As the doors whispered shut behind her and she walked across the darkened parking lot to her car, a weariness she hadn't felt for years settled throughout her whole body. All she wanted to do was get home and sleep for days.
She pulled into her driveway and hit the button of the garage door remote. Nothing happened. "Damn it," she muttered. She'd known for days the remote battery was weak and had tried to remember to replace it. Obviously that little chore hadn't gone so well. She wondered what she'd be like when she got old if she couldn't remember one nine volt battery at this age.
Sighing, she parked in the driveway, got out of the car, and walked to the front door. The street was quiet except for the rustle of leaves and bushes pushed around by the wind. She guessed that the cool weather had sent the kids inside as soon as darkness descended. She missed the summer days when she could hear pick-up games of basketball or the shouts of players in a street hockey game. She even liked those silly little scooters the kids would buzz by on. How much fun would she and Chris have had with one of those? Tonight, there wasn't a scooter in sight. The street was as deserted as her home. Soon, the cool days would give way to ice and snow. She didn't look forward to winter.
As she moved to unlock the door, Louie dropped the ring of keys. "Crap." Her muttered curse covered more than just the fallen keys. Would this night ever end? All she wanted to do was get inside, put her feet up, and have a good stiff drink.
When a large hand reached down from behind her to pick up the dropped keys, Louie screamed. She shoved a hand inside her jacket to grab her gun and then whirled around to find Paul McDonald on the step behind her, the dropped keys dangling from a fingertip. His green eyes were full of concern.
"Let me," he said and reached past her to put the key in the lock.
* * * *
Jamie sat on the back porch steps for a long time. The wide steps ran down to meet a tidy yard ringed by crimson fire bushes. Returning to Kendall's was beyond stupid and into dangerous, but he did it anyway. At least he took the alleyways rather than the front sidewalks. He didn't want to draw any unwanted attention. Or, any more unwanted attention than he'd already managed to get.
Chewing on a fingernail, Jamie wondered what to do next. He needed to know if the police had found anything in Kendall's house that might lead them to him. It was bad enough they'd look for him because he failed to appear in court. He didn't need them to think he was the one who killed his beautiful Kendall. They had to know he would never, ever do that.
At Kendall's, police tape was stretched across the back door. He stared at it for a long time before he went to a basement window. He knew it was loose. Even though he'd promised Kendall for months he'd fix it, he never had. Like so many other promises he made to her, he hadn't followed through.
He pushed the window open and slid through. He was as familiar with the basement as with the rest of the house, but fumbling around in the dark had him bumping into old furniture and boxes. By the time he reached the stairs to the kitchen, he'd smacked his knees at least a dozen times. His legs would be a mass of bruises.
At the door to the kitchen, he felt around the ledge just inside until his fingers touched the flashlight Kendall kept there for emergencies. He pushed the switch and the light came on. The basement looked the same as the last time he'd been here. Somehow, it didn't feel the same.
In the kitchen, he was careful not to step in the dried blood. He choked back tears. He wouldn't cry. Kendall wouldn't want him to. The smell almost made him gag, but he forced that down as well. He'd be strong for her. He owed her at least that much.
Down the short hallway was the bedroom where he spent so many nights in Kendall's arms. He swung the light in through the door, focusing it on the oak nightstand. It was empty. Jamie walked in and sank to the edge of the bed. A slight trace in the dust was the only sign a photograph once stood there. The picture was of the two of them in the Manito rose garden last year. He remembered the day because it was one of the happiest in his life. There'd been acres of green grass and roses of all colors in bloom around them. The stone fountain had sent a gentle spray of cool water through the air and onto their faces. They'd both been smiling and in love.
Now, the picture was in the hands of Spokane Police Department. If they didn't know about him before, they did now.
He looked at the phone on the nightstand for a long time before he picked up the hand set. He punched in six numbers and paused, questioning whether he should make the call. After a long moment, he punched in the final number.
With each ring, Jamie's nerves grew tauter. What would he say? What could he say? After the fourth ring, the call went into voicemail.
"Hello, you've reached Paul McDonald. Sorry I can't catch your call right at the moment but leave me a message after the tone and I'll call you back as soon as I can. Talk to ya later."
Jamie paused, listened to the beep and then put the receiver back down. He didn't bother to wipe his fingerprints. What'd be the point? Everyone was looking for a piece of his hide anyway. He didn't know which would be worse, the good guys or the bad guys.
When he heard the sound of voices outside the bedroom window, he jumped as if burned. Quickly, he doused the light and sat as still as a statute. What else could go wrong? He listened and let out a sigh of relief when he realized the voices came from the next door neighbor's house. He was still safe.
Then again, there was no sense tempting fate. Time to get out of Dodge. He took a quick look in the drawer where she kept spare cash. It was empty. Either she'd given him everything she had at the house or the police had seized her small stash. He was disappointed. The cash would have come in handy, and she wouldn't need it now.
Back in the kitchen, he sucked in a quick breath. No matter how much time passed, he'd always have the sight of the blood-stained tile seared into his memory. His beautiful, loving Kendall died for no other reason than that he was a fool. As long as he lived, that painful knowledge would weigh on his heart.
Tears threatened, and he stuck his hand in his pocket to pull out the napkin he'd picked up earlier at a coffee shop. With it came the business card from the bail bonding company. It floated to the floor before sliding beneath the stove. Jamie ignored the card and wiped his eyes with the napkin before putting it back in his pocket. He should probably retrieve the card but what the hell for? The thing slid so far under the stove, no one would see it anyway.
Instead, he looked around the darkened house. A vase on the table held a dozen dried, long-stemmed red roses—roses he'd given her on Valentine's Day. The look on her face the day he brought them to her was worth a million bucks. He'd felt like a king.
He glanced at the sofa where they'd sat side-by-side and watched movies, television, and hockey games. There was little better than a Saturday movie with Kendall curled up at his side. Tears filled his eyes once again.
"Goodbye, Kendall. I love you."
He put the flashlight back on the stairway ledge, closed the door to the kitchen and made his way through the basement to the same window he'd used to crawl in. Once outside, he pulled it closed and secured it as best he could. Maybe someday he'd come back and fix it
He had nowhere else to go and no one to turn to. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up to keep his red hair under cover. He stood outside for a long time. The only place he could think of to go was that cold, dirty spot beneath the bridge.
* * * *
When he'd first noticed Louie at the arena, Paul initially thought was she was another no-nonsense woman doing double-time to succeed in a male-dominated world. He knew the type well: tough as nails and pushy. He understood it was difficult at best to break into a field long seen as an exclusive haven for men, and gave women credit for crashing boundaries. For breaking the old glass ceiling. Everyone deserved the chance to do what their heart called them to do.
Still, respect for their ambition aside, he also found they weren't usually his type. He was more into a friend
and a lover, not a competitor. Day to day he was in a world competitive enough and had lived there since childhood. He didn't want to come home to it as well, and if that made him old-fashioned, then so be it.
Louie Russell was different from any woman he'd met before. She was tough all right and entirely focused, just like the job required. At the same time, there was a kindness to her that surprised him. She was a world away from the tough, hard-drinking, chain-smoking stereotype of a bounty hunter, man or woman. She had a gentle face and eyes as expressive as they were beautiful. Every time he looked into her eyes, he felt an insane urge to pull her into his arms and crush his lips to hers.
If she'd intrigued him that first day, today did nothing to lessen the feeling. Earlier, she'd sent him on his way, an odd thing for him, since he was typically the guy who gave the orders. Needless to say, he wasn't real good at following orders, at least not these days.
In his playing days, he'd been a team guy. It was the only way to win and winning was important to him. Now, he was the chess master; he made the decisions and called all the moves. At least until Louie had walked into his life. She seemed to be the one handing out the orders.
Except … he hadn't exactly followed her directions. He'd gone to his car all right, but he hadn't left for the arena or home. Instead, he'd parked about a block away from Louie's office and waited. When she'd left, so did he, a discreet distance behind her. For the first time ever, he was tailing someone. A little James Bond in an SUV, though not quite as suave or cool as Bond.
He'd expected her to go home or perhaps visit one or two of Jamie's favorite haunts to try and get a bead on him. If he was the hunter, that's what he would done. Of course he wasn't the hunter, and once again his expectations were way off base. The rehabilitation facility she disappeared into raised his interest level to all an all time high. What or who was inside the low brick building?
When Louie had reappeared a little under an hour later, the pain on her face was all too clear even under the harsh glow of the parking lot lights. Her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested on them. The confidence and the bravado he'd witnessed thus far was nowhere to be seen. A curious turn of events.
Once he followed her to the house, the last thing he'd intended to do when he walked up the steps behind her was to scare her. Stealth wasn't what he'd been going for at all. She just didn't hear him. He didn't, however, miss the movement of her hand. Considering there was a rather large gun inside her jacket, Paul was lucky he wasn't lying on the green grass of her front yard with a big fat hole in his chest.
Fortunately, her hand jerked away from her waist and he assumed she'd decided not to shoot him. Lucky for him. Provided, however, his assumption was right. He wasn't quite as good at making assumptions as he was at making goals.
"What're you doing here?" Her voice trembled with a slight edge. He wasn't sure if it was fear or anger. What he noticed was that her face still held the same hint of sorrow he'd glimpsed at the rehab center. The kind of sadness that came directly from the heart. Who had she gone to see?
With her hand still hovering near the gun, he wasn't about to ask. It was better to stick to the basics and keep her gun hand outside of the jacket. "I wanted to talk to you," he told her.
Her brow furrowed and her eyes grew even darker. "How do you know where I live?" Her words were tinged with a bit of ice.
"I didn't know." He might as well come clean. She'd find out sooner or later anyway. "I followed you."
Paul looked away from her face to turn the key in the lock and push the door open. He stepped back to let her go in first. She didn't move.
"You followed me." Her words were very slow. If she hadn't been angry before, she was now. In fact, he had the distinct impression she went right by angry and straight to furious. He didn't like the look on her face either, or the way she almost seemed to twitch. He kept one eye on the flickering hand.
He shrugged. "Yeah."
"What for?"
So much for the sadness. That was all gone in an instant and her eyes now blazed. Yup, he'd called that one. It wasn't anger he heard in her words, it was outright fury. It wasn't only in her voice, it also flashed from her dark brown eyes. This was one pissed off bounty hunter. Oops, bail enforcement agent. Great, he was just kept messing up.
The truth was his best defense. It was his only defense. "I want to be with you in case you find Jamie," he said, hoping.
* * * *
Of all the stupid, crazy things. The damn man had followed her. Who exactly did he think he was? A better question was: what wrong with her? She'd been doing this a long time now and not once had she encountered something like this. Lazy and sloppy…not to notice a tail was inexcusable. Not to notice an amateur tail was unthinkable. If this kept up, it'd be time to find a new career. She was as ticked off at herself as she was with him.
Through the haze of her anger, a sudden, uncomfortable thought occurred to her.
"How long have you been following me?"
His gaze was steady. "Since you left the office."
"Since I left the office?" She sucked in a deep breath.
He nodded. "Yeah."
Great, just flipping great. So he followed her to Christopher's care center and then here. Was nothing sacred in this world? Damn, damn, damn. It pissed her off royally. Cute as he might be, Paul McDonald didn't have the right to invade her personal life. And, he really didn't have the right to invade on her brother's life.
Only a handful of people knew where to find Chris and that was for his own safety. The asshole who'd shot him was still out there. Until he was found, Chris had to be kept safe. She worked hard to protect him. To think she was followed so easily and that she was the one responsible for putting her brother in jeopardy yet again made her furious. An unforgivable lapse.
As if he seemed to read her thoughts, he said. "I didn't mean to pry into your life. I only wanted to be with you in case you find Jamie before I do. That's all, I swear."
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. A hundred would be better. Ten would have to do. It worked, and the initial flush of fury dulled to a small roar. She opened her eyes again and met Paul's cool green ones. She could understand where he came from. If the shoe was on the other foot, she'd have done the same thing. If Chris was in trouble, she'd do whatever it took to help him. And wasn't that exactly what she'd been doing for the last five years?
She looked up at Paul and said, "It isn't a question of if, it's a case of when. I'll track down your brother and I'll bring him back to the feds." And I'll know who tried to kill Chris.
Paul nodded. "Good."
She stood, blocking the open doorway. "You don't have to follow me. I'll let you know when I find him."
"I believe you."
"Then why not go back home?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. I just feel like I have to be here."
She wanted to stay angry with the man and couldn't. There was something very honest about him and it drew her in. His face was so sincere. She should probably remind herself that in his NHL days he was known an ice hockey hottie with women dripping off his arms. He'd be a pro at sweet-talking and he might be playing her now. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. He seemed genuine and for the moment that was enough for her.
She should send him packing, so she surprised herself when she stepped aside and said, "Come on in."
She followed him through the open door and flipped the light switch, bathing the room in a warm luminescent glow. Even after all this time, she still wasn't accustomed to the quiet of her house at the end of a long day. After her initial stint on patrol, she'd spent her days on the force as a K9 officer and her dog, Butch, had lived with her. Butch was a fantastic drug dog, a seventy-five pound mutt she'd discovered at the Humane Society. Louie had been with Butch from day one, going through the training, the trials and the certifications. It was great, at least until Chris was shot. She left the force, but Butch hadn't. He was still working and she still misse
d him. The house seemed cold and empty without the spunky dog's company.
She could have gone out and found another dog to take the place of her canine partner. She hadn't; it wouldn't have been fair. The hours she kept now didn't lend themselves to sharing her life with a pet. There were times she didn't come home at all and she wouldn't subject a dog or a cat to that kind of loneliness. She dealt with it herself.
"Nice place," Paul said, looking around.
"Thanks." She tossed her coat on a chair, took off her gun and laid it on a table with her keys. "You want a drink?"
"Well…"
"Yeah, you do. What's your poison? You like bourbon? I have a nice bottle of Jack Daniels."
He gave her a small smile. "Jack would be great. You want me to build a fire? It's little cool in here."
"Yeah, that would be nice. There's kindling on the hearth and a couple of logs. You build the fire, I'll bring the spirits."
She left him at the hearth while she headed to the kitchen. She pulled a couple of glasses from the cupboard, checked them for water spots and then filled them with ice. The glasses in one hand, the bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, she returned to the front room. An admirable fire blazed in the fireplace. Not bad for a jock. Who would have thought he'd be so good with a fire. What else is he good at?
The first drink went down easy and so did the second. Paul kept the fire warm and crackling while they talked like old friends for several hours. She sat on the floor in front of the hearth with her back against the sofa, the heat of both the bourbon and the flames lulling her into an easy relaxation.
Their glasses were almost empty when he got up to put another log on the fire. He didn't go back to the chair across from her. Instead he eased himself next to her on the floor. His long legs stretched out mere inches from hers, the nearness of his body sending a tingle down her arms. Had to be the Jack.
"Tell me about the rehabilitation center," he said, without taking his eyes from the blazing fire.
Dirty Deeds Page 8
