Ahead of him, Cecily called back something but he couldn’t make out the words. They rode the river for a full three loops before she stood up and mouthed something he didn’t hear. Then she strode out of the water onto the edge. He followed and caught up. “Hey,” he said.
She understood his inquiry. “I’m going to the ladies’,” she said and pointed. “After, I thought we’d try out the wave pool.”
“Sure,” he said and hoped she hadn’t realized how close he came to dozing.
In the wave pool, Cecily plunged out into the deepest area before the first series of artificially generated waves struck with force. Daniel hadn’t expected such a powerful rush and lost his footing until he floundered in the water. Cecily, caught swimming, rode the wave with a triumphant grin. She rolled past him and waded back. They spent a half hour, fifteen minutes too long for his taste in the wave pool. After the first two series of waves, Daniel decided the pool was overrated. By the time they left it to return to the lazy river, his body ached from being pummeled with force. They spent the rest of their time until the park closed on the lazy river, floating in tandem, close enough to talk and often touch.
At the end of the day, he bought them each a neon hued bath sheet. After they’d dried off and changed back into their street clothes, Cecily tied up the wet suits into a neat package. The warm seats of the Ford provided comfort. “Ah,” he sighed. Daniel glanced at her, curled into the passenger seat, head back, eyes shut. “Did you have fun, Cecily?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I loved every minute. Thank you, Daniel.”
“Sure,” he replied, somehow embarrassed by her thanks. “So, what now? Do you want me to take you to get your car or grab a bite or what?”
Her eyes popped open. “I forgot about my car,” she said with a dazed wonder. “Shit. I hope it’s still there.”
Daniel squelched a professional urge to gloat. If she had any clue about the auto theft stats, she’d squeal louder. “It is,” he said. “I looked when we went past earlier.”
“I guess I need to go get the damn car or I won’t have a ride to the shop in the morning,” Cecily said. “Otherwise I’d ask you to come home and I’d fix something to eat.”
Why can’t she do it anyway? Aloud, he said, “I’d love it. I’m starving and I’d rather eat at your house than a restaurant. I live on fast food, frozen junk, and canned stuff at home.”
“I’ll do you better than any of that crap,” she said. “The one thing I know I can do is cook. Why don’t you come on back with me, then, and I’ll whip up something. It’ll be good, I promise.”
He should refuse and he knew it. He’d gone too far already. If his supervisors should learn of his intimacy and down time with the subject of his investigation, Daniel’s career would suffer. There’d be a reprimand, at the least. But Cecily intoxicated him like liquor. He basked in her presence and ached for more on both a physical and emotional level. She reminded him of the man he’d once been, stirred his ashes back to life. “Sure,” he replied. “On the way I need to swing by the motel and pick up some clean clothes. My shirt reeks of sunscreen.”
“No problem,” Cecily said. “Before or after I get my car?”
“Before,” Daniel said. “The motel’s on the way.”
Until he turned into the place he’d almost forgotten what a total dump it was. The single story cinder block structure might’ve been nice sometime around 1968 or so, but time hadn’t been kind. The place could use a paint job, and Daniel suspected half the other ‘guests’ lived here, year round. When he checked into room six, dust film coated the scarred dresser with the beat-up analog television set, and stale air hung heavy in the space. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he parked.
Her lips puckered into a pout. “I can come with you.”
“God, no,” he said. “It’s a hell hole. I’ll be right back.”
Two steps into the room, he heard his cell phone beep and picked it up to check for messages. His boss, Special Agent In Charge, Andrew Martin, had left two and with a guilty twinge for leaving the phone behind, Daniel listened to the brief message and then dialed Martin.
“Hey, it’s Padilla,” he said. “What’s up?”
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know. Did you find Ms. Brown?”
“Yeah, I’ve located her. She just opened a little boutique in Branson.” Stick to the truth and keep it basic.
“And?”
“I haven’t got much else, yet. I thought I’d go shopping Monday and see if I can get a good impression of her, scope out the place.”
“Sounds like a plan, but don’t spook her. I don’t want her to run, Padilla. So far, we haven’t identified any other possible suspects in her ex-husband’s murder or the jewel theft so I need her available, understand?”
“Yeah, I do.” And it sounds like you’ve judged her without evidence, a trial, or a jury which is too fucking bad because I think she’s as innocent as a little girl making first communion.
“Good. Keep in touch, Padilla. After you visit her shop Monday, call me.”
“Will do,” Daniel said. During the phone call, he’d gathered up clean clothes, his shaving kit, toothbrush, and a few other essentials. After he ended the call, he shut off the phone but tucked it into his pocket. Sooner or later, he had a lot of explaining to do—both to Martin and to Cecily.
The lazy afternoon in the sun and water leached away most of his tension. Despite the brief phone call, Daniel remained more laidback than he could remember being for ages. He dropped her off at Pink Neon to pick up her car and trailed her back to her house. As he drove, fatigue crept over him, a good kind of tired and he relished the feeling.
At Cecily’s house, she took a quick shower. She reappeared wearing a sleeveless sun dress and headed for the kitchen but paused for a moment. “You stay out until I tell you supper’s ready,” she said. “I can’t cook with someone underfoot.”
“You mind if I take a shower?”
“I don’t mind at all,” she told him with a warm look. “Take your time. You look tired, sugar.”
“I am,” he admitted with a grin.
“So stretch out on the couch if you want,” she said. “Just be sure you take off your shoes.”
Daniel laughed, pleased with her sass and spunk. He showered, shaved, and put on clean clothing. Domestic sounds issued from the kitchen, the rattle of pans, the noise of utensils put to use, and Cecily humming as she worked. He surveyed the small living room, sparse as his own place, and sprawled on the couch. The large crushed gold velvet sofa had to be decades old but appeared to be gently worn. He tucked a purple throw pillow under his head and exhaled as he got comfortable.
Before sleep crept into his consciousness, he noted the lack of personal touches. No framed photographs graced the bare, off-white walls. Cecily hadn’t hung any mirrors or decorative accents. Daniel hadn’t seen a single knick-knack or figurine. There weren’t any fresh or artificial flowers on display. A jar candle sat on top of the entertainment center and he suspected she’d burned it for the pleasant scent. He sniffed the air and decided it must’ve been rose fragrance. Her bathroom had a hair dryer plugged into the sole outlet and there’d been a few health and beauty items sitting out on the counter but no other decoration. Although it had been dark and he’d been preoccupied, her bedroom lacked anything but a bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a single straight chair. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear this was a safe house or that Cecily was a new member of the witness protection program. She didn’t bring anything from her previous life along, no pictures, no memorabilia, and no favorite things.
Either she’d owned nothing she wanted to hang on to or Cecily made a clean break. Daniel wondered which as he settled down, sleepy and relaxed. Damn, he couldn’t recall napping since he became an adult, ever, although he knew plenty of guys who treasured their weekend afternoon dozes. And the last time a woman cooked for him, it’d been either his mama or a co-worker’s wife. It sure as hell wasn’t Lisa. He thrust
any thought of Lisa away before he could summon Mollie. He didn’t want to think about Mollie because it still hurt too much and summoned nothing but bad memories and negative vibes. Instead, Daniel focused on Cecily, her pretty face, the way she acted familiar with him, and how she’d made love with him with a beautiful intensity.
Sleep crept over him, delicious and seductive, and he drifted. The pleasant sounds from the kitchen faded away and deep in dream country Daniel traveled into the past.
He drove up in front of the ramshackle house on Euclid Avenue, maybe a nice neighborhood a half century earlier, not so nice now. Although he couldn’t see it, he heard the rusty chains of the beat-up old swing set in the backyard swing in the wind. On the front porch, his daughter Mollie rocked a baby doll in her arms, singing ‘Jesus Loves Me’. When she heard his car down slam, she glanced up and squealed. She ran to meet him in her almost ankle length dress, long hair flowing down her back. Two months ago, he celebrated her fourth birthday by taking her to Chuck E. Cheese’s, but Lisa didn’t like it. She’d said it introduced Mollie to a sinful world and until today, Lisa hadn’t let him come over despite the court ordered visitation.
“Hello, Daddy,” Mollie said as he picked her up. She weighed very little and he could feel her thin body through the homemade dress, plain and unadorned. “Can we go eat pizza?”
“Not today, Niña,” he said. “We’re going to see the animals at the zoo.”
“Mama says we can’t go,” Mollie said, her green eyes serious in her pale face. “She says you won’t come over any more.”
“I’ll always come to see you,” he told his little girl. “We’ll go to the zoo, then get a hamburger or some chicken nuggets.”
“How ‘bout ice cream?”
Daniel hugged her close. “Sure, ice cream, too.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you.” The sharp voice cut into their conversation. He glanced up to see Lisa, hair pulled straight back and skewered on top of her head. She wore a shapeless dress too with a hem just above her ankles. The woman he’d known so briefly had spark and she’d known how to laugh. Back then, her hair fell free in masses of blonde curls and she chattered with happiness. She’d been pretty, then, in an old-fashioned, different way. When he met her, she’d been bucking her family’s Pentecostal traditions by going out into the real world. Although she refused to see a movie or go out for a beer, Lisa made love with him one night. She let passion override her religious objections and Mollie happened. Daniel didn’t marry her, but he acknowledged his child. When he moved to Kansas City as an FBI agent, he talked Lisa into relocating. He paid child support and saw his daughter as often as he could, but Lisa retreated into the strict faith of her childhood. Their worlds clashed more often these days and Daniel did the best he could. Sometimes he dreamed of taking Mollie away so she could grow up normal, healthy, and happy.
“Why not?” he asked.
“You do the devil’s work and I don’t want her around you anymore.”
Mollie clung tighter to his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. He could feel her quiver. “Lisa, I don’t and you know it,” he said and then stopped. He couldn’t convince a mad woman of the realities. “Listen, she’s my daughter and I love her. I have the right to see her.”
“I want you to go away,” Lisa said. “You reek of sin and the world. I smell it on you. Put her down and leave.”
He resisted but after a few moments, Lisa began to pray aloud, screaming and crying to her god for help. Then she babbled in tongues, supposed to be a gift of the Holy Spirit but it sounded like hogwash to Daniel. Mollie began to cry and then asked him to put her down. “It’ll make Mama stop,” she whispered. “I’ll see you another time, Daddy.”
After he released his daughter, she ran to her mother who scooped her up and still praying, went inside and slammed the door shut. Daniel waited for a moment or two then shrugged his shoulders and left. He bought some booze, went home, and drank.
In his apartment he always kept a scanner running so if something happened, he’d have a heads up. He heard the fire call go out. He recognized the address and he drove back to Euclid Avenue, mumbling the prayers of his Catholic upbringing all the way. Fire trucks and other emergency vehicles blocked the street so he parked a block away and ran, his feet hitting the concrete sidewalks with force.
By the time he fetched up in front of the house, there wasn’t one, just a blackened, smoldering ruin. The flames had been dowsed, but the smell of burning hung over the yard with thick intensity. Daniel stood there when they brought out the bodies, Lisa’s and then the small, blackened figure of his daughter. Crazy with grief, eaten alive with guilt, he’d pushed his way forward and pulled away the sheet to see her. What he saw burned into his memory and imprinted there, unspeakable and horrific beyond words.
And in the dream as he had in real life, he screamed.
Still hollering, Daniel woke with a jerk. He struggled to breathe and the nightmare clung to his consciousness until he thought he could smell the rank smoke and other odors. His throat hurt from the force of his outcry and in the first few moments, he had no idea where he was or why. Someone spoke, though, in a hushed voice brimming over with concern and said his name.
Daniel looked up into Cecily’s face as she knelt beside the couch, her eyes wide with anxiety. He sat up and rubbed his face, hands trembling.
“Sugar, what’s wrong?” she asked and he thought she must’ve asked the same question several times.
“Bad dream,” he said. “It’s an old nightmare.”
“Well, you scared the crap out of me,” Cecily said. “Are you okay? You look like death warmed over.”
Before he had time to form an answer, she opened her arms and embraced him. She held him close and it wasn’t sexy but far more intimate. Daniel doubted he’d felt such a sense of comfort, of almost coming home since he’d been young enough to curl up on his mama’s lap. Cecily’s touch banished the terror and tempered the grief down to a bearable level.
With shock, he realized he could love this woman—if he didn’t now.
Chapter Seven
Feeling like the ultimate domestic goddess, Cecily turned a few Yukon gold potatoes, an onion, and some salmon fillets into a five star meal. With a little olive oil, some lemon and lemon pepper, a dash of salt, and some real butter, she took ordinary ingredients and made them something special. She couldn’t take credit for the salad because all she did was take it out of the bag and toss it a little or the bottled dressing, but she took pride in everything else. She hummed and occasionally broke into snatches of song as she worked. Midway through, she’d peeked in the living room and found Daniel asleep. She couldn’t resist tip-toeing over to plant a kiss on his mouth before she retreated back into the kitchen.
She’d just put the potatoes and salmon into the oven when her cell phone rang. Cecily picked it up so it wouldn’t wake Daniel. “Hey, Nia,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” her cousin said. “Where in the hell have you been, bitch? I thought you’d call me last night after you closed up the store to let me know how opening day went down.”
Shit. I meant to call her and would’ve, but Daniel distracted me. “I got kind of tied up,” she said with a little giggle. Nia, lifelong confidant, guessed the truth. “You hooked up with some dude.” She squealed.
“Oh, yeah, I did,” Cecily said. “He’s pretty freaking awesome, too.”
“Tell me!”
“Can’t,” she said. “He’s here and I’m making dinner. I’ll call you first chance and we’ll catch up, cross my heart, but I gotta go for now.”
“You sound happy.”
“I am.”
“’Bout damn time! You deserve it.”
“Thanks. TTL.”
Chin resting on the steeple of her folded hands, Cecily reflected on Daniel. In the short time since she met him, a chance customer at her shop, desire flared between them with the heat of a struck match. But it wasn’t just physical attractio
n. He touched some deep chord within, and she thought she managed to evoke something similar in him. She’d never opened up to anyone with such speed or experienced such a sense of closeness or connection. If anyone tried to tell her she’d hook up with a guy, sleep with him, go out for a day of fun, and bring him back home for dinner, Cecily would’ve have suggested insanity.
A hoarse cry sliced into her reverie and put her on high alert. Shit, that’s Daniel. Cecily jumped out of the chair with such haste it toppled to the tile floor, but she didn’t stop to pick it up. Anything awful enough to evoke such a reaction from a tough guy had to be rock bottom bad. He lay on his back on the couch, eyes closed, but he writhed and wiggled. At first she thought he must be suffering intense physical pain and her mind raced through some possibilities — appendicitis, gall bladder, heart attack, migraine — but when Daniel woke, his eyes met hers. Naked pain, darker than the worst midnight, deeper than the lowest pit of hell, radiated from his gaze.
“Sugar, what’s wrong?” she asked, one hand stroking his short-cropped hair. He didn’t appear to hear her voice and she repeated the question, twice, before he responded.
“Bad dream,” he croaked. “It’s an old nightmare.”
“Well, you scared the crap out of me,” Cecily said. “Are you okay? You look like death warmed over.”
His anguished expression ripped her heart and she hurt for him. Without thinking, just reacting, she rose up as high on her knees as possible and wrapped her arms around him. Cecily held him, the gesture meant to soothe him and to make him aware someone cared. Whatever old demons haunted him, she wanted to chase them far away. A wave of protective affection washed over her, so strong it almost drowned her ability to think. Although she couldn’t begin to fathom why she felt this way, she did.
As she embraced Daniel, his body began to relax. His rapid, erratic heartbeat slowed to a normal pace and his breathing returned to average. His stiff arms uncoiled to wrap around her and they clung together for a few minutes. He broke away first but he said, “Thanks, querida.”
Pink Neon Dreams Page 6
