"You're a lucky man, George." I unfolded the prescription. "Look, I'm pressed for time, so..."
Years of exchanging prescriptions made us as good as neighbors in a big city. First the patches for my grandfather to chase the escalating pain of lung cancer, then the heart medication for my aunt as she withered into bones, and finally the little blue pills for my nerves after Luke's death. But George was also a man who needed to know your life history and was just as willing to tell you his. And I didn't have time for gossip. Sam had passed out as soon as he hit the pillow, but he'd freak the minute he woke and found me AWOL.
George adjusted his glasses, closing on the paper. "This was prescribed weeks ago."
"Delayed pain. Dry socket, they said." I rubbed at my jaw.
"Doesn't expire till tomorrow, but an unfilled prescription always gets my hackles up. I'm a by-the-book kind of guy."
"Of course." I bowed my head, a gesture not lost on an old-fashioned man like George. Months after my accident, I'd tried to fill an anti-anxiety prescription with no refills remaining. I'd left the pharmacy empty-handed and in tears. But that was also the day I got free of pills.
"First, I've got treats for little Max."
"He's at home on probation. And he's not so little anymore. Big enough to terrorize the neighborhood."
George laughed. "You can't go taking in every stray, Julie, but I do feel better knowing you've got Max as a guard dog. Heard they conducted a manhunt in the park earlier. Some crazy murderer on the loose."
"So I hear." I moved my attention to the tabloid headlines, quitting the conversation.
George filled the prescription and rang the total. "The usual account, I assume."
"Cash today." I threw in a new toothbrush and handed him a hundred dollar bill.
George took a long look at me over his glasses. This wasn't a game I could play easily with people who knew me. Finally, he folded the bill into the register without examining it for counterfeiting, and I bolted.
***
A few steps down the sidewalk, a man merged next to me like an oncoming semi. I jumped, jarring the liquor bottles in my grocery bag.
"Pretty day for a pretty lady to take a walk." Stone leaned into my face, as if I hadn't heard him. I regretted leaving Max home to protect Sam, especially at dusk when the crazies came out. Like eager detectives. "Seems she's in a hurry, too."
I stopped hard, pinching my toes in my white Keds. "I don't appreciate being startled."
"Excuse me." With a short bow, he backed off. "That was inconsiderate of me, especially after what you've been through this morning." He set out his hand in a 'ladies first' gesture. "And where is this errand taking us, or can I detour you for that cup of coffee?"
"We're not much for company, Detective. My head's killing me, and I'd like to go home."
Stone unlatched the button of his pressed blue blazer, showing off his starched white collar, his pristine cuffs, his sterling cufflinks—he'd dressed down comparatively at the park, but I still wondered why he'd changed clothes.
Noticing my review, he tugged a cuff. "Met with command and the mayor this afternoon to discuss the arson-turned-homicide case. We're finally closing in on these guys. Having our first reliable witness helps."
I nodded, unsure I wanted the promotion.
"I left a message for you earlier. Thought I'd check on you personally since I didn't hear back."
"Let's just say I got my fill of the special treatment down at the precinct."
"Sorry for that. Just procedure I assure you. Officer Petosa said you still looked upset when he escorted you home, so I've been worried. Pretty dramatic day you had."
"I think you mean 'traumatic'."
"All in the perspective, I guess." He offered a smile.
Handsome men always played to their looks too easily, but I could hardly admonish him for those baby blues taking a rather engulfing view of me. He surveyed every stranger passing us, and every woman seemed to enjoy his stares, even invite them, but inviting Stone's interest in me felt like asking an alligator to tea.
"By the way," he said, "I'd appreciate you not speaking to anyone regarding the case, including neighbors and friends. Or the press."
"I'm not a gossip, and I don't give interviews, Detective."
"Good. Because that coat you brought us was a match for gunpowder residue. Our killer got away. Fortunately, without taking your life." He smiled at me. "Don't suppose you know why he was so eager to give us evidence against him, when he'd just shot an undercover cop."
My lungs paused against my attempts to inhale normally and conceal my surprise.
"The cop was my old partner, oddly enough. Perp say anything about him or the shooting?"
My head shook 'no' but my head screamed tell him, Jules, tell him there's a madman posing as a cop in your apartment.
"Change?" A homeless man in a dark parka and chartreuse fedora stepped into my path, and I jumped. "Guy's gotta eat, lady." He came at me with watery eyes. He could've been Sam undercover, working the street, or a real rat ready to bite.
"Get out of here," Stone barked, lowering his linebacker arm between me and the man, who was half Stone's size. With his arm hovering above my shoulders, Stone ushered me around the corner. "Sorry, but you can't tell which ones are using or have a needle to stick you."
I shrank from Stone's protection. "I think he was just asking for change."
"Julie," he said, cupping my elbow. "I'm not heartless. After what happened in the park, I just... I don't want a repeat, not on my watch."
He offered to take my bag, but I clung to it as my shield. A little chivalry went a long way with me; too much and I felt manipulated. And at this point, two men too many were working me.
"Maybe we both overreacted," I said, dodging pedestrians. "Now I'd like to get home, if you don't mind." My walk was brisk, but his one stride outpaced my two.
"You seem pensive, Miss Larson. A little nervous."
"Like I said, I have a headache."
Stone kept pace as I scurried down the sidewalk. "For a lady with a headache, you've sure got a fast step. By the way, you never mentioned if you found your dog."
Now he's interested in Max?
"He was at my door when I came home. Not the first time he's run away and come back, and probably not the last."
"Just thought you would have mentioned him."
I stopped short, shifting the bag and clinking the bottles inside. "You think I don't care about my dog just because I didn't pour my heart out to you about him?"
He faced me with his hands on his hips. "On the contrary. You risked your life for him. I just find it curious he's not with you. After that kind of experience, most women would keep their dog close by for security."
"He's not allowed in the stores. And I don't need protecting, according to your own officer. I can handle myself. I'm a New Yorker."
Stone hummed, looking up and down the street. "I hope you'll see the doctor I recommended."
"I have a doctor, thank you."
He took my elbow as I set off. "I mean the psychiatrist we talked about—"
"I know who you meant."
"Just making sure my star witness is at her best. I did a background check on you."
The bottles clinked again as I yanked my elbow free. "You've got a lot of nerve."
"That's my job, Julie. To know everything about everyone at a crime scene, including victims. Including you."
"You're supposed to be looking for that thug, not harassing me."
"Don't you mean 'those thugs' plural? Or maybe you still think the second guy, 'your guy,' saved you, despite abducting you at gunpoint."
Hurrying to my street, I clutched the bag to keep the bottles from breaking before I'd had a stiff drink.
"Julie, wait." Stone jogged ahead. "First the liquor store, then the pharmacy. I'm a little concerned what kind of cocktail you're mixing tonight."
So he'd been following me for a while. Sam's nickname for him came to mind.
"I know where you've been, and I know you don't want to go down that road again. Let me help you avoid that fate." Stone pulled papers from his inner coat pocket and tried shoving them into my bag.
My mouth went dry. He couldn't know where they'd sent me after the accident. I'd used a pseudonym.
"I'm not trying to upset you. I just want to help." He pulled me to a stop when I bolted and held up the document. "They're just words on paper."
A chill seeped into my bones as I stared down my tree-lined street, my apartment building now a ruddy blur at the end of the block with its lighted windows and steaming vents calling me out of the cold night air. "I know who I am and where I've been, Detective, and I don't need any reminders."
***
As I unlocked the final deadbolt to my apartment, cursing the multiple top-grade locks that hadn't kept a fugitive cop out of my sanctuary, I vowed that my locksmith would get a nasty call in the morning. I stepped inside and froze.
Sam was lying face-up on the linoleum, wrapped in my pink bathrobe, dead still.
CHAPTER 8
"Sam!" My grocery bag dropped at the threshold as I surged into the kitchen. Max licked Sam's face, as if trying to revive him, while the door clicked shut behind me.
Had the thug found us, and was he still in the apartment?
Surely Max would be barking if an intruder remained. And the deadlocks wouldn't have been reset.
My knees pinched in my jeans as I dropped to the floor. "Sam," I whispered, feeling at his neck for a pulse. My hands swarmed over his chest, my eyes scrutinized for blood or bullet holes or knife slits. Nothing. Maybe he fell, hit his head. I cupped his skull, felt for bumps. Nothing. Or maybe I OD'd him on ibuprofen and gin.
Shit.
"Wake up, Sam, please."
His lips moved, one eye wrenching open. I bent an ear to his mouth to hear him whisper, "You get the booze?"
"You sonava—" I dropped his head and it bounced off the floor. He sucked air through his teeth as I stepped over his body. "You're lucky I don't break a bottle over your head. Then you'll definitely feel 'other.'"
"Just testing the waters," he said, his face still contorted with pain.
I recovered the bag, started unloading groceries onto the table. Limes rolled in opposite directions and my trembling fingers struggled to corral them. I thought of Detective McCarthy's warnings, the supposition of guilt on Sam's head that even now, in the face of his tricks, didn't rightly stick. I never knew how truly gullible I was until this moment. Or vulnerable.
"Rubbed peanut butter on my face," said Sam as he gave Max a rough scratch. "So he'd lick me right when you walked through the door."
"So I should be impressed by your stunt." My fist planted on my hip as I stared him down. Somehow he'd known I was coming home at that exact moment. Yet I cared less why or how he'd punked me and more about what next to expect from his games.
Sam cowed his eyes, suckering my forgiveness. Max lowered his ears.
"Stop that," I said, crumpling the grocery bag and stuffing it under the sink with a hundred other bags that billowed out, making it harder to shut the cabinet door. Sam watched me fight the avalanche of plastic. "Not one word. Detective." Finally, I slammed the door.
Sam kept his mouth shut. Stone, too, had left questions unspoken, but his eyes had conveyed that, with time, he'd pummel me with them. I didn't need one, let alone two bullies in my life.
When I grabbed a knife, Sam raised his arm in defense. "Relax, tough guy."
I sliced open one of the limes, and its waxy skin rubbed against my grip, the tart scent triggering memories of a Caribbean beach, hot sand at my back, warm water at my toes, the taste of salt air and salt kisses. A world away from thugs and guns and detectives and car accidents. My shoulders unhitched a notch as Max sat by my leg, reminding me he was my only faithful companion now, that there'd never be another midnight beach, or talk of getting a puppy, or lovemaking at midnight like that again.
"Max heard you coming and started whining," said Sam. "You must jiggle your keys or something."
My little traitor, Max, licked peanut butter clinging to his long whiskers. Adorable. I scratched under his soft chin. "You couldn't possibly hear me whisper it from here, could you, handsome."
"Hear what?" Sam pushed onto his elbow.
"Just a prayer." I grabbed two glasses, my nervous fingers clinking them together so they sounded like they'd break. "But he must have heard my keys, like you said."
"A prayer, huh?" Sam surveyed the room, like he'd spot a crucifix nailed to my wall. "Say it every time you come home or every time you enter a building?"
The glasses landed hard on the table. "Could you stop interpreting everything I do? I don't like to be watched, or questioned, or held hostage. Or hoodwinked, for that matter."
Sam shook his head at Max, who retreated under Sam's arm. "Mamma's pissed. You better confess this was your idea." He lifted Max's ear. "You can come live with me, buddy. I'll protect you."
"Just stop."
A moment of silence. Sam reclined flat on the floor, crossing his wrists at his chest like a dead man. I turned back to my chore. Clearly, Sam couldn't get up without assistance, but I wasn't hurrying to the bastard's rescue. Instead, I fetched a glass to replace the one I'd cracked and poured drinks with sloppy results.
Damn these hands
.
After a thick swallow of gin, I remembered the prescription. I tapped out a few pills too many, so I slid them back into the bottle and started over.
Damn Sam's intrusions
.
"Oxycodone. For the pain." I held one out to him.
Sam's eyes darted from me to the pill and back. "Where'd you get pills so fast?"
My arm dropped to my side. Typical cop. "The Tooth Fairy."
"Never mind. Gimme." He held out his palm.
Instead, I fisted the pill. "No more games." I eyed him till he nodded.
"No more games. I swear on my mother's grave."
***
"Not so sure about this." Sam sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the robe to his waist as instructed, then elevated his elbows so I could access his torso. "Don't think they wrap ribs anymore."