by Nora Roberts
“I like you.” She rose up to kiss him. “I like us.”
“That’s a good start.”
“I’ll see you tonight.” She kissed him again. “Thanks for the real and sincere concern, and the plant.”
“You’re welcome.”
He went back to finish the closets, smiled a little when he smelled honeysuckle.
“You come in here, too? I don’t mind the company. Not now anyway. Things feel right again.”
His mood smooth now, he gave the closet rod a shake to check its stability. “Good and right,” he decided.
His mood continued smooth through the work, through a post-work meeting where his mother popped in with Carolee to check out the progress of tile and paint. It gave him a lift to hear their voices echoing through the building as they moved from room to room.
He had just enough time to run home, shower off the day before driving down to Clare’s.
It was hard to beat three boys eager to play, a pretty woman fixing you a hot meal. And he thought as he drove home that night, when you added some time with that pretty woman after the kids were bunked down for the night it equaled a damn perfect way to end the day.
They’d navigated the bumps, he decided, and he realized they’d learned things about each other—maybe things neither of them had considered.
She wasn’t the carefree girl she’d been when he’d taken that first fall back in high school. He’d known that, of course, how could she be? But, he understood now as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, getting to know—really know—who that girl had become made this—he supposed he could call it his second fall—a lot deeper.
At sixteen, he’d known the heartache of being in love with Clare Murphy, a girl who belonged to someone else, who looked at him as no more than the most casual of friends. He’d experienced the confusion of feelings for the young widow who’d returned home with two little boys and another growing inside her. Feelings he couldn’t articulate in anything but friendship, something she’d accepted and returned.
And now, he was discovering the joys and frustrations of tripping past those careful, safe feelings, past the simple wanting and into that same bright blast he’d felt as a teenager.
It was odd, he thought, that those feelings could endure more than a decade. Feelings that had been neglected, ignored, suppressed. He supposed the foundation of those feelings had always been in place, maybe waiting. No matter how both of them had changed, evolved, restructured their lives, at the base they remained who they were.
He stood for a while, looking through his window toward the inn. Enduring, he thought. Some things were meant to. They needed care, understanding, respect, and a hell of a lot of work. Whatever changes came, the heart endured.
He went to bed eager to work on those changes—at the inn, with Clare and her boys—and to see what came.
And woke in the same smooth and optimistic mood. Right up until he carried his second cup of coffee outside to the parking lot behind his apartment and saw the four slashed tires on his truck and the vicious gouges running down the driver’s side.
Chapter Seventeen
Beckett stood with his brothers in the brisk autumn breeze, studying the damage.
“That’s not just for the hell of it,” Ryder observed. “That’s pissed-off personal and to the extreme.”
“I got that.” Beckett kicked one of his ruined tires. “I got that loud and clear.”
“Then you’ve got who.”
“Oh yeah, that’s a pretty simple dot to connect. I should’ve smashed the son of a bitch’s face in, right there in his office. Fucking coward. He had to sneak in here in the middle of the night to do this. And this? It’s goddamn high school, isn’t it? Keying the truck, slashing the tires.”
“Some people don’t grow up,” Owen observed, “don’t evolve. I’d say he’s one of them.” A quiet, simmering fury heated his voice. “He can’t face you on an adult level, so he comes along and fucks up your truck. Classic payback method for the tiny-dick type.”
“Thank you, Dr. Freud,” Beckett muttered.
“I’m just saying. And I’m saying we may know who did it, but unless somebody saw him … Shit, Beck, it sucks. You could go smash his face in now.”
“That gets my vote,” Ryder said.
“But the same things apply as they did before. You’d get busted for assault, and his face would heal.”
They looked over, turned as the town deputy pulled in. Owen laid a hand on Beckett’s shoulder. “Let’s see what Charlie has to say.”
“That’s a crappy way to start the day.” Charlie Reeder, tall and lean as the beanpole who’d starred on the varsity basketball team, slid out of the car. He walked over, stuck his hands in his pockets. “Hell, Beck, that’s a damn shame.”
“Is that the official Boonsboro Police Department statement?”
Charlie huffed out a breath. “That’s a personal note, and I’ll add it’s a pisser. I’ll write it up. You’ve got insurance, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Frowning, Charlie walked around the truck, noted the second set of gouges on the passenger side. “You’re going to want to get that claim in, get somebody out here to look at it. I’m going to take pictures for our file on it. What time did you park it here?”
“About ten I guess.”
“Vesta’s open another hour after that.” The deputy scratched the back of his neck as he walked around to join the brothers. “Did you see anybody in the lot?”
“Some cars, no people. Ah, Dave Metzner’s car—yeah, pretty sure on that. He’d be working till closing.”
“I’ll talk to him, anybody else who was working and would’ve come out this way. What time did you find it like this?”
“About quarter to seven.”
“Okay. The Creamery would be closing by the time you got home.” He glanced over at the ice cream shop. “It’s more likely this happened later, but I’ll check there. I’ll talk to the people in the apartments with a view of the lot, see if they saw anything, anyone. We might get lucky.”
“We all know who did it, Charlie.” Ryder spoke up. “Just about everybody in town knows Beck’s truck, knows where he parks it every damn night. And there’s only one person he’s had any trouble with.”
“So you think Freemont did this because you’re going out with Clare?”
“That and the fact I went to his office to see him yesterday morning, told him to steer clear.”
Charlie huffed out another breath. “What did you want to go and do that for?”
“Somebody hassles Charlene, scares her, puts his hands on her, what are you going to do?”
“Same damn thing.” Charlie put his hands on his bony hips. “Maybe I agree with you. It could’ve been kids, could’ve just been some drunk asshole, but nobody else reported anything like this. So it reads you were a specific target. Off the record, yeah, it looks like Sam dickhead Freemont’s style to me. But unless somebody saw him, proving it’s pretty damn slim.”
“Maybe he left fingerprints.”
Charlie eyed Owen. “Yeah, and maybe he pissed on the tires and left DNA. If this was Boonsboro CSI we’d have him locked up by end of shift. Look, I’ll do everything I can, and I’ll push it as much as I can. I’ll go talk to Freemont myself. But I’m telling you straight, Beckett, you’re pretty much screwed here.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“I’m going to get pictures, take your statement, file a report. I’ll talk to people—and I’ll give Freemont a little nudge.”
“I appreciate it. Maybe he got it out of his system. Or at least shifted his focus off Clare and onto me. That’s something.”
“Do us all a favor.” Charlie slapped a hand on Beckett’s shoulder. “Steer clear of him. If you see him hanging around here, near Clare’s, anywhere else in town, you call me. I’ll deal with him. Call your insurance agent, give them my name. I’ll make sure they get a copy of the police report.”
With little
choice, Beckett gave his official statement, then went inside to deal with the headache of insurance. By the time he finally made it over to the inn to work, word had spread through the crew. He received much sympathy and plenty of righteous anger on his behalf—and a pot load of advice. He let it all roll over him and took out his frustrations with tools. He imagined Freemont’s smug face in the crown molding every time he shot in a nail.
It didn’t help much, but it was something.
Having a furious Clare rush in was more, and better. She stormed over to his ladder, gripped a rung, her face sharp with temper.
He learned something new. A thoroughly pissed-off Clare’s eyes glowed green as a cat’s.
“I heard as soon as I got into town, but I couldn’t get away until now. I went to look at your truck first. That bastard! You know Sam did that. It’s just like him. Goddamn it! Now I want to punch him.”
“I’d like to see that.” He found his grin coming back as he came down the ladder.
“It’s not funny, Beckett.”
“No, it’s not. But it’s rubber and paint.”
“That’s not the point.” She swung away from him, and the carpenter working with him eased out of the room.
“No, but it strikes me one of the points is this was the only way he could come at me. When I set aside being pissed off, it’s kind of a boost for the ego.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake.”
“There’s that, too. You hardly ever swear. It’s comforting for you to swear on my behalf. My ego just went up a couple more notches.”
“He only did this because you went in there and confronted him.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Which you didn’t have to do.”
“Yes, I did, Clare.”
“Men.” She threw up her hands, circling the room. “Men, men, men. Now I suppose you just have to go back and confront him again, escalate the whole sorry mess.”
He considered. “I could let you talk me out of it.” He smiled at her when she turned to glare at him. “That would be a boost to your ego, I’d say. I’m happy to reciprocate.”
“You’re not planning on it.”
“I’ve had a good time picturing dragging him out into the dealership parking lot and stomping him flat in front of his coworkers and various horrified customers. Him begging for mercy, women fainting. It’s a nice image.”
“Men,” she repeated. “You’re all just boys in bigger packages.”
“Maybe. But then if I did all that, Owen would get to pull the ‘I told you so’ when he had to come bail me out. It’s not worth giving Owen the satisfaction.”
She took a long, calming breath. “That’s something then. I’m so sorry, Beckett.”
“I guess it’ll be worth it if he figures this evens the score and stays the hell away. I needed new tires before winter anyway.”
She crossed to him, framed his face. “My hero,” she murmured, kissing him softly.
“That’s all I get? It’s four tires, and a paint job.”
She laughed a little, kissed him again. “It’s the best I can do under the circumstances.” She drew away, tipping her head toward the sounds of the tile crew working in the bathroom.
“We’ve got plenty of other rooms.”
She shook her head, walked around to look at the painted walls. “I love the color in here.”
Calm now, she did a slower circle of The Penthouse parlor. “I’ve been trying to decide which room is going to be my favorite, and I can’t. And which room to treat my parents to for their anniversary next year. And I can’t.”
“Pick one for you and me. I’ll make a reservation.”
“Hard to choose, but I’d love it. I have to get back.”
“How about dinner tonight? I’ll take you and the boys somewhere.”
“Book club, but thanks. Ah, we’re decorating for Halloween tomorrow, if you want to come over.”
“Are you kidding? I have major skills in this area.”
“Great, you can carve the pumpkin. The boys are old enough now to realize how lousy I am at it. Come by later. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
“I will. Oh, and thanks for the outrage.”
“You’re welcome.”
Not a bad couple of days, all in all, Beckett decided. All he had to do was delete the hassle of his truck, and things looked good all around. Especially standing with his brothers across the street from the inn as they’d done the morning the tarp came down.
This time, they looked over at the finished front of the inn, including the sign.
“Looks good,” Owen commented.
“Looks damn good,” was Ryder’s opinion.
“Now all we have to do is finish it, furnish it, outfit it, staff it, and fill it with guests.” Beckett stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Should be a piece of cake, considering what we started with.”
He glanced down the street, nodded to the sign outside the gift shop. “Gifts Inn BoonsBoro. It works.”
“Mom and Madeline swear it’ll be ready for the opening Friday night.”
“As long as all we have to do is show up and eat crab balls.” Ryder shifted his gaze to the building beside the inn. “You know she’s already making noises about us getting to work on that place so we can get a bakery back in there.”
“One thing at a time. Let’s just bask,” Beckett suggested.
“Time for basking when we get it finished.” Ryder checked his watch. “And time’s wasting.”
“I need to work with Hope and the webmaster this morning.”
“While you’re at it, call Saville,” Ryder told Owen. “We’re going to be ready for them to bring in the flooring, let it acclimate.”
“It’s on my list. Beck, why don’t you check at Gifts, see if there’s anything that needs doing. Then you can grab us some coffee. It’s frigging cold today.”
“First hard frost forecast for tonight. We’ve still got exterior work to finish. Don’t sneak in the back room with Clare,” Ryder told Beckett as they left him to head across the street. “You’re on the clock.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He took another moment for a solo bask, then started down to look into the gift store.
He had to admit, it looked just fine. Warm and welcoming with its sunny walls, the displays of pottery and handcrafted jewelry, the art hanging on the walls or waiting to be hung.
He checked with Madeline, who opened more boxes of stock, and took down a short list of small chores to be finished before the opening.
Tucking the clipboard under his arm, he walked into TTP.
“Hi, Romeo. Clare’s upstairs.”
He lifted his eyebrows at Charlene—Charlie Reeder’s wife. “Romeo?”
She pursed her lips, made an exaggerated kissing sound. “You’re such a sweetie.”
“True. I need three coffees, large. I’ll go up and say hi to Clare while you’re getting that together.”
“She’ll be glad you did.”
Beckett shook his head at Charlene’s wink, wondered just what TTP put in their coffee these days. Then he climbed the creaking stairs to Clare’s office.
With the phone to her ear, she held up a finger as she offered him a big, bright smile. While she finished the call, he stepped to her window, looked out at the inn again, enjoyed seeing the sign in place.
“Beckett.”
He turned, found his arms full of her. “Thank you so much,” she said before she caught him up in a long, dreamy kiss.
Whatever they put in the coffee, he decided, he wanted some. “Okay, you’re really welcome. For what?”
“For the flowers. They’re gorgeous, and such a wonderful surprise. I made what Liam called girl sounds over them until he was forced to combat them with gagging noises. We made a real scene.”
She hugged him hard, rubbed her cheek against his. “But you should’ve come in. I’d’ve fixed you breakfast.”
“What flowers?”
She sparkled when she eased back. “As if. The ros
es I found on my doorstep when I took the kids to school.”
“Clare, I didn’t send you any flowers.”
“But they were—What?”
“I didn’t bring any flowers by your place this morning.”
“But the note said—”
“What did it say?”
“Always thinking of you. Oh God.” Because her knees went shaky, she sat. “There was a box, a plain white box on the doorstep, and the roses and note inside. I worried because it was so cold, but I don’t think they were there very long. They were fine. They’re beautiful. They’re not from you.”
“Have you seen him?”
“No. Well, in the grocery store yesterday, for a second I thought I did.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t sure. In fact I thought I’d just imagined it.” She grabbed Beckett’s hand. “Please don’t do anything. I’ll call Charlie, I’ll call him right now and tell him. But please don’t do anything. I really think the more attention we pay, the worse it’ll be.”
“Call Charlie. Next time, if you think you see him, you call me.”
“I will. I promise. I—He’s sent flowers before.”
“When?”
“My birthday. Always red roses, like these, but I really thought … And he’s always signed his name before. Beckett, he’s shown up at the grocery store a few times, which was why I thought I’d imagined seeing him there—after what happened, then your truck. I thought I was just spooking myself.”
“Where else?” Beckett asked, his voice deadly calm. “Where else has he just shown up?”
“Oh.” Rocking a little, she rubbed her temples. “Oh God, when I think about it that way … Okay. I’ve run into him at the mall a few times, but I run into people I know there now and then, so I never thought much of it. Outside the bank, more than once.”
He watched her thinking it through, watched her go pale thinking it through.
“In the pharmacy parking lot, in the nursery where I buy my plants. Other places, too, I see that now. Just like I see he always seems to show up when it’s just me. Not when I have the kids along, or Avery or my mother, or anyone.”
She paused a moment. “That’s not coincidence.”
