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Standard disclaimer.

Long chapter.


Mercedes heard the door shut from the depths of the house, and then nothing.

Just silence in Sam's wake.

She cleared up the shards on the floor from the ceramic pot she'd thrown and let out a long breath.

Sam Evans was a force.

A big, edgy, enigmatic force.

And a cop.

A detective lieutenant.

'Good Lord!'

Her mom loved men, all of them, but one thing she'd always imparted to her daughters, was a general distrust of men of the law.

Her growing up years had been like living through a season of COPS, and she still tended to twitch when she heard a siren.

Although, she'd twitched at the sight of Sam for an entirely different reason.

In light of the fact that she was just dumped and therefore temporarily uninterested in anyone with a penis, this was deeply disturbing.


'Sam is a good-looking guy...alright, who am I kidding? He's gorgeous,' Mercedes told herself. 'Any woman would react.'

It was the way he carried himself...the sharp gaze that missed nothing and a calm, controlled demeanor, even after finding a half-naked woman in his house.

Although, there had definitely been something in his expression, suggesting a tension, that had nothing to do with her.

The earful she'd gotten from the reporter had confirmed this...he clearly had a week far worse than hers, especially since, his had involved dead people.

It was also clear, that Sam dealt with more stress and responsibility on any given day, than she had ever managed.

She felt bad for him, but at the moment, she had her own problems.

Big problems.

Roof-over-her-head problems.

She could stay here tonight, she reasoned, but she had every other night after that to worry about.


Letting out a shaky breath, Mercedes lifted her chin.

It was what the Jones women did...they faked their bravado. Then, they told themselves everything was going to be okay.

"It is going to be okay," she said out loud to convince herself, because that would make it so. "It's really going to be okay."

But she had no idea how.

She didn't charge the senior center when she taught there, and Fresh Florals was slower than usual this season.

Kurt kept talking about his dream...which was to follow his ex-boyfriend Blaine to Las Vegas. And that meant closing the shop.

Unless she could suddenly convince him that she could run the shop in his absence, things were going to go bad for her.


Her phone buzzed.

It was Marley Rose, pastry chef and Mercedes' closest friend in town.

"Hey," she said, going for chipper.

"You okay?" Marley asked.

"Yep," Mercedes said. "Totally okay."

Marley, a wanderlust soul, was friendly and curious and also funny as hell. And she seemed to have a knack for recognizing bullshit.

"You're lying."

"A little," Mercedes admitted. And Marley sighed.

They hadn't been friends that long. Marley worked in the bakery in the same building as Mercedes, which was how they'd become friends.

Though, Marley was only in town to run her grandma's bakery, while the older woman recovered from knee surgery.

But some things didn't take any time at all.

"Men are scum," Marley said. "Even cute Brody Wesson, apparently."

"How is this already news?" Mercedes asked.

"There was a sighting of him carrying boxes into a rental duplex. So you're still at the house?"

"Yes," Mercedes said, not mentioning, that she was only staying for one more night.

She didn't want to worry or burden Marley, who was staying in her grandma's tiny place. She would insist she join them, but Mercedes wouldn't impose.


"I've got fresh éclairs," Marley said. "Excellent breakup food."

"Great! I'll definitely come by later," Mercedes said and after a few more seconds of chit-chat, she clicked off.


Mercedes' mind raced, to find a solution to her current problem.

She had other friends, but no one close enough to barge in on.

She could go to her mom's and sister's. White Center wasn't that far...only a couple hours away, and they would both welcome her with open arms.

But she'd left them and come here for a new start...to make something of herself. And she intended to do just that.


Pensive over the realization that her life wasn't exactly going in the carefree, fun direction she'd hoped, she finished watering the plants.

It was quiet in the house in spite of the big, brooding guy in it.

Eerily quiet.

She put the watering pitcher back under the kitchen sink and then sagged a little in the silence.

She didn't have to leave right now, but the fact remained, that this was his home now.

Not hers.

She had no real home.

This wasn't exactly a new feeling, but she hated that unsettled spot in her gut, and her fingers itched for a clump of cool, wet clay, which always soothed her.

She might have gone out to the garage, where she'd set up a little workstation for herself, but the house phone rang again.


Mercedes answered to another reporter and gave the same spiel that she'd given the first...this time, more firmly.

She'd seen something in Sam's eyes...a hollowness that she understood.

Clearly, he'd escaped to North Bend for some peace and quiet, and she was willing to fight for it for him. It was the least she could do to earn her keep.


Mercedes woke up on Sunday morning to a silent house.

Sam's truck was still out front, so she assumed he was still sleeping.

Lucky him. She didn't have that luxury. She had a class to teach at the senior center and a life to figure out.

But first up...breakfast.

If her life was going to hell in a hand-basket, well then, she was going on a full stomach.


In the kitchen, she pulled out the makings for two omelets.

Then she cooked and inhaled one, while standing on the back deck.

From here, she could see down the steep stairs to the house's private dock below, which jutted out into the water.

She stared at the churning swells, lost in thought.

And worry.

And anxiety.

And lingering temper.

Suddenly, a movement caught her eye. There was a wiry-looking guy, trying to get into the bushes along the side of the house.

He had a camera in one hand and a cell phone in the other, which he was waving wildly about, trying to shoo something.

Narrowing her eyes, Mercedes moved closer.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

By the looks of it, he'd disturbed a few bees, and they were on him. He guy dropped to the ground, losing both his camera and his phone.

"You have kamikaze bees!" he shouted.

'Clearly not a local.'

"Where are you from?" she asked.

He came up to his knees, gingerly looking around.

"Are they gone?" he asked.

There was still one circling his head.

"Yes," she replied.

"Whew!" He let out a breath of relief and reached for his things. "I'm looking for Detective Lieutenant Sam Evans. I just want a picture..."

That was all Mercedes needed to hear.

She grabbed the hose that she'd coiled yesterday after watering the yard and nailed him.

"Hey!" He curled over his phone and camera to protect them. "Hey!"

She lowered the hose.

"You're trespassing."

He stared at her like she was a loon.

"You ruined my things! I'm going to call the cops!"

"Do that," she suggested. "And be sure to tell them you were on private property, trying to get a picture to sell to the media, when you accidentally ran into the sprinklers."

"I'm not leaving," he said. "Not until I talk to the owner of this house."

Mercedes lifted the hose again, making him squeak and ran off.

"That's what I thought," she said, and dropped the hose.

Feeling a little better, she went inside and wrapped up the second omelet and put it in the fridge with a note to her tall, handsome, and attitude-ridden landlord.

Sam,

I made you a kick-ass omelet. Thanks for letting me stay the night.

Mercedes

P.S. I hosed the paparazzi scoping out your back deck, so I doubt he'll be back today.


It took her a moment to find her keys, since she'd thrown the key bowl at Sam.

Luckily, they were under the table.

Grabbing them, she headed out the door to her class.

It was surprisingly hot already, which might have sent anyone else scampering back inside, but she was made of sheer, one-hundred-percent resilience.

Or so her mom always said.


Outside, her truck didn't want to start.

It was a morning thing, something the two of them had in common.

"Come on baby," she coaxed, patting the dash with love. "Do it for me."

The sweet talk worked, because the truck roared to life, and she was off.


North Bend tended to roll up its sidewalks at dusk, and at the moment, they hadn't yet been unrolled.

The sleepy town was just coming to life, with little to no traffic on the streets and the shops not yet open for business.

The pier was quiet too, also the arcade, which was dark and void of any life form.

On the outskirts of town, stood a Ferris wheel, standing still against the morning sky.

There was also a large, one-story building that had once been a small army outpost, but the barracks had been converted to apartments and then into a senior center.


Inside the senior center, Mercedes was greeted by a lady called Millie Jackson. She was somewhere between sixty and one hundred, had a tendency towards velour sweat suits in eye-popping colors, and had a heart of gold.

She also had an ear for gossip...like most old biddies in town.

She was curator of the local art gallery, stand-in librarian and the town's social media queen. All of these she ran with equal enthusiasm.

Millie came out for all of Mercedes' classes, because she had a crush on the men at the senior center, at least the ones who were 'still kicking' as she liked to say.

She smiled sympathetically at Mercedes.

"You okay, honey?"

"Of course," Mercedes answered . "Why?"

"I heard about your breakup. It's all over social media."

Mercedes stared at her.

"Who put it out there?"

"Me," Millie replied, then grimaced. "I'm sorry. I heard it through the grapevine, so I wanted to get Brody up on our list of eligible bachelors."

She patted Mercedes' hand.

"Don't give him another thought, baby. A man like Brody Wesson isn't ready to be tied down, is all. Not your fault."

Mercedes hadn't wanted to tie him down. She'd wanted…well, she didn't know exactly what she wanted.

'Liar, liar, pants on fire,' her thoughts screamed. Of course she knew.

She wanted to be loved.


They entered the big rec room for class and found the usual gang...ex-postmaster and currently, a professional hell raiser, Mr. Nelson, ex–truck driver and current geriatric playboy Mr. Lester, and ex–rocket scientist and current ringleader Mr. Sheldon...all of them decades north of their midlife crises.

Mr. Winters was there as well, because he'd just driven them back from the breakfast buffet and was helping everyone off the Dial-A-Ride van.


Mercedes had kept a few of the floral arrangements from the town auction, so she unloaded them, setting them around the place so that the seniors could enjoy them.

Then she started class.

They've been working on miniature animal statues...which was a thing of hers.

When she'd been a little girl, she and Heather had sometimes been left alone for long periods of time, while their mother had been at work, and it hadn't always been safe enough to go outside to play.

She would mix flour, salt, and water together into homemade clay, passing the time creating palm-sized animals.

The seniors enjoyed it.

Marley's grandma Esther was there, working meticulously on a cat, while Mr. Nelson created a lump, that he claimed was a grizzly bear.

"Top of the food chain," he said. "Like me. Why aren't I on your list of eligible bachelors, Millie? I'd kick ass on that list."

Mrs. Cartwright, a former principal, smacked him upside the head and said,

"Watch your language."

Mr. Lester, who'd been watching the exchange and sliding his dentures around some, grinned at Mrs. Cartwright.

"I'm making an elephant," he said. "Want to see its trunk?"

She deftly reached over and flattened the elephant with one smack of the palm of her hand, making Mr. Sheldon chuckle.

"No worries. His trunk didn't work anyway," he said, eliciting loud guffaws from Mr. Nelson.


After class, Mercedes dashed to her truck, beneath a sizzling sun.

The temperature had risen and so had the humidity, and it took forever for her AC to kick in.

While she waited, she realized that Brody still had a presence in her vehicle and that rankled her.

She ripped his pic from the dash, yanked out his Coldplay CD, and grabbed his sunglasses from the console.

She thought about how beloved he was here in the town, of course, no one knew that he was a two-timing jerk.

She briefly thought about tossing his stuff in the trash. It would be extremely satisfying, but she just couldn't do it.

So she let out a breath and headed to Town Hall. Hopefully, James was around today too, and she could drop everything off in Brody's office, so she wouldn't have to look at it...or him...ever again.


There were cars in the lot, probably other people cleaning up from the celebration, and maybe some hard-working government employees putting in overtime, but no sign of Brody's Lexus.

Mercedes shoved Brody's things into her purse and took a moment to peek into the rearview mirror.

Her hair had soaked up the humidity, frizzing into what now, closely resembled a dandelion.

There was nothing she could do about that, because she'd run out of her drugstore de-frizz a week ago.

But she could wipe the mascara from beneath her eyes and apply some watermelon gloss...whose label promised to bring forth some serious shine and sexiness.

And after the past few days she'd had, she could use some fortitude and strength to go with it, but she was pretty sure she wasn't going to get that from a lip gloss.

A good stiff drink...maybe...

"Later," she promised herself. "A glass of something strong, a bath, and a serious pity party for one."

But for now, she patted down her hair the best she could and grabbed her purse.


Brody shared an assistant with several other city workers. And her name was Andrea. She was tall, willowy, and beautiful, and she was standing behind her desk, frowning at her computer, all the while, still looking beautiful.

And on top of that, her shiny blonde hair wasn't the slightest bit frizzy.

"Mercedes," she said in surprise, "What are you doing here on a Sunday?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing."

"Work."

She gestured to her computer, where a Skype screen was open to reveal another woman...Bethany Reyes, the mayor's wife, who was in her early forties, though she looked a full decade younger.

She was an interior decorator to the rich and famous, and was one cool customer.

Suddenly, Mercedes was glad she wasn't here in person, because in person, she had a way of making her feel like a bargain-basement special. Plus, her perfume made her sneeze. In fact, just thinking about it made her nose itch.


"Sorry," Mercedes said. "I didn't mean to interrupt. But I've got some things belonging to Brody, that I forgot to drop off yesterday."

She left out the part about stealing her pencil pot back. There was no need to present herself as a Level Five Crazy Ex.

"Can I leave it all in his office?" she asked.

"I can't let you in there," Andrea said. "It's against the rules. But I can take it for him."

"It's not work related," Mercedes said, purposely leaving out details.

People loved Brody, she got that. But that's not why she kept quiet about their breakup. She kept quiet because she didn't want to be pitied.

An awkward silence arose.

"What is it?" Bethany asked. "The ex-boyfriend box of crap?"

'So, they did know,' Mercedes thought.

"Social media," Andrea said.

"I have to go," Mrs. Reyes said, looking at Andrea. "I'll be in the office on Monday with the new office chairs we talked about."

And then she clicked off.


Andrea quit Skype and looked at Mercedes.

"I knew you two lived together, everyone did, but the general consensus was that, you two were just friends. At least that's how Brody always made it sound."

She pulled out her keys.

"You can leave everything on his desk, but I did not let you in there."

"Never saw you," Mercedes said.

And so, she found herself in her ex's office, for the second time in as many days, which was two more times than she'd been here all month.

Brody had been far too busy for far too long. And it burned deep that she'd let it happen, that she'd let him put her on the back burner without a thought.

Why had she done that?

Why had she accepted less from him than she deserved?

Because he was the golden boy?

Because she'd gotten herself infatuated with the idea of a relationship?

She sat in his big, leather chair, set his things on his desk, and eyed the blotter scribbled with his familiar scrawl.

Call CPA. Order cards. Email reports.

"Huh," she said, "No Screw over Mercedes anywhere on the list."

She grabbed a new sticky note and let out the beast that was harnessed for far too long.

ASS.

She set the note front and center on his desk, next to the things from her truck. Then, she studied her handiwork for a minute and decided it wasn't quite enough.

So she added a few more thoughtful sentences, on what she thought of his skills as a boyfriend, and finally, feeling marginally better...and grateful that Mrs. Cartwright wasn't here to smack her upside the head for her language...she exited the office.

Andrea was no longer at her desk, which was just as well, because, Mercedes wasn't sure if she could muster a smile, as she exited the building.


Of course it was still hot.

And once again, Mercedes made her way to her truck and cranked on the AC, which was making an ominous grinding sound.

She blew out a breath. Today would be a great day for it to break.


She wasn't sure where to go next. And she didn't want to crowd Sam in his own home, after he'd been so generous by letting her stay an extra night.

The flower shop was only a half block away, so she decided to go there, and while there, she could grab her paycheck.

Kurt would probably be in his office in the back, watching Bravo, yelling at whatever Real Housewives show was on. So she could spend some time online and see if an available apartment had come up.

With that decision made, she got out of the truck, into the sweltering day, and walked over to the flower shop.

The old Victorian building had long ago been divided into three storefronts...the flower shop, Marley's grandmother's bakery, and an old bookstore that had been closed all year.

Most of the other downtown buildings had been renovated in the past decade, but not this one. And it needed a major overhaul...but Mercedes loved it.

The place had quirks and its own charm and character in spades.

The flower shop was on the left, painted pastel yellow with white trim. The wood floors creaked and the lights always flickered, but to Mercedes, those things gave the place personality.

It felt like her home away from home.

If she had a home.


Kurt wasn't here, and as she moved through the front room, she inhaled the familiar scent of flora and tried to relax.

She went through the available rentals again, lowering her expectations, trying to find something that would work.

There were two, but one was subletting a room in some guy's house, and that felt a little sketchy for a woman. And the other was on the outskirts of the county, far more remote and isolated, than even the beach house...so it was not ideal.

She looked around Kurt's office, which held a tiny desk, two filing cabinets filled to overflowing, and enough room to stand.

And nowhere to sleep.

Knowing she'd stalled as long as she could, she got up to go and opened the top desk drawer to grab her paycheck. But Kurt hadn't written it, and one glance at the balance scrawled in his checkbook told her why...he was short again.

He'd left her an envelope with half of what he owed her in cash, and a note that he'd get her the rest by the end of the week.

'Oh boy,' she thought and then, 'Things are going to be okay.'

Only, she didn't know how.


Mercedes moved to the office window and looked out.

She could see the pier from here, the Ferris wheel turning, and the trees lining the street swaying.

She knew if she opened the window, the breeze would be scented with an intoxicating combo of sea salt, pine trees, and hope.

And she craved that.

The fact was, the town gave off a quiet serenity and strength, and she craved that too.

She'd grown up in smoky, noisy, colorful lounges and bars.

Her mother had a long work history, from waitress to 'dancer,' and then back to waitressing, when it got too hard on her body.

She might not have been all that good with money, but she was good with love. Some would argue too good, as she'd rarely met a man she didn't fall for.

But when there'd been trouble...and there had been trouble...her mother had always come through for her girls, and together, they'd handled whatever had come up.


Mercedes had gotten good at handling things...real good.

This was just another of those times, she thought.

Needing to connect to someone who loved her, she pulled out her cell phone and texted both her mom and sister...Missing you, how's things?

Heather replied right away.

Got a hot date with Leonard. Remember him? He's hot as ever and running his dad's plumbing business now.

Maxine Jones' response was just as fast.

Mercy-mine, I miss your pretty face! Gotta run, caught some OT to help cover rent. Oh...I'm taking an online business class that's gonna change everything, you'll see.

In her mother's world, there was always something that was going to change everything. And the thing was, her mother honestly believed it.

Optimism was one of her most endearing qualities, but it also left Mercedes as the only realistic one in the family.


She looked in her envelope again and worked some fancy math, before texting her mom back.

Got some extra this month. I'll send.

Her mother's response was immediate...You're an angel. What would I do without you?

And that was exactly what Mercedes worried about.


Sam woke up with a start, his heart thundering in his chest, the vision of a drowned Carolina Diaz crystal clear in his head.

Her hair had been floating behind her in a terrible parody of beauty, eyes open in permanent terror, skin so pale as to be translucent.

He'd been there when they'd pulled her body from the water, but he'd seen plenty of dead bodies before.

It wasn't the image haunting him now, so much as the failure to save her.


It was pitch black in the room, that means it had to be dark outside, but he didn't need a light to remember where he was...in hell.

He sat straight up, realizing he'd slept all day.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he let his wits catch up with him.

He would've rolled over and closed his eyes to take the rest of the sleep he still needed, but his stomach rumbled in protest.

'Damn!'

He reached for his phone and saw he had messages.

'No big surprise there,' he thought, as he read that his commander wanted him to get his ass back to San Francisco in one week...not the three he had asked for, because, according to said commander, 'vacation time was for pussies' not to mention, that it left him dealing with the 'media shitstorm' on his own.

Then, there was his mom, reminding him that sometimes things happened for a reason. And his dad, telling him to work through it and stay strong.

Last, there was Jake's message, suggesting that he not read the news or turn on the TV.

So of course, Sam went straight to the browser app on his phone and brought up the news.

Yep...there it was...the media shitstorm was still raging, with people blaming the DA, the entire SFPD.

And him, of course.

Well, that was okay, because he blamed himself too.


Sam slid off the bed and staggered up the creaky stairs into the kitchen.

He was starving.

He figured he could drive into town, but he'd have to get dressed, and plus, he had no idea where he'd left his keys. He rarely did anyway.

Without turning on the light, he pulled open the refrigerator door.

He had no idea what he was expecting, because he hadn't yet stocked any food...he hadn't thought that far ahead. Actually, he hadn't thought of anything, other than getting away to hear himself think.

Or better yet...not think.

But there was bottled water, milk, eggs, cheese, luncheon meats, apples, oranges, and hitting the jackpot...beer.

And there was also a plate on the middle shelf, with a colorful note stuck right on the top of it, from Mercedes.

He'd nearly forgotten about her.

Curious, he pulled out the plate. In it sat an omelet. He'd have preferred pie, but this looked good.

Hell, who was he kidding? Anything he didn't have to cook would have looked good to him.

He opened the plate, and wolfed down the omelet where he stood. He was just moving to the sink when he heard a whisper of a sound.

Footsteps.


Sam reached for his gun, before remembering he was unarmed and in his boxers. Shit, he definitely needed more sleep.

"Hands where I can see them, dick breath," a female said, and then the overhead light was slapped on.

Turning slowly, he came face to face with Mercedes standing in the kitchen entryway, with an umbrella in one hand...aimed in his direction like a sword...and the other hand still on the light switch.

Clearly, she'd been in bed sleeping.

Her hair was wild, like an explosion in a mattress factory. Her eyes were huge in her pretty face. And she wore a thin, white wife-beater tank top and sweatpants that were so big they were slipping off.

She lowered the umbrella and hitched up the sweats.

"I thought we had an intruder."

"We do," he said. "You."

To distract himself from the fact that she was very braless, he eyed her stance. She wasn't new at protecting herself, he could see that.

"Dick breath?" he asked, a brow raised.

"Sorry, I was trying to sound tough," she said.

She shoved a hand through her crazy hair, looking a little bit wild and a lot off her game, and yet, he thought, there she stood, ready to defend his house.

The first person on his side in a good long time.


Firmly ignoring the odd feeling in his gut, Sam shook his head.

"Bad idea, coming up on a pissed-off, hungry, exhausted cop like that."

"I didn't know it was you," Mercedes said. "And you're not a cop right now. You're on leave."

He could have told her he was always a cop, but he didn't.

"What if I'd shot you?" he asked.

"Well, you would've ruined my whole day," she said, in a tone that told him her day had been shitty.

Then, her gaze ran over him, and he knew the exact second she registered that all he wore was boxers, because her breath caught audibly.

She was definitely aware of him as a man. Brody might have dented her heart, but he hadn't broken it.

"Is that a gun in your shorts," she asked softly. "Or are you just happy to see me?"


Stay safe!