Chapter Seven
Jackson studied the front door.
“Spray paint.” He made a notation in his notebook. “How’s Tess?”
“Shaken up.” Alex’s fingers tightened on his walker. She’d come running into his room, eyes wild, hardly able to breathe. He’d wanted to jump up and take care of it but had to move slowly, thumping and shuffling down the hallway while she called 911.
“We got footprints,” Jackson said.
Alex studied the prints in the snow while Jackson crouched down and took pictures.
“What do you think?” Alex asked.
Jackson snapped off a few more pictures. “I think it’s a clue.”
Alex tamped down on his frustration. Tess had been right, of course. Last night had been about his anger and frustration at himself. If he was in Jackson’s shoes, or Reynolds’s, he would have taken the report and moved on to the next call. He tried to keep that in mind, but it was entirely different when it was your house being vandalized and your family in fear.
“I think it looks like a man’s shoe,” Alex said, still looking at the prints, trying to decide what size.
“We’ll step up patrols.” Jackson stood and put his notebook in his front pocket.
Alex nodded. Jackson gave him a two fingered salute, walked to his cruiser and climbed in.
Alex pushed away from the window and let the curtain fall. Whoever was doing this was sick. Slipping in and out unnoticed. Adapting and overcoming.
Mixing bowls banged together and the microwave pinged. Othello paced between the kitchen and the living room, checking on first Tess then Alex, as if sensing things weren’t quite right in his little world.
Alex entered the kitchen and stepped up beside her.
The bright red fall of her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Two flour handprints were smeared across the butt of her faded jeans. She was attempting to scrape butter out of a bowl, but her hands were shaking so hard she missed most of it.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” She sounded as if she was congested and he wondered if she’d been crying.
He pushed the walker away and managed to turn her around and gather her in his arms while standing on one foot.
She stiffened and pulled away. “I’m fine,” she said again.
He nestled her head under his chin and rested his cheek on the top of her head. The strawberry scent of her shampoo and the butter in the mixing bowl reminded him of strawberry shortcake and summertime and, like the butter in the bowl, Tess melted against him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She sniffed. “It’s nothing. Just a delayed reaction.”
He kissed the top of her head.
She pulled back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of flour across her cheek.
With his thumb, he tilted her chin up and kissed her.
In all the months they’d been apart, he hadn’t allowed himself to miss this intimate touching. Touching that heightened the sexual tension until he would nearly burst with his need for her. It felt good to do it now. Right. Like coming home.
He pulled back to kiss her jaw. “God, Tess, I’ve missed you.”
Her head fell to the side, allowing him better access to places he knew from experience would drive her wild. “Ummmm,” she said.
The sound had him rocking his hips against hers, searching for the heat between her legs. His ragged breathing blew the short tendrils of her hair from her face. Placing a hand on each side of her face, he kissed her harder, deeper, longer, pulling the taste of her into him until nothing but Tess flooded his senses. In the back of his mind, a small voice told him to remain in control, but when it came to Tess, he’d never really been in control.
The minute he’d seen her walking down the aisle at Roger and Shannon’s wedding, he’d had this visceral reaction to her. It’d taken a few months to convince Tess that he was serious. After that they’d had only five years. Five years he wouldn’t trade for anything, although he wished the outcome had been different.
Tess struggled against him but it took a while for it to register through the haze of desire and memories.
He let her go, taking a short hop-step back and then another before grabbing hold of the counter.
“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded faraway and strange. He reached for his walker. “I’ll make things right, Tess.”
She looked up at him. “What things, Alex? Between us or with the killer?”
“That’s not fair.” How could he make things right between them when she refused to accept him as is?
“You’re right.” She turned back to her batter. “That wasn’t fair.”
Why did they always skirt the issue? Why couldn’t they come out and say what they meant? Just like last night when she’d stood in his doorway. All he’d had to do was say the right thing, indicate in some way that he wanted to talk about it, but he couldn’t find the words. Or the courage. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Tony’s stopping by this afternoon. I need to talk to him about what’s been going on and about the case.”
She added ingredients into the bowl, her back to him. “Remember your physical therapy appointment’s today.”
“I’ll be ready.” He swung around and headed for the shower. Once again he’d missed an opportunity.
***
That afternoon Alex met Blankenship and Upton at the front door. Between them, they carried a new door.
Tony whistled, a puff of steamy air escaping his lips. “Look at you, man. Using a cane already.”
They left the door on the porch and stepped in, stamping snow off their shoes and rubbing their hands together.
The cane had been his idea. The physical therapist had said he would be using the walker for at least three more weeks, but he’d be damned if he would lug that thing around another minute. He’d told Tess they’d approved the cane and insisted she stop and buy one on their way home. He figured the mental relief of the cane far outweighed the physical benefits of the walker.
Tess came in from the kitchen. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her nose pink, and again he wondered if she’d been crying.
His partner held his arms out and enveloped her in a bear hug. “How ya doin’, honey?”
She laughed and patted Tony on the back. Upton smiled at her, the crinkles around his bright blue eyes adding to his good looks. He and Tess had always gotten along and that never sat well with Alex. He trusted Tess completely, but he didn’t like the way Matthew Upton tended to ignore his own wife when another woman entered the room.
She turned to Alex. “I have to make some deliveries. Call me on my cell phone if you need anything.”
His gaze went to the window and the light snow falling outside. “Maybe I should go with you.” He didn’t like her out there all alone. Unprotected.
“I’ll be fine.” She sniffed. “Besides, you can’t ride in the van for that long. I’ll call Tony if I need something.”
Tony patted her on the shoulder. “Just call, I’ll come runnin’.”
Alex swallowed a rush of uncomfortable emotions. Of course she couldn’t rely on him. He couldn’t even drive, for Christ’s sake. And of course Tony would offer to help. The three of them had been friends for years and if Tony were in this situation, Alex would do the same. “Are you okay?” he asked her.
She sniffed again. “I think I’m getting a cold.”
“Maybe you should wait.”
“I’ll be fine. And I need to get these delivered.”
Upton and Blankenship helped her carry the pies and cakes out to the van while Alex sat on the couch feeling helpless and unnecessary. The two saw Tess off and came back into the living room, bringing the scent of the cold air with them.
“Heard you’ve been having some trouble,” Tony said.
Alex shifted his leg to ease the throbbing. “Some idiot running through my backyard last night and this—” he waved at the door, “—this morning.”
Upton leaned forward in the chair he’d plopped down in, all cop now that Tess had gone. “Who responded last night?”
“Guy named Reynolds. Wilkins showed up later.”
“Wilkins is an ass,” Tony said.
Alex shrugged but privately agreed. He’d never liked the man’s condescending attitude.
“You think this thing last night and this morning have to do with the person who shot you?” Upton asked.
“Yeah, I do.”
“You remember anything else?” Tony said.
Alex wanted nothing more than to stand up and pace. He settled for tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair and shook his head. “Not a damn thing. It’s like a word you can’t remember but you know the letter it starts with. The memory’s there, but I can’t get to it.”
Upton sat back and twisted his wedding ring around his finger. A sure sign he was thinking.
“Tell me about the investigation. What’s going on?” Alex asked.
“Nothing. With you not remembering, things have stalled.” Upton’s razor-sharp gaze pinned Alex. “Tell me about that night.”
They went through it again, from the moment Alex walked between the dark warehouses until Tony showed up at his side. The retelling didn’t get easier and neither did he remember more.
“He’s out there,” Alex said. “He knows where I am and Tess is caught in the middle.”
“We could move her out,” Tony suggested. “No one but us would need to know where she went.”
Alex had considered it, but didn’t like the idea of being separated from her. “She has a business to run and I’d rather she was near me, where I can keep an eye on her.”
“There’s no proof these incidents are connected,” Upton said.
Alex pushed at the arms of his chair to stand, but a sharp pain in his leg had him sinking down. “I don’t
want
to think there’s a person out there bent on destroying me. I don’t
want
to think I brought this to Tess’s front door. Literally. But I have no choice. Come on, Upton, this has to be more than coincidence.”
Upton shook his head. “I know it looks that way, but nothing concrete points to any connection. Think about it, Alex. Would a drug lord waste his time painting your door? Or running through your backyard?”
Alex clenched his jaw. His gut was telling him differently, but he couldn’t prove last night’s intruder or the person who painted his door was the same man who shot him, and Upton had a point. Why would the guy hang around and torment him?
There was a quick rap on the front door and all three turned to see Roger step through. “What happened?” he asked, looking at the spray-painted words.
“Graffiti artist,” Alex said. Why the hell was Roger here?
Roger sat on the hearth. “Word is you had some trouble last night. Anything I can do to help?”
You should have died, Juran.
Alex shook his head. Damn the memories, they popped up at the oddest times. If only they were new memories and not the same ones.
Roger looked at the door. “That the problem I heard about? Kids spray-painting your door?”
At one time Alex had liked Roger. They’d worked in the same district on the same shift and Roger had been an okay guy. And Alex couldn’t totally hate him because it was at Roger’s wedding that he’d met Tess. However, lately Alex had noticed a swagger in Roger’s step, a condescending look to him. Over the years his opinion of Roger had slowly eroded into dislike. He’d hid it because the guy was his brother-in-law, but he still felt it when they were together. And obviously Upton and Tony were of the same mind because the easygoing camaraderie changed to a slight hum of tension.
“I don’t think it was kids,” Alex said.
“Then who do you think did that?” Roger asked.
“The same guy who shot me.”
Roger blinked. “I don’t know. Seems pretty juvenile for a guy who runs drugs.”
Alex partly agreed but he wouldn’t admit that to Roger. Besides, who else could it be?
Tony stood. “Come on, Upton, let’s get that new door in. Wanna help, Sheffield?”
After the door was installed and the house finally quiet, Alex swung his legs up onto the couch.
The snow was falling heavily, blanketing everything. Cars were cutting deep ruts in the street, and theirs was usually the last to be plowed.
The tick-tock of the clock counted the minutes as they struggled by. Othello, curled in a ball, snored by his post at the hearth. Alex reached for the cordless and called Tess but got no answer. He stared through the window at the nearly whiteout conditions and a shiver of alarm tripped up his spine.
***
Tess pulled into the driveway, shut off the van’s engine and laid her head on the steering wheel. Her head hurt, her back ached, her feet were killing her and, to top it all off, she was coming down with the mother of all colds.
The sun had set, but her day wasn’t nearly finished and tomorrow she would have to start all over. The thought made her want to cry.
She coughed, wrapping her arm around her aching ribs. Damn it, she couldn’t afford to get sick now, not in the middle of the holiday season and with Alex to take care of. She managed to climb out of the van and trudge through the snow to the front door.
She’d have to shovel the drive before loading the van in the morning. Just another thing to add to her to-do list. Before Alex had been shot, she’d been thinking of hiring someone. Maybe a high school girl to help with odds and ends of her business. Now she wished she had.
“Where the hell have you been?” Alex stood in the open doorway, leaning heavily on the cane she knew damn right well the doctor hadn’t approved.
“Making deliveries, I told you that.”
“That was hours ago.”
Tess shut the new door carefully and walked into the kitchen with her coat still on. She pulled eggs and butter out of the refrigerator.
“You’re cooking again?”
“
Baking
. I bake. And it’s the Christmas season. People want Christmas cookies.”
“I thought we could talk.”
He wanted to talk
now
? When she had more orders to complete? When he hadn’t wanted to talk six months ago? She placed her hands on her hips, wincing at the sharp stab of pain in her lower back. “I have orders to fill, Alex. People rely on me. If you’re bored and need some entertainment, call Tony.”
He blinked and seemed taken aback. “You could have called and told me you were running late.”