Off the Grid for Love Read online

  Tears filled her eyes once more. Now, she had to contend with a stalker.

  “You’re not a friend. I don’t even know your name. Please leave me alone or I’ll call security.”

  His right hand shot toward her. “Jake’s the name. Meeting you is my pleasure.”

  Mackenna’s hands remained fisted together in her lap. She eyed his big, calloused paw, and mentally awarded him grooming points for his clean, neatly trimmed fingernails.

  Finally, it registered that she didn’t intend to shake his hand. He withdrew the bear claw and winked. “No harm. What do you say I simply sit here with you until my friend arrives? We don’t even have to talk. But you’ve had a traumatic experience, the full impact of which probably hasn’t hit you yet. You’re not going to like being alone when it does. Sometimes it’s just good to have another human being close by. I’m a body on the other side of the table and so, you’re not alone.”

  He swiveled in his seat, rested his left arm on the back of the chair, casually propped his right ankle on his left knee and centered his attention on three customers waiting for their orders. Faded blue jeans topped brown leather boots polished to a high sheen.

  With both hands wrapped around her mug seeking the familiarity of the hot cup, Mackenna sipped her chocolate coffee. Its warmth caressed her throat and the sweet taste soothed her nerves. She studied her unwanted tablemate. Nicely shaped sideburns stopped just at the top of his earlobe and contrasted with his dark hair, which spilled haphazardly over his ear and lapped his collar in disarray. A little too long for her tastes but, on him, it worked. Just the shadow of a beard. In profile, long, dark eyelashes curled upward. Why did men always inherit the lush eyelash gene?

  Today was a warm, spring day yet he wore a heavy black leather jacket. It looked worn enough to be comfortable. Tight thigh muscles stretched the denim on the leg he’d casually crossed. As more customers filed through the front door, Mackenna hated to admit it but she was glad she didn’t occupy the table alone. At least no one else would bother her. But why had he?

  “Are you really waiting for a friend?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s habitually late but I’m used to it.” Royal blue eyes gleamed at her. Dark hair and blue eyes were a rare combination. Which parent had he inherited them from?

  “You don’t have to call me ma’am. It makes me feel old.”

  That smile reappeared and the heaviness across her shoulders lightened. Under other circumstances, this guy might be charming, if he wasn’t so pushy. “Yes, ma’am. It’s how I was raised.”

  “Texas?”

  “Damn, I’ve tried hard to hide the accent. Alabama.”

  “You shouldn’t. It’s appealing. Women like a Southern gentleman.”

  Now he threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve never been called that. But thanks.”

  His laughter shot a small thrill into her stomach and she averted her eyes to her cup.

  “You feeling a little better?” His question was soft, like warm honey.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I can give you a ride home, if you like. Or follow you to make sure you get there safely.”

  Alarm bells sounded in her head and she lifted her purse from the floor and rested it in her lap. This didn’t feel right.

  “I think you should leave me alone. Now.”

  “Ah, we’re back to that, are we?” He winked again and returned his focus to the front of the coffee shop. His chin titled upward as a tall blonde approached. Jake rose and lightly grasped her elbow.

  “This is my friend, Courtney. Court, this is Kenna. Someone robbed the Good Neighbor bank on Mound Avenue this morning and she was the teller at the other end of the robber’s gun.”

  Courtney’s mouth formed an oval and she reached out and placed her hand on Mackenna’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Is there anything we can do to help?”

  Her skin was smooth and her eyes, several shades lighter than her boyfriend’s, shined with concern. Mackenna liked her immediately and loosened the grip on her purse.

  “No, thank you.”

  She used a hitchhiker’s thumb to point at Motorcycle Man. “Is he making you feel better or worse?”

  A nervous laugh escaped Mackenna. “I’m not sure yet.”

  Jake canted his head and grinned, keeping his lips tight and denying her another bright flash of white teeth.

  “I debate that dilemma every day.” Courtney laughed when Jake aimed a contrived glare her way and frowned. “He’s harmless, I assure you. But seriously, you’ve probably had a hell of a day. You should go home and relax. Do you need a ride?”

  “No, I have my car. And thanks. But, for reasons I’d rather not go into, I can’t go home yet. I’m going to sit here and finish my coffee and maybe do a little shopping. I’ll be fine.”

  Courtney offered a warm smile. “Want me to ditch him and hang with you? Girl time is always a good thing.”

  For the first time that day, Mackenna laughed. She didn’t know either one of these people yet they seemed inclined to comfort her. It unnerved her but was oddly reassuring.

  “I appreciate it but I’d rather be alone.”

  Courtney and Jake then wished her well and strolled away, granting her wish. She was alone. And lonely.

  Chapter 2

  Jake walked Courtney to her car and opened the driver’s door.

  “What was that all about?’

  He shrugged. “She was pretty shaken at the bank. I followed her out and then spotted her sitting alone in there. I figured it couldn’t hurt to talk to her a little more. But she’s genuinely upset so I don’t think she was in on it.”

  “Does she know you’re a fed?”

  “No. She likely thinks I’m just a pain in the ass.”

  Courtney laughed. “Beautiful and smart. I knew I liked her.”

  Jake tugged on the helmet chin strap. “You ready to do this? Remember, act pissed at me so they won’t be suspicious when we break up.”

  “You piss me off on a regular basis. Give me something more challenging, please.”

  “Funny. Follow me to the public garage across from the Laundromat and I’ll jump in the car.”

  This undercover assignment in Brighton City was the best gig he’d ever had. It had been sheer luck that he’d infiltrated the outer layer of the Cabacolli family, the city’s biggest organized crime element and major drug-trafficking operation. Who knew that his instinct to rush toward the car that veered off the road in front of him, crashed through the guardrail and plummeted down the hillside toward the river would open the Cabacolli’s front door? He’d yanked the unconscious driver out of the front seat of the BMW seconds before the engine caught fire, and dragged the guy to safety, spraining his ankle in the process. Since he’d never been to Pennsylvania before and he was miles from Brighton City, the local cops didn’t know him and he didn’t identify himself as an FBI agent. Same with the paramedics who loaded him and the driver into the ambulance and hauled them to the hospital.

  Not identifying himself as a federal officer wasn’t unusual. He rarely revealed what he did for a living, even when he wasn’t working undercover. People acted differently in the presence of Special Agent Jake Manettia. He didn’t know why. Hell, he put his pants on one leg at a time, just like every other jemoke. Women especially went all gaga once they learned he carried a badge and a gun, and were much more willing to spend the night with him. In the early days, he’d taken all he could get but that superficial attraction had grown old. He was nothing special, just a boy from ’Bama temporarily assigned to a northern city and still trying to get acclimated to the cold and snow that accumulated in inches instead of a light fairy dusting that decorated the familiar horizons at home. Thank goodness it was spring now.

 
Jake didn’t know it at the time of the accident but the driver he rescued turned out to be Old Man Cabacolli’s stepson.

  Jake had limped by Vinny Cabacolli’s room before leaving the hospital just to check on him, declined his offer to have a driver take him home, saying his girlfriend waited outside, and agreed to meet for a beer once Cabacolli was discharged as his way to say thanks. Even though he jotted his undercover cell phone number in the margin of the hospital dinner menu, Jake assumed he’d never hear from the guy again.

  But Vinny made good on his promise, and a week later, Jake found himself throwing darts, shooting pool and drinking beer with the stepson of a major crime syndicate boss. Vinny Cabacolli had taken a shine to him and from there it progressed to a double date with the girls. He’d enlisted his partner’s help, although working undercover was always better as a solo performance, so their planned breakup should ensure she’d only have to play the role this one time.

  This was Courtney’s first undercover challenge but she knew the drill. Never let your guard down and never disclose the truth. She’d picked up on the ruse with the bank teller right away, and played along. He felt confident she had his back, a given with partners.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lunch went well. Courtney played the role of a bitchy girlfriend perfectly. He was ready to send her packing and they weren’t even an honest couple. She’d been that good. The flying eyebrows and quizzical looks told him Cabacolli noticed. When they said their goodbyes and hugged, Vinny whispered that they’d meet up real soon. Without the hoochies.

  Jake nodded but inwardly cringed at the disrespect. Women were creatures to be revered. His mama had burned that into his brain, as had his three sisters. He adored women. They were his equal for sure and, in his case, most often his better. He loved a strong woman, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need to be pampered and comforted every once in a while. And loved.

  During lunch his mind had wandered to the bank teller and his desire to comfort her, a complete stranger. She’d smiled bravely but her cow-brown eyes betrayed her. Such sad eyes. They reflected more than a bad morning staring down the nose of a gun. Prim and proper in a business suit with her hair tied back. Did she transform into an exotic lover once that chestnut-brown hair fell loose around her shoulders? When his jeans tightened in the crotch he reined in his thoughts. Undercover meant complete attention to the task and the subject. Diversions could be deadly.

  The bank teller reappeared in his thoughts while he drove home. Kenna was an unusual name. It had to be short for something more formal. If his day cooperated, he’d wander into the bank tomorrow to make sure she was all right. He’d ask about her real name then. Right now, he needed some sleep. Working his primary assignment by day—Courtney’s corruption case—and hanging out with Vinny at night was taking its toll.

  ~ ~ ~

  Mackenna would think twice the next time anyone suggested they spend a day at the mall. She visited every store, used every restroom, and watched two movies at the mall cinema. Her eyes burned, her head pounded, and her feet ached. Surely Arthur was moved out by now. It was after seven.

  She drove past the visitor’s parking spot assigned to her unit where Arthur always parked. The space was empty and her shoulders relaxed. The load of the day’s events sounded in her heavy footsteps as she climbed the stairs to her floor. Evicting Arthur should free her but Motorcycle Man was right. Tonight, it would’ve been nice to come home to somebody.

  She didn’t reach for a light switch until she entered the kitchen, removed her shoes, and deposited her purse on the counter. She flicked the switch twice, yet the room remained dark. No matter. The apartment had been home for three years now and she knew the layout like she knew her birth date. She strode to the adjoining dining room. Odd. The chandelier didn’t switch on either. A power outage? She took a few backward steps toward the kitchen and checked the microwave clock, which shined like a star through the darkness. Her stomach knotted.

  She strolled into the TV area and squinted, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light spilling in from the balcony door. No bulky shadows filled the room. She couldn’t discern the outline of the loveseat, didn’t see the shape of the lampshade on the magazine table between the two overstuffed chairs, nor any reflection on the flat screen. Oh my God, he didn’t.

  Suddenly, the home she knew so well became foreign. She stretched her arms in front of her and felt the air while she maneuvered tentative steps back to the kitchen table. The flashlight app on her phone confirmed her worst fear. The rooms were empty. Arthur hadn’t merely moved out with his belongings, he’d taken everything. She executed a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn in the living room twice, as if seeing the empty space the first time wasn’t enough.

  A sob caught in her throat when she entered the bedroom. Her lingerie, casual tops, and dressier T-shirts that she folded neatly and stacked in the bureau drawers lay piled in heaps along the back wall. He’d dumped her lotions and perfumes into the clear plastic waste basket from the bathroom and balanced it on top of the mountain of clothes. They hadn’t shared a bathroom because Arthur complained she was too messy. Nevertheless, the lights didn’t work here either. The linen closet was empty except for a four-pack of toilet paper. How generous of him. At least her makeup, bath products, and grooming accessories were still there. Of course, what need would he have of mousse and a blow dryer?

  She rushed to the spare bedroom. Empty, except for the gray linen futon that converted to a sleeper. They’d only hosted overnight guests twice so the thing was practically new, albeit not the best substitute for an actual bed. Both times the visitors were Arthur’s friends too drunk to drive who needed a place to sleep it off. Neither had complained about comfort.

  She waved the flashlight around the room and the beam illuminated a sheet of printer paper sitting on top of the cushion. He’d left a note. Have a nice life, bitch.

  Mackenna spun around in disbelief. The bastard had taken everything, including the light bulbs.

  She sank to the floor, dropped her head in her hands, and cried.

  ~ ~ ~

  Mackenna’s phone rang beside her ear, jolting her awake. In daylight, the townhouse was bright and as empty as could be. She’d cried herself to sleep on the floor, curled into a ball. Her neck ached, and her tongue moved inside a mouth as gritty as sand. She stepped into the spacious living area and peered into the kitchen. No coffeemaker in its usual place on the counter. She’d kill for a cup of coffee. Finally, she remembered the ringing cell phone.

  “Kenna? It’s Ted.”

  “Who?”

  The voice on the other end chuckled. “Your boss? Ted Gleaner? Remember me?”

  She shook her head to clear her brain and stared at her watch. Almost nine-thirty. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. You said I could take the day off.”

  He laughed again. “I’m not calling because you’re not here at work, Kenna. I’m calling to check on you. Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

  How about a house filled with furniture? Her stomach growled. Had Arthur cleaned out the pantry too? The fridge?

  “No, sir. Thank you. I’m fine.” She was getting good at lying. First to Motorcycle Man and now her boss.

  “I’d like to see for myself. May I take you to lunch today?”

  “Sir?” Not another man hitting on her. Right now, she wasn’t too fond of the species.

  “Lunch. You know, two people sit down at the table and share a light meal. Like soup and sandwich or a chef’s salad. I know you eat lunch because I’ve seen you doing it in the breakroom.”

  “Are you asking me out, sir?”

  He paused. “Well, I guess I could tell the higher ups that I’m ensuring the welfare of my employee but that doesn’t sound too appealing, does it? So yes, I’m asking you out. To lunch, Kenna, not a lifetime commitment.”

&n
bsp; “Isn’t there a policy against employees dating, not to mention a supervisor and an underling?”

  “Is that a no?”

  Was it? “Would you mind holding for a minute, sir?”

  Without waiting for an answer she laid her phone on the floor and walked to the kitchen. Even before she opened the refrigerator she knew it was empty, just like the pantry, except for the bag of condiment packets they’d collected from various take-out meals. No coffee. No food.

  “Mr. Gleaner? Lunch sounds like a good idea. Where shall I meet you and what time?”

  “You don’t have to meet me, Kenna. I can pick you up at your place.”

  No! God no! “Thank you, sir, but I have some errands to run and I’d prefer if we met at the restaurant.”

  “Ted.”

  “Sir?”

  “Not sir. And not Mr. Gleaner. My name is Ted.”

  “Yes, sir, er, Ted. What time for lunch?”

  Chapter 3

  For at least the tenth time today, Mackenna released a chest-heaving sigh. She’d started the morning sipping water from the kitchen faucet. An oversized sleep shirt substituted for a bath towel after she showered without a washcloth, and she’d applied her makeup standing in front of the balcony door. Without the glamour bulbs above the vanity, the windowless bathroom was too dark.

  The clothes she chose, a pair of peanut-colored slacks and a tan and peach top, were wrinkled and Arthur had taken the iron, which surprised her. She doubted he knew how to use it.

  Now, the gas pump rejected her card. The clerk insisted the pump operated just fine and the problem was on Mackenna’s end. There wasn’t time to debate the point so she handed the woman a ten-dollar bill and hoped that would at least move the gas gauge needle beyond half. She had no appetite as she parked in front of the restaurant where Mr. Gleaner stood guard at the door, waiting for her. But she hadn’t eaten since yesterday when she picked at a side salad in the food court at the mall. And his lunch invitation was a kind, somewhat human gesture. Even Sandy said so when she called to check on Mackenna and see how Arthur’s exit had gone. Mackenna avoided going into detail about that by saying she had to dress for her lunch meeting.