The weather looked iffy today, so he parked in the covered garage behind the mansion, just in case there was any threat of hail later on tonight, and headed toward the house. The wind was sharp and getting chilly as he glanced up at the sky. Fall was upon them and winter wouldn’t be far behind. Time was moving too fast. He was passing the greenhouse when he saw movement inside and smiled.
Wyrick was in there, and likely picking some of her old landlord’s tomatoes. Technically, they were her tomatoes now, since she’d inherited his property, but she still called them Merlin’s tomatoes.
He opened the door to the greenhouse and looked in. She was all the way at the back, and as he’d guessed, was filling a small bowl with patio tomatoes.
“Hey!” he called out. “I’m home. Need any help?”
She turned, a rare smile on her face. “No. I’ve got it. I’ll be in soon.”
He gave her a thumbs-up, shut the door and then jogged up the steps to the veranda, and into the house through the kitchen.
The room was warm and welcoming, and there was something heating in the oven, because he could smell it. Wyrick wasn’t much for cooking, but neither was he. She could heat food up without burning it, and microwave like a beast.
It was enough skill to sustain them, and when the occasion demanded, they went out to eat, or ordered in. Their routine was far smoother than their relationship, but it was what it was.
Anxious now to get out of the clothes he’d worn to court, he headed upstairs on a run.
By the time he came back down in old jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, Wyrick was back in the kitchen washing tomatoes.
A timer went off just as Charlie walked in.
“Is that timer for what’s in the oven?” he asked.
She nodded.
He waited for further instructions, but when she stayed silent, he sighed.
“Want me to take it out?”
“You’ll have to if you want to eat it,” she said.
He rolled his eyes, grabbed a couple of pot holders and opened the oven door, pulled out some kind of casserole in a foil container and set it on a burner to cool.
“Smells good. You outdid yourself tonight,” he drawled.
“It’s supposed to be beef Stroganoff...or something like that, but it’s basically beef tips and noodles in sauce. There’s stuff for salad in the refrigerator—if you can handle a pair of scissors to open the bag of salad greens, then follow the directions.”
He frowned. “You’re exceptionally pissy tonight. What’s wrong?”
He heard her sigh, then watched her shoulders slump.
“You’re going to be mad, so I thought I’d just be mad first and save you the trouble.”
His frown deepened.
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you while we eat. You do better with food in your belly.”
“I am not a savage beast to be tamed with a thick piece of steak,” he muttered.
“It’s beef tips and noodles, and yes, you are.”
“Fine. I’ll make the salad,” he said.
She added a handful of the little tomatoes to the bowl of greens, then carried the casserole to the table while he stirred the dressing into the salad.
They sat, then looked up at each other over empty plates.
“What happened?” Charlie asked.
“You haven’t take a bite of—”
“Dammit, Wyrick. I am not your priest. I’m your friend, and when you remember to acknowledge it...I am also your boss. Talk to me.”
And so she did, from beginning to end.
“Shit,” Charlie muttered when she stopped talking. “Were you scared?”
“No. But by the time I got through with him, he was,” she said.
Relief washed through him.
“You said you got a picture of his driver’s license?”
She nodded.
“After dinner you will send it to me, please. You do your research. I’ll do mine. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then,” Charlie said and scooped out a big serving of the Stroganoff onto his plate, added salad next to it and took his first bite, chewed and then swallowed. “It’s good. You outdid yourself,” he said.
“Stifle the sarcasm. Next time, you cook,” she muttered, then served herself and started eating.
They ate in silence now, but the tension was gone.
Charlie felt the prickly energy of the wall she kept between them, and Wyrick knew he wasn’t going to let this go, which was fine with her, because neither was she.
* * *
Barrett Taylor had taken a risk after being booked into jail by using his one phone call on Jeremiah Raver, the leader of the church.
To say Raver was angry was putting it mildly.
“I trusted you to do a simple job, and your incompetence is only going to bring negative attention to us,” Raver shouted.
But Barrett was pissed at Raver for not telling him the whole story about that woman.
“That’s just it. It wasn’t a simple job. You said she was an unnatural abomination. You said she had powers that belonged only to God, but you neglected to mention she was psychic. You didn’t tell me she was six fucking feet tall. She knew everything about my presence without touching me. What was I supposed to be? The fatted calf? The lure? Did you just decide to sacrifice me for her?”
Raver blinked. Rebellion within The Righteous was unheard of. And the fact that Barrett had figured this out made him uncomfortable.
“It wasn’t like that,” Raver said.
“Then get me a lawyer and get me the fuck out of here,” Barrett said. “I’m not sacrificing myself for anyone.”
Raver didn’t like what he was hearing.
“Are you threatening me?”
Barrett lowered his voice. “You hung me out to dry, Raver. You figure it out.” He hung up. But once the link was broken between him and Raver, his defiance faded. This was going to be a learning experience, for sure.
* * *
The game was on with Rachel Dean, and it was all Sonny could think about on the way home. He stopped off at a fast-food drive-through, ordered chicken nuggets and fries and a bottle of water and then drove away.
Rachel was exactly what he’d been needing—a little after-work entertainment was always good for releasing unspent energy and relieving stress.