a fact Neal apparently hadn’t deduced yet. But in Josie’s defense, Neal’s “jokes” were rarely funny. Neal, the twisted little jerk, liked to play his jokes on his wife during sex. The last time Eden had been called out here, Neal had been in the middle of an intimate service for his wife, looked up from between her legs and said, “Not as sweet as your sister’s, but it’ll do.”
Predictably, Josie had Katie-kaboomed, and it had taken Eden the better part of an hour to talk her out of doing permanent injury to her husband. God only knew what he’d done this time, Eden thought, and tonight she wanted nothing more than a cool beer from Ice Water and a steaming plate of hot wings. Thanks to Jeb, she’d missed lunch, and it was beginning to look as though Neal’s twisted sense of humor was going to screw her out of a reasonable dinner.
Eden glared at Neal. “Judging from that rifle pointed at your family jewels, Mr. Brink, I don’t think Josie finds your jokes funny.” She looked at Josie, who seemed heartened by Eden’s support. “What did he do, Josie?” she asked, calling upon every shred of patience she had left.
Josie shifted, causing the spaghetti strap on her pink nightie to slip off her slim shoulder. “Remember what he did last time? What he said about my sister?”
Oh, hell. “I do,” Eden replied, blasting Neal with another withering stare.
“Well, he did sort of the same thing, only this time he looked up at me and said—”
“Mmm, mmm. Tastes like chicken,” Neal finished with relish, then dissolved into a fit of guffaws that made Josie’s finger snug dangerously close to the trigger.
Eden gasped and covered her mouth to prevent a rebellious giggle from escaping.
“See!” Josie screamed. “See what I have to put up with? He’s not sorry! He doesn’t care that he’s hurt my feelings!”
“Baby, how many times do I have to tell you that it was a joke?” He laughed at her and shot Eden a look that said his wife was evidently lacking a sense of humor. If that was the case, then Eden was lacking one as well because she probably would have murdered him by now.
Josie fired a shot at the ground at his feet. A clump of grass flew up and hit him in the shin. The smile quickly vanished from Neal’s lips, and his eyes widened in fearful horror. “Woman, what the hell are you doing?” he gasped.
“Excellent shot,” Eden commented with an impressed nod. She wasn’t worried about Josie killing him. If she’d wanted to do that, she would have done it already. Furthermore, Neal deserved Josie’s joke.
Josie discharged another round, this one at a hanging plant next to Neal’s head. Potting soil and hot-pink petunias flew, showering him in a dirty spray. “Playing a joke, Neal,” she said sweetly. “Isn’t it funny? Ha-ha!”
Neal’s outraged gaze swung to Eden as he batted a torn bloom from the top of his head. “What kind of law officer are you?” he demanded. “Are you going to let her keep shooting at me?”
“That depends. Are you going to stop playing jokes on her?” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned casually against her car.
“And he’s got to apologize, too,” Josie piped up, flipping her hair away from her face. She raised the rifle once more, narrowed one eye and took aim. “’Cause if he don’t, he’s gonna be real sorry.”
“I’m sorry!” Neal shrieked when it was evident that Eden didn’t intend to intervene on his behalf. “Dammit, woman, I’m sorry!” He let go a shaky breath. “Sweet Jesus, just put the gun down.”
Josie considered him for a moment, then looked at Eden. “What do you think?”
He sounded more terrified than repentant, but as an officer of the law, she wasn’t supposed to encourage violence…whether she thought it was justified or not. “I think if he’s smart, he won’t play any more jokes on you during sex.”
Josie nodded. “No more jokes, Neal,” she ordered through gritted teeth. “Understood?”
He shoved a shaky hand through his thinning hair, dislodging more potting soil and flowers. “Understood,” he said weakly. “Sheesh. Women.”
Seemingly satisfied, Josie walked over and handed Eden the rifle. “You’d better take it. I’m not so sure I won’t really shoot him if there’s a next time.” Hell, Eden wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t shoot him if there was a next time.
She grinned, accepted the gun and stowed it in the back of her car. “You could always leave, you know,” Eden felt compelled to point out. Honestly, looking at the two of them, she’d never understood the attraction. Josie was a pretty girl, if a little rough around the edges. She could certainly do better than Neal Brink.
“Nah,” Josie said with a small wistful shake of her head. “He makes me laugh.” She turned and started to walk away, then lowered her voice and shot Eden a conspiratorial smile. “And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot in the sack.”
And on that note, it was time to leave, Eden thought as her mouth rounded in a silent oh of revolted surprise. She could have happily gone the rest of her life without that little kernel of insight about Neal Brink.
Furthermore, there was something distinctly depressing about the fact that Neal Brink, despite being of relatively limited intelligence and appeal, was married and getting laid more often than she was.
Eden sighed, slid behind the wheel and welcomed the cool blast of air that hit her face as she negotiated the rutted dirt driveway. Only May, and yet the temperature had to be a humid ninety degrees. Summer was undoubtedly going to be a scorcher, which would ordinarily make Southerners moan and groan, but not where she lived. In fact, the city council would be thrilled. Eden felt a small smile curl her lips. After all, they hadn’t renamed the city Hell for nothing.
Originally the town had been named after Colonel Jamison Hale, a Confederate commander in the Civil War who’d ultimately settled their little parcel of land in South Georgia. But for reasons that meteorologists had never been able to competently explain to the citizens of her little burg, this particular area had boasted record heat for more than one hundred and fifty years. Deciding that they should capitalize on the phenomenon in order to attract tourists, city leaders—namely her grandfather, who’d been mayor right up until his death, which was when her father had stepped in—had adopted Hell in favor of Hale. And the rest, as they say, was history.
Despite its eternal-hereafter-for-the-damned name, Hell was a good city. Fine, hardworking people lived and raised their families here. And due to the surprisingly busy tourist trade, it had evolved into a hip mecca of sorts for those who’d become disenchanted with big-city life. Naturally they got their share of Goth visitors, but the town was small and had a lot to offer. She rolled to a stop at the intersection and relaxed against the back of her seat while she waited for a break in late-afternoon traffic.
In order to be of better service to her community—and because she loved the science and technology of it—Eden had enrolled in CSI, or Crime Scene Investigation, classes at a nearby college. Just because she lived in a small town didn’t necessarily mean they had to act like one.
Eden knew both of her parents had been happy when she’d moved back to town. Her father had actually asked her to come home—to be the buffer between him and his wife once again, Eden suspected—and her mother had been happy to have Eden to criticize once more. Then again, what else was new?
