“You were a detective, right?”
He nodded. “Narcotics division.”
“Any specific reason?” Most narcotics detectives she knew—and she’d known her fair share—were personally motivated to get involved in that cesspool.
She didn’t expect him to answer, but he did. “My brother got into drugs during the years we lived on the West Coast. Life was hell. Running after him. Trying to get him into rehab. Trying to keep him there. Bailing him out every time he did something illegal to score. A fucking losing battle, all of it. He died from an overdose. I hate everything related to that world.”
She did too. South Boston was swamped with drugs and the crime related to it. She could attest to that.
Rachel turned to him, and then he pointed at her neck. “So this is where the chime comes from. Before, in the car, I thought I was hearing things.”
She touched the pendant. “Greta said it’s an angel caller.” To her it looked like a collar for cats, but she hadn’t wanted to fight.
The food arrived—four hot dogs, all overflowing with different toppings. “Best of the best for you guys,” the middle-aged man said.
“Thanks. Orly, Rachel,” Adrian introduced them.
Orly nodded, a smile flittering over his wrinkled face. “You’re his… friend?”
By his tone, he meant “lover.” She shook her head. “Oh no, no, we don’t even like each other that much. We’ve been forced into a temporary truce. A painful one at that.”
Adrian looked offended and Orly chuckled, moving away as another patron flagged him over. “Oh,” he said, turning back. “How’s Jade?”
“She’s good,” Adrian replied. “I think. Haven’t heard from her in a while.” At Rachel’s insistent stare, he added when Orly left, “Ex-girlfriend.”
Cryptic, Adrian. Rachel could see this Jade in her mind’s eye. Pretty, delicate, skin like silk. Dressed in high-end brands and dining in the upscale restaurant he’d mentioned, Adrian by her side, looking like a rough GQ model with his dark hair and light eyes, the roguish scar over the eyebrow and his sexy crooked smile.
“By the way, how did you get that scar?” she asked, motioning toward his face. “Was it in the line of duty?”
“Not exactly.”
Before she could interrogate him further, her cell beeped. It was the chat group of the OGs, in which long-suffering grandchildren were included.
Rach, how’s the date going? He probably tried to kiss you and you tickled his ass.
She choked on the hot dog. Adrian, who was reading by her side, did too. He cleared his throat. “Is that something you… like to do on your dates?”
She shook her head furiously. She needed to swallow down the piece of hot dog fast.
Another message from Wilma:
***KICKED his ass.
That made more sense. She quickly typed out a reply. No kissing, no ass-kicking either. How was your evening? I hope no mayhem.
After all, without the sheriff and Rachel in town, now was their chance to let loose.
No time. Greta was stung by a bee. She’s fine. She had the deep penis.
“What the fuck?” Adrian asked.
Another message: I had to inject her with an epic penis.
Rachel typed, Grandma, please read your texts before sending them.
*** EPI PEN. EPI PEN.
For prist’s sake. Damn auto cucumber.
Now it was Mike: I am leaving this chat. I warned you. You’re scarring me. No shit. Rachel totally agreed.
Sorry, Alfred intervened. He’s always lurking. Wilma again.
At Adrian’s quizzical look, Rachel explained, “The OGs are having issues with smartphones, especially my grandmother. Her cell is…”
“A dirty old man?” Adrian offered.
Rachel chuckled, nodding. “They call him Alfred. The truth is, my younger brother came to visit us, ran out of battery, and borrowed Wilma’s cell. I suspect he was sexting and her phone learned way too much.”
“This is surreal.”
“‘Surreal’ is a very polite way of putting it, but they love social media and refuse to be left behind. When I was installing Messenger, I asked her what she wanted me to write on her status. She gave me a duh-look and said, ‘Widow, Rachel. Widow.’ Can you imagine?”
Adrian almost spat his hot dog on her. He shook with laughter, covering his face.
“Just a minute,” she said suspiciously, grabbing his cell from the table. She punched her number in and checked the name that appeared on the screen. She stared at it. “‘OG’s annoying minion?’ And you dare complain about ‘Condescending Asshole’? Why haven’t you changed it?”
He grinned. “You’re on probation too.”
“To us, surviving the OGs,” Rachel said, lifting the shot glass.
“To the improbable chance of that occurring.” Adrian raised his own and clicked it with hers. They downed the alcohol.
After gorging themselves on hot dogs, Rachel had insisted on buying him drinks as a thank-you for the rescue. He knew of some bars in Boston, but they’d ended up driving back to Alden. Rachel had argued it wasn’t much fun drinking alone—and drink she was doing, rather heavily. For every one of his shots, she drank two. The guys fluttering around, buying them for her, didn’t help. As much as Adrian enjoyed booze, he was mostly abstaining. Someone had to ensure they made it home.
“Is she with you?” someone asked.
Before she could answer, Adrian threw his arm over her shoulders. “Yes.” Which also helped derail the women’s advances on him. Dealing with Rachel was enough, thank you.
Grumbling, the man left.
“You’re too popular for your own good.”
She snorted. “That’s because they’re too drunk to catch the fine details. All they see is a pair of legs and blond hair. It could also be that Greta enchanted the angel caller to cover up the traces of garage in me.”
Man, she was funny.
“Never thought of changing professions?”
“Nah. I’ll die with my coveralls on. Although a year ago I developed an early midlife crisis and decided to sign up for some online courses. I found something I like and that I’m qualified for.”
“What?”
She looked a bit uncomfortable, as if she’d said more than she intended to. “Nothing important. Just self-improvement stuff. Didn’t you have one? A midlife crisis, I mean.”
“Not yet, no, but when I do, I doubt I’ll be going back to school. I’ll buy a sports car, like any respectable guy.”
Laughing, she leaned on him, patting his cheek. “You’re cute. A pity you’re an ass.”
She was being totally sincere, he could tell. “You’re drunk.”
“Aye,” she admitted, amused.
Rachel had such a sexy, husky laugh. And huge caramel eyes that looked like puppy-dog eyes when she pouted. Weird, he’d never noticed it before.
“You know, it’s not true what you said to Orly. I do like you.” And the forced truce wasn’t that painful.
“Such a lousy liar,” she said, flagging the waiter down for more shots. “If you ever go undercover, you’re toast.”