Page 65 of Whiskey Chase
I considered ignoring the text, but that was the chickenshit way out and not the Mona Lisa McNugget kind.
The Bodine brothers wouldn’t hide from their past. Hell, Gibson saw his horrible ex on an almost daily basis. I tapped the message.
Johanna: We need to talk.
Hell. No. I didn’t have anything left to say to her. Had she sent this text a few weeks ago, when I was sitting in a strange town in a dark house, I would have had a litany of topics to discuss. But now? Everything was different.Iwas different.
I swiped back to the messages and Scarlett’s name popped up on the screen. My heart soared, and I marveled at the difference in my reactions to the two women.
Scarlett: Thinking about you and your sexy face. Also, if you’re not doing anything, I’m stuck under Judge Carwell’s front porch and could use your help. If I call Gibson he’ll never let me live it down.
“Oh, shit.”
Jonah’s head swiveled in my direction. I dialed Scarlett’s number and made a grab for my car keys. “Where’s Judge Carwell’s house?” I asked when she answered.
“Oh, thank God! I thought I was gonna die under this rotted out lumber.”
“I’m on my way as soon as you tell me where you are.”
“I’m on Rum Runner Avenue. Blue house, black shutters. My truck’s out front.”
I heard a weird growling noise in the background. “What’s that?”
“I’ll explain when you get here. Please hurry, and don’t you dare say a word to my brothers.”
“I’ll be there in five.” I hung up and headed toward the door.
“Scarlett emergency?” Jonah asked from the kitchen.
“I’m not allowed to tell you. But if I can’t fix it, I’ll call you,” I said, pushing through the screen door.
25
Scarlett
Iwas good and stuck. I should have known better than trying to crawl under the damn porch with my damn tool belt on. But the damn cat had gotten out when I planed down the door, and the last thing Carolina Rae Carwell had said before she’d left was “Don’t let the cat out.” If I didn’t find Mr. Fluffers and get him back inside, I’d never get to enjoy Carolina Rae’s cornbread again.
It was a fate worse than death.
Though laying flat in the dirt under a sagging front porch with a hissing cat’s collar hooked in my fingers wasn’t so great either.
“Scarlett?”
I’d never been more relieved in my entire life to hear someone call my name.
“Oh my God, Devlin!”
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I’m under the porch, and I have a cat, and my belt’s hooked on something, and I hope you’re not dressed nice because I’m gonna have to ask you to ruin your clothes and belly crawl on in here.”
There was silence. “Dev?” I called.
“I’m here.”
“You’re recording this, aren’t you?”
“Damn right I am.”
