The Code Enforcer

by Valerie J. Clarizio

  Looking up from the mounds of paperwork on his desk, the middle-aged man's light blue gaze met her's. "What's up?"

  She stepped in and took a seat. "I just talked to Bryce. He was here all morning...during the car explosion at old Hulbert's."

  He nodded, and she shifted in her chair.

  "Something else on your mind?" he asked.

  Why wouldn't he ask her that? He was a trained observer, and she probably looked nervous—antsy.

  "I'm just curious about his story?"

  The man’s blue-eyed gaze narrowed. "Who's story? Edwin's?"

  "No, not Old Hulbert’s. I've known him my whole life. He was just an old bachelor, a kind old soul who minded his own business. He and my grandfather were actually buddies. Both served in Korea."

  The captain's thick eyebrows pulled together, and he tilted his head to the side. "So then, Bryce?"

  Her cheeks heated. She knew she needed to tread carefully or he'd figure her out.

  "Yes, Bryce. When I talked to him just now about Edwin he was...well, at first he seemed sad, like he grieved his death, but then as the conversation continued, he turned cold and hard as stone. He went from one extreme to the other in a matter of seconds."

  He nodded. "Hmm."

  She stared at him, hoping for more of a response.

  "He was in the military...Marines. Been out a few years. I know he saw some action in Afghanistan. Maybe he's still working through some shit."

  "But to transition so quickly from one end of the spectrum to the other seems...distressing."

  Captain Tomie leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and mulled it over with a look of understanding on his face. She wondered if the mention of the military, Korea and Afghanistan, had him thinking about his own days when he served in Desert Shield and Desert Storm.

  He refocused on her. "That behavior is not all uncommon for a soldier. On the battlefield, it's necessary to suppress...control emotions in order to make critical decisions...life-saving decisions. It becomes a way of life, so when returning home it's hard to shut off. It can take some time to work through that. Unfortunately, some veterans never do."

  “I wonder if...”

  Captain raised his hand cutting off her words. “Don’t. Leave him be. I recognize that I want to fix it—him, look on your face. I’ve seen it first hand on my wife, my mother, and even my sisters.”

  “But...”

  His hand went up again.

  Her cheeks heated. He knew how she felt about Bryce.

  “I understand. Everyone just wants to help. But having been a person who’s been there...”

  The man paused, lost in familiar memories, she supposed.

  He refocused. “Tell you what, I’ll have a chat with him, see where it leads.”

  That was her cue. Leave it to the veterans. “Thank you, sir.”

  Still, she wanted to help the man she’d vowed to stay away from. What on earth was wrong with her? She should take the opportunity to run as far away from him as possible. Hurting, wounded, or not, a man like Bryce was bad for her because whether or not he had a good excuse for being a womanizer, he still was one.

  Chapter Five

  Bryce held up the sheet of drywall as his dad screwed it in place, making it a lot easier than when working alone. After the news of Edwin’s death, all he’d wanted to do after his shift was go home and work on his house. Restoring the old, two-story, brick home relaxed him—allowed him to grind off his frustrations in solitude, but when his father offered to drive up and help for the evening, he took him up on the offer, hoping to make some noticeable progress.

  “It’s really starting to shape up,” his dad commented.

  “Yeah, slow but sure.”

  “You’ll get there.”

  Bryce pulled another sheet of drywall from the pile and held it in place. It was coming along, and he couldn’t be more proud that his own two hands were pulling it together.

  “I’ve heard about those murders this week on the news. Odd,” His dad commented.

  "Yes, it is strange," he agreed. Anxiety swirled in his gut at the thought of the late Sister Ann and Edwin Hulbert, and the fact he'd been questioned about the murders.

  “Do the police have any idea who’s behind them?”

  Bile rose in his throat. “Me.” There, he'd said it. Out loud.

  His father froze in place. The noise of the cordless screwdriver stopped. His head snapped in Bryce’s direction. Shock laced his dad's gaze. “What did you say?”

  “They’ve questioned me.”

  “Are you kidding me?” His dad set the screwdriver down and faced him directly. At least his father believed he didn't do it. He had some support.

  “No, I'm not. They really did.” Sweat beaded on his brow at the recollection of Markie's accusation.

  “Why did they question you?”

  “Well, both the victims are property maintenance code violators.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They’re people I’ve cited and am currently working with to clean up their properties.”

  “So the victims had reason to dislike you?”

  “Yes.”

  His dad pulled a frown. “So if they didn't like you wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  “You mean they’d want to kill me, instead of me killing them?” Bryce’s throat squeezed around those words. His father had a good point, but he didn't like the thought someone would want to kill him any better than him being accused of murder.

  “That would make more sense," his dad stated with a nod.

  “I know, right?”

  “Well, shit. Now what?” his dad asked as he raked his hand over his face.

  “I don’t know. And that damn Investigator Pearson is on my ass about it.”

  “The gorgeous redhead?”

  “That’s the one. Don’t let her cute," Bryce bent over and grabbed another sheet of drywall off the stack, "little," he spun and stepped toward where it needed to be hung, "innocent," he placed it to the wall and glanced over his shoulder at his dad, "look she portrays all the time deceive you. She’s a pain in the ass and tough as nails.”

  His father studied him as he stepped toward him. The corners of his mouth tilted up. “So, you like her?”

  Heat flooded his face. He’d said too much. The one person in this world who could read him like a book was his dad, yet he still ran off at the mouth. Thinking back, he hadn’t said too much about Markie, but it was enough for his dad to know, or perhaps it was his tone. Who knew for sure?

  “No. I’m just telling you like it is.”

  “Uh huh. Sure.” Now his dad’s eyes were even smiling.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “If you tell me you don’t care for her in that way I’ll believe you.” He paused, looked out the window and then returned his gaze to him, his face sober as a judge. “You know, it’s okay to put yourself out there when the good ones come along. You’re judging yourself harder than the right woman will.”

  Bryce averted his gaze. He didn’t want to have this awful conversation again, though it had been a while since the topic had come up.

  “Son?”

  His father’s caring but solemn tone drew his attention.

  “Don’t automatically shut the door on potential happiness. Go out on a limb and take a chance now and then. When you find the right one, it will be worth it.”

  A quiver raked through his body. Easy for him to say, his dad didn’t have a clue as to what he was going through or how he felt when it came to women—sex—his fear of lack of performance due to his injuries...

  This subject made him want to crawl out of his skin. Why couldn’t they just hang the drywall like planned? Why did they have to talk at all? And what in the hell did his father know about love? The guy was on his fifth marriage, and this time his step-mother was only thirty-two years old—two years older than Bryce.

  Bryce set down the sheet of drywall he held, fixed h
is gaze on his father, and cocked his head to the side.

  “Worth it? The right one? Like you know how to pick them. You’re on your fifth right one.”

  A tinge of anger and disappointment laced his father's dark eyes, and Bryce knew the displeasure in his dad’s gaze wasn’t channeled in his own direction, but it was dissatisfaction in him for his cold comments. Immediately, he regretted his words.

  His father leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, son, I view it a little differently than you. I thank God every day I was lucky enough to find love five times. Not many people are that lucky, and if you don’t change your attitude, you won’t find it once. And it’s a mighty good feeling to pass on just because you’re afraid of—”

  Bryce lifted his hand. “Just stop already! I’m done with this conversation, and I don’t want to have it again. You can’t tell me being divorced four times is lucky. It’s ludicrous—absolutely stupid to think so.”

  The older man's facial muscles tensed.

  Shame filled every cell of Bryce's body. Again, like so many other times in the past, he resorted to meanness to cut people out of his life. It was easier that way. Push them away so he could keep from admitting the truth about his intimacy issues. Even if it meant isolating himself from the closest people to him.

  Bryce sighed, why he tried to keep his self-esteem and intimacy issues from his father was beyond him since the man already knew.

  “Well, I think we’re done for the night. I know I’ve had enough,” his dad said flatly as he unfolded his arms, then spun to leave.

  He knew he should call out after him and apologize, but stubbornness closed his throat.

  His father opened the squeaky, worn wooden door, paused and looked over his shoulder. “Bryce, let me remind you that you lost your leg and left nut in Afghanistan, not your heart. I’m not sure where you lost that along the way, but you’re going to die a lonely man if you don’t find it and open it up again. There are a lot of people who love you, and I can guarantee there will be more in the future if you let them. Despite your hurtful comments a few moments ago, know my door is always open to you, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through.”

  Bryce managed a nod before his dad stepped through the doorway. He felt like an absolute heel. Grade A prick.

  Chapter Six

  Bryce glanced at the clock, 4:30 p.m., finally. This had to be the longest workweek ever. At least Thursday and Friday, unlike the first three days of the week, were uneventful. No more dead bodies had to be a good sign.

  Unfortunately though, there'd been no progress on catching the killer. At least as far as he knew. And with Markie popping into his office a couple times a day, he'd surely know if she was making headway. What he didn't understand, however, was why she wore that sympathetic look all the time. Yes, she'd figured out he grieved Edwin's death, but it wasn't like they'd been best buds or anything. After further thought, her look bordered on pity more than sympathy. It was the same stupid look people gave him when they'd noticed he was missing a leg. God, he hated that pathetic look.

  The pity look she'd flashed him, the one that seemed to bore deep into his soul, had him wondering if she somehow found out about his military background and injuries. He did his best not to talk about either with anyone. And the fact he never wore shorts helped hide his prosthetic leg. Wishing he could wear shorts, he'd bought some and put them on, but every time he reached his front door his shaky hands wouldn't turn the knob.

  Part of him wondered if Markie was the reason behind the unusual mid-day visit from Captain Tomie. The busy man rarely roamed the building, let alone popped into his office for no particular reason. Sure, they discussed property maintenance issues sometimes, but that topic hadn't come up during this particular conversation. Tomie used the prior week's Fourth of July holiday as a transition into a conversation about their military service. The very fireworks poor Sister Ann probably missed because she'd been stuffed inside a freezer.

  Like his dad, the man sitting opposite his desk served in Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Both veterans escaped physical injury, but unlike Tomie, his father suffered from Gulf War Syndrome. Or if Tomie did, he didn't let on.

  Bryce propped his elbows up on his desk, closed his eyes, and rested his head in his hands. The look of understanding on Tomie's face and the man's final words as he exited the office ran through his mind.

  “Son, if ever you need to talk, about anything, know I'm here, and only across the hall. No one needs to fight—cope—alone.”

  The former soldier knew. Bryce swallowed hard. Did Markie? She was the last person he wanted to know about the demons that haunted him. She was the one person he secretly wished thought of him as strong—whole.

  Lifting his head, he yanked his cell phone from his pocket and tapped in his dad's number.

  "Hello."

  "Hey, Dad."

  "Something wrong?"

  He drew in a long breath and let it out.

  "Bryce, are you okay?"

  "Yes. I just wanted to call and apologize for the other day...for being such a jackass. I know you're only trying to help, and I appreciate that. And as for my comment about your marriages, it was uncalled for. I'm sorry. I am glad you are happy."

  "No worries. Hey, your brother will be on leave in a couple of weeks and he's coming home for a few days. Why don't you take some time off and we'll go fishing or something. Just us guys, like in the old days. I'm sure your brother will want to see you."

  Bryce blew out a mental sigh. Carter. He loved his younger brother but seeing him only added to his pain. Carter was the perfect Marine. Exactly who he thought he'd be. Climbing the ranks—whole.

  Everything he wasn't now.

  "And just so you know, he's bringing a girl home to meet us. Seeing as he's never brought anyone home before, I'm guessing this Lindsey's probably the one. I saw her picture on the internet. She's beautiful."

  Of course she is. Carter would have it all. A decorated military career, beautiful wife, a son who follows in his steps, and a daughter who becomes a CEO or something. Probably even a champion show dog, too. Meanwhile, he would get to continue irritating everyone as the dreaded property maintenance guy.

  Life is great.

  "Bryce?"

  "Yeah."

  "Please promise me you'll come to see your brother when he's home. He loves you. We all love you."

  A lump rose in his throat. He loved them, too, but seeing Carter was hard. So unbelievably hard.

  He choked down the obstruction blocking his voice. "I'll be there. Text me the dates, and I'll set up a fishing charter for us here."

  "You got it. Say, do you want some help with the house next week at all? I'd help this weekend but Bridget's company picnic is tomorrow."

  "Yeah, maybe Wednesday or Thursday night. We'll touch base later about that."

  "Sounds good. Bye."

  "Okay, bye."

  Bryce stuffed his phone in his pocket, logged off his computer, and flipped off his office lights. When he stepped into the lobby, he was surprised to find a handful of management staff there, Markie included. On a typical Friday afternoon staff practically ran out of the building at closing time.

  "Hey, Bryce. We were just trying to decide where to go for appetizers and a beer. Wanna join us?" Administrator Clayton Johnston asked.

  All he wanted to do was go home, lock himself in the house, have a couple of beers, and not think about the week he'd had, but Markie's emerald gaze had him suggesting they go to O'Malley's Pub for some Irish nachos.

  O'Malley's was a good choice for a couple of reasons. Number one, he'd hear Markie talk about how much she liked the place, and number two, Tiana used to date the owner's son and refused to step foot in the bar after he dumped her. At least he could end this awful week without having to see her out. He hadn't seen her since she made a scene in the city hall lobby on Tuesday, and he ignored her handful of calls since then. Going to O'Malley's should ensure he wo
uldn't have to see her while enjoying some drinks.

  "How does that work for everyone?" Clayton asked.

  They all nodded.

  Cautioning on the side of safety, Bryce decided to ditch his SUV at home and walk back downtown to the bar. Though he was almost positive Tiana would not go into O'Malley's, the last thing he needed was to chance her coming in because she saw his vehicle parked there. Additionally, after the rough week he'd had, he wasn't sure how many drinks it would take to calm his nerves. He was almost positive it would be more than the standard two, so driving would be out of the question.

  In less than fifteen minutes, he stepped through the front door of the pub. The bells clinked against the glass and most heads turned in his direction. The city hall gang sat at a long table near the dart boards. He edged his way past the pool tables toward them. O'Malley's had a pretty good business, and being a Friday night it probably wouldn't take an hour yet before the place was packed.

  Bryce fought the urge to grab the open seat next to Markie like his heart begged him to, and he took up residence between Clayton and Fire Chief Bosley on the opposite side of the table. Perhaps it was a mistake to sit down one person across from her. It would be too easy for his gaze to gravitate to her, and soak in those sexy emerald eyes of hers. But then, to sit next to her would have sent his sense of touch begging him for satisfaction. Yes, he was better off sitting where he'd chosen. Markie was the look but don't touch type for him. If he touched her, he'd definitely want more, and that was out of the question.

  The waitress, Sarah, served up several appetizers for them to share, then asked him what he wanted to drink. He ordered a beer, then focused on the jalapeno poppers in front of the gorgeous redhead across the table.

  She scooped a popper out of the basket, set it on her plate, and then lifted the basket toward him, swirling it around. Tempting him. Teasing him.

  "Here you go. I know these are your favorites." Her full red lips lifted into a soft smile.

  Poppers were his favorite. How did she know that? Well, she was a trained observer, and this wasn’t the first time they’d all gone out after work.