Authors: Sarah Grimm
Her brows drew together as she took in the clean, uncluttered desk. Except for the
telephone and a few pens, nothing littered the top of his desk, not files, nor writing
on the blotter. She thought of her desk at home, the stack of photos and scattering
of papers that covered it. She had the same blotter, an over-sized calendar, yet where
his remained free of anything harsher than a stain to indicate the place his mug sat,
hers was covered with scribbled notes, phone numbers, and doodles jotted down while
on the telephone.
Something tickled her brain.
“How long ago did this take place?” Sergeant Simmons asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
He held the same notebook as yesterday, his mouth set in a thin, tight line.
“A few hours ago. Around eight this morning.”
“Did you report it when it happened?”
“Yes. I spoke with a…I think his name was Sullivan.”
“Sullivan?” Sergeant Harrison asked. “Tom Sullivan, from the crime scene unit?”
“Yes. They were already there when I came to. Someone from a neighboring business
must have called in the explosion.”
His gaze sharpened. “You lost consciousness? You should be in a hospital.”
“I don’t like hospitals.”
“I don’t like that we’re only hearing about this now,” Sergeant Simmons replied. He
swiped up the phone and punched in a series of numbers. “Yeah, this is Simmons, let
me talk to Sullivan. When he gets back make sure he calls me. That scene he’s working
involves my witness from the St. John homicide.”
Sergeant Simmons’ words drove home the reality of her situation. Her insides knotted
tightly. She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the coffee mug in her hand.
“Paige.”
She startled. Her heart climbed into her throat and lodged there.
“Maybe you should start at the beginning. Tell us what happened this morning.”
“I left my car on the street last night, which I don’t normally do.” Mindful of her
bruises, she rubbed at the ache in her temple. Every heartbeat banged like a gong
in her head, making it hard to concentrate. She kept her focus on Sergeant Harrison,
grounded somehow by his nearness.
“After you left, I couldn’t sit still so I worked until I was exhausted enough to
sleep, and then went straight to bed.” She glanced down at the warm mug in her hand,
grateful to have something to hold onto. “I had an appointment this morning. I gathered
my things and went out to my car.”
“An appointment with whom?” Sergeant Harrison asked.
“Lucinda Amelia Perenna.”
“The matriarch?”
“Yes. She wants to hire me to take her portrait.”
He nodded. “Go on.”
“I started my car. That’s when I remembered that I had forgotten to set my security
system. I dug out my remote, then I noticed the photograph taped to my door. I got
out of the car to take a closer look at it.”
“A photograph?” Sergeant Simmons commented as Harrison simultaneously asked. “What
kind of photograph?”
“The same photograph that you showed to me yesterday.”
Sergeant Simmons set his pen down and retrieved a file from atop his desk. From it
he removed a photograph and held it out to her. “This photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain it was the same photo?”
“Yes, I’m certain. It’s my engagement photo. I’d know it anywhere.”
His interest piqued, Sergeant Simmons straightened in his chair. “What happened to
the picture? Did you touch it?”
“No, my car blew up before I got to it.” The fear of seeing that photo returned, along
with it, the remembered pain of crashing to the ground. Paige began to tremble. Coffee
sloshed back and forth in the mug, then slipped from the edge and onto her knee. She
rubbed at the stain absently.
“I think I hit the door before landing on the ground. I don’t recall exactly, just
the debris raining from the sky and the pain. Something hit me in the face and I passed
out.”
“What do you think are the odds our shooter left a viable set of prints on that picture?”
Sergeant Harrison asked, his attention focused on his partner.
“Not good,” Simmons replied.
Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Paige shook her head, and immediately regretted
it when pain stabbed her temple. She drew a deep breath. “There is no photo.”
Two sets of eyes locked onto her. Simmons spoke first. “You just said there was a
photo taped to your door.”
“It was there before the explosion, but not when I came to. I asked both Sullivan
and the paramedic, but no one recalled seeing anything taped to my door.”
Sergeant Simmons gave her a dubious, narrow-eyed look. “I see.”
“I know what I saw.”
He dropped the photo back into the file on his desk and set it aside. “So you say.”
“You don’t believe me.” She was surprised by how much that hurt. “You still suspect
me of killing Leroy, don’t you?”
“I believe in the evidence, Ms. Conroy, and until I have evidence that proves otherwise,
you will remain a person of interest.”
“You actually think I would blow up my own car to divert attention from myself?” Paige
didn’t give them a chance to respond. Suddenly, irrationally angry, she surged to
her feet, pressing both hands upon the desk before her and grinding her teeth to keep
the dizziness at bay. Her stomach lurched abruptly. She waited to make sure she wasn’t
going to be sick before turning to the one man she thought she could reason with.
“Are you a good cop, Sergeant Harrison?”
He gave her a curious look. “It’s what I do best.”
“Good. Then I at least have the comfort of knowing you’ll find this person after they
kill me, too.”
“Paige.”
Everything inside her went still. “This attack on me is connected to Leroy’s murder
and not because I am responsible for both acts. You’re wrong about that.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d faced her demons today in search of help.
Paige hated police stations, resented the fact that she’d had to step foot in one
again after so many years, but she’d done it. And for what? So they could accuse her
of staging her own accident and lying about ever seeing the photograph?
“Why would someone want you dead, Paige?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is there anything you’re not telling us about the events of yesterday morning? Something
Leroy St. John told you, something you saw?”
“I told you everything.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Under different circumstances, she might not have blamed them. She had no proof,
just her word that she had seen the photograph. But her life was in danger. Someone
had killed Leroy and blown up her car. She knew the two events were connected. The
same way she knew the photograph had been there and that the uncluttered desk before
her was important.
For a long, tense moment, Sergeant Harrison’s dark gaze locked with hers. She caught
a flash in his eyes that she didn’t understand, then they went cool and disconnected—cop’s
eyes.
Her heart lurched. Her knees went weak.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“I want you to believe me.”
“My personal beliefs don’t mean much if I can’t back them up with something concrete.”
Pain, along with an odd sense of betrayal filled her. “Something more than the word
of your prime suspect, you mean.”
She straightened, prepared to walk away. His hand atop hers stopped her retreat.
Paige jolted with surprise, her gaze drawn to the top of the desk, to the sudden warmth
of her fingers beneath his. She remained before him, frozen in place, unable to breathe
as sparks of electricity shot up her arm.
She blamed it on the noise and the disturbance, on her morning and her unease over
being in a police station after so many years. She blamed it on her concussion, anything,
but the man before her. Not this man, who didn’t believe in her.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I have to follow procedure.”
She stared down at him, pulse racing. “Of course you do. In the meantime, I’m supposed
to do what? Sit back and wait for the person who failed to kill me this morning to
try again?”
“You don’t know for sure that he will.”
“I don’t know that he won’t.” With as much composure as she could muster, she pulled
her hand out from under his, turned on her heels and limped from the room.
It wasn’t until she reached the glass front doors that she caught her breath. She
stepped to the side, out of the way of the flow of traffic, and wrapped her arms about
her middle. Acid pooled in her stomach, her pulse galloped. She needed a few moments
to pull herself back together.
Never had a man unnerved her so. Just one touch, just one look from those dark eyes
of his and she was lost. Her knees knocked, her insides turned to jelly, and all reasonable
thought left her. Even his occupation, her personal aversion to his job, didn’t lessen
his effect on her.
Tightening her arms Paige stared out at the parking lot. As her gaze settled upon
a bright orange GTO, sunshine glinting off the polished rear bumper, she accepted
the truth. She was in danger. Not just from a faceless assailant she feared would
steal her life, but from a dark-eyed detective she feared would steal her heart.
And give it back to her in tiny little pieces.
* * * * *
Paige had barely cleared the archway before Allan turned to Justin. “Mind telling
me what that was about?”
The accusing edge to his partner’s voice set knots of tension settling across Justin’s
shoulders. He pushed aside his guilt over how hard he’d been on Paige, and focused
on his partner. “What do you mean?”
“You want me to spell it out for you?”
“I guess you’re going to have to because I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
“You were with her last night.”
The accusation was clear, tossed between them like a gauntlet.
“Damn it, Justin, I don’t like being left in the dark!”
“Are you asking what happened or accusing me of something?”
“I can guess what happened.”
It was a struggle to stay calm. “You can, huh?”
“You have a reputation with women. You see one you want, you go after her. You crossed
the line.”
“I didn’t.”
“You crossed the line and got involved with a suspect. What’s wrong with you? This
is a tough case. I need you to be objective and you can’t do that if all your thoughts
are centered below the belt.”
Anger began a slow burn inside him, rising to an icy rage. He’d done nothing wrong
and never expected Allan to jump to such an unsubstantiated conclusion. “You’d think
after all these years you’d know me better than that.”
“You should have filled me in.”
And told him what? That upon first meeting Paige Conroy he’d felt a connection with
her that he’d never before experienced? That he had left work and made it all the
way home before the urge to see her became too strong to ignore? That he’d actually
showered and shaved in anticipation? Justin didn’t think so.
He ran a palm over the knotted muscles in his neck. The bond between him and Allan
was ironclad. They shared not only their professional lives, but their personal ones.
This thing with Paige Conroy, whatever it was, Justin couldn’t share. Because he didn’t
understand it yet himself.
It didn’t really matter, because nothing had happened. He hadn’t touched her. “If
there’s something you need to know, I’ll tell you.”
“Meaning mind my own business.”
“Meaning there’s nothing to tell.”
Allan shook his head and sighed. “You’ve made a mistake.”
Maybe, but it was his mistake to make. He stood, grabbed his worn, brown leather jacket
off the back of his chair and pushed his arms into the sleeves with more force than
was necessary. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right, I don’t.”
“You’re going after her, aren’t you?”
Never before had he been so aware of a woman. Damn it, he’d spent the last twenty-four
hours trying to banish her from his thoughts. But she’d gotten under his skin. How
the hell had that happened? “She’s in trouble.”
“She could
be
trouble.”
“Yes, she could be.”
“But you’ll risk it, our investigation, your job?”
Justin’s thoughts veered to the courageous woman who stood before him yesterday, the
green eyes that had locked with his as she denied any involvement in St. John’s murder.
He pictured the panic ridden woman who’d collapsed on the stairs, so obviously in
pain, yet still managed not to break down. He scrubbed his hand across his face as
he recalled how quickly he’d changed all of that by refusing to vocalize his belief
in her innocence. Just before she’d turned away, he’d caught the welling of tears
in her eyes.
Justin leaned forward, palms flat against the top of his desk. “I believe her, Allan.”
Allan sighed audibly. “What can you do?”
What
could
he do? He knew all of what Allan said to be true. He was taking a risk he couldn’t
afford to take. The stakes were too high. Justin risked the very thing that defined
him—his job. He’d been wise to walk away from Paige last night, wiser to let her walk
away today. The only result of his getting involved, would be damage to his credibility.
So why even think about doing this?
“Justin?”
Allan sat unmoving, waiting for an answer. Justin didn’t have one for him. He didn’t
know what he could do to help. He just knew he had to do something. Like most cops,
he didn’t believe in coincidence. “Give me twenty minutes.”
Allan mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. He pinned Justin in place
with a look. “She may already be gone.”
Justin smiled wryly. “Where’s she going to go, Allan? She has no car.”
Five minutes later, Justin’s grim prediction proved to be true when he found Paige
near the glass front doors of the station. She stood looking out toward the parking
lot, arms hugged around her middle as if protecting herself from something only she
could see. Sunlight streamed through the glass and across her face, emphasizing the
dark bruising that marred her left temple, the brutal gash that bisected her eyebrow.