I dropped my head so my chin touched my chest. Great. I'd fit this additional issue into all my free time.

My mother calling to say she had an urgent case rarely-never happened-so how did she always have horrible timing?

"I'm a little tied up right now," I said, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear to stretch the coat over the bat. I had to look like I was the only player in a game of Tree-Leaf Twister.

It wasn't that I didn't want more cases, but last time she had me babysitting a demon cat. The mobster's demon cat who almost killed us. NB still had nightmares.

Rain smothered my hair, and I shivered as it soaked my shirt.

"You never have time to talk to me," she complained.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. If I told her my location and what had me tied up, she'd launch into her speech on safety. Then I'd spend significant time explaining my safety guidelines. I just didn't have time for it all.

Plus, what could be worse than the cat?

I fixed my footing, rustling leaves on the forest floor and awakening the scent of pine needles. "Okay, what's this case?"

Her tone immediately lightened. "I had a lovely phone call with your Uncle Richard, and he is going out of town for the school holiday."

"There's a school holiday?" I asked and then immediately regretted it. I knew better than to ask clarifying questions. The extra information never helped.

"It's the mid-winter break or something. You know how school is these days. They take vacations for everything. Don't interrupt, Vonnie. I taught you better."

She really didn't.

"Uncle Richard bought cheap tickets to Florida, and he's determined to get his toes in the sand, but Claire is refusing to leave."

Oh, my word. If I had a wooden door available, I'd thump my head against it.

"That's tragic, Mom, but I'm sure they'll figure it out." How was any of this my problem or an urgent case? We had very different definitions on urgent. "I'm really in a situation here."

My back ached as muscles stretched and my thighs burned with my hunched-over position. I couldn't even blame my lack of exercise lately. No one could maintain this position and not feel it.

Leaves crunched to my right, and I jerked my head that way, almost dislodging the phone.

Detective Anderson, in his tan trench coat, ran toward me. The police badge hanging from his neck hit his chest with every step. Beside him Ridge Jefferson kept pace in his dark-wash jeans and polo shirt. He glanced to his right to check his position and then pumped his legs harder.

They were clearly racing one another, and I couldn't pinpoint who was in the lead. I shook my head as my mother continued filling me in on her observations about my Uncle Richard.

"Oh, my word," I mouthed at both of them as they neared. They were still neck and neck, both pretending like they weren't in a two-man race. Men.

"Wait, Mom. Did you say goldfish?" There's no way I heard that correctly. Right?

Anderson pulled ahead of Ridge, but his long coat billowed out behind him like a cape creating wind resistance.

"It's a family pet, Vonnie. Apparently, Claire has become very attached to the little thing."

If I had a free hand, I would have rubbed at my forehead, impersonating a classic Broadrick move, but I needed both of them for the coat.

Anderson came to a sliding stop a few feet from me first, and Ridge finished a half a second later. The two of them scowled at one another, and then Anderson fixed his coat as if it'd been a little windy and not that he'd just raced a grown man through the woods.

I'd never understand the male species.

Ridge gathered up the leather jacket from me without a word. I stretched out my fingers as he flicked the water off it. Anderson's team of crime scene technicians made their way through the woods, creating a racket. They walked at a regular pace like non-weirdos. They were quite a ways behind the running fools.

I stepped away from the bat I'd worked hard to cover and Anderson crouched in, signaling with his hands to one of his team to bring over a tarp.

"Listen, Mom. We'll have to talk about this later." No way did I plan to watch a goldfish for my aunt and uncle. It sounded ridiculous, but since I'd only been half listening, I held out hope that I'd misheard her.

The team with Anderson stretched out four long poles and set up a little tent station on top of the bat to protect it from the elements. If only I had one of those. I'd have to search online and see how much one might cost. If they were out of my price range, I might ask for it as a Christmas gift.

"I'll just tell her you said yes," she said, and I jerked back to the call.

I clutched the phone to my ear, my muck boot getting stuck in an extra squishy spot. "No, Mom. Don't..." My pleas went unanswered as she'd already hung up.

Great, now I had to figure out how to tell my uncle no. When the heck did they get a goldfish? Why did no one tell me these things.

A man in a dark blue jacket and the standard cop pants leaned over the bat and snapped a picture on a huge camera. He positioned it to the left and snapped another. To the right and another. Then he took a step backward and repeated the process again, making his way around the bat from various positions.

It seemed like a bit of overkill, but the police liked to have as many angles as possible. At least they used digital photography now and not the old-school film. One of my Criminal Justice professors bemoaned the use of digital, but it made things a lot easier.

"This isn't your crime scene," Anderson said to Ridge as the two men stood off against one another almost chest to chest.

Ridge crossed his arms, making the space between them even smaller. "Your team is incompetent."

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Blowing things up for a living doesn't make you an expert."

Okay then. I waited for exactly twenty seconds and then gave up. Eventually, those two were going to whip out a measuring tape, and I wanted to be there for pictures. Until then I wanted out of the rain.

I waved to-one of them since neither returned the gesture and then headed out of the woods via the shortest distance. The shorter route led me to the baseball fields, but since no one kept secrets in this town-unless you were killing someone-I was no longer worried about Broadrick figuring out where I'd been.

As proof that word spread quickly, my tall and rugged Navy SEAL met me at the edge of the woods. He popped open an umbrella and walked with me to where he'd parked Rachel.

"You want to talk about it?" Broadrick asked as he opened the car door for me.

The rain slowed to barely a trickle, but it had already done enough damage by soaking me. "No, I just want to head home and change." Eat a cookie.

Broadrick snapped his leather jacket, flicking off the rain, handed it back to me, and then closed the door. "Sorry. No can do," he said once he was in his own seat.

"What? I'm wet."

He smirked and flicked on the heat, letting a warm blast of air hit me in the face until I adjusted the vents. "There's no time. I'm going to be late for my appointment. You said this was a simple hike."

"I never used the word hike." It wasn't in my vocabulary.

We drove for a few minutes as Broadrick headed out of town, and I did my best to not ask where we were going. On principle. Even though not knowing was driving me insane. He had an appointment? Where? A crime scene? A job for Ridge? Some weird underground bunker hideaway where he stashed his zombie doomsday supplies? Where did a man like Broadrick have an appointment?

I was dying to know but acting nonchalant.

He turned on the road leading to Clearwater, and I tapped the window to stop myself from screaming my questions. Did he have enough cans of beans at his zombie bunker? Could I bring the damn goldfish to the bunker with me?

That stupid goldfish.

If I ended up on goldfish duty because of my mother, I'd be ticked.

"Why so glum?" he asked as the speed limit increased and we passed by the pelican that greeted people as they drove into town.

"My mom wants me to watch my aunt's goldfish." Did zombies eat goldfish?

Broadrick snorted out a laugh. "You did so well with the cat."

"She called it a case. A goldfish is not a case." I really had to define the meaning of "a case" with her.

He laid his hand on my knee and squeezed. "That's how she shows she loves you."

What a funny way of showing it. "Why can't she show it with an actual case? A dead body?"

"Parents never do what we want," he said.

Broadrick rarely talked about his parents. He'd been insanely smart in high school and graduated early, but it was never enough for his father. To prove himself, he became a SEAL, but he'd never told me how his dad felt about him leaving the military. I mostly let him tell me whenever he wanted, and he rarely wanted.

"How are your parents?" I asked, trying not to prod but really wanting to learn.

He shrugged, and I lowered the heat so I didn't miss his answer. "Mom wants to come visit. She's excited to meet you."

My heart thumbed hard. "You told her about me?"

"Yeah," he said like that was obvious, but it wasn't obvious to me. "You're pretty much all we talk about."

What?

Okay, I didn't like that.

"You've only told them good stuff. Right?" I asked with a new feeling hitting me. Panic.

Broadrick laughed and squeezed my leg again. "Mostly."

"Broadrick!"

"I'm kidding. My mom already loves you. It will be fine."

From the worry hitting my stomach, it didn't seem like it would be fine. What if she hated me and told him to dump me?

If I had to choose between figuring out a way to get out of goldfish duty or worrying about Broadrick's mother, I'd avoid both and give in to my desire to question our destination.

"Where are we going?" I asked once he slowed coming into Clearwater.

Broadrick grinned. "Twenty-four minutes. Good job. Longer than I expected."