Made For Loving You Read online

  Grunting, Ty dragged open the door to his Sheriff’s Department cruiser and tossed in his food as he reached for the call button. “Dispatch, this is Brooks. Go ahead, Essie.”

  “We’ve got at situation down at 583 Westinghouse Road.”

  “What kind of situation?”

  “Probable domestic dispute. Clyde is en route for backup.”

  “On my way.”

  Sebastian’s smile had disappeared. “Be careful, brother.”

  “Always am.” He slid into the driver’s seat, nodding as Sebastian double tapped the hood in farewell.

  Flipping on the light bar, he headed out to save the day.

  Chapter 2

  Paisley knew the moment she laid eyes on Detective Joel Fisher that today was not going in her favor.

  “You don’t have good news.”

  Detective Fisher opened his mouth as if to protest, then spread his hands with an apologetic wince. “There’s no way to trace the package.”

  She’d known that when she’d contacted him, having learned more than the average bear at the citizen’s police academy she’d attended for book research eight months ago. Real life police departments didn’t have the kind of forensic miracles so often shown on TV. But she hadn’t known what else to do when she’d found the package waiting on her front porch.

  “What do we do? It’s escalating.”

  “Each contact has been non-threatening,” he pointed out. “No actual laws have been broken.”

  She offered up an unladylike snort. “Please. Is that supposed to make me feel better? Let’s call this what it is. I’m being stalked. Maybe taken on their own each gift doesn’t seem like a big deal, but together?” Feeling a chill at the thought, she wrapped both arms around her torso. “They’re getting more frequent, more personal, and more immediate to my physical proximity. It was bad enough when they were all going to my P.O. Box. That’s why I have it. But this one came to my house. This person knows where I live.”

  The very idea of it skeeved her out. She wasn’t delusional enough to believe that her fans couldn’t find her if they tried hard enough. But the idea that someone would try? That they might believe themselves entitled enough to invade her personal life? That unsettled her in a way nothing else ever had. It turned the profession she loved into something that dialed up her anxiety and made it hard to even write.

  Joel tunneled one hand through his sandy hair, going gray at the sideburns. “I wish I could do more. But the sad, shitty truth is that, even if we knew who was behind this, none of it is an arrestable offense. Without an actual, verifiable threat, there’s nothing we can do but document to create a case.”

  “So, I’m just supposed to wait until this whack job graduates to showing up in person and traps me in some kind of Misery scenario?”

  To his credit, the detective didn’t even blink at her outburst. “I understand you’re unnerved. But so far there have been no demands, no threats. There’s no reason to think it would go so far as to put you in any physical danger.”

  “Right, because my peace of mind doesn’t matter at all.” Paisley pinched the bridge of her nose. This was un-fucking-believable. Someone was engaging in a type of psychological torture, and the good guys could do exactly nothing about it.

  “Miss Parish... Paisley—” Reaching out a tentative hand, he laid it on her shoulder. “—I swear to you, I am not dismissing your concerns. I’ve added this incident to the file with all the others. I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got to work with.”

  The assurance made her feel like a jerk, even as it wasn’t anywhere near enough. This man had been kind enough to endure her endless questions in the name of book research, even before the harassment started. He deserved more than a little credit for his patience.

  She squeezed his hand in thanks for the support he’d so willingly offered. “I know you are. And I know that with a caseload of other, more serious crimes, this is nothing. I just…” There was no point in rehashing her frustration.

  “l know.” He squeezed her shoulder and released her, hesitating. “Listen, do you want me to come by? I can make some recommendations for your security system. You do have one, right?”

  “Of course. And that’s sweet of you, Joel, but not necessary. I’m covered.”

  “I’ll at least arrange to bump up patrols in your area. Maybe a more regular presence of black and whites will help deter anything else.”

  It was better than nothing. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Joel lifted a box off his desk. The box. “You want to take it home?”

  She didn’t. But she’d kept all the other ones as some kind of evidence, even though having it all in the house made her uneasy.

  Gingerly taking the package, she rose. “I should get out of your hair. You’ve got more important things to do.”

  “Making you feel safe isn’t a trivial thing.”

  “I appreciate you saying so.” He could just as easily have been annoyed with her or called her hysterical. Plenty of other men would have gaslit her about there being a problem at all, but Joel had taken her seriously from the first.

  “You’ll forgive me if I hope not to see you again anytime soon.”

  He flashed a smile. “At least in my professional capacity.”

  It wasn’t the first allusion he’d made to wanting to see her socially. He’d straight up asked her out after the citizen’s police academy. But she hadn’t been available then and now...now there was Ty. Sort of. So, she just smiled a little and gave a tiny wave. “Bye, Joel.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  Before she could say that wasn’t necessary, the phone on his desk began to blare. He held up a finger. “Fisher. Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh.” Reaching for a notepad, he began to scribble.

  As his eyes flicked back to her, filled with apology, she wiggled her fingers and pointed toward the door. There was no reason for an escort to her car. She wasn’t so far gone she didn’t feel safe in the parking lot of the police station, and she didn’t want to give him any false hope on the dating front. Their relationship needed to stay professional, maybe with a side of sort of friends. She never knew when she might need to pick his brain for more book research.

  On the drive home, she kept glancing at the box in her passenger seat. This damned thing had ruined what was possibly the best weekend of her life. She should have been able to bask in the afterglow of magnificent sex and multiple orgasms. But no. She had to worry about this person, who didn’t appear to understand boundaries and thought it was fun to rattle her.

  As she strode up her front walk, the box under her arm, she wondered if that’s what it was. Was it malicious? Could it be a case of someone with no social skills, who didn’t understand how freaking creepy this whole thing was?

  The sight of another box placed neatly in the dead center of her doormat had her going cold.

  “Damn it.”

  Scared, furious, Paisley marched up the steps. She jammed the key into the lock and, swearing a blue streak, cast a hunting look around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she scooped up the new package and hustled inside.

  The moment the door shut, her adorable mess of a mutt was on her, joyfully barking hello and trying to climb her so he could lick her face.

  “Okay, okay. Down, Duke.”

  She managed to dump her purse and both boxes on the entryway table so she could rub down her ecstatic pooch. He immediately rolled to his back, giving her his long stretch of belly for attention. Well accustomed to this routine, she scrubbed him from head to tail.

  “Want a cookie?”

  Duke leapt up.

  “Let’s go get a cookie.”

  The dog scrambled ahead of her, his paws slipping and sliding on the hardwood floor as he raced for the kitchen and the treat bucket. She snagged the new package and carried it with her.

  Duke inhaled the peanut butter biscuit before finally flopping down to stare up at her in adoration, baseball bat of a tail sweeping
the floor. She’d be able to actually do something now.

  Studying the latest arrival, she took in the brown paper wrapping. Exactly as the one before. But unlike that one, this hadn’t been shipped and dropped off by a delivery service. There was no address at all, just her name neatly printed on the top.

  Someone had brought this in person. To her house.

  Retrieving her phone, she snapped pictures from all sides, just as she had of all the others. For a few seconds, she considered calling Joel to apprise him of the latest and ask if he could try to lift prints. But she knew there’d be none other than her own. She wasn’t even sure brown paper would hold fingerprints.

  Ripping the paper with perhaps more violence than necessary, she tore into the package. They’d found nothing special in any of the others. Why should this be any different?

  Inside, nestled in plain white tissue paper, was a dog collar. With trembling hands, she lifted it out. Made of a bright red, woven nylon, the buckle-style collar was utterly innocuous. Digging into the tissue to see if there was anything else, she heard something thunk to the bottom of the box. Pulling out the tissue entirely, she found a metal tag in the bottom. She started to reach for it, then stopped herself to go retrieve a pair of tweezers. Lifting it out by the edge, she turned it over to read what was embossed in the metal: GEORDI.

  Paisley’s blood ran cold. Why would someone send her a collar with the name of the blind dog from one of her books? Was it a threat to Duke? She posted about him on social media all the time, so it stood to reason this person knew about him. And they’d been to her house to drop this off.

  It wasn’t an indictment by itself. But it felt too personal. If it had been a true fan gift of some kind, it would’ve been accompanied with a letter or note or something. Instead, it was just the collar, without even the usual card printed with Your biggest fan, leaving her to draw her own conclusions as to the message.

  Paisley had a very, very vivid imagination, and her mind had extrapolated all kinds of horrors before her fingers even closed around her phone. Worried and a little sick, she scrolled to the right contact and hit dial.

  Exhaustion and irritation dogged Ty as he stopped at the head of his driveway to grab the mail. Darkness had fallen, and the cold chill of winter in east Tennessee nipped at the exposed skin of his face and hands. It was nothing compared to the winters in Afghanistan and some of the other hellholes where he’d served.

  Tossing the mail onto the front seat, he continued down the gravel drive, parking the cruiser next to his truck in front of the tiny cabin he called home. In the normal course of things, the place was one of his friend Porter’s vacation rentals. He’d offered it up when Ty had taken the job as Stone County deputy. Grateful to have one less decision to make, Ty had jumped at the offer. He’d meant it to be temporary, until he’d settled into the job, proved he could hack it as a civilian. Somehow, he’d never left.

  He liked the solitude of living this far out from town, more than a mile from the nearest neighbor. And really, he didn’t need more than the open-plan living space with a sleeping loft. It was just him. He had nobody to impress. But a vague, nagging sense of disappointment trailed him through the cabin as he went through the motions of starting a fire in the wood stove and stripped out of his uniform in favor of jeans and a flannel shirt.

  Pausing behind the sofa, he glanced around.

  The place felt empty. There was nothing of him here. No pictures, no signs of hobbies or interests. If he packed up his clothes and the collection of books, it would be ready for the next vacationers to walk through the door. No sign that he’d ever been here.

  When had that started to bug him?

  Grabbing a beer, he sank down on the sofa and began going through the mail. The usual smattering of bills and junk. And a thick, cream-colored envelope. The Georgia postmark had concrete setting up in his gut. Nothing good could come from home. He slid a finger under the flap of the envelope. The cardstock inside was heavy, like a wedding invitation. But this definitely wasn’t for a wedding.

  You are cordially invited to a celebration of life for Garrett Michael Reeves.

  The date next month blurred before Ty’s eyes as the invitation fell from his fingers.

  Garrett’s birthday. Bethany wanted to have a celebration of his life on his birthday.

  How could Ty possibly celebrate his best friend’s life when all he could feel was the gaping hole he’d left behind with his death? Hell, he hadn’t even been able to look Bethany in the face since the funeral. He had, in fact, bolted from the wake after they’d put Garrett in the ground because he couldn’t live with the guilt. How could she even think to invite him when it was his fault her husband was dead?

  Snatching the card up, he exploded off the sofa and stalked over to the corner kitchen. With more violence than necessary, he stomped on the lever to open the garbage can. But he couldn’t seem to make his fingers release to drop the card into the trash. Instead, he let the can fall shut and shoved the invitation into a cabinet. Out of sight.

  It wouldn’t be out of mind.

  Prowling back to the sofa, he took a long pull on his beer and waited for his hands to stop shaking.

  When his phone rang, he nearly let it go to voicemail. But one glance at the screen had his heart lifting.

  “Paisley.” He hoped his voice sounded smooth and cool instead of raspy with the tears he wasn’t about to acknowledge. He took another pull on his beer to wash the frog from his throat.

  “Hey, Galahad.”

  With that one greeting, he felt the stress and the years fall away, sending him back to a time when his only worry in life was when he’d get another smile, another kiss—and more—from this woman. She was a lifeline in a storm he was still learning how to navigate.

  “That brings back memories.”

  “Naked ones?” she teased.

  He let out a low chuckle. “Among others.” But, of course, now he was thinking about the more recent naked memories and going hard.

  “Is this the part where I ask what you’re wearing?”

  Amused, aroused, he sank back on the sofa. “As I recall, you had a particular fondness for gray sweatpants and my varsity t-shirt.”

  She purred. “I always did love talking you out of them.”

  “You never had to work very hard for that.” His favorite place to be had been at her mercy. “Is that why you called? To talk me out of my jeans and have your remote, wicked way with me?’’

  Five minutes ago, sex was the last thing on his mind, but the sound of her voice all but stroked the shell of his ear and down the side of his neck. He shivered, imagining her fingers trailing there and lower. His own fingers flexed as he thought about fisting his cock while she whispered dirty things into his ear. What would he want her to do in return?

  “No, actually. I was hoping for something a little more hands-on.” As appealing as that suggestion was, something in her flirty tone was off.

  Fighting his own biology, Ty struggled to get his remaining brain cells to function. “You okay?

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just hoping you might be up for company and some of that fun we talked about this weekend.”

  He wasn’t at all sure she was fine, but the prospect of having her naked in his bed for more than a single night was enough to have his whole mood turning around. “Hell yeah.”

  “You’re sure? I’ll have Duke. He’s got some issues with boarding, so I rarely travel without him. Is that okay?”

  He’d met her cheerful disaster of a dog when he’d gone home with her after the wedding. It had made him consider whether he ought to get his own pup before he reminded himself of the long-ass days he put in on the job. “Sure. You know I love dogs. Bring him along.”

  She exhaled in clear relief. “Looking forward to it. We can both use a change of scenery.” There was that off tone again.

  Had she been anxious about asking him? They were still feeling their way around what the hell this casual thing was
, but surely that wasn’t it. Paisley was too confident a woman for that. No, he thought it was something else and wondered what was going on with her. Was that even any of his business under the parameters of casual?

  No matter. He’d pry it out of her with orgasms. And if he didn’t, well she’d be a helluva lot less stressed when she went home.

  Already grinning, he said, “See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 3

  Paisley’s dreams were plagued with furtive shadows that had her tossing most of the night. She was uncharacteristically up with the sun, retreating to her office to try to work. Deadlines waited for no stalker. But between anxiety over what she might find next and anticipation of seeing Ty, her focus was shot.

  She hated this. Hated that this person had distracted her enough she couldn’t lose herself in the worlds she built. Hated that she was nervous in her own house. Hated that, in the wee hours of the night, she’d spent some time scrolling through real estate listings and considered moving.

  She loved her little bungalow, damn it! It was hers. She’d bought it outright with her royalties after divorce number two—a major point of pride and mark of her success. The idea that someone had ruined her personal haven made her physically ill. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe this was all just some awkward but well-intentioned person inadvertently messing with her head. But her gut said it wasn’t, and she always trusted her gut.

  Giving up on achieving anything productive, she loaded the car with her weekend bag, her laptop, and all Duke’s considerable gear. She’d head out early, opt for the scenic route. If a tiny voice in the back of her mind said she was being paranoid by taking the long way around the city and doubling back several times before finally hitting I-40 East, she ignored it in favor of the latest Lucy Score audiobook she’d bought for the trip.

  The stress began to fall away with every mile further from Nashville and every chapter of the grumpy, taciturn hero falling, despite his best intentions, for the sunshiny heroine. Nobody did that trope like Lucy. And if the story left her hoping for a similar reaction from her own grumpy hero, well, she had four hours to get that romanticism under control.