He leaned back in his chair and sipped his now-cool coffee. He had no idea why a story hadn’t broken yet, but he knew what he had to do. There was no question about it.
They needed to die...sooner rather than later.
Chapter Five
That evening as Jake drove to Monica’s house, he couldn’t help the way his heart lifted at the anticipation of spending more time with her. And he was still determined that this would be the last time they would spend any social time together. They would continue to do the surveillance together, but that was it.
He sensed that she might be a little bit romantically interested in him, and he wasn’t and could never be the kind of man she wanted or deserved. He needed to make sure she understood that he wasn’t in the market for any kind of a relationship with her except for a working one. The problem was it was just so damned hard to remember that when she was around him.
He turned down a tree-lined street with small, neat homes and eyed the addresses for hers. Halfway down the block he spied her house. He was interested to see her personal space. He imagined vibrant colors and comfortable furniture.
Her house was a ranch painted a soft gray with darker gray shutters. It sported a maroon front door, and a large picture window in the front reflected the clouds that had moved in late this afternoon.
Pulling up in the driveway, he steeled himself, needing to stay strong and keep his growing feelings for her in check. Maybe she just acted as if she liked him in order to get the story.
He immediately dismissed this idea. She didn’t strike him as a woman who would be that disingenuous. He’d already pegged her as a straight shooter and nothing so far had changed that initial assessment of her.
She answered the door on his first knock, and despite all his desires to the contrary, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of her.
Clad in a pair of white shorts and a pink T-shirt that clung to her small waist and emphasized the thrust of her breasts, she looked sexy as hell.
She gestured him into a small but pleasant living room that held a navy blue couch and matching chair and a large flat-screen television anchored on one wall. Bright yellow throw pillows and yellow-based lamps added the vibrant touches he’d imagined would be in her living space. She also had several candles burning and their scents filled the air along with her fragrance.
“The steaks are marinating, baked potatoes are in the oven and a salad is in the fridge,” she said as she led him into the kitchen.
It was also a pleasant room, with yellow-and-white curtains hanging at the windows and a bouquet of artificial sunflowers in the center of the round wooden kitchen table.
“How about I check out that grill,” he said. Already the scent of her now-familiar perfume eddied in the air as if to torment him.
“It’s on the deck.” She opened the back door and together they went out on the deck, where a table with a bright blue umbrella was already set with navy-and-yellow-ringed dinner plates.
“Since the clouds moved in and it’s not as hot as it has been, I thought we’d eat out here if that’s all right with you.”
“Perfect,” he replied. At least out here he wouldn’t have her scent surrounding him.
The grill was a standard gas one and it took him only minutes to get it lit and warming up. “How does a cold beer sound?” she asked.
“It sounds great.”
“I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
He walked over to the deck railing and gazed out to her backyard. There were several pretty trees and a birdbath in a round flower bed. The grass was neatly cut and the whole thing was surrounded by a privacy fence.
He turned as she came back outside. “Thanks.” He took the icy beer bottle from her. He twisted off the top and took a drink. “Ah, there’s nothing better than a cold beer on a warm day.”
“I completely agree.” She took a sip of her beer and then set it down on the table. “Just let me know when you’re ready for the steaks.”
“We’ll let the grill warm up for a few more minutes. I was just admiring your backyard. With the fence it would be perfect for that little fur baby you mentioned.”
She smiled. “I know. I’m trying to decide if I’m ready to make that kind of commitment.”
“Do you know what kind of dog you’d like?”
“I’ve been thinking about it and I’m leaning toward a miniature schnauzer, since that’s what I had growing up and a girlfriend of mine has one now and he’s a little sweetheart.”
“Sounds like a good choice,” he replied. “You have a very nice home.”
She laughed. “Thanks, but it’s nothing but a mud hut compared to yours.”
“That’s not true,” he said with a laugh of his own. “Besides, I had to build a house that reflected my profession. It’s a big house for just one person to ramble around in and it’s easy to be lonely there.” Embarrassment filled him and he mentally kicked himself. Even though it was true, why had he said that out loud?
She looked at him for a long moment. “I get lonely, too. I guess it doesn’t matter how big or small your house is. People can be lonely anywhere.”
He broke eye contact with her. “Maybe we both need dogs.” He walked over to the grill. “I think it’s ready for the steaks.”
She brought him two beautiful T-bones and as they sizzled on the grill they talked about the weather and the clouds that had moved in. They argued about what made a perfect steak—he believed it should be medium-rare and she insisted well-done was better.
What they didn’t talk about was loneliness or anything else personal. The easy conversation continued as they ate. They shared more about their work and then talked about sports. They both loved football and supported the local Chiefs team.
“There’s nothing better than tailgating at a Kansas City Chiefs game.”
“I know, all you can smell is good barbecue,” he replied.
“When you’re at home and watching a football game what kind of food do you eat?” she asked.
“Hot wings and french fries.”
“Ah, a man after my own heart.” Her eyes sparkled brightly. “I love hot wings dipped in blue cheese dressing.”
“No way,” he replied. “They’re better if they’re dipped in ranch dressing.”
Then followed a discussion about the best foods to eat while watching a football game.
He pushed his empty plate away. “That was one delicious steak, and the potato was baked to perfection.”
“I hope you have enough room for dessert,” she said. “I bought a peach pie.”
“For peach pie, I might have a little room left.”
When she was finished eating night had fallen, and they cleared their dishes and moved inside where she made coffee and then cut them each a piece of the pie.
They settled on the sofa side by side to eat the dessert and once again her scent surrounded him. She placed her hand on his arm. He’d come to realize that she was naturally a toucher. He was sure she had no idea how her frequent touches warmed him.
“Tell me about your sister, Jake,” she said. “Tell me what Suzanna was like.”
He stared at her and for a moment his heart stopped beating. What was she doing? Why did she want to talk about his sister? He hadn’t talked to anyone about Suzanna in the past two years. He wasn’t even sure he could. He placed his empty pie dish on the coffee table and then looked at Monica once again.
Her gaze was soft, inviting him to share. “Why do you want to know about her?” He heard the thick emotion in his voice and coughed in an effort to clear it.
“I want to know all about her because she was so important to you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if he could do this. Could he reach beyond the darkness to find the light that had been his sister? “She had the most incredible la
ugh,” he finally said, and opened his eyes.
Speaking that simple sentence seemed to loosen not only the lump in his throat, but also a dam inside him. “It was one of those kinds of laughs that invited everyone around her to share in it even if they didn’t know what they were laughing about.”
“That’s a wonderful gift.” She scooted closer to him on the sofa. “Tell me more, Jake. Isn’t today a good day for celebrating her life instead of dwelling on her death?”
Celebrating her life? He’d never thought about it before, but that’s exactly what he wanted to do right now with Monica. “I liked to tease her about being a pesky little sister. She was almost two minutes younger than me and I never let her forget that I was the older, wiser one.”
He leaned back, suddenly immersed in good memories. “She was so full of life. She loved roller coasters and scary movies, but she also loved growing flowers and stargazing and listening to classical music.”
He took a sip of his coffee and then continued, “She used to tell me I had the social graces of an ox. But she drew people to her. She had lots of friends and she was loyal and supportive of all of them. Have you ever seen a picture of her?”
Monica shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and with fingers that trembled slightly, he pulled out the picture he carried of the sister he’d lost. He handed the small photo to Monica.
She studied the picture for several moments and then handed it back to him. “She was beautiful.”
“She wasn’t just beautiful on the outside, she was also beautiful on the inside.” He tucked the picture away and returned his wallet to his back pocket.
“I had to start scaring guys away from her when we were only about thirteen.” He smiled. “I have to admit there were a couple of years where she hated me for playing the role of big bad father.”
Monica laughed. “So you scared all the boys?”
“I did. I finally eased up a bit when she was about seventeen. She dated a lot but managed to keep up her grades. And she always seemed to date nice boys, which also helped me relax.”
“You mentioned that your parents were both drug addicts and died when the two of you were young. How on earth did you two manage to survive?”
“Needless to say, we both had to grow up really fast. There were many nights we were the caretakers for them rather than the other way around. We hoarded any change or dollar bills we’d find and use that to buy food. We quickly learned what food went the furthest, but of course there were days when there was no food to be found. I’m not telling you this so you will feel sorry for me, but rather to show you that it was always Suzanna and me against the world.”
“How did you manage to put yourselves through college?”
“We figured out early on that education was the only way we were going to get out of the life we were living and make something of ourselves. We both got scholarships and grants, and then when we turned twenty-one we were shocked to learn that our mother’s father left us an inheritance that helped us. We both worked and then used the inheritance to pay off college debt. We used what was left over to open our business.”
“Your mother’s parents...they didn’t step in to help you and Suzanna?”
“My mother’s mother died when she was fairly young so it was just our grandfather, who we’d only met once. He died when we were young, and I don’t think my parents even knew about an inheritance. A lawyer contacted us on our twenty-first birthday, which was the term set up in his will.”
“And you and Suzanna worked well together?”
“We did. It was nice for me to have a partner who could finish my sentences and who saw the world like me. Yet her weaknesses were my strengths and vice versa. She was good at visualizing the amazing buildings, and my strength was the actual drawing up the blueprints of her vision.”
“You hear horror stories about family going into business together,” Monica replied.
He nodded. “We talked about that and both of us agreed our relationship came first and was far more important than the business. Everything worked beautifully until she started dating Max Clinton.”
He frowned and his jaw clenched tight as he remembered the first time Suzanna had introduced him to Max Clinton. Even then there had been several little red flags that had waved in his head, but he’d kept his concerns to himself.
At that first meeting Max had shown hints of being a control freak and gave the impression that Suzanna was a piece of property he’d just newly acquired. Then he’d told himself he had misunderstood and was just imagining things.
“She was absolutely crazy about him. He was a good-looking guy and smooth as silk.” He got up from the sofa and walked over to the picture window. He stared out even though he couldn’t see anything except the darkness of the night.
“Within three months of them dating she’d moved him into her house. I started getting worried when I realized not only was he slowly isolating her from all her friends and me, but he also had a huge jealous streak.”
“Definitely two big red flags.”
He turned back around to face Monica. “Yeah, and it got worse from there. She started showing up at the office with cuts and bruises. She even had a couple of black eyes during that time. But she always had some kind of crazy explanation for the injuries.”
He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “She finally confessed to me that he had a temper and she was tired of being his punching bag. She threw him out of her house, and I hoped and prayed that was the end of it.”
“But it wasn’t,” Monica said softly.
“No, it wasn’t.” His chest tightened with a twist of turbulent emotions and once again he clenched his jaw at the memories that now raced to the forefront of his mind.
“She became a cliché for an abused woman. He’d send her flowers and sweet-talk her and she’d welcome him back. I now know that’s called the honeymoon period in an abusive relationship. Then he’d beat her again and she’d throw him out. It was a vicious cycle that I couldn’t break. I tried to talk to her, I yelled at her, but ultimately all I could do was just sit back and watch it all happen.”
He was vaguely aware of Monica getting up from the sofa and joining him in front of the window. But he was deep now into memories that weren’t a celebration of his sister’s life, but rather the utter tragedy of her untimely death.
“He was in and out of her house a dozen times, and each time when she threw him out, he got more and more angry. The last time she seemed determined to make a final break with him. First, he pleaded and cajoled her to take him back, and when she refused, he stalked her and he left messages that he was going to kill her...the ‘if I can’t have you, nobody will’ kinds of threats.”
Jake’s emotions threatened to spiral out of control. His chest was so tight he could hardly draw a breath. The back of his throat had closed up as pain and regret pummeled him.
Monica placed her hand on his shoulder and moved closer to him. He couldn’t talk about this anymore. They both knew how it had ended. Only he knew his part in it all and he would never voice his own culpability aloud to anyone. That was a shame, a guilt that was too enormous for words.
He stared at Monica helplessly, unable to speak and caught in emotions too deep to share. She returned his gaze and moved closer to him. She raised her face. “Kiss me, Jake.”
Her words shocked him, and that shock cast his memories aside. He gazed down at her and became aware of the heat of her body so tight against his and how soft and welcoming her slightly parted lips appeared.
Even though he knew it was wrong on so many levels, he lowered his head and captured her lips with his. All thoughts of Suzanna slipped out of his mind as Monica raised her arms to curl around his neck and opened her mouth to deepen their kiss.
He hadn’t realized how cold he’d been
until the fire in her kiss, the intimate press of her body against his, warmed him. And he welcomed the warmth by deepening the kiss and tangling his fingers in the long, silky strands of her hair.
She welcomed him. Her tongue swirled with his as her arms tightened around his neck. He was quickly lost in her; any other thoughts were impossible.
Suddenly, the picture window exploded as rapid gunshots filled the air.
* * *
MONICA SCREAMED AS Jake threw her down to the floor and then covered her body with his. Bullets whizzed into the wall opposite the window, shattering the glass on the pictures that had hung there. They slammed into the Sheetrock, chipping out chunks with their impact.
Terror shot through her, making it difficult for her to draw a breath. And yet she had to be breathing because in some place in the back of her mind she knew she was screaming and sobbing.
The noise was deafening, and she clung to Jake, squeezing her fingers into his shoulders as she continued to sob. What was happening? Why was this happening? Her brain couldn’t wrap around it. Who was shooting into her house?
It seemed to go on forever. Finally, it stopped. There was the squeal of tires on pavement. And then silence. Except for the deep sobs that Monica couldn’t seem to control.
“It’s okay. We’re okay,” Jake whispered in her ear. She knew he meant to comfort her, but his voice was deep with tension. “Monica, we’re fine.”
Fine? No, she wasn’t fine. Somebody had just tried to kill her and terror still squeezed her throat half-closed, still iced her entire body.
“I’m going to get up and I want you to crawl down the hallway and into the bathroom,” he said.
The bathroom? At the moment it felt like it was a million miles away from the living room. Still, it was an interior place in the house. He was sending her to an interior room.
“Do...do you think they’ll be back?” Oh God, this was a nightmare, the worst nightmare she’d ever suffered. And she couldn’t wake up.
Desperate Measures Page 7
