Gina was three seconds away from losing her shit completely. Everything was going so wrong that the people at Merriam-Webster or Urban Dictionary needed to come up with a new word for it.
Ford Hartigan was in her house. Her brothers were in her house. A dead body that was probably her long-assumed-dead grandpa was in her house. And all she could think about was the fact that she was in holey leggings and a paint-splattered T-shirt with a drawing of a dog humping a houseplant on it.
The shirt had been a gag gift from one of her besties, Lucy, who lived to buy totally inappropriate things just to watch Gina turn sixty shades of red. In return, Gina left the radio on full blast whenever she borrowed Lucy’s car.
If they hadn’t been friends since they’d discovered their shared love for extra-sour candy in college, they probably would have killed each other years ago. As it was, they were the best of friends.
What she wouldn’t give to have Lucy here now—or Tess, the quiet third of their undateable crew. Although, they liked to refer to themselves as Single and Slaying It. Definitely had a more empowering vibe, she’d agreed. Instead, it felt like her girls were the only ones in all of Waterbury not stuffed into Gina’s kitchen, which was packed with DIY supplies and boxes, staring at her like she had any answers at all.
“So, walk me through this again,” Ford said, looking way too sexy for a guy wearing a rumpled sport coat that looked like he only put it on in the first place because he was forced to due to some detectives’ dress code regulations. “You were throwing your sledgehammer—”
Rocco turned to her and cut Ford off. “What were you even doing with a thing like that? You coulda killed yourself.”
Really? Her blood pressure spiked. That’s where her brother wanted to go with this conversation? “Grandpa’s body has been trapped between the walls in the attic for years, and you’re worried I’ll brain myself with a sledgehammer?”
He shrugged, obviously unimpressed by her outburst. “Excuse me for caring about my only sister.”
“And how do we even know that was Grandpa?” Paul broke in, his wavy hair sticking up in every direction because no amount of gel could stand up to the constant assault of his fingers plowing through the thick mass since he’d walked in the door. “It could be the bones of some perv who likes to live in the attics of single women.”
God bless him. He was holding out hope that someday Grandpa would come back. She hadn’t. Somewhere deep down, she’d known for years that the man who brought her Twizzlers and packs of glitter pens was gone. She’d done her mourning a decade ago. Her brothers hadn’t. They might be criminally minded, but family meant a lot to them. To her, too. She walked over to him and gave him a quick hug.
“I saw the gold ring, the one he always wore,” she said, her voice quiet. “It was him. I know it.”
Ford cleared his throat. “The medical examiner will confirm the identity and try to determine cause of death.”
“Yeah?” Rocco said with a sneer. “And will that same fine medical examiner also be able to explain how our grandpa has been rotting away for two decades and no one ever noticed? You’re telling me none of the renters who came in over the past ten years noticed?”
Ford narrowed his green eyes and slid the small notebook he’d been using into the inside pocket of his sport coat. “I don’t like to speculate.”
“Do it anyway,” Paul said.
“Please,” Gina added.
For a minute, Ford just stared at her brothers as they stood on the opposite side of the kitchen. Rocco had his back against the fridge, arms crossed, gaze hard. Paul was pacing in the area in front of the bay window with a built-in seat covered by a single long, threadbare cushion. Stillness and motion, that was her brothers. And her? Per usual, she was somewhere in the middle, standing between the two factions and fidgeting with the knob on the junk drawer that always seemed to be loose. Her gaze locked with Ford’s, and her fingers stopped turning the knob. Some expression she couldn’t read passed across his face, and then he began to speak.
“If it is your grandpa, he’s been missing for twenty years,” he said. “If this was due to natural causes, he could have been in the attic, taken a wrong step on the joists since there isn’t a floor up there, and slipped into the small space between the walls. At that point, as no one else lived in the home and your grandpa had questionable ties, shall we say, everyone assumed he’d either skipped town of his own accord or was taken care of in other ways. So, the house stays empty for a number of years. How many was it again?”
“Ten,” Gina said. “My mom really held out hope that he’d come back.”
Ford gave her a small smile, then turned his attention to Rocco. “So, by then the natural decomposition—or at least the bulk of it—would have been completed. It usually takes six to twelve years. After that, no decomposition, no smell. Of course, we won’t know any of that until the medical examiner finishes her report and until then, this is considered suspicious and will be treated as such.”
“You’d say all of this in front of our sister, your girlfriend, without even a twitch of revulsion?” Paul asked, shoving his fingers through his hair again. “She’s fucking delicate.”
Gina couldn’t decide whether to strangle her brother or hug him.
“I’m not delicate,” she said, ignoring the other part of what he’d said. “I’m a grown woman.”
“And we’re here to protect you,” Rocco said. “Because you can’t trust the cops.”
Ford’s jaw clenched.
“I can trust him.” The words came out before she could consider the truth of them, but as they hung in the air, she realized it was true. There was just something about him that settled the frazzled worry that always seemed to be buzzing in the background of her head.
Rocco let out a humorless chuckle and strode to the table, planted his hands on the back of one chair, and leaned forward. “Yeah, we’ll see. He’s sure not acting like a boyfriend.”
This time, it was Ford’s turn to shrug. “She didn’t tell you I was moving in?”
“What?” she said at the same time as her brothers, no doubt all with different reasons for the look of horror on their faces.
Ford crossed over to her and slid his arm around her waist, drawing her in close. “It seemed prudent. If your grandfather was murdered, then whoever did it might come back to make sure there wasn’t any evidence, since there isn’t a statute of limitations on murder.”
The scent of his cologne teased her senses while the touch of his fingertips on her hip, over the yoga pants and under the hem of her hideous T-shirt, made her lungs tighten. Ford? Here? No. It wasn’t true. She repeated it in her head. He was just trying to be nice. A pity kindness to get her brothers to chill the fuck out. He didn’t mean it.
Rocco looked from her to Ford and back again. “I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, concentrating on the words instead of the butterflies doing the Cha-Cha Slide in her stomach—because Ford being this close and touching her was doing a helluva number on her ability to remember to breathe. “But as you can see, everything is being handled. Why don’t you guys go home? I’ll let you know any updates as soon as I get them.”
Her brothers looked at each other and had one of those silent conversations they’d had her entire life, where things got decided without a single syllable being uttered. Finally, Paul turned to her.
“Okay,” he said. “But call us as soon as you know anything.”