by Jennie Marts
“Hey now, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Remember me? We met the other day. I do maintenance on this house.”
She blinked, bringing the man’s face into focus as she finally recognized his voice. Lester Grimley—the handyman who’d been in her apartment. She’d been afraid of him then, even wondered if he might have been the one who’d killed Brittany.
But now he’d saved her from the real killer.
He reached out a hand to help her up, but another dark shape came rushing toward them from the front of the house and rammed into Lester, knocking the handyman to the ground.
“Get the hell away from her!” the shape yelled, planting his feet defensively in the space between Piper and the fallen man.
She knew that shape, knew that voice.
“Fitz?” She croaked out his name, her voice coming out rusty and hoarse, and she touched her throat, the skin tender and raw where her assailant’s hand had been gripping her.
What was he doing here? And where had he come from?
“Don’t you touch her,” Fitz threatened Lester, his voice trembling with rage as he clenched his fists at his sides.
Piper reached for his hand. “Fitz, it’s okay. Lester wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was saving me.”
“Saving you? From what?”
“From the guy who killed Brittany.”
He whipped his head back and knelt on the ground next to her, his hands tentatively touching her shoulder. “What happened? Are you okay?”
She nodded, then lifted her chin, trying to control the tremble that threatened it. All she really wanted to do was curl into a ball and shut out the memory of the coarse gloved hand which had been covering her mouth. She could still taste the dust and saltiness of the fabric. “I’m fine. Shaken up and scared, but I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” Not yet.
“Where is he? Where did he go?” His head turned from side to side as he wildly stared into the darkness of the yard.
Piper pointed toward the back. “He went over the fence, and I heard him running down the alley toward the campus.”
“Watch her,” he instructed Lester, then sprinted to the fence. He pulled himself up, locking his arms and balancing on the top as he peered down the alley in both directions.
“I don’t see anyone,” he called over his shoulder then dropped down and hurried back to Piper. He wrapped his arm around her and gingerly lifted her from where she still sat huddled on the ground. He tipped his head at Lester. “You’d better come with us. We’ve got to call the police, and I’m sure they’re going to want to get a statement from you too.”
“What about the dog?” she cried, trying to pull away as they walked around the front of the house. “My dog is under the porch.”
Fitz guided her up the stairs and toward her apartment. “I’ll go back and get her. She’ll be fine for another few minutes. I’m more worried about you. You’re shivering, and I think you’re probably in shock. I just want to get you inside.”
They entered her apartment, Lester dutifully following behind them.
Fitz sat Piper on the sofa, then grabbed a throw blanket from the chair and wrapped it snugly around her shoulders.
She wished he would sit down, wished he would keep his arm around her, but her concern for the dog was too great. She pointed a shaky hand toward a bowl of snacks which sat on the kitchen counter. “Please go get my dog. Take a granola bar to lure her out. She likes those.”
“Got it. I’ll be right back.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then grabbed a granola bar from the bowl and ran out the front door.
Lester stood awkwardly inside the door, his back pressed against the wall as if he were trying to physically hold it up.
In less than a minute, Fitz was back, a dusty squirming dog in his arms. A swath of dirt ran down the front of his jacket as if he’d laid on the ground to pull her out. He smiled as he carefully placed the dog in Piper’s lap. “Good call with the granola bar. She wasn’t coming out until I offered her the treat.” He pulled Piper’s phone from his pocket. “I found this on the ground in front of the porch. I figured you must have dropped it. I think it’s time we called the police.”
She squeezed the dog to her chest, taking comfort from her small, warm body as the memory of being grabbed from behind overtook her. “Call Mac. His number’s in my phone.”
It took less than ten minutes for the tall policeman to arrive. He strode purposely through the door and knelt next to Piper. He rested a hand gently on her knee. “You okay?”
She nodded. The dog was curled by her side, and she clutched a warm cup of tea Fitz had made her. He sat back down on her other side, his thigh pressed to hers. Other than the few minutes it took him to make the tea and answer the door, he hadn’t left her side.
Lester stood in the same spot, still holding up the wall.
“Tell me what happened,” Mac instructed. “I’ve got a couple of officers checking around outside, but I need you to start from the beginning and tell me all of what you remember.”
She relayed everything she could think of, starting from the time she got home.
Her body recoiled when she got to the part about him sticking his hand down the front of her shirt. Her voice trembled as she said, “I thought he was going to rape me. Even though Brittany hadn’t been attacked like that, it felt so creepy. Something on his glove scratched my skin, but it also felt like he had something soft in his hand.”
A shiver raced along her spine as she had a sudden thought. She took one hand from the cup and pulled out the front of her shirt. Peering down, the air left her lungs as she saw the scrap of blue fabric crumpled inside the top edge of her bra.
“What is it?” Mac asked gently. “Did he leave a mark? Are you bleeding?”
She blinked back tears as she carefully plucked the scrap of fabric from her bra and held it out to Mac. “Worse. He left me a souvenir. I’m sure this is from my sweater. The one Brittany was wearing when she was…” She swallowed, her throat tight. “When she was killed.” She dropped the piece of fabric into his hand as if it carried a disease.
Her hands were shaking so badly now that some of the tea sloshed over the side of the mug. Fitz took the cup from her and set it on the coffee table, then clasped both of her hands tightly in his.
Mac pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and dropped the fabric inside.
Piper’s whole body was shaking now. “He said…” She choked on a sob. She normally wasn’t a crier, but tonight she couldn’t seem to get her emotions under control. Her voice was raspy as she whispered, “He pushed this into my shirt then said it was supposed to be me. I was supposed to be the one who was killed, not Brittany.”
“What? No way,” Fitz said, taking one of his hands away and wrapping his arm around her shoulder again. “Why would someone want to hurt you?”
“I have no idea. But that’s what he said.” She shook her head and leaned into him. His body was warm, and she wanted to curl into his lap.
“Is there anything else you can think of? What he smelled like? How tall or broad he was? What kind of clothes he was wearing?”
She shuddered. “He smelled like onions. And sweat. He was taller than me because when I jerked my head back, I hit him in the shoulder. It was dark, but I’m pretty sure he was wearing jeans, and he had on a sweatshirt. The fabric was like forest green or maybe gray—I’m not sure what color, but it had a camouflage pattern on it, like a hunter would wear.” Had he worn it because he was hunting her? Another hard shiver ran through her.
“That’s good. Those are all good details. You’re doing great.” Mac gave her knee an encouraging pat. “I’m going to talk to Lester and go out and check in with the officers to see if they found anything. I’ll be back.”
She nodded, and he stood, gesturing for Lester to follow him outside.
Fitz didn’t move, didn’t take his arm from around her, and she curled into his side, fighting the ball of emotion burning her throat.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he whispered into her hair. “I wish I could make it go away. And I wish I would have been here to protect you.”
She didn’t know what to say. His words touched her, but she was afraid if she tried to speak, she would start bawling.
He tipped her chin up to look at him, and the simple gesture combined with the sincere care in his eyes had a single tear escape from her eye and roll down her cheek.
Lifting his hand, he cupped her cheek and swiped the tear away with his thumb.
She thought for a second he might kiss her, even imagined the feel of his mouth against hers, and for some reason, the thought had her lips trembling and the emotion swelling inside of her like a tidal wave ready to burst.
“I know you’re strong,” he whispered. “But it’s okay to cry. I’ve got you.”
Oh.
The wave burst, crashing into her with the force of a tsunami. She wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her head in his shoulder as the tears came.
He held her tightly as her body shook with each sob.
She let out the tears of terror and frustration, of pain and fear, of every fragment of sorrow and desperation which had been hiding in her soul. She was pretty sure there were a few tears in there for her mom, a few sobs which came from that deep hidden place reserved for her feelings about being abandoned by her mother and the fear Claire might be gone again.
Something about Fitz made her feel safe. She fit perfectly against him, fit like she was made to be with him, and she clung to him as her body released all the sadness and fear she’d been carrying inside.
He stroked her hair and murmured soft words into her ear, but his strong arms never left her. His hold on her didn’t waver, and she could almost feel his strength pouring into her, filling the empty spaces her tears left behind.
Her sobs finally ran out, and she heaved a deep shuddering breath into his shoulder. Her fists clutched handfuls of his shirt, and she squeezed him tightly then let go, pulling back as she took another deep breath.
“You okay now?” he asked, not letting her completely go. “I can take more. You can give me all you got.”
She offered him a brave smile. “I think I just did.”
He reached one hand toward the coffee table and plucked a Kleenex from the box, then handed it to her.
“I may need the whole box.” She blew her nose—so attractive, then grabbed another tissue to wipe her face and brush the makeup she was sure had smeared under her eyes. She glanced with horror at the mess of mascara she’d left on the shoulder of his shirt. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I messed up your shirt.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t care. I’ve got plenty of other shirts. But I’ve only got one you. I would have died if anything more would have happened to you tonight—if that bastard would have hurt you. Or worse.” He leaned in and laid a soft kiss against the spot on her cheek where her tears had been.
Her breath caught as he kissed the other cheek, his lips so tender her heart twisted in her chest.
Another gentle kiss, this one lower and the edge of his lip overlapped the corner of hers.
Her lips parted, and she turned into him, just the slightest movement, but it was enough.
His next kiss landed directly onto her lips, his mouth slanting against hers as he pressed three tender kisses against them, each one pressing harder, increasing with just the slightest pressure.
It was as if he thought she was fragile and didn’t want to break her.
But she wasn’t fragile, wasn’t broken, not anymore. He was healing her, one sweet kiss at a time.
He brought one hand up to cup her cheek while his other hand pulled her tightly against him.
This time she could feel his emotions as he held her. She dropped the soggy tissues and curled her arms around his waist, her palms flat against his muscled back as she pressed closer to him.
He deepened the next kiss, lingering longer, as if tasting her mouth.
How could this be happening?
How could she be wrapped in Fitz’s arms? How could it be he was kissing her with such tenderness? And such passion?
Quit thinking about it.
She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to analyze the how and why. She just wanted to feel, to experience this moment, to surrender to the swirl of heat and emotion. She felt, and tasted, and smelled everything at once—from the warm pressure of his hand on her back, to the minty sweet taste of his spearmint gum, to the musky scent of his masculine cologne.
He was everything.
And she didn’t want this moment to end.
She forgot about everything else, let all the fear and pain and sadness go, and focused only on this man, this moment in time.
The sound of footsteps running down the hall and then the doorknob rattling and the front door flinging open had them pulling apart, both of them struggling to catch their breath as Claire burst into the room.
Piper blinked, her chest tightening with relief at seeing her mother and frustration at Claire’s poorly timed entrance.
Her mom rushed toward her. “What the hell is going on? There’s two police cars out front, and Mac said you’d been attacked. Are you okay?”
The events of the night crashed into her, the bliss of Fitz’s kisses overshadowed by the darkness of murder and assault.
She wanted to spring from the sofa and throw herself into the comfort of her mother’s arms, but Piper hadn’t found comfort there in a long time. She was usually the one offering the solace as her mom cried into her lap. Piper was the strong one, the one who rubbed her mom’s back and cooed soothing words.
As much as they’d mended some of their brokenness in the last few weeks, Claire’s actions tonight had torn them back apart, had shattered the thin line of trust Piper had started to let herself feel.
So, she didn’t go to her mom, didn’t move.
To her surprise, her mom came to her, arms outstretched.
Piper flinched, her body going rigid as Claire drew closer.
She must have read her daughter’s body language because Claire dropped her arms, her shoulders sagging as she sank into the chair next to the sofa. Her expression seemed sincere, her eyes brimmed with tears as she leaned forward. “Did he hurt you?”
Piper shook her head, swallowing at the wad of emotion settling in her throat. How could she be so emotional again? She’d thought she’d cried herself dry on Fitz’s shoulder, but she must have had a few tears left. “I’m fine.”
Claire reached out her hand, not quite touching Piper, but resting her fingers on the edge of the seat near her leg. “I’m so sorry.”
“Where were you?” The question came out harder than she’d intended. Or maybe not. Maybe that ball of emotion had more anger than sadness in it.
Her mom pulled her hand back as if Piper’s words had burned her. She collapsed against the back of her chair and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I had to go. I had to get out of the bar.”
“Why? Because you wanted a drink?”
Claire shook her head, letting out a weak chuckle. “No. Not at all. I was surprisingly fine with that part of it. It didn’t even bother me to see Sunny and Edna drink. And that old lady had me in stitches.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because of the men who walked in.” She kept her eyes trained on Piper’s, ignoring Fitz as if he weren’t even in the room. “They were from Spider’s crew. And I couldn’t let them see me.”
A chill of foreboding skittered down Piper’s spine.
“Let’s just say that I didn’t leave Spider under the best of terms.” She turned her gaze to stare at a spot on the floor next to Piper’s foot. “More like escaped in the dead of night after the crew had gone on a solid five-hour bender,” she muttered.
“So what would they have done if they’d seen you? It’s not like they could make you go back to him.”
Claire raised an eyebrow at her daugh
ter. “Are you sure about that? Because I’m not. Spider’s guys aren’t the kind of men you want to mess with. And the ones we saw in the bar tonight—those were the nice ones.”
What had her mom gotten herself mixed up in?
“If these guys are so dangerous, do you think they could somehow be responsible for Brittany’s death?”
Claire shook her head. “No, I didn’t leave until after she’d been killed. There’s no way they could be connected to that. But I am worried about what they would do if they find me or if they try to use you as a way to get to me. Do you think the guy who attacked you tonight could have been one of the guys in the bar? A lot of those guys smoke and I’m sure most of them were drinking tonight. Did the guy smell like booze or leather or cigarettes?”
“No. He smelled like onions. I never saw his face, but I don’t think he was wearing leather. Besides, I’m sure the guy who attacked me was the one who killed Brittany.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She told her about the scrap of fabric and the ominous message that it should have been her.
Her mom’s face paled as she clasped her hand over her mouth.
Before she could speak, a knock sounded on the front door, and Mac poked his head back in.
“We’re finishing up out here,” he said. “The guys did find a tan grocery sack in the yard consistent with the type used to suffocate both victims, but we can’t conclude it belonged to your assailant. Didn’t you say you took a grocery sack outside as a doggie bag?”
Piper reached down and pulled the bag she’d had from her pocket. “Yeah, but I still have it. And I know the bag the killer had was tan. I saw it and remember thinking it was the same kind that was used with Brittany.”
“That’s good to know. Unfortunately, there are a million sacks like that. But we bagged it anyway. Not sure if we can get DNA from it, but we’ll hold onto it for when we catch the guy to see if we can get any comparisons.”
The radio on his shoulder crackled, and he tilted his head and spoke into the mic in sharp, clipped words. “Adam Twelve. Go ahead.”
