Guarding His Midnight Witness

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Jack makes an impression.” She wished he hadn’t. She wished anyone other than Jack had been the one to turn up at her loft the other night. Whether they’d have believed her or not, she wouldn’t be dealing with the added complication of developing, well, she guessed they were feelings for Jack McTavish. Feelings that went far beyond the desire of any kiss. Feelings neither of them could afford for her to have.

  “He’s certainly made an impression on you. This is stunning, Greta. Truly. I won’t even try to comprehend how you captured everything about him in just his face. The strong jaw, that silent nobility in his eyes. He’d die of embarrassment if he ever knew about this, but he’s always reminded me of one of those medieval soldiers, fighting against all the wrongs in the world, be it with a sword or spear or—” Ashley indicated the barely there yellow stars in his eyes “—a badge. Please don’t tell him I said that. I’m kind of saving that bit of information for when I know it’ll completely humiliate him.” She grinned.

  “There’s nothing humiliating about nobility.” Greta couldn’t help it. The sight of him, even in a painting, drew her in. That Ashley saw him in roughly the same vein eased her mind.

  “And there’s nothing wrong with taking medication when you need it. But if you are taking—” Ashley turned, rested a gentle hand on Greta’s arm.

  “I’m not,” Greta insisted. She was so tired of being doubted. Why didn’t anyone ever believe her?

  “Greta—”

  “I’m not taking those pills. They’re a...” How did she explain when she didn’t understand it herself?

  “They’re a what?”

  Greta drew a deep breath. She’d never told anyone. Not Uncle Lyndon. Not even Yvette. But maybe she needed to tell someone, if only to maybe have them help her make sense of it all. “They’re a precaution.”

  “A precaution for what?”

  Greta squeezed her eyes shut long enough to pray for strength. “For when I lose my mind.”

  * * *

  “Well, okay then.” Cole refolded the statement Greta had typed up and tapped the paper against his hand before returning it to him. Their coffee was long gone, but they remained seated at the small café table a few blocks from the station. “I can see why you’re worried about career suicide. Doyle Fremont. Wow.”

  “Do you believe her?” Jack wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted Cole’s answer to be. Either way... Jack was in deep trouble.

  “Oh, I believe her.” Cole shrugged and even behind his sunglasses, Jack could see him flinch as he looked up at the sun. “There’s no reason not to, given that picture you took and the conversation you had with Fremont. But that’s also the problem, Jack. It’s Doyle Fremont. That new complex alone is employing a good chunk of the population. It’s done wonders for the city and only promises to do more. And let’s not forget who he calls his friends and that his lawyers are already on alert. Now that you know Greta isn’t exactly who she says she is? This could turn into a serious cluster—well, mess.”

  “This is why I’m glad you’re back,” Jack muttered. “To help clear things up for me.”

  “I do what I can.” Cole’s smile was quick. “What about this thing that happened at the Camellia, yesterday? Who did she see? Fremont?”

  “I’m assuming. Not that I could get her to tell me. She shut down, like whatever she saw flipped an off switch inside of her.” And try as he might, he hadn’t been able to turn it back on.

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “I saw plenty of someones, but not Fremont. Besides, according to the LT, he’s out of town. I can’t believe he’d be so careless as to commit murder in front of a witness.”

  “He didn’t expect a witness,” Cole said. “The time and location pretty much solidify that.”

  “But what is all this about? If we could just figure out who the victim was, that has to be what unlocks this whole thing.”

  “If there was a victim.”

  Jack’s blood went icy. “You don’t believe her?”

  “I don’t not believe her. I’m also not so naive as to think you might have a bit of a hero complex and still blame yourself for what almost happened to Allie. Not to mention—”

  “Don’t go there, Cole.” This was not a road he planned on going down. With anyone.

  “Why not? You have. You’re afraid of missing something again. Of someone getting hurt or, worse, killed. What happened in Chicago with your witness was not your fault, Jack. The DA underestimated how dangerous the defendant was. You couldn’t protect her for the rest of your life.”

  It wasn’t something he hadn’t told himself a million times before. But nothing would convince him he hadn’t failed Clara Pilsken. The fact the young woman had a grave marker rather than a college diploma was all the evidence he needed.

  “You’re worried if you don’t cover all your bases, if you look away even for a second, something’s going to happen and maybe this time you won’t escape with your life intact.”

  He wouldn’t call two months in the ICU followed by four months of physical therapy a life intact. “That’s not it.” For the first time since they’d met, Jack lied to his partner. A lie he tried to pull back almost immediately. “That’s not entirely it. Greta needs someone to believe her, Cole. It’s important to her.”

  “And that’s important enough to you that you’re willing to put your entire career on the line to make it happen.”

  “Is that a question or a statement?”

  “You tell me. Look, I’m not saying don’t believe her, but maybe let’s look at this from a different angle. You’ve said yourself, she’s eccentric, and I can see it on your face. You don’t know what the heck happened at the gallery, and you were there. Maybe this is some kind of stalker situation? Are you sure she and Fremont have never met? She is an artist, after all. Didn’t you say he has a pretty extensive art collection?”

  Jack nodded. “He has a bunch of framed pieces boxed up in his office. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of hers is in there. With her star on the rise, it’s not out of the realm of possibility he’d see it as an investment in the future.”

  “Agreed. She’s been building up a name, had some pretty prestigious placements, and one thing we know about Fremont is he enjoys the benefits of wealth. It’s also possible it’s some kind of obsession thing. Does he have any previous record or charges?”

  “I have someone looking into that,” Jack said. “Off the record.”

  “Huh. That’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “You going to Vince.”

  “Jeez, what am I? An open book?”

  “No. You’re a man willing to do whatever it takes to protect someone who needs it, and we both know, outside the department, Vince is someone we can count on. Nothing’s going to stand in your way of doing what you think is right. Even if it might not be.”

  “I don’t want her hurt, Cole.”

  “Can that even be a factor? We’re talking about a career make-it or end-it case. You bring in Doyle Fremont, and you’ll either be a bright, shiny star in the department or out on your tail. We do what we have to do to close the case, fallout notwithstanding. Although, there’s always collateral damage.”

  “Was there collateral damage with you and Eden?” Jack asked and tried to control his temper. “Or did you do whatever it took to protect her?”

  “It’s not the same thing.” Cole waved dismissively. “I was in love with Eden, which meant my judgment wasn’t exactly...” He trailed off, inclined his head and, after a long pause, let out a sigh they probably heard back at the station. “Well, dang, Jack. That was fast.”

  “Yeah,” Jack agreed. “About sums it up.”

  “So, that’s the issue.” Cole looked a bit disbelieving. “You’re in love with her.”

  “No.” Jack altered his response at Cole’s snort of disbeli
ef. “Yes.” He groaned. “Maybe. First time I saw her, bam! It was like she’d been branded into my brain. And no, before you say what you’re thinking, there’s nothing I can do about it. Even if I wanted to change things, and I don’t, I couldn’t. This stupid thing hasn’t worked right since I was shot.” He pounded his fist against his heart. “I would love to play bodyguard and let whatever this is happen without pushing anyone’s buttons, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s something more going on, Cole. The pieces just don’t fit. I need your help to make them fit.”

  “What if they don’t fit the way you want them to?” Cole asked.

  What if? Was there ever a more disturbing and challenging question? “If I’m wrong, then I’ll take what comes. Me alone. You have my word.”

  “You just refuse to take the easy road, don’t you, Jack? Even when it comes to the fall.”

  “I’ve always liked a challenge.” And Jack had never met anyone as challenging, or as life-affirming, as Greta Renault. “Just promise me you’ll do one thing for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stop me from doing anything stupid.”

  “Sorry, partner.” Cole shook his head. “Some things a man just has to do on his own.”

  Chapter 8

  It wasn’t until Greta opened the door later that night that she realized just how much she’d missed Jack. Even if he arrived with a bazillion questions about what—and who—she’d seen at the gallery yesterday, she was ready to answer them. It was the least she owed him.

  “Hi.” It felt as if it was the first time she’d smiled all day, and the simple action popped that balloon of unease that had been building inside of her.

  He looked tired again, but that rumpled kind of tired rather than the utter exhaustion that had driven him to sleep on her sofa. She loved how the crisp white shirt was set off by the thin, black tie. How he slouched against her doorframe, how he held his hands in his pockets, and that it made her long to dive back into her studio and begin another painting. She reached out, nearly touched his cheek before he caught her hand.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got my partner with me.”

  “Bowie?” She stepped back, motioned him in. The man who followed, however, was completely unfamiliar. If ever there was an epitome of a TV cop, she was looking at him. Tall, fit and looking back at her with a bit of reservation in his eyes. Funny. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so many people in and out of her home. She tended to feel invaded by visitors, anxious for them to leave so she could be alone again, but not so much with Jack’s friends. “Hello. I’m Greta Renault.”

  “Detective Cole Delaney.” He offered his hand and when she took it, she had an immediate impression of controlled strength intermingling with casual acceptance. He dropped a small duffel by the door, held out a large paper bag. “Hope you don’t mind. We brought dinner.”

  “Tell me it’s sushi.” Ashley launched off the sofa and dived for the bag in Cole’s hand. “Ugh. Burgers from Vince’s. Darn it! I cannot catch a break.”

  “I thought you liked his burgers,” Jack accused. “You sure inhaled one the other night. Along with half my fries.”

  “A woman cannot live on burgers alone. You know what?” She held up a hand, then returned to the sofa and slipped into her shoes and jacket. “As much fun as this has been, I’m going to get my own dinner. And then I’m going to go back to your place, take a long shower and spend a few hours catching up with my favorite demon-hunting impala-riding brothers.”

  Greta rolled her eyes.

  “She only watches old TV and movies. Can you believe it? Nothing from the last few decades.” Ashley poked Greta on her uninjured arm. “I’ve been telling her all day she needs to branch out, and you can’t go wrong with Sam and Dean...”

  Whatever else Ashley said slipped right past Greta’s ears. Greta reached down and lifted the bag out of Jack’s hand, a sweet, secret exchange of smiles happening when their hands brushed. He’d been so good with her after the gallery scare, so kind and caring, as if whatever barrier he’d been trying to keep up between them had vanished. And so understanding that he hadn’t pushed her to tell him who she’d seen. But she’d felt it: the doubt, the concern, the worry she didn’t want to come between them. Despite Ashley’s steadying presence, the residual fear that had been threatening all day finally subsided. Just seeing him, knowing he was here, made her feel...safe.

  “Okay, yep.” Ashley waved a hand in front of Greta’s dazed face. “There she goes. I’m definitely out of here.” She patted Cole’s shoulder, murmured something on her way out. “I’ll be by tomorrow to check on your shoulder, Greta.” The meaningful look she shot Greta as she closed the door had Greta swallowing the lump in her throat.

  “Come on in the kitchen,” she managed after Ashley closed the door.

  She was grateful for the reprieve. While Ashley had assured Greta she wouldn’t be sharing any of Greta’s earlier admissions, she made it clear she expected Greta to come clean with Jack. And the sooner, the better. Okay, fine. She’d tell Jack. When the time was right. When she had to.

  But not tonight.

  Greta focused on the two detectives opening cardboard containers in the kitchen. The room filled with the amazing aroma of well-cooked burgers and oil-slick sweet potato fries.

  “Jack said you’ve been on vacation.” Greta slipped onto one of the tall stools at the end of the kitchen island, while Jack and Cole sat across from her.

  “I guess you could call it a vacation,” Cole said easily. “My wife isn’t exactly one to leave work behind. It kind of goes with us. Eden’s a crime blogger,” Cole clarified as he dumped a pile of fries onto his plate. “She investigates cold cases, then reports on them, tries to give departments new leads so they can finally give some closure to families. I’m sorry. I should have checked with you that you eat meat.”

  “Carnivore, through and through.” She flashed him a smile. “This smells great. Thanks for bringing it. I didn’t realize I was at the end of my food provisions until Ashley informed me the freezer was down to chicken soup and frostbitten hot dogs. Jessie’s coming in tomorrow to cook, so I should be stocked up again. I bet she does something with shrimp and crab. Or maybe artichokes. Oh, I hope she makes those chicken dumplings with tarragon. Those are just delicious. What kinds of cold cases?”

  Cole coughed, and he reached for a napkin. “That was a road map of information.”

  “Sorry. I’m a bit...distracted.” She looked to Jack, but he didn’t say a word. Simply kept his head bent and focused on his meal. Was something wrong? Had something happened?

  “There’s wine, beer and sodas in the fridge.” Greta pointed Cole in that direction. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Cole grabbed two bottles of beer and set one down in front of Jack. “Eden works all kinds of cases, but mostly anything having to do with kids. Kidnappings, murders. She can spend weeks, months, even years sometimes on the same case. She blogs about them as she goes.”

  “‘Eden on Ice’? You’re married to Eden St. Claire.” She dug into the burger and felt every millimeter of her mouth rejoice. Aside from a few snacks, she hadn’t eaten much today, despite Ashley’s insistence.

  “I am, indeed,” Cole confirmed. “You’re a fan?”

  She wasn’t big on social media, but as it was a necessary evil for her work, she spent some time on the internet. “I love her blog,” she said after she swallowed. “Not really what she talks about, but she has this voice that just resonates, you know? It’s like she gets you inside the head of the people—”

  “The people left behind,” Jack finished for her.

  “Exactly.” Greta nodded. “I’d love to meet her sometime.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Cole cast a sly-eyed look at Jack. “How’s your arm?” He pointed his bottle at her shoulder.

  “Better. Hot and
cold packs, and I painted, so it helped put it out of my head. Sitting around doing nothing just made it hurt more.”

  “You wor—” Jack began.

  “What happened at the gallery?” Cole cut him off, pinning Greta with a steely-eyed stare that reminded her that he, just like Jack, was a cop.

  His question hit her in the solar plexus. Greta took another bite of her burger and stalled. Fear wound its way back up her chest, into her throat.

  “At least let her finish her dinner first,” Jack complained.

  “No, it’s all right.” Greta’s heart pounded in her chest as she tried to push away those moments of terror when she’d been in the elevator, not knowing what would happen when it stopped. In one way, it was easier hearing the question from Cole, rather than Jack. “I know we didn’t talk in detail yesterday once we were back here, so I’ve been expecting it.” She wasn’t entirely sure she could have had that conversation then, either.

  “Painkillers knocked her out.” Jack aimed the comment at Cole who continued to plow through his meal. “Whenever you’re ready, Greta.”

  “Actually, now would be best,” Cole corrected. “If it was Doyle, if he’s following you or stalking—”

  “It wasn’t Doyle Fremont I saw at the gallery.”

  Jack’s hands froze halfway to his mouth. He set his burger down. “It wasn’t?”

  “No. It wasn’t.” She’d been waiting for this moment, knew without a doubt it was going to arrive, and she’d prepared for it. She slipped from her stool and exited, ignoring the frustrated mutterings from the men left behind as she retrieved her sketchpad. Heart thudding, she flipped to the page she needed and returned to the kitchen. She handed the pad over. “This is who I saw.”

  Jack sputtered and nearly spit out the beer he was drinking as he accepted the notebook. “But—”

  “I know.” Greta steeled herself for the worst. For the doubt. The anger. And most of all, the disbelief. “I saw a dead man.”