Page 55 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
“I’ll be right back,” the steward replies, crisp and efficient.
I stay on the edge of the chair and watch him return with a tall glass. Even from here I can see the bubbles; sparkling water. Ofcourse. I suppose getting something as ordinary as tap water is impossible around here.
I take a sip. The cold fizz burns down my throat in a way that’s both soothing and annoying. The steward nods and leaves me to the quiet—and to the thoughts I’ve been trying not to loop.
Jasmine has been in my house for two days now, and it guts me to see the fear in her eyes. She’s terrified right out of her skin. If she could stay in the guest room forever, she would.
“You know, one way or another, you’ll have to leave the house,” I told her this morning before work. “I’m sure you have a lot to do at the diner.”
“Trust me,” she said, and even her voice shook, “I’m better off here.”
“Officer Vaughn!”
Harold’s voice booms down the stairs. He appears a few feet away, descending in a long brown robe, hair slicked back and gleaming beneath the lounge lights. Even his beard looks freshly damp.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to pay me a visit,” he says.
I stand and meet his outstretched hand. “You were expecting me?”
“Well, I did send a buy offer to Jasmine Wallace. Given your relationship—”
“What relationship? We don’t have a relationship,” I cut in, too quickly.
“Oh please. Even the dogs in Golden Heights can sense the tension between you two. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To talk about the offer.”
“You know I’m not just here for the offer, Mr. Swanson.” I watch him casually tighten the robe’s belt. “Let’s cut the crap.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Officer,” he says, eyes glittering. He knows exactly what I’m here about, and he’s enjoying the game.He also knows I can’t prove anything—that explains why he’s so comfortable meeting me in a bathrobe.
“Is this how you want to play it? Lay off Jasmine. Just because she doesn’t want to sell doesn’t mean—”
“Well, if she doesn’t want to sell, I can’t exactly force her, can I? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Now he’s driving me up a wall, baiting me with that smooth, empty smile.
“You sent your guys to her house to threaten her.”
“I never did any such thing.”
“Oh, come on, Harold. It’s just me and you here. You can tell me.”
“Are you goading me to confess to a police officer that I committed a crime?” His mouth twitches, nearly a smile.
I swallow hard. Frustration crawls up my spine.
“Where are you going with this anyway?” I ask. “What do you think happens if she refuses to sell? You kill her and try to gain ownership, or what?”
“Again, Officer Vaughn, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The faux-innocence is almost perfect. Almost.
“You two do make a cute couple, though,” he says.
My ears go still. Did he just—?
“You can’t play this game for long, Harold,” I say, stepping closer. “I know I don’t have anything I can take to a judge yet—smart on your part—but let’s keep it that way.”
“I can already see the pictures on the invitation card.”
