Page 15 of Missing Justice

“What’s the name of the place?”

Lured in with grilled cheese. Damn, she was easy. Who didn’t love a good grilled cheese?

He swung a U-ey in the middle of the four-lane street, spotted the cop sitting in his squad on the corner—whoopsie—and gave him a mea-culpa wave.

Before the cop could light him up, Taylor held her badge to the window, obviously hoping for some law enforcement unity. Maybe theywouldmake a great team. In bed and out.

“Look at you,” Matt said, “throwing your federal weight around.”

“Saving your ass,slick,” she said, tossing his own word back at him.

Oh, how he loved a woman with a smart mouth.

“Taylor, we will make beautiful babies together.”

“Not if I don’t enjoy this lunch we won’t.” She poked her finger in the air. “And it better not take too long. I have things to do. Where is this place?”

A smart mouthandshe didn’t get all pissy about the babies comment. True love. Had to be.

“It’s a food truck.”

“A food truck! Forget it. Are you trying to kill me? Do you know that 48 million people a year experience a foodborne illness? How do we know this truck is clean?”

Whack-job.But…her outrage ranked a solid ten on the cuteness scale. And there was that true love factor to consider. Plus, he liked her. A lot.

Working on instinct, as in, he had no idea where the truck was, he took a right, hoping it would lead him to the park. Once he found that, he’d be golden. He’d just follow the road until he stumbled upon said food truck with the rampant foodborne illnesses. “With all the awards this truck has won, it has to be clean. Bet on it.”

She scoffed and dug into her purse for something. “You are such a liar. I’m looking it up.”

“Go ahead. Peggy’s Food Truck. I guarantee they’ve won awards. I hope.”

He flashed a grin, blew her a kiss and went back to the road ahead. Where the hell was that park?

“Ha!” Taylor said. “I knew you were lying.”

Giving up on her research idea, she shoved the bag toward the floor, bumping the buckle against the dash along the way. After stowing the bag at her feet, she licked her thumb then gently rubbed at the telltale spot where her bag had bumped the dashboard. “Sorry I smudged. This is a nice car.”

“Thanks.”

“What year is it?”

“69 Mustang. Shelby GT500.”

Taylor let out a low whistle. Whether or not she actually understood the beauty of muscle cars was a mystery but her reaction hinted at an appreciation.

“Built her myself. Call it therapy.”

Therapy he’d started when he was twenty-two and his sister had gone missing tossing him into a rogue wave of anger and grief he was completely unprepared—emotionally speaking—to navigate.

“You built this yourself? Now I’m really impressed.”

“Thank you. I even added the air conditioning. That took some figuring out. It was fun though.”

Still searching for that park, hell if he’d admit he couldn’t find it, Matt made a left. There. At the end of the block, a burst of trees, their green leaves shining in the sun. Hope bloomed inside him because Taylor was a smart woman and in the next five minutes she’d figure out he was lost and break his balls.

Hard.

“This was my third try. I sold the first two then found this baby. I started with a rusted out frame. That was back when I was in homicide. With those hours, the car took me a couple of years.”