Next To Die

by Marliss Melton

  “I don’t play games,” she told him, dropping the ‘sir’ from her statement.

  Her answer made him hesitate. She could see him struggling to understand her.

  “You cleaned my rug,” he said, his tone still accusing.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  Did he really want an honest answer? “Because I thought you’d already dealt with enough.”

  His frown became ferocious. He took a step forward, and Penny took a cautionary step back. “Leave me alone,” he said through his teeth. “I don’t need a nosy neighbor prying into my business.”

  Penny was too hurt by the word “prying” to make a quick reply. Uncertainty chased across his face in the wake of his anger, before he pivoted, stalking toward the door. It closed quietly behind him.

  Five seconds elapsed before the silence was broken by the sound of running feet. “Oh, my God!” Ophelia cried, bursting into the kitchen, her face a reflection of outrage. “Was that your SEAL?” she asked, seizing Penny’s arms. “Who does he think he was, talking to you like that?”

  Penny blinked away her numbness. Consternation rose in its place as she realized that Ophelia had just overheard every word Commander Montgomery had said. “Don’t worry about it,” she answered firmly. “He wasn’t threatening me; he was protecting his privacy.”

  “What do you mean he wasn’t threatening you?” Lia cried. “I heard what he said. He implied that he was going to ruin your career. And for what? All you did was patch up his cuts and clean his carpet.” Penny’d had to explain why she slept until ten this morning.

  “I said forget it,” Penny repeated. “He’s been through enough, okay? He didn’t mean to threaten me. If he really knew me, he wouldn’t have bothered.”

  “Oh, come on!” Ophelia propped her hands on her jeans-clad hips. “There’s no excuse for him talking to you that way! He’s the one who got drunk last night.”

  “You need to forget about that, too,” Penny cautioned.

  “What?”

  “Stories like that can damage a man’s career. He’s hurting inside. Try to be sensitive to that and forget the rest, okay?”

  Her sister eyed her with the same incredulity as the commander had moments before. “I can’t believe you’re just going to let that pass,” she marveled.

  “Well, I am,” said Penny calmly. “He’s grieving,” she added, wondering if perhaps he’d watched his man die and even tried to save him. He’d been hit by shrapnel, he’d said, implying that there’d been an explosion.

  Ophelia’s eyes flew suddenly wide. “You’re crazy about him,” she exclaimed. “You have to be. Otherwise you’d never let him talk to you that way.”

  Penny tried to deny the truth, but she’d never been good at lying. “I admire him for his commitment to this country,” she answered unconvincingly. “Now leave it alone, Ophelia. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  Thoughts glimmered in Lia’s jewel-like eyes. “Whatever,” she said airily.

  That wasn’t the reassurance Penny was looking for. “I mean it, sis. Don’t even look at him if you see him again.”

  “Okay,” said Ophelia, throwing up her hands.

  With a sigh of mistrust, Penny moved past her, en route to fetch her purse. “I’m going to the store to pick up pumpkins,” she said, expecting her sister to tag along. Ophelia had developed a habit of shadowing her lately. “Are you coming?”

  “No, I don’t want to miss Oprah,” she said.

  With a sound of disgust, Penny headed to the door. “Why don’t you work on your résumé?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Which was all she’d ever done with her journalism degree. “I’ll be back in an hour,” Penny added. As she shut the door behind her, she scanned the street, as was her habit, to make sure that Eric wasn’t stalking them.

  According to the FBI agent, Hannah Lindstrom, the FBI was scrutinizing all previous investigations. Penny had faxed them a copy of her father’s death certificate, which made reference to a hit-and-run. If the FBI could show that Danny Price was murdered, Eric might be arrested, and his freaky prank phone calls would come to an end.

  The sooner the better, Penny thought, slipping into her powder blue Toyota Matrix. As she backed out of the driveway, she sneaked a peek at her neighbor’s house.

  He’d closed the blinds in all of his windows. Now he was blocking the world out, hiding in his lair.

  What secret was he guarding? she wondered. She couldn’t just dismiss the question, any more than she could stop Joe Montgomery from commandeering her thoughts.

  Chapter Five

  Lia waited for Penny’s car to disappear before she stalked out of the house and across the adjoining lawns to the neighbor’s front door. Undeterred by all the closed blinds, she pounded on the oak veneer, tugged her sweater over her glittering belly ring, and waited.

  This Montgomery fellow didn’t realize it yet, but he was the first man Penny had shown an interest in since Brad, the fiancé who’d dumped her. And since half the reason Brad left was Penny’s devotion at the time to Lia’s rehabilitation, Lia figured it was her duty to set the SEAL straight.

  It took forever for him to answer. When the door yawned open, she wavered at the unfriendly look on his face. “I’m Penny’s sister,” she announced. Her training in journalism kept her voice strong and steady. “And I’m here to give you a reality check.”

  His bandaged eyebrow quirked, but he didn’t try to stop her.

  “Number one, Penny is the most selfless, hard-working, nurturing person you will ever have the privilege of knowing in your entire life.”

  His eyes narrowed, but she was just warming up.

  “That you could speak to her in the way you did, after what she did for you, staying up half the night to scrub your carpet, makes you the most selfish, self-righteous jerk I have ever laid eyes on. If you knew what Penny gave up for me when our father died, you’d be licking the soles of her feet.”

  She could feel the incredulity building in him, but she refused to back down. “Don’t even think about saying another word to her that is less than humbly apologetic. Who do you think has been raking your leaves and feeding your cat, for God’s sake? You need to wake up and get a life!”

  With that, she whirled away, chin angled into the air as she cut through his mulch bed to hike it back to Penny’s.

  Her pricked ears caught the words he finally growled. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  She was dying to look back but worried that the smirk on her face might push him over the edge. He’d looked a little unpredictable there toward the end, and it wasn’t her intent to incite him to violence, just to open his eyes to Penny’s virtues.

  Dazed, Joe shut the door against the cold.

  He stood in his chilled foyer, processing the awful fact that a third person had witnessed the exchange between him and Florence Nightingale. He cringed to consider that she’d probably heard every nasty word he’d said.

  Her scolding words returned to him. If you knew what Penny gave up for me when our father died, you’d be licking the soles of her feet. Who do you think has been raking your leaves and feeding your cat, for God’s sake?

  Okay, so Lieutenant Price had tended his yard and fed his cat while he was gone. Go figure. Apparently, in addition to being nosy, she was quite the do-gooder. He applauded her selflessness, but he’d never asked for her help.

  He limped back to his leather sofa and eased painfully onto one end while checking the score to see what he’d missed. On the widescreen TV, his alma mater, USC, was getting the snot beat out of them.

  His gaze flickered to the carpet. If Penny Price hadn’t scrubbed it last night, he’d have cleaning professionals crawling all over the room.

  With a mutter of annoyance, Joe snatched up his beer bottle. “So that makes me a selfish, self-righteous jerk?” he asked his cat, taking a swig.

  Felix sat at his feet, glowering, and Joe realized that he’d
forgotten to feed him. With a groan, he pushed to his feet.

  Okay, so maybe he was a little self-absorbed, enough to keep him from seeing what his neighbor was up to. Honestly, he’d never given her much thought, except to notice that she was in the Navy, just like him.

  She wasn’t the type of woman he tended to notice. She had a trim but unremarkable figure, did nothing with her hair, wore very little makeup.

  He dumped the contents of the can into Felix’s bowl and slowly straightened. Her face was pleasant but not striking. In fact, only her Caribbean blue eyes could truly be called beautiful.

  They seemed to see right through him, which he found totally disconcerting.

  She’d looked at him like that last night, when he’d been sitting ignominiously on the toilet seat. His breath caught as snatches of their conversation returned to him.

  Where’d you go this morning?

  Funeral.

  Who died?

  One of my men.

  I’m sorry. That must have been awful for you.

  Shit. He’d prided himself on being circumspect about SEAL business. The Inquisition could not have gotten him to confess the tiniest detail of any given mission. But with two short questions, Penny Price had him telling all and blubbering like a baby.

  He’d actually cried in front of her!

  With a gagging sound, Joe tossed the can in the trash. How humiliating!

  His memory fast-forwarded, and he froze at the vision of her lying in his arms, her eyes glimmering like aquamarines in the semidarkness. He could still feel the texture of her lips under his. She’d tasted so sweet, almost familiar.

  “Oh, no!” Joe breathed, as the possibility that he’d slept with her had every hair on his body prickling in alarm.

  He couldn’t have.

  He wouldn’t have. Or would he?

  He dragged his fingers through his hair. God forbid that she accuse him of sexual misconduct. Wouldn’t that be the nail in his coffin?

  He swiveled and hobbled to his bedroom. Thrusting his door open, he approached the rumpled bed, seeking evidence that might suggest what he’d done.

  His beige sheets appeared pristine, hardly used at all.

  He stripped them, all the same, and carried them to his laundry room to run a load of wash. As the washer hummed and swished, Joe took a long, sobering shower, then shaved the bristles off his face.

  What does she want from me? he wondered, so distracted that he nearly cut himself with his razor.

  For the most part, he liked women. They were entertaining, mysterious, with physical attributes that drove him crazy. But in his experience, they were also ambitious, conniving, and calculating. Women wanted Joe for what he could give them. Some were after his money. Others got off on the fact that he was an officer, with plenty of prestige. Some just wanted to be with him so they could screw around when he was overseas. The way he figured, Penelope Price wasn’t any different.

  She would bear watching, he decided. If she turned out to be as selfless as her little sister insisted, he’d apologize. On the other hand, if she became a thorn in his side, she’d soon regret it. He valued his privacy above all things.

  Vinny DeInnocentis pounded on the apartment door in a tidy but aging complex two blocks from the oceanfront. A peek through the window revealed a lavishly furnished, whimsically decorated apartment. It looked exactly like the kind of place where the flame-haired beauty who’d crashed into his car would live. He nearly had her now.

  “Can I help you?” demanded a voice from across a breezeway.

  Vinny found a middle-aged woman glaring at him. She wore curlers and a housecoat, her feet stuffed into pink slippers. “Yes, ma’am. I’m looking for the young lady who lives here, Ophelia Price?” He’d passed her license plate number to a friend in law enforcement, who, in turn, gave him her name and mailing address. “Do you know when she’ll be back?” he asked respectfully.

  The woman took quick inventory of his battle-dress uniform. “Nein, she von’t be back. She mooft out last veek,” she said, revealing German origins.

  “But her furniture’s still inside,” he pointed out.

  “She rents the place to friends of hers,” the frau replied, tightening her robe against the cold.

  “Well, do you know where she went to?” Vinny asked, doubting the woman’s story. Perhaps she was Ophelia’s self-appointed watchdog.

  “How many more men vill come around askink me that question?” the woman groused, rolling her eyes.

  Vinny didn’t like the way that sounded.

  “She don’t vant no strange men comink after her,” she insisted, hunching her rounded shoulders.

  “I’m not a stranger, ma’am; I’m a friend. I just want to give her this ring back.” He pulled it from his pocket and crossed the breezeway to show it to her.

  The frau seemed to recognize the ring. “Vell, you don’t seem like a bat man,” she allowed. “Vat do you do?” She gestured at his uniform.

  “I’m a Navy SEAL.” He was also a student, taking classes at the local community college, and this was his first night off in a week.

  “Oh, ja? My son is in the Navy.” Her frown grew more relaxed. “Ophelia vent to stay vith her sister,” she suddenly divulged.

  Her sister! Vinny’s heart faltered. “Where does she live?” he asked. Not far away, he hoped.

  “Just a minute,” she said, disappearing into her apartment.

  Vinny waited, his blood thrumming impatiently. Thoughts of the copper-haired beauty who’d crushed in his taillight had obsessed him all week. Her feisty tongue and slippery tactics had amused him. She was about to find out that Navy SEALs were tenacious sons-of-bitches and they didn’t like being stood up.

  “I forward her mail to her,” admitted the frau, coming out again. She had an index card, which she handed to him.

  Vinny glanced at the Virginia Beach address and nearly let loose a war cry. He bestowed the woman his best Boy Scout smile. Of course, he’d never been a Boy Scout. “Thank you so much, ma’am,” he said, slipping the card into his pocket as he turned away. “She’ll be grateful to you.”

  “I hope so,” said the woman. “You’re not like the other man.”

  Vinny turned slowly back around. “What was he like?” he inquired blandly.

  “Older,” she said. “Quiet and . . . creepy.”

  Vinny nodded. He’d already guessed, given Lia’s apparent driving history, that she had some serious skeletons in her closet. “You have a good day, ma’am,” he called, turning away.

  He wondered how she handled surprises.

  “The therapist will be in shortly,” smiled the petty officer who’d taken Joe’s pulse and blood pressure and left him to change into a patient’s gown.

  Once changed, Joe eased onto the hip-high table, grimacing at the pain that simple act caused him. The room was chilly, and the gown barely reached the tops of his thighs. A draft blew down the back where the ties failed to meet.

  He hadn’t wanted to seek medical help, but the spasms in his back had prompted an appointment with a doctor, who’d subjected him to an MRI, informed him that his serratus posterior inferior was strained, and written him a prescription for physical therapy. Joe didn’t know what the future held for him beyond his R&R, but if he wanted to continue as a SEAL—and there wasn’t any question about that—he needed to recover fully.

  Light footfalls approached the closed door. He pictured the therapist, Lieutenant Sparks by name, pulling his chart from the holder. She gave a knock and stepped in briskly. Only total mastery of his facial muscles prevented Joe from revealing his dismay as his neighbor stepped into the room.

  “Lieutenant Commander,” she greeted him with poise, having had the advantage of seeing his name on the chart. “Lieutenant Sparks had her baby early,” she explained, “and I’ll be standing in for her.”

  Her tone was so impersonal, so professional, that it threw Joe even more off balance. “I’d like to be seen by another therapist,” h
e croaked.

  With the slightest firming of her lips, she answered coolly, “I’m the only therapist available until Lieutenant Sparks comes back. If you’d like to wait three months . . . ?” She shrugged to convey that was his choice.

  Joe hunched his shoulders, thinking hard. He could go to a civilian therapist and pay out of pocket, or he could suck it up and keep their exchange impersonal.

  He cut a critical glance at her khaki uniform. She wore standard work attire for officers: a tan-colored blouse and skirt. Her hair was in a tidy bun. Navy-issue pumps made her look a little taller. Aside from those eyes, and that soft mouth, she was unremarkable. So why did she rattle him so much? “I’ll stay,” he muttered.

  “Let’s talk about your back,” she invited, frowning down at the referral sheet his physician had given him. “It says here that you’ve strained an intermediary muscle, the serratus posterior inferior. How’d you do that?”

  “I hurt it in a fall,” he admitted.

  She laid the chart down and walked around the table. Stepping onto a stool, she unlaced the ties at the back of his gown and slipped a cool hand to through the opening. “How far was this fall?” she asked.

  Her touch made him jumpy. “I don’t know. A long way.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  He ground his molars together. “No,” he said shortly.

  She pressed her thumb into muscle, making him flinch. “I’d say you’ve gotten an accurate diagnosis. Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, stepping off her stool. “We’ll start with moist heat packs on the affected area for twenty minutes, followed by a brief ultrasound treatment, then a fifteen-minute massage to increase blood flow and relaxation.”

  She was going to massage him? Joe’s mouth went dry. His heart palpitated.

  “Have you been taking the meds you were prescribed in Afghanistan?” she asked, picking up his chart again.

  “No.”

  “Good,” she said with a quick, pitying look, “because you’re not supposed to mix that stuff with alcohol.”