Take A Chance On Me (A NOLA Heart Novel Book 2) Read online

  “I promise not to tell her you said that.”

  Waving a dismissive hand through the air, he said, “Nah, go for it. She knows it’s all said with love.” Nathan brought his other leg up and dropped his elbows to his knees. “Wanna expand on that, though?”

  The sigh she blew out was so soft he almost missed it. She was nervous, he realized. Still holding the hammer down by her side, Jade swung it back and forth as she stared at the stained-glass window. It was early enough in the afternoon that shards of color weren’t yet painting the room in jeweled tones.

  “I guess it’s just . . . Rita is a celebrity hair stylist and Sammie is in her last year of fashion design school.” Jade’s gaze flicked to him. “I thought Lizzie looked familiar when I met her but I didn’t realize why until after.”

  Nathan knew where she was going with this and didn’t see the big deal. “Lizzie’s the same girl in person as she is on YouTube, Jade. Don’t be weird about it.”

  “Don’t be weird about it?” she demanded incredulously. “Your sister has over two million YouTube subscribers. I knew she looked so put together when I showed up for dinner, but I didn’t get it until Sammie sent me Lizzie’s latest makeup tutorial and she was dressed in the same outfit as the night I came over.”

  “Sammie’s a fan, then?” For as much as he ragged on Lizzie, she was still his baby sister and he was incredibly proud of her. “I’ll let Liz know.”

  “What? No.” The hammer swung faster and, in a move of self-preservation, Nathan stood up and removed it from her grasp.

  Her big, dark eyes shot up to him, questioning, and he murmured, “You swing this any faster and I’m worried you’ll do major damage.”

  She blinked, like what he said was physically impossible. “I’ve been around tools all my life. My dad didn’t have a son, just us girls.”

  Just like that, Nathan understood the crux of her problem. He placed the hammer on the built-in bookshelf and turned back to the woman who seemed determined to strip him raw.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Her expression turned wary. “Can I ask you one first?”

  “We playin’ the point for point game again?” It would be all too easy to fall into the same old rhythm that kept him moving from day to day. But here was a woman who challenged him, whose sharp tongue was tempered by bright smiles, and Nathan . . . He realized he didn’t mind answering her questions so much. Not when there wasn’t any malice in them. She was curious, and if giving honest responses to her questions meant that he could expect the same from her, he wasn’t about to turn down the chance to get to know her a little better.

  That’s what friends did, right?

  He nearly snorted. Yeah, what he felt for Jade right now was pure masculine interest. The kind of interest a man had for a woman he found attractive.

  In a gravelly voice he barely recognized as his own, he murmured, “Ask me your question.”

  “Why did you join the NOPD?” In the time that it took for him to draw a breath, she added, “Give me the real answer, Danvers, and you can ask me whatever you want.”

  A tempting offer. Brady’s other best friend, Luke, man-whore that he was, would have played this situation to his advantage. Nathan wasn’t anything like Luke. He preferred the shadows to the spotlight, and when it came to women, it was best to shoot straight.

  But right now, under her curious stare, he found himself returning to the shadows. He liked her, especially considering that he’d known her for less than a week. But he wasn’t ready to open up fully, friend or not, lover or not.

  Scrubbing a palm over his face, Nathan instinctively went for the pack of gum in his back pocket again. Empty. He thought of the older woman smoking on her porch from two days ago—Ms. Bev, she’d later introduced herself as at Headquarters—and how desperately he’d wanted one of her Marlboro Reds.

  Pull yourself together.

  He put his hands behind him, pinning them to the shelves with his weight, as though that could ease the craving. His mom had forced him to see a shrink when he’d been honorably discharged eight years ago. The old man had given Nathan such a sneering glance during the session that Nathan had been surprised his nuts hadn’t shriveled like ripe grapes and fallen right off the branch.

  “Addictions are for the weak,” the curmudgeonly old man had grunted. “Give me that Marlboro packet you keep fiddling with.”

  Feeling much like he’d had in elementary school, Nathan had unwillingly handed the Reds over. Then, to his utter disbelief, the therapist had flicked open the cigarette pack, withdrawn the last one, and lit up at his desk.

  “Ahhh, it’s been awhile.” A circle of smoke rose in the air as the therapist cranked back his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. “You can stop looking at me like I’ve killed your puppy, Corporal. You’ve got to learn how to avoid temptation—I’ve removed the first problem.”

  “I’ve got another pack in my truck,” Nathan had pointed out because, fuck it, he wasn’t coming back here again. He didn’t know where his mom had found such a quack, but he highly doubted this session was the norm. Instead of one of those classic black lounge chairs, Nathan’s big frame was shoved into a metal folding chair.

  The old man had stubbed out the cigarette’s cherry with his fingers like a pro, and turned to Nathan with all the intensity that a seventy-something year old man could with bifocal glasses and a bad case of cataracts.

  “There’s that saying that the first step to acceptance is admitting you’ve got a problem, Corporal—you ever hear of it?” A rhetorical question—Nathan wasn’t given the chance to answer. “I say that’s bullshit. Knowing you’ve got a problem helps you none if you aren’t gonna do anything about it. Want to know how you get past an addiction?”

  Dryly, Nathan had murmured, “Is this where I’m supposed to participate?”

  The old man paid him no mind. “You get past an addiction by replacing it with something new—hopefully with something healthier and less self-abusing than what you had going on before.”

  A pack of gum was tossed onto the desk. Brand new, with the plastic wrap still sealed tight. Nathan stared at it, halfway wondering if he’d stepped into the Twilight Zone.

  “Go ahead and take the offering and the advice, Corporal. I’ve got a feeling from the look in your eyes that I won’t be seeing you again.”

  The old man had been right on both fronts. Nathan had taken the advice, and he hadn’t gone back, preferring instead to figure shit out for himself.

  Now, he stared down at Jade’s curious expression. He’d fallen silent, lost in the past, and yet she hadn’t pushed him . . . just waited for him to get back to the present, to tie up the loose memories teasing at his brain.

  He released his pinned hands to white-knuckle grip the shelf on either side of his hips. “An honest answer as to why I joined the NOPD . . . I guess you could say that there were two reasons. After getting out of the military, my resume wasn’t exactly glowing with corporate experience. Joining the force seemed like a natural progression after being a marine.”

  She took one step in his direction, then halted with her sneakers pressed together. She had such long legs—long enough that he could bend her over the bookshelf and take her from behind without him having to play ballerina. Nathan’s grip on the shelves tightened further.

  Jade had no idea how sensual she was, no idea at all.

  As if to prove his point, she wet her bottom lip with a swipe of her tongue. “And the second reason?”

  “I’m going to count this as two questions,” he told her in a low voice. “You good with that?”

  Her long curls shook as she gave a quick nod. “Deal.”

  He wanted to ask why she cared in the first place. None of the women he slept with had ever given a damn—although maybe he was partly to blame for that. He’d never given them an opportunity to learn about anything he liked outside of the bedroom. Life was easier that way. But with Jade . . . hell, here he was giving her opp
ortunities left and right.

  “The military was an addiction, and I replaced that addiction with the NOPD,” he finally answered.

  That wasn’t quite right, not completely. But he’d be damned if he opened up fully—the nightmares that woke him in the dead of night weren’t for her ears. He didn’t want her looking at him like he was nuts. Plus, Nathan did his best to shove those black thoughts into a locked box he never reminisced about.

  He fixed his gaze on Jade’s face. “My turn,” he drawled, going for Charming Danvers. In other words, the version of himself that didn’t make people feel uncomfortable. “Why did you almost disappoint your mom by coming to N’Orleans?”

  It was her turn to shift uncomfortably. “I’m not”—her hands went up in the air, palms to the ceiling as if to say, what can you do?—“I’m not Rita or Sammie or Lizzie. They help people in their own way, boosting self-confidence and everything, but I want to make a difference, too. It’s just that my way doesn’t necessarily equate with eye shadow and flawless foundation.”

  “And this disappoints your mom, how?”

  Her hands fell back down to her sides, her chin lifting in a show of defiance. “I don’t have marriages and kids on my radar, for one. For another, my career choice is ‘un-tasteful.’”

  He tut-tutted, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Sinful, Jade. How could you want to help people?”

  A small smile lit her face, momentarily chasing away the guilt. “I know, right?”

  Pushing away from the bookshelves, he approached her. Two steps, and he was at her side. His close proximity had her tilting her head back so that she could meet his gaze. “My next question,” he murmured softly. His gaze traced the lines of her face, the barely-there freckles dotting her nose and the crests of her cheekbones, as well as the barely-there white scar bisecting the outer edge of her right eyebrow. “If your sisters are like Lizzie, who are you like?”

  He should have prepared himself for her answer. He should have—only he didn’t, and her whispered reply was like a sledgehammer to his chest.

  “You.”

  Chapter Nine

  NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  Jade shot a hand out to the dashboard as her new coworker banged a right so hard she swore the van’s tires lifted off the pavement.

  “Hey!” Tanya exclaimed, swatting at Jade’s hand. “What did I say about touching anything in here?”

  “That I should count myself as lucky that you’re bringing me along on my first day on the job?” Jade made a point of propping her elbow on the center console. “Oh, and that you can get me fired at any time.”

  Jade had known Tanya Smith for all of an hour, but already she’d discovered that an hour was too much. The woman was a menace to society—she spoke loudly, she strutted through the office like she owned the place, and, if this fiasco was anything to go by, Tanya also believed she had the ability to get Jade canned.

  Didn’t help that Tanya had the personality of a kicked puppy crossed with a tenacious Rottweiler. The woman must have done a lot of practicing in the mirror to achieve those help-me looks because, from what Jade could tell, they definitely weren’t natural.

  Those beseeching glances had vacated the premises the moment Jade had crawled into the city-issued van and shifted the seat back to make room for her long legs.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Tanya had sneered with such distaste that Jade’s hand had actually fallen away from the lever.

  Not only was she facing almost certain death this morning, but she was also eating her knees for breakfast (Flavor: 80% polyester, 20% unknown).

  “That’s right,” Tanya said now as she swerved to the side of the road and threw the vehicle into park. “All I’ve got to do is tell Mike that you aren’t cut out for the job and you’re gone.”

  “I hope it won’t come to that,” was all Jade said.

  Mike Davis was the main guy at large in their department. He’d seemed nice when Jade had met him this morning, but Tanya made it no secret that she had the guy in her back pocket.

  Then again, everyone had seemed nice when Jade had introduced herself this morning, including the Wicked Witch of the West behind the wheel. If someone were to tell Jade that she was on one of those Punked! TV shows, where celebrities popped out from unsuspecting places to announce you as the winner . . . Well, she wouldn’t be upset about it.

  Jade could use the money. She could also use a new coworker.

  She reached for the door handle and paused. “Am I allowed to help myself out or are you going to do the honors for me?”

  Tanya sent her a withering glance. “No one likes a smartass, Harper.”

  “No one likes una puta, either,” Jade muttered beneath her breath, as she gathered her work-issued duffel bag and climbed out of the van.

  She didn’t know her way around the city well enough to pinpoint their location. A small park sat to the right with a Spanish-Revival church seated on the corner of the lot. Owners walked the green with their leashed pups, and Jade smiled at the sight. To the left . . .

  Jade inhaled deeply. The buildings seated one after another were beautiful. All were two-stories tall with wrought-iron columns holding up matching intricate balconies. The stucco of each townhouse was painted a different color. Turquoises and yellows, pinks and muted reds—it looked like something out of a travel guidebook.

  Lucia Harper had often shown her daughters photos of Havana, Cuba, and the houses on this street were perfect matches. Jade would have to come back and grab a picture another time. A little taste of home, even though Lucia’s home was actually situated in the middle of the Caribbean Sea and not in the swamp of southeastern Louisiana.

  “Harper, Mike does not like those who dawdle,” said the Wicked Witch of the West.

  Jade had a sneaking suspicion that the bear-like Mike Davis had never uttered the word ‘dawdle’ in his life. Swallowing her annoyance, she followed Tanya to the address they’d been given, and noted the two police officers who stood talking to a visibly upset male civilian.

  “I came home last night and the front door was busted!” The man’s hands flailed as he motioned to the door. “I went inside and it’s all gone.”

  “What’s all gone?” asked one of the cops, his gaze flicking to Tanya and Jade before giving them a short, welcoming nod. “Electronics? Money?”

  Silently Jade returned the nod, then assessed the scene around them. After completing a bachelor’s degree in archaeology—and realizing that her job prospects were pretty much nonexistent after two years of waitressing and sending out hundreds of applications to cultural heritage management companies—she’d returned to school. This time around, she’d chosen a field with a little more promise for employment.

  Not that she planned to spend the rest of her life working as a crime lab technician. No, she had visions of herself working as an analyst, or, better yet, in forensics directly one day.

  But for right now it would do, and so she cast her gaze along the entryway, noting the unbroken dead bolt on the front door, the tipped-over potted plant. There wasn’t a trace of dirt on the cement, leading Jade to believe that the burglar had known exactly what he’d find if he checked there.

  The house key.

  Classic.

  “Sir,” the other cop started, “if it wasn’t your electronics and it wasn’t your money that was taken, what was? Clothes? Food? We can’t write this report for a break-in without information. Let us help you, all right?”

  Looking disgruntled, the owner stared down at his bare feet. “I shouldn’t have called y’all.”

  “You should have reported the incident last night when you realized what had happened,” intoned the first cop with a side glance at his partner.

  There was a small pause where the chirping of birds filled the air like an unofficial ticking clock. Jade waited. Typically, she and Tanya would have already been upstairs, checking for fingerprints and taking photos of the mussed room. Only, the owner stood with his back
to the door, effectively blocking them from entering.

  “If I tell you what was stolen,” the owner said slowly, “will you keep it off the record?”

  Simultaneously both cops pointed to the body cameras attached to their shirts, and the owner blew out a forceful sigh. “All right, fine.” His bleary gaze latched onto the body camera, shoulders slumping. “They took my blow-up doll.”

  Pure.

  Silence.

  Neither cop so much as twitched, which couldn’t be said for Tanya or even Jade. Tanya’s liner-rimmed eyes widened and she rocked back on her heels, and Jade . . . she ducked her head to hide her laughter.

  “Anything else?” the second cop asked in a perfectly monotone voice.

  “They also stole my collection of 80s lesbian porn.”

  “Your . . . collection?”

  The owner snapped, his brows furrowing and his hands flapping about angrily. “Yes, my collection, Officer. VHS tapes. They are collectibles, worth lots of money. So are my old Playboy magazines—also stolen.”

  Jade couldn’t help herself. She had to know. “How far back do your magazines go?”

  “1953 with Marilyn Monroe. Very first edition.” The owner returned his gaze to the officers. “A gift from my dad after he divorced my mom and moved to Albuquerque. Never saw him again. The magazines were up in my attic.”

  The first officer coughed into his fist. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Hugh, it seems like whomever burglarized your house knew exactly what they were looking for. While we talk a little more, why don’t we let crime lab head upstairs? See if they can find anything about your stolen . . . collections.”

  Mr. Hugh gave Jade a distrustful glance, but a once-over of Tanya’s “charms” had him stepping to the side and waving his arm for them to enter the property. “Be my guest, darling.” He bloomed a vibrant red when Tanya sent him an assuring smile. Jade imagined praying mantises did the same just before they launched at their prey. “Thank you so much for coming to help me in my time of need,” he added.