Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  “The clerk identified you.”

  “Of course, he did. Drake pulled a gun. I came out of the bathroom and tried to stop him.”

  “The only reason that clerk isn’t dead is because Maxwell’s gun jammed. Probably hadn’t taken time to clean it from his last murder,” the cop said.

  The unfairness of his words hit her like a blast of arctic air. She’d had no idea she’d taken a ride with a cold-blooded killer. She itched to slap the man who wouldn’t listen to reason. Thinking of Luke she held back. Striking a cop would be a huge mistake. She gritted her teeth and dug her nails into her palms. “My lawyer advised me to take the plea.”

  Their mutual amazement culminated into stunned silence. The dashboard lights immersed the car’s interior in a soft, eerie glow. Her temporary jailer gazed out the windshield, revealing a masculine profile enhanced by the dark stubble framing his jaw. She understood now where Matt got his good looks.

  Oh, for crying out loud. Why would she notice this now?

  As the lieutenant stared straight ahead, his voice held gruff disbelief. “What were the odds of this happening?”

  When she didn’t reply, he turned sharply in her direction and answered for her. “I’d say the odds were nil. Did you plan this?”

  A burst of hysterical laughter escaped her lips and she slapped her thigh. “Did I plan this? Well, gosh, you found me out. I called my realtor and said, ‘Oh, by the way, when you’re looking for houses, see if you can find the police officer who arrested me way back when. I think living next door to him would be a hoot.’” Amazed at his illogical thinking, she shook her head. “Are you nuts?”

  “What I am is a cop, and you’re pushing your luck.”

  “You’ve obviously made up your mind about me.”

  “Damn straight I have.”

  Her gaze slanted toward the parking lot. Nausea overcame her and she clutched her stomach. If only the earth would split open and swallow her whole.

  The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong? What’s happening? Are you sick?”

  “The boys,” she whispered. “Practice must be over. They’re headed this way.”

  “I’ll handle this.” He opened the door. “Stay here.”

  “I will not.” She wasn’t about to take orders from this man.

  “We’re not finished, Mrs. Norris. Stay here.” Without a word or a look back he stepped out of the car.

  She strained to see him talking with the boys. In the dark, the vehicle’s headlights captured their profiles. Oh, God, what was he telling them? Suddenly, Luke and Matt gave each other high fives and darted back toward the gym.

  The big oaf slid into the car again to face her obviously bewildered expression. “What did you say to them? Where do they think they’re going? Luke has homework.”

  “Well, aren’t you a regular PTO mom. The coach told them he’d order pizza and they could watch films. Under the circumstances, I thought it was a stellar idea. I told them we’d pick them up in an hour.”

  “Fine.” She folded her arms. “Now if you’re through with your insults, I think we’ve both had enough of our reunion.”

  Lt. Crandall fastened his seatbelt and put the car into gear.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer, merely drove toward the edge of the high school parking lot. A few minutes later, they entered the gas station on the corner. She withdrew her wallet to pay, but he ignored her. He exited the car, dug a plastic gas container out of the trunk and disappeared into a well-lit convenience store.

  When he returned she responded inanely with, “Thank you.”

  His jaw clenched. “Don’t thank me. After all the meals you’ve provided for Matt, I figure I owe you.” Lt. Crandall took a deep breath, and for a moment the situation seemed as difficult for him as it was for her.

  “Look, I don’t know how to put this without screwing it up any further. By all accounts you’re not the same person you were. That’s great. I’m sorry I insulted you. I’m truly relieved you’ve turned your life around.”

  Grateful he’d admitted that much, she nodded.

  “But given our past, I think it’s fair to say we could never be friends.”

  She lowered her head as a wall of frustration ballooned inside her. He obviously knew how to put people behind bars, but understood nothing about them paying their debt to society. Her husband had taught her so much, and in that moment, she felt grief anew.

  “Now we have a situation that involves our boys,” the cop added, searching her face. “So my question to you is, what are we going to do to split them apart?”

  Melanie Norris’s stoic expression dissolved into one of despair. “You’d punish our children for something I did fifteen years ago? What kind of monster are you?”

  Her indignation took him off guard. What did she expect? For them to ignore the past and become the best of buddies? “You don’t exactly come with sterling references, lady, and I’m not about to sacrifice my kid.”

  Glancing away from him, she drew her hands into fists in her lap. For a time she didn’t speak. At last she returned his gaze. “I’d probably do the same thing if I were you.”

  Hell. A quiet, logical response was the last thing he’d expected. Reconciling the proud, beautiful woman sitting next to him to the hellion of yesterday was nearly impossible. It was like watching an actress perform two roles.

  Then it occurred to him. Maybe she was. He’d met all kinds in his line of work. People who could look you in the eye, tell you they didn’t pull the trigger, while holding the murder weapon in their hand. On the other hand, he could also cite numerous examples of people who against all odds had turned their lives around.

  A throbbing ache resonated behind his left eye. Of one thing he was certain, Matt wasn’t going to be part of the equation while Joe made up his mind. He switched on the ignition. “I’m glad we understand each other. I’ll take you back to your car.”

  Chapter Three

  At home in his darkened den, Joe sat, arms crossed, feet propped upon his desk, surrounded by a growing stack of paperwork and unopened mail. Why did he feel like the proverbial heel in this misadventure? Obviously, the boys had been confused when both parents showed up and took them home in separate vehicles. The kids liked each other, and from what Coach Hood had said, Melanie had raised an exceptional son.

  Hold everything. When had he stopped thinking of her as Mrs. Norris and transitioned to Melanie?

  Joe glanced across the room at his liquor cabinet, but Jim Beam failed to call to him tonight. Besides, if more robberies occurred, he needed his wits about him. He lifted his feet off the desk, then rose and sauntered to the den’s side window. A full moon illuminated the sky, and a silhouette in the upstairs window next door caught Joe’s gaze.

  Not what he wanted to see right now, the woman stood brushing her hair. Captivated, he watched until the ghostly vision moved away.

  Jesus, she was beautiful.

  If he wasn’t careful, he’d be arrested for voyeurism. What a career-ending headline that would make. Police lieutenant nailed as Peeping Tom. He’d joined Coach Hood’s ranks in thinking about the woman, and officially gone insane.

  Joe studied the ragged scar on his forearm. Seeing her again after all these years had been a shock, that’s all. After he became accustomed to the idea of her living next door, she’d be no more, no less to him than the rest of his neighbors.

  Joe turned the mini-blind wand, double-checked the locks and climbed the stairs. Matt’s bedroom door was closed, but light glowed from the crack beneath it.

  He knocked.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s after eleven, Matt.” Joe opened the door to find the boy absorbed in something on his computer. A short sound played from the speaker, and by the way his son’s gaze dar
ted toward the screen, Joe assumed it had to be some kind of instant message. “Is your homework done?”

  “I finished it at school.”

  Narrowing his gaze, Joe said, “Heads up. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be logging in to see your grades.”

  Matt mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, ‘yes, sir.’” Matt looked up, but not happily.

  “Right answer. Good night, son. Lights out in ten.”

  This time as Joe shut the door, he made no effort to glean the boy’s muttered response. He had enough on his mind trying to understand his inexplicable attraction to the off-limits Melanie Norris.

  Fluffing her pillow for the twentieth time hadn’t helped. Mel couldn’t sleep. And if she didn’t fall asleep she’d be a zombie tomorrow. Damn Officer Joe Crandall or Lieutenant or whatever his stuffy title was nowadays. He’d taken her happy new life and reduced it to rubble. And damn her scarred, impetuous youth. Now Luke and Matt would bear the brunt of her actions as well.

  She sat upright, drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. On the way home tonight, she’d tried to speak to Luke about curbing his friendship with Matt. But the kid was so pumped about practice, she let him talk. His sullen moods were less frequent these days. Luke was likeable and made friends easily. Still, a special bond already existed between him and the kid next door, and the separation wouldn’t be easy.

  Carl had urged her to tell Luke about her past, claiming that children needed to understand that parents weren’t perfect. Because he hadn’t insisted, she never had.

  Tears welled. She ordered them back. Crying hadn’t solved her problems fifteen years ago, it hadn’t eased Carl’s pain and suffering and it wasn’t likely to help her now.

  Mel straightened and slid out of bed. If sleep wouldn’t come, at least she had options. She eased into her robe and slippers, took a quick peek in at Luke, then wandered downstairs to the basement.

  Immediately the smell of damp earth filled her senses, the soft glow of grow lights bid her welcome and her heartache lessened. Portable space heaters and humidifiers provided the climate for the tiny seedlings breaking through the dirt beneath their protective plastic. The moisture felt good on her skin. And because she doted on these baby plants, and believed it helped, she switched on classical music. She’d even been known to talk to them, much to her son’s laughter and dismay.

  How could he understand? Watching life spring into existence had long filled the void that had gotten her through some desolate times.

  Smiling, Mel set to work checking the soil’s pH for what she hoped would be an outstanding array of Dragon Wing begonias. They’d be the perfect complement to the northern red oak growing out front. Already, she and Luke had spent hours trimming, then digging up the dead Juniper bushes surrounding the property. If the weather stayed decent, they’d repaint the trim and the shutters soon.

  She stopped, suddenly amazed. With tonight’s turn of events, why wasn’t she frantic, packing her bags?

  The point was, she wasn’t. For years, she’d held her head high. She no longer knew how to act or feel like an ex-convict. And Lieutenant Crandall’s biased reminder wasn’t going to make her act like one now. Until the warden’s phone call, where she’d learned of Drake Maxwell’s impending release, she’d all but erased her troubled youth from her mind.

  You are what you believe you are, sweetheart.

  Along with his generosity, Mel treasured her husband’s memory. Thanks, Carl.

  Moving toward the narrow flight of steps, she left the music on. Then switching off the basement’s overhead light, she climbed the stairs and breathed easier.

  A truly evil man had been the factor behind the move to Colorado Springs. The relocation had been emotional as well as exhausting. Joe Crandall might be an ogre, but Mel was fairly certain he wasn’t bad. Let him do his worst. She and Luke would survive. No one was forcing them from their home ever again.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, Max, you asleep?”

  Drake Maxwell stared at a crack in the wall that had begun as a tiny fissure and now ran more than a foot long. He slept on a flimsy fireproof mattress, on a bed bolted to the wall in a never darkened eight-by-ten cell, in a place that reeked of cigarette smoke, piss and disinfectant. He had no money. Everything he owned in this world was in a cardboard box next to the crapper in the corner. Even his dumps were supervised.

  Hell, no, he wasn’t asleep. He hadn’t slept in fifteen years.

  “What do you want, Garcia?”

  “Just wondered if you’re excited, man? One more day.”

  Garcia was a pesky little fucker. Into feelings and all that. Up for parole in six months, he never let anyone on the block forget it.

  “Yeah, man, I’m excited.”

  “You don’t sound it, hombre, you sound pissed.” From overhead, Drake listened to the familiar sound of Garcia shifting positions. “What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out?”

  Warning bells went off in Drake’s brain. Garcia rambled incessantly, but he usually rambled about himself. He was half-afraid of his murderous roomie and never asked anything specific or personal.

  Drake hadn’t caught Garcia cozying up to the guards―or the man as the cons called them―but then Garcia wasn’t someone Drake paid attention to anyway. Had the warden, knowing there wouldn’t be a parole officer to baby-sit his ass, put his cellmate up to this late-night chat?

  Cautiously Drake replied with, “Get me a job. What do you think I’m gonna do?”

  Garcia’s giggle resembled a teenage girl’s. “I know what I’d do. I’d get me a woman.”

  Melanie Daniel’s face flashed in Drake’s mind. Tightening his hands into fists and folding his arms over his chest, he ground his back teeth together. He’d get him a woman, all right.

  “You staying around these parts?” Garcia persisted.

  The warning bells turned into full-fledged sirens. With the little cash he’d made in the pen, he’d paid a guard with a gambling problem for information on Melanie’s whereabouts. Had the fat prick squealed?

  Drake needed to think. More importantly, he had to talk... fast. “My brother owns a construction company outside of L.A. He’s promised me work.”

  Garcia paused, seeming to absorb the information. “That’s cool, bro. Just wanted you to know you have choices.”

  Drake narrowed his gaze. “What kind of choices?”

  “Do you remember a con named Denny Ramirez?”

  So many inmates had come and gone during Drake’s sentence; his mind went momentarily blank. Then he remembered. Ramirez had shared an adjoining cell. He’d been quiet, a leader. He’d also been smart enough to keep his head down, his mouth shut, and do his time.

  “Car thief, right?”

  “Yeah, busted for running a chop shop ring. Denny’s my cousin. He’s got himself a new gig on the outside.”

  “What kind of gig?”

  “He’d cut off my legs if I told, man. But Denny wanted me to let you in on it because, get this, you gave him the idea.”

  Drake smirked. There wasn’t a con in the place who didn’t talk smack about what he’d do differently to avoid getting caught. Kin or no kin, cons didn’t take kindly to people rolling on them. Years ago, Drake had put a man in the infirmary for doing just that. Drake had ended up in solitary, but the payback had been worth it. His reputation had spread and no one had dared snitch on him again.

  “Anyways,” Garcia said, “Denny said to look him up if you’re interested. He’s living in the Springs.”

  Drake shook his head. No way was he going anywhere near Colorado Springs. That’s where life had gone south. “Got other plans.”

  “That’s cool, bro.”

  “You gonna participate
in this so-called gig when you get out?”

  “Nah, Denny don’t want no parolees,” Garcia said. “He wants people who don’t have to check in, dudes who can move around.”

  Much as he wanted no part in it, Drake found the scheme worth noting. What had he said to spark an idea? Not that it mattered, he was done. He’d committed the robberies when he was too young to access his trust. He was well over twenty-five now. He’d claim his inheritance and plant his ass on a beach somewhere, after achieving his longtime goal, of course.

  Drake felt his lips curve upward. He rarely grinned anymore. Fifteen years in this hole didn’t give a man much to smile about.

  He’d smile again, he promised himself. When he plunged a knife into the heart of the backstabbing bitch that put him in here, he’d be downright giddy.

  Chapter Five

  Without a word, Joe observed morning roll call, nodded to Chris, then made a quick exit toward his office. Last night should’ve been his night to catch up on sleep. Thanks to Melanie Norris’s startling re-introduction into his life, the REM cycles never happened.

  In the hallway he passed the department secretary, who in a singsong voice said, “You have a visitor,” as she ambled on by. Joe slowed his pace and paused in the doorway.

  Bruce Bennett, the El Paso County District Attorney sat in Joe’s office poring over paperwork.

  “Shouldn’t you be out campaigning somewhere?” Joe asked.

  An unsmiling Bruce looked up from his task and handed Joe the file request form he’d sent over to the D.A.’s office that morning. “Maybe. Thought I’d save the taxpayers’ money and play department shrink instead.”

  Joe felt his gut lurch. Along with Drake Maxwell’s case file, he’d requested Melanie’s. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about Maxwell, but he’d already run a NCIC check on her and come up with nothing. Involving the District Attorney hadn’t been part of his plan.