by Jo Davis
“No, Mama,” he said in a low voice. He hated lying to her, and knew she suspected. “I’m just tired.”
“All right. When you’re ready to tell me what is wrong, I’ll be here. Te amo.”
“Love you, too,” he whispered.
Hanging up, he replaced the phone on the desk and went into the living room, considered tidying some, and decided, Screw it. He was having a beer with another dude, not a date. Grabbing a Bud from the fridge, he popped the top and made an experimental toast.
“Here’s to single guys drinking, belching, and watching the damned game. With no women around to bitch about it.”
Didn’t make him feel any better, but it sounded appropriately rebellious.
The knock at the door snagged his attention and he went over and peered out the peephole before opening the door to Ford. “Shit, you look as wiped as I feel.”
“You ain’t lyin’.” Ford swaggered in with a lean-hipped stride and ran a hand through his longish brown hair. “Nice digs.”
“Thanks. Have a seat and let me get you a cold one. Bud okay? Or I’ve got Corona.”
“Bud’s fine, thanks.” He flopped into Julian’s recliner with a heavy sigh. “Goddamn, I could sit here and die. Happily.”
“Tough week, I’ll bet, with the murders hitting the news. Here you go, Detective.”
“Shane.”
“What?”
“You can call me Shane. We have mutual friends and I amdrinking your beer, after all.”
“Oh, right.” An overture of friendship? Cool. He didn’t get those often—from guys, anyway. “Well, bottoms up, Shane.”
They took a few healthy swigs of their brews, and Julian wiped his mouth, eyeing the other man. “You ever been married?”
“Close a couple of times, but nope. No wife. You?”
Julian rolled his eyes. “I’m seeing somebody, or at least I hope I still am. And let me tell you, love sucks.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
They did, and damned if they weren’t ready for another round. He fetched them and handed one over.
“Guess I’d better go easy on these if I’m going to drive later. That would be a major bitch to add to my week, one of my own arresting my ass.”
“Stay as long as you need to. The game will be on soon and you’re welcome to hang out.”
“I might take you up on the offer,” he said with a nod. “First, though, I want to know about this extracurricular research project of yours. With the angle on the young people, I assume you’re grasping at some sort of connection between any murders that might have occurred fifteen or more years ago and the ones here. The question is, why San Antonio and that time frame in particular?”
Shit, here we go. “It’s just a hunch, based on something that happened to me when I was fifteen. Probably nothing, but I don’t have the resources you do to look into it, except for using the Internet, and news articles won’t give me the police angle from the inside.”
Shane waited, the picture of patience and genuine interest. The cop wasn’t simply humoring him, and that bolstered his confidence enough to spill. He related the entire story of his hazy, frightening encounter with Derek Vines, just as he’d told Grace. He capped it off by confessing his visit to Warren’s office, and the conflicting tale Zoe told him.
When he was finished, Shane studied him for a few moments and whistled through his teeth. “That’s a helluva story.”
“There’s something else—Derek is defending himself right now on a sexual harassment charge.”
“Interesting, but circumstantial.” Shane frowned. “Though it’s pretty much common knowledge that sex offenders don’t stop. They continue for years and escalate until they’re caught. Not that this is true in Derek’s case.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Didn’t say that. But since you didn’t go to the police back then, there’s no official record.”
“Sonofabitch, why do I have to go through this every single—”
The detective held up a hand to forestall his tirade. “I’m not berating you, just stating a fact. You told your family, and the sad reality is, most young victims don’t even go that far. You’re to be commended for dealing with it as well as you have.”
“So . . . you do believe I was molested?”
“I wasn’t there, but it does sound pretty frigging creepy. In any case, I can see you believe it.”
“And what if Derek was never caught? What if he has escalated?” Julian leaned forward. “Cody and I both saw Brett Charles with the older man and now he’s dead. What if my hit-and-run wasn’t an accident at all? Once these questions got stuck in my head, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get rid of them until they’re put to rest. Will you help me?”
“Since you’ve raised the question, it would be irresponsible of me not to, so yes. I’ll make some calls, see what we can learn. It’s a long shot, though,” he cautioned.
Julian hadn’t been aware of the elephant sitting on his chest until that moment. His breath left him in a rush. “I know, but I appreciate you checking.”
“Now, how about that game?” Shane grinned, kicking his feet up.
Drinking beer, eating chips and Julian’s homemade salsa, munching popcorn, and yelling at the television, he spent the most enjoyable three hours he could recall in quite a while—outside of being with Grace. Having someone over just to hang out was cool, and he wondered why he’d never had his team here before. He made a mental note to change that one day soon.
When the game ended, Shane stood and stretched. “Man, thanks for your hospitality. If you want, we could grab a beer at the Waterin’ Hole sometime.”
“Sounds good. How about when you have something for me?” He shook the detective’s hand and saw him out.
“That’ll work. I’ll let you know what I find out, but it might take a few days.”
“Okay. Take it easy.”
“Back atcha.”
After Shane left, he tossed the cans, put away the snacks, and watched a stupid reality show until his eyes crossed. He thought about calling Grace, but it was getting late and his brain was fogged from too many brewskis. Something told him that waking her up to slur in her ear wasn’t the best way to win her.
Walking into the bedroom, he stripped down to his boxers and crawled between the sheets with a grateful sigh. In a minute he dropped headfirst into the sleep of the dead, deep and dreamless. Which was why, sometime later, he couldn’t have said precisely what awakened him.
A prickle on the back of his neck. The sensation of eyes boring into him. A whisper of sound.
Lying on his back, very still, he cracked his lids open.
To see a dark figure standing over his bed, swinging something silver toward his chest.
13
With a yell, Julian rolled to his left, away from his attacker, as something hard glanced off his arm. He dived off the side of the bed but became tangled in the sheets, and the bastard was on him in an instant, the metal in his hand flashing in the moonlight.
Knife. Fucker’s got a knife!
Twisting onto his back, he caught the arm inches from his chest, straining to hold off the attacker’s weight. The tip of the blade quivered above his heart, the man grunting, cursing behind a ski mask, determined to achieve his deadly goal.
Since Julian was using both hands to hold the man’s arm, he was unprotected when the guy grabbed his hair with his free hand and slammed the back of his head into the floor. Once, twice, three times, and Julian’s vision exploded into stardust.
His grip loosened for a split second and the tip pierced his skin, and he knew he’d lose a contest of brute strength this way. Head spinning, he bucked, dislodging the guy, then brought up one knee and kicked as hard as he could, sending him reeling backward.
He leaped for the man, kicking the hand with the knife, sending it skittering away, and earning a satisfying howl from his nemesis. He brought the heel of his foot down as hard as he could on the att
acker’s wrist, enjoying the crunch of bone even more.
The man screamed, rolled to his knees.
“Like that, motherfucker?”
Adrenaline took over, fueling his rage, and he delivered a kick to the asshole’s side that shot pain up his leg.
Having lost the advantage of surprise, and taking on someone capable of fighting back, the attacker scrambled up and fled. Furious, Julian tried to pursue him, but his foot was throbbing. So was his head, and his arm.
Silence returned, eerie in its suddenness. Gaze trained on his bedroom doorway, he backed toward the phone on his nightstand, grabbed it, switched on the lamp, and called 911.
And then the shakes set in.
He stammered out what happened to the dispatcher, who told him to remain on the line until the officers arrived. Yeah, like he’d hang up.
“Call Detective Shane Ford, too, and let him know,” he said, teeth chattering. “He was here earlier, and this might have something to do with a case he’s working on.”
“We’ll take care of it, sir. Just stay calm, okay?”
Keeping the phone tucked under his ear, he groped for the cargo shorts he’d ditched earlier and tugged them on. It was then he realized his right arm was covered in blood, and a thin line of crimson streaked down his chest. The room whirled and he sank to the floor, his back against the bed.
He must’ve taken a little trip into space, because the next thing he knew the room was full of cops, one lifting his head and speaking slowly. Or maybe it was his brain that was slow.
“Mr. Salvatore? We got paramedics on the way to take a look at you, okay?”
“S-sure.”
“Can you tell us what happened?”
“I woke up and . . . there was this guy. With a knife. He . . .”
Tried to kill me. Mother of God, that man tried to kill me.
“Mr. Salvatore?” Still crouching, the officer spoke to someone else. “Guy’s in shock. Where the fuck are the medics?”
“On the way. Be here in five.”
“Think we got the knife over here,” another one chimed in. “Don’t anybody touch it.”
“Julian? Jesus fucking Christ, are you all right?”
Julian blinked at the newcomer who squatted beside the first officer. “Shane?”
“Yeah, buddy. You just sit tight, okay? Anybody you want me to call?”
He nodded, and the movement was too much. “Grace McKenna. Number’s in my cell phone,” he rasped.
And the room, the blood, Shane, and the cacophony of noise all vanished into mist.
Grace peered at the digital clock as she reached for the phone, and came immediately awake. Two thirty. Middle-of-the-night calls never bore good news.
“Hello?”
“Grace McKenna?”
“Yes?” She bolted upright.
“This is Detective Shane Ford, Sugarland police. Your friend Julian Salvatore asked me to phone you. First of all, I want you to know he’s going to be fine, all right?”
The blood drained from her face. “What’s happened?”
“An assailant broke into his condo tonight with a knife. He—”
“Oh, my God! Where is he? Why didn’t he call me himself if he’s okay?” She jumped from bed and fumbled for the light.
“He fought the intruder off and the guy escaped, but he sustained some minor injuries in the process. Can you meet me in the ER at Sterling?”
“Yes! I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Drive carefully. Like I said, he’s all right,” the detective assured her.
“I will.”
Grace hung up and threw on some clothes, chest seizing with anxiety. If he wasn’t “fine” enough to make the call himself, then she wasn’t reassured in the least.
She made the drive in a record fifteen minutes, too upset with herself to be unnerved by driving through the forested hills in the middle of the night. If she hadn’t sent Julian away, he wouldn’t have been home tonight for a knife-wielding lunatic to attack.
He’d been fighting for his life when he should’ve been safe in her arms.
Rushing into the ER, she ran to the counter, where a woman was reading a book. “Julian Salvatore,” she blurted. “He was attacked and brought in here.”
The woman glanced up and gave her a polite smile. “Through those doors, room three, but the police are with him, so you’ll have to wait until—ma’am!”
Bullshit on waiting. A man exited the doors to the treatment rooms and she hurried inside, scanning for the correct cubicle. It wasn’t hard to find. A uniformed cop and a brown-haired man in plain clothes were standing just inside the room, visible to anyone in the hall. The man in the blue jeans spotted her, and emerged to greet her.
“Miss McKenna?”
“Yes. Are you the one who phoned?” she asked, trying to peer around his broad shoulders.
“I am. I’m Shane Ford, and the two officers here are almost done. Why don’t I fill you in and by then, you should be able to see him.”
Forcing down her panic, she focused her attention on the detective, startled to find him quite handsome. His striking looks seemed so incongruous with the barren, ugly surroundings and their reason for being here; it made the scene even more surreal.
“What are his injuries?”
“He sustained two shallow cuts, here and here,” he said, pointing to the center of his chest and making a slicing motion along his right bicep. “Neither required stitches, just cleaning and bandaging.”
“Thank God,” she breathed.
“Yeah, he got lucky. He sprained his foot, too, from kicking the shit out of the guy, but his head is bothering him the most. The assailant had him pinned at one point and slammed the back of his head into the floor a few times. He’s got a knot and a bad headache, but nothing like before.” His tone was gentle and reassuring.
She could see why Kat and Howard thought so highly of Ford. “Then they’ll let him go soon, right?”
“I believe so, but they talked about monitoring him for a bit longer. He passed out before the medics arrived, and now he’s in and out, looped on pain meds.”
“Why would anyone do this to him? First the hit-and-run, and now a madman trying to—to stabhim? What the hell is going on?”
Fury burned in her veins. As prosecutor, she could’ve put this monster away when the police caught him. Give her a gun and five minutes alone with him, and she’d save everyone the trouble.
“Julian has a theory about that and I’m helping him look into something,” he said grimly. “But I’ll let him speak with you about it.”
Terror gripped her. Someone had tried to murder her man, twice. And Julian might have an idea as to who and why? The urge to bust him out of here, now, and hide him somewhere was damned near overwhelming.
“If you have no objection, I’m taking him to my place, at least for tonight. I don’t want him staying at his condo.” The thought of his going back chilled her.
“Good idea. The glass on his sliding patio door is broken next to the lock, which is how the bastard got in. Until he has it repaired, he’s not safe.”
“He wasn’t safe there to begin with,” she muttered, digging in her purse for one of her business cards.
“True.”
Taking out the card, she found a pen and wrote her home phone number and address on the back. “You can reach Julian here when he’s not at work.”
“Thanks.” He tucked the card into his wallet. “Was he due on shift this morning?”
She paused, thinking. “No, he’s on Tuesday.” But, crap, she had to be in court by nine. She had a full schedule today and then they’d need to go pick up some of his stuff.
She couldn’t think about that now. The need to be with him eclipsed all else. If she didn’t get in there, she was going to make a scene. “I want to see him.”
The detective gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze and stuck his head inside. “You guys done? I’ve got a worried lady friend here.”
> Both officers emerged and gave her a nod. “Ma’am,” one said in greeting.
“How is he? Can I go in?”
“He’s still in a bit of shock, but he’s damned fortunate. Go ahead.” The officer clapped the detective on the shoulder. “Catch ya later, Shane.”
“I’m going, too. But first . . .” Ford removed his wallet again, and gave her one of his cards. “Should have given you this before. My cell phone number is at the bottom. Either of you can call me anytime, day or night.”
“I appreciate it, and I know Julian does, too.” Having a direct line to Ford eased her fears some.
“He’s a good guy. Just tell him I said I’m working on the information and not to go and do anything stupid,” he said cryptically. “I’ll check on him tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Watching him stride down the narrow corridor, she shook her head. She’d get her answers later. At the moment, the only thing that mattered was lying in there alone. When his world was going to hell, he’d asked for her.
She stepped inside and her chest constricted. His head was turned to the side and he was staring into space. An IV ran into his right hand and a wide bandage swaddled his arm. Lifting his head, he spotted her, tried to smile, and failed.
“Grace,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told Shane to call you. I didn’t mean to drag you down here to babysit.”
“Are you kidding?” She pulled up a chair on his left side, leaned over, and gave him a careful hug and a lingering kiss before she sat down, curling her fingers around his. “I couldn’t get here fast enough. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“Makes two of us.”
His dark eyes, she noted, were glassy. Either from pain medication or trauma, or both. “Tell me what happened.”
His lashes fluttered closed briefly before he opened them again, his gaze not so cloudy. “You ever get the feeling you’re being watched? Like there’s a laser beam on you, connecting you to the other person?”
“I’ve had that happen, but never when someone truly intended me harm.”
“I awoke from a sound sleep and it was like the air crackled with electricity. I sensed him before I saw his shadow over me with the knife.”
