Grave Secrets (Manhunters 1)

“Mr. Ian,” he called through the glass. “Mr. Ian.”

An electric zing stung Savannah’s gut. She put her hand on Jamison’s shoulder and peered through the window to where a man stood in the street beside a tow truck from Mo’s Garage. He wore a navy-blue parka and a baseball hat.

“Honey, that’s not—” Savannah started. But Jamison cut her off with more yells and clacks against the window.

“Jamison.” She caught his hand just as the man turned toward their house. With his fa

ce hidden beneath the brim of a ball cap, Savannah couldn’t tell who it was, but Jamison was grinning and waving.

The man shifted, angling toward them. He pushed his ball cap up and smiled. It was Ian. He waved, then finished his conversation with Mo.

Savannah was still trying to figure out what was happening when Misty’s giddy voice pulled her attention. “Oh my God. Finally. Finally the universe is on your side.”

“How do you figure?”

“Duh.” She gestured toward the window. “Your new neighbor?”

Savannah shook her head, unwilling to buy into the connection between Ian appearing on her street to him being her new neighbor.

When she glanced back at the street, Mo’s truck had driven away, and Ian walked toward the other side of the duplex, shedding his parka and continuing to return Jamison’s incessant wave. Then he leaned into the truck, grabbed a box, and headed inside.

“Oh jeez…” she breathed, her eyes sliding closed. She had to live next door to the sexiest guy who’d come to town in ages? “I’m afraid I just lost a year’s worth of sleep.”

Misty burst out laughing, immediately connecting Savannah’s complaint with the very real tossing-and-turning problem a man like Ian could create for a woman.

Ian living on the other side of their shared wall. Sleeping…changing…showering with just six inches between them.

“Dear God,” she muttered.

Jamison, oblivious to the new turmoil, whirled and grasped her hands. “Can we bring him cookies?” he asked, bouncing on his toes. “Can we? Can we?”

Misty doubled over with laughter while Savannah dropped her head back and groaned.

She and Jamison layered cookies on a paper plate, and Misty said her goodbyes and left for work. Jamison ran to grab his jacket from his bedroom, eager to visit Ian, while Savannah gnawed on her lower lip over the new issues their neighbor presented.

She pulled her own jacket from a hook by the door and glanced out the window again, her gaze holding on the cruiser stationed out front. Hank had surely already been alerted to her new neighbor. Her visit next door with Jamison in tow would go directly to Hank’s ear. If nothing else, she should let Ian know what he was in for if he stayed in the duplex—the same thing others had endured while living there: constant scrutiny, no privacy, manipulation, and coercion, to say the least. Ian’s already tense relationship with the department after the confrontation at the café wouldn’t do him any favors.

“Ready.” Jamison popped up next to her, the plate of cookies in his hand, a big grin lighting his face.

The sight broke her heart a little. He yearned for a male role model. Craved positive reinforcement from a male figurehead. Instead of getting it all from his own father or even his grandfather, Jamison was searching for it in a stranger. A stranger who would soon turn his back on them like every other man in town.

“Come on, Mom,” he said, reaching for the door. “You’re so slow.”

Savannah covered his hand. “Hold on a sec. We need to talk.” She dropped into a crouch and searched for the right words. “You need to remember that Ian is an adult with his own busy life. He’s going to be working long days and will probably be really tired when he gets home. Just because we’re bringing him cookies doesn’t mean you can jump over there any time you want to visit. And you absolutely do not leave the house without telling me.” She gave him a stern look. “Are we clear?”

Her warning didn’t dim Jamison’s grin any. “Crystal.”

Damn, those freckles over his nose, the sparkle in his smile, his unrelenting hope. She ruffled his hair. “Kid, you slay me.”

When they stepped onto the porch, Savannah realized it was much nicer outside than she’d thought. The sun beat down and the snow insulated the area, creating a microclimate of spring bliss. Snow dripped off the eaves and melted over the sidewalks. The plow had come by earlier, and a strip of the road had been cleared.

Savannah left her mittens in her pocket and her jacket unzipped for the short walk. As they approached the strip of revealed asphalt in the street, Corwin looked over from his patrol car. He rolled down his window, smiling at Jamison. “Hey there, little man.”

Savannah glanced down at Jamison, saw the cookies, and realized the man thought they were for him. But Jamison looked right at Corwin, then turned at the road, continuing to Ian’s without a word. Savannah experienced a collage of feelings from pride to fear. When it was obvious Jamison wasn’t going to acknowledge the deputy, Corwin’s gaze turned on Savannah—and it was anything but friendly.

Sure, blame Mom. Everything is my fault.

“Karma’s a bitch,” she told Corwin.