by Addison Fox
The hands that had so recently fluttered against her lap had calmed, and she reached out and placed one on his forearm. “Then I say we enjoy the big steaks weaving their way toward us from the other side of the restaurant. Maybe we can agree to just enjoy each other’s company.”
Which was exactly what they did.
“I’m surprised vice hasn’t visited that place and shut them down.” Daphne fought the urge to groan over her full stomach as she and Landon walked past several well-lit bars and restaurants still going strong on Nassau Street. “That mac and cheese ought to be illegal.”
“So you can see why I’d have gladly arm wrestled if you’d declined.”
“Still angling for that award, McGee?” She looked up at him, reveling in the fact that she could be in four-inch heels and still look up at a man. While she wasn’t an Amazon, at five-foot-seven, she was usually eye-to-eye with guys when she wore heels. But he still had a few inches to spare.
“You seem to give them out freely. Renaissance man. Homegrown gem. Mac-and-cheese crack purveyor. What else am I in for?”
Although she wasn’t drunk, the wine, the meal, and oh yes, the man, had all combined to mellow her out in a lovely, slightly fuzzy way. He’d taken her hand after holding the door at the restaurant and she’d yet to let go.
Had she ever felt anything as wonderful as walking along hand in hand on a summer evening? When empty impressions of her years with Mike threatened her hazy buzz, Daphne willfully tamped down on them. And when Landon pulled her close on the street corner while they waited for the crosswalk light to change, those vague, abstract thoughts vanished completely.
Instead, she focused on the large, solid form that brushed against her, pulling her close and taking her on a magical ride through an endless myriad of sensation. Firm lips. Generous strokes of his tongue. The solid grasp of his hands on hers.
This was need—greedy, with the nip of sharp teeth that reminded her she was a woman. The feelings that had lain dormant came back to life with an ease that was as gratifying as it was urgent. To think she’d worried she’d never feel this way again. Or that somehow she’d used up every good thing in her relationship with Mike.
Maybe that was the marvel of a new relationship. The reminder that one could feel new again. Refreshed. Alive.
Renewed.
That thought struck once again, from the gallery to their discussion at dinner to the glorious excitement that suffused her.
Renewal.
Daphne let out a soft sigh, her breath a whisper on the light breeze of summer, as Landon ended their kiss. The street slowly came back to life around her, growing tangible and real as she surfaced from the all-consuming moment of passion.
She wanted him.
While she’d never been one to deny or delay the sexual aspects of a relationship, that earlier tug of guilt rose up to blend with the urgent, insistent need that whispered she should take the next step. Should she invite him back to her apartment and satisfy the attraction between them?
But if she did, would she be able to maintain the required separation needed to see her job all the way through?
Much as she wanted to give his case her all, the reality was that the damage to his office and property was minimal. The lack of good camera footage, either in the building or from nearby locations, hadn’t produced much beyond hazy images of the building and three different early morning arrivals and departures between the hours of 1 and 4 AM. With nothing usable, and the relative unimportance of his file compared to the rest of her caseload, she needed to close this out.
Which worked both to her advantage and against. The quick calls to Gretchen Reynolds and Amber McGee required follow-up. Once she’d done that, asked her questions, and documented the events, there wasn’t much else to be done.
She could spend her time with Landon freely and without the baggage of his case. If she waited until then, they were clear to move forward.
And the lingering guilt that swirled in her belly would be gone for good.
Seven
The scent of coffee wafted through the air like a delicious dream. Louisa took it in—smiled at it even—before coming fully awake to the realization that the house was empty.
She opened her eyes and took stock. She wasn’t one for panic, but where was it coming from? She hadn’t heard the clank of the elevator, so Emily was still asleep upstairs. And she’d gone to bed last night without setting the pot to auto brew.
Still more curious than anxious, she got out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and headed down the two flights to the kitchen where she heard the distinct clatter of frying pans through the swinging door. She immediately thought of Nick and his insatiable love of bacon, but discarded the idea, imagining her son was still firmly wrapped up in his fiancée a few blocks away. And it was a challenge to get Fender out of bed before ten unless the bacon was already a foregone conclusion.
While she and their neighbor Dave had moved toward a tentative truce—and a few coffee dates over the past month—she couldn’t see him coming into the house unannounced.
That only left one person.
Her heart gave a hard leap when she pushed through that door to find Landon on the other side. He was here.
“Hi.”
He turned from the stove, a thick frying pan in hand and a cold package of bacon open on the counter beside him. Another pan already held the French toast. “Hey.”
“You made coffee.”
“I’m about to make breakfast, too. Sorry I was so loud and woke you before it was done.”
Without warning, an image of that same lopsided smile reflecting back at her filled her mind’s eye, expanding her mother’s heart near to bursting. He’d been about a foot shorter then, but the look of hopeful anticipation was unchanged.
It had been after the last in a long line of challenging exams for her accounting certification and she’d spent as many hours each night studying as the boys had combined over their homework. The time had paid off when she’d passed the test, but it had been the surprise the following morning that had provided the true satisfaction.
Landon had woken early the morning after the test to cook her breakfast in bed. On that morning, the bacon had been burned to a crisp and the coffee was just a tad too strong. Toast that had begun as a perfect, golden brown was drowned in a layer of grape jelly that had been spread from corner to corner.
It was still one of the most delicious breakfasts she’d ever eaten.
“Coffee’s ready. And I know how to cook bacon now without burning it.”
The knot in her throat threatened to suffocate her with the same hope she saw in his eyes so she busied herself at the coffee pot. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
She poured him a cup as well as her own, then set to doctoring his the way he liked it. Bacon popped and sizzled in the frying pan, the only noise aside from the sounds the two of them made puttering around the kitchen. It was sweet and domestic, and if she closed her eyes she could almost believe things were okay between the two of them.
His computer was open on the table and she sat down. “May I take a look?”
He turned from the stove, that same smile covering his face. “Sure. Just tap the track pad.”
Louisa moved her fingers over the track pad, curious to see what he was working on. The zombie apocalypse that had been his life for the past few months had come a long way. The images were frighteningly real and startlingly gruesome. A warm memory recast the room in aged wallpaper, stacks of books and papers filling the surface of the table. That lopsided smile that was his trademark had faded, replaced with a tongue firmly stuck between his lips as he worked through a daunting series of programming code.
It was humbling and awe-inspiring to realize in that moment, staring at the gruesome computer display, that Landon had done it. What he’d seen in his mind’s eyes all those years ago, as he’d toiled and mumbled over his computer, he’d brought to life with his work. The zombies were simply the latest iter
ation.
“This is impressive. Gross, but impressive.”
“Since gross is exactly what I’m going for, I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”
“Any chance you can’t work on a nice horse-and-stable game next, or maybe something with furry flying space rodents?”
Landon carried two plates over to the counter, setting one down at his place, then firmly closing the lid on his machine and moving it. “Let’s look at something more attractive while we eat.”
He returned to his seat and picked up his fork. “And as luck would have it, the same company that hired me for the exploding-jewels game last year has actually asked me to do some work on their Christmas release. It’s a matching game with horses, hair braids, and tiaras. Who knew horses wore tiaras?”
“If you’re six and female, they most certainly do.”
“So that explains it.”
He dug in to his French toast and Louisa followed suit. The tension that had gripped both of them the last time they were together had faded, replaced by the simple camaraderie that she’d come to miss so much. “This is good.”
“I used Mrs. W.’s secret. Cream and vanilla in the eggs for the French toast.”
“That woman could add calories to celery.”
“She does.” Landon took a bite, considered. “Her Thanksgiving dip, right? The one with cream cheese and sour cream.”
“That’s the one.”
They continued to enjoy their breakfast, the quiet wrapped around them like a cocoon. And like the caterpillar wrapped delicately inside, she was afraid to spoil the moment with the reality of life outside.
But with two more fortifying bites of the fluffy toast and the savory bacon, Louisa decided to push herself into the reality of her currently strained relationship with her son.
“I’m happy you’re here—very happy. But I thought you were upset. The way we left things the other day . . . I know we said a lot, but I got the sense there was more you needed to say to me.”
Landon pushed back his plate. “I said what I needed to. If there’s more, it’s not intentional or meant to pile on.”
“Okay.” She nodded, the cold hand that tightened the nerves at the base of her spine easing a bit.
He reached for his coffee, his stare direct. “But that’s not why I’m here this morning.”
Old eyes.
Her baby was a grown man, but he still had the same eyes as he did at ten. Old. Wise. And full of ghosts of things no one should ever have to see.
“I’d be lying if I brushed over this and didn’t say that I’m still upset. But I’m also working through that and I’ll get through it. It’s my issue, not yours.”
“Landon. That’s not—”
His free hand came down over hers, that old soul staring back at her. “It is mine to work through. But the reason I’m here this morning is to say thank you.”
She’d always found parenthood to be an endless series of pleasant surprises, but it was humbling to realize it could still blindside her, even with grown men for sons. “Thank me for what?”
“It seems, despite my recent behavior which suggests otherwise, you managed to instill some rather successful lessons into my psyche.”
“Oh?”
“Respect for others, including their talents, efforts, and work ethic. An ability to see a woman as beautiful, capable, and having the wherewithal to make her own decisions.”
“Who is she?”
“Detective Daphne Rossi. She was—is—the cop assigned to my case.”
Louisa had heard from Emily the slightest rumblings about the attractive detective handling Landon’s office break-in, but she had deliberately avoided digging into the subject. A man was entitled to his privacy, and they’d been on shaky ground already, but her patience had its limits.
And he did open the door . . .
“She’s Cade Rossi’s sister?”
“Among others. She has four brothers, all cops.”
“I know them. Or of them. Her mother is friends with the sister-in-law of a woman in Mrs. W.’s Bunco group.”
His eyes widened. “I’m not going to even try to translate that.”
“Probably wise. But I know of her family. Her mother’s got a lot on her plate, with all five children choosing law enforcement. It’s a testament to their dedication, but it must be scary as hell.”
“She’s amazing.”
“Oh. Well. Oh.” The last word came out on a sigh, and it didn’t take a mother’s intuition to see Landon was more than simply smitten with his attractive detective.
“You like her.”
“Yeah, I do, Mom. I like her a lot.”
“What’s she like?”
“You mean aside from the fact she’s gorgeous and sexy and could probably kick my ass from twenty paces?”
“That paints quite a picture, but why don’t you keep on so my feminine heart can flutter wildly.”
“She’s smart and sort of fierce. But she’s kind, too. And she sees things. More than I’m comfortable with, but she doesn’t lord it over you, or it doesn’t seem like she’s got a leg up. She’s—” He broke off and she saw it all over him, as plainly as if he’d said the words.
He was in love. Or well on his way.
“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“She is.”
The hesitation was there, along with a well of misery she’d erase if she could. “So why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”
“I have to get comfortable with her digging into my past.”
“Has she said she’s going to do that?”
“The break-in has churned up a few ideas. She ran me before she even arrived at the office the other morning. It’s not a secret I’m adopted. With the right access, I’m sure it’s also not a secret I’m named in juvenile records that are sealed, too.”
Panic welled in her breast, whip-quick and as sharp as a snakebite. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I did enough.”
The argument was an old one, and it still stung more than she’d thought possible. “You did nothing. You’re not responsible.”
“It doesn’t change the fact there’s a record of my actions and a cop who’s trying to find answers.”
The panic slithered away but didn’t vanish, huddled in a corner as she took calming breaths. He hadn’t been responsible then, and there was no reason to churn that time up. “So drop the case and replace the servers yourself. You don’t need the insurance money, which means you don’t need a police report to file a claim.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that she knows.”
Louisa debated her next words—which was more evidence of just how bad the rift between them had been—before she pushed back on the impulse. This was her son and she spoke her mind freely. “If you feel so strongly about her, doesn’t she have a right to know?”
The demons he’d managed to knock back through years of hard work and the therapy she’d required of all her sons seemed to rise up and take seats at the table. “How do I tell her something like that?”
“In your own words. In your own time. There’s no shame, Landon.”
There never should have been any, but the truth was no match for the scars that never fully healed or the memories that never fully faded.
He glanced away for the briefest moment but it was all she needed. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“What else is it?”
“In addition to my background, I think she’s moved on to a fresh lead.”
She saw his discomfort in the stiff lines of his body and heard the steady brush of his leg where it nervously went up and down against his chair. What she couldn’t understand was what else could possibly have happened in his case. “Where did she get another lead?”
“Gretchen Reynolds.”
If his past was a coiled snake waiting to strike, the subject of Gretchen Reynolds was a stampede, waiting to trample the grasses of her well-ordered life. She knew
the woman was entitled to her anger and her grief, all angled in Louisa’s direction. Gretchen was even entitled to share that opinion with others.
But to go after her son?
“What makes her think Gretchen is responsible?”
“It’s just a lead, but when I brought it up, Daphne seemed to feel it was a big enough connection to follow through on it.”
“She’s contacting her?”
“Best I can tell, yes.”
The news settled, turning the delicious breakfast over in her stomach. She’d nearly let Gretchen Reynolds’s spite and hate keep her from running for borough president. Once her boys had encouraged her to see past it, she’d pushed forward with her candidacy. But that didn’t mean the woman wouldn’t make trouble.
Gretchen had been quiet for the past few weeks, but if a cop went poking her business, there was every chance she would come back with a vengeance.
Of course, if Daphne’s instincts were right and there was a connection, the woman’s hatred and vitriol ran far deeper than Louisa could have imagined.
And the wheels were already in motion.
With a resigned sign, she picked up her fork and took another bite of the delicious French toast.
Whatever Gretchen Reynolds wanted to throw at her, nothing compared to her relationship with her son. She’d give up a million borough presidencies for his happiness, and she knew they’d get through this.
After all, he had a beautiful, capable woman helping him out.
“Mom? You know what this means. It’s one more thing that gives the spiteful bitch a reason to come out at you swinging. Only this time it’s about me.”
“Sadly, I don’t think this is really about either of us any longer. It’s about her and the anger and pain she can’t escape.”
“It doesn’t mean she can’t do a helluva lot of damage.”
“Then we’ll handle what comes.”
The message played for the third time, the words still a blur in her mind even as the numbers on the message matched what she’d hastily scratched down.
Again, this is Detective Daphne Rossi. Please call me when you can, Mrs. Reynolds. I’m available any time.
