Hidden Shadows (The Shadow Series Book 1) (13 page)

She didn’t have to ask to know what he was thinking. It was sturdy enough, heavy enough, to do damage if needed.

Ben directed her to the living room, flipping switches as they walked. “Here, you sit right there,” he ordered, lowering her to the sofa. Flicking on a lamp, he smiled softly, turned toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab us some water while we wait.”

Jenna nodded absently and in the distance, heard the sirens coming.

“No, nothing was taken from the garage that I can tell.” Ben listened to Jenna’s exhausted voice as the officer continued peppering her with questions.

Two cops had arrived a mere fifteen minutes after he’d put the call in, even with the assurance to the dispatcher that the involved party or parties were no longer on the property.

He’d been satisfied after his casing the lot that the immediate threat was, in fact, gone, but how’d he miss the garage? The opening there? He was still kicking himself for that. Letting her run up on the scene to be hit with more shock and fear. Her horrified face had been a sharp knife to the heart, her obvious distress an added twist. He sincerely wished he could’ve avoided that pain—for her and himself.

Now, he stood behind her, a supportive hand on her shoulder as she answered questions, took inventory of the damage with Detective Rogers. He’d come upon this mess with her and intended to see it through to the end, whenever and wherever that occurred.

The officers were evidently trying to reach the same goal, though their execution seemed lacking to Ben’s mind.

The paunchy, middle-aged Rogers appeared tired, stiff, and mostly bored with the routine questions he droned. His round face was offset by glasses a little too large and a tight collar on a shirt a little too small. With every question he sighed, nodded, jotted notes onto a pad of paper.

“So you can’t think of anybody that’d want to do this, Ms. Gregor? No enemies . . . no one with a vendetta, no relationships gone sour?" He smiled a little at the last inquiry, as if there was some sort of humor in it.

Ben didn’t find the wit. And let the detective know through his own sour and surly glare.

Rogers noticed, stiffened further, but swept listless eyes back to Jenna as she assured, “No, sir. Like I said earlier, no one. I have an ex-husband. But he’d never do this.”

“Well, ma’am, in this day and age, you can’t put nothin’ past nobody. We’ll talk to him. See what he has to say.” Rogers nodded with a grim smile, slapped his notepad closed, and replaced it in the pocket of his shirt. Drawing out a slim card, he presented it to Jenna. "That’ll be all for now. You give us a call, though, if you think of anything else, hear?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jenna nodded vacantly.

Rogers gestured behind him to the driveway. “Officer Cooley here will wrap things up for you and we’ll get out of your hair.”

Cooley stood from his bent position, examining one of the graffiti obscenities. Shaking his head, he strolled over to the front porch where Ben and Jenna waited. Long and lean and quite the opposite in every way from Detective Rogers as far as Ben could tell, Cooley passed sharp blue eyes over Ben before resting them on Jenna. “Best I can tell, you've got yourself a case of teenage vandalism.”

Wasn’t any smarter though.

“You believe a couple of kids did this?” Ben snorted. “Please. I was a teenage boy; my friends and I saw some rebellious days, but nothing like this. This is vicious, deliberate, targeted. No way it’s work from a few punk kids out on a night of fun.”

“Ben,” Jenna patted his arm gently, seeming for the first time since the police arrived to revive. “Let them do their job. He's probably right. Just some bored, angry teenagers wreaking havoc.” She sighed wearily. “I just wish it hadn’t been on me . . . on my things.” She gave a smile that never made it farther than the corners of her lips.

“I’m sure it seems lacking and frustrating,” Cooley began, eyeing Ben. “It’s your property, your possessions. And I’m sorry for that. But from where I’m standing as Investigating Officer, that's my first instinct and will be my final conclusion unless and until anything further crops up. I’m not saying you shouldn’t look out for yourself, miss," he nodded to Jenna. “Fact is, ninety-eight percent of the time, burglars never return to the scene of the crime. Anything unusual happens though, you call us.

“My opinion?” He paused, hitched his pants higher. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. These new neighborhoods with all this construction are like a playground for kids without supervision. Went to a call last month, damn kids had broken a double window, crawled right through it, and gutted the living room, kitchen, bathrooms. Course, nobody was living there yet, but it didn’t keep the construction crew from wanting to tan a few hides. Added a couple good weeks of work. Anyway, we’ll get out of your way now. Sure you could use a good night’s sleep.” He tipped his hat, stepped off the porch. “Glad we could be of service to you, miss. Good luck.”

Jenna nodded. “Yes. Thanks.”

Cooley signaled to Rogers who stood by the squad car talking on his phone.

As Jenna turned to go inside, Ben gave her shoulder a pat. “Give me one minute, and I’m right behind you.”

Trotting after Cooley, he headed the officers off at the car, planted himself by the passenger window. As Cooley’s window rolled down, Ben leaned in, looked at both men. “Just so we’re clear, I disagree with your findings. And I will be watching her back.”

Cooley’s eyes showed interest. “So noted. As I said, anything happens, you know where to find us.”

“I’ll be sure to keep your number handy.” Ben tapped the card he’d grabbed from Rogers, pushed it in his jeans pocket and marched back to the house.

NINE

Ben tried to stomp his temper down before going back inside. He wanted to be calm for Jenna, a source of strength and surety, not irritation and aggression.

Though she could use some mad if you asked him. After a night spent enjoying a woman full of humor, cleverness,
life
, he hated seeing that blank look in her eyes. Since the moment she’d stepped out of his truck she'd seemed vacant, empty. He wished she’d lash out, get angry, yell. That’d make him feel better. It would seem more her style. He’d seen her match him round for round when it came to his advances, so why couldn’t she find that fire for the lowlifes who’d done much worse than try to charm their way into a date?

As he neared the kitchen, heard her voice, the urgency in it, he realized. She hadn’t let the anger surface yet. She had something—better yet someone’s—to tend to first.

He stepped from living room to kitchen, watched her on the phone, pacing, pleading.

“Keith, please go check on them.” Her voice was an appeal peppered with demand, telling Ben this wasn’t the first request since the conversation began.

“I know they’re asleep, but it’ll take two seconds. Can you not do this one, small thing for me? For heaven's sake, Keith, my house is ripped apart. I just want to know if my children are safe, tucked away in their beds. Please, give me that assurance.” She paused, working up the anger, Ben saw, by putting a clinched fist against the wall. “If you don’t, I’ll be glad to come over, do it myself.”

After a pause, she blew out a relieved sigh. “Thank you . . . thank you.”

Ben settled down on the stool where they’d shared their first kiss. The memory of it flooded back, warmed the coldness of the moment.

He waited while she finished, apparently content with the outcome as she placed the phone on the counter with steady hands, exhaled another calming breath.

Surprising him, she walked over into the space between his stretched legs, put her arms around his waist, her head to his shoulder, and stood, waiting for comfort. He gave what she asked, wrapping his arms tightly around her, pulling her even closer. They stayed that way for several minutes, bound to one another, and Ben wasn’t sure he'd ever heard so much, felt so much, with no words.

Finally, Jenna shifted, raised her eyes to his. They were calmer now. Still swirling with unrest from the night’s ordeal, but calmer, more assured. He had no doubt it was due to the conversation she’d just finished.

He wondered briefly, as he took in her fatigue, her strength, her weariness, who took care of her? While she ever and always thought of her children, securing their well-being above all else, who watched out for Jenna? Who protected her, sought her highest good? Suddenly, he wanted very much for it to be him.

“I’m not letting you stay here by yourself tonight.”

She squeezed his arm. “That’s really thoughtful. But not necessary.”

“Let me stay while you sleep. You have to admit it’d give you peace of mind. Would me, too.”

“You are sweet, Ben. And tempting.” She grinned, leaned into him again. “But I really think I'll be okay. Like the officer pointed out, the odds of a return are slim to none. Seems the danger is already passed. And I have you to thank for missing that.”

She smiled softly, put a hand to his cheek.

Her smile, like her eyes, showed exhaustion, so he let it lie—for now. “At least let me fiddle with the windows, get them in working order.”

“You can do that now?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got plywood, boards, nails in my truck. There was a roll of duct tape in your garage. That’ll make do for the night at least."

“You’ve already done so much . . .”

“I want to.” He stood, grazed her forehead with a kiss. “Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll wrap up as soon as I can.”

Resigned, she lifted her hands. “I’m too tired to argue. And I will admit that will be more than helpful. Please be careful though.”

The fear that leapt in her eyes had his anger shoving to the surface again. He needed to move. Get things done. Feel useful.

“Of course.”

She rose on tiptoes, gave his cheek a light peck.

As she padded out of the kitchen, he moved to the counter, rifled through the knife block until he found the largest one. Sheathing it in a dishtowel draped over the sink, he pocketed it the rear of his jeans and walked out the door.

He wasn’t taking any chances on that slim to none.

Jenna removed the drops of pearls from her ears, cupped them in her hand as she drug her feet across the plush wool rug spread over the living room floor. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so drained, so tired. She wanted to sleep for a week.

Rounding into her bedroom, nausea washed over exhaustion. She knew the room was in order—she’d done a walk-through earlier with the police checking every space——but she hadn’t felt the chilly wind whipping in through the broken window then. Hadn’t seen the fragments of glass scattered on the floor.

She crumpled on the bed, wishing away the queasiness, wishing away the whole terrifying situation.

These feelings, the helplessness, self-pity, vulnerability, it reminded her too much of three years ago. Made her feel like someone had pushed Rewind on her life, propelling her backward, undoing progress she had made.

She’d worked so hard, so diligently, to pull herself up and out of the pit of fear and anger. To press on in spite of grief and uncertainty.

She didn’t want to go back to that place. The place where she fell apart and couldn’t find all the pieces to put herself back together.

So she wouldn’t. Wouldn’t let a few stupid (and very cruel) teenagers ruin her sense of security, her trust.

Sighing, she willed herself to get up, hoping a cold splash of water to the face would bring back her fighting spirit.

Turning into her bathroom, movement outside the small splintered window caught her eye—Ben, hauling boards, supplies, a hammer across the yard. With gloved hands, he bent, picked up shards and splinters someone else had left behind.

The loyalty and affection of the moment and the man pricked her heart.

And she made a decision then and there. While the imminent danger was gone and very likely gone for good, there was no harm in being watchful. Nothing unwarranted in being careful. While she could very capably look out for herself (she’d been doing so long before Keith even left), it wouldn’t hurt to have Ben do the same.

Being strong didn’t mean being alone. Fear did not equal flaw. She wanted someone with her tonight. And she wanted Ben.

On impulse, she walked to the narrow linen closet just outside her bedroom, rummaged through blankets, quilts, pillows. Settling on crisp white sheets and a comfy, well-loved blue plaid quilt, she pulled them from the pile, smiling.

After putting in a call to Heidi—checking on her, the baby, and letting her know he wouldn’t be back for the night (he fully intended to talk Jenna into letting him bunk on the sofa)——Ben finished his quick-fixes to the windows, decided he’d done all he could for the time being and made his way inside.

He didn’t spot Jenna in the living room, so he ducked into the kitchen, replaced the knife. No need to worry or frighten her more.

He’d much prefer his Glock if it came down to needing something, but he’d put that away once the police arrived. Tucked it back under the seat of the truck where it was routinely stored.