by D. D. Ayres
Scott reached down to absently pat Hugo and felt metal press into his palm. Hugo had Scott’s DEA badge in his mouth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They rode to New Jersey in silence. Izzy was in back, in her crate, while Hugo rode up front, wedged between them. Not ideal, but neither of them wanted to have to stop and break up a dogfight if their partners decided they didn’t want to share a crate.
For once, Hugo ignored Scott. In sleep, he even stretched out and leaned his big head against Scott’s thigh. Cole noticed that, when Scott thought she was sleeping, he reached out under the cover of darkness and stroked Hugo a couple of times.
They made the two-hundred-plus-mile drive in under three hours. Scott had always had a heavy foot. This time it was concrete. Yet she knew he was in complete control, all emotions shut down to get the job at hand done.
When he stopped for gas, Cole had offered to call his mother and check on his dad. The look Scott sent her way made her back off. She suspected what he was afraid to say aloud. He didn’t want to know if he would get there too late.
Having grown up in New Brunswick, he knew the way to the hospital. The fact that he parked his car in the emergency lane was the only betrayal of his state of mind.
She trailed behind him through the emergency door, figuring that no one was going to tow a truck with two dogs wearing collars emblazoned with the word POLICE.
Scott flashed his badge at the desk. “John Lucca. Heart attack.”
The receptionist nodded. “Let me check.”
Scott watched her make a call with laser-focused attention, while Cole scanned the waiting room. She didn’t see his mother there. Enough time had passed since her call that perhaps Scott’s father had been admitted. Best-case scenario.
“He’s still in Emergency Intensive Care. If you’d like to wait over there.” She pointed to an area filled with families and friends, and those patients not lucky enough to yet be seen.
“What I want is to see my father. Now.” Scott’s voice hadn’t risen but the menace in it sent the tension in the emergency room skyrocketing. Even the hospital guard’s head twitched in their direction.
Cole didn’t touch him but she slid in beside Scott and addressed the receptionist. “Can you locate Mrs. Lucca for us? We’re worried about his mom, too.”
“Sure.” The receptionist didn’t glance at Scott again. This time she got a more positive response. “She’ll be right out. You can wait—”
Scott wasn’t in the mood to be told what he could do. He walked over to the doors that opened to the emergency room ward and stood there, his stance braced for anything.
Cole hung back, not certain now that she was here what if any part she had to play. She just couldn’t allow him to drive for hours back, alone, especially if the news wasn’t going to be good.
The doors opened with a whoosh. Cathy Lucca was already in motion. She looked much as Cole remembered her, dark hair cut into a sophisticated bob and well dressed for the evening out she’d shared with her husband earlier.
“Scott, you’re here. Thank God.” She plowed into her son at full force, wrapping her arms about him and hugging him tight.
Cole saw the spasm of anguish on Scott’s face as he briefly shut his eyes and hugged his mom back. He was a head taller than she was, making her seem almost frail by comparison.
Finally his mother released him to reach up to touch her son’s face. “Your father will be so glad to know you’re here.”
“He’s alive?” The wonder in Scott’s voice surprised Cole.
“Yes, he’s awake and complaining.” Cathy smiled and patted her son’s cheek. “You’re exactly alike, you know.”
Scott shrugged. “So, he’s going to be okay?”
A cloud appeared in Cathy’s attractive face. “We’re waiting for tests. They said something about—Nicole?” She had turned to lead Scott away from the doorway when she noticed Cole. “Oh, my goodness. That is you.”
Cathy left Scott’s side to rush over to hug her. The hug was so huge and long Cole reeled a bit. “Whatever are you doing here?”
The question might have been directed at Cole but Scott’s mother turned almost immediately to him. “I’m so glad you brought her with you.” She smiled at Cole. “We can talk later. Come with me.”
They followed Mrs. Lucca back through the emergency room doors to a private waiting room just inside. “I’m expecting the doctor any minute. They had to do some tests and said someone would be in shortly to talk with me about what comes next.”
“So, Dad’s going to be okay?” Scott asked in doubt.
“Oh, Scott, I hope so. He was fine earlier. No hint of a problem. We had gone out to dinner. I had a coupon for two-for-one pricing if we ordered before six. So then we decided to take in a movie. We went to see that—”
“Mom.” Scott raked a hand through his hair in irritation.
Cole saw his mother’s face crumple and didn’t know who she felt sorrier for, her or his son. Cathy’s lip began to quiver. “I’m so sorry, Scott. I don’t know why I’m rambling on about a stupid movie. It was just so awful. So awful. We walked in and … and…”
“Mom, Mom, it’s okay.” Scott reached for her and again she collapsed against him. This time he directed her to a chair and made her sit as his hands continued to support her.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. We walked into the—the destruction of everything. Your father’s face turned this awful shade and then his legs buckled. I called 911 and told them to send the police, the ambulance, everyone.”
“You did exactly right.” Cole located a box of tissues and plucked one for her. “Your fast thinking is the reason John’s getting the attention he needs right now.”
Scott made eye contact with her over his mother’s bowed head. There was a hollowness there she had seen only once before. She reached out and laid her hand over one of his cradling his mother’s and squeezed briefly.
“How about I find us all some coffee and maybe a few of those bad-for-you items in the vending machines? This could take a while.”
Cole rose quickly to her feet. She wasn’t the least bit hungry but she knew they needed a few minutes alone. This wasn’t her family anymore.
“Come back.”
Cole looked over her shoulder. It was Scott who had spoken. She smiled. “Absolutely.”
* * *
“Angioplasty and a possibility of stents.” Scott had pulled Cole out into the hallway when she returned with coffee. His mother was keeping his dad company while they waited. “They are just waiting for a room.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
Scott nodded but yet his eyes were hollow and the stubble shadowing his lower jaw seemed to weigh down his face.
“Something else is wrong, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer directly. “I need to go and secure my parents’ house. Can you stay here and wait with my mother?”
“Of course. If you think she’d like that.”
A ghost of a smile flickered in his expression. “I think she might be happier to see you than me. I’m certain my father will be.”
“Don’t.” Cole moved in close to him. When he didn’t respond, she leaned her head against his chest. After a moment, his arms came up around her, tightening until she was having trouble breathing but she didn’t complain. His crushing embrace told her all he could not say.
He released her quickly and headed for the door. He had climbed into his truck before she remembered Hugo was still in the front seat. She ran out after him but he had pulled away.
She debated calling him but decided he must think he knew what he was doing. After all, she couldn’t bring a dog into the emergency room. If she hadn’t been so worried about Scott and his dad, she might have been amused by the thought of Hugo and Izzy and Scott together.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Looks worse than it is. Strictly amateur hour.”
The New Brunswick patrol officer who had
accompanied Scott to his parents’ home turned the key to let Scott in past the police tape.
On alert, Scott gazed around the living room of his parents’ home, looking for a clue. Pictures and mirrors had been smashed. Lamps, the flat-screen TV, and small tables knocked over.
Scott shut his eyes briefly, imagining his parents’ horror when they walked in on the destruction of their home. My fault.
“You getting a picture?”
His expression void of emotion, Scott turned to the officer who had followed him in. “Yeah. The scumbags didn’t miss a trick.”
“Yep. Real bad boys. They shit and pissed on things upstairs. Cleaned out the medicine cabinet and all the liquor. Your dad’s a professor, right? We’re thinking maybe he gave some frat boy a grade he didn’t like. Got his friends in here to toss it.”
“My mother’s a family court judge.”
“For real? Then it could be some juvie miscreant sending a message he didn’t like her decision. No real harm, but ugly.”
Scott got the message. The local police weren’t all that concerned about vandalism. Any excuse to write it up and file this case away would work. He knew the drill. It might have looked bad to the owners. So horrifying, his dad had had a coronary event. But to the hardened gaze of law enforcement, this was a minor incident.
They didn’t know what he suspected and he couldn’t tell them without jeopardizing both present and former undercover work. Besides, he had no proof.
He looked around for some clue to the identity of the intruders. Even his parents’ CDs had been dumped from their chest in one corner and stomped on. The intruders didn’t steal. Just set out to do maximum damage. This was intimidation masquerading as rage.
“Can you get DNA from the piss and shit?”
The officer shrugged. “Took samples. But I doubt it’s going to be a high priority with the lab. We’ve had a stabbing plus a rape case just this week. Could be months before results, even if we make an arrest. No one was injured. No weapons displayed. Say, did your parents have guns in the house?”
Scott shook his head. His mother didn’t even like him to bring his weapon into her home, though she’d never said so. So many silent displays of disapproval of his life choices. And now this. His father would never forgive this, if Scott was the cause.
Scott treaded cautiously around the main room. “You did collect other evidence?”
“Some. Without suspects, fingerprints are next to useless with this kind of thing. We don’t have much to go on. No neighbor heard or saw a thing. That’s about all we can do. Vandalism is not that big of a crime, on the scale. Know what I mean?”
“You go tell that to my mother.”
The cop shook his head. “I don’t envy what they’re dealing with. But tell them to look on the bright side. No personal harm was done. These are just things. They can replace them.”
Scott didn’t reply. He’d been the responding officer on many break-ins during his early years on patrol. He had always thought people made way too much of things being lost, stolen, or broken. They were, after all, just things. But looking at the accumulated contents of his parents’ lives broken into so much landfill turned his stomach, and set rage burning in his belly.
“What about the fact this incident put my dad in the hospital?”
The patrol officer gave him a palms-up shrug. “He had a heart attack when he came home and saw the damage. That’s not a direct connection. The D.A. won’t want the bother, unless we catch the perpetrators. Or do you know something we don’t?”
“Just a hunch.” Scott did a systematic search of the room, eyes doing a thorough sweep, looking for the clue that must be here somewhere.
He moved quickly through to his father’s study. File drawers had been pulled open and the contents tossed. Books had been dumped from their shelves. His father’s computer had been dropped and either smashed with something heavy or repeatedly stomped on.
He turned into the dining room with a heavy heart. The intention had been to inflict pain. They had succeeded. His mother’s good china lay in shards all over the floor. His grandmother’s crystal had been smashed on the shelves of the china cabinet, gleaming wetly like icicles in the light. Even the chandelier had been struck repeatedly. The floor sparkled where bits of broken crystal had fallen.
He doubted this was random, though it had been planned carefully to look that way. Until he had evidence that said otherwise, no one else would believe it. He wouldn’t either, if he didn’t have this big fucking hunch sitting on his shoulder.
* * *
It was a little past noon when Scott left the hospital a second time. He’d slept, sort of, in the waiting room, giving his mother the recliner in his dad’s room. She wouldn’t leave and he couldn’t encourage her to go home. Fuck it all! He didn’t want either of them to come home to the wreckage he’d left behind last night. That’s why he was stopping at the house, instead of going to the motel where he’d sent Cole after his father’s surgery was over. At least someone was getting some rest.
His eyes felt as if he’d rubbed sand in them. His back had a hitch in it, and his breath must be as rancid as his attitude. Still, he had work to do.
The sight of his mother’s car parked out front, instead of the garage where she kept it, set Scott’s heart into action mode as he pulled up in the driveway. The front door was open. The police tape gone. He reached for his gun, which he’d kept in the glove compartment while he was at the hospital.
Even before he reached the front door he heard music, up-tempo and heavy on the beat. Hip-hop. And a woman’s voice, singing regrettably off-key. He was pretty sure he recognized who was singing.
Suddenly he felt a little foolish and tucked his weapon in his jeans.
He didn’t knock, just walked in. Amazingly a bit of the clutter had been removed from the living room. But the music was coming from the dining room. He walked quickly in that direction.
Cole had laid towels over the surface of the dining room table, which now held pieces of crystal and china that had escaped damage, and some that looked like they could be repaired. She was doing salvage.
She still wore her clothes from the day before, just as he did. The music coming from her cell phone speaker was loud and rude, and slightly familiar. But it was like a desecration in his parents’ home.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Cole straightened up from where she’d been sweeping glass into a dustpan. She smiled when she saw him. “Hi, Scott. How’s your dad?”
He nodded, feeling too raw to talk about it. Still, he had to say something to her. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d taken a hotel room.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Cole yawned. “The keys you gave me last night to your mother’s car also included the house key, so I decided to come over and make myself useful.”
“Could you turn that off?” He pointed to the music source.
The resulting silence seemed to vibrate with relief.
“You left Izzy and Hugo in a motel room?”
Cole looked at him as if he’d pulled a rabbit out of his ear. “I put the dogs out back in your parents’ dog run. Your mom told me Kato died last year, which I was so sorry to hear. She was a good dog. They should replace her for safety’s sake. Still, it was nice to have a place for our pair. They were tired of being caged up. I figured they’d probably get along just so they wouldn’t be put back in your truck.”
“Okay. But you don’t need to do”—he waved his hand around—“this.”
She frowned. “You don’t want your parents to come home to it. They’ve suffered enough.”
He tucked in his chin. “I planned to take care of it.”
“You have two people depending on you already. Let me at least clean.”
He looked around. Cole saw a twinge of pain in his face each time his eyes alit on something broken or damaged. He was looking at them through his parents’ eyes and feeling their pain. All the more reason wh
y she, one step removed, should be doing the heavy lifting in this situation.
“I have a little coffee left.” She pointed to a cup. He didn’t have to be invited twice.
“You shouldn’t have touched anything.” He frowned hard, scratching at the day-old growth on one cheek. “Now I don’t have an inventory.”
“I took pictures of everything.” She held up her camera. “Better than that, I called your parents’ insurance company this morning, like your mom asked me to. They sent an agent over an hour ago. The claim’s already being filed. So we’ve got permission to straighten up.”
He just stared at her. Okay, maybe he was all out of thank-yous at the moment.
Cole held up a clipboard. “I’m making a list of everything I recognize. Once we know exactly what’s salvageable it might help your parents to make a list of what was destroyed or missing.” She glanced at the pile of glass and porcelain she had swept into one corner to make a walkway. “It’s kinda impossible for me to tell the remains of a champagne flute from a crystal candy dish.”
He continued to stare at her until discomfort made her continue talking.
“I put some of the pictures and mirrors in the car. Thought I’d take them over to a glass shop and see if I can get them redone before they return home.”
“Did you clean up the shit upstairs, too?”
She flinched at the ugliness in his voice even while she reminded herself that he was hurting and worried, too. But she wasn’t going to be provoked into being his punching bag so he’d have a release.
“Why don’t you start in your father’s office? I couldn’t begin to sort his files. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“Is that the washer and dryer running?”
“I’m washing some of your mother’s things. She’ll need a bag to stay at a hotel for a while. Then I’ll tackle your dad’s. Piss washes out.”
His mouth tightened. “The fucking bastards.”
From the corner of his eye, Scott saw her reach for her phone. “What in the hell were you playing?”
“Eye-C’s latest album. Thought I should familiarize myself with it. In case I have an opportunity to pal around with Shajuanna.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s just what you’d expect; misogynistic, homophobic, and crude. Never say I don’t like culture.”
