Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(64)

“I’m sure investigators have done their due diligence,” I assured her. “I’m just curious. It’s a flashy story with a lot of shiny information for a researcher like me to play with. That’s all.”

Jenny sat down on the bench next to me.

“Men like Judge Kendall have the kind of power that others easily underestimate. Don’t forget that. Don’t underestimate him.” It sounded less like friendly advice and more like a warning.

And she wanted me to hear it, abide by it.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

She shrugged, and the corners of her mouth lifted as she watched a pair of grandparents corral their three grandchildren on the sidewalk.

“Everyone knows people like him,” she said vaguely. “Don’t underestimate them, and don’t do something that could be misconstrued as a threat. Men like that guard their power and their reputations fiercely.”

“Like I said, I’m sure there’s nothing to find,” I said lightly.

“Good. I’d like to think that my son’s casual summer fling is careful.”

“You heard the news,” I said. I wondered if I’d ever had the “so you are engaging in sex with my son conversation” before.

“I think Scarlett took out a billboard,” Jenny said with an easy smile. “My son is a good man. And I think you’ll treat him right. So don’t expect any interference from me no matter how much I’d like to see him married and happy and to have a few grandkids on my lap.”

The woman had said no interference. But she hadn’t meant no pressure.

“Speaking of dating,” I said, changing the subject to something a little safer. “You should probably tell me who you’re meeting for lunch so I can do my duty as a temporary Bootlegger and spread the gossip.”

We chit-chatted like two old friends for a few minutes until Jenny said she had to go. She was looping her purse over her shoulder when she stopped again.

“You haven’t seen Gibson around lately, have you?” she asked.

I frowned, thinking. “No. Not since Jonah’s party.”

“Hmm,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I was just wondering how he was taking the news that the body they found was Callie Kendall. I hope all the Bodines are doing okay,” she added quickly.

“They’re all probably just waiting to see what will happen next with their father still a person of interest,” I guessed.

Jenny pursed her lips and nodded. “Well, you have a nice day. Be safe, Shelby. My son likes you a lot.”

There it was again. That vague warning that gave me a little shiver up the spine.





35





Jonah





“Ten more burpees,” I said, dropping down into a push-up position.

“I really fucking hate you right now,” George groaned next to me.

“No, you don’t. You hate that you have to go through this,” I said, gritting my teeth through the push-up and hopping back on my feet.

“That, too. And burpees. I fucking loathe burpees,” he said, climbing to his feet.

“Where’s that jump and clap?”

I was practically begging to get punched in the face. But training George, a professional athlete, was pretty freaking awesome. The man’s strength was circus-freak level. And his muscle had already burned off six unwanted pounds since we started working together.

He gave a lackluster bounce on his toes, a sloppy clap.

“Nine more. Let’s go.”

“I could punch you for these or the fact that you’re sleeping with my sister and didn’t tell me,” he wheezed.

“Yeah, you could,” I agreed.

“I want points for my self-control,” George said, eyeing me before dropping down to the ground again.

“Consider points awarded.”

We bitched and busted our way through them, and when it was over, we both lay down in the grass. Chugging water and swiping sweat out of our eyes.

“You’re meaner than any trainer I had when I played,” he complained.

“They have to be nice to you in the league. Can’t have a bunch of three-hundred-pound babies crying about drills and sit-ups.”

“So you and my sister?” George said, picking up the thread I’d let drop.

“Yeah,” I said.

“As long as you’re good to her, I won’t plow my fists into your face,” he said.

“Understood.” I sat up, grabbed a foam roller, and tossed it to him. “Here, this will help you hate me less in the morning.”

He leaned forward and rubbed at the scars on his leg. One bad tendon had brought his career to a screeching halt. “I gotta ask Shelby what she used on her scars to help them heal,” he muttered.

I remembered the scar on her chest, the jagged one on her leg.

“How did she get them?” I asked. I’d noticed them, but their origin had never come up in conversation.

He studied me. “She doesn’t like to talk about it,” he said, taking another swig of water before shoving the foam roller under his hamstrings.

For a minute, I thought that would be the end of it.

“Since you’re sleeping with her, living with her, I’d feel better if you knew. Sometimes she still has nightmares about it.”