Safe Haven

by Lisa Mondello

  She chuckled nervously. “And here I thought I was being the ever gracious hostess by asking if you wanted cream and sugar in your coffee. And I actually have cream today, which is unusual. It wasn’t on my grocery list. I normally only have skim milk but skim milk is really repulsive with coffee. I usually drink my coffee black, but when I invited you to come over…” She sucked in a quick breath. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Kevin.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Detective Kevin Gordon,” he clarified. His voice was smooth and sure, his eyes a warm blue.

  “Detective? You’re a cop?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat in the chair, filling the space between the table and the wall. Daria guessed him to be a few years older than her, but she’d never been a very good judge of age or character, which is why her divorce had been so devastating. Passion had never been strong in her marriage, but she’d actually thought she had liked her ex-husband, and believed that maybe if she’d tried a little harder they’d have been able to work out their problems.

  Now this.

  “Is this something they train you guys for at the academy?” she said, dropping the empty coffee mug she’d just been about to set on the table down on the counter with a loud clank she was sure had cracked the ceramic. In the scheme of things, a broken coffee mug wasn’t that big a deal.

  “In a matter of speaking, yes.” He studied her face for a quick moment. “You don’t have to be so frightened, Mrs. Carlisle.”

  “No? Silly me. Having someone tell me that they’ve been hired to kill me doesn’t exactly instill a sense of wellbeing.”

  As he stood, he dragged the ladder back chair out from beneath him until it hit the patched wall. The caustic sound of wood being dragged over cracked linoleum made Daria jump, but she remained rooted in place. Her eyes focused for a fleeting moment on the tattered wall where the kitchen chair connected with ugly old wallpaper she hadn’t yet gotten around to stripping.

  She’d been patching and repairing this barely inhabitable old house she’d moved into a few months after her divorce from her husband, as if by fixing all its blemishes she could repair the damage to her marriage. Soon after moving in, she’d decided that unlike this house, there was no use fixing a relationship that didn’t have a strong foundation.

  As Detective Gordon advanced toward her, Daria leaped backward only to be met by the force of the solid counter behind her. Instinctively, she tried to recall which drawer housed the meat cleaver. If she were going to have to defend herself in some abysmal way, she’d have to find a weapon big enough and scary enough to give Detective Gordon pause.

  Detective. If that was really what he was.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, stopping short as if he somehow read the panic on her face.

  Daria forced air into her lungs, felt her throat constrict and her expelled breath come out like a nagging wheeze. “No, of course not. You’re just going to kill me.”

  His eyebrows drew together, squinting eyes that were much too sincere for him to be a killer. But really, what did Daria know about such things? She’d met the man across a pile of fruit and invited him to her home only to find out he’d been hired to kill her.

  He held up both hands in surrender, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his generous mouth. “You know, the objective of the police department is to protect and serve the community, not maim and kill.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Yeah, I know what I said. And I’m sorry it frightens you. I could use that cup of coffee though,” he said as he sat down. “I haven’t slept since my shift ended night before last. I can tell by the way the blood drained from your face that you could probably use something a little bit stronger though. Maybe even a few somethings stronger.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t drink hard liquor.”

  “Now may be a good time to revisit that. After the night I had battling with the captain and district attorney I could sure use it. But I’ll settle for the coffee and taking a load off while we discuss your husband.”

  “He’s not my husband.”

  Kevin’s eyes narrowed in surprise and confusion. Maybe it was more suspicion, as if this man was suspicious of everything he encountered.

  “George Carlisle isn’t your husband?”

  “No.”

  She could have been wrong, but a sudden sense of relief washed over his face.

  “He’s my ex-husband,” she said nervously, feeling foolish for correcting him about something so minor in light of the serious discussion they were having. But it wasn’t minor to her. It had been a difficult decision to file for divorce from George. When that decision was made, Daria knew it was over. From that moment on George was no longer her husband, no longer her present or future. He was only her past.

  “George and I are divorced.”

  Kevin simply nodded.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip. “And you’re really not going to kill me?”

  With eyes pulling with fatigue, he blinked hard. “Of course not.”

  “And you really are with the police?”

  Reaching into his pocket, he extracted his black leather wallet, flashing his badge. It didn’t mean much to Daria since it could easily be a fake. It looked authentic enough, but who knew? Daria certainly didn’t. He could have been flashing a plastic shield from a gumball machine for all she knew.

  “I was undercover.”

  Hot blood rushed to her cheeks. “So this wasn’t really a chance meeting we had this morning between the cantaloupe and the watermelon?”

  He shook his head, slightly amused, although she couldn’t figure out why. This was no laughing matter.

  “After I finished up at the station this morning, I stopped by here, but you weren’t home. I’d seen you at the market a few weeks ago picking up the Sunday paper so I figured maybe it was something you did every Sunday morning. I was right.”

  “You’ve been following me?”

  “Keeping tabs. We’ve been watching George Carlisle for a while. You’re part of that picture.” He shifted on his feet, but the uncomfortable look on his face was surely because he was way too big for the confines of that space.

  Someone had been “keeping tabs” on her, watching her move through her daily life, and she’d had no idea. A chill raced up Daria’s spine, making her shudder.

  “You say you met with George last night?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was that your first meeting?”

  “For me, yes.”

  She threw him a suspicious grin. “Then why on earth were you following me for weeks?”

  “It wasn’t just you. We were tailing your husband as well.”

  “Ex-husband,” she corrected him again.

  Kevin nodded, acknowledging his slip. “I had to wait for a meeting. Everything needed to be in place before I met George face to face or he would have suspected police involvement.”

  “If my life is in such danger, why am I just hearing about this now? Why didn’t anyone come to me sooner?”

  “Until last night, there was just suspicion, no proof. We didn’t exactly know who the target was or his motive. The police hadn’t made any direct contact with Mr. Carlisle. We just had the word of an informant that George was hunting for a hit man. Things moved to a new level last night when I finally met face to face with your ex-husband and he made his intentions clear. Now I know your life is in danger.”

  “What was it?”

  “What was what?”

  “His motive? Why does he want me dead?”

  Kevin chuckled and shook his head slightly. It was then she noticed the fatigue pulling at his crystal blue eyes. He had nice eyes, darker blue on the outer edges to define the clear blue of the center. They were warm, with a spark of life that blazed when he laughed.

  “Does it matter?”


  “I fail to see how that is funny.”

  “It’s not. I’m just…”

  “What?”

  “If he gave me a reason would that make you feel any better? Really?”

  “I guess not.” She started to laugh. Nervous energy, she realized. Like those times when something really awful happens and you’re all filled with adrenaline. Then everything is okay and all you can do is laugh uncontrollably until you cry. She’d rather laugh at herself than cry.

  But Detective Kevin Gordon definitely was no longer laughing.

  “Your husb—I mean, ex-husband did contact me and ask me to kill you, Daria.” His face was stone-cold serious. She liked it a hell of a lot better when Kevin Gordon laughed too, and wished he’d trade this face for the warm-eyed gaze she’d seen mere seconds ago.

  She sobered and shook her head. “You must be mistaken, Detective. George is a lot of things. In fact, I don’t have enough fingers on both hands to count them all. But he’s not a murderer.”

  “Exactly. Which is why he sought out someone else to do his dirty work. He gets what he wants without getting any blood on his hands.”

  Those words weighed heavy on her mind as Daria poured black coffee into her newly unpacked coffee mugs and placed one cup on the table for Kevin.

  “Is he in jail?”

  Before Kevin spoke, there was a pause that had her looking up at him.

  “No,” he said.

  “No?”

  “Something went wrong. We don’t have the evidence needed to arrest your ex-husband.”

  Her hands were shaking when she put the coffee pot back on the coffee maker’s burner. Cream and sugar. Had Kevin said he’d wanted some? She put cream on the table in front of him along with a spoon, and then searched the cabinet for the sugar.

  “I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “You just said he contacted you last night. Isn’t that proof? Shouldn’t that be enough?”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was wearing a wire. The entire meeting should have been recorded. Everything was working right until… Somehow, the signal was scrambled.”

  “Scrambled?”

  “Unfortunately, these simple devices are readily available. None of the words he spoke to me came out on the tape. Nothing at all but static. All we have is a very dark video of the two of us talking. You can’t even tell it was George. Without definitive evidence, the DA won’t prosecute him. She won’t even touch the case.”

  Ignoring his coffee, Kevin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It was my mistake, Daria. I screwed up and for that I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? Sorry?”

  “I know that doesn’t mean much.” Kevin swallowed hard, then looked directly at her. “We’re still watching him. Although, it’ll be harder now that he knows we’re on to him.”

  “Terrific,” she said with a heavy sigh.

  “I don’t really blame you for being angry and scared. No one wants to hear that their life is in danger, especially from someone they love.”

  Daria wanted to say that her love for George was something she referred to in the past tense. But the further she got from her marriage the more she wondered just how much love there really was between them.

  “Thing is, men like George don’t stop. He may keep a low profile for a while. But he’ll keep going. He’ll find someone else to carry out the hit. He’ll just be more careful. No matter how much you want to believe there isn’t a threat to you, I’m here to make you see there definitely is.”

  Daria shook her head. It was all too much. “There has to be a mistake. You must have misunderstood what he said. I can’t imagine George being that vicious.”

  “Your imagination isn’t too vivid then.”

  She lifted her chin.

  “If you can’t put in him in jail, Detective Gordon, why are you even here? Why are you even telling me all this? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  Kevin drew in a deep breath, stretching his shirt taut against a wall of muscles that were his chest and shoulders. “Because if you stay in Providence, you will die. I screwed up once, but now I’m here to make sure the job gets done right.”

  Chapter Two

  “You need to leave Providence as soon as possible. As in, today,” he said.

  It was hard for Daria to find her voice behind the mammoth-sized lump of fear clogging her throat. He’d said from the start that George had tried to hire him to kill her. But somehow hearing the words—that she’d die if she stayed in Providence—made it all feel very real. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

  Shrugging, he said, “I know that was harsh and I apologize. It was a long night and I haven’t slept. But if you’ll listen to me for a minute, you’ll understand that this is the only way to ensure your safety.”

  Kevin stood up and yanked the chair next to him away from the table, motioning with his hand for her to sit.

  “Please.”

  Her glance darted from the chair to his angular features. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I want to hear any more of this.”

  Blue eyes that seemed much too sincere for what they were discussing penetrated her. “I’m afraid that’s not an option. We do have a crisis counselor at the station if you want to—”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  Daria’s chest hurt. Weighing the burning fear she felt against the simply act of sitting next to this man she’d been so attracted to at the market, she decided she was being utterly foolish. They were only words.

  Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. The taunting childhood song echoed in her head. Didn’t that apply to words, too? There was nothing Detective Kevin Gordon could say that would hurt her.

  She did as she was told, folding her hands in front of her. Never in her life had she felt so shaken to the core. She couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. George kill her? It wasn’t possible. The man who’d wooed her with white roses and cried when he’d asked her to marry him? The man would have given her anything she asked for?

  Not that she ever did, she thought as a pang of regret stabbed her. It was one of the differences between them that ultimately destroyed their marriage. George liked to spend money on things that other people thought were important. Things that impressed. He was very generous with gifts. Unfortunately, the very things Daria had wanted—no, needed—were things George didn’t appreciate.

  She recalled the morning she’d come home with an old black and white print she’d found at a second hand shop on the outskirts of the city. Something about the print reminded her of a time when she was twelve. The two young girls running in a field of tall daisies with their dog reminded her of Sharon and herself. Her best friend Sharon had an Irish setter named Mattie that chased the soles of their sneakers as they explored everywhere that summer. Since Daria had never had a dog—her parents forbid it since they moved too often and never knew if they’d end up in an apartment that would allow animals—Sharon always said that Mattie was Daria’s dog too.

  She’d moved to Seattle with her parents and they’d only lived there a year. But for Daria, it was the longest stretch she’d lived in any one place. One year. Seattle had always been home to Daria, and Sharon was the closest thing to a lifelong friend that Daria ever had. The occasion letter she now received from her childhood friend kept those distant memories from blending in with the many towns and cities that had been temporary places to live during her gypsy childhood.

  George liked to entertain the people he worked with. The apartment they’d shared when they were first married was small, but cozy. George hated it, always saying that he was embarrassed after one of his colleagues came to dinner. With Daria still in college, money was tight and when she’d walked into that secondhand store, she’d intended to
buy a secondhand set of fine bone china and linens to make the table pretty when they entertained. Surely that would please George. Back then when she was young and still had naïve dreams, she’d always wanted to please her husband.

  The black and white print tucked deep in the corner had caught Daria’s eye as soon as she’d stepped into the shop. For once, she didn’t bother to look at the price tag. She just brought it to the register and emptied her wallet of cash, leaving the store without a thought of the china she’d intended to buy.

  George had taken one look at the dust and grim on the outer edges of the frame and quickly dismissed the picture as trash, saying he didn’t want any of his friends seeing it in his house. Then, of course, he’d smiled and told Daria that he would buy her an expensive print from the downtown art gallery that some people at work had been talking about. She’d watched in horror as George had very calmly taken the print and stuffed it in the trash, promising to bring her shopping after his next payday.

  Daria blinked away the sudden tears stinging her eyes and forced the memory where it belonged. In the past. Throwing away a print because George didn’t care about the things she cared about didn’t mean her ex-husband was capable of murder. There had to be more.

  Abruptly, she got up from the table and strode out of the kitchen, down the hall and into her bedroom. She quickly threw open the double doors of her closet and rummaged through the shelf until she found the hatbox where she kept her special keepsakes. Clutching the box to her chest, she brought it into the kitchen and dropped it down on the table in front of the detective.

  “What’s this?”

  “Pictures. I don’t have many. I didn’t feel the need to keep them, but…”

  She paused when she found the picture she’d been searching for, the only photo of the two of them she’d taken with her when she’d left George. She stared at it for a long time, trying to imagine George actually doing what Kevin said he’d done. She handed it Kevin.

  “This is my ex-husband and me on our wedding day.”

  Kevin stared at the image, his square jaw tight, his posture straight as he scrutinized the faces of two people who’d appeared to be so happy that day. Daria couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on her before moving on to George.