Hidden Witness

by Beverly Long

  “I’d like to meet her.”

  “Of course.” They walked up the porch, him pointing out the spots that Gordy should avoid. He opened the door. There was no sign of Raney.

  “Raney,” he called out. “There’s a friend here who’d like to meet you.”

  She walked out of the kitchen, a towel over her shoulder. She’d put on old jeans that molded to her firm body and a light gray V-neck T-shirt. She looked at him, then Gordy. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Ma’am,” Gordy said, extending his hand. “I’m Gordy Fitzler. I wanted to offer my congratulations. You got yourself a good one here.”

  Raney smiled. “I know,” she said, playing her part perfectly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I’m just the next house down the road. You ever need anything, just stop by.”

  “I will,” she said.

  “The roof is worse than I thought,” Chase said. “It needs to be replaced. Gordy’s son-in-law will drop some shingles by this afternoon so that I can get started on the work.”

  “Sounds like a big job,” she said.

  “He knows what he’s doing. Best roofer I ever had,” Gordy added. “Now, don’t be a stranger,” he said, turning to leave.

  Chase walked the man to his truck and made sure he got off okay. Then he went back inside. Raney was standing at the window. “Sweet guy,” she said.

  Gordy had had high expectations, hadn’t tolerated any backtalk and had restored Chase’s faith that a man didn’t have to yell to have himself be heard. “Yeah.”

  He suddenly found himself wanting to tell Raney about Brick Doogan, about the crazy things the man had done and about how he used to fantasize that his mother had married Gordy Fitzler instead.

  He’d forgiven his mother. For letting it happen. For choosing to ignore it. For not being stronger. He’d forgiven her because she’d finally asked him to. She’d been on her deathbed and it was the only peace he could offer her.

  But those weren’t things he talked about. To anyone. Especially not someone who was just passing through his life.

  “I’m going to start tearing off shingles,” he said and walked out the door.

  Two hours later, he was still on the roof ripping off shingles when he heard the front door open. He looked down. Raney had changed her clothes and was wearing a skirt that showed off her pretty legs and a shirt that showed off her other assets.

  Distance, he reminded himself.

  “Hey,” she said, looking up and shading her eyes with the palm of her hand. “I thought I might make spaghetti for dinner but I forgot to buy Italian seasoning yesterday. Can I borrow your SUV to run into town?”

  “I’ll go with you,” he said, starting to climb down.

  “Do you really think that’s necessary? You said yourself that no one has any reason to believe that Raney Hollister is Lorraine Taylor. Nothing is going to happen.”

  He stopped, halfway down. Distance. She was right. It was safe. And they should act as normally as possible. Which meant that one of them could run to the store without the other.

  “Okay,” he said. “Keys are on the counter.”

  “Want anything else?”

  “Yeah. Some really good bread from the bakery.”

  “Got it,” she said. “Try not to fall off the roof while I’m gone,” she teased. She seemed more lighthearted. It made him realize that she was probably really glad to have the freedom to leave the house, to do something as mundane as grocery shopping after having been confined to the house in Miami.

  A few minutes later, the SUV pulled out of the driveway. He watched it until it turned the corner, no longer in view. He checked the time on his watch and then went back to pulling up shingles.

  The next time he checked his watch, it was a half hour later. Raney should be home soon. He used the back of his arm to wipe away the sweat gathering on his forehead. Damn, it was hot. He should probably get some water.

  He got down and drank two big glasses, standing at the living room window, watching the road. What the hell was taking her so long?

  Ten minutes later he was really worried.

  He tried her cell phone but she didn’t pick up. Moving quickly, he put his gun in the small of his back and slipped on a loose shirt. He rubbed his thigh, hating that his climbing up and down the ladder and crab-walking around the roof were taking a toll on his injured muscle.

  Before he’d been hurt, he’d regularly jogged. The mile and a half into town would have been nothing. But he hadn’t run for six weeks. When the doc had given him the release to return to active duty, he’d suggested he lay off vigorous training for another week or two.

  That couldn’t be helped now and he wasn’t letting it hold him back. He felt an overwhelming need to get to town, fast.

  He had just opened the front door when he saw his SUV sedately driving down the road. He watched, and with every damn rotation of the tires, he felt his irritation grow.

  She was barely out of the car when he stalked off the front porch.

  “Hi,” she said, as if there was nothing wrong.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asked, his tone harsher than he intended. He took a deep breath, struggling for the control that generally came so naturally to him.

  She frowned at him and held up the plastic bag in her hand. “I went to the store.”

  “It’s a mile and a half,” he said. “And the store has five aisles,” he added, sarcasm in his tone. “I called you.”

  She pulled her cell from her purse, pushed a button. “I’m sorry. I had it on silent.”

  “What took you so long?”

  “I met someone,” she said. “The waiter from the restaurant last night.”

  Little red dots danced at the edge of his vision. “I didn’t realize the two of you had set up a rendezvous.”

  “I... I...” She dropped the bag and small tins of basil and oregano rolled out onto the ground. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, honey, you’re married. And he knows it, too.”

  She walked toward him. When she got close enough, she poked him in the chest with her index finger. “You. Are. An. Idiot.”

  Huh?

  “Before I went to the grocery store, I went to the little bookstore on the corner. I forgot to pack any books. And I like to read. Anyway, he was there, looking through a stack of used books. We recognized each other and started talking. He admitted that he was looking for business books, the kind that might help him be prepared for the job interview that he has next week.”

  “Oh.” As responses went, it was pretty inadequate.

  And she didn’t appear to be inclined to let it go when she repeated, “Oh?” then added, “That’s the best you can do?”

  Pretty much. He felt like a fool. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was worried when you were gone so long.”

  Her eyes softened. “I assumed you’d be busy on the roof.”

  “The house is secondary. My first responsibility is to protect you.”

  “Don’t you think I’m safe here?” she asked.

  “You should be,” he said. “But a good cop never assumes anything.”

  “We’re meeting again tomorrow,” she said.

  He felt his emotions spike. “The hell you are.”

  “He’s interviewed for five jobs and hasn’t gotten any of them. He knows that he’s doing something wrong.”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Of course it isn’t. But I have the skills to help him. God knows I have the time,” she added.

  In her tone, he heard frustration that might have been edging toward bitterness. He remembered hearing the pride in her voice when she’d spoken about her work.

  Harry Malone had taken a great deal away from her. And now Chase was about to compound the issue.

  He swallowed hard. “I want his name, his address, his previous address. Hell, I want to know his damn shoe size.”

  She opened
her mouth, then shut it without speaking.

  “And you’ll meet here. Where I can watch him,” he added. Wouldn’t that be fun? Standing by while the two of them huddled over the idiot’s résumé.

  Finally she nodded. “Ten,” she said.

  “Ten what?” he asked, already preparing to go outside where he could hit something. Hard.

  “I think he wears a ten. I spent one summer selling shoes. I’m a pretty good judge.”

  He wanted to laugh. Damn her, he wanted to laugh. “Well, I wear a twelve and if he so much as steps an inch out of line, I’m going to plant it where a foot should never go.”

  He turned and stalked back toward his ladder.

  And finally did let a smile loose when he heard her quiet laughter.

  * * *

  RANEY MADE SPAGHETTI, a big salad and garlic bread for dinner. She let Chase know about a half hour before it was ready so that he could come inside and shower. He’d been working outside all afternoon. The shingles and all the other assorted supplies needed to replace a roof had been delivered midafternoon along with a big Dumpster to catch all the old shingles that he dropped from the roof.

  “Smells good,” he said when he came in. “Really good.”

  Raney’s stomach did a little flip. It had been a long time since she’d cooked for anyone. “You’ve got fifteen minutes,” she said.

  He took eleven. He helped her carry the bowls from the counter to the table. And then he proceeded to eat his way through two platefuls. He finally pushed his plate away. “What else can you cook?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I guess about everything. I was brought up that if you could read, you could cook.”

  He shook his head. “Not true. I’m a literate man. I can’t cook.” He pushed his chair back, picked up both their dirty plates and carried them to the sink.

  Relaxed, she rested one elbow on the table and used her fingers to play with the ends of her short hair. “I suspect it’s that you choose not to cook, not that you can’t.”

  “I’ve had some spectacular disasters,” he admitted. He turned the faucet on and added dish soap.

  “Well, I detest doing dishes. So I’ll cook and you’ll clean up. This is a marriage that could work,” she added.

  He turned around, his face much more serious than her casual remark. “Why aren’t you married?”

  “I...I was.” She answered before she considered whether she wanted to have this discussion with him.

  A quick look of surprise crossed his face before he managed to shut it down. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Probably didn’t get to the fine details in my file. It was short-lived. Just two years. We’ve been divorced for over five years.”

  “Does your ex know about Harry Malone?”

  “I doubt it. He lives in Hawaii. He surfs. Professionally.”

  “Let me guess. You didn’t want to move to Hawaii?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t want to share with his mistress.”

  Even though she’d known the marriage wasn’t working, Mike’s duplicity had hit her hard. His training schedule had required them to live apart for long stretches of time. Still, she’d never expected him to cheat. When she’d stumbled upon the note in his pocket, she’d been so angry.

  She’d confronted him with it and he had readily admitted that it had been going on for months, leading her to believe that the accidental discovery might not have been so accidental. He’d wanted her to know, wanted to be out of a marriage that he was no longer interested in working at.

  The divorce had been fast and as amicable as a divorce could probably be. The ink on the divorce paperwork hadn’t been dry before Mike and Lenore were living together.

  Raney had thrown herself into her work. And friends had told her not to worry, that she’d meet someone. She’d smiled, neither agreed nor disagreed, but in her lonely bed, she had spent some time wondering if this was it for her. Was she going to be alone?

  It was a suddenly chilling thought to think that this might be as close to a real marriage as she was going to get.

  “He was an idiot,” Chase said, his tone hard. His gaze was intense, the set of his jaw stiff. He came back to the table and sat down. His chair was at a right angle to hers and he leaned forward, reached out a hand and touched her arm. The nail on his bare ring finger was bruised, and she suspected he’d hit it with a hammer. His skin was hot. “You know that, right?” he added.

  What she knew was that Chase Hollister affected her in a way that no man, even Mike, had ever affected her. He made the nerve endings in her body come alive and almost beg to be touched, stroked, loved.

  “It was a long time ago. We were both young.”

  “No excuse for what he did,” Chase said.

  And she knew for sure that while Chase might have been the bad boy in his youth, he’d grown into the kind of man who knew right from wrong. He would do the right thing.

  He would protect the witness.

  He wouldn’t cross the line.

  Which meant it would be up to her.

  But he had the advantage. While he might not know everything, he knew more about her than she did about him. He’d casually brushed off the idea of marriage when they’d discussed it at the café but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t in a committed relationship. If so, it didn’t matter how blond her hair was—she wasn’t doing anything about the attraction. Having been on the receiving end of that once, she didn’t ever want to cause that kind of pain for someone else. “I know you mentioned some aversion to marriage,” she said, deliberately keeping her tone light, “but are you involved with anyone right now?”

  He stared at her, his amber eyes intense. His handsome face was even more tanned from his time on the roof. “I’m pretty busy at work,” he said.

  It was sort of an answer.

  “I imagine you are,” she murmured.

  “I haven’t dated anyone for over a year,” he added.

  Did that mean that he hadn’t had sex in over a year? Maybe if her hair was fire-engine red she would be brave enough to ask for clarification.

  What did it matter? He’d had the chance to kiss her last night and he’d pulled back. She’d been rejected once before by her ex-husband. It had hurt badly. She wasn’t going to put herself in that position again.

  She pushed her chair back from the table. “I’m tired,” she lied. “I think I’ll turn in.”

  * * *

  CHASE WANDERED AROUND the downstairs, completely avoiding Brick’s room. The only television in the house was in there, but he wasn’t that desperate to watch something.

  He could start taking off the paint on the woodwork, but that would involve the use of turpentine and the fumes might get bad. He could always open some windows, but that wasn’t something he was willing to do at night. He wanted the house closed up tight. A locked door or window wasn’t much of a deterrent, but it might buy a second or two and sometimes that was all a person needed.

  He should just go to bed and get up really early in the morning to make use of the daylight. But he felt unsettled. He’d made his fourth lap around the house when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and smiled.

  “You still owe me,” he answered.

  “Of course I do,” Bray said. “What’s the house look like?”

  “It’s in pretty rough shape. Needs paint and new carpet most everywhere but that’s cosmetic. I’m going to replace the roof. It’s leaking in several spots.”

  “I really wish I could be there to help. But this case is just about to crack. I’ve been after one of these guys for two years.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re doing fine.”

  “We?”

  “I’m guarding a witness while I’m here. We needed a safe place to stash her and Ravesville seemed like a good option.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Raney. She’s pretending to be my wife.”

  “Now I really wish I could be there. You’ve probably
got everybody in the town talking about it.”

  “Speaking of town, I saw Summer Wright.”

  There was silence on the other end. “Summer Blake, you mean,” Bray said, his voice tight.

  “Nope. Summer Wright. She’s divorced. Not gossip, got it straight from her.”

  More silence. He gave Bray a full minute more, but he still didn’t say anything.

  “She’s got a couple kids.”

  “Hey, you know what, I’ve got another call coming in. Take care of your witness and get that house ready to sell.”

  Chase stared at his phone. His brother regularly dealt with the dregs of society. Nothing much ruffled him. But hearing Summer Wright’s name had practically rendered him speechless.

  That was interesting.

  He lay down on the lumpy sofa, suddenly feeling better that he’d talked to his brother. He closed his eyes. He got up once in the middle of the night to make sure the house was still secure and to take off his jeans and pull on athletic shorts. It was hot. He did not want to run the air conditioner or even the fan because it could make it difficult to hear an intruder. When he lay down the second time, he didn’t open his eyes again until he heard Raney came downstairs the next morning.

  “Morning,” she said, her voice husky from sleep.

  He shifted to a sitting position. “What time is it?”

  “A little after six,” she said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “No problem,” he said. He got up and quickly pulled at the hem of his shorts. He sure as hell didn’t want Raney to see the scar on his leg. Didn’t want to answer any questions. Didn’t want her to have any concerns that he might not be 100 percent.

  What he had on was what he wore when he sparred with Dawson at the gym, but suddenly it felt insufficient.

  He needed to wear a parka around Raney. Something that zipped, and buttoned, with a little Velcro just in case. Something that would take some time to shed. Something that would give him some time to develop a little perspective.

  Right now, he had none. Because she was leaning forward from the waist, looking at the stack of books on the end table, and her little pajama top was gaping at the top, giving him a truly excellent look at her breasts.

  She was not wearing a bra.