Sneaky’s hearty bark switched to a whine as she padded toward Grace and nudged Grace’s free hand with her snout.
“What is it, girl?” Grace whispered.
Sneaky went to the back door and growled. Grace felt faint.
* * *
Jess stepped back behind a tree. Fucking dog! He intended to shoot the dog first chance he got. He reconsidered. No, maybe I’ll slice its throat and hang her from a tree branch. Grace would freak out. Laughter welled in his chest. He imagined Grace’s expression finding the mutt swinging in the breeze.
The dog stopped barking. Jess saw Grace’s silhouette pass by the kitchen window. He wanted to rush to her and hold her in his arms. All I want is you, babe. Just you.
* * *
Paul stared at the ceiling. The last time he checked the time, it was two-forty-five. In his mind, he considered the move from Grace’s house to his. He mentally placed her furniture in his living room. He had decided it was time to bite the bullet and let his parents’ furniture go. The couch was dated and the upholstery worn. Grace had different tastes, more contemporary tastes, and he liked it. He wanted her to make the decision where they would call home, giving her a fresh start if she wanted. We can get a larger house with a fenced in backyard for Sneaky. He would provide a fortress—a place where he didn’t have to worry about Grace’s safety. His gut knew better and rumbled in response. Until Jess was behind bars or dead, no such place existed.
* * *
When a light went on in the house, Jess slipped through the trees past the neighbor’s yard and into the night. A feeling weighed heavy in his chest. Remorse? He couldn’t identify the emotion that drew his mouth into a frown, made his feet feel leaden, and his heart ache. Something in the back of his brain told him if he had been more like loverboy and less like good ol’ mom, he would have been in Grace’s bed, rather than stalking her house at three in the morning. His groin ached with the memory of his skin touching hers. He fought the temptation to go back, break down her door, and ravish her on the kitchen floor. The visual alone made his frown turn upside down. The skip returned to his step. Don’t do it. He began to laugh out loud. Oh, Grace, you have no idea what I’ like to do to you right now.
He walked a half-mile to the light rail station and waited for the next train heading downtown. The blue line would take him a block from his hotel.
* * *
Grace found it difficult to settle back into a sleep mode. The hairs on her arms bristled with every little noise. Sneaky, who normally slept in a bed off the kitchen, slept restlessly curled on the rug beside Grace’s bed. She, too, seemed high strung and alert with every sound.
Tempted to call Paul, Grace reached for her cell. Maybe a text would make her feel more at ease. She typed in all caps, “I LOVE YOU,” and hit send. She didn’t expect a reply at four in the morning.
Her new phone jingled a Sting tune, Everything Little Thing She Does is Magic, alerting her to a text. Paul’s reply made her smile:
“LOVE YOU TOO! IMAGINE ME THERE.”
She turned into her pillow, hugged the blanket to her chest, and fell back to sleep.
* * *
“Where the hell have you been, Sheppard?” Simone rose from the sofa, dressed in a tight red-leather jumpsuit adorned with a wide, chainmail-link belt. A young woman lounged beside her, bare-breasted and obviously high as a kite.
“What do you care? Looks like you didn’t miss me a bit.” “We stopped in earlier. You were sleeping. We went for drinks. When we came back, you were gone. I planned to share, but as you Americans would say, ‘Snooze you lose; too bad, so sad.’”
Jess nodded toward the sofa. “Who’s your friend?”
“Vivian, darling, meet Darren.”
The zombie on the couch raised her head and grinned. “Hi.”
Jess eyed the zombie’s breasts. Not bad. Larger than he preferred. For now, youth was on her side. Her mounds of flesh were still firm like melons, but Jess foretold, by the time she was thirty, they’d be resting on her belly.
“Simone? Just what do you intend to do with this…wretch?”
“Is that any way to speak to your benefactor?”
“Sorry, sweet cheeks. I’m not in the mood to disembowel anyone right now. Perhaps you can put this junkie in a taxi and fetch me some breakfast. That would be beneficial to me.”
“What’s gotten into you, Sheppard? You used to be fun.”
The zombie fought to keep her eyes open. Her lids fluttered like sparkly butterflies.
“How old is she? Twenty? If that?”
“Since when has age been an issue?” Simone sat beside Vivian and began massaging her flesh. “Vivian wants to play, don’t you baby?”
Vivian’s eyes glazed over. She moaned and drew one leg over the other. Spittle ran down the corner of her mouth.
“Get her out of here. Now!” Jess leaned close to Simone, his nose almost touching hers. “I have no intention of going to jail because you can’t control your itch. This is not what I call fun. It’s pathetic.” He backed away from Simone’s glare. He wanted to strike her across the face. He refrained. Perhaps next time. “Now about that breakfast?”
* * *
Paul gave up on sleep. One hundred push-ups, a ten-K run and a bowl of Cheerios couldn’t relieve his anxiety. He turned on his computer and scanned the morning news. At 6:15, he dialed Grace.
Her sleepy hello sparked his guilt. “Hi, sweetheart. Did I wake you?”
“No, I was just getting up. How did you know I was thinking about you?”
“Is that why the sun is shining so brightly in my world?”
“Cut the flattery. You don’t do mornings, at least not this early. What’s wrong?”
“Move in with me.”
“What?”
“I miss you. I want to wake up with you beside me.”
“But—”
“We can marry when you’re ready, but why wait to—”
“Okay.”
“You mean it?”
“Your place is larger. Closer to work.”
“Better appliances.”
Grace bit her bottom lip while twirling strands of hair into a thick lock. “I’ll call a Realtor today.” She stared at the sleeping dog close by, recalling her fright the night before. “How about this weekend?”
“I’ll make room for your things.” He wiped one sweaty palm on his pants. “We can talk about redecorating over dinner tonight.”
“My last client is at 5 o’clock. I’ll meet you downtown, say 6:15?”
“Perfect. I’ll think of someplace quiet where we can talk.” Grace hung up with Paul and made a dash for the restroom. Sneaky followed in her wake. The dog sprawled out in front of the bathtub and waited.
“We’re moving, Sneaky. Paul’s going to take good care of us. No more nights like last night. No, he’ll be there to watch over us and protect us.” From? She caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were wide, her smile fake. Who was she trying to kid? She imagined Jess in an orange jumpsuit, shackled and broken.
Hot water couldn’t wash away her blues. What’s wrong with you? She just agreed to move in with the man she loved. She should be feeling ecstatic. Instead, she felt dreadful. When will it end? She made a mental note to call Spider. She had a plan.
CHAPTER 15
VINCENT CHARLES
I want to be used as bait,” she heard herself say. Spider remained silent on the other end of the line. “If I can flush him out of hiding, you’ll have a better chance of snagging him, right?”
“You’ve been watching too many CSI episodes, Grace. We don’t work like that.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t put people’s lives in jeopardy to catch criminals, that’s why not!”
“What’s the alternative? Do I live in fear the rest of my life? I’m sick of this shit! I can’t sleep. I cringe every time the phone rings−even my dog is being affected! We have to do something, Spider. I’m going mad!”
&nbs
p; “I know, Grace, but we can’t go playing around with someone this dangerous.”
“Then tell me what is it that you’re doing? It’s been months!”
“He’s a slippery S.O.B. You know that.”
“Yes, and that slippery S.O.B. has my phone number and knows where I live. It wouldn’t surprise me if it were him that upset my dog last night.”
“You didn’t tell me that, what happened?”
“Sneaky started barking around 2:30 in the morning. I went downstairs to investigate.”
“And?”
“And nothing. She growled a few times and stopped barking. Could’ve been a raccoon. She hates them. Squirrels, too.”
“So you’re telling me she barks at everything.”
“No. She barks at raccoons, squirrels, and Jess. A little late for squirrels and raccoons.”
“I don’t think raccoons have curfews.”
“You may be right. All I know is that I am not sure what or who is creeping around my yard, and that keeps me from getting a good night’s sleep.”
“Noted. You want surveillance?”
“I’m moving in with Paul.”
“Oh.”
Grace sensed the sadness in Spider’s voice as if she reminded him that Garrett was gone, and there wouldn’t be a happy ending to their story. “I’m sorry, that was rather blunt.”
“Hey, I’m happy you found another nice guy. I was beginning to think me and Weston were the only two on the planet.” They both laughed, easing the tension.
“I miss him too, Spider, but I can’t bring him back.”
“No, you’re right.”
“At least his killer is behind bars.”
“Not so sure he did it.”
“What? What are you saying? Charro Vasquez is innocent?” Grace felt a chill from her head to her toes. “Why would you say that, Spider? Why?” Never in a million years did she expect to receive that kind of news.
“Forget I said anything. You know these fancy lawyers. In order to make a name, they have to do a little charity work now and then. Vasquez snagged himself a big shark, the notorious Everett Stein, that’s all. The guy’s been digging. Seems Charro’s alibi held more water than we thought.”
“Everett Stein? Jess worked for him. What are you thinking?”
“Let’s just say, we thought we had the weapon. Turns out we were wrong. Ballistics makes mistakes now and then. We got a lot of new guys. What can I say?”
“Spider, if Charro didn’t kill him, then who?”
“You know, you and my wife oughta get together—Christ! The more answers I provide, the more questions I get. Look, I’ve said too much already. Leave it alone for now. When I find out more, I’ll let you know. Until then, do you own a gun?”
“No!”
“I suggest you get one.”
“Garrett talked me into a dog instead.”
“Garrett’s not here. I say get a gun. Learn how to use it.”
“Thanks. This has been a reassuring conversation. Remind me never to call you when I’m afraid.”
“You got it. And good luck with the move. Small loads. It wouldn’t hurt to remain inconspicuous until we catch the bastard.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Grace hung up the phone. A gun? Her hands trembled. “Shit.”
* * *
At 2 p.m., Grace greeted a new client. Vincent Charles professed to be a neurotic, out-of-work actor. His twelve-year relationship with his girlfriend Daphne suffered along with his ego. She threatened daily to move out and move on. His nerves were shot, so was his liver and his self-confidence. He was one miserable human being.
“When I met Daphne, she knew nothing about the business. She begged and cajoled me to be her mentor.” Vincent clasped his hands behind a head full of thick, salt-and-pepper hair, stretched moderately long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “At first I wanted nothing to do with her,” he said narrowing steel-blue eyes. “Hell, she was twenty-nine, never been married. I figured she wanted a sugar daddy.” He drummed the arm of the chair with long fingers. “It seemed fate intervened. We kept getting called to the same gigs, and ironically, we got cast in a romantic role together.” He rubbed the side of his clean-shaven face with his palm. “When we kissed, I knew. God, the effect she had on me. Her lips? An elixir, a drug.” He directed his eyes toward the ceiling. “After that, we dated, had amazing sex, and within the year, we moved in together.”
“Is she upset with you being out of work?”
“At my age, being unemployed period is unattractive. What do you think?”
Grace glanced at his questionnaire. Fifty-nine? She had to give him credit, he could easily pass for forty. “When’s the last time you worked?”
“I wrapped a production in October last year. I had enough money to get through December. Hell, I even bought her the beach cruiser she wanted for Christmas.”
“Do you work other jobs in between your acting?”
“I used to wait tables in my twenties and thirties.” He held his hands up, rotating them back and forth. “Bad wrists. No one wants a waiter with bad wrists. Same with bartending.” He gripped the arms of the chair. “I parked cars for a while. The hours sucked, and the job didn’t give me the flexibility I needed for auditions.”
Grace folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward. “What are you able to do to earn a living besides acting?”
Vincent’s eyes grew large. His lips sputtered, “Why…why, nothing! Acting is my life!”
“Clearly you need food, a roof over your head. Does Daphne work?”
“Yes. She has a very good job. What she makes is more than adequate for the both of us.”
“How does she feel about carrying the load?”
“She’s become jealous and petty. She thinks I’m going to run off with every ingénue I meet.”
“Does she have reason to believe you would?”
“No! Mingling comes with the territory. I’m friendly.” He flashed a smile. “Women are friendly to me. She, of all people, knows that! Why, she flirted with me herself.”
“Flirting and friendly are two different things. Does she flirt with other men?”
“She’s…let’s say…getting to that age where women start to lose their sparkle.” His mouth twisted with sarcasm. “She would be happier with herself if she’d go to the gym once and awhile.”
“Do you go the gym?”
He puffed his pectorals and answered indignantly. “Yes! Every day.”
“While she’s working?”
“Yes, but—”
“Who does the cooking?”
“She does.” He sat up straight, drawing his legs closer to him. “I burn water for Pete’s sake.”
“Laundry?”
Vincent folded his arms across his chest. “She knows if she wants her whites, white, she better not leave the job up to me.”
“So what is it that you do besides work out?”
“I go to auditions, network—”
“Network?”
“You know, have coffee with producers and lunch with people in the industry. Go to workshops.”
“When do you and Daphne spend time together?”
“I’m home every night unless I’m working.”
“Do you do things as a couple?”
“We go to events together.”
“Events that pertain to acting?”
“Yes, film festivals, premieres, that sort of thing.”
“It this what she likes to do, too?”
“She tries to get me to attend her work functions. Frankly, they bore the hell out of me.”
Grace penciled notes on the yellow tablet and closed the folder.
“Well, Vincent, I’ve listened to you, and quite truthfully, you don’t seem to be giving as much as you’re taking. I think if you want the relationship to work, you’ll need to put forth more effort.”
Again, Vincent’s eyes grew large. He strangled his words, squeezing each one throu
gh tight lips, “You think it’s my fault?”
“Nope. It takes two to make a relationship work. From what you’ve told me, it appears there is a lack of balance. She works at her job, comes home, and works some more. If she’s lucky, you’re not networking, and when you do spend time with her, it’s all about you.”
“Can you talk to me like that?”
“If you want me to help you, I must.”
“So, I’m a loser.”
“Those weren’t my words.”
“That’s what Daphne says. I’m a has-been, a washed up wanna-be.”
“Words can be hurtful.”
His jaw went slack. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I’ll do if she leaves me.”
“Do you love her?”
Vincent blinked several times as if the contrary never occurred to him. “I’ve been with her for twelve years.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Miss Simms, I find the question rather insulting.”
“I don’t mean to offend. I’m just trying to get to the truth. You see, therapy is about facing your demons and working through your fears. If we’re going to make progress, you have to be truthful with yourself and with me. Funny how the adage that ‘the truth will set you free’ works.”
“She accuses me of not loving her enough. What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t love her enough? What’s enough?”
“Do you feel loved by her?”
“Yes. I never question her love for me.”
“Why is that?”
“There’s no need to.”
“And why is that?”
“Everything she does is out of love for me, I know that. If I had a job, maybe I could show her—”
“Love doesn’t cost a dime.” Grace felt the love she held for Paul deep inside. She couldn’t wait until the day was done, until she could seek the comfort of him, and wrap herself in his love. Will the day come when we’re too busy to cherish one another? Never. She pitied her client. He seemed close to tears.
“It’s hard to respond to someone who thinks you’re a loser.”
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