by Layne, Lyssa
He waited in the car, giving her a few minutes head start, then exited, locking his vehicle securely.
Christine had explained on the way over, while he remained silent that she would be on the ground level in the front lobby. There the medical staff would be posing with her near where the AIDS quilt hung for its week long stint. Beside them, on a poster board, was a chart marking how much they'd collected thus far.
Maneuvering around the perimeter of the room, he surveyed the visitors and hospital personnel, trying not to appear as if he had any business other than to fix the outlet he pretended to work on.
So far nothing appeared to look out of place. An hour and a half later he dropped her back at her place. He decided a call to Lynette was in order. Maybe he was missing something.
He waited until he got home and dialed Lynette’s cell phone.
“Hello Brad. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you accepted my offer. I’m so worried about Christine.”
“My pleasure, but can you give me some background on things. Christine doesn’t seem to want my help, but she’s accepting it. What can you tell me? I feel like I’m missing something.”
“I’m not surprised. I received a frantic call from her assistant about a break-in at her work, but she’s convinced it’s just kids and a bit of vandalism. But I’ve received a number of email threats and the main office for the gallery was vandalized and had graffiti sprayed all over it.”
“Could it be kids as she suggested?” Brad has seen nothing off at the hospice, but Lynette’s voice conveyed definite fear.
“I’d say yes, except for one thing.” Lynette’s voice became low and soft.
“What’s that?”
“Ah—a—the only thing stolen was a ledger. Luckily I keep an electronic copy. Whoever stole that ledger knows how much has been donated and the bank account number were on it. I’ve since closed that account and opened a new one, but that alone makes me think everything else is a cover for whatever they have in mind.”
“Ah—I see what you mean.” Definitely suspicious.
“I’m taking these threats very seriously—”
He didn’t like that way her sentence trailed off. “What else?”
“Can we meet in person? I really don’t trust the phone.”
What the heck. “Sure. When and where?”
“You know the coffee shop by my husband’s office.”
“Yes, it’s just around the corner from the sheriff’s department.”
“Can you meet me there for lunch?”
“My pleasure.”
“Thank you, Brad. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
Later that evening, as Brad tied his tie for the third time, he ran over the conversation he’d had with Lynette. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, which was his sixth sense working overtime—something was definitely going on. The funny thing was, he didn’t feel as if the situation was really about the AIDS benefit, but rather as if someone was using it as a cover. But who would want to sabotage Christine’s show or the money being raised for the hospital?
He still couldn’t get the bow straight. Maybe Christine could finagle the damn thing. And it wouldn’t hurt that she’d have to get close to fix it. His sweaty palms and the pounding in his chest almost had him backing out at the last minute. How would she react when he found out the truth about him? That he was accused of murder?
After he locked his deadbolt, he jumped into his car and drove the two blocks to her house. Once parked he went up the walk to her apartment and knocked on Christine’s door.
“Coming.” She yelled through the door.
A gentle breeze blew and cooled the thin sheen of perspiration forming on his forehead. Brad couldn’t believe the nervousness that took over his body because of his date. Date? Well, maybe not a date. But it would be the first time they’d be together and get to know each other. He pinned a great deal of hopes on Christine that she’d be different from all the other women on his life. Taking out a handkerchief, he wiped his sweaty hands, then dabbed his brow. He wanted tonight to be special for her and after talking to Lynette, fear kept him from believing it would have a happy ending. This was a job, nothing more.
***
Christine applied a liberal coat of mulled wine lipstick. She smiled an exaggerated smile into the bathroom mirror to make sure there was nothing on her teeth before she headed to the door. She didn’t want to keep Brad waiting.
No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on finishing her make-up, her mind push back to earlier in the day when Lynette, the Mayor's wife, and the photographers tried to arrange the picture, she couldn't get her mind off Brad with his charming smile, gorgeous tan, and bulging biceps peeking out of his sleeveless shirt. She’d almost stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the colorful eagle tattoo, wings spread wide in flight on his left upper arm. Every time he flexed his arms the bird appeared to move gracefully on his arm.
She’d felt like a blithering idiot having to receive directions for the photographer several times, because her gaze kept straying back to Brad. By the time the pictures were done, the reporter finished his article, and the refreshments were passed among the children, she’d been a wreck.
When he’d dropped her back at the apartment she could tell Brad thought something was wrong with her. But how could she tell him that he was the focus of her attention?
And now, here she was, grateful to the fates for stepping in this afternoon, Christine was beyond glad she wouldn’t have to attend her opening alone. And no matter how disappointed she was that Jared’s flight cancelled, she couldn't deny that the turkeys flapping their tail feathers inside her stomach were solely because Brad would be at her side.
Jared was her special safety net and he wouldn't be there for her big moment. While she wished he could, having Brad on her arm was almost better. Jared never wanted anything from her, just her friendship, which was why Brad acting as her escort made her debut equally exciting. With Brad there were definite possibilities. Possibilities, that up until now she had always purposefully avoided. But she couldn’t deny they had chemistry or that it was mutual.
She’d been hurt enough in the past. What she couldn’t figure out, and justifiably so, why was she suddenly so willing to take her chances on Brad? It just wasn’t like her.
What would Brad look like all dressed up. Her heart tripped a beat just before she opened the front door.
His eyes met hers, holding her captive with their intensity. It was all she could do not to gasp aloud at the sight of him. If wishes could come true then the evening might unfold with a Cinderella type ball. What would it feel like to be pressed against his magnificent body? Her nipples hardened, forcing her to turn away before he could see the effect he had on her.
It was a struggle to control her breathing. She hadn’t expected a shave, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a gold hoop in his left ear, would have made that much of a difference in his appearance. Brad reminded her of a swarthy, historical pirate in a modern day tux. And boy was that image doing something to her insides.
“Gee, I didn’t expect all this.” Without waiting for him to ask, she stepped closer and worked the tie into a perfect bow.
“Does that mean you approve?” Brad cocked his head to the side.
“Oh I approve all right. But with you dressed like that I doubt anyone will be looking at my photographs. All eyes will be on you.”
Christine's cheeks heated, she hadn’t meant to speak so boldly; but this was the first time she’d ever gone out with a man who was so downright delicious. Even tastier than her favorite Death by Chocolate cake. It was a bit hard to fathom he was actually her date.
“I’m flattered,” Brad responded with a wide smile and a wink, “but you have that wrong. You’re going to be the distraction, not me.”
“We better move this mutual admiration society meeting downtown or I’m going to be late to my own show.” The heat between the two of them had Christine jumpy as a
cricket in the middle of a field on fire in a dusty farm community. She chuckled and turned away, breaking the spell between them. Christine picked up her clutch purse and keys.
Brad palmed her keys, locked the door, and handed them back to her.
Both times, the touch of his hands accelerated her pulse.
Christine maintained a slow, yet steady pace beside Brad. She knew the dangers of walking too fast in the unfamiliar heels. The last thing she wanted to do, especially tonight, was to do a face plant, embarrassing herself in front of him. She’d almost done that earlier in the day when he bumped into her, and she’d had her trusty Doc Marten’s on then. Nervous over the coming evening, she sped up her step and stumbled over a pebble. Luckily he was there to catch her, again.
Brad led her to his car, a custom rebuilt 68’ Barracuda. Her heart sped up when he helped her into the car and his gaze lingered on her right leg. She loved muscle cars, which was another plus for him.
For the first hour of the exhibit Brad stayed close beside Christine, at her request. When he was sure she began to relax, he left her in the capable hands of the photographer and a society page reporter.
Brad’s gaze rolled over her sweet curves barely hidden by Christine’s clingy black dress. He barely suppressed a groan when she opened her front door for him. Her dress tapered from about four inches below the knee in front to the back of her ankle behind. The style, though simple, with thin straps over the shoulder, pushed his control to the limits. And the accent of black nylons were sexy as hell. It was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. His heart couldn’t remember how to beat normally and sped up into overdrive at the sight of just a pinch of cleavage showing. Her dark Mediterranean good looks showed off a great tan. She appeared too good to be real, for the likes of him.
The more comfortable Christine became the more uncomfortable Brad grew. The room had floral arrangements placed on three-foot roman columns. The fragrance from the flowers, mingling with the multitude of perfumes and colognes overwhelmed him. When a waiter came by offering him champagne, he declined. A beer drinker to the core, the festive bubbly wasn’t his style.
When a string quartet began to play, he knew he was out of his element. This wasn’t his world. It was Christine’s. How could he ever have thought he had a chance?
There were other reporters present as well. One in particular he especially disliked, Mike Cochran. His senses jumped a notch at the sight of him. This wasn’t his usual field. The sorry bastard had continued to harass him since the shooting. The last thing Brad wanted was for the jerk to see him with Christine and cause a scene. If anything happened to screw up her evening, he’d never forgive himself.
Brad stayed on the opposite side of the room. He pretended to be alone as he walked from picture to picture taking in a kaleidoscope of faces. The sterile white walls were bare of any decorations or colors. A few marble benches were the perfect contrast to the photographs.
The poster size photographs were mounted on foam board with a different picture on each side. The photos hung from the ceiling attached by crude chains. The picture on one side was the person happy, healthy, and oblivious of their predestined end. The image on the opposite side showed their withered, tortured bodies before they lost their battle.
Brad’s first thought on the scheme of the display was that whoever sponsored this show had taken the cheap way out, until he overheard Christine describe it to the reporters.
Christine escorted the media present for the opening as they moved from picture to picture. “The links represent the individuality of each victim. Yet they were also connected by the solidarity of their communal death sentences, doomed to a painful end.”
Brad realized then that simplicity suited their deadly situations. And while he knew the explanations were meant for the press, the images he saw also brought back the all too painful memories. Memories of standing beside Rosie at the viewing of Marty’s body lying lifeless in his coffin.
By the time Brad had viewed every picture he felt the weight of those faces bearing down on him as if they expected him to bring them back. There was nothing he could do to help them, other than offering a donation. And somehow, even that seemed insignificant. He couldn’t bring them back, he couldn’t bring Marty back, hell he couldn’t even find Marty’s killer.
He found a place to sit as fatigue overtook the last of his energy. It stunned him to realize his situation was immensely better than theirs, while in some ways no less painful. Death was a nasty business he just couldn’t seem to get away from it.
Brad had barely seated himself when Christine collapsed beside him on the sculptured marble bench. Her face flushed with excitement.
“Well, if this crowd is any sign, your show is a great hit.” Brad smiled seeing her bright shiny face filled with the glow of success. He remembered those days. The headiness when everything fell into place at just the right time.
“Are you kidding? My agent just pulled me aside to say that a representative from the AIDS Foundation is here tonight and they’re inquiring about the entire collection. They want to hang my photographs along with the quilt as they continue their tour. And, she’s been approached about contracting me to do a few other pieces for the Los Angeles Times newspaper.”
Brad relished the anticipation on her face. He leaned over and gave her a friendly hug. “Looks like you made it to the big time, Chris. I’m so proud of you and what you’ve accomplished tonight.” At least someone’s life was looking up. He truly meant every word he said. His life might be in shambles, but he would never begrudge anyone, least of all her, nor the satisfaction that she was about to embark on what looked to be one hell of a successful future.
Chris turned when someone call her name.
Brad stood and held out his hand to help her up.
“Brad, I want you to know how much it means to me that you’re here to share this night. Thanks again.” When she leaned in, he read the alarm that she was about to initiate their first kiss, she barely allowed her lips to touch his, then abruptly turned and wove her way through the crowd to join her agent, without a backward glance at him.
Completely taken aback when she leaned forward and gave him the delicate kiss of an angel. He wanted more of her soft lips on his, more tenderness of her touch. The bashful way she looked down when she realized what she’d done appealed to him the way no other woman had. He wanted another kiss even more now, and he planned to get it before the night was over.
There was an attraction between them. And Brad couldn’t have been happier.
He ran his tongue over his lips. The memory of her warm breath and the closeness of the moment became permanently engraved in his mind. That and the fact that he could taste the champagne on her lips, left such a strong impression. So strong in fact, that he failed to notice Cochran watching the entire scene from across the crowded room.
Before Brad knew what was happening, he heard loud voices coming from Chris’ direction.
Pressing his way through the endless sea of stunned patrons, his eyes narrowed when he saw the angry expression on Cochran’s face as he attempted to harass Chris. A sudden protective urge moved him into action. He pushed his way through the crowd. Someone would be sorry and it wasn’t going to be Brad.
At first, Christine didn't comprehend a thing a single word she heard. All she could think about was how the shortened version of her name sounded on Brad’s deep, husky voice. This came as a surprise to her because she’d always hated being called Chris or Chrissy until now. She especially liked the impromptu hug. But something in the way his eyes continuously roamed the room reminding her he was only there at the request of the Mayor's wife. Why then did she feel the warm fuzzies take over her body as he acted as her personal protector instead of her escort? That was right before some man she'd never seen before stuck a microphone in front of her face and the flash of light bulbs blinded her.
“Miss Jansen, we’ve all seen these pictures tonight and we’ve heard your claim
to want to help these innocent victims with your so-called heart-felt work. If that’s the case, why would you even consider being here tonight with a man accused of killing one of his fellow officers? Doesn’t that contradict your attempts, or don’t you care?” The man gave her an evil glare. But it was the venom of his accusations which were meant to shock and create a commotion at the benefit that stirred interest from the patrons.
Christine’s mouth dropped open. It wasn’t so much what he was saying but the sneer on his face, aimed at Brad that flat out pissed her off.
“I find it utterly hard to believe that he can even show his face here,” the reporter added.
Dry-mouthed, words deserted her, leaving her vulnerable to his attack. What’s he talking about? On full alert, she turned and looked into the crowd. Their shocked expressions and glaring looks made her stomach roil. How dare the jerk turn her positive community awareness into a nasty journalistic war?
When Brad stepped forward, Christine sighed with relief, then shivered at the powerful anger spewing from Brad's eyes. As nervous as she was she knew she had to intervene.
She clutched his arm, then stepped forward hoping to calm everyone down. “Excuse me. I don’t know who you are and I really don’t give a damn. Who I see and what I do in my private life is none of your business. What I’m doing here tonight is totally and completely for the sake of the friends I’ve lost to this disease.”
Her hand swept across the room. “The pictures you see here tonight aren’t just photographs of random people. I knew each and every one of them, personally, and I’m proud to call them my friends.” A quiet hush covered the crowd. It was ridiculous that she needed to justify anything especially to this jerk. Appalled at his gall, she continued with even more aggression in her voice, “They wanted their story to be told in order for a cure to be found—”
“That’s all very touching,” the reporter interrupted with a snide look on his face. “But, how do you think your friends would feel if they knew their efforts were being thwarted all because of your—um—friendship with a known cop-killer? Or weren’t you aware of his suspension from the force for killing his partner?”
