Page 100 of Going Deep
In the house, Anna glared at Grant. “I can’t believe you did that.”
Grant glared back. “I can’t believe you think I’d fall for that.”
Anna’s eyes went round with shock. “What?”
He grinned, the lightning change catching her by surprise. “Come off it, love. You’d let me stick needles in you before you’d betray a friend. You wanted him to know she was in Ohio.”
She sniffed and turned to the refrigerator. She pulled her bowl of snickerdoodle batter out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her lofty tone ended in a squeal when he grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. “Don’t bullshit me, love.”
“Jeez.” She frowned at him. “Fine. Yes, I wanted him to know she was in Ohio.”
“You think he’ll go after her?”
“I think he’s on his way already.” She frowned slightly. “I just hope she’s not too pissed at me.”
He shook his head. “Honey, if she was angry enough to move back to Ohio to get away from him, I don’t think this will work.”
“Oh, she’s pissed. And hurt. And she deserves to see him grovel. But she didn’t move back to Ohio.” She sent him a sunny smile. “She just went back to say goodbye to her family and get all her stuff. She’ll be back next week.”
He stared at her for a full five seconds before roaring with laughter. “You…God, woman. That was some sneaky, sneaky shit.”
“I know.” Her smile was decidedly smug. “Dom level sneaky.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t go that far. But speaking of…” He hooked a hand in her belt. “I think I owe you a punishment for dropping my cookies on the floor.”
Her mouth quirked. “Your cookies?”
“My cookies,” he repeated and yanked her against him. Hard. “I think a good start would be you stripping down before you bake the rest of them.”
“A start?” she sputtered.
“Oh, yeah.” He grinned. “Then I’ll turn your ass red. How red depends on how good the cookies are.”
“My cookies,” she said archly, trying not to laugh, “are excellent.”
He lowered his head to brush his mouth against hers. “Then I’ll have to turn it very, very red.” His grin was wicked. “Won’t I?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ginger was up early, determined to finish her packing. Her eyes felt gritty, her mind foggy. She’d been up until after two the previous night, sorting through her belongings and lugging boxes down the stairs. Aside from her clothes and books, she didn’t have much she wanted to bring with her back to Chicago, and most of it would fit easily into her car.
Except her bed. She really, really liked her bed. She’d paid more than she could afford at the time for the best mattress available, and the four-poster tester bed had been buried in too many layers of peeling paint to count when she’d found it at an estate sale just outside of Cleveland. It had cost her more to rent a truck to get it home than she’d paid for it, and she’d nearly suffocated on paint stripper fumes getting it down to the bare wood. But it had been worth the potential brain damage to see the gorgeous cherry wood emerge, and after staining and sealing it, she’d bribed her brother-in-law to help her put it together.
She hadn’t thought to rent a truck to get it back to Chicago, but her brother-in-law, always susceptible to a bribe, had agreed to come over before he started his shift to help her disassemble and move it to the garage in exchange for a case of beer. And for a pair of Cubs tickets and crash space in her guest room for him and a buddy, to drive it to Chicago next weekend in said buddy’s truck.
Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she plodded down the stairs to the kitchen. It was barely seven o’clock, so the kitchen was quiet but for the popping and hissing from the ancient coffee pot, and the quiet puttering as her mom made breakfast.
Ginger couldn’t help but smile as she came into the room. “Morning, Mama.”
Geraldine Dowling turned with a smile, eyes the same blue as her daughter’s twinkling in welcome. “You’re up early, baby. You want some breakfast? I made plenty.”
Ginger eyed the scrambled eggs and toast and shook her head. “No, thanks.”
Geraldine turned off the stove and scooped the eggs onto a waiting plate. Her face, soft with age, lined with laughter and life, was thoughtful as she studied her daughter. “Your anxiety’s kicking up, is it? I know how you stop eating when that happens.”
Ginger smiled. “It’s fine, Mama. I’ve just got my heart set on a mocha latte and a cranberry scone from the coffee shop.”
