“I think it’s flattering.” And it also spoke to the novelty she’d brought up that morning. Novelty wore off.
“What surprises me is they had you three to one, and took no for an answer.”
“I was obviously, and honestly, deeply involved with the garden.” She picked up the wine now, drank. “Your mother did, however, invite me to an impromptu backyard barbecue this Sunday.”
He laughed, lifted his glass in salute. “See? They didn’t take no for an answer.”
She hadn’t considered that, and now saw Brooks was right. “Your mother seemed to ignore my reasonable excuse to decline. I thought it might be better to write her a polite note of regret.”
“Why? She makes great potato salad.”
“I have my gardening and household chores on my schedule for Sunday.”
“Chicken.”
“I’m sure your mother makes very nice chicken, but—”
“No. You’re a chicken.” He made a clucking sound that deepened her frown and stirred her temper.
“There’s no need to be rude.”
“Sometimes honest is rude. Look, there’s no reason to be nervous about hanging out in the backyard and eating potato salad. You’ll have fun.”
“No, I won’t, because I’ll have neglected my schedule. And I don’t know how to behave at a backyard barbecue. I don’t know how to have conversations with all those people I don’t know, or barely know, or how to meet the curiosity that would, I assume, be aimed at me because you and I have been having sex.”
“That’s a lot of don’t knows,” Brooks decided, “but I can help you with all of it. I can give you a hand with the gardening and household chores beforehand. You do just fine with conversations, but I’ll stick with you until you’re comfortable. And they may be curious, but they’re disposed to like you because I do, and my mother does. Plus, I’ll make you a promise.”
He paused now, waited until she lifted her gaze to his.
“What promise?”
“You give it an hour, and if you’re not having a good time, I’ll make an excuse. I’ll say I’ve got a call I have to handle, and we’ll go.”
“You’d lie to your family?”
“Yeah, I would. They’d know I’m lying, and understand.”
There, she thought, one of the complications that tangled into social duties and interpersonal relationships. “I think it’s best to avoid all of that and just send a note of regret.”
“She’ll just come fetch you.”
That stopped her slicing again. “That’s not true.”
“It’s gospel, honey. She’ll figure you’re too shy or too stubborn. If she decides on shy, she’ll mother you over there. If she decides on stubborn, she’ll push you every mile from here to there.”
“I’m not shy or stubborn.”
“You’re both, with some of that clucker tossed in.”
Deliberately, she brought the knife down on the board a little harder than necessary. “I don’t see the wisdom in insulting me when I’m preparing you a meal.”
“I don’t see being shy or stubborn as insulting. And everybody’s got a little clucker pecking around, depending on the circumstances.”
“What are your circumstances?”
“That’s a change of subject, but I’ll give it to you. Semiannual dentist visits, wolf spiders and karaoke.”
“Karaoke. That’s funny.”
“Not when I do it. Anyway, take my word. Give it an hour. An hour won’t hurt you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good enough. I’m repeating myself from last night, but that sure smells good.”
“Hopefully tonight will be more quiet and peaceful than last.”
It proved to be, until shortly after two a.m.
When her alarm sounded, she rolled out of bed, reaching for the gun on her nightstand and gripped it before her feet hit the floor.
“Take it easy.” Brooks’s voice stayed utterly calm. “Ease it down, Abigail. You, too,” he said to the dog, who poised at her feet, a low growl in his throat.
“Someone’s coming.”
“I got that. No, don’t turn on the light. If it’s somebody up to mischief, it’s better if they don’t know we know.”
“I don’t recognize this car,” she said, as she turned to the monitor.
“I do. Shit.” His sigh was more fatigued than annoyed. “It’s Doyle Parsins, so that would be Justin Blake and his pal Chad Cartwright and Doyle. Let me get my pants on. I’ll take care of it.”
“There are only two people in the car.”
Brooks jerked on his pants, grabbed his shirt, shrugging into it as he walked back to study the monitor. “Either Chad got some sense and stayed home, or they dropped him off to circle around the back. Since I don’t credit them with that many smarts, I’d say Chad skipped the party.”
Firmly, Brooks laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not about you, Abigail. Relax.”
“I don’t relax when someone sneaks onto my property at two in the morning. It’s not reasonable to expect me to relax.”
“Good point.” He took her arms, but loosely, rubbing his way up and down them. “I’m just saying they’re looking to cause me some grief. Not you. Most likely creeping up here—see there, they’re pulling off some ways from the house. Planning on slashing my tires, maybe spray painting some obscenities on my car. Figuring I’ll get a rude surprise come morning. Jesus, high as hot-air balloons, the both of them.”
“If they’re under the influence of drugs, they’re unlikely to be rational.”
“Rational isn’t Justin’s default position, straight or high.”
And coming here like this told Brooks he was escalating, as Tybal had been.
Watching them, he took the time to button his shirt. “Go on and call nine-one-one. Ash is on call tonight. You just give him the situation. I’ll go out and see to it.”
He pulled on boots in case he had to chase them down, strapped on his weapon.
“You and Bert stay inside.”
“I don’t need or want to be protected from a pair of delinquents.”
“Abigail, I’m the one with the badge.” His tone brooked no argument. “And I’m the one they’re here to screw with. No point getting them riled up toward you. Call it in, and wait for me.”
He went downstairs in the backwash of her outdoor security lights, taking his time. The bust would be clearer, stick harder, if he walked out on them doing something, or about to, rather than just creeping around, muffling the snorting giggles of the drunk and/or high.
Abigail would get her view of justice now, he thought, as the pair of them would spend the time until their trial in jail.
He watched them through the window, and as he’d anticipated, they crouched beside his cruiser. Justin opened a bag, tossed a spray can to Doyle.
He let them get started. The cruiser would need a paint job, but the evidence would be unarguable.
Then he stepped to the front door, dealt with the locks, and walked out.
“You boys lost?”
Doyle dropped the can and fell back on his ass.
“Sorry to interrupt your field trip, but I believe the half-wit pair of you are trespassing. We’ll add vandalism to that, and seeing as you’ve just vandalized police property, it’s a tough one for you. And I’m just betting I’m going to find controlled substances and/or alcohol in your possession and in your bloodstream. To sum up, boys? You’re royally fucked.”
Brooks shook his head when Doyle tried to scramble to his feet. “You run, Doyle, I’ll add on fleeing and resisting. I know where you live, you idiot, so stay down, stay put. Justin, you’re going to want to let me see your hands.”
“You want to see my hands?”
Justin punched the knife he held into the rear tire, then surged to his feet. “Gonna let the air out of you next, asshole.”
“Let me get this straight. You’ve got a knife. I’ve got a gun. See this?” Brooks drew it almost casually. “And I’m the asshole? Justin, you are deeply, deeply stupid. Now, toss that knife down, then take a look at your marginally brighter friend. See how he’s facedown with his hands linked behind his head? Do that.”
In the security lights, Brooks noted Justin’s pupils were the size of pinpricks.