Shot Through the Heart

by Diane Benefiel

  Ten minutes later, he was back, rapping lightly on the kitchen door. When she opened it, he passed her Cooper’s leash. “Everything’s secure. It looks like the guy tried your front windows, looking for one that might be open. Trampled a couple of bushes. He’s long gone now.”

  She nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”

  He looked at her with suspicion. “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “No, I’m serious. Thank you for going out there in the first place. For bandaging my knee.” She shrugged. “And for making me feel safe.”

  He whistled out a breath. “Be careful saying things like that, Rane. Men are suckers for women in need of protection.”

  She smiled at him. “Okay. And, John? You should switch from firefighter training to the police academy. You’re a natural.” With that, she closed the door and turned the lock.

  ***

  Rane stood on the tall ladder with an open can of wood putty on the tray. She’d had the paint on the porch and wood trim professionally removed to deal with the lead issue, but she intended to save money by prepping and painting the raw wood herself. She scooped more putty from the can onto her knife and pressed it into a nail hole in the second-story window sill. The day had grown warm, and sweat trickled down the small of her back. Focused on her task, she meticulously filled imperfections. The compound dried quickly and soon would be ready for sanding. She needed this kind of work. After the events of the night before and the visit to her father this morning, she needed to distract herself, keep herself busy.

  At sixty-five, Doug Smith should have been enjoying his retirement, traveling, going fishing, having coffee with his buddies. Instead, he spent his days watching reruns of 1980s TV shows and talking to himself. After the Alzheimer’s diagnosis, he’d lived with her for a while. With in-home care while she was at work, she’d been able to care for him. But, two months before, when his condition worsened, she’d made the heart-wrenching decision to place him in a facility. Though, rationally, she knew it was the right thing to do, she still felt tremendous guilt.

  She visited him on the days she wasn’t working. Some days were good; he remembered she was his daughter, and his irritability stayed in check. But today hadn’t been one of those days. She’d arrived with birdseed to fill the feeder outside his window, and he’d complained that the birds had kept him up all night. Pointing out that the birds weren’t out at night would have gotten her nowhere. Instead, she had stowed the birdseed and sat with her father, playing the music that sometimes soothed him. What bothered her most was he’d brought up the DiNardo case. And today wasn’t the first time. While he often forgot something she’d told him five minutes before, he remembered with crisp detail how he’d planted the heroin that had gotten Kyle sentenced to prison.

  Rane wondered if her dad had said anything about the case around the staff, or if they would do anything about it if he did. She thought it must be weighing on his conscience. Holding onto the window sill, she carefully climbed one more step up the ladder. She tapped the lid closed on the putty and picked up the sanding block.

  “Hey, what are you doing up there?”

  She looked down into John’s upturned face. Gorgeous blue eyes and dark stubble along a strong jaw did nothing for her equilibrium. The little scar on his chin only added to his appeal. Images of the night before flashed through her mind. She wondered if he felt the change in their relationship. Or maybe it was all in her head, and there was no change.

  “Rane?”

  God, she was losing it. “I’m running a marathon. Doesn’t it look like it?”

  “Cute.” He studied her for a moment. “Would it be wrong to say I don’t like you up there?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, then I won’t say it. Would you come down?”

  She continued using the sanding block, smoothing the dried putty until it blended into the wood. “No.”

  “Can I do that for you?”

  “No.”

  “You pissed at me?”

  She looked down at him again. “No.” There was no way to tell him of her worry that, by renting him the apartment, she might have put him in danger from Kyle DiNardo. She couldn’t help feeling safer knowing he would protect her, but couldn’t shake the fear that the same instinct could get him hurt.

  “Are you going to use wood preservative on that?”

  She nodded.

  “Where is it?”

  She raised a brow before answering. “There’s a can of sealer/preservative in the garage.”

  He started toward the garage, and she called after him. “John, you really don’t have to do that. Go lift weights or something.”

  He stopped, turning back to look at her. “I’d like to help. Okay?”

  She gave a slow nod. She was so used to doing everything herself, his offer disconcerted her. He returned minutes later with her other ladder and the can of wood treatment.

  After leaning the ladder against the wall on the opposite side of the window and climbing up, he pried the lid off the can and dipped in a clean brush. “What color are you painting the trim?”

  Stifling a sigh, Rane decided to go along with the conversation. “White. I’m going to keep it white and the siding pine green. The front door will be a deep burgundy red.”

  “Nice.”

  She finished sanding and watched him apply the sealer with competent strokes of the brush. She fought against the pull of his physicality. She didn’t want to be attracted to John Davidson. There were reasons for that. Lots of reasons. Between her father and Kyle, her life was anything but stable. And with Kyle out of prison, her situation could blow up at any moment. She needed things calm and simple, and she had a suspicion John would be anything but calm and simple.

  Glancing down the sidewalk, Rane bit back a groan. Mrs. Kershaw approached, decked out in a sapphire pantsuit matching the sparkling collar and leash on Honey Pumpkin, her blonde Lhasa Apso.

  “Yoo hoo, Rane, sweetie! How are you?” Her neighbor sang the words.

  Over-the-top by nature, Mrs. Kershaw did everything with enthusiasm from walking the dog to growing spectacular roses. Rane normally enjoyed her for the simple reason that while Mrs. Kershaw might be nosy, she cared about people. She also realized the woman filled her life with her neighbors’ comings and goings to stave off the loneliness brought on by Mr. Kershaw’s death the previous year. Rane often invited her in for tea, but today’s visit could be fraught with peril if she zeroed in on John. Not that Rane blamed her. Wearing a navy Henley shirt and low-slung jeans, John looked rough and ready. Not many women would be able to resist his appeal. Added to that, she had reason to know Mrs. Kershaw just loved matchmaking, and she wouldn’t be subtle.

  “I’m good, Mrs. Kershaw.” Rane smiled at her neighbor.

  But Mrs. Kershaw wasn’t looking at her; her attention had zeroed in on the man who’d paused in his work on the opposite side of the window. Honey Pumpkin waddled over to the lilac bush and lifted his leg. Cooper didn’t even bother to get up from his shady spot on the porch. Rane thought Cooper didn’t really count Honey Pumpkin as a dog; he probably thought of him more as some sort of mobile mop.

  “Is this your tenant, Rane, honey?”

  “This is John Davidson, and, yes, he’s renting the apartment.”

  John descended the ladder and, after setting down the can of preservative, held out his hand. “Mrs. Kershaw.”

  She grasped his hand in both of hers. “My, I do love men with manners, especially when they’re handsome. You look like you’re willing to help out, too. Rane could use someone like you in her life.”

  “You hear that, Rane? You could use someone like me in your life.” When John grinned up at her, Rane actually felt her heart trip. Oh no, that wouldn’t do.

  She descended the ladder carefully then set her tools on the porch. “Great. Then you can finish with the preservative on that window trim while I get changed to run my errands.” Errands she had just made up.

  Mrs. Kershaw cac
kled. “She’s got your number, John.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d better get that wood preserved.”

  Rane escaped into the house, wondering how she was going to keep John at a distance when he kept closing the gap. She had to do something to stop this reaction whenever he was near. If she didn’t see him, didn’t interact with him, didn’t find those blue eyes watching her, then maybe this insane attraction would fizzle out.

  Chapter Three

  Driving home from work the following evening, Rane felt raw. She kept seeing Emily, sweet, funny Emily, lying on a gurney. The orderly had come to move her body to the morgue, and her parents, shattered by grief, hadn’t wanted to let their daughter go.

  Heart heavy, she let herself into her house and greeted Cooper with a rub. Petting the dog always made her feel better. She fed him and, after he’d eaten, clipped on his leash.

  She usually liked walking in her neighborhood. This evening, kids were outside squeezing in the last few minutes of play before being called in to do their homework. Rick from two doors down pulled his trashcans up from the street, and Mrs. Kershaw waved at Rane as she chatted with another neighbor. Everything seemed so normal.

  Emily’s house was just a few blocks away. A group of teenagers gathered on the front lawn. Some were in tears, others looked frightened. She talked to a couple of kids she knew before asking one of them to hold Cooper. Rane went through the open front door and found the parents huddled together on the couch. She spoke a few words to them, but, really, what could she say? She was sorry Emily was dead? It seemed so useless. But they listened, faces grief-stricken, and thanked her. Around the room, conversations were subdued. Rane talked with a few people until finally, not able to take any more, she broke away. She got her dog and walked home, head down, in the deepening twilight. Number one rule of nursing, don’t get emotionally involved. You can’t survive otherwise. But, every now and then, feelings slipped past your guard, found a chink in the armor.

  “Rane.”

  She jerked to a stop on her front lawn. Once again, John was sitting on the porch, a beer next to him on the step. So much for her plan of a little distance. “Hi.”

  “I didn’t want to startle you, risk the pepper spray again.”

  “Good call.”

  She hadn’t moved from the middle of the yard, but Cooper tugged on the leash. Giving in, she followed the dog to the porch.

  “You going to sit, relax for a few minutes?”

  He must have seen the indecision on her face because he reached out and tugged her down. She sat next to him and unclipped Cooper’s leash so he could lie across the step at her feet.

  “So.”

  She turned to look at him, suddenly glad for the distraction. “So?”

  He studied her for a moment. “You okay?”

  With him gazing at her expectantly, Rane looked away, trying to suppress the emotions just under the surface. “I’m fine.”

  He sat quietly, drinking his beer. He tipped the bottle toward her. “Can I get you one?”

  She shook her head. She remained silent, brooding. “My day was crappy.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  She found that she did. “Two more overdoses today. One fatal.” Though she stared out into the darkening street, what she really saw was the teenage girl lying dead on a hospital bed.

  “Heroin again?”

  “Yeah. Both of them.” He was easy to talk to. “The one girl will make it, at least for now. Hopefully, she’ll accept the treatment as the lifeline it is. But the other, a nineteen-year-old, she didn’t.” She turned to look at him, fighting the sadness. “Nineteen, and her life is over because she got hooked on heroin. I knew her. Emily. Emily Johansson. She lived only a few blocks from here.”

  “I’m sorry. It always seems worse when it’s kids.” They sat for several minutes in the quiet. “Is that where you went with the dog?”

  “Yeah. There’s a lot of heartbreak out there because of some really bad drugs.” She wondered if the DiNardo family was still behind the heroin trade in the city. It was probably a safe bet they were.

  “Rane.” His voice held a quiet urgency.

  She looked at him sharply. “What?”

  “Do you know why someone might be watching your house?”

  “Where?” She grabbed Cooper’s collar, glancing up and down the street.

  “In a gray sedan parked across the street, one door down. I’m going to turn my back to the car. It will appear you’re looking at me but I want you to look over my shoulder. He was there earlier this afternoon. I just realized he’s there again.”

  John angled his body, and, stomach sinking, Rane looked past him to the vehicle. There wasn’t enough light to make out the person’s features, but she could see the profile, and she knew. The fantasy she’d woven that it hadn’t been him that night, that he would leave her alone, was just that. Kyle was out, and he was here.

  “Do you recognize the car or the driver?”

  “Yes.”

  Steady eyes reflected the porch light. “Is he a threat?”

  Rane swallowed hard. “Possibly.”

  He leaned forward, blocking her view. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to stand up and go into the house together. I’ll put my arm around your shoulders so it looks like we’re together.”

  When she tried to look past him, he leaned closer, his breath fanning her lips. He brought warm fingers up to touch her cheek, gaze intent. “Don’t look at him again. Follow my lead.”

  Standing, he pulled her up with him, draping his arm around her. Cooper scrambled to his feet to follow them. John opened the screen, and, when she would have flipped on the light, he tightened his hold. “Go through to the kitchen and turn on the light in there. I’m going to watch from the window. Do something normal; mess with the dishes or something so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

  Moving away from John, from the security of his nearness, was harder than Rane would ever have guessed. But she did as directed and began emptying the dishwasher, her mind racing. She could get her gun. She had two. One upstairs and one down. But she’d wait to see if Kyle came to the house.

  She’d been a fool thinking she was safe. For not considering her visitor two nights before as a warning. She needed to find the name of Kyle’s parole officer. He’d most likely deny being at her house, but she would document everything that happened. She set plates in the cupboard then began sorting knives, forks, and spoons into a drawer.

  Another thought had her chewing on her bottom lip. John seemed instinctively to want to protect her. Maybe it was a military thing, but he seemed ready to meet danger head on. Against the DiNardo family, though, he could get hurt. Or worse. As safe as he made her feel, living in her house put him in danger. Going along with him acting like her boyfriend probably hadn’t been the wisest course if it provoked Kyle.

  She looked up, and John was there, standing in the doorway, broad shoulders filling it. He didn’t seem scared or even the least bit concerned. “He drove off.”

  Rane drew in a steadying breath. “Okay.” She let the breath out in a rush. “I’ve made a mistake.”

  He raised a brow. “We all make them.”

  “No, really. I shouldn’t have involved you.”

  “Too late.”

  His offhand attitude did nothing to ease the dread tying her stomach into knots. “No, it’s not. I should never have rented the apartment to you. You need to leave.”

  He moved into the kitchen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You don’t understand. He just got out of prison, and he’s dangerous. I’m revoking your lease. I’ll give you back your deposit.”

  “You’re spooked. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “He’s an ex-boyfriend. And he’s nuts. Or, at least, I think he is. You have to leave.”

  When he just watched her with a bland stare, Rane gripped a spoon in her fist, fingernails digging into her palm. “Look, you don’t have any choice.
We made it look like we’re together. He’ll get jealous. I’m not renting to you any longer.”

  Cooper came up to brush his head against John’s leg, and he reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Rane, you can try to kick me out, but you’re wasting your time. You’ll be safer if I stay.”

  She stifled a groan of frustration.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  She stood straight and looked him in the eye to make the lies more credible. “Like I said, he’s just an ex-boyfriend. He can get a little jealous. It would be better all-around if you moved out. I’m really sorry for all the trouble.”

  “So, if I’ve got this straight, you have an ex who could be a threat to you. He was sitting in a car outside your house tonight. He quite possibly tried to break in a few days ago. And you want me to leave because I might be in danger? Not going to happen.” He turned to open the refrigerator.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing what’s for dinner.” He pulled out a container, holding it up to inspect the contents. “What’s this?”

  She stalked up to him and jerked the glass bowl out of his hand. “Chicken.” She shoved it back into the refrigerator and slammed the door shut. “Let’s go. We’ll go up to your apartment, and I’ll help you get anything you’ve unpacked back in boxes. I’m not feeding you dinner.”

  When she would have opened the kitchen door, he shifted in front of her and grasped her arms. She wondered if the army had trained him to move so fluidly.

  “Rane, think about it. We make dinner, and, from your dining table, we keep watch on the street. I want to see if he drives by again.”

  “Why are you doing this? You’re crazy.”

  “Not crazy. There’s just no way I can walk away with you in danger.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’re the one who’s in danger.”

  “I can protect myself. And you should call the cops or his parole officer. If he’s in violation of his parole, he could be sent back to prison, and you’d rest easy again.” He let go of her before turning back to open the refrigerator, retrieving the chicken, and setting it on the counter. He fished around in the vegetable drawer. Tomato, lettuce, and an onion joined the chicken. “Do you have any tortillas?”