He nodded, and his palm made another pass over his face. Harder. What could Jason be nervous about?
Oh, yeah. The meeting with Paul.“You’re not going to talk me out of going. I have the right to face him.”
Jason stepped inside her room. “Sue—”
“I’m going.” She grabbed her stress ball.
Jason stepped closer and put his hand on her shoulder, gave it a squeeze. A caring squeeze. She looked up. He was nervous, giving her caring squeezes? She suddenly became suspicious.
“Did I get another phone call from that freak?”
“No,” Jason said. “But I…I just got a call from HPD, a homicide detective. They found your doctor in his office this morning. Someone…someone shot him. Twice.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Paul? Someone shot him?” Sue blinked. “Is he dead?”
“He’s in surgery. But if Homicide has been called in, it’s bad.”
Emotions raced through Sue like rats in a maze. Her breath lodged in her throat as her thoughts slapped against each other. Paul may have been a jerk, but he had a four-year-old son. If he died, another kid would grow up without his daddy. Her gaze shot to her photo album.
Then another thought hit so hard tears stung her eyes. This could indeed be her fault. Had someone shot Paul because of her?
She glanced up at Jason. “Do they know who did it?”
“No one in custody yet. But I’m sure his wife is being looked at.”
Sue stared at the wall. Had Paul’s wife shot him because she’d found out about their relationship? Did the wife know that Sue hadn’t realized he was married? Probably not.
She stood, not sure what she was going to do or where she needed to go. She didn’t go anywhere; she just stood there, bombarded by emotions: Anger at Paul for not telling her he was married. Anger at herself for not figuring it out. Sympathy for a four-year-old who might grow up with the same emptiness she’d known.
Jason cupped her chin in his hand and turned it so he could look at her. “You okay?”
She blinked away the beginning of tears and swallowed a lump of guilt. “Guess I should hold off shooting him in the kneecaps, huh?” That lump grew larger.
Jason leaned down and pressed his lips against her cheek. He didn’t say he understood how she felt, but the gentleness of his kiss said it all. And now his gaze held so much tenderness that she was going to cry for sure.
“Go ahead.” He pulled her against his chest. “I’ve got a clean shirt this time.”
“That’s not nice.” She sniffled into his warm chest, and the tears came.
“Holding you feels nice.” He held her tighter, but it wasn’t a sexual embrace, just a caring one.
That’s when she started crying for real, and she cried for a good solid minute. When she was done, she came up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
His eyes widened. “What’s that for?”
“For being here. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
He ran the back of his hand across her cheek. “I’ll stay here as long as you need me.”
She wanted to believe that was true with all of her being, even though she knew Jason Dodd wasn’t the staying kind of guy.
That night, Sue lay in bed, staring at her swinging-monkey pajamas. Jason was right; she had a theme of exercising animals. What did that say about her? Maybe Kathy should ask Dr. Phil.
Closing her eyes, she tried to relax, but her mind kept jumping from one fact to another. Someone wanted her dead. Her car-thieving, adulterous boyfriend—whom she hadn’t had an opportunity to break up with—was in intensive care, possibly shot by the same person who wanted her dead. Top all of that off with the fact that her grandfather had called three times frantic with worry and concerned about Jason’s fetish for lactating women, that her mother had called saying she wanted to introduce Elvis to her grandparents, and that Kathy had called to remind her that every toad had a few warts.
Jiminy Cricket, but who could expect her to sleep? She should be working on her second bottle of Merlot by now.
Her phone rang, and Sue sat straight up in bed. Every time before, Jason had come hurrying to her side, giving her the same instructions: If it was the stalker, she was to keep calm, talk slow, keep him on the line. He had told her he’d arranged to have a trace put on her phone, but she had to keep the bastard on the line long enough for the trace to kick in.
The phone kept ringing. Sue stared at the door, waiting for Jason to barge in. He wasn’t coming.
Taking a deep breath, she answered. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” Jason’s voice, deep and sexy, sounded over the receiver. Sue dropped back against her pillows.
She should have remembered that he’d called her last night. “What do you want?”
“That’s a loaded question.” He laughed, low and husky. “But I thought you might like to…talk.”
Warmth washed over her. “And here I thought you called because you wanted more cereal.”
“Trust me. That’s not what I’m hungry for.”
“There’s granola bars in the cabinet.” Sue pretended to misunderstand, though the truth was she understood him perfectly…and she was loving the conversation. What woman didn’t want to be wanted? “I don’t see where you put all that food you eat.” She petted Hitchcock.
“I’m a growing boy.” She didn’t miss the double entendre.
She cleared her throat, making the scolding scratchy sound her mother used, but Jason continued, “And somebody ate all my dessert again to night.”
They’d gone out to a local diner for dinner. “Yeah, but you ate half of my omelet.” She stroked Hitchcock from neck to tail.
“Hey, I waited until you stopped eating it. And I asked first.”
She remembered, and she’d felt bad because she knew he’d done it because of her comments about the fries. But that didn’t stop her from teasing him now.
“You should have ordered two desserts.” She watched Hitchcock stretch.
“And miss out on the right to complain? Never.”
“So you’re a complainer, huh?”
Jason hesitated. “No. I usually get what I want.”
“And what do you want?” The question slipped out before Sue could stop it.
“You. Naked. Willing.”
Yup. She really should have stopped it.
She swallowed. Her pharynx caught on her tonsils and made a gulping noise. “Why don’t you have a bowl of cereal instead? I bought the kind with an extra scoop of raisins.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. He wanted sex, and she was offering him breakfast?
His laugh flowed through the phone. “Can you tell me why?”
“Because I like raisins. They’re sweet and a little chewy.”
“I mean, why are you in there and I’m out here, when we both want to be together?”
“You don’t know what I want,” she said. It was a lie, but self-preservation justified it.
“So you’re saying you’re not attracted to me?”
If she thought she could make him believe it, she’d lie. “No. I’m not saying that.”
“Then why won’t you sleep with me?”
“You’re asking the wrong question,” she said.
“I am?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.
“The question isn’t why I won’t sleep with you. It’s why should I sleep with you?”
“Give me three minutes and I’ll show you,” he whispered.
“Three minutes? Boy, you’re quick,” she blurted.
His laughter rumbled. “Oh, that’s just to convince you to stay for the show. The curtain wouldn’t fall until morning—though there’d be a couple of intermissions, a standing ovation, and several grand finales. If you know what I mean.”
Oh, she knew. She closed her eyes and tried not to imagine. “It’s late. I should—”
“No,” he said quickly. “Talk to me.”
“About what? I think you’ve covered all the similes f
or sex and theater.”
His laugh came again. Then she heard him draw in a deep breath. “About anything. Just talk to me.”
She traced the edge of her down comforter, determined to cool herself off. “Have you called the hospital again?”
“Just a few minutes ago. He’s still in the ICU.”
“Have the police found his wife and son?”
“No, but they’re looking.”
She sat up. “Do you think the fact that the stalker hasn’t called is a sign that it’s her? His wife?”
“It looks suspicious. But I managed to get a description of her. She’s only an inch taller than you. Do you think it could have been her trying to break in Saturday night?”
Sue tried to remember exactly what she’d seen. The images were a blur. “I could have sworn it was a man, so I think he was bigger. But maybe…I guess I could have just seen what I expected to see. I’m sorry I don’t know for sure.”
“Don’t be sorry. You were scared.” Jason hesitated. “At least now that the shooting took place in Houston I can get information and see that things get done right. I don’t have to step on so many toes trying to get info from another precinct.”
“Did they say if Paul was any better?” she asked.
She heard Jason shift on the leather sofa. “It looks as if he’ll pull through.”
“Good.” The guilt sitting on her chest lightened.
“Do you care about him?” he asked. He sounded a bit nervous, but if so, he quickly covered the emotion with a joke. “Or are you just wondering how long before he’s well enough so you can take out his knees?”
Sue thought about Paul, about their phone calls that always felt awkward, their kisses that left her feeling as if she was eating something sinful but not enjoying it. The kind when your hips called out, Don’t waste the calories on this! Jeepers! She’d come so close to running off to Mexico with him to have flavorless sex. But her lack of attraction wasn’t his fault.
Then she recalled how he’d lied to her about his marital status, played her for a fool. He deserved this, didn’t he?
But then she remembered he had a son. Paul might deserve it, but that boy didn’t.
“I don’t want him to die.”
“How close were you?”
She stared at the ceiling. “Obviously not too close. I didn’t even know he was married.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
She hadn’t expected that question. Her first instinct was to tell Jason the truth, but then it felt awkward. “How is that relevant to the case?”
“I’m curious.”
She traced the outline of a swinging monkey with her fingernail. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
“I’m not a cat…Did you sleep with him?”
“I think I ‘d better hang up.”
“No,” Jason said. “Wait! I’ll change the subject. Tell me about your grandparents.”
“What about them?”
“What was it like having them around as a child?”
Sue leaned back. “I guess like all grandparents. They thought I was perfect. I thought they were old. But when things…got bad, they were there. Sort of like a safety net.”
“Bad?” When she didn’t answer, he tried a different tack. “Sounds as if you were all close.”
“What about your grandparents?” Sue asked, turning the tables. She waited, and his pause told her he didn’t like being on the opposite side of the question.
“I, uh, didn’t know mine.” He let out a breath. “What did your grandmother mean when she asked if I ‘d robbed a bank and if I liked women’s underwear?”
“Nothing.” Determined to dance around that subject, Sue asked, “How old is your mom?”
The question drew a pensive silence. Then: “Maggie is sixty-five.”
“Why do you call her Maggie instead of Mom?”
He inhaled. “Let’s talk about something different, okay?”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I don’t like talking about myself.”
There was a surprise. “Why not?”
“Because I didn’t come from the Brady Bunch, like you did.”
Sue sat up. “The Brady Bunch?”
“Yeah.”
She resented his statement. “Life wasn’t perfect for me.”
His tone softened. “I know it wasn’t. You lost your father. I didn’t mean to downplay his death, I just…Let’s drop it, okay?”
“It wasn’t just my father.” Sue suddenly wanted to tell him, hoping he’d confide in her as well. “My mom lost it when my dad died.”
“Lost it?”
“Yeah. She went to bed and stayed there. Most weeks she wouldn’t even go grocery shopping. I would get into her purse and get money and go to the small grocery store down the block. We lived off Beanie Weenies.” She paused, finding it odd that she felt compelled to tell Jason something she’d never told anyone else. But she did want to tell him.
“It was six months before my grandparents got wind of things. They were living in Austin and visited twice a month, but Mom would put on an act for them because…” Her throat grew tight. “Because she said if anyone knew how sick she was, they’d take me away from her.”
Sue hesitated. “I’d lost my father, and for almost seven months I was so scared that I was going to lose my mom that I chewed my nails off.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat. Jason didn’t speak, but she could hear him breathing, so she knew he was still there.
“Then my grandparents showed up unannounced. They saw how things really were. They bought a house a block away and took care of both of us. They got Mom in therapy, and she got…better.”
“Better?” he repeated, obviously hearing something different in her voice.
“On bad days, instead of going to bed she’d just drink a bottle of wine.”
“She’s an alcoholic?”
“I wouldn’t call her that. But she uses wine as a crutch.”
“That’s what alcoholics do,” he said.
“But she’s stopped before. And she does off and on.” Sue suddenly felt guilty for discussing her mom’s issue. “Did you know there’s nothing in life that four and three-fourth glasses of Merlot can’t solve?”
“I’m sorry.” Jason’s voice was tight. “She deserves to have her butt kicked.”
Sue heard the anger in his tone, and her protective instincts took over. “No. She’s not…she wasn’t a bad mother. She was depressed and grieving. She never meant to hurt me. And after a few months of counseling, she was a great mother. I mean, the whole PTA-and-homeroom kind of mother. She was still kooky, but other than being a hypochondriac who used an occasional bottle of Merlot to compensate, she was perfect. Still is.”
“She abandoned you, Sue.”
“Never,” Sue snapped.
“Emotionally, she abandoned you.”
“Only until she got herself picked back up. And seriously, she doesn’t really drink all the time. Just when…when something is bothering her.”
“You didn’t deserve that. You lost your father and—”
“She lost him, too.” Sue paused. “We both were hurting.”
Silence filled the line. Sue began to wish she’d never told Jason. Then she remembered why she had. “See? My childhood wasn’t an episode of the Brady Bunch, either. So what is it you’re not telling me about you?” She considered going into the living room, but something told her he’d be more inclined to open up over the phone.
“Hey,” she said. “I told you my secrets.”
The line was silent. Finally: “Maggie isn’t my real mother.”
“You’re adopted?” Sue realized how hungry she was to know about him.
“No. I was…a foster kid. Moved from home to home.”
A wave of pain gripped Sue’s heart. “What happened to your real parents?”
Another silence. “No. No more depressing subjects. Tell me something wonderful about yourself.”
Sue wanted to pry deeper, but something about Jason’s tone warned her to let it go. For now. Tomorrow would be a new day.
“What do you want to know?”
“Break my heart and tell me about your first date,” he suggested.
“Oh, you won’t have your heart broken. It wasn’t wonderful.”
“What happened?”
“My grandpa happened. He showed the boy his roach collection and threatened to pin him to a piece of velvet if he didn’t behave. The boy wouldn’t even hold my hand.”
Jason chuckled. “I knew I liked your grandfather.”
“So did I. Which was why I cold-cocked the guy when he started telling people my granddad was a roach-loving freak.”
Jason laughed. “What about other boyfriends?”
“There weren’t many after that. The boys were afraid of me,” she admitted. “I mean, I was almost fourteen, and all my friends had already gotten hickeys and gone to at least second base with a guy. Here I was, never been kissed. At the time, I was convinced that the reason I wasn’t…uh…bigger up top was because I didn’t have the experience other girls did.”
“You’re fine up top,” he said. His voice was husky again.
“Right.” She didn’t want to start on that conversation. “Anyway, it was bad. In fact, I was so livid and humiliated at the thought of facing all my friends, to keep from being embarrassed I got my mother’s vacuum cleaner and gave myself a real dandy of a hickey.”
His laugh vibrated through the line. “Damn. I’ve so lost my touch.”
“Your touch?” she echoed.
“You made out with a vacuum cleaner, and yet won’t give me the time of day.”
“Hey, that vacuum cleaner was a better kisser than—”
“Is this another slur against my kissing talents?” Jason interrupted.
“No. But for the record, I think you complained first about my kissing talents. Remember that little chat you had with Chase in his kitchen on the Fourth?”
Jason laughed. “You should never believe anything a man says when he’s thinking about punching a foot doctor in the face.”
“So, you were jealous of Paul. Interesting.”
“I’m not admitting anything,” Jason growled. “Besides, we’re not talking about the foot doctor anymore. We’re talking about kisses. And what I want to know is: Are you finally admitting that you like my kisses?”
Divorced, Desperate And Dating Page 17
