by Addison Fox
“I’m just helping. Landon went off to play bocci as Carson’s partner. I thought you could use a hand in here.”
“Lord help him.” Giavanna shook her head. “That child can’t throw in a straight line no matter how many times his Poppy takes him in the backyard to practice.”
“From the sounds of it, Landon can’t, either.”
“Oh. Well then, I guess that’s okay.”
Daphne took the slotted spoon her mother handed over and began ladling out a fresh batch of meatballs into a nearby bowl. “Landon’s a fan of your cooking.”
“That’s because he has taste. He’s dating my daughter. He likes my cooking. And he’s going to let your father win in a game that your brothers usually play to the death. In my day, we called that a catch.”
“In my day we call that someone we’d like to make a life with.”
Giavanna chuckled at that and hip bumped her daughter as she moved a fresh pot from the fridge onto the stove. “Does that mean you got him to open up a bit?”
Daphne was momentarily stymied but had enough presence of mind to keep it out of her voice. “About what?”
“His life. His past. He had a time of it as a kid. It’s important to understand that.”
“Why?”
Her mother stilled, obviously sensing she’d hit a nerve. The gentle probing shifted to deliberate instruction. “You can’t hide these things or pretend they don’t matter.”
“I’m not suggesting either of those things. What I am suggesting is that Landon has a right to his privacy.”
“Privacy over matters that changed the course of his life? Because if this relationship is headed where it appears to be, you’ll be the one sharing that life.”
“It’s fine, Mom.” Daphne kept her eyes averted, making a show of moving the meatballs to the counter nearest the door. “We talk.”
“Do you?”
Although Daphne attributed a considerable amount of her skills as a cop to the legacy of police work in her family, she’d always believed her intuition came straight down the genes from Giavanna Rossi.
The woman could discern a hint of omission faster than a lion scenting prey.
Turning from the counter, she gave Giavanna her full attention. “We’re good, Mom.”
“You have a right to know him, Daphne. You earned that right the moment you gave him your heart.”
The immediate urge to fight rose up inside of her and Daphne swatted at it, unwilling to be baited over something so important. She’d done that long enough. With her job. With the oppression of her brothers and their constant need to be up in her business.
With her life.
Daphne, why move out to a place of your own? There’s plenty of room here.
Daphne, why did you let that Mike go? He was such a good guy. Why was that detective’s test so important to you?
Daphne, why would you want to put yourself in the line of fire? Leave the terrorism task force to others.
In those instances, and a million other ways, she’d listened, bore up through the endless harangues, and then went on to do whatever the hell she wanted to do.
But not now.
Landon wasn’t a job. Nor was he a family disagreement.
He was the man she loved.
“You’re absolutely right. I do have a right to know him. To know what drives him. What fulfills him. What has made him the man he is.”
The stubborn fight in her mother’s eyes calmed, her head nodding. “Yes, exactly.”
“And what if he can’t give that to me? What if he can’t even give it to himself?”
“The man has baggage, Daphne. When horrible, terrible things are wrought on a child, they leave a mark.”
“What sorts of things?” Daphne stilled. “Do you know something?”
“No.”
Scenting an omission herself, Daphne moved closer to her mother, willing her to share what she knew. “You do know something.”
“I know rumors. Stories. Nothing more.”
“Stories about Landon?”
“Stories about his mother. I remember that little boy who went to school with Rory. The days he’d walk into school, his head bent to the ground. The clothes that never fit, and the sad look that lived in his eyes. I remember him.”
Daphne saw the picture her mother painted, as clear as a summer day and as dark as a sky about to open with a winter storm. “You remember him then?”
“Of course. You don’t forget those things.”
“Yet you haven’t said anything.”
“You haven’t wanted me to say anything. You’ve shut me out of this, Daphne.” Her mother returned her focus to the stove. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why.”
Daphne walked back to the door and picked up the big bowl of food that was needed outside. “Maybe you should ask yourself the same thing.”
Landon wrapped an arm around Daphne’s shoulders, the view of the fireworks going off in Overlook Park close enough for them to see from the Rossis’ backyard. She leaned in close against him, but there was a stiffness to her body he hadn’t felt before.
“You okay? I barely saw you all afternoon.”
“You mean after you showed your prowess with bocci?”
He couldn’t hold back the laugh at that. Between him and her nephew, they’d barely managed any points, but he’d had fun—and he was pretty sure he’d passed some sort of test with Papa Rossi.
While not his intention in playing the game, it was a nice side benefit.
“Your father’s title will stay intact another year.”
“What title is that?” She looked up at him, the question clearly stamped in her gaze.
“Not last.”
“Ahhh.” She smiled.
An explosion of red and green lit up the sky, the rain of colors filling the air above them. He’d always loved fireworks. Loved the way they lit up the air, carried away on nothing but magic. Even getting grounded for a month the summer he was fifteen hadn’t been enough to turn him off the wild sparks that lit up the sky.
“What’s that smile for?”
“A memory of getting into trouble with my brothers one summer.”
“Who did it?”
“As I recall, this one was me, fair and square. I could usually squirm out and claim Nick or Fender was responsible for whatever we got into, but not this time.”
Daphne lifted an eyebrow. “And your mother bought the innocent routine?”
“Every now and again.”
She relaxed against him, settling into the story. “So what’d you do?”
“One of the boys in the neighborhood got his hands on some stolen fireworks. I think they were actually some from the Overlook’s holiday stash.”
“What a bad boy you were.”
“For the right things, absolutely. I would have gotten away with it, too, except I nearly burned my fingers off on the fuse. That’s how my mom found out it was me.”
“You could have gotten seriously hurt.”
“Which was her point all through the berating and the hugs while she bandaged me up.” Landon held up a hand and turned his palm over. “See that small scar there? Just beneath my thumb.”
She ran the tip of her finger over the thickened skin. “I see it. You can feel it, too.”
“That’s the leftover damage.”
“You sound as bad as my brothers. I’m amazed every one of them survived all eighteen summers to adulthood. But there was one summer—”
“Wait.” A memory struck, sharp and clear, and had a laugh exploding from his chest before he could stop himself. “Oh my God, I think it was Rory who stole the fireworks in the first place.”
“And there goes my story.”
“I guess there is a connection between us. One that goes back further than either of us realizes.”
“Kids from the neighborhood who never left.” She kept her head against his shoulder, but he sensed that tension once more. “Do you ever wonder about that? About w
hy you never left?” she asked.
“I like it here. It’s my home.”
“Sure. But lots of places can be home.”
He shrugged, curious to the reason for all her questions but unwilling to mar the moment and push for the answer. “I went away to school. Boston for undergrad, and then I did a cybersecurity internship in DC between junior and senior years. I loved both places but neither were home.”
“Boston’s nice. DC’s great. If I get the task-force assignment, I’ll spend some time down there.”
“That’d be great.”
“If I get it.”
Once more, the urge to ask her if anything had happened dogged him, but he held his questions. The fireworks were reaching their crescendo, and it wasn’t the place to have a serious conversation.
But as more streaks of red and green, followed by purple and blue, lit up the sky, Landon couldn’t help but wonder what had upset her.
And for the first time in his life, he didn’t enjoy the fireworks nearly as much as he expected he would.
The melancholy that had gripped her all afternoon refused to fade as she and Landon walked hand in hand through the quiet streets. They’d stayed to help with cleanup until her mother had shooed them away around eleven. They both swore they’d be back the following morning to finish up, and that had seemed to satisfy her mother.
So here they were.
Daphne knew the melancholy had no place in the day. She was in love with a wonderful man who was in love with her. They’d shared those feelings with each other, the sense of commitment and completion a rush to the senses.
So how had she allowed her mother’s questions to ruin the day?
To ruin the joy to be found in her time with Landon?
“You okay coming back to my place?”
“Of course. And I’m not just saying that because I have a pile of dishes in my sink from racing through dessert prep this morning.” She squeezed his hand. “I want to watch the replay of the fireworks on your big flat-screen.”
“Fine. Use me for my TV.”
“Oh, I’ve got other things I’m going to use you for this evening.”
He bowed his head and added a long-suffering sigh for good measure. “I’ll do my best to endure.”
Turning a corner, they encountered a pack of kids running around with sparklers, and Daphne dropped Landon’s hand to scoot around the excited group. Bright sparking flashes lit up the air, and when she got to the other side of them, she nearly plowed into Landon’s back.
“Oooh. Sorry.”
She wrapped her hands around his waist to steady herself, confused when he seemed rooted to the spot. “Landon?”
She tapped him on the back to get him moving, only to find his body stiff and unyielding.
“Landon!”
The second call of his name seemed to push him into gear and he took two steps forward, moving slowly, as if in a trance.
“Landon?”
A small stab of fear whispered over her spine, a sharp point sticking in each vertebra as it worked its way down. But it was the moment that she looked up and finally realized what had captured his attention that held her still.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as Amber McGee stood up from the small bench positioned in front of his apartment building.
Misery painted Amber’s face in washed-out lines, a dreary match for the overhead street lamp that illuminated the bench. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I had nowhere else to go.”
Nineteen
Daphne wasn’t sure where to look. Her immediate thought was to go to Landon, but her police training won the day, taking over the surreal moment. When she took in the shell-shocked expression that turned the woman’s face an ashen gray, Daphne knew training was the better choice.
“Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?”
“I’m fi—” The older woman broke off, chills shaking her limbs as she kept her eyes averted to the ground.
“Amber?” She maintained a calm, steady tone, working to break through the shock. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I was attacked. Coming out of work.”
“What?” Throughout the exchange, Landon had remained immobile on the sidewalk, but at the news she’d been attacked, he leaped into action. “Where? What happened?”
“It was out back. At Moe’s. It was dumb. I know not to carry the garbage out by myself.”
“Stop it. Enough of that,” Daphne said, her tone gentle but still firm.
While she hated any time a woman believed herself responsible for a crime, Daphne also understood Amber’s underlying point. The neighborhood had changed a lot, but it was still a major city. You had to take proper care to protect yourself. And the alley behind Moe’s place was still poorly lighted enough that an enterprising opportunist could do some damage.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. No, I’m fine.” Amber patted her apron. “Guy got my tip money, though. All my credit card receipts. Moe’ll have to get those checked.”
“Moe’s going to need to get all of it checked.” Daphne stood up and patted her small purse, pulling out her ever-present notebook. “I’m going to take down your statement Ms. McGee and then call in for backup. I’d like to go back to Moe’s too, if you’re up for it.”
Amber’s gaze darted to Landon’s before shooting back to her lap. “Of course. However I can help.”
Landon kept out of the way of the police but still had a clear view out the back door of Moe’s restaurant. He saw clearly the area Amber had identified on the backside of the restaurant, the small space that held the trash cans visible from where he stood. What wasn’t so clear—but was there all the same—was the neatly hidden alcove on the far end of the row of cans. Someone who knew it was there and was willing to bide their time could have their pick of whoever came out the back of the building.
And someone had.
A row of silver trash cans that fronted the dumpster were all turned over, one dented where it lay against the ground. Even from a distance, he could see a few pieces of paper fluttered in the breeze. She’d been attacked, and the outcome was imprinted on the mess left behind.
Memories collided in Landon’s mind, the days he’d spent with her never knowing who might show up in their apartment clashing with the reality of what had taken place tonight. She wasn’t that same woman. Or she claimed not to be.
Yet she’d suffered a similar fate, tossed around by someone bigger than her.
Was she lying? Had some deal gone bad gone down out behind Moe’s? Was she using again?
Daphne had his mother inside the restaurant, along with a few of the other servers who’d been on that evening, while Moe had kept Landon company by the door. The man was oblivious to Landon’s inner monologue, his head bent as he watched one of the police officers walk the small space by the garbage cans.
“I knew this area was a problem. I knew it.” Moe shook his head. “And now poor Amber. She could have been hurt.”
“She lost all her tips.”
“Bah,” Moe waved his hands. “I’ll replace those. I’m glad she’s okay. She’s my best server. She’s the best.”
“Has she been a problem lately? Coming in late? Missing work?”
“Amber?” Moe seemed surprised by the question. “Not at all. She’s my very best server. She takes care of the customers and is kind to everybody. She’s like a little mother hen to all the girls. No, no. She’s the best. No one would want to hurt her.”
Landon had enough experience with employees to know that no one bragged about someone on their staff without good reason.
So was it possible his mother really had been a victim of random circumstances?
Everything inside of him screamed it wasn’t possible. Once an addict, always an addict. Once a liar, always a liar. Yet everything he’d seen pointed irrefutably to an unfortunate event.
Moe waved him away from the door and back to the air-conditioning and the evening crew that wa
s winding down. Moe had closed down early, sending the last few folks lingering at the bar on their way with a kind word and their last round on the house. They hadn’t understood the reason, but all jumped at the opportunity and merrily went on their way.
And now Daphne sat at a small circular table, speaking to each and every person on duty that night.
Landon stood off to the side, out of the way but close enough to hear as well as see her. One by one, people sat down with her. Each told her what they knew. And Daphne treated each and every one with the same respect, dignity, and politeness.
He had no idea how long he stood there watching her, but he slowly became aware of Amber standing beside him.
“Your evening is ruined because of me.”
“Nah.”
“Yes, it is. I really am sorry I came to you. I ran from behind the restaurant and I didn’t know where to go. I wasn’t thinking. I should have run back into Moe’s, but instead I just kept on going, trying to get away.”
“It’s fine.”
The chills that had rattled her earlier were gone. Now he saw a slender-framed woman who looked like a stiff wind would knock her over.
Had she always been that small?
Even as he wondered it, he remembered how he’d wrap his arms around her waist, his hands easily touching one another on the other side. She was a slip of woman.
Slight.
But mighty when she needed to be.
He pushed that aside, refusing the memory. Refusing to go there.
“She’s a good cop. You can see it in her eyes. She likes what she does, and she wants to help people.”
“She is.”
“She’s also in love with you.”
Landon had done his level best to avoid eye contact, but at her remark he turned to stare into the eyes that were a replica of his own. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s all over her. It’s all over both of you. The way you are together. The way you look at each other. It’s special. You can see it’s special.”
“It’s new. Not even two weeks old.”
“Protect it.”
“Funny sentiment from you.”
He had no idea where the thought came from, but no sooner had it entered his mind than it flew out of his mouth, landing squarely in the middle of her chest. The shell-shocked look she’d worn when they’d come upon her in front of his apartment returned, only this time with a layer of remorse and sadness that tore at him.