by Leigh Lennon
Her hands cover her face. Moving one, she asks, “And was there a little girl?”
Oh, shit. This breaks my heart; this breaks every part of me. “A little girl was represented by a mannequin.”
“When is this going to stop, Wells? When will this nightmare be over?” She falls into my embrace, and her tears soak my simple T-shirt. Her sobs aren’t merely sobs. They are wails that permeate my mind, and I’ll most likely never forget. They will be etched in my soul, like she has been since the age of nine. When I don’t think her body can take more, she begins to tremble. The closer I pull her to my body, the more her body quivers, but her cries subside. In a matter of seconds, she’s at peace as I’ve encircled my support around her. It tells me one thing; this is where she feels the most safe.
Her sleeping body is in my arms for the second time since returning to Seattle. I’m watching her, her raven hair is fanned all over my chest and my arms grip her tight when the door opens, and Matt lets himself into his childhood home. When he points at the kitchen, I move her over, and she curls to her side, as I swathe a blanket over her.
“Hey, sorry you got called away from your house.” He pulls out a pop for both of us. “Did Higgins get everything processed?” Matt isn’t in homicide, not anymore, but he’d been called in to walk the scene and look at the similarities.
He shakes his head, letting out a long exhale. “I think they’ll be there for a while. You know, once the press gets a handle on this, they won’t stop until they get a statement from Malia?”
“Yeah, I’ve thought about that. I think Malia should come to my home with me. There’s no reason to put your parents in harm’s way.”
He places his can down, and in the gaze of his eyes, I don’t have to hear his warning. “Wells, you’re attached. You’re so attached to this girl you can’t think straight.”
“Are you saying I’m not impartial by this?”
He simply nods. “I wouldn’t be if it were Nic or Jules in danger. I get it. She’s been more to you for some time. I don’t think you’re ready to admit this, but at the same time, you need to know many of us see it. Besides me, my dad just mentioned today he could tell your feelings were building for her. But my point, if we all see it, others like Vanessa will certainly see it.”
“I care for her because of the girl she was to me so long ago. This little girl still needs to be protected as she was then. That’s all we are.”
His smirk crawls over his face. “Oh, is that all? You want to protect this girl? I feel much better now.” In his sarcasm, it’s my turn to flip the man off. “In all seriousness, this could turn really bad, really quick.” He picks up his can, to take a long swig.
“Why do you think I want her near me?” With my question, he spits out his drink.
“Would you really like me to answer you?” Matt croaks out.
“I meant, asshole, that I can protect her better. I’ll have a uniform with her during the day, and she can stay at my house at night. That way, the son of a bitch wants to come after her, I’ll be there to stop him,” I insist, my words are as convincing as I can make them.
“Again, thanks so much for being impartial here,” he jests and laughs at himself, as I don’t. No reason to encourage the man. “Also, this gives Smith Turner’s lawyer grounds to ask for the charges to be dropped. I’m still not sure what evidence they have against him, but you’ll be able to figure it out when Malia meets with Vanessa and the DA for formal questioning. She’s not waiting anymore. Oh, and of course, the bitch told me to tell you.”
“I’m not surprised, especially with another family….” I don’t finish the sentence. We all know what I’d say, another family is dead because we couldn’t catch him that night of the murders—it was me who didn’t catch him.
“Don’t do that to yourself, Wells. No one could have caught him.”
It was nice of Matt to try to get me to accept it wasn’t my fault. But now when I fall asleep, it will be to the image of two dead families and not just one.
Matt clasps me on the shoulder. “Okay, buddy, call me if you need me, I’m going home to Nic.” I move to the living room, and I won’t reposition Malia since she’s so comfortable. One look at the chair in the corner, and I know this will be my bed for the night. If Malia’s out here, this will be where I’m at, too.
“Maybe you should hold off on starting college until this is put behind you?” Vanessa’s screechy voice startles Malia when her tone comes out louder than she’d been expecting.
“Well, it’s just that…” She trails off, the challenge in my captain’s eyes to contest the almighty words of Vanessa Shay.
“It’s just what?” I urge Malia to finish her sentence.
She’s rubbing the top of her forehead with three fingers. “Miss,” Vanessa’s boss begins, “we understand you deserve to live your life.”
“This is so overwhelming. An entire family died, what, to prove a point to me?”
Vanessa stands, her hands pressed down on her desk. “And that is why you should take this semester off. This person never messed with you back in Oregon. Maybe you should go home.”
“But I can’t go home. I honestly don’t have anywhere to go. I could live with Georgia, my best friend, but I won’t because what if this psychopath comes after them? Don’t you understand? I have nothing. My aunt died, and the whole estate went to pay for her hospital bills. My parents' estate paid for private care for me since the state wouldn’t pay. There’s nothing left but a small trust for some real-estate my aunt still owns.”
I want to murder Vanessa because now, Malia is crying. She’s fucking made her cry. What is wrong with her? No one can see when my hand connects with her knee under the desk. Well, except maybe Higgie, who’s behind us.
“Captain, is this necessary?” I begin, talking through clenched teeth.
She purses her lips together. When we were a couple, it was how I understood I crossed the line. It doesn’t take much, mind you.
“Actually, Detective, it’s not necessary.” Vanessa’s boss answers for her. “That’s why we are prepared to have a shadow in plain clothes.” He pauses, clearing his throat, avoiding Vanessa’s glare. “And because this is a very extraordinary situation, you’ll be in the custody of Detective Shanahan and Detective Higgins at night.”
“Like in a safe house?” she asks, and she’s so adorable in her innocence.
Vanessa’s boss snickers at her. “I think you may have watched too many cop shows, my dear.” She blushes, turning her attention away from him. “Oh, honey, I’m not teasing you. In this situation, we’ll have you under the protection of these two fine men.”
“Wait?” She stands, and I lose my touch with Malia. “You’re telling me I have to uproot from my dorm room and stay at someone else’s house?”
Vanessa thwarts my attempt to calm her. “Or you can just do what I suggested, and then you’re able to do whatever the hell you want.”
Malia’s hands pound the desk in front of her. Vanessa and Mal are staring at one another. “You’ve been nothing but a bitch to me since I’ve walked into this office, Captain, and I, for one, am growing tired of it.” Vanessa opens her mouth, but Malia puts her index finger in front of Vanessa’s lips. “No, you don’t get to speak. The woman whose life has been turned upside down by a serial killer gets to speak. Get off your fucking high horse and maybe start solving this fucking murder case instead of sitting in your castle judging everyone.”
Vanessa’s boss is behind her, and I’m behind Malia, but I’m quietly rooting her on. “Okay,” the upper brass boss man starts, “I think we all know what we’re doing. Detective Shanahan, why don’t you get Ms. Strickland settled, get the patrolmen of your choice on a rotation, and if you need anything, my office is open.”
Hot fucking dog! Her boss just told me to bypass Satan and come to him. I walk out, my hand settling in a protective fashion on the small of her back. “Hell, Rocky, next time, I’m getting you some boxing gloves, and you c
an take care of her the right way.”
Chapter 14
Malia
Higgins brings me a cup of coffee, sitting in Wells’s seat while my drill sergeant is downstairs arranging escorts for me. Higgins, or Higgie as Wells refers to him, is young, closer to my age than Wells, and he’s the pretty kind of cute. “I just made it, so hopefully it doesn’t suck too much,” he teases, but I don’t care. I take the first sip, hoping this may calm my nerves. I don’t think Valium at this point can still my racing mind of the past seven days.
“It’s not bad,” I say.
He begins to chuckle, and when he does, the largest dimples form perfectly smack dab in the middle of his cheeks. Damn, I’m a dimples girl.
“But it’s not great, either,” he counters. I tip my head as a simple way of agreeing with him.
“So, Detective Higgins—” I’m about to ask a question, and he cuts me off.
“Stewart, please call me Stewart.”
“Okay, then, Stewart, what is the deal? Where am I going to sleep tonight? I mean, will it be here?”
A small smile peeks through his full lips, and his eyes shine like emeralds. “No, we’ll be at Wells’s house. I have a dumpy apartment.”
“What if I didn’t know Wells?”
There are scuff marks behind me, and Higgins almost jumps from his seat. “But you do, so there’s that.”
This can’t be in the rules, and it dawns on me. That bitch was jealous of her ex, and now I want to prance around the precinct like a peacock fluttering my feathers. Though a peacock is a boy and those birds are nasty as they come.
“But this can’t be protocol, Wells?” Then another thought occurs to me. “How many other witnesses have you had at your house?”
Both he and Higgins laugh at me this time, and I’m not amused. My face reddens, and I feel its heat all over my cheeks. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” Wells begins, “you’re the only one.” Did I sense his voice change? Was there a hint of flirting?
“So, here’s the deal. I can’t get escorts for you until tomorrow, so you’re stuck with us for the day.”
I look around the dingy station. The linoleum tile and the dust on the windows look out to an old supermarket that looks as if it was shut down years ago. What a depressing place.
“No, Higgins and I will work at my place after we get some of your stuff from your dorm room for now.”
“Wait?” So many thoughts cloud my mind, but this can’t wait. “Greenlyn, what about Greenlyn? If someone knows where I’m at, and they try to hurt me…”
The men flank me as Stewart moves to his car and Wells opens the passenger side door for me. “I’m one step ahead of you. Her parents have been informed, and campus police and the university are coming up with a new arrangement for your roommate.”
I settle into the seats of his Malibu. “I miss the BMW,” I pout.
“Yeah, me, too,” he agrees. “Your roommate, pain in the ass or a potential friend?”
“Hmm.” I tap my chin. “She’s been great.”
“Yeah, but she’s no Georgia,” Wells begins. I love how he understands me, but let’s face it, I sometimes think I’m only a case to him.
I giggle at his comment. “No one can be. Georgia’s the best and believe me—one of a kind.” I pause, leaning over to grab my phone from my purse. “Fuck, she’s coming up this weekend. I need to stop her.”
“I don’t disagree with you, but by the way you’ve described Georgia in the past, can you stop her? Your best friend sounds like she may be hard to impede, especially if you tell her what’s going on. She’ll probably come anyway,” Wells returns.
“You’re right. And she’ll hear it in my voice.” I pause, looking at my last text from her just this morning and I’ve not yet replied. “Well, I’ll see if a text will suffice.” When I look to the side, I’m granted access of his beautiful profile. Hell, I could look at him all day long. His eyes are on the road, his sharp cheekbones, messy blonde hair, and hell, he has fucking sexy pouty lips. It’s so unfair to women, how sexy his lips are.
But I tear myself away from his features and begin to lie for the best of reasons I can think of.
Me: Hey there! I just got my course load, and it looks overwhelming. Can you come up in a couple of weeks?
She instantly replies.
Georgia: Okay, I get it. But tell me, have you seen any more of your police angel?
I’ve seen a hell of a lot of him, but not in the way I want. If I tell Georgia I’m in his car, it will lead to questions I don’t want to answer.
Me: Don’t worry, if there’s something to tell, I’ll be sure you’re third or fourth on the list.
This will get her going, and I wait to smile at what she’ll have to say.
“You look awfully happy over there, considering everything…”
“Yeah, I’m messing with Georgia, that’s all.” And when the reply comes, it’s what I’ve needed.
Georgia: Bitch, I better be the first one.
I pocket my phone and am in deep thought when Wells’s hand lands on my knee. I love when his mere connection is near me, on me. I loved it when he calmed me in the office of his bosses, and I love it more now.
“You know I won’t let anything happen to you.” It’s in these small one on ones I think I may be more than just merely a case to him. With this bond, I want to hope for more.
I turn my face to his. “I know. I know you won’t.” And I believe this. I believe him.
As quick as his hand is on me, he’s removed it, and I miss it, more than I have the right to.
I’ve seen his house before, many times last week, yet seeing him in his domain, his sanctuary, is a fantasy come true—especially when I’m staying here for the night. Though never in a million years would I want it to be under these circumstances.
Stewart is sitting on the couch, as we enter straight into his living room.
“When I gave you a spare key, Higgie, I didn’t mean for you to make yourself at home with your feet kicked up on my couch.”
Stewart is more than comfortable in his space with his shoes by the door, and his long and lean body sprawled out on the couch, a newspaper in his hand, and a pop on the end table.
“And use a fucking coaster, you monster.” Wells is showing me another side of him, a domestic side, by grabbing a coaster and placing it under Stewart’s drink.
I don’t have a good read on these two. Wells seems irritated by Stewart, and he was certainly a bit jealous when Stewart was chatting with me earlier. Then there’s the fact that Wells loves to annoy the shit out of him by calling him kid and Higgie.
“Yeah, maybe you should not be a pretentious old man.” A swing of his gaze my way shows me the funny side of Higgie.
“You two are like an old married couple. All that’s missing is the kiss and make-up,” I jest, and in the midst of Wells’s scurry to clean Higgie’s mess, his frown my way is nothing but his fun-loving nature disguised by his glare. Behind it, I see a wicked grin which says he’s going to get me.
“Who knew we had a jokester in our midst, kid?” His question is directed to Higgie. Wells’s digs continue, but in the back and forth of this odd but funny banter, and for a moment, I forget the clusterfuck that is my life.
My bag is still slung around my shoulder, Stewart watching me. “Hey, old man, instead of messing with me, why don’t you go show our guest to her room.”
There’s a way in how Higgie calls him old man, and in a flash, you can see it gets under his skin with a reddening of his face. I love this broody demeanor on Wells. How can he be more sexy? It’s easy, just make him a little moody—oh, and naked.
“Come on, I’ll show you to your room.” His smile is only directed toward me.
I’d only been in the front part of his open living space. Well, besides the time I opened the door with a baseball bat and saw his growing erection under my scrutiny.
“You framed more of my artwork?” I begin, looking at another one of
my pieces in the hallway, a vase of flowers. Thinking about it now, it’s far too feminine for his masculine bachelor’s pad, but he framed it because it’s me and I know I mean more to him than he’s willing to admit.
He stops in the small hallway, out of Higgie’s view, and pulls me around, so we’re facing one another. “Yes, of course I had. They got me through some very hard times, along with the brightness and beauty of your art.”
Four doors sit in a cluster as we make it to the end of the small hallway, near the back of his house. He points to the left. “This is the bathroom.” Behind the wall that’s set out a bit, he directs his finger to another door. “This is my bedroom, as you know.” Ah, he remembers, and I snicker at the memory. “Across the hall is the guest room and my home office. I have a murphy bed, but don’t tell Higgie.” He twists his body toward the living space again and has done a complete circle in the hallway. Pointing at the door across from the bathroom, he continues, “This is the guest room where you’ll be staying for now.”
My hand reaches the doorknob, and in one fluid motion, I have it opened, and I’m gathering more information about the man thirteen years my senior, my eyes darting from object to object. The bed, a king-sized one to be exact, is covered with a light beige quilt, in a paisley pattern of similar colors. Beige is not the masculine color I’d been expecting, maybe black upon gray and more black. But this is a calming, refreshing, and downright pretty room. The end table near the bed is round in a whitewash with a picture turned toward it. I can’t see what it is yet. On the wall, above a white bed frame, is the painting of my aunt’s covered porch, I’d sent him two years ago right before my visit. The floors are bamboo with a large area rug under the bed. Taking one step over the threshold, I’m at peace, one I’ve not felt since before Mally died. Is it this room, or the man next to me? I’m positive it’s the latter, but the room is confirming how comfortable I am in Wells’s space.
