What Are Friends For?

by Patricia McLinn

  He whistled. “Maybe this isn’t an amateur.”

  She didn’t answer. She needed to think this through. Not only how to deal with Zeke, but the chief.

  “As long as you’re certain your data’s secure?” He nodded. “I need to get this evidence to the police department, Zeke. I’ll let you know if we come up with anything definitive.”

  “Okay, sure. I’ll help you with it.”

  She let him take the case after she’d closed it, and let him follow her out. When she stopped to reassure Mrs. Z that she seriously doubted a dangerous criminal had targeted Drago, she saw that the real reassurance the older woman needed wasn’t anything Darcie could give.

  Zeke said nothing to his mother, simply waited for Darcie to say goodbye, then followed her to the patrol car.

  “Thank you, Zeke,” Darcie said gravely as she placed the evidence kit he’d handed her into the trunk. “But you’re going to have to go back inside and talk to your mother sometime. Better to do it now.”

  He growled.

  She figured that was the best she could expect.

  “’Morning.”

  Zeke wasn’t surprised this time. “’Morning. And sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Trespassing again.”

  “No trespassing on the sky, son, and seems to me that’s mostly what you’re treading on. Heard you had some trouble yesterday at your mother’s place. Somebody broke in.”

  “How’d you hear about that?”

  “Folks look out for Rosa Zeekowsky. Neighbors were upset they hadn’t spotted whoever got in.”

  Before Zeke digested that, the farmer added, “So, what’dya make of yourself, boy? Always figured you for becoming a rocket scientist, sending those telescopes and such into space.”

  “I’ve had a little to do with rockets going into space, but I’m not a rocket scientist. I went into technology.”

  “Oh. Them computers.”

  “Not exactly computers. Not the hardware anyway.” Curiosity nudged him. “You don’t like computers?”

  The old man hitched his lowered shoulder, a gesture more dismissive than a full shrug. “They got their uses, I suppose. Just not in farming.”

  “Big operations use computers.”

  “Sure. Those that are looking for today’s profit and not thinking what the soil’ll be like for their children, much less their great-grandchildren. There’s those that work the soil, and there’s those that work machines. I’m not saying machines aren’t necessary these days. It’s an attitude. Which one you put first, which one you feel here.” He thumped his chest.

  “Those big operations, they’re working the machines. They use computers to take all there is the soil can give. That’s not farming. Farming is a partnership, like a marriage or a family. Giving back to the soil so it can keep giving. And knowing if there’s a time it can’t give, then you gotta give a little more until things turn around.”

  But surely there were ways technology could help a small farm like this. Not just spreadsheets for finances, but maybe a way to find which market would pay best. Or—

  No, this wasn’t his concern. Farming? He didn’t know anything about farming, he didn’t care anything about farming. Certainly not about farming around Drago.

  The farmer had started off, but turned back. “I know who you are. You’re that genius they’re all excited about in town. Think you’re going to click some button and save ’em all.” His bark of laughter carried no humor. “I suppose I shoulda been hoping you’d turn that genius to makin’ farmin’ easier. But I guess if you were going to do it, you’d’ve done it back when you had farms all around you.”

  “I wasn’t…”

  Interested. Wasn’t interested in making life easier, not for the residents of Drago he’d lived among, not for the kids here now, not for the farmers nearby, not even for this farm, where he’d been drawn so often to watch the sun rise.

  Quit thinking everything revolves around you and your old hurts, Zeke. Maybe Darcie was right. Maybe he had become a self-centered bastard. Maybe he always had been one.

  “…thinking along those lines.”

  The farmer grunted. “’Spose not.” He shuffled away, raising one hand in farewell without looking back.

  Zeke stayed where he was.

  I wasn’t thinking along those lines. Not as a boy, and not when he’d arrived at this fence line this morning.

  But now? Maybe the farmer was wrong. And Darcie, too.

  A patrol car with Darcie behind the wheel eased to a stop beside the side entrance to Lilac Commons, where Zeke was taking an unofficial recess from smiling and saying hello at the fund-raising lilac sale. He now knew lilac bushes could live for a couple hundred years, needed sunshine, liked alkaline soil and most bloomed best in climates that had a strong winter freeze.

  Zeke watched her get out of the car and saw her focus on something to his right that was masked by a grove of lilacs. Keeping close to the bushes, he edged forward.

  Warren Wellton sat on a bench tucked among the lilacs.

  “Hey, Warren,” Darcie said, talking over the top of the car.

  “’Lo,” the boy mumbled, darting a wary glance, then returning his attention to an electronic game in his hands.

  “Phew.” She stirred her hair with the expelled breath. “It’s always busy during the Lilac Festival, but this year it’s nuts. Everybody’s so excited about Anton Zeekowsky coming back to Drago. Guess it’s understandable with a certified genius. You must have seen what a zoo it is whenever he’s around.”

  “He’s not such a genius. I— Somebody could take him.”

  “Take him?” she repeated, her expression puzzled.

  “You know. Do better than him.” The boy kept playing his game.

  “Like develop a better software program?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or find a flaw in a Zeke-Tech product?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or get into their system, like a spy and see what’s going on?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Nobody has, so I guess that does make him a genius.”

  His head came up and he opened his mouth. “I—” He shut it.

  “You what, Warren?”

  “Nothin’. I gotta go.” He was already moving.

  “Sure, see you later,” Darcie called after the boy. After a pause punctuated by the fading crunch of Warren’s steps on another path into the park, she said, without turning her head, “You can come out, Zeke.”

  After watching her work, he wasn’t entirely surprised she’d spotted him.

  “I thought you had him.” He leaned against the car’s passenger door.

  She shook her head. “He’s not stupid. A blend of computer smarts and crime ignorance, but not stupid.”

  “You think he’s the one?”

  “Thinking’s not proof.”

  “Could you prove it with fingerprints, other evidence you collected?”

  “Might have to go that route. He’s not a bad kid. He needs guidance. He’s fallen for the wrong girl.” She broke eye contact, then added, “I might want to try another way and hope the chief goes along.”

  Even without other things on his mind Zeke doubted he’d be interested in Warren’s adolescent love life. And he had a lot of other things on his mind.

  Especially what he was about to do. And the knowledge of why.

  Not for Drago. Not even entirely for his mother. It was for Darcie. Because those leagues were important to her. God knew why, but they were.

  She reached for the door handle.

  “Darcie.”

  She straightened and looked over the car at him. He jammed his fingers in the back pockets of his jeans, palms out.

  “About the auctions…you can quit holding them. I’ll send you whatever you need for the kids’ sports leagues.”

  A blaze of something crossed her face. So strong, he thought his knees would buckle with it. Before he dropped to the sidewalk, she’d covered i
t over.

  “Thank you, Zeke,” she said quickly. “Thank you.”

  With those simple words heating his blood, she ducked into the car and drove away, as if afraid he’d take back the first gesture of civic-mindedness he’d ever shown toward Drago.

  Chapter Eight

  At the sound of a car squealing to a stop, Darcie stopped pacing beneath the stairs to her apartment and looked down the driveway crowded with nearly the entire department fleet, even though it was Sunday morning.

  The Drago PD didn’t like it when someone targeted one of their own.

  She caught a flash of orange, but still wasn’t quite prepared when Zeke charged toward her.

  “Are you okay?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Jennifer said someone broke in to your place. I got here as soon as— Are you okay?”

  “No. I—”

  “Where? Where are you hurt? Have they called the ambulance?”

  “Zeke! I’m not hurt,” she managed to say. It took some doing because he’d been running his hands over her as he asked those questions, and suddenly she was short on oxygen.

  “Not hurt,” he repeated, as if testing the concept.

  Without warning, his hands returned to her shoulders, tightened and drew her in. His arms went around her, enclosing her in a space that was all Zeke. Her face pressed against his neck. A whiff of soap and some sort of shaving cream braided with the warmth of his skin. Against her cheek she felt the steady pulse of his blood. She went to wet her lips, truly, that was all she meant to do—relieve the sudden dryness. Somehow her tongue flicked against his throat. Just the tip. It was enough. He tasted of salt and man and more of that warmth—lots more of that warmth.

  His arms seemed to convulse around her, and she both heard and felt a strangled sound she couldn’t categorize. If her tongue touched his skin again, would it produce the same reaction?

  She didn’t have the opportunity to conduct that experiment—purely in the interests of science—because he shifted his hold. One hand went to the back of her head, guiding her, so her cheek rested against his shirt, and she could hear the echo of his heart beating. Hard and…shouldn’t someone in as good physical shape as he was have a slower heartbeat than that?

  She forgot about his cardio condition because his other hand, very low on her back, had pulled her flush against him. Or they would have been flush if there had not been something growing hard between them.

  Was he—?

  As quickly as he’d folded her into his arms, he had his hands on her shoulders and his arms extended, putting her at arm’s length. Since they were Zeke’s arms, she might as well have been in the next county.

  She glanced down. She wasn’t proud of it, but sometimes temptation was too strong.

  His khakis were too loose. Why couldn’t he have worn jeans?

  “You’re sure you’re not hurt.”

  What about you? Feeling any, uh, discomfort in a certain region?

  “I’m sure.”

  “Why the hell did you say you weren’t okay?’

  “Because I’m not. I’m not hurt, but I’m not okay.” He released her, and she stepped back, remembering where they were and why. “I’m pissed.”

  “Because someone broke into your place.”

  “Yes. And because they won’t let me in there.”

  He looked up at the open doorway of her apartment, which let everybody else and his brother inside her space while they kept her out.

  “Probably to protect the investigation,” he said wisely. “So there’s no question in court of someone with a conflict of interest being involved.”

  “Conflict of interest, my ass. My interest is finding out who was in my apartment, and that’s in the interests of the investigation, too.”

  “What did they take? Is there damage?”

  “That’s the weird thing. They didn’t take my TV or CD player or jewelry. And the only place they messed up was around the computer, which they also didn’t take.”

  They’d both been looking up, watching figures move across the opening of the door. Zeke brought his gaze down to her.

  “The CD I gave you, did they take that?”

  “The CD, you—? Oh.” She’d almost forgotten about that. “No, I don’t think they took it.”

  “You have to find out, Darcie.”

  His urgency captured her complete attention. “Why?”

  “That CD has new software on it. New software we’re supposed to release at the first of the month.”

  The bottom of her stomach sank to her toes. “How important is that CD, Zeke?”

  “Very. A major investment of time and resources. If our competitors get it ahead of time…it wouldn’t be good.”

  “Oh, my God. If someone took it— Why did you give it to me?”

  “I wanted—” He paused. “I thought you’d be interested. Maybe I wanted to impress you.”

  “Oh, Zeke.” How could she say that she’d be much more impressed with what she’d felt—thought she’d felt—a few moments ago? She cleared her throat. “As soon as I can, I’ll go up and check. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  She hadn’t thought anything was missing, but she hadn’t been focused on whether someone could have broken into her apartment in pursuit of the latest multi-million dollar tech breakthrough.

  Why did you give it to me?

  A damned good question, Zeke admitted to himself an anxious half hour later as the chief, Sarge and a couple patrolmen he didn’t recognize finally left the apartment and said Darcie could go in.

  I wanted you to have something that would show you how far I’ve come. That I’ve made something of myself.

  I wanted you to have something from me. Something that was part of me.

  What kept poking him between the shoulder blades was that he’d given it to her that first night in Drago. He’d swear he hadn’t had those kinds of thoughts about Darcie then.

  Had he?

  The door at the top of the stairway he’d seen her coming down last week when they’d talked with her mother opened into her apartment. A short hallway had sliding closet doors on the right, a half-wall revealing a compact kitchen was on the left. Another two strides and he was in the living room.

  Straight ahead a bank of windows looked out on the gardens. To the left were the two dormer windows that overlooked the driveway. Matching bookcases rose on either side of them and a fireplace between them.

  “Fake,” she said when she saw him looking at it. “The fire marshal couldn’t be budged on a real fireplace.”

  She had a desk angled in the far corner with computer equipment. CDs were pulled out of the rack beside the monitor and coated with the same dust she’d used at his mother’s house. A couch faced the fireplace. A chair sat beside the bookcases.

  The back wall of the living room area consisted of an ingenious arrangement of sliding wood doors that apparently could shut off the room behind them, but they were pushed to one side now, revealing a bed with a cushy comforter and a colony of pillows. He supposed there were the other necessities of a bedroom, but he didn’t get past that bed.

  “What color?”

  Yellow.

  Just before he said the word, he realized she was talking about the CD, not her bed.

  She was crouched in front of a storage unit of CDs beside an audio unit.

  “You thought it was a musical CD?” So much for impressing her.

  “I didn’t know.” Her voice was muffled as she ran her finger along the spine of CD cases.

  His gaze returned to her bed. It was a lot wider than the slab in his boyhood room. Not as big as his bed back in Virginia, though. Not that this one wouldn’t do. Hell, a backseat would do.

  Had done.

  “The color, Zeke? Wait, never mind. Here it is.” She held up the orange jewel case in triumph. “It doesn’t look as if anyone touched any of these CDs.”

  “Good. Good.” He should feel a lot more excitement than he did at the recovery of the valuable CD
. But his excitement was not about that.

  “Now that we know it’s safe, I’ve, uh, got to go somewhere,” she said. “Sorry to rush you out, but you probably want to go check it out on your laptop….”

  He looked away from her bed.

  “You think you know who broke in, don’t you? You think it’s the same person who broke in to my place.”

  He watched her consider sidestepping. Then she said, “Yes.”

  He felt as if he’d won the Nobel Prize. “And you didn’t tell the chief.” He didn’t need confirmation to know he had that right. “I don’t care if he is a kid, I’m going with you.”

  “There is no need to—”

  “I’ll take back the support for the athletic leagues.”

  “You wouldn’t. That’s blackmail.”

  “Damn right, I would.” What was a little blackmail to keep her from going off on her own?

  Abruptly, she turned smug. “I already told your mother. You can’t take it back. Besides, you can’t come. This is official police business.”

  “Then call the chief.”

  That shut her up. Literally. Her mouth closed with a snap.

  “Okay then,” he said. “I’m going with you.”

  “Zeke—”

  He stopped her by touching her. A brief touch of his fingers to her cheek. He wasn’t sure he liked the fact that his skin touching hers brought her to such a complete stop. It bothered him on general principle, but he wasn’t going to argue with the result in this specific instance.

  “Do I look like I’m gong to change my mind? So let’s quit wasting time and get going.”

  Zeke had watched Darcie escort Warren into the police department, tell him to have a seat by the dispatch center and she’d be right back. She’d walked off and left the boy to Corine’s tender mercies, in which comments about “Always knew you’d come to no good, ordering all those things off the Internet,” figured prominently.

  After several minutes, Benny directed Zeke into an observation area then escorted the boy to a windowless room with a table and three chairs, leaving him alone. When Darcie walked in, the boy stopped fidgeting, and from this side of the one-way glass Zeke imagined he heard his sigh of relief.