Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak

by Christy Barritt

  “Look, Gabby, I may not be a theologian, but I’ve heard that the Christian God is supposed to be a God of grace. Maybe you should have more grace for yourself.”

  I swallowed hard. “Maybe I should.”

  I hated to admit it, but maybe Garrett Mercer was pretty wise.

  Just then, something crashed upstairs.

  This nice little talk about believing was going to have to wait.

  CHAPTER 15

  I reached into my purse and pulled out my gun.

  “A gun?” Garrett’s eyes widened.

  Impressed or scared? Scared, I decided.

  Why were so many people uncomfortable with guns? More likely, they were uncomfortable with me having a gun. Knowing Garrett, he was probably anti-gun. Of course, I had to stop being so judgmental.

  “Stay here,” I ordered, sounding braver than I felt.

  “You were hired to be a P.I., not my bodyguard.”

  “I’ve got this.” My insides felt like gelatin, though. I kept thinking of Milton Jones. If I was ever going to conquer my fears, I had to face them.

  That meant I had to confront the boogieman.

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m coming with you.” Garrett quickened his pace until he was beside me.

  I hesitated at the stairs. What would I find up there? Did I really want to know? Would a smart girl turn and run the opposite way right now?

  Probably. But playing it safe rarely got me anywhere.

  I held the gun in front of me, trying not to tremble, trying not to show my weakness.

  Garrett started to talk again, but I shushed him. We needed to listen, especially if there was someone in the house.

  We reached the top of the stairs. I didn’t know where the sound came from. But I had a feeling it was Cassidy’s room. I went there first.

  I stared at the door with trepidation.

  Lord, I don’t want to be stupid. Guide me. Stuff like this has gotten me in trouble before.

  The door was half open. I saw no signs of movement inside.

  Slowly, I nudged the door the rest of the way open.

  After lifting up another prayer, I peered around the door.

  I held my breath, expecting the worst.

  Instead, everything appeared just like we’d left it.

  Except that the French door leading to the balcony was wide open, a November wind whipping inside. We definitely hadn’t left it like that. Was that the sound we’d heard? The wind smashing the door into the wall?

  I turned quickly and searched behind the door. There was no one.

  I inspected the perimeter of the room, leaving no space unchecked.

  It was clear.

  A movement outside caught my eye. I hurried to the balcony just in time to see a man wearing all black running through the yard toward the woods.

  “What is it?” Garrett asked.

  I nodded outside. “Your intruder.”

  I raised my gun. Should I shoot? Not to kill, but to slow him down, to find out his identity? The moral dilemma caused me to pause.

  I couldn’t bring myself to do it, not when I wasn’t in immediate danger. Besides, I was a lousy shot.

  Garrett rushed beside me, his gaze following the man outside.

  “Someone was up here,” he muttered.

  Just then the intruder turned. Raised his gun.

  Without thinking, I pushed Garrett down, just as a bullet hit the wall behind us.

  ***

  Time froze as I waited for whatever would happen next.

  I prepared myself for more bullets, for more of an attack.

  Instead, there was silence.

  That’s when I realized that I was lying on Garrett’s chest. I scrambled off of him and pulled myself to my feet, shaking off any dust, as well as feelings of discomfort.

  I tried to snap back into professional mode as I reached for Garrett’s hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Thanks to you I am.”

  I peered over the balcony. The gunman was gone. There was no hope of catching him now.

  Garrett stood and brushed the dirt from his elbows and pants. He stared at me, a look in his gaze that I hadn’t seen before. “You just saved my life.”

  “That could be an exaggeration.”

  He touched the bullet hole behind him. It was at chest level and had hit right where Garrett had been standing. “Seriously, that could have killed me. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  A raise would be nice. I kept that thought silent, though. I wasn’t that desperate for money. Not yet, at least.

  “You’re not hurt, are you?” He stepped closer.

  I ran through a mental checklist of symptoms. “I think I’m okay.”

  He touched my forehead. “You’ve got a little cut. We should get you cleaned up.”

  I willed him to stop touching me.

  I craved love and affection so much. I had for my entire life. But I should be able to fill myself up with God’s love for me. I didn’t want to fall back into old habits.

  I loved Riley. I hoped he still loved me too, despite what my emotions were telling me right now.

  I quickly took a step away and started toward the stairs. “This place still have water?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, it does.”

  “Great.” I hurried down to the kitchen, grabbed a paper towel, wet it in the sink, and dabbed my forehead.

  Garrett—who’d been at my heels—took the towel from me and held it at my hairline. “There. All better,” he insisted.

  I scooted back, not liking how close we were. “We should call the police. They need to know what happened.”

  Finally, he nodded. “Okay then. I can’t very well say no to the woman who saved my life.”

  ***

  Three hours later, Garrett pulled his gas efficient hybrid to a stop in front of my car. “Here you go.”

  I opened my door. “Thanks, Garrett.”

  “No, thank you. I really mean that, Gabby. You continue to impress me.”

  I felt my cheeks heating, which was a sign that I should immediately change the subject. I stepped onto the sidewalk. “I’ve got to run.”

  Garrett rolled down his window. “You know, you looked pretty sexy with that gun.”

  I ignored him and unlocked my door.

  “Gabby?”

  I paused, bracing myself for what he might say next. “Yes?”

  “I have an event coming up where I’m the keynote speaker. One of my friends will be there. She owns a company that makes the products crime scene investigators use. Everything from evidence bags to more advanced stuff like blood testing kits and UV lighting. It might be a long shot, but perhaps you’d like to meet her? It would be a great connection for you.”

  I stared at Garrett, trying to measure his sincerity. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course I would. It would be nothing really. Besides, it’s the least I can do after you saved my life. Sometimes finding the right job is all about networking.”

  Garrett seemed like the networking type. I, on the other hand, wasn’t. Not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, sometimes I thought I did the opposite by being too in people’s faces and isolating.

  “I’d love to meet her.” I could brush up on my social skills and maybe make a good impression. Maybe I could end this hideous bad luck streak I was going through.

  Garrett’s grin widened. “Great. The event is tomorrow evening. Dress is semi-formal. That a problem?”

  I’d guess that Holly would let me borrow something. “That will be fine.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at your place at six.”

  ***

  No one was home when I walked in the Paladins’ house, which was fine with me. I could use a moment to sort out everything that had happened today. I hurried up to my room and called Jamie. I wondered if she’d discovered anything about Mr. Newport.

  “Hey, girl. Do I have some news for you.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

 
; “Vic Newport’s ex-wife was Rebecca Newport,” Jamie started. “She wasn’t embroiled in a scandal with Edward Mercer. At least, if she was, that news didn’t make the front page of any publications. No, Rebecca caused trouble when it was discovered she abused prescription drugs manufactured by Wimbledon Pharmaceuticals. The police never figured out how she got her hands on those drugs, though.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “The woman was given two years probation, plus community service,” Jamie said. “That burns me up.”

  “Why does it burn you up?”

  “I think rich people can get off easy. They have connections and political reach.”

  I wondered if Mr. Newport did have influence in the justice system or if this was simply a matter of a first-time offender not being given jail time because of overcrowded prison conditions.

  “Anyway, I know that’s not what you wanted to talk about,” Jamie continued. “I checked the timeline. All of that scandal with Rebecca Newport happened four months before the Mercer family was murdered.”

  “I wonder if she’s somehow connected,” I muttered. It was a possibility, I supposed.

  “Well, I found her phone number and called her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “It went straight to voicemail. I left her a message, though, and asked her to call me back.”

  “Good work.” I was seriously impressed.

  “Remember, I’ve got some mad hacking skills, too. I meant it when I said to let me know if you ever want me to utilize them.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  We hung up, my mind still spinning with all the new information.

  In the meantime, I found the phone number for Bradley Perkins, as well as some other pertinent information on the man.

  He was still a P.I.—a professional one, at that. He was based out of Pittsburgh, had expensive rates, and had endorsements from a couple of police officers.

  On a whim, I called him.

  He answered on the first ring. “Brad here.”

  His voice sounded clipped, and nasal. I instantly pictured the man as short, small, and fast paced.

  He probably had a dimly lit office in a shady part of town and liked to smoke cigarettes. That’s what stereotypes would tell me, at least.

  “Hi, Brad. My name is Gabby St. Claire. I was hoping to ask you a question about your investigation into the murder of the Mercer family.”

  He grunted. “I’ve got pressing matters at hand—matters that actually involve getting paid. You ever heard the saying that time is money? That’s my life.”

  “I promise to be short. Please. I’ve been hired to investigate. As a P.I.” The words still didn’t sound quite right.

  “Really? You know every reporter around has been calling me lately, wanting some kind of scoop with the anniversary to their deaths approaching.”

  “I’m not a reporter. I’m just like you.” Only totally green and not official. “Just trying to find answers.”

  “Good luck with it.” His voice had a touch of northeastern briskness, and I wondered if he was from New York or New Jersey originally.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I certainly didn’t get very far on the case.”

  “Why was that? The case was too complex?”

  He snorted. “Because I valued my life.”

  A chill brushed my skin. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Look, it’s been a while. Three years maybe? But Garrett Mercer hired me. I worked the case for about two weeks before quitting.”

  “Why did you quit?”

  “The threats started. I was married at the time. I didn’t want anything happening to my wife. Couldn’t care less now that she left me for someone else. Looking back, maybe I should have kept going. But, at the time, I was head over heels. I backed off the case. My life was worth more than finding a killer.”

  Surprise washed through me. This was not where I’d expected this conversation to go. “Wow. Did Garrett know about this?”

  “Yeah, I told him.”

  Interesting that Garrett hadn’t mentioned those details to me, especially after everything that happened. “What did he say?”

  “I don’t think he believed me. I think he thought I just wanted off the case, assumed I had a better opportunity.”

  I’d have to mull over that theory longer. “How’d the two of you connect?”

  “Look, lady, I don’t have time for all of these questions. I’m in the middle of a stakeout. I’ve got to wrap this up because I actually have a paid gig. Earning a living is a beautiful thing. I highly recommend it. I also highly recommend that you be careful.”

  “Any idea who was behind the threats?” I rushed, not ready to finish this conversation.

  “Didn’t know. Didn’t care.”

  The man sounded like a real winner. Where had Garrett found him? Why had Garrett chosen him out of all of the other P.I.s out there? He certainly didn’t seem especially astute or determined.

  “Just one more question. Please.” I expected him to refuse.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re on overtime hours now. I’m only saying yes because I’m a gentleman.”

  I pressed onward. “Did you discover anything of interest? Anything that’s not in the files?”

  “Besides the fact that the family was shadier than they let on? If I were you, I’d check out Edward’s past.”

  “I talked to his coworker and polo partner. What other part of his past are you talking about?”

  “Probe deeper. There’s more there. I didn’t have time to dig in like I wanted. I had other priorities, like keeping my family alive.”

  Then there was me. I didn’t have anything to lose, did I? I didn’t really have anyone to live for. Who depended on me. Who needed me at home.

  Was that really true?

  That was something I was going to have to decide.

  CHAPTER 16

  As soon as I hung up with the P.I., my cellphone rang again. My heart raced when I heard “That’s Amore.” Riley. Riley was finally calling me. Both anxiety and excitement spread through me.

  I took a deep breath before answering.

  “Hey there.” I tried to keep my voice light.

  “Hey, Gabby. How’s my favorite girl?” His voice rolled over the line. Man, did I ever miss that sound.

  My nerves calmed but only slightly. Riley had called me his favorite girl. That was a good sign, right?

  “I’m hanging in,” I responded.

  No need to go into all the details with him of everything that had happened. I had to try and keep his stress level low, so he could heal quicker. I had to keep reminding myself of that. I was so used to sharing my life with him.

  “I’m glad to hear that. You won’t believe this, but I lost my cellphone. I thought I’d turned if off before therapy and left it at the office. Turns out it was in my suitcase the whole time.”

  “Glad you finally found it.” I leaned back into the bed, trying to relax—something I wasn’t very good at doing. I had to focus this conversation on Riley. “The bigger question is: How are you?”

  “I have to say that I’m doing better. I feel calmer and more single-minded. I think being up here has been good for me. I can just focus on my recovery.”

  My heart squeezed. I was so glad he was doing better, but at the same time sad that he wasn’t doing better with me.

  “That’s great.” I forced the words out. I meant them, but my emotions still rebelled.

  He paused. I gave him time to formulate his thoughts. Tried not to rush him.

  “I was talking to my therapist today, Gabby. You know, more about the emotional stuff that guys never want to talk about.”

  My heart squeezed even more. I desperately wished I was the one he was talking to about all of this. “Okay.”

  “She thinks we should indefinitely postpone the wedding.”

  I nearly choked on nothing but air. I lurched forward,
a physical ache in my chest. “What?” Certainly I didn’t hear him correctly.

  “I know it’s not what you want to hear. But she thinks the wedding is putting too much pressure on me. She said I needed to focus solely on my recovery.”

  “I thought the wedding would give you something to work toward.” If I were in his shoes, getting married would motivate me. At least, in theory it would. But I hated that my voice took on the injured tone it did. I tried to tamp the emotion down.

  “I feel too much like I’m letting you down,” Riley said. “I feel like my recovery is hindering your life. It’s hindering you from moving forward.”

  “You’re not letting me down,” I insisted. “I want you to get better.”

  “Then you understand why we need to call off our engagement for a while?”

  I bent over again, the pain that spread through me nearly too great for me to contain. I forced down a few deep gulps of air. “You’re serious?”

  “I’m sorry, Gabby. This isn’t what I wanted, either. But my therapist says that oftentimes people with brain injuries change. She said if we stay together, we’ll need to start over with dating again and see where it ends up. If we decide to do that, we should wait a while. Wait until I finish therapy.”

  “You’re not serious.” Even the professionals were against me. That’s how it felt, at least. This only made me hate Riley being in D.C. even more.

  “I don’t know anything anymore, Gabby. She did say my injuries weren’t as serious as the other cases she’d seen. But she warned me that I can’t expect things to go back like they were. At least not for a while.”

  I couldn’t find the right words, either, so I decided to own up to that fact. It seemed the safest bet at the time. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t read too much into this, Gabby. I love you.”

  If you loved me, you would marry me. You would believe in our future and think it was worth fighting for. I voiced none of those thoughts, though.

  It seemed that keeping his stress level low meant mine ricocheted to dangerous levels.

  “I know this is difficult,” Riley continued. “The doctors are still expecting me to make a full recovery. I just need some time.”