Churchill McKenzie was done with back alleys, big guns and bad asses except...and why was there always an except in her life...here she was again, standing in another back alley with Savannah’s number one badass, Cal Davis. She knew the bad part first-hand because she got him thrown in jail three years ago. She knew the ass part because they did the deed on her twenty-first birthday in the back of his ’67 red Mustang convertible
Excerpt
When Churchill McKenzie stared down the business end of a sawed-off shotgun she swore that if she got out of this mess alive she’d get herself back to Savannah as fast a possible and never leave as long as she lived...which she hoped was more than the next two minutes.
She meant that three weeks ago in Atlantic City when the Jersey boys paid her a visit because she’d been asking too many question about her ’56 Chevy Belair that they just happened to borrow permanently, and she hadn’t changed her mind. She was done with back alleys, big guns, bad asses and black pinstripe suits.
Except...and why was there always an except in her life...here she was again, standing in another back alley with Savannah’s number one badass, Cal Davis. She knew the bad part first-hand because she got him thrown in jail three years ago. She knew the ass part because they did the deed on her twenty-first birthday in the back of his ’67 red Mustang convertible.
“When did you get out?” Dumb thing to say to someone who hated her guts and you’d think with being a librarian she’d have a better opening line. Faulkner would, Dickens would, Crichton not so much.
Cal folded his arms and gave her an f-you look. “When did you get back?”
She could say I asked you first but Cal didn’t look like the kind of guy who needed to be messed with right now. Even in the dim light casting his face in shadows he looked pissed. Cal always looked pissed...except for that twenty minutes in the back of his Mustang. “I came home last week. I was in Jersey, librarian, ancient history section.”
“And yet here you are again,” he sighed. “Whose life are you out to screw up tonight.”
“I was cutting through the alley on my way to your grandmother’s.” Least that warranted a bit of an arched bow. “Miss Ellie asked me to stop by and sit for a spell.”
Cal took her arm. “I’m coming along. You show up and things go right to hell and Miss Ellie doesn’t need that. None of us need that.”
Churchill didn’t budge. “I don’t believe you were invited.”
“I don’t believe I give a damn.”
But instead of leaving, he backed her against the side of a concrete block garage in the alley. Cupping her chin, he tilted her face to his then straightened her glasses, uncertainly in his eyes. They were more ice than the smoky blue like she remembered. He was leaner, harder, tougher and he’d been plenty tough before.
When Miranda Nolan inherits a house she soon discovers a need to solve the mysteries surrounding the late owner along with resolving the strong attraction she feels for a co-claimant who lost his hearing and faces a world of silence.
