Page 19 of Just Friends

“Please.”

Once inside his car to follow Rebecca to her apartment, he put in a call to dispatch to inform them he’d be out of pocket for the night. After she picked up the credit card from Brandon, he drove the forty-five minutes while she organized her list by cell phone light in a spiral notebook from the passenger’s seat. She called the store to verify they had the beef she needed.

They hit the market at ten minutes before they closed. Rebecca went to the meat counter and handed him a list of other ingredients she tore from her pad and sent him to hunt those down. Without a clue, he set about to be as helpful as possible. Grocery shopping for a catering job was not how Weasel wanted the evening to continue, but he was grateful she’d allowed him drive here. He’d have been too worried that she’d end up stranded on the side of the road. So, there he stood in an aisle staring at five varieties of vanilla beans. How the hell did that many different vanillas exist? He reminded himself to work quickly; the place was staying open past closing to accommodate them.

Once he collected every item on the list, he found her in the produce department stuffing another buggy full. She jumped when he came up behind her. “All right?” He ran his fingers down her arm and electricity shot through him.

She nodded. “Sorry, you startled me,” she paused. “Did you find everything?” she asked inspecting over his cartload. She looked both exhausted and scared. He then turned his attention to the items in her cart. He picked up something labeled artisanal dry-cured saucisson.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for the charcuterie,” she said while examining the things in his basket.

The what? He shook his head. “You’re just making shit up now, aren’t you?”

She laughed and her smile spread into her eyes, and her shoulders lost some of the tension she’d held since receiving the text. The manager was looking at them. “Is there anything you need,” he said. It was his polite way of saying, it was time for them to get out.

Weasel followed her through the checkout and assisted in bagging and taking the supplies to his car. Luckily, they picked up everything on the list at the restaurant supply, and they drove back to White Oak. Rebecca settled into the passenger’s seat and closed her eyes. He woke her as they reached Huntington Farms right before ten. Without a word, they carried the bags inside and loaded the perishable items into the walk-in cooler. He exited the refrigerator to find her with a slab of beef on the center island and using a large knife to slice it down into smaller portions. He watched her work effortlessly with precision.

“What?” She glanced up.

“Sorry. Watching you use that knife makes me realize I need to go back and look at chef’s as suspects in the old West Side Butcher case.”

“Ew. But yeah, probably a solid idea,” she smirked.

“Hmm,” he tapped a finger to his chin. “Tell me where you were on the night of the fourth of August.”

Rebecca smiled. “That’s easy. I was working my shift at the Wild Cat.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Gettin’ that cash.”

He choked out a laugh. Good Lord, his brain might explode. “Well, I’m going to investigate your alibi further, Miss.” He leaned on the butcher-block countertop. “So, tell me what’s your stage name?”

She packed up the food. “Cinnamon.”

“So how long did you perform at the Wild Cat.”

“I was there a few months,” she replied smiling at him. “I like to club hop.”

He grinned shaking his head. Was she toying with him?

“Westside Butcher?” Happy she was changing the subject because he wanted to ask about her fictitious dance routine and if he could get a private show.

“From before you moved back. I was a patrol cop when someone killed and dismembered three women.”

“That’s terrifying,” she muttered and hauled the meat into the fridge.

???

They arrived at her apartment after one a.m; she shouldn’t have caved on letting him drive her to Chattanooga, but it worked out in her favor. He’d turned out to be helpful.

Weasel walked her to the door and did another walkthrough of her residence. “A bit of overkill, don’t you think, Detective?” she asked.

“Just making sure your vibrator can’t escape, Cinnamon,” he responded from the bedroom.

Rebecca laughed; she would pay for teasing him. She didn’t know why she kept at it, except it was fun and it had been a long time since she flirted with anyone. But this was flirting with a caged tiger, and like a tiger, he was all muscle and dangerous for her.

“All secure,” he said returning to the living room and stopped in front of her, close enough to touch. She hoped he didn’t know where her mind had gone.

“Thank you.” Wrapping her arms around him in a hug, he drew her tight. “For spending your night helping me out and for dinner. I forgot to mention that earlier.” He’d paid for her meal, and she’d never even thought of it until then. She laid her head against his chest and exhaled. He was strong and reliable. Why shouldn’t she have a well-built man pressed up against her?

---