The Code Enforcer

by Valerie J. Clarizio

  "She's not my company. Never really was. The rumor mill in this town is second to none. Don't people have better things to do with their time?" His dark gaze bore into her. "You included."

  Ouch.

  Bryce threw his hands in the air. "Whatever. What do you need?"

  "Huh?"

  "You said you needed to talk to me about something. What is it?"

  "Oh, that." She didn't really have anything to talk to him about. She had just wanted to get the unstable woman away from him and out of City Hall. "Nothing, never mind."

  "As long as you're here. Did you get a preliminary report on Sister Ann yet?" he asked. At her silence, he continued. "Well?"

  His persistence flustered her. Or, maybe it was because she still dwelled on judging him in regard to the company he kept. Truthfully, it was none of her business.

  "Sorry, we haven't heard anything yet."

  "All right. Well, I have work to do," Bryce said and then spun away from her.

  Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She didn't want him to leave angry. "Bryce," she called out.

  He looked at her over his shoulder.

  "Sorry about the accusation."

  His glare intensified. "Which one. The one where I killed Sister Ann or the one about me sleeping with every Tiana, Teri, and Tammy?"

  He held onto his anger and didn't let her off the hook. She lowered her gaze to the tile floor. "Both."

  Bryce shrugged as if her apology meant nothing to him, then he disappeared through the door to his department. Heading to his office she presumed.

  The need to chase after him and make him accept her apology was overwhelming. Why did she feel like such a heel? She took two steps toward his office area before she froze in place.

  Why was it important to her he accept her apology? What did it matter?

  Markie sighed. She knew why, but the shards of fear that stabbed at her heart every time she looked at him kept her from admitting she liked him—really liked him.

  He wasn't at all the jackass she tried to paint him to be, and the story she'd heard about him this morning proved it yet again—about his volunteer efforts at the Boys and Girls Club. He'd spent hours upon hours helping to remodel the facility at their new location, thereby, leaving his own house remodeling project at a near standstill in order to get the new building ready for the club so they could accommodate more kids. Jerks don't do that kind of stuff—put others before themselves.

  But, viewing Bryce as a jerk helped her keep him at a distance, and distance was good—helped protect her heart from another heartbreak.

  The thrill zipping through her body at present indicated she'd have to dig deeper—work harder to find a way to keep him in the jerk—safe zone.

  Chapter Four

  Bryce parked in his usual spot behind City Hall and reluctantly slid out of his vehicle. Did he dare enter the building today? It had been a tough week already, and he wasn't sure he had it in him to face another day like Monday or Tuesday. One thing was for sure, there was no way he would be doing any property maintenance checks today.

  How had it come to this? He'd become the dreaded property maintenance guy. He looked down at where his real leg used to be—the reminder of how he ended up where he did. If not for the improvised explosive device that nearly took his life, he'd probably either still be in the Marine Corps or a police officer, utilizing the Police Science degree he'd earned before joining the service. But no, without a leg, being a soldier or a police officer were no longer options.

  Lucky me. I got to become the property maintenance guy.

  A small part of him held hope, since he obtained a Public Administration degree after returning home, he'd get promoted, or find an administrator position, something more than being a planning/zoning assistant and the property maintenance guy.

  Bryce sighed as he entered his office and flipped through some design sketches for a new apartment complex being proposed to the city by a well-established developer. Though it should be a slam dunk by the planning commission next week, he still had to prepare a thorough executive summary for them to review.

  After completing the paperwork for the meeting agenda, he slipped into the records room to work on digitizing the property record files, a job he'd decided to take on several months back. It would probably take him a year to finish the low priority project, but he didn't mind working on it a little at a time when he desired some mindless, yet needed, work.

  As he scanned documents, his mind drifted to his encounters with Tiana. Not just her though, but the others like her as well. On one hand, surrounding himself with women like her, selfish, uncaring women with whom he knew he'd have no future, shielded him from having to deal with his intimacy issues. If his father's marriage record wasn't already bad enough, he had to add his inadequate body to boot.

  It had been five years since he lost his leg just below his knee and damaged his genitals, and in all that time he still hadn't attempted intercourse. Sweat ran down his sides. Fearing what a woman would think at the sight of his inadequate, incomplete body, he avoided intimacy, yet he fiercely longed for it. He was lonely, both physically and mentally. Anxiety ripped through him. What scared him even more was the possibility he wouldn't be able to father children, or worse yet, perform.

  Even with all the months he'd spent in rehab and therapy after he'd lost his leg, he still couldn't shake the mental incompleteness he felt. Many soldiers had been injured in a far greater capacity than he and they seemed to be able to work through their issues, but he still felt like he was on square one, and in his mind, square two looked to be such a leap he didn't think he'd ever make it.

  Markie Pearson's lovely, freckled face flashed in his mind. His chest hollowed knowing he'd never be able to get and keep a spirited woman like her. She'd need a complete man. A man who could surely satisfy her. His chest hollowed. It was hopeless.

  He swallowed hard, just as his stomach growled, jolting him back into reality. A quick glance at his watch let him know it was time for lunch. Fearing Tiana would stop at his house during his lunch hour, he'd chosen to pack his lunch today and just eat at his desk in solitude.

  Back in his office, he began to unwrap his sandwich when someone knocked on his door. He squeezed his eyes shut. Please God, not Tiana.

  When he lifted his lids and turned his head he found Lori Holloway peeking through the narrow glass on his door. Thank God. He motioned his bar league dart partner in.

  They'd met when he first moved to town and quickly became friends. Though he knew she wanted more from him, she was shy and never really pushed the issue after her first attempt when he'd let her down easy. He just didn't feel the same.

  She sat in the chair opposite his desk and flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder. "I hear you had a rough couple of days."

  One thing he learned promptly when moving to this small town was that everybody knew everyone's business. It was a wonder he was able to hide the truth about his leg. At least he'd thought he was successful. Nobody talked about it.

  "You could say that."

  She nodded sympathetically.

  Bryce pointed at his lunch sprawled out on his desk. "Did you eat yet? I've plenty if you want some."

  Lori smiled warmly. "I already ate. I just wanted to check in on you to see how you were doing."

  She really was a nice, caring woman. Just not his type. Why nobody'd scooped her up yet was beyond him.

  "All's good."

  "Has there been any scuttlebutt about who killed Sister Ann?" she asked.

  "Not that I've heard. But for a moment there, I think Investigator Pearson thought it was me."

  Adrenaline shot through his veins at the thought he was actually a person of interest.

  Lori arched a brow. "Really?"

  He shrugged. "I get it, seeing it was me who found her, but still. I've worked here for a couple of years now. You'd think they'd know me by now."

  Lori shook her head as her dark brown gaze held his. "I kn
ow. But you know, every time something like this happens and they interview family and friends of the guilty party on television, they always say, ‘He was the nicest guy. I can't believe he'd do something like this. He was the best neighbor.’ You know, that kind of stuff."

  His chest tightened. She was right. It was only logical the police—Markie consider him a suspect, but it still hurt.

  "I suppose. Plus, it doesn’t help these property maintenance issues are nothing but a thorn in my side, and I've complained about them in the past to Markie during the ones we had to work on together."

  "Yeah. I recall how you feel about them, and from what you've said, I don’t blame you for complaining. It sounds justified."

  His kind friend's comment was true. His grievances were warranted but now they made him look guilty.

  "I know, but now I wish I hadn’t said anything."

  "Do you want to get a drink after work? Take your mind off things?"

  He thought for a moment. With as good as that sounded a quiet night home alone sounded better. "Raincheck?"

  Disappointment flashed in her gaze. "Sure."

  The door banged open. The scent of coconut infiltrated his nostrils. He knew it was Markie even before his head snapped in that direction.

  Her reproachful glare pinned him in place and held for a moment before she swung it to Lori. The meek woman shifted awkwardly in her chair and looked to be purposely avoiding Markie's glower.

  Markie moved her gaze back to him. "We need to talk." Her stern voice sent a chill up his spine.

  Lori sprang out of her chair. "I was just leaving."

  Markie stood rigid in front of his desk. She looked flustered. Unusual for her.

  "Did you hear the latest?" she asked.

  He was almost too afraid to ask. "Latest what?"

  "Where were you this morning at about eleven a.m.?”

  "Here."

  "You weren't in your office when I checked a while ago, and nobody seemed to know where you were."

  The chill in his spine spread to the rest of his nerve endings. "What's going on?"

  "First, tell me where you were."

  "I was in the records room digitizing documents." Feeling defensive, he turned toward his computer, called up the files, and pointed at his screen. "See, look. You can see the time stamp on these, proving I was in the records room scanning documents."

  Markie leaned over his shoulder. Her enticing coconut scent penetrated his nostrils, playing sweet havoc on his senses even though she grilled him.

  “How do I know Colleen or Mary didn’t create those files?”

  Though he knew he could prove his innocence, the frustration in his body caused his muscles to constrict. “Well, why don’t you just go ask them if you don’t believe me?” he said as he shook his head in quick, sharp movements while he lifted his hand and gestured toward the door. His tone had been prickly by design.

  Markie let out a minty breath. Her accusing, taut facial muscles loosened into a repentant look of understanding.

  What in the hell is going on?

  She moved away from him, stepped around his desk, and took a seat in the chair on the opposite side.

  "The fire department was called to a vehicle fire today at Old Hulbert's place."

  He sprang forward in his chair. "Is he okay?"

  She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. He was in the vehicle."

  His body quivered. He swallowed hard. "Is he dead?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

  Markie nodded.

  Poor Edwin. He really liked the old guy.

  "What happened?"

  "We're still trying to figure that out. But the empty gas can lying on its side next to the vehicle leads me to believe it was not an accident. The fire marshal is investigating as we speak."

  An array of emotions collided through him—sympathy, grief, fear, apprehension. Two of his code violators in one week? The property maintenance ones in particular? Was someone targeting them? These poor people didn't intentionally cause anyone harm. So they were hoarders—junk collectors. That didn't mean they were bad or vindictive people. In fact, when it came to Edwin and Sister Ann, they pretty much stuck to themselves.

  Admittedly, this didn't look good for him. Hence, why Markie was in his office staring at him as if he should have some sort of explanation for her. But he didn't. He hadn't a clue why this was happening.

  "Which vehicle?" As soon as he asked the question, he wished he could take it back. What did it matter?

  Markie tilted her head to the side. Her long, red ponytail flopped. God he loved her sexy red hair. His fingers itched to reach out and comb through those silky looking strands.

  "His truck. Go figure, none of the beaters."

  Her use of the word beaters made him sad. To Edwin, those were treasures.

  "Does anyone else have access to your computer passwords?"

  So, this was how it would be, she was going to continue to interrogate him. Even after that look of belief she’d flashed him moments ago.

  "No. It was me in the records room creating those files. Nobody else."

  "When was the last time you saw Old Hulbert?"

  Reaching back, he grabbed the clipboard off the credenza behind him, then he placed it on his desk facing the accusing investigator. He pointed at the date and time-line on the report attached to the clipboard. "Yesterday. I was at his house following up on his property maintenance issue. I was there from ten-thirty to just before noon."

  "Why so long? It wasn't hard to see that he hadn't made one bit of effort to remove those rust buckets from his property."

  "They're not rust buckets," he snapped back. The quizzical look on her face had him wanting to explain further. "To you, they may be crappy old cars—junk, but to him they were prize possessions—a valuable collection. He had a history with them—fond memories associated with each and every one."

  Adrenaline rushed his veins as he spoke, sending the pitch of his voice higher than normal. Why couldn't people have just left the nice old man alone?

  Markie leaned forward. He thought she was just going to look more closely at the report, but instead, she placed her soft hand over his. That beautiful, bright emerald gaze of hers locked onto his.

  "I'm sorry for your loss."

  His heart slammed against his ribcage. Her touch was too dangerous. He wanted to pull away but couldn't. It led to him wanting more from her. This was exactly why he avoided her—kept his distance. He knew he wouldn't have the strength to fend her off once he endured the feel of her.

  Losing himself in her emerald gaze was hard enough when he wasn't able to avoid it. But her touch right now proved he'd been right all along. She had his senses begging for more, starting with a kiss to those full red lips of hers, and ending with...

  Bryce closed his thoughts off and yanked his hand away from hers. He couldn't think about that. He just couldn't. It could never happen. Sheer defeat encompassed every cell in his body. He had the needs of every normal man, but he wasn't normal—he was incomplete.

  Her wide-eyed, shocked gaze transitioning to pity made him feel even worse.

  Markie's heart cracked in half. Oddly though, not because of his rejection of her sincere gesture, but for him, for whatever it was that had bruised him so badly he couldn't accept her heartfelt compassion.

  The compassion in his eyes when he defended Old Hulbert told the story of their friendship, and she honestly felt sympathy for him for his loss. Womanizer or not, this man cared for the old guy. She'd taken enough psychology classes to earn her Master’s degree in Police Science to recognize Bryce had endured something horrific in his life to cause him to behave the way he did toward women. What it was, she didn't know, but the need to find out—fix it, was overwhelming.

  She'd have to do a bit of research on Bryce. Get his story. She studied him as he stared out the window, off in his own little world. The man was elusive, and since she didn't do his background check when he was hired, she actually knew very
little about him except for the fact he was a casanova. He looked and acted like a player and hanging around with Tiana Bennett only solidified that. That woman liked the smooth ones.

  Thinking back, she recalled hearing recently that Bryce had been in the Marine Corps—did a tour in Afghanistan. But that was all she knew, and it should have nothing to do with why he went through women like they were disposable.

  When he returned his gaze to her, those dark eyes of his had transitioned from caring and grieving to cold and off-putting. Classic I'm going to push you away now eyes. Too late though, she'd seen it. There was more to this man than what he let the general population see. He was kind and caring. Was his womanizing attitude his way of pushing people away—keeping them at a safe distance? But why? What made him do that? Self-esteem issues?

  She was dying to find out why this man who seemed to have everything going for him possibly lacked the self-esteem to let people past the wall of defense he'd constructed around him.

  Markie leaned back in her seat. "I'm sorry. You're right. Those cars were important to Old Hulbert, I shouldn't have been so cold about it."

  He shrugged as if it didn't matter, as if he didn't care what the old man thought of the vehicles. Unlike a minute ago when he would have defended Edwin's actions to his death. Yep, she’d lost him in those couple minutes.

  "Whatever. It's not my deal. Now it can get cleaned up and the neighbors will be happy. Maybe you should question them. They all had something to gain by getting Edwin out of the way."

  "I will be."

  "Did you have any more questions for me or can I eat my lunch now?" he asked. His tone oozed with annoyance as he grabbed his sandwich and took a bite.

  Markie gripped the arms of the chair and pushed herself up. "No, not for now. I'll see you later."

  He stopped chewing and swallowed. A muscle in his jaw bulged and twitched. "Looking forward to it."

  His lie filled the room, pushing her through the door.

  On her way back to her office, she stopped by Captain Tomie's office. "Got a minute?"