let me know how it goes,” Jenny called after her.
“I will,” Brooke said, only her gut told her that was just Jenny’s way of making sure she really went.
Brooke’s stomach swirled. Talking to someone she didn’t even know about this mess with Keith was embarrassing. Plus, it somehow just seemed more real when you said it aloud. Out of habit, she swished her hand through the top of her hair, then raked the bangs back into submission across the front.
Brooke had walked as slow as she could but it still hadn’t taken long to reach his office. She stood in front of the law offices of Buckham and Baxter on Main Street. The numbers above the door of the old bank building were 11515. Ones and fives. Her favorite numbers. To some a mere coincidence. To Brooke, a lucky sign.
HARTMAN SECURITY AND INVESTIGATION, LLC in red letters scrolled professionally across a metal sign. It swung from two lightweight chains at the second-story level. Flower boxes hung from the windows, filled with happy splashes of color from the marigolds that overflowed from them. She wondered if they were his doing or part of the Main Street beautification guidelines. It didn’t matter. She loved marigolds.
“Marigolds. Good luck.” The ones and fives in the address may have been a stretch, but marigolds were a sure thing. They’d been her favorite flower since she and Granddaddy started planting them each year from ten-cent seed packets. Whenever she happened to see them, she felt happy for the memory and very, very lucky.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I f the car had a thermometer, Goto would’ve bet his life that it would read in the triple digits. If not, it had to be close, because it sure felt that way after sitting in the sweltering heat for over an hour.
Suddenly, he straightened behind the wheel of the beat-up Grand Am, and wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-beaded lip. A whole six weeks of tracking the do-gooder, and all had seemed pretty much a waste so far.
He cursed himself for letting pride win over practicality when he bought this piece of shit Grand Am. No air and the bucket seats made sleeping in it no picnic. He could’ve been chillin’ with some cool air-conditioning in that minivan. It wasn’t like he was out trying to pick up women, so why had he allowed himself to get sucked in by the sportier car when Wheelie gave him the choice?
One mistake. He always allowed himself one. Didn’t do you any good to try to be perfect. That would just drive you insane. So he’d made his one mistake already and got it out of the way. Just as well. He wouldn’t want to make one when it really mattered.
He leaned forward. “Well, well, well. How do you like that? It’s about time.” He hadn’t seen anyone interesting come or go from that office except Mike Hartman in the weeks he’d been watching—until now.
He watched intently as a short brunette made her way up the stairs. His legs tugged against the seat as he leaned over to pull a small pair of binoculars out of the glove box. As he shifted his weight to his right butt cheek trying to unglue himself from the vinyl seat, his sweating legs resisted the movement. It was like pulling himself off a big-ass Band-Aid every time he tried to move.
He raised the binoculars to take a closer look, but she was already out of sight.
Coming back here
“So? You’re on your way?” Jenny asked.
“Yeah. Apparently. Just how good can this guy be if he can see me like right now? What’s he doing? Just sitting around waiting for business? Doesn’t sound like the best to me.”
Jenny snagged the phone from Brooke’s hand and sat it back on the charger. “Is it him?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But yes…it sounds just like him.” Brooke let out a sigh. “It’s going to be so weird.”
“Quit stalling.”
“Fine.” She got up and gave Jenny a hug, waving as she walked out the door.
“Call me and let me know how it goes,” Jenny called after her.
“I will,” Brooke said, only her gut told her that was just Jenny’s way of making sure she really went.
Brooke’s stomach swirled. Talking to someone she didn’t even know about this mess with Keith was embarrassing. Plus, it somehow just seemed more real when you said it aloud. Out of habit, she swished her hand through the top of her hair, then raked the bangs back into submission across the front.
Brooke had walked as slow as she could but it still hadn’t taken long to reach his office. She stood in front of the law offices of Buckham and Baxter on Main Street. The numbers above the door of the old bank building were 11515. Ones and fives. Her favorite numbers. To some a mere coincidence. To Brooke, a lucky sign.
HARTMAN SECURITY AND INVESTIGATION, LLC in red letters scrolled professionally across a metal sign. It swung from two lightweight chains at the second-story level. Flower boxes hung from the windows, filled with happy splashes of color from the marigolds that overflowed from them. She wondered if they were his doing or part of the Main Street beautification guidelines. It didn’t matter. She loved marigolds.
“Marigolds. Good luck.” The ones and fives in the address may have been a stretch, but marigolds were a sure thing. They’d been her favorite flower since she and Granddaddy started planting them each year from ten-cent seed packets. Whenever she happened to see them, she felt happy for the memory and very, very lucky.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I f the car had a thermometer, Goto would’ve bet his life that it would read in the triple digits. If not, it had to be close, because it sure felt that way after sitting in the sweltering heat for over an hour.
Suddenly, he straightened behind the wheel of the beat-up Grand Am, and wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-beaded lip. A whole six weeks of tracking the do-gooder, and all had seemed pretty much a waste so far.
He cursed himself for letting pride win over practicality when he bought this piece of shit Grand Am. No air and the bucket seats made sleeping in it no picnic. He could’ve been chillin’ with some cool air-conditioning in that minivan. It wasn’t like he was out trying to pick up women, so why had he allowed himself to get sucked in by the sportier car when Wheelie gave him the choice?
One mistake. He always allowed himself one. Didn’t do you any good to try to be perfect. That would just drive you insane. So he’d made his one mistake already and got it out of the way. Just as well. He wouldn’t want to make one when it really mattered.
He leaned forward. “Well, well, well. How do you like that? It’s about time.” He hadn’t seen anyone interesting come or go from that office except Mike Hartman in the weeks he’d been watching—until now.
He watched intently as a short brunette made her way up the stairs. His legs tugged against the seat as he leaned over to pull a small pair of binoculars out of the glove box. As he shifted his weight to his right butt cheek trying to unglue himself from the vinyl seat, his sweating legs resisted the movement. It was like pulling himself off a big-ass Band-Aid every time he tried to move.
He raised the binoculars to take a closer look, but she was already out of sight.
Coming back here
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