Back Against the Wall

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I do understand that.” She waved at the remaining accumulation. “This, on the other hand...”

  “Maybe you should buy your father an automatic garage door opener for Christmas. No, his birthday. It’s in September, right? If he started parking in here, he might quit thinking of this as a storage unit.”

  September? Christmas? On a tiny burst of hope, she asked, “Does that mean you don’t think Dad will be in prison by then?”

  “It takes a long time to bring someone to trial these days.” He hesitated. “I’m not making you any promises. There’s the possibility your father stumbled on this drawing. Surely even he would have been enraged. In any marriage, this would be a fire starter.”

  “He’d have been upset, sure. Enraged...isn’t him.” Oh, Dad, I hope you never saw this. Never have to see it.

  Tony bent his head, as if acknowledging her point without necessarily agreeing. But he continued, “I will say I’m ready to pursue the possibility of an unknown man who had a relationship with your mother. Someone with money and some training as an artist.”

  Snide was tempting. It’s about time. Or, Really? You actually opened your mind enough to see that I’m right? But she refrained, of course. Partly because nice was so ingrained, she had to struggle to express anger or any other negative emotion, and partly because she didn’t want to give him reason to shut her out.

  “Thank you,” she said, sounding meek.

  He shot her an odd look, opened his mouth...and changed his mind. “Let’s get on with this.”

  More junk. Christmas decorations showing their age—she pushed that box aside to go through more carefully, to be sure she didn’t throw away a beloved nativity scene or some such thing. Clothes that had to have been her father’s, maybe when he’d been a student. Looking at them dubiously, Beth saw how high-waisted the pants were by today’s standards. If they were in better shape, she’d call them vintage. As they were? Toss.

  Women’s clothing, very 1980s at a guess. Stirrup pants, waistlines again high on all the pants she lifted out. Dresses in bold prints that, even on a woman as petite as her mother, must have been really short. Blouses had big shoulder pads. There was a lot of tan and brown and orange. Except for the pink leg warmers and a pink and purple velour sweat suit. Oh, and glittery jellies. Beth had had a pair when she was a kid, although they’d already been a larger size than these. Mom wore a five, and frequently complained that her foot was sliding around in them. She’d been known to buy kids’ shoes to get a better fit.

  As far as this box went, Mom had only saved things in good condition, which meant they could go to at least a thrift store if not consignment. All too well, Beth could see her mother in a pink leotard, tights and leg warmers, with her blonde hair teased into some kind of cute side ponytail. She almost shuddered. She should count her blessings that fashion had moved on by the time she cared what she looked like. This stuff would have been fine for someone who was slim and cute. Not so much for tall and too well-rounded.

  “You get this expression sometimes,” Tony growled. “You hunch your shoulders. I don’t like it.”

  “What?” she said in surprise, although she squared her shoulders because—he was right. “I was thinking how cute Mom would have been in some of these outfits.” She had a belated thought. “Or Emily would.” She really should let her go through this box. It wasn’t as if seeing Emily in any of these clothes would bother her or Matt.

  “Sure you were,” he said, sounding almost mad. “What you were really thinking was that they wouldn’t have been cute on you.”

  “How did you—” She stopped, but not in time. Heat in her cheeks told her that.

  “You must have had boyfriends.”

  “Of course I have!” Some. A few. Just...never one who hadn’t either disappointed her or drifted away, less than passionately committed.

  He glowered at her. “Then you can’t tell me no man has told you how sexy you are!”

  The excessive heat drained from her face, leaving it...cold. “I...don’t think anyone has ever put it that way.”

  “How did they put it?” His jaw muscles appeared to be knotted as tight as fists.

  Of course, she couldn’t bring to mind a single compliment any man had ever paid her. There had been some, just... It took her a minute to come up with an answer. I didn’t believe them. Why would she, when she’d always felt like a moose? Plain, overweight. Feet too big. Hazel eyes instead of sparkling blue. Hair that was mostly brown. Freckles across a nose that, okay, wasn’t too big but also wasn’t slender, tipped up, classic or cute.

  The cold invaded her stomach. How could she not have realized how completely her self-image had been formed by the time she was twelve or thirteen? By her mother and the darling little sister following her?

  “I...don’t remember,” she said softly.

  Something changed on Tony’s face. She hoped that wasn’t pity she saw.

  He stood, muttering something she thought might be, “I swore I wouldn’t.” He held out a hand anyway. “C’mere.”

  Beth hesitated.

  He waggled his fingers, his expression the furthest thing from pitying now. His mouth had softened, while the skin stretching over his cheekbones seemed more taut than it had been. His dark eyes burned.

  Heat curled low in her belly and between her legs, replacing the chill. Slowly she rose, timid but wanting this. She laid her hands in his and let him pull her toward him.

  When they were barely inches apart, he released one of her hands so he could raise his to her face. He cupped her cheek, his thumb wandering, playing with her lower lip, while he devoured her with his eyes.

  “I’ve wanted you since the minute I set eyes on you. Your sister would never appeal to me. You have a woman’s body.” He spread her fingers and placed her hand on his chest, then squeezed her hip. “Curves. Long legs. You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Some men like tiny women with boyish bodies. Plenty of us are a hell of a lot more drawn to a woman who looks just like you.” His voice had been falling, until now it was barely a husky whisper. “Are you hearing me?”

  She nodded, although the way her pulse had accelerated, she was lucky she could hear. Feeling shy, she lifted her other hand to his chest, too. Beneath one palm, his heart beat hard and fast. Her fingers flexed for the pleasure of being able to touch.

  “I shouldn’t do this,” he murmured, “but, damn.” He dipped his head and skimmed his lips over hers.

  So soft, so tempting. A little sound rose from her throat as she sought his mouth again. Another brush, a nibble. Her hands slid upward, found the strong muscles that ran from his neck to his shoulders. He teased her with another fleeting kiss, but this time the tip of his tongue slid damply across the seam of her lips.

  Beth moaned and rose onto tiptoe. One of his arms came around her, hard, flattening her against his body, and she flung hers around his neck. This kiss was deep, hungry. His tongue explored her mouth, demanding a response. Her awareness narrowed to him—his tall, muscular body, his scent, the texture of his thick, silky hair beneath her fingers, the heat and taste of his mouth. The ridge against her belly made her want to rub herself against him. In fact, that’s exactly what she was doing, his grip on her hip guiding her movements.

  Beth had never felt like this, unashamedly aroused, no voice in her head whispering doubts. The experience was so heady she hardly noticed when he began to ease back. His lips traced the line of her jaw; his tongue touched the exquisitely sensitive spot beneath her earlobe. A groan vibrated in his chest. He lifted his head and opened a couple of inches between them, although he was still gently kneading her hip—no, really, her butt—while the fingers of his other hand remained tangled in her hair.

  Dazed, she stared up at him. Didn’t he want to keep kissing her?

  No. Obviously he didn’t.

  He discovered how fat my butt
is. I did something wrong. Embarrassing. Maybe he never had really wanted her. This was just...manipulation. A way to gain her cooperation.

  “Knock it off.”

  “What?”

  He gently bumped his forehead against hers, then kissed her nose. “Those freckles...”

  What...? She gave her head a small, bewildered shake.

  “Beth, I can’t think of anything I want more right now than to unroll one of those sleeping bags, lay you down on it and make love to you.”

  Startled, she studied his face to see if he meant it.

  At last, he took his hand from her hip and moved it to her waist. The other hand, too, so he could hold her close to him but also keep her from plastering herself back against him.

  Because he doesn’t really want—

  “There are two things stopping me. Besides the fact that a sleeping bag wouldn’t keep the concrete from being really hard.”

  They could use both sleeping bags. Of course, she didn’t say that aloud.

  “One,” he continued, “is that I like my job. You’re not a suspect, I meant that, but you’re not just a witness, either. Two, what if I still have to arrest your father? Or—”

  He didn’t finish, but she could fill in the blank. Your brother. A suspicion as ridiculous, in a different way, as believing her father could kill anyone.

  “You’d hate my guts,” Tony finished, gruff now. “It would be worse for both of us if we’d had sex.”

  He’d downgraded it from making love, Beth couldn’t help noticing. At least he’d given her a chance to regain some semblance of dignity. She stepped back, and his hands dropped from her waist.

  “You’ve made your point,” she said, annoyed that her voice sounded a little husky. “Maybe you should have thought it out before you started this.”

  “I did, but I get irritated when you shrink into yourself the way you do. I can tell every time your confidence takes a hit even if I don’t know why.” He was all but glaring at her now.

  “How can you tell?”

  “Body language.” He waved a hand at her. “Expression. Your eyes give you away. I don’t know. I just can.”

  “That’s...that’s ridiculous.”

  “We both know it’s not.”

  “Well, quit!” Beth made sure he couldn’t see any of her self-doubt now. “I’m not some pathetic woman who needs you to buck up her self-esteem. As if one kiss from you is a magical cure.” She wished. As therapy, it had actually worked really well while he was applying it. Long term, all he’d managed to do was intensify her lack of confidence in her physical appeal.

  Except, he’d undeniably been aroused.

  He was a man, and she’d been rubbing against him like...like a cat in heat. She cringed at the thought.

  He snapped an obscenity. “There you go again!”

  Beth lifted her chin pugnaciously. “You have no idea what I was thinking.”

  He leaned forward, hands planted on his hips. “Oh, yes I do.”

  They glared at each other until he made a rough sound, bent his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I have to get out of here.”

  “Fine.”

  He drew a couple of deep breaths, presumably meant to be calming, then looked at her again. “Can we resume this after lunch? Or are you too mad at me?”

  “We have to finish. I’m doing this for my father’s sake, and I won’t back off.”

  Somehow, he cleared all expression from his face. She’d seen him do it before, but this time it really bothered her. He was wiping away the importance of this scene—the kiss and the argument. Getting back to business.

  Well, if he could do it, so could she. She nodded at the portfolio. “Are you taking the jewelry and that?”

  He followed her gaze. “I am. There’s no surface large enough on the pendant or earrings to hold a fingerprint, but I’d like an appraisal. We need to look for fingerprints on the drawing, and maybe the portfolio itself.” He hesitated. “With your permission, I’ll take some of her things so we can lift her fingerprints.”

  “And Dad’s,” she said slowly.

  “Probably. He’s likely to have touched anything that was in their bedroom at some point, and certainly when he packed them up. I’ll have to ask him for prints, so we can eliminate his.”

  Sure. Elimination. That’s what was on Detective Navarro’s mind. What he’d said made sense, though. Dad’s fingerprints would be everywhere. Except on the drawing, and probably the other art. He might have glanced in the portfolio before he threw it in the box with the various framed prints Mom had kept. But pull anything out and look? Not Dad.

  “Fingerprinting is messy,” Tony said. “I can’t guarantee some of the artwork won’t be ruined.”

  Beth absorbed that. The drawing was what he really he meant. Repulsion gave her goosebumps. “I don’t care. I never want to see it again.”

  “Good.” He scooped up the jewelry and looked around. “You have anything I can put this in?”

  “Oh.” What had she done with—There they were. She fished a sandwich bag from a box. “Here.”

  “Excellent.” Looking satisfied, he dropped the jewelry in and zipped the top closed. “I need to give you a receipt for all of this.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t care.”

  “Not optional. I’ll have to get one out of the car.”

  Beth followed him out, turning off the light and locking up as she went. At his unmarked police car, he rummaged in the glove compartment and produced a pad of carbon copy receipts. He took only a moment to scrawl in her name, his, the date and the items he was taking, then rip off the top copy for her.

  “Why don’t we make it two o’clock?” he said.

  She shrugged. “Sure. Although, you know, I could finish going through the stuff along that wall. It all seems to have been there forever.”

  Tony shook his head. “I need to be there.”

  Because she could hide something that might point a finger at her father. Wow. He’d been right—kissing had been a really bad idea. Trust seemed like a bare minimum before she locked lips with a guy.

  “I don’t like that expression, either. I wasn’t suggesting—”

  “You were, but I understand.” Clutching the slip of paper, she stepped back. “Goodbye, Detective Navarro.”

  He looked frustrated and slammed the car door. She’d pulled out her keys and reached her own car by the time he pulled away from the curb.

  If Dad had been here, she’d have felt obligated to go in and make lunch for him, but as it was, she’d eat out. Somewhere Tony Navarro would never think of going.

  And fat butt or not, she wasn’t having a salad.

  In the spirit of defiance, she decided on a drippy chicken teriyaki sandwich. As soon as she’d ordered at the café, she called Matt, but he didn’t answer. Her news didn’t seem like the kind of thing that should be left on voice mail, she decided. This evening was soon enough.

  Emily answered right away. “I am so bored. My appointment didn’t show. But I have to stick around because I have a two o’clock.”

  “I’m glad I caught you.” Beth hesitated, but her sister and brother had a right to hear this. “I...that is, Detective Navarro and I found a couple of things in the boxes of Mom’s stuff.”

  “Like what?” Of course, Emily was intrigued.

  “A pair of earrings and a necklace that look expensive. I think they might be real diamonds.”

  “Really? You never wear jewelry, so can I—”

  Beth unclenched her jaw. “You’re missing the point. I don’t remember ever seeing these before. Where did she get them?”

  “The only diamond I remember was her engagement ring.”

  “It gets worse. We also found a drawing of Mom naked.”

  “Mom?”


  “It’s obvious she was having an affair.” Beth felt brutal saying this. Of all of them, Emily clung mostly closely to the memory of their mother. “And that her lover was also an artist.”

  “Mom?” Emily said again, sounding lost this time.

  “It’s definitely Mom, who obviously posed for the, um, portrait.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Unfortunately, it did. “Somebody killed Mom, and I know it wasn’t Dad. Who do you think did it?”

  Silence.

  “I feel like I recognize the artist’s work. As if somewhere I saw something else he drew. Do you remember anyone we knew who did pencil sketches? Really good ones?”

  “No! And what makes you think Mom posed? This guy could have imagined what she looked like.”

  “Did he imagine the scar from her C-section?”

  “I can’t talk to you anymore!” her sister cried.

  Her phone disconnected, Beth slowly set it down just as her lunch arrived. Typical Emily, who had to be force-fed any dose of harsh reality. Producing a smile for the waitress, Beth draped the napkin on her lap, then looked at the heap of fries and the—yes—drippy sandwich. She should have gone for a salad after all.

  Chapter Eight

  THE FACT THAT he’d been stupid enough to kiss her—and then had to stop—would have given Tony plenty of brooding material. The argument that followed made him sick. Lunch held no appeal.

  Jeweler first, then, he decided. It would be a quick distraction.

  He’d dealt before with the independent jeweler downtown. Given that this was the lunch hour, he was relieved as soon as he walked in to see the owner behind the glass counter, his nearly bald head bent as he studied something in his hand through a loupe. The store was deserted, too, which was good. Tony was almost to the back before Steven Thurman looked up.

  His smile seemed genuine. “Detective Navarro. Dare I hope you’re in search of an engagement ring for a beautiful lady?”

  The image of a beautiful lady popped up right before Tony’s mind’s eye, and his fingers twitched at the memory of her luscious curves. Damn it. He’d never kissed a woman when he was on the job. Never even thought of kissing one...until he set eyes on Beth Marshall.