Guarding His Midnight Witness

by Anna J. Stewart

  * * *

  She replayed it, bit by bit in her mind, talked it out with the two men, what had happened from the moment she arrived at the gallery to when Jack brought her to his car. Neither detective interrupted, and by the time she was done she wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse for the purge. She rubbed her shoulder as it seemed to throb in sympathy. She nibbled on a fry, waiting for a response.

  “I’m only going to ask you this once,” Cole said. “You’re absolutely certain who you saw?”

  The inquiry irritated her, mainly because she’d been asking herself the same thing in an unending loop in her head. But he, and Jack, had every reason to be skeptical. Except Jack had yet to utter a word.

  “Yes.” Did she sound as certain as she felt? “I saw him. He was there.”

  “Okay then.” Cole nodded as if that closed the subject. “Your meeting with the curator—”

  “Collette Sorenson,” Greta clarified.

  “Who knew about that?”

  “Well, me. My friend Yvette, and Jessie, my assistant. Anyone Ms. Sorenson would have told. Jack, of course.”

  “Of course.” Cole’s smile was temper quick.

  “And Lyndon. My family lawyer.” Explaining who Lyndon really was always opened doors she wanted to keep locked. “But he’s stuck in New York, which is why I took the meeting myself.”

  “He also became your guardian after your parents died, right?” Jack asked.

  Greta’s eyes went wide and her throat tightened. How did he—?

  “Last night, before the pill kicked in. You told me you lost your parents when you were very young, that you were raised by an honorary uncle.”

  Because she had no words, she nodded. What else had she said last night? It must not have been much more since he was still sitting here.

  “Did Ms. Sorenson walk you through the security layout?” Cole asked.

  “No. Should she have? Should I have asked to do that? Was that a mistake?” Given all that was going on, should she have been paying attention to that?

  “Not a mistake.” Cole polished off his burger and wiped his mouth. “Not even an oversight. That’s not where your mind goes. It’s on your work, on the display. We need to find out what their setup is.”

  “Tammy’s working on that.” Jack shifted on his stool. “Our lab tech,” he clarified to Greta. “She’s also tracking social media in case anyone posted videos or pictures of the accident. If our victim was there—”

  “If?” The word shot out of Greta’s mouth like a bullet. “What do you mean if? I told you I saw him. You told me you...” She trailed off, her breath hitching in her chest as her mind raced. “Actually, you didn’t. You didn’t say you believed me.” Even though she’d been expecting it, hearing it now felt like a slap. “I knew this would happen. You don’t believe me.”

  “I didn’t say that, either,” Jack said.

  “Well, pick one,” she insisted. “It’s not like this is important or anything.”

  “That’s my cue to make a call to...anyone.” Cole pulled out his phone and headed for the living room.

  “Coward,” Jack muttered as he picked up his container and carried it over to the sink, returned for Cole’s and dumped the flatware in the sink. “I never said I didn’t believe you, Greta. Stop putting words in my mouth.”

  “Do you really think I made it up?” Greta jumped off her stool and circled around the counter. “I know what I saw, Jack. What possible reason would I have to lie?”

  “I don’t know.” He faced her, pinned her with a look she was certain he used when questioning criminals. “Why would you lie?”

  “I—” The steel in his eyes, the way his jaw pulsed as he gnashed his teeth. Whatever was bothering him, it went deeper than what had happened at the gallery. “I haven’t lied to you, Jack.” Because she couldn’t. She’d tried but found her only option was to remain silent, for fear all her secrets, secrets she’d struggled to keep for more than a decade, would come spilling out.

  “You’ve lied to me from the moment we met.” He dried his hands on the towel and set it aside with calm deliberation. “Who are you really? What’s your real name, Greta?”

  “My—real name?” The question hit her hard. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because Greta Renault has only existed for the past ten years. Did you really think I wouldn’t check into you? Did you think I’d just take your word on everything you’ve told me, risk my career, risk my future, my partner’s future because of what you said you saw?”

  “Yes.” Her hands balled into skin-piercing fists. “You either believe me or you don’t. My past doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on now. It doesn’t change what I saw.”

  “Given who you’ve accused of murder, the truth about who you are could very well have a lot to do with it. You asked me to believe you, to trust you, but you haven’t really trusted me, have you?”

  “It isn’t about trust.” Liar. This was about trust. It was about trust and so much more. She needed his help to find out the truth, to find out if what she’d seen had actually happened. But if he knew who she really was, would he continue to help her prove she wasn’t making it all up? She couldn’t take the risk. Not with her entire future on the line.

  “Isn’t it?” Jack’s voice never rose but stayed at that frustratingly calm level that made her feel like a naughty but caught child. “Is it that you can’t tell me? Are you in witness protection or something? I can’t imagine you are, since you’re ready to have a very public showing, but if it’s—”

  “That’s not it. Exactly.” She twisted her hand around her leather cuff until it hurt. Until this moment she never realized just how loud the past sounded as it roared in her ears. The screams. The sirens. The absolute dead silence of a happy home that echoed with the cries and tears of a six-year-old girl who was suddenly and completely alone. “I’ve never lied to you about anything important, Jack. Who I was before...” She struggled for breath. “It doesn’t matter. Not to any of this.”

  “You’ve made it matter by not telling me about it. Do you know what a defense lawyer could do with the fact you’ve been living a lie for the past ten years?” His voice softer now, she felt her heart jump when he moved forward and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “You can tell me, Greta. Let’s get ahead of this. Let’s prepare for it. Together. Or...” He gave her a quick squeeze, dropped his hands and stepped away. “Or we can wait and see what we find on the camera feeds at the gallery, and we’ll go from there.”

  Greta gaped at his back as he turned on the water. Had he just dismissed her? Feeling whiplashed, she moved in behind him. “How about we don’t do either. If you don’t believe me, about what I saw, what are we even doing?”

  “Right now, I’m going to do the dishes.”

  “More like playing your passive-aggressive card.” She grabbed his arm and faced him. She needed to see him, to look into his eyes and find out if he felt anything remotely close to what she did. “You know what I’m doing? I’m trying to hold my life together. I’m trying not to call myself every kind of stupid for even contacting the police in the first place. If you’re looking for an excuse to walk away from the case because it’s politically inconvenient for you, feel free. Don’t let me stop you.”

  Jack’s smile set off a fire inside of her that all but exploded.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I’m sorry.” He tried to duck his head, but she stooped down so he couldn’t look away. “It’s just that you’re really pretty when you’re angry.”

  “You have got to be—” She shot back up to full height. “Do you have any idea how condescending that sounds? Are you serious right now?”

  “About you being pretty? Never been more.”

  “Oh, my God.” She pushed her hands into her hair and resisted the urge to yank. “You have go
t to be the most confounding person I have ever met in my life. Of all the infuriating, mind-numbing... You do realize just a minute ago you were calling me a liar.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now you’re just standing there smiling at me like you’d like nothing more than to...” She trailed off, realizing exactly what he wanted to do.

  What she’d been wanting him to do ever since she’d first kissed him. The energy around them, between them, sizzled. She lifted her hand to his face.

  “Aw, jeez.” Cole stopped in the doorway. “I feel like I’ve time-traveled back to seventh grade. Maybe you two should just have a go already and get it over with.”

  “Get out.”

  “Shut up.”

  Jack and Greta ordered at the same time without looking at him.

  Cole opened his mouth to respond when his phone rang. “Back in a moment. Carry on.”

  “Great idea,” Jack said as he moved toward her.

  “What is?” Greta demanded.

  “Carrying on.”

  Whatever else she was going to say flew out of her head as his mouth landed on hers. Didn’t just land, she thought, as her mind spun. Swooped down and invaded. His hands pressed into the base of her spine and pulled her solidly into him as he angled his head and deepened the kiss. The ache in her shoulder throbbed as she lifted her arms, dragged her hands up to hold his face gently and surrendered. Every bone in her body liquefied, and she clung to him, grateful for the support even as her mind rang with all the protestations he’d made about getting involved with her.

  When he lifted his mouth, she cried out, unwilling to let him go just yet. She brought him back to her, down to her, under with her so she could take what she never realized she needed until she’d met him. The warm taste of him sank through her, drifting into her mind, singing through her blood even as she could feel him pulling away.

  “Oh, for—”

  Greta opened her eyes and spotted Cole standing with his back against the kitchen archway. She brushed her fingers lightly across Jack’s lips and felt her own curve in a silent, wanton question. A question she saw answered in the depths of Jack’s reluctant gaze.

  “Do I need to remind you it’s a violation of protocol to get personally involved with a witness?” Cole asked.

  “No.” Jack kept an arm around Greta.

  “It is?” Greta asked.

  Cole turned but rolled his eyes before he walked to his chair to retrieve his jacket. “As much as I’d love to play wet blanket and keep you two from being stupid—” he aimed a glare at Jack “—I need to head home. Eden’s not feeling great.”

  Greta felt Jack’s body tense beneath her hand. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s been fighting this weird bug. Comes and goes. I’m going to stop and pick up some soup on the way.” Cole patted his hands against his jacket looking a touch flustered. “Not sure where I put my keys.”

  “Left outside pocket,” Jack told him.

  “Wait. I can save you a trip.” Greta dived for the bottom freezer drawer and pulled out two tall plastic containers. “It’s chicken soup. All I’ve got left from Jessie’s last batch.” She put it into the paper bag Cole and Jack had brought dinner in. “Reheat it on the stove or in the microwave.”

  “Thank you.” Cole accepted the bag. “Appreciate it. I know Eden will, too. I’ll check in with Bowie and Tammy first thing in the morning. See if they’ve come up with something on those cameras and...the other thing.”

  “You don’t sound very hopeful,” Greta said, enjoying his transformation from inquisitive cop to devoted husband.

  “I haven’t been hopeful about anything since Jack here told me you saw Doyle Fremont murder someone. Speaking of which, where are we on finding out if he’s bought one of Greta’s paintings?” he asked at the door.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Greta’s voice vanished under a new wave of panic.

  “We were just about to discuss that,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, it is difficult to talk with your mouths fused together. Talk away. And I suggest you keep all four feet on the floor. You two want to finish this once the case is over, fine, but don’t make things more complicated than they already are.” Cole pointed at their feet. “All of them. On the floor. At all times.”

  “You’d be surprised what I can do with my feet on the floor.” Jack grinned as Greta blushed.

  Cole’s lips twitched. “Let’s leave a bit of mystery, shall we? You.” He pointed at Jack. “Call me every few hours, just so I know everything’s okay. If I think for a second you can’t keep the personal and professional separate, I’ll get the chief to assign someone else to babysit her.”

  “Babysit me?” Greta pushed back and glared up at Jack. “Is that why Ashley stayed all day? You really asked her to do that? What the—”

  “Perfect. I started a fight.” Cole flipped up the collar on his jacket and headed out. “That should do the trick and keep things platonic. I’ll see you in the morning. Night, Greta.”

  “Oh, good night.” She closed the door and spun on Jack. “Explain.”

  “It can’t come as a complete surprise.” Jack’s voice took on that strained-patience tone again. “We had a discussion—”

  “We who? Because we did not include me, and me is very much involved in this situation.”

  “Me as in Cole, Bowie and our LT. Given what happened yesterday at the gallery, we decided—”

  “You made a decision that affects me without me?” This was why she kept to herself. This was why she didn’t get involved. So she wouldn’t lose control of her life.

  “Yes.” He returned to the kitchen to clean up. “If what happened at the gallery—”

  “There’s that if again.” She followed him around the island. “There was no if. I know what happened. I. Saw. Him. And don’t even think about kissing me this time.” She planted a hand firm on his chest when he leaned toward her. Big mistake. Big, big mistake. Her fingers flexed against the sudden warmth, and she cheered.

  “Do you mean now or in the future?”

  “Don’t smirk at me like that. I mean it.” And she did, despite the bubble of laughter caught in her chest. Darn it, she should be mad at him. She didn’t need a babysitter! Whatever else might be going on, she was safe in her own home. She’d paid a small fortune to protect it.

  “Okay then, let’s finish our earlier conversation. About the regression therapy. Unless you can describe him more clearly now?”

  He may as well have dumped the Arctic over her head. She stepped back and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I told you no.”

  “Discuss it or do it?”

  She pressed her lips tight. “Both.”

  “Funny.” He reached for the dish towel to dry his hands. “One thing I didn’t take you for was a coward.”

  She’d never met anyone who triggered her temper faster. Or hotter. “Do you really think I’m dumb enough to fall for that?”

  “Dumb enough, no. Angry enough? Determined? I thought maybe you might be feeling as anxious to get out from under this case as I am so we can see if there’s anything between us on the other side.”

  “I—what?” Was this what she sounded like on one of her tangents? What did that even mean?

  “Let me put this another way.” He whipped a hand around her waist and dragged her against him, covering her mouth so completely, so deliberately, she almost melted into the floor. His fingers skimmed beneath the hem of her shirt, brushed against the bare skin of her spine, dipped slightly below the waistband of her pants. Her stomach tightened as anticipation built, heavy, hot and pulsing across every inch of her body. “That’s as far as this goes,” Jack murmured against her lips. “That’s as far as it can go until I close this case.”

  “You’re not playing fair and you know it.” Desire battled against reason. She hooked a bare foot ar
ound the back of his calf, shifted her hips against his and made sure he knew exactly what he was walking away from.

  “Now who’s not playing fair?” But rather than getting angry or pushing her away, he brushed his mouth against hers. “Just think about talking to Allie, seeing what the session entails. Not only because it’ll help us with the case but because I really, really want you in my bed.” He cupped her face between his hands, his touch so tender, she almost surrendered then and there.

  But she didn’t. Not quite. There was no point in telling him he was right. There was no logical reason not to talk to his friend. But she wouldn’t do so without doing some research first. Before knowing for certain that the secrets she’d struggled with all her life were going to stay locked safely away. “I’ll think about it.”

  Jack dipped down, bored his steely, determined gaze into hers. “Think fast.”

  Chapter 9

  In the gray haze of night, Greta opened her eyes. The woman’s cries drifted into her ears and lodged hopelessly in her mind. A screech, a long wailing cut through the midnight hours that had blanketed her room, her loft, the city, in darkness. Her name. She heard her name before more sobs erupted.

  “I’m coming.” Head heavy, she pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed, the sad sound pulling at her, drawing her to it, achingly familiar. Greta stepped into the hall as the flash of gray light floated out of sight and around the corner.

  “Wait. Don’t go. Come back.” Greta followed. The dim glow of the living room light didn’t deter her. How could it when the only brightness she saw melted through her front door and disappeared? She could still hear it, calling to her, like a siren calling to a sailor in the moonlit fog of the sea. She flicked the padlock, pulled open the door and moved.

  As she descended the stairs, somewhere in the distance she heard her name. But it was another voice. Louder. Determined. She walked, transfixed by the vision in white. The marble floor was chilly against her feet. Her hand brushed the banister. The lobby vanished; instead she saw them, her parents. Saw the blood-spattered walls, heard her mother’s frantic wails. Greta looked down, saw the blood pooling around her feet.