Divorced, Desperate and Daring

by Christie Craig

  “We did, and we’re going to confirm that, but she could have gotten someone to do it for her.”

  She lost her battle with the onslaught of emotions. “I think . . . I’m going to need another glass of wine.”

  • • •

  Danny watched Sheri stand up. He couldn’t quite read the emotion in her eyes. Chloe shot out of the chair to follow Sheri, but Danny jumped up right after her. “I got this.”

  Chloe made one of those feminine sounds that puts guys on alert and makes them want to cover their crotch. “I don’t think so.”

  “No.” Cary spoke up. “Let him go.” His friend took his wife’s hand and gave her a tug. Chloe stared at him as if confused.

  “Please,” Cary said.

  “But . . .” Chloe turned her glare on Danny.

  Cary gave his wife’s hand another tug. “Sheri can send him packing if she wants to. She’s a big girl.”

  Chloe plopped back down. But even the sofa seemed to be afraid as it sank down around her.

  Danny sent Cary a nod of thanks and hoped his friend’s help didn’t land him in the doghouse. Cary tilted his head as if saying go before Chloe changed her mind. Danny took off for the kitchen.

  Sheri fought to unscrew the cork on a wine bottle. Danny wondered if there was any way to unscrew his mistake with her.

  “Let me help you.”

  She looked back, and he saw the tears in her eyes. He’d always been a sucker for tears.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No.” She handed him the bottle with the corkscrew sticking out. “I can’t believe any of this is happening.” A few tears slipped from her lashes. “Allergies,” she snapped and brushed off her cheeks.

  “Happens to me all the time.” He set the wine bottle on the table and took a step closer to her. He wanted to pull her against him, but his gut said she’d only push him away.

  Baby steps. He needed to be patient.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wasn’t sure if that was what bothered her, but that was what he had to offer.

  She swiped her cheeks again. “Because it’s your job?” She flinched when the words left her lips, as if she wanted to swallow them back up.

  “No. Because it’s you. I care about you.”

  Her breath came out shuddered. She glanced down. “I really don’t think someone’s trying to kill me,” she said, obviously steering away from his heartfelt confession.

  “And you may be right. I’ll find out.”

  She inhaled and glanced to the doorway leading to the living room. “Am I endangering them by staying here? If something happens to—”

  “No,” he said. “You said Mark didn’t know where Chloe lived, and since you were broken up with Kevin when you got together with Cary, I’m assuming Kevin doesn’t where he lives now. So for sure his ex-fiancée wouldn’t.”

  She nodded.

  He picked up the bottle and went back to opening it.

  She stood there just staring, and he’d give anything to read her mind. He picked up her glass from the table, filled it and handed it to her.

  When the silence grew a little long, he said, “I’m going to go and knock on a few more doors. I’ll call you and let you know what I find.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Damn, he wanted to touch her. To wrap her in his arms and pull her against him. He fisted his hands to wave off the temptation. “You’re welcome. Try to relax. Drink some more wine.”

  She nodded. They both started walking at the same time. Their shoulders brushed. They stopped. Before he could stop himself, he reached and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He remembered exactly how her hair felt from their night. He let his fingers linger right below her perfectly shaped ear. Her hand came up, and before she could push him away, he pulled back. Then, as much as he wished he didn’t have to, he left the room. Right before he cleared the kitchen door, he glanced back.

  Her gaze met his like a magnet. Blue on blue. God, she was gorgeous.

  He smiled. She didn’t return the gesture, but she didn’t glance away either. And that gave him just a little more hope.

  He walked into the living room and focused first on Chloe. “Thank you.”

  She nodded, no longer looking furious, but her gaze held a warning. Hurt my friend, and you’ll pay.

  “I’m going to go see if I can run down a few more people. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  Cary followed Danny out the door. As soon as the door closed, his friend started talking. “What’s your gut saying? You think Kevin’s fiancée is behind this?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I still think it was a man who approached Perkins, but the timing’s right, and like I said, she could have gotten someone to do it for her.”

  “Did this guy, Kevin, act like the fiancée was capable of doing something like this?”

  “No, he said what everyone says, ‘She’s not like that,’ but who the hell knows. I’m going to run by there tonight.”

  Cary shrugged. “And I was so sure it was the fiancé of the cheating Sheri Thompson.”

  “I know,” Danny said. “I still have to talk to him.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. It’s your day off, and you helped with the interviews. Stay here.” He looked back at the door. “Thanks for what you did . . . back there with Chloe.”

  Cary ran a hand over his chin. “Don’t screw it up, or she’ll make sure I live to regret it. Honestly, I’m still not sure who my wife loves more, me or Sheri.”

  “Got it.” Danny started to walk off.

  “Be careful,” Cary said.

  He looked back. “This is a piece of cake.”

  “No.” Cary frowned. “You never go in with that attitude. Don’t let down your guard.”

  “You worry too much,” Danny offered.

  “You don’t worry enough.” Cary’s words sounded behind him as Danny walked off.

  • • •

  Caroline Williams still wasn’t home. And there wasn’t a light on at the house of Ricky Logan, the fiancé of the Sheri Thompson who was having an affair with a married man. Three knocks later, Danny returned to his car. Looked like tonight was going to be a wash.

  When he started his car, he debated skipping his ride across town to see Jacob Thompson, the ex-husband who resented paying child support. But at the last moment, he jumped on the freeway. Not as if he had anyone waiting at home for him. Well, except a flatulent monster of a dog.

  He looked at the clock in his dashboard. Sheri had said he could feed the dog around eight. That gave him an hour to visit Mr. Thompson and hopefully check him off the suspect list. It would really be nice to rule out one.

  Ten minutes later, he walked through calf-high weeds to the porch of a one-story gray brick home in a not-so-great neighborhood on the south side of town. A car, on blocks, was sitting outside the garage. He could see the television, a 62-inch screen, playing from the front window.

  He might actually get to talk to someone this time. He brushed his coat back, ready to show his badge, and knocked.

  The door swung open. “Yeah.”

  Two things immediately hit. The smell of marijuana and the fact that the man who opened the door wasn’t his guy. The man standing there was white.

  “I’m looking for Jacob Thompson,” he said, unsure just what kind of situation he’d walked into. Over the guy’s shoulder, Danny could see the living room, and it appeared empty. Was Jacob in the back of the house, or was he out? Danny’s hand lowered a few inches, giving him a closer reach to his gun if he had to go for it.

  “And you are?” The greasy haired, beer-bellied shirtless guy, asked.

  “Detective Dan Hender—” He hadn’t even gotten his full name out when the guy cold-cocked him. And Danny hadn’t been expecting it.

  He went down. Cary’s warning rang in his head. Don’t let down your guard.

  Chapter Eight

  On his butt, Danny r
eached for his gun.

  Before he retrieved his weapon, the piece of shit with a hard fist bolted over him and started hauling ass.

  Pain sparked a growl out of Danny. He lurched up and hauled ass after him.

  “Police. Stop!” he yelled, and kept his Glock out as he moved in case the guy had a gun tucked in his pants.

  The guy didn’t stop. But neither did he turn and attempt to shoot. Danny pushed himself to move faster. The stitches in his arm stung a little. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Fury filled his chest.

  In one week, he’d been shot, peppered and now punched. This had to stop. And so did the perp bolting down the dark street, running like a drunk hippo.

  Danny pushed his legs faster. Drunk hippo didn’t stand a chance. The distance between him and the high-as-a-kite jerk quickly closed. The sound of the guy trying to breathe grew louder with each of Danny’s footfalls. Obviously, the man wasn’t in the best shape.

  “I said . . . stop!” he called out one more time. “Before you . . . have a . . . heart attack!”

  When that order was ignored, Danny tackled the guy to the ground. The scent of beer and weed filled Danny’s nose. The guy landed on his back, and Danny ended up on top of him. Not a pleasant experience and one Danny rectified quickly, falling to his knees beside the guy.

  “Roll over!” Danny growled and assisted the guy in obeying. The perp was too out of breath to fight him. In less than a minute, he had the jerk cuffed and patted down. No weapons.

  Ten seconds later, Danny was on the phone calling for backup.

  “Why did you run?” Danny asked as soon as he hung up.

  The man still gasped for air, but he finally managed to sputter out a coherent thought. “I want a lawyer.”

  Not what Danny wanted to hear, but it told him a lot. Most of the time, innocent people didn’t ask for their lawyers. Not in their first half-taken breath. However, what the guy was guilty of was still in question. Was he behind the hit on Sheri Thompson? Or was he just a pothead?

  “Good, because you’re gonna need one!” Danny reached up and touched his jaw, which ached like a mother.

  He yanked the guy to his feet and started walking back to the house.

  “Anyone else home?” he asked a few feet from the porch. When the guy didn’t answer, Danny added, “I’m gonna ask one more time!”

  “No,” the guy spouted.

  Danny still pulled his weapon.

  When he got to the porch, he glanced inside. “Looks like you left your weed out, buddy,” Danny said, seeing the plastic bag on the coffee table. But what he saw next really upset him. A gun.

  “It’s not mine,” the man shouted in short, gaspy breaths.

  “It never is,” Danny said. Once inside, he called out “Police,” and held his gun ready just in case the guy had a friend in a back bedroom. Not a sound echoed from the house. But taking the hippo with him, he did a quick walk through the empty house.

  Back in the living room, he pulled the guy’s wallet out of his pants and pushed him down in a chair. “Does Jacob Thompson live here?” Danny asked.

  The guy frowned. “It’s his place. His weed and gun.”

  “Yeah, was that him smoking right before I came up, too?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  “Where is he?” he asked.

  “Out,” the guy snapped and took another gulp of air.

  Right then, sirens rang in the distance. Danny moved to the open door.

  It wasn’t a black and white that arrived first. Instead, Danny recognized Chase Kelly’s Jeep stop in front of the house. Jason Dodd, gun drawn, got out of the car first.

  “What we got?” Jason asked, seeing him.

  “Weed and a gun. Other than that, I don’t know.” Danny glanced back at the perp, still sitting in the chair, still struggling to breathe as if his little run had gotten the best of him.

  “You okay?” Chase asked, motioning to Danny’s lip. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Yeah.” Danny brushed a hand over his mouth. “I was just dropping by to talk to a person of interest in another case. This guy, obviously smoking a little weed, opened the door and he got in one punch. He’s already asked to see his lawyer, and I haven’t even arrested his ass yet.”

  “One of those, huh,” Jason said, eyeing the guy. Another siren sounded out front. Jason stepped out to wave the guys in.

  “Who is he?” Chase asked. Then looked at the guy in handcuffs for the answer.

  The perp didn’t answer.

  “Let’s see who we got.” Danny opened the wallet.

  He read the name off the driver’s license. “Harold Pain.” He glanced at the unhappy camper sitting in the chair, his face still red. “So, Harry, you got any warrants out on you?”

  The guy didn’t answer. Danny went to close the wallet and saw a piece of paper sticking out of one of the leather pockets. On it was written a name and address. The address didn’t ring a bell, but the name sure as hell did.

  Sheri Thompson.

  • • •

  “What did I do to get this bad karma?” Sheri asked, and suddenly she remembered. “Oh, hell, I ran over that opossum last week.”

  Chloe grinned. “Yeah, you told me, but you didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “But it still died.”

  “It might have been playing dead.”

  “No, I checked.”

  Chloe shook her head. “Gross. You got out of your car and looked?

  Sheri made a face. “It was sad and . . . not pretty.”

  “And what were you going to do if he hadn’t been dead? Take it to a vet?”

  “Maybe. I couldn’t walk away and let it suffer. You’d have done the same thing.”

  “A cat or dog, yes, but an opossum? No, that’s something only you would do. And personally, I don’t think karma comes after your ass over big rats.”

  Sheri reached for her wine glass and downed the last sip. Danny had left a little more than an hour ago, but Sheri still hadn’t wrapped her head around his news. Between Kevin’s wanting her back and his fiancée possibly wanting to kill her, she felt overloaded.

  “You want me to open another bottle?” Chloe asked.

  “No, I’m saving my calories for my birthday.”

  “What fancy-schmancy restaurant is your mom taking you to this year?”

  The question brought on another layer of unresolved emotions. “Perry’s, I think. But she’s taking me out Sunday night. She’s going to her Al-Anon meeting tomorrow night.”

  “She’s still going to those?” Chloe asked.

  “Yeah,” Sheri answered.

  “So she hasn’t moved on yet?”

  “Are you kidding? You’d think she was a walking, talking memorial to my father. She donated fifty thousand dollars to the church in my father’s name.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of money.”

  “Part of my dad’s life insurance,” Sheri said.

  “Well, I’m sure it will go to a good cause,” Chloe offered.

  Good cause, good cause, Sheri repeated in her head, but it didn’t help. “I’m not sure what surprises me more, that she offered it or that they took it. He told ’em everything, the whole church. He stood up there and confessed his sins.”

  “He told them about the affair or just his drinking problem?” Chloe lifted a brow.

  “Everything. And my mom acts likes he’s some saint for coming clean.” Sheri turned the glass in her hand. “She wants me to go to the ceremony with her.”

  Chloe frowned. “Why do you have to go?”

  “Because she expects me to.” Sheri bit down on her lip. “She thinks I’ve forgiven him.”

  Chloe lifted another brow. “Maybe you should. You know, just let it go.”

  “I think I could have forgiven him for his drinking, but to find out he had another kid and he basically abandoned him. I mean . . . all my mom’s life she did nothing but stand by him, help him keep his drinking a secret. Then he tells her he cheated on he
r and had a kid! For once in his life, my mom needed him. And he gets sick and dies.”

  “So are you mad at him for cheating or for dying?”

  The question hurt like a slow penicillin shot, but it wasn’t going to heal anything, just hurt. “Both. Mom needed him.” And maybe, somewhere inside of her, Sheri had needed him, too. Not the drunk, but the father he’d been in the years when he’d been sober.

  Problem was, Sheri didn’t know how to grieve for one without grieving for the other.

  “Your mom loved him,” Chloe said. “Sometimes love’s blind.”

  “Is that what’s wrong with me?” Sheri asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m blind. Or I’m at least nearsighted when it comes to men.”

  “If you mean the whole thing about Kevin, that wasn’t—”

  “Kevin, Mark, Patrick, Danny. Hey, even before. What about Travis in the eleventh grade?”

  Chloe tried to swallow her chuckle, but Sheri heard it. “How could I have forgotten about Travis? That’s one image tattooed in my head. But how was the Travis fiasco your fault? He should have warned you about his parents.”

  “Maybe, but . . . sometimes I try too hard. Sometimes I don’t try hard enough. And sometimes I don’t know which I’m doing.”

  “And sometimes you just pick guys whose parents are nudists,” Chloe giggled. “I swear, when they answered the door that day . . .”

  “Don’t remind me.” Sheri sighed.

  When Chloe stopped laughing, she continued, “Look, sorry to have to be the one to give you this news, but you’re not that special. Everyone has romantic disasters.”

  Sheri shook her head. “Not like me. Haven’t you heard, daddy issues equal romantic issues?”

  Chloe put her hand on top of Sheri’s. Her smile vanished. “Are you forgetting Jerry killed himself a week before our wedding?”

  Sheri made a face. “That wasn’t on you.”

  “Neither are yours.”