by Nina Bruhns
Wendy pressed a light kiss onto her son’s head, then got up. “Okay. Time to stop letting others define me, figure out who I am, and make it work,” she said aloud as she walked out into the kitchen, because she remembered Sophie saying that you had to state your intention clearly to the universe.
The words felt good as they left her lips. Right.
But what next?
Joe knew who he was. Hot jock, football hero, cop. He was all cocky and self-assured and sometimes full of hot air. She didn’t necessarily like everything about him, but the man knew exactly who he was, and that was something.
She bit her lip. Everybody was who they made themselves, her first agent used to say. Time to remake Wendy.
* * *
Joe was done thinking about Wendy and why she was claiming to be having his baby. Her words kept popping into his head all afternoon. What on earth was he supposed to do with them? She was a lovely woman with a great kid, in a bad situation. Joe wanted to help her, he really did.
But he kept getting hung up on the pregnancy thing.
He focused instead on the Brogevich case.
Since the warrant for the patient files had finally come in, Harper had the boxes in the conference room, a couple of dozen files laid out on the long table, the rest still in boxes.
They had over two hundred files to go through, and those were just the active patients, some of whom saw the doc a few times a week, some once a week, some once a month, some only once every three months, as maintenance.
Phil’s data storage vendor held hundreds more files of past, inactive patients, according to Doris. If Joe and Harper didn’t find what they were looking for here, they would have to get a warrant for that batch.
“We could separate out patients with violent tendencies first,” Joe suggested.
Harper put down the file he was paging through and opened his mouth to say something, but his buzzing phone cut him off. He glanced on the screen. “I have to go out on another case. Can you handle this here?”
“No problem.”
As Harper rushed off, Joe grabbed an empty box to drop the selected files into, then he went back to the beginning and began looking for behavioral abnormalities that showed violent tendencies.
The files were arranged in alphabetical order, so he started with A, the work slow, pages and pages of therapy notes, drug prescriptions, lab work. Each file took considerable time. Depression, phobia, anxiety, depression and more depression, PTSD. He dropped that last one into the look-at-it-closer-later box.
Anxiety, anxiety, insomnia, depression, phobia. Depression with suicidal thoughts. He grabbed that one. People who committed suicide sometimes took others with them, although Joe never understood that impulse.
Half an hour later, he was still in the middle of the Bs when Captain Bing popped his head in. “How is it going? Anything?”
“I’m pulling files of patients with potential to become violent. Then Harper and I can go out and do interviews.”
The man nodded. “You heard anything from Wendy?”
“Keith Kline is still locked up.”
“Good. Coming to Jack’s party tonight?”
“I could stay and finish this,” he offered.
But the captain shook his head. “Mike can give you a hand with this tomorrow if needed.”
Right. Joe did want to be there. Jack was a hell of a detective. The department was taking a loss with his leaving. “Okay. I’ll finish what I can, then come back to it first thing in the morning.”
The captain pulled back and closed the door behind him.
Joe worked another two hours before it was time to leave. By that time, he was all the way to the letter G.
The others were already gone. Robin Combs handled incoming calls behind the front desk.
“Go for it. You can’t go wrong going with your heart,” she called after Joe as he walked out.
He had no idea what she was talking about, and he didn’t want to know. He hopped into his car and drove over to the party.
Finnegan’s, Broslin’s one and only Irish pub, was bursting with people and music as he walked in. Gleaming wood everywhere, green upholstery, the place was comfortable and masculine, smelling of good beer and Irish food, making a man feel instantly welcome and relaxed as he stepped through the door. It was the place for guys to hang out on a Friday night.
Rose Finnegan ran the kitchen like an admiral, while Sean Finnegan manned the bar. What he didn’t know about beer wasn’t worth knowing. They were good, honest people, cheerful, hardworking. They treated their customers like family.
Since they were also the proud parents of one Detective Harper Finnegan, they’d volunteered the establishment for Jack’s good-bye party.
About two dozen people had shown up, all gathered now in the back room—everyone from the PD except Robin, who had to stay to field calls. Mike and Chase were drinking soda, in case they were needed and had to go out on a call. The rest of them, including family, friends, and neighbors, were hanging on to their pints.
“You made it.” Harper handed Joe a drink. “Found anything in the files?”
“Not yet.”
“We’ll get back to them in the morning.” He touched his glass to Joe’s. “Have fun. Might as well relax while you’re taking a break.”
He was right. Finnegan’s was the kind of place a man could come to forget his troubles for a night. Which Joe was determined to do, if it killed him.
But, for the first time ever, his Guinness didn’t taste right. Wendy was messing with his brain. Well, she could only do that if he let her.
He put on his happy face and clapped Jack on the back as the man walked by him. “Any chance you’ll change your mind?”
Jack’s face split into a wide smile. “I have a baby coming.”
Yeah, weird. A year ago, Joe would have bet good money that he’d never hear those words out of Jack’s mouth. When they’d first met, Jack carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, a lone wolf obsessed with a gruesome serial killer. And now here he was with a goofy grin on his face when he said the word “baby.” He was a cautionary tale in how love could change a man.
“I hate to say this, but we’ll miss you,” Joe told him.
“If you start missing me too much, you can always come out to the house and help me chop wood.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to miss you that much, old man.”
They shared a grin, then Harper came by and grabbed Jack to drag him into the middle of the room for a toast. Then Chase took over. Then the next guy and the next.
As Joe grabbed a handful of peanuts from the nearest table, his eyes caught a curvy blonde he hadn’t seen around before smiling at him from the bar. He nodded to her before turning back to his friends.
Jack was hugging Ashley, the love of his life, close to his side. Joe checked the successful local artist over. She looked pretty slim. She wasn’t showing yet. Then again, Wendy wasn’t either.
Odd how he could see even Jack—former champion in surly and snarly—as a father before he could see himself in that role.
Wendy had said she was carrying his baby. Like hell she was. He was responsible with women, always had been. She’d seemed so sane and good. Why would she lie about this? Maybe she thought he’d do a better job at protecting her if there was a stronger personal connection.
Ashley laughed, then kissed Jack, the kind of kiss that said “love” plain and simple, and a look in her eyes that promised more X-rated things later.
Sophie was hanging on to Bing’s every word. She was one tough cookie. And sweet too. She looked at Bing as if he walked on water. The captain lucked out with her.
But Sophie reminded Joe of her friend Wendy again, and the fact that he didn’t seem to keep Wendy from his thoughts for five damn minutes soured the fun of the gathering.
While Captain Bing entertained the people at the party with tales of every blunder Jack had made during his time with the PD, Joe strode over to
the curvaceous blonde at the bar. Short blue silk dress, deep neckline, five-inch heels.
Her smile widened, then grew suggestive. “Hey, handsome.”
“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?”
She looked him over, not missing an inch. Her gaze hesitated on his scar, then moved on, settled on his lips.
“Better by the minute. Can I buy you a drink?” She leaned closer, close enough for him to see down her dress. She had a rack that could hold beer mugs.
“I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“In town for a friend’s wedding.” She rolled her eyes. “Small town, huh? Not much excitement. Your party looks good. Why don’t you invite me over?”
He could. Except, suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get out of the place. “I’m Joe. Why don’t I give you the dime tour of Broslin?”
“Even better.” She slid off her barstool slowly, sinuously, making sure her dress would slide up her long thighs as high as possible. Then she laughed and gave a halfhearted effort to tug the material down, to draw his attention there in case he’d missed the show. “I’m Candice.”
When Sean Finnegan behind the bar came over, Joe picked up Candice’s tab while Sean grinned and shook his head at him, mumbling, “New record,” under his breath when Candice turned to grab her purse.
Joe gave the man a good-natured shrug. He’d taken women home from Finnegan’s before, but on previous occasions, they’d at least had a conversation first.
He had the Camaro with him, which made Candice laugh with delight. “Oooh, dark and dangerous.”
Which, for some reason, annoyed him, so he went around to the driver’s side and let her get her door herself.
“I want to see everything worth seeing,” she said, her tone full of innuendo.
“Buckle in.”
He drove down the street, turning right at the red light. “Broslin’s a mushroom town. Horse and cow country, originally, then someone figured out what to do with all that shit.”
Candice laughed, not the least offended by his coarse language.
He drove around, pointed out a couple of historical buildings like the First Broslin Bank that had gone out of business during the most recent financial crisis and still stood deserted. He drove by the old county airport, pointed at the nearest hangar. “They have a good flea market here on Sundays, if you’re around.”
Candice shifted as close as she could without taking her seat belt off. “My plans are flexible.”
“Farmer’s market’s in the other hangar on Fridays and Saturdays.”
“Are you a farm boy?” She reached over and put her hand on his thigh, her blood-red artificial nails a contrast to his faded jeans.
The nail tips were slightly curled, reminding him of talons. “Farming family.”
The Kesslers had been living in Broslin for generations. He was the first of his family to break tradition, turn his back on working the land and join the police.
The job suited him. Candice didn’t, he thought, as her hand began moving up his thigh.
She was easy, and then some. He liked easy. But he wasn’t able to get into the spirit of the evening, and that annoyed him.
He blamed Wendy.
To put her out of his mind, he placed his hand on Candice’s and smiled at her. “Over there is the reservoir.”
“Not much to look at, is it?”
Up ahead was the turnoff to Broslin Creek, a great place for a walk with the perfect make-out spot a little farther in. He didn’t turn the car. Instead, he kept on driving a half circle around the east side of Broslin.
By the time he turned back into town, Candice had her seat belt off, her body plastered against his side, and her flawlessly manicured fingers massaging his crotch.
When he stopped the car and she looked around, she shot him a confused look. “Why are we back at the bar? I thought we’re going to your place.”
“Sorry. That’s not on the dime tour.” This time, he did get out and walk around to open the door for her, so she’d know he was serious about dropping her off.
She got out with an uncertain smile. “Are you coming in?”
“I have work in the morning. Better get to bed. Have a great evening. Hope you’ll enjoy Broslin.”
But sleep wasn’t what he needed either. He’d go back to the office and look through some more files, he decided.
He closed the passenger side door, then strode around the Camaro, dropped behind the steering wheel as she called something after him that sounded like “Stupid small-town hick.”
He forgot Candice the second he drove away.
His mind was full of Wendy.
Since he was thinking about her, he called the responding officer from her accident. He wanted to know what had gone wrong with her car. He’d never had a hybrid. Were malfunctions like that common?
He didn’t like the idea of Wendy with an unreliable ride. He was friendly with the local dealer in town. He could hook her up if the Prius couldn’t be saved.
“Officer Joe Kessler,” he identified himself. “We met on Route 202 this afternoon at that Prius that drove off the highway ramp. If you could give me an update on that, I’d appreciate it.”
Silence stretched on the other end, then a few choice swear words came in a sleepy voice. “At midnight? What the hell? I have to get up at four thirty for my shift.”
Joe glanced at the dashboard. The clock showed 12:23. “Sorry. Time got away from me.”
The man grumbled another moment. “You said the white Prius?”
“Yeah. I was hoping it would have gone through inspection by now.”
“Hang on for a second.” Another pause. “Okay. Yeah. We got it. Looks like someone tampered with the brake lines. I’ll be going out to talk to Miss Belle about it in the morning.”
Everything inside Joe stilled, tension gripping the muscles of his back. “What time? As a friend, I’d like to be there for her.”
“Around eight, unless something else comes up. Want to get that out of the way before the day goes crazy.”
“I appreciate it.” He hung up, glanced at the clock again. Definitely too late to call Wendy.
But not too late to call the Wilmington jail. He dialed, gave his badge number, and asked after Keith. Technically, the police could hold him without charging him until tomorrow—okay, today, it was after midnight—but maybe his lawyer had pushed hard and gotten him released.
“I need to know whether he’s still in custody.”
“Still here,” the female officer on duty confirmed.
Joe thanked her, then hung up. With some luck, the fingerprint reports would come back a match and Keith would be formally charged at some point today and kept locked up a good while longer.
But if Keith was behind bars, who was trying to kill Wendy?
Deathblow: Chapter Eleven
Wendy woke to her cell phone ringing and groaned into her pillow. She glanced at the time, almost eight a.m. Some extra sleep would have been nice. She’d had trouble falling asleep last night, then dreamt and woke up, over and over again. In some of the dreams, Joe was making love to her. In others, he was walking away from her.
She picked up her phone and squinted at the screen. Talk about the devil.
“Is it a crime to sleep in now?” she mumbled the words.
“I’m here,” Broslin’s favorite son said on the other end.
Her brain struggled to wake up. “Here where?”
“In front of your door.”
“I didn’t buzz you in.”
“Came in with one of the neighbors. Open the door, Wendy.”
“Give me a minute.”
She put the phone down and jumped out of bed. He was probably here to talk about the baby. She’d thought she was ready for that conversation, but now she wasn’t sure. Advance warning that he was dropping in would have been nice. She could at least have had a cup of coffee first.
She washed her face in a hurry and brushed her teeth, ran a comb th
rough her hair, then dressed—a simple T-shirt with blue jeans, didn’t want him to think that she was dressing up for him. Since Justin was still sleeping, she closed the door to his room.
Then she drew a deep breath, walked to the front door, and opened it.
“Hey.” His dark hair was mussed; his clothes looked slept in. He looked sexier than ever. “Can I come in?”
Okay, that was different from Keith’s habit of pushing his way in and acting as if he owned the place. She stepped aside, part of her responding to Joe’s good manners and rumpled, sexy look.
Because she didn’t like that, she pushed back. “Hot party last night?”
“You bet.”
But he had green carpet fibers—the same color as the hallway carpet outside—on the back of his pants. Almost as if he’d spent at least part of the night sitting outside her door. That didn’t make any sense.
He walked forward and she tried not to appreciate the way his powerful body moved, or those chiseled lips that had gotten her into trouble in the first place, or the eyes that seemed sober instead of glinting with mischief this morning.
“Coffee?” She moved toward the counter. She needed fortification to face him.
“Sure. Justin?”
“Won’t be up for another hour.”
Joe followed her into the kitchen. “He slept okay?”
Her heart softened a little. He always asked about Justin, half the time had some little gift for him. She didn’t think he was faking that he cared. So why couldn’t he deal with their baby? But she couldn’t go there. Not before coffee.
“He never woke up once,” she said. “I thought he might have nightmares, but he didn’t. Thank you for making the accident a game and an adventure for him.” She popped in a new filter, added coffee, then poured in water.
“Kids are pretty resilient.” Joe stopped a few feet from her and held her gaze, as if trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say next.
Okay. Here came the part where he blamed her for everything and told her that the baby was her problem. She turned on the coffeemaker, then stepped aside to put a little more distance between them as she braced herself.
