Sure enough, Chase Murdoch stood in her kitchen, hip against the counter, scuffed boots crossed at the ankles, worn jeans covered in dust from hauling feed sacks, and a belt buckle the size of a dessert plate glinting in the overhead light. Shirt sleeves pushed up, he held a slice of bread in one hand and a knife slathered with mayo in the other.
“What are you doing here?” Hands on her hips, she rounded the peninsula.
Brooding green eyes roamed over her from head to toe before he tossed the knife in the sink without bothering to rinse it. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back.”
“Why? What’s wrong? Is Walt okay?” She shouldn’t love her father, not after he abandoned her, not after the abuse his wife rained down on her for simply existing, not after he failed to lift a finger to stop it. But Walt was the only father she had, and though she’d tried not to, some natural order of the human psyche made it mandatory to love her dead-beat dad. Even whenhedidn’t loveher.
“Your dad’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. That’s why I’m here.” He layered on a slab of deli turkey and squished the bread together. “Well, besides making a run for my dad.”
“Why would Walt be worried?”He never has been before.
Chase took a huge bite and spoke as he chewed. “No one’s heard from you since Christmas. You’re not answering your texts. We didn’t know if you were dead or alive.” He swallowed. “And then I get here to find out your apartment was broken into a couple of weeks ago, Brooke moved out, and you lost your job.”
“How do you know all that?”
“Your landlord. That guy’s weird, by the way. Serious serial killer vibes.”
She agreed, but she’d never admit that to Chase.
Shit, shit, shit.When her dad found out…
He’d shake his head and say, “I told you so.” He’d never believed she could make it on her own.
And Lydia? She’d just smile and tell Jo it was too bad she’d transformed her bedroom into a craft room. In other words, Jo wasn’t welcome to come home. Not that she wanted to. It was never her home.
No, her home had been bulldozed to the ground before her grandma was cold. All in the name of progress that would never come to Sparrow Hill.
Chase took another big bite. “You need to come home, Jo. It’s not safe for you here by yourself.”
“I want my key back. Now.”
He shook his head. “Someone should have one in case of an emergency.”
“Brooke has one.”
“What can she do?”
“More than you can. You’re an hour and a half away.”
“Fine.” He dug in his pocket and slapped the key, still on the keyring with the letter J, on the counter. “A guy can’t win with you.”
“You sure as hell can’t.” She scooped up the key and stuffed it in the pocket with her phone. She didn’t trust him not to take it when her back was turned. “Move.”
Gathering her skirt to one side, she swerved around his outstretched legs to avoid the dust on his pants and sidled up to the sink. A second knife and a fork lay next to the one he’d just used, along with a glass coated with milk and a plate smeared with chocolate frosting from the last piece of devil’s food cake in her fridge.
Asshole. She’d been saving that as her reward for spending an evening with Avery and his snooty friends and family.
It was just like Chase to take the last piece.
Unless maybe he wasn’t the one who’d eaten the cake and left the dishes.
Shivering at the thought, she turned on the faucet and, careful not to get her sleeves wet, scrubbed at the dried chocolate. Was Lambert letting himself in and out of apartments, helping himself to food and who knew what else?
She glanced sideways at him. Asshole was looking at her ass. “Were you here all day, in my apartment?”
“I hung out for a while, but I got bored.”
That didn’t answer her question.
