Guarding His Midnight Witness

by Anna J. Stewart

  She didn’t need him to tell her that her method of coping with complicated situations was to burrow into her studio and disappear. “I’ve been trying to work stuff like this out most of my life.” She plucked up her brushes and set them in the thinner-filled jars. “It’s not going to happen in a few hours.”

  “Maybe it could if you talked about it.”

  “What’s to talk about? Obviously what I saw the other night wasn’t real. Or what I saw at the gallery wasn’t. He can’t both be dead and alive.” Something in the man’s expression, just a tic, had chills running down her arms.

  “Depends what the angle is,” Jack said. “Speaking of angles, this canvas is full of them.” He shifted his attention to her painting. “Is this what you’ve been working on all day?”

  “All...day?” Greta looked to the clock on the far counter. “It’s after four. In the afternoon?” She’d lost the entire day? That was part of it, wasn’t it? Hallucinations? Losing time? Her future seemed to drop off into the same dark hole as her past. Was this it? Was she finally falling into the madness that had taken her...

  “You need to get out of here.”

  “No!” She jumped back a step when he moved toward her. He stopped. “I just mean, I’m not done yet. I need to focus. I need to finish...” She motioned toward her paintings in the hopes he’d understand. But how could he when she didn’t? She didn’t want to be out there, where she had no control. And for the first time since she’d moved here, she didn’t want to be in this loft, either. It felt tainted somehow. Dark. Like an extension of the nightmares she’d dealt with most of her life. No matter where she went, she felt trapped.

  “Greta.” Jack held out his hand, palm up, arm relaxed, giving her the choice she wanted to make. She looked at his hand, imagined how it would feel holding hers. Was this gratitude she was feeling over how caring and understanding he’d been last night? Or was this more? She wanted it to be more. So much more...

  Her hand found his palm.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She did. It shocked her to realize it was true. It scared her. Once he learned the truth, he was going to turn his back on her. Leave her with a broken heart.

  “Unless you want another pair of officers—”

  “What officers?”

  “Unless you want another pair of officers in your apartment while I’m gone—”

  “Where are you going?”

  He tugged her into his arms and locked his hands at the base of her spine. “Unless you want another pair of officers in your apartment while I’m gone, you’re going to go in, take a shower, get dressed and come with me. Casual. Layers. There’s always a breeze over the water.”

  “Water?” The word alone was enough to lull her into a trance. “I like the water.”

  “Then you’re going to love where we’re going for dinner.”

  * * *

  Even after her sleepwalking event, even after telling him her real name, Jack didn’t expect Greta to be a font of information. Not about her past. Not about much of anything. The fact she’d agreed to come with him, that she’d clutched at his hand as if he were the only stabilizing force in her universe weighed on both his shoulders and his heart. Doubt clung to that weight, which he could only hope to avoid dropping.

  He didn’t know what magic soap she used that erased every droplet of paint from her skin, but it left her smelling of spring flowers after a rainstorm and had Jack wishing he’d declined their hosts’ dinner invitation. Greta had twisted her long, thick hair into some kind of intricate knotted braid and wore snug jeans and a loose apricot-colored shirt. As she sat beside him, the dimming light blanketing them as they drove down Garden Highway toward the Crest View Marina, she absently rubbed at her shoulder, wincing as she watched the passing trees and road.

  “What did you mean when you said he could be alive and dead?”

  “Took you long enough to ask.” He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw their patrol car escort continue on once he turned onto the side road. “We ID’d your victim from Fremont’s office.”

  “You did what?” The leather of her seat squeaked when she turned to face him. “You’re just getting around to telling me this now? What’s his name? Where did you find him?”

  “Hang on.” Jack maneuvered around the parked vehicles and switched on his headlamps so he could see to the end of the road. “I said we ID’d him, not that we found him. His name is Paul Calhoun. That sketch you gave us last night paid off. The FBI identified him almost immediately.”

  “FBI?” Greta squeaked. “What’s the FBI got to do with this?”

  Jack couldn’t very well tell her the truth that they were trying to keep the investigation off the radar for another day or so. Not without her thinking it was because they didn’t believe her. “We needed to use outside resources.” Skirting the edge of the truth was okay, wasn’t it? “We have a friend in the FBI’s San Francisco office. They’ve actually been looking for Calhoun for a while.” He managed a quick smile. “And you found him.”

  Her eyes flickered in the growing darkness. “Did I?”

  “You gave them a lead they’ve been looking for months. He’s an ex-mob attorney on the run. And we did find a connection to Fremont. We’re working on fleshing it out, now.”

  Greta rubbed at her shoulder again. “He’s real.” The relief in her eyes was so bright he felt like shielding his eyes. “You’re telling me the man I saw was real. You’re sure?”

  “He’s real.” Jack glanced over at her before he pulled into the space next to Ashley’s ancient Camry. Cole’s 1960s gentleman’s cruiser bobbed gently in the water against the dock. The vessel had been refurbished and upgraded to a high polish, and this evening had been decked out with tiny white twinkle lights strung from stem to stern. He spotted Vince Sutton and Max Kellan lounging on the deck, beer bottles dangling from their hands. “There are a lot of unanswered questions, Greta. Enough that until we get those answers, my boss and I agreed you should be under police protection.” He killed the engine and turned to look at her.

  “Oh?” She inclined her head, and her braid fell over one shoulder. The curl at the bottom brushed against the top of her breast. “You just decided that on your own, did you?”

  “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “That depends. Are you my protection?” The smile that spread across her lips had the blood surging through his body and settling south of his belt.

  “That’s the plan.” A really bad plan, but the more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted. She was like a drug to his system, a habit he had no inclination to kick. He reached out, intending to brush a solitary finger down the side of her face but instead his hand slipping into her hair, and cupped the back of her neck as he reached down and unhooked her seat belt. Oh, yeah, he thought as he hauled her closer. A really, really bad plan. He brushed his lips against hers, inhaled that intoxicating scent before sinking in to her.

  He wasn’t sure what spiked into his mind first. The feel of her mouth, the way she opened under him, or the way her hands slipped up his chest and gripped his shirt. He heard a moan and wasn’t entirely sure who had made it; he didn’t care. What he did care about was that he’d made a serious tactical error by leaving her apartment. There wasn’t anything he wanted more at this moment than to be back in that bed of hers, with nothing between them other than need.

  His hand slipped free, trailed down her arm to catch the hem of her shirt. The second his fingers brushed her warm flesh he nearly broke apart.

  A sharp rap on his window had Jack jerking away. He cracked his head, hard enough to make him groan and Greta bite her lip against a smile before she looked around him, the humor sliding from her face even as the color drained from it. “Jack?” she whispered. “What’s Cole doing here? Where are we?”

  “Just...hang on a second.” He shifted but winced as pa
rts of him protested and strained. He clicked the key and lowered the window. “Sorry we’re late.”

  “Uh-huh.” Cole glared at him.

  “All four feet are on the floor,” Jack added.

  “Grill’s ready for the steaks.” Cole left no doubt he didn’t believe him. “Come on aboard. Greta, glad you could make it.”

  Jack glanced back in time to see her manage a smile.

  “Two minutes.” Cole backed away and held up two fingers. “Or I send in reinforcements.”

  Jack swore. Reinforcements probably meant his sister or Eden. Maybe both.

  “Why would you bring me here?” Greta whispered when he came around to open her door. She sat facing forward, a hand locked around the base of her seat belt.

  “Because we were invited.”

  She shook her head, and only then did he see the hint of fear in her eyes.

  “Greta—”

  “I thought it would just be the two of us. I’m not good around people.”

  “I hate to break it to you,” he said, leaning his hands on the roof of the car, “but in a few days you’re going to be surrounded by them at your show.”

  “That’s different. That’s...safe. I can talk about my art and the pieces, my inspiration or a million other things, but this is...me.”

  “Your paintings are you, too. Greta, do you really think I’d bring you someplace I didn’t think you’d be safe? Either physically or emotionally?”

  She pressed her lips together and leaned back for her seat belt. “Take me home.”

  Jack rested a hand on her trembling one. “No.”

  Greta finally looked at him. “What?”

  “Not used to hearing that, are you? You’re used to sitting alone in your protected space, painting and drinking tea and pretending there isn’t a world outside your door.”

  “I...do not.”

  “Then, prove it.” He pounced on the uncertainty he heard in her voice. “One hour. Give me one hour, and if you still want to go home, we’ll leave.”

  She looked out toward the boat, her hands twisting in her lap. “How many people are there?”

  “In the world? Billions. Should make tonight easier to deal with.”

  “Jack,” she whispered.

  “One hour.” He turned her face to his and kissed her again.

  “Fine.” She grabbed her purse. “I don’t like being tricked. There will be payback.”

  “Noted for future reference.” He hadn’t tricked her, exactly. He closed the door and, before she could think, slipped his hand around hers. “Relax. You already know Cole and Ashley. The rest are easy. Well, except Eden. She can be, well, unpredictable.”

  “Fabulous.” The tension remained in her voice, but her hand relaxed a little in his. “One hour. Set your watch now.”

  * * *

  There were few certainties in life, Greta supposed, but none as unifying as the male bonding ritual around the almighty grill. Not that Greta had much experience with the primal meeting among man, fire and meat. She didn’t have much experience with a lot of things, but she had to admit, watching Jack debating the proper cooking techniques with three good-looking—not to mention intriguing—men was more entertaining and informative than expected.

  She already knew Cole, of course, Jack’s partner and fellow detective. Cole’s wife, Eden, was what Greta had expected, given the woman’s chosen profession, right down to Eden’s cool edge of control and suspicion.

  Manning the grill with a ferocious pair of tongs was former Marine turned private investigator Vince Sutton. He intrigued her, the surprising combination of intense physicality and good-natured ribbing making her fingers itch for a paintbrush or pencil, especially to capture the contrast between Vince and Simone, his elegant, put-together, district-attorney wife.

  Max Kellan, a former firefighter who now worked with Vince at his investigation agency, was one of the most laid-back, jovial individuals she’d ever met. The man always seemed to be laughing or have a smile on his face, especially when his gaze landed on his wife, Dr. Allie Hollister-Kellan.

  Greta wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees, having shrunk as far into the corner of the padded bench at the back of the boat as possible. She glanced at her watch. Twenty-seven minutes to go. She’d survived the initial introductions, withstanding the curious gazes of the people Jack clearly considered his family. He’d been right. Already knowing Cole and Jack’s doctor sister, Ashley, had taken a bit of the unease away, but that didn’t mean she was ready to spend an entire evening inside the stylish yet somewhat claustrophobic boat.

  Retreating to the deck had eased the tension knotting inside her. The cool night air circulated, tinged with an appetite-inducing aroma that set Greta’s stomach to growling. She could hear the gentle sizzle of meat on metal along with the teasing banter and joking among the men. Jack’s laughter rang in her ears, drawing a reluctant smile out of her. The setting was, Greta had to admit, however unfamiliar, somewhat...cozy.

  “Pretty as a picture, aren’t they?”

  Greta blinked as a glass of white wine appeared in front of her face. Before even looking into the friendly dark eyes of the woman holding it, she accepted. “Thank you. And yes.” She cleared her throat, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “They are.” Greta studied the woman with a cap of dark hair, the gentle, passive expression on her face. The way she sat on the bench beside, but not too near, Greta. Those knots that had begun to slip loose tightened again. “You’re Jack’s psychiatrist friend.” It couldn’t be a coincidence she’d been the first to approach Greta. “Dr. Kellan. I don’t want to do regression therapy.”

  “All right.” Allie’s expression didn’t change, but Greta thought she saw a glint of surprise in the doctor’s eyes. “As I don’t usually solicit new clients at family events, that’s good to know. And it’s Allie, please.” The way she moved, a light lifting of a dismissive hand, a gentle tug on the hem of the sunflower yellow cardigan she wore, called to mind a garden nymph or fairy looking for the perfect flower to perch upon. Greta’s fingers twitched again, now that inspiration had struck. “Jack mentioned you were feeling a bit overwhelmed, and Ashley suggested giving you some space. I imagine we can be an intimidating bunch, but I promise we’re friendly.”

  “It’s not personal.” Greta managed a quick smile and sipped the wine. “I don’t, um, have many friends.” She tugged her feet farther under her. “Crowds, groups just make me nervous. I never know what to do or say.”

  “You tuck in any tighter into that corner and you’re going to turn into a turtle.” Eden St. Claire—she hadn’t changed her name after marrying Cole—popped into view. She tilted her head back, spilling strawberry blond hair down her back as she breathed in the cooling air. “Ah, that feels better.” She fanned her flushed face. “I thought I was going to flambé down there.” She sagged against the boat railing, a can of lemon-lime soda in her hand.

  “Forgive Eden, Greta.” The tall, slim blonde, introduced as Simone, emerged behind her friend and, after giving Eden a strong squeeze on her shoulder, walked past her to stand beside Greta. She moved like water, fluid and in smooth lines, encased in tailored white slacks and a bloodred blouse that set off the thin gold chain around her neck. “She has the personality of a sledgehammer. I’m afraid it doesn’t get much better, so you’ll have to get used to it. I only hope it doesn’t take you almost thirty years like it did the rest of us.”

  Get used to it? Why would she have to... “Thirty years? You all have been friends that long?”

  “They have,” Ashley said as she checked her cell phone. “I’m a recent addition. Thanks to Jack.”

  “Simone, Eden and I met in kindergarten, if you can believe that,” Allie told her.

  Kindergarten. Greta’s mind flashed. They’d been what? Five, six years old? An odd pang of envy sliced through her. She couldn�
�t remember anyone from when she’d been that age other than...

  “Hey.” Allie reached over and touched her arm. “Are you all right, Greta?”

  “Yeah.” Greta took a shaky sip of wine. “Sorry. Memories. Ghosts. I’ve been seeing a lot of those recently.” Too many. And all of them seemed to be walking over her grave.

  “Anything to do with this case Jack and Cole are working?” Eden prodded.

  “Wow, really?” Simone pinned her with an irritated glare that almost made Greta laugh. “You can’t turn it off even for five minutes?”

  “It’s okay.” Greta didn’t want them to get into a squabble over her. “I don’t know how much I can say, but yes, I’ve been working with them on an investigation. But that’s all this is. Him, bringing me here. He thinks I need protection.”

  “Does he?” Eden grinned. “Funny. I’ve known him what? Three years? And he’s never offered protection to anyone before. Let alone brought them to one of our dinners.”

  “What Eden’s indelicately trying to say,” Allie said, “is that we’re glad Jack brought you and that we hope it isn’t the last time we see you.”

  “Why?” Greta blinked. “You don’t know me. I could be a raving lunatic, for all you know.” She shifted her gaze to Ashley, half expecting Jack’s sister to chime in in agreement, but Ashley simply sat back as if she were enjoying the conversation.

  “Believe me, we’ve dealt with worse,” Eden muttered. “I hear you have an art show coming up? You’re a painter, right?”

  “She’s an exquisite artist.” Simone settled herself between Allie and Greta. “We have a print of one of your paintings at the DA’s office. The woman standing in the ocean. Those streaks of moonlight feel real every time I look at it. Gives me the shivers. In a good way.”

  “Moon Tide.” Greta’s chest relaxed. “I actually painted that one outside. I was living in South Carolina at the time. That stifling humidity, I couldn’t sleep at night, so I’d paint.”