Derek had no way of finding out. Thanks to his massive hangover and annoyance over finding himself lusting after a woman on his way to a funeral, he’d made a less-than-stellar first impression. He very well couldn’t knock on her door and pry into her personal business when it shouldn’t be his concern in the first place.

The part that scared the hell out of him?

He wanted to make it his concern.

Chapter Five

Ginger used her trusty pink scissors to cut out the headline Is Your Vagina Angry? from a newly purchased women’s magazine, spread glue on the back, and pasted it over the picture of a nun looking thoughtful. She had a sick sense of humor. So sue her.

She stepped back and admired the decoupage nightstand she’d been working on all day. Get Thee to a Nunnery, she’d named this particular one. After a few finishing touches, it would be ready for a coat of lacquer.

Ginger smiled. Her hobby of decorating various pieces of furniture with interesting photographs and magazine cutouts might have started as a way to occupy her mind when living in Nashville, but somewhere along the line, she’d started doing it for fun. Since she purchased most of the furniture at donation centers, the expense was minimal, and creating something one-of-a-kind brought her a sense of accomplishment. Occasionally, she’d even sold pieces to students or visiting artists she met at Bobby’s Hideaway, although such a thing proved a rarity since the clientele didn’t have much interest in discussing furniture. Any money she’d made went into a college account for Willa. In a bank where Valerie couldn’t touch it.

She sighed into her half-empty wineglass, knowing her free time would be limited from here on out. While Willa attended her first day at the new high school, Ginger went out and found a job bartending at Sensation, a nightclub in the River North section of downtown Chicago.

Old habits die hard, she supposed. Bartending felt like a step backward after the progress she’d made leaving Nashville behind last week, but money came easy behind the bar. And if she knew how to accomplish one thing, it was getting people good and trashed. With the money she’d “borrowed,” Ginger probably didn’t need to work for quite a while, but apart from using some of the cash as their security deposit on the apartment, she didn’t plan to touch it unless absolutely necessary.

Ginger glided into the kitchen, taking a moment to appreciate the marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. She couldn’t get over living with such luxuries. Just last week she’d been reheating three-day-old leftovers over an ancient gas stove. Today, Willa would sit down to homemade pasta sauce and ravioli. The ravioli itself was store-bought, but hey, she’d never claimed to be a chef.

A door slammed out in the hallway and Ginger smirked, assuming the lieutenant must be home from work for the night. Not once had she thought about him since their exchange the other day. Unless you count that one time. And the fourteen other times he’d popped into her head, damn him.

Maybe Chicago boys just liked something a little different in a woman.

Like hell.

She couldn’t recall a time when a man had intentionally pushed her buttons so effectively. Apart from his initial head-to-toe appraisal, Derek genuinely hadn’t seemed all that interested. It shouldn’t bother her so much, but it did. Damn him, it did.

Their apartment door slammed next, making Ginger jump and splash marinara sauce onto the counter. She quickly wiped it up with a dish towel.

“Heck of an entrance, Wip.” It was the nickname she’d given Willa while she’d still been in diapers. Willa Ingrid Peet. Wip for short.

“I try.”

Ginger glanced over her shoulder, smiling at Willa’s black Misfits T-shirt and ripped stockings. Somehow Willa managed to pull off the look. “How’d it go? Did you refrain from setting the place on fire?”

“Just barely. I’m choosing my moment.”

“Well. Don’t forget your lighter fluid or it won’t take.”

“Noted.”

She gestured with her wineglass. “Go drop your stuff off in your room. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Ignoring Ginger’s instructions, Willa dropped her book bag on the floor and climbed onto the countertop behind Ginger, who merely shook her head. Willa did as Willa pleased. “This all feels freakishly normal. I don’t know if I like it yet.”

Ginger hummed in understanding but didn’t turn around. “I reckon we’ll get used to it,” she said quietly, spooning fragrant sauce into bowls on top of the cooked ravioli. “I got a job today. Starts tomorrow night at seven.”

“No shit. Doing what?”

Ginger paused, avoiding Willa’s eyes. “You know, the usual. Bartending.”

Watching Ginger closely, Willa took a bite. “You cool with that?”

“Yeah! This place is amazing. Real swanky.” She changed the subject, knowing Willa would be forced to follow suit. Her sister had always been too perceptive. “How’s the pasta?”

“Not bad for store-bought.”

“Oh, jump up my ass.”

Fifteen too-quiet minutes later, after they’d finished dinner and she’d helped with the cleanup, Willa disappeared into her room to begin working on her homework.

Ginger had always made a point, even in Nashville, to sit down and share a proper dinner with Willa. Even if the meal consisted of creamed corn and toast, their family meals were a constant. Something they both counted on to mark the passing of time. They weren’t required to speak about their day or remark on the weather, but Willa had been quieter than usual tonight.

Had she been wrong to bring Willa here? She knew her sister encountered bullies on occasion, but assumed tough-as-nails Willa let that type of thing roll off her back. Maybe she’d been wrong and Chicago was a new kind of animal her sister couldn’t handle.

The thought weighed heavily on her mind. Ginger resolved to pry the truth out of Willa tomorrow at dinner, whether it upset her or not.

After placing the final magazine cutout, a large pair of lips with legs, on the nightstand, Ginger coated the project with lacquer and made a mental note to seek out local flea markets in Chicago where she could purchase a vendor space to sell the pieces once she accumulated a decent stock. People had liked her designs in the past. The idea that she might make money by selling them wasn’t so far-fetched, right?

Ginger poured herself a second glass of wine, then glanced at the clock, surprised to see the early hour. At a loss over what to do with the rest of her night, the landlord’s mention of a roof garden on top of the building popped into her head. She called an invitation through Willa’s closed door, but got no response, so she wandered out of the apartment and up the staircase by herself. When she reached the top floor, Ginger pushed open the heavy metal door leading to the roof.

Wow.

From this vantage point, she could see the glittering lights of downtown Chicago and the bright beacon that was Wrigley Field. The night felt cool against her mostly bare skin, and she took a deep, fortifying breath, letting it out slowly. A jolt of surprise shot through her when she registered a familiar scent she couldn’t quite place. Sort of like leather and expensive coffee.

Her eyes flew open. Derek, arms crossed, leaned against the wall enclosing the rooftop. Watching her.

Damn, he looked just as good in jeans and a sweatshirt as he did in that navy blue uniform. And it annoyed the bejesus out of her. She couldn’t decide from his bored expression whether or not he appreciated her intrusion, and after a minute decided she didn’t give a damn. Derek didn’t own exclusive rights to the roof, even if his posture suggested he might.