Ivy pulled back so she could meet Jack’s somber eyes. “Well, I know one thing we can do,” she said.
Jack’s expression brightened. “Oh, yeah? What?”
Ivy pointed toward the huge garden tub in the adjoining bathroom. “I’ve always wanted to take a bath in a Jacuzzi tub.”
Jack chuckled. “Well, it seems city life has some merit after all, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Ivy said. “I’m willing to give it a shot, though.”
“Then come on, honey. I’ll show you what a real bath looks like.”
Seventeen
“We’ll be home in about a half hour,” Jack said the next afternoon, talking to Brian on his cell phone as he navigated the country road. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station as soon as I get Ivy settled.”
Jack disconnected and turned his attention to Ivy. She’d been largely quiet for the duration of their four-hour drive. They slept in as long as they could, the realities of Janet’s death and their attempts at a playful bath warring to the point where they were both exhausted.
Rick showed up at the house with the autopsy report shortly before ten, apologizing profusely when he saw Ivy’s bedhead – and grim face – and laughing nervously when Jack told him to ignore her because she wasn’t a morning person.
They left soon after. There was nothing keeping them in the city.
“Do you want to talk, Ivy?” Jack asked. “I have to go to work for a few hours once I get you home. Now is the time if you want to ask questions.”
“I don’t know,” Ivy admitted. “I’m kind of freaked out by what Rick told us this morning.”
“Which part?” Jack asked. “The part where she was shot with the same gun, or the part where the house was so dry she mummified? I’m a little freaked out by that, too. I’ve heard of it happening, but I never thought I would see it.”
“The part where she was dead for at least a month and no one noticed,” Ivy said, her voice small.
Jack licked his lips, unsure how to respond. In some ways he felt like he knew Ivy better than he’d ever known anyone. They meshed well together, finding comfort in mutual silence and contemplation. In other ways he was still getting to know her. She was a sensitive soul. Sometimes that sensitivity led to screaming matches. He was fine with that, usually because it led to making up soon after. Right now that sensitivity was making her sad, and he would never be okay with that.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Jack finally admitted. “I want to say the right thing to make you feel better, but I’m not sure what that is.”
“Imagine being so alone that no one noticed you died for more than thirty days,” Ivy said. “Think about it.”
Jack didn’t need to think about it. He lived that life for six months after his shooting, opting for isolation instead of engagement because he was wary of people and places. Ivy was the one who drew him out of that world. “It’s sad,” he acknowledged. “I hope you know that I would figure out you were missing after thirty seconds. That could never happen to you.”
Ivy laughed, the sound easing the tension in the vehicle, if only marginally. “I can’t believe you would wait thirty seconds.”
“I know. It does sound like a lifetime to be away from you.”
Jack pulled into Ivy’s driveway, killing the engine and pocketing his keys before he could hop out of the truck. He raced around to get to Ivy’s door before she could climb out, but she was already halfway there when he appeared in front of her.
“Are you going to shield me with your body again?” Ivy arched a challenging eyebrow.
Jack smirked. “Have you ever considered that I merely enjoy rubbing my body against yours?”
“Of course,” Ivy said, nodding. “That’s not what you’re doing now, though.”
“Will you humor me?”
Ivy let loose with a dramatic sigh. “Will you give me a massage when you get back tonight?”
“Can it be a naked massage?”
“Only if you promise to rub me for a full half hour before you try to do something else,” Ivy answered.
“I love negotiating with you,” Jack said, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.
Jack didn’t relax until they were safely inside and then he set about searching her house. Ivy picked an anxious Nicodemus up and greeted him with a hug as she read Max’s note on the counter. Instead of taking Nicodemus to his place – he was convinced the cat would purposely shred his leather couch – Max spent the night at Ivy’s.
“Oh, what an idiot,” Ivy muttered, making a face at the note.
“What does it say?” Jack asked, returning to the living room.
“It says that Max couldn’t sleep in my bed because it has sex cooties so he had to sleep on the couch and Nicodemus tried to smother him while he was out.”
Jack laughed at the visual. “Nice.”
“He also gave Nicodemus tuna because he didn’t like the looks of the dry kibble and now I’m going to have to put up with days of screeching until Nicodemus forgets what tuna tastes like.”
“I see who runs this roost,” Jack said, stroking Nicodemus’ head and kissing Ivy’s cheek. “I will see you for dinner. Do you want me to pick up pizza, or do you want to cook something?”
“I can cook.”
“How about pizza instead?” Jack suggested.
“Why do you want pizza so badly?”
“Because we can get half of it with meat and half without and our only cleanup will involve throwing the box away,” Jack replied. “That will give me more time to focus on your massage.”
“You’re very pragmatic.”
“I do my best,” Jack said, smiling. “Is that okay?”
“I suppose,” Ivy replied, cozying up to him and rubbing her nose against his chin. “Will you call me if you find anything?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “I’ll text you dirty suggestions whenever I can to
