by Aimée Thurlo
“We could be friends. Come by the library, once I get started there, and visit. It’s a warm place filled with adventures that enrich but can’t harm,” she said. Then, meeting his gaze, she added, “That’s the part of me I will always be able to share with you.”
“But what about the private side of Drew?”
“I’ll be leading an ordinary life, Nick, the kind that would bore you to tears.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “But I’ll sleep in peace each and every night.”
“You’re misjudging yourself,” he said, after a long pause. “When you had to fight, you did. Giving up never even occurred to you. And more to the point, a part of you enjoyed that challenge.”
She blinked in surprise. “You don’t know me very well.”
“I may know you better than you know yourself.”
THEY ARRIVED AT THE mall thirty-five minutes later. “Go about your usual routine and don’t look for me,” Nick said. “If you see a guy who, for whatever reason, reminds you of the one who was following you before, signal me by cocking your head, as if curious about something in a display.”
“Got it.”
Drew walked into the mall, and as usual, climbed the stairs to the second level. She walked inside Sole Brothers, her favorite shoe store and after checking out several pairs of shoes, left to go to the chain department store three businesses down. The second she turned, she saw the guy. He was in front of the bookstore, half-looking in her direction and closer than last time. She recognized his slouched shoulders as well as the cap and jacket. Like before, he kept his hands in his pockets as he walked.
Drew looked into the glass of the closest window display and cocked her head, signaling Nick. She didn’t know where he was at the moment, but she knew he wouldn’t be far.
Fighting hard to suppress the urge to run, she made her way toward the stairwell. She’d almost reached it when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
Drew jerked free and spun around, staring into the face of a man who looked surprisingly familiar.
A heartbeat later Nick came up behind the man. “Police officer,” Nick growled. “Don’t touch her. Step back and remove your left hand from your inside pocket—slowly.”
“What the heck…”
“Do it,” Nick growled.
Drew suddenly remembered where she’s seen the man before. “Nick, wait. He’s my neighbor, John something. He lives in the apartment across from mine.”
“My name’s John Wagner,” he said, as Nick cuffed and frisked him. “What’s going on? Is she your girlfriend or something?”
Nick yanked a ski mask from Wagner’s pocket.
Drew stared at it in surprise, as Koval rushed over to back Nick up.
“Guys, what’s going on? All of a sudden it’s illegal to say hello to a neighbor?” Wagner said, looking totally bewildered.
Drew found herself feeling sorry for him. Either he really didn’t know what was going on, or he was an excellent actor.
Nick held up the ski mask. “Care to comment on this?”
“It’s a mask for when I go skiing,” he said.
“At the mall?” Koval sneered.
“No, genius, at Purgatory, Colorado. I found it beneath my car seat, so I stuck it in my pocket so I’d remember to put it back with my skis when I got back home.”
“Let’s go back to the station where we can have a talk,” Koval said, hauling him toward the exit.
“You’ve got to be kidding. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“If you’re telling me the truth, we’ll find out soon enough,” Koval said. “Shut up and walk.”
Drew watched them for a moment. “Do you think this is a mistake and he’s got nothing to do with the other two men?” she asked Nick, as Koval disappeared from view.
“Wagner was following you, and there’s the mask,” he answered. “Let’s see what kind of alibi he has to cover the times you were attacked,” Nick said. “You mentioned before that he has a buddy.”
“So, what do we do next?” she asked, looking around. Several shoppers were still watching them, obviously curious about the incident.
“We return to the station. You’ll need to give us your statement and clarify what you know about this neighbor of yours. Then, depending what we find out about Wagner, you might be able to go home tonight.”
Even as he spoke, something inside her told her that there’d be no quick fixes. “I just don’t think John’s the one.”
“You mean because he looks harmless or ordinary? Some of the worst criminals I’ve met looked like choir boys.”
THEY ARRIVED AT THE STATION ten minutes later. As Nick studied the faces of his fellow officers he saw that everyone seemed to be on edge.
Leading Drew across the room to his desk, Nick pulled out a chair for her. “Wait here, I’m going to find out what’s happening.”
Nick had just joined a fellow detective when Chief Franklin’s voice boomed out, resonating down the hall.
“Mrs. Brown, you’re making a big mistake stirring this up again,” he said. “We’d already made a deal with the suspect.”
Nick recognized the D.A.’s name, and a second later, saw her strut down the hall toward the parking garage, a lift in her step and a hint of a smile on her lips. The chief came out into the hall next, and, seeing Nick, waved him over to his desk.
“That idiot D.A. is out to make a name for herself, so she’s going to press assault charges against Ray Owens. I know that Owens has issues, but he’s made some hefty contributions to our athletic league, and he also sponsors Police Casino Night for the Officer-Down Fund.”
“He’s still a wife beater,” Nick said.
“Maybe so, but Ray had agreed to counseling, and those causes still need his support. Now Owens is back with his lawyer, claiming police harassment. Before this is over, he’ll probably produce a half-dozen bought and paid for witnesses claiming he’s a choir boy on the fast track for sainthood,” he said, and cursed. “So listen up. I want you to steer clear of Owens and not speak to anyone about past incidents, especially lawyers, P.I.s, and the press. Of course, if D.A. Brown calls you in, you’ll have to meet with her. Just watch your back.”
After leaving the chief’s office, Nick joined Drew back at his desk and gave her an update.
Before she could comment, Koval came up to them. “Wagner has alibis for the times Ms. Simmons was attacked—weak, but hard to disprove. He insists that he and his roommate play video games at home after work, and that’s where he was both times. I’m going to find his friend, Rick Stamos, and see what he has to say, but the fact that there are two of them puts things in a different light.”
“If they’re our guys, they’ll back up each other’s alibis,” Nick said.
“Yeah, that’s why I did a full background check on Wagner. The guy’s a weapons collector—everything from knives to firearms. I’m trying to get a warrant so I can go take a look at his collection. He hasn’t lawyered up yet, so I’m going to hold him overnight. By morning, he might be willing to come clean.”
“But he looked so…nice,” Drew said.
“That’s just one of the many tools a pervert uses to gain someone’s confidence,” Koval said.
“Do you need anything else from me?” Drew asked.
Koval shook his head. “I’ve got your statement, and our suspect’s in custody.”
“But that doesn’t mean he wants you to leave here tonight without any protection,” Nick said, giving Koval a hard look. “It’s too soon for that, since the facts are still sketchy. There were also two men involved in the first incident, and we only have one locked up.”
Koval’s expression clearly said that he suspected Nick had other motives for wanting to continue protection duty, but he went along with it. “Yeah, okay. Stick with her until tomorrow, Blacksheep. Then we’ll see where we’re at.”
As Koval strode off, Drew looked at Nick. “He thinks it’s a waste of resources—you staying with me, that is.”<
br />
“Do you?”
“No. I don’t think John’s guilty, which means there are still two men out there after me, not just one.”
“Either way, you’re covered. Are you ready to go?”
“To my apartment?” she asked hopefully.
Nick smiled. “Yeah. And if Koval’s right, by tomorrow you’ll finally be rid of me.”
Drew sighed softly. A charge of excitement surrounded Nick; he was a constant temptation. Although she told herself that she didn’t want a man like him in her life full time, deep down she knew she’d miss him. Being around Nick was like standing in the middle of a whirlwind. What was practical and wise could easily get lost in those strong winds.
FOLLOWING HER DIRECTIONS, Nick pulled into a large apartment complex of two-story buildings. Her residence was on the second floor, accessed up a wrought-iron stairway with side rails. The instant she opened the door and turned on the light switch, he saw why she called this place home. The decor could be summed up in two words—soft and feminine.
All the small kitchen appliances on the U-shaped counter had covers that matched the pale yellow paint on the walls. A round, glass-topped metal table, with two matching chairs, rested beneath a small chandelier. The sitting area contained two soft-cushioned, deep golden-colored easy chairs and a love seat.
On the wall opposite the seats was a cabinet filled with books of all sizes. A small TV set was placed in the open center shelf. At the end of the room opposite the kitchen was a picture window with light, flowery curtains—now closed—and a floor lamp.
White silk roses were scattered in small vases around the room. A crocheted Afghan was draped over the arm of the chair beside the lamp, and there was an embroidery hoop and basket of threads next to the other chair.
“Nice place,” he said, stiffly, still holding the shotgun inside the folds of his jacket. If he’d been wearing a uniform it might have been different, but as a plainclothes officer, he figured it would be better to keep it out of sight.
As Drew glanced back at Nick, she gave him a puzzled look. “My apartment normally makes people feel welcome, even cozy, but you seem…uncomfortable.”
He placed the shotgun on the counter next to a vase of white roses. “What’s wrong with this picture?” he asked, with a wry smile.
“All things considered, I prefer roses to riot guns,” she said, chuckling.
“Exactly. Now, if I were doing the decorating, my priorities wouldn’t have been the flowers,” he said, giving her a playful wink.
It had only been the most casual of flirting, yet it packed a wallop. She looked away quickly.
“I’ll bring you a pillow and a comforter, and you can sleep on the couch if you’d like. Personally, I’d recommend the easy chair, with the afghan. I sit there when I’m reading late at night, and I’ve fallen asleep on that more times than I can count. The cushions are really soft, and if you make the chair lean back a bit, you can just melt into it.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Melt?”
“Or whatever it is men do.”
“I’ll lean back,” he answered, laughing.
He insisted on checking out the other rooms first, but he returned in seconds and gave her the all clear. Given the goahead, she walked over to the hall closet, and returned holding a large, fluffy comforter.
As he took it from her hands, he noticed the embroidered, lacy border.
“I know it’s a little on the dainty side, but it’s very warm,” she said. “At my dad’s house, and then my uncle’s, there weren’t many frilly things around. All the colors, too, were like them—forceful, strong and bold. Here, I can finally do as I please.”
He nodded, understanding. “And you’re enjoying that freedom.”
“Very much,” she answered. “So tell me. How hard is it for you and your brother to agree on the way you want things to be at your place?”
“Not hard at all. We’re not into ‘stuff.’ Even our TV is old school, with an antenna and one of those converter boxes. We learned a long time ago to make the most out of whatever we have. Travis and I know what it’s like to barely get by, so we don’t need the latest whatever.”
Curiosity was alive on her face, but she didn’t pry. That sign of respect touched him far more than any sympathy she might have shown. That’s why he chose to fill in some of the gaps. “Our dad…went his own way,” Nick said, thinking just how true that was. “Then one day he just didn’t come home—ever. I was fifteen and Travis thirteen.”
“You must have been really scared. I was about that age when I lost my last parent.”
“Travis and I had each other’s backs, and that helped us cope with the situation. Travis and I had always been buds, but we became a real family back then.”
“What about your mom?” she asked.
“She died when I was three. I don’t even remember what she looked like, and my dad never spoke of her. He wasn’t a traditionalist, worried about calling her spirit—her chindi. He found his own answers in a bottle.” He hardened his tone, prompting her to drop the subject.
“If you need anything, just let me know,” she said, glancing over at her book bag, which she’d set down in the tiny foyer. “I’m going to do some studying, then get some sleep. Make yourself at home.”
After she went into the bedroom and closed the door, he took another look around. The place was small and exuded estrogen. Then, inexplicably, he found himself smiling.
Although he’d felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop at first, there was something undeniably peaceful about her home. Nothing here threatened—except his shotgun. But that was from his world.
He walked over and turned out the lamp. Only a faint glow of streetlights penetrated the curtains, but after a while he could see clearly, as far as it mattered.
Time slipped by as the night wore on. Forcing himself to relax, he shifted the easy chair ninety degrees so he could keep an eye on the entrance without having to turn his head. He slept in spurts, small catnaps, the possibility of danger keeping his senses alert.
Then, close to four in the morning and half asleep, he heard a faint thump nearby.
Instantly one hundred percent awake, Nick reached for the shotgun, which was resting on the love seat. Moving silently, he went to the kitchen window and looked down into the parking lot. The glow from the muted outdoor lighting didn’t reveal anyone moving about.
Then he heard the soft sound again, and this time was able to pinpoint it. Someone was coming up the metal steps. He inched back out of the kitchen and took a position behind the corner between the bedroom and bath. With his shotgun aimed at the apartment door, he crouched, waiting and listening. Footsteps stopped just outside.
Nick heard an unmistakable metallic click and low thump, followed by the sound of metal sliding as the locking mechanism was removed. There was a small hole in the fixture now, letting in some light from outside. Using a special key, the perp had just “bumped” the lock—a skill practiced by many successful burglars and pros.
Nick thumbed off the safety on the shotgun and slipped back just a little, exposing only the barrel. Whoever was out there still had to get past the safety chain, but that would be child’s play to a skilled burglar with a bolt cutter.
He glanced back at Drew’s closed bedroom door. He couldn’t take time to warn her. To call out now would reveal his position. As for calling backup, his cell phone was in his pocket, within reach, but talking was out of the question, and texting would force him to look away.
Braced for the worst, he kept his eye on the door and waited.
Chapter Nine
The door swung open slowly, then stopped short, as the safety chain fastened to the door and inside jamb went taut.
Nick waited, perspiration flowing down his forehead. Then, instead of seeing the jaws of a bolt cutter poking through, he found himself staring into the red laser beam of a gunsight.
The second the light flashed across his eyes, he knew he’d been seen. Ni
ck dove to the floor just as something whacked into the wall where he’d been an instant earlier. He recognized the simultaneous thump as the discharge of a silenced weapon.
Nick fired back. The roar of the shotgun inside the apartment was deafening and the muzzle flash nearly blinded him.
Nick crouched low as he worked the slide, feeding another shell into the chamber. His ears were ringing, but so was the metal stairway. The perp was making a run for it.
Nick placed the shotgun down, grabbed his pistol, then unhooked the safety chain and reached for the door knob.
“What’s going on?” Drew called, from somewhere behind him.
He saw her standing in the bedroom doorway. “Go into the bathroom, lay down in the tub, and call 911. Don’t turn on any lights.”
Nick pulled the door open a foot for a quick look, but ducked back instantly as someone fired at him, this time without a silencer.
“There are two of them,” he called to Drew, dropping to one knee and using the doorjamb as cover. Glancing out at an angle, he spotted movement down in the parking lot, followed by a muzzle blast from behind a carport support. Another round hit the door frame three feet to his right.
Nick dropped, rolled on his belly, then took another look from a prone position. The angle was too low, so he scrambled to his knees. As he did, he heard a car start.
“Stay inside!” he called to Drew.
As Nick raced down the stairs, a car pulled out from beneath the carport roof. Hoping to get a license number or vehicle make, he vaulted over the rail, pistol in hand. His attention on the car, he nearly collided with a man in his thirties. The ground-floor neighbor was wearing pajama bottoms, and carrying a baseball bat in one hand and cell phone in the other.
“Police officer!” Nick barked, then kept going.
By the time Nick got a good view of the exit, the vehicle had already disappeared.
He stowed his weapon, then pulled out his badge, yelling to everyone poking their heads out that he was a police officer.
Sirens soon converged outside. Seeing an unmarked cruiser come into the compound, lights flashing, Nick stepped into view, holding up his badge. The vehicle stopped right in front of him.
