by Mary Calmes
Sam spent his time between being on the phone and talking to Hefron and Lange. I was surprised that Patrick and Chaz were there instead of Chloe, and even more surprised when Patrick came and sat with me, not talking at all, just sitting beside me, shoulder to shoulder, stopping anyone from getting too close to me.
"Back off," he said continually.
It took hours, and I was nodding off when Sam came and sat with me. He put an arm around me and leaned me against his chest.
"How're you holding up, baby?"
I nodded.
"Jory," Patrick said slowly, drawing my attention. "Did ya ever think that maybe all Sammy's friends don't care so much that you're a guy and more about the fact that you're so goddamn young?"
I looked at him.
"Yeah. Ya missed that, huh?"
I turned my head to look at Sam and found him scowling.
"He's not that young," he growled at his friend.
"Oh, screw you, Kage." He shook his head, flipping him off.
"You're the only guy in our group who's got a nice, young piece of ass."
"He's twenty-six, Pat."
But Detective Patrick Cantwell was already rising up off the couch. He reached out and ruffled my hair before sauntering across the room to talk to Chaz.
I turned and looked at Sam.
"What?"
"They all think I'm gonna leave you crying in your coffee
'cause you're old."
"I'm not—fuck you, J, I'm not old! I'm not even forty."
"No, you're not."
"I won't be forty for three years!"
"Two years," I corrected him. "You already had your birthday this year. You're thirty-eight."
He stared at me.
"What?"
"You remembered when my birthday was?"
"Of course... it was in August."
"I had no idea you—"
"You're twelve years older than me."
His brows furrowed and I got a growl. "I'm not old."
I couldn't wipe the smile off my face to save my life.
"Leave me," he muttered under his breath. "Never happen."
But I could tell from the way he was acting, from the scowl on his face, the muscles flexing in his jaw, and the way he was gripping his cell phone that maybe our age difference had him a little spooked as well. I couldn't have that.
"What're you doing?"
It was perfectly obvious that I was comforting him. My hand was in his lap under the blanket and my lips were pressed to his throat.
"Quit," he shifted uncomfortably, trying to push me away.
"You're gonna give me a boner and I'm wearing sweats."
"You're not old."
"Thank you, but I know that already."
"You're the hottest guy I know," I said, slipping my hand down under the elastic waistband of his sweats.
"Stop before you—"
I bit his jaw lightly before I licked it better, moving my lips back towards his ear.
"Baby," he groaned, wrapping his arms around me fast, crushing me against his hard, muscular chest. "Stop—I can't put you over the kitchen table right now so... quit. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but my ego is not that delicate. All I gotta do is watch your eyes when you see me to know that I do it for you big-time."
I closed my eyes, surrendered all my weight to him.
"There ya go, just relax. I gotcha."
We sat together on the couch, me in his arms, my eyes closed, drifting in and out as he talked on the phone to Dane and Agent Calhoun and his captain and his partner and so many, many other people. It was four in the morning before he finally put me in bed. He kissed me good night, promised that he'd be right back, and tucked the down comforter around me. There was an officer outside our front door, two posted outside the front door of the building, a patrol car parked on the street, and another officer walking the halls of the building. No one was getting anywhere near me. I wanted him to stay. He had to go. He was going to talk to Susan Reid with Dane. I argued that I, too, should be there, but I had done enough. I needed to rest; it was all anyone expected me to do. I was really much too tired to argue.
I realized when I heard the front door lock that I was more like a prisoner than anything else. Scary to think that I was no more able to do as I pleased than Susan Reid. Hard to imagine a time when it wouldn't be like this. The last thing Sam had said was to concentrate on setting a date for us to fly to Canada and get married. I dreamed about that.
Chapter Sixteen
I so wanted to know what was going on, but when I called Sam as soon as I woke up he didn't answer. I got Dane on the second ring, and he said that, yes, Sam was with him and that neither of them could talk. He hung up on me before I got out another word. It was just plain rude.
I checked outside and it was still pouring, still dark, and still overcast and gray. The police cruiser was there and I saw it through the rivulets running down the window. Outside the front door were two uniformed policemen. I told them I would make coffee and they were both very appreciative.
Walking around the apartment, I realized how cold it seemed, how shadowy. Maybe Sam was right; maybe moving back into his place was a better idea. Logically, I knew someone could break into Sam's apartment too, but before someone bought it, maybe taking it off the market and moving back in was a better idea. Dane had never understood how moving into a rental and selling the place Sam owned was smart. And it wasn't, I had just been too stubborn to agree with him. When Sam got home, I would tell him that I had reconsidered and that his place could be our place again.
I just couldn't shake my feeling of unease, and I doubted that it would ever go away.
I delivered the policemen outside my door steaming hot mugs of coffee and told them that I would make muffins shortly, since I wasn't going to work. I had firm orders from Sam to sit my ass home—this was the note that I had awoken to on my nightstand. Apparently even if I tried to leave the apartment, I wasn't going anywhere—the policemen had orders. So I resigned myself to being home, called Aubrey, called Dylan, and finally Aja just to see what she was doing.
She was dying to know what was going on as well, since she, too, was at home under police protection. I told her I was baking. She was doing conference calls. She won for more productive.
I took a shower after I watched TV for a while and delivered the muffins to the officers. I was creeped out, though and dragged a chair into the bathroom and wedged it against the door so no one could come in without me knowing. That was the very reason why I had a see-through vinyl shower curtain. Norman Bates was never going to get the best of me.
The hallway closet door was open when I walked out of the bathroom. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I bolted to the front door and out into the hall. The policemen looked at me like I had two heads. They did what I asked though, and came in and took another walk through the apartment with me. But just like previous sweeps, there was nothing. No one. I asked if they could sit inside with me and they agreed.
An hour later they had to change shifts. They went out, but not before pointing to the police cruiser that had pulled up on the street. They promised to send the replacements in. I was very thankful. When I closed the door behind them, I shivered hard. I needed Sam to come home or I needed out of the apartment. Caged was never good for me. Running, moving, either being so much better than just sitting around and waiting. And I was freezing, which wasn't helping my mood.
I went to get a sweater, and when I came back down the hall, something moved out of the corner of my eye. I turned, and there was a bird flying around by the ceiling. In the middle of winter there was a pigeon, now sitting on top of one of the beams in my ceiling. What the hell? I looked toward the windows; I saw that the one that opened out onto the fire escape was open just a crack. I turned and froze, standing face to face with Caleb Reid.
"Jesus," I croaked out, backpedalling before he raised the gun.
There was a knock on the door.
"Tell them you don't want them inside, Jory," he told me, his voice soft, controlled like it never was.
"Yes," I called out.
"Mr. Harcourt, do you want us to come in?"
"No, thank you," I managed to get out.
"Okay, then, we'll be right out here."
Fat lot of good that did me. Shit.
"I was in the closet," he said suddenly, smiling.
And I understood. He had opened the window to make Sam think he had gone out that way. Neither of us had thought to check anywhere else in the apartment after Sam did his initial sweep. And the police who had come had concerned themselves with the same window, the same path.
"I watched you sleep last night."
I felt my skin crawl, tried to control the tremor that ran through me without success.
"Scary, right?"
I nodded.
"I went out on the fire escape while you were in the shower. Sorry I let the bird in."
I was just staring at him, realizing that his pupils were completely dilated. He looked like he was on something, I just had no idea what. "Tell me what you're gonna do."
"Come closer, I want to look at your eyes. I never look at them."
My life depended on me moving forward, but I still couldn't.
"Where's your mother, Jory?"
"I have no idea."
"So you're an orphan."
"Yeah."
He nodded. "But not really... you have Dane."
I tried to breathe.
"And you're the only one who does."
Looking at him, I saw how empty he looked. Like he was all used up. I had never noticed it before.
"Say something."
"Like what?"
He stepped closer to me. "Why did he pick you?"
"I have no idea."
"You've never asked?"
"No."
"He destroyed my family, you know."
"How?"
"My dad—he stopped loving my mom."
"Why?"
"Because she gave away his son. He can't ever forgive her for not having any faith in him."
"They were both in high school. He needs to cut her some slack."
He smiled slightly, but it was bittersweet. "Yes, he should."
I waited for what he would do next.
"She wanted him back so desperately."
Every woman that ever met Dane Harcourt wanted something from him. Not surprising that his own mother was no different.
"And you, Jory, you're the reason he wouldn't. Why did he need his old family when he had you?"
The calm, controlled voice was way scarier than if he'd been yelling at me. I felt the goose bumps rise on my skin.
"He hates me—my dad, my mom... all of us."
"No."
He nodded slowly. "You're right, it's worse than hate. He feels nothing for me, for any of us."
Which was the truth.
"I thought maybe my dad had a shot with him—he didn't know, after all."
I was silent, not wanting to provoke him.
"He'll give him anything... it was so easy for my dad to ask for the money. Dane will do anything but spend time with him, or me. It's like he'd pay us to stay away from him."
Time required interest, which Dane didn't have. Caleb was right. Money was easy to get; sitting around just talking, hanging out, that was asking for too much. Dane only spent time with those he truly loved.
"And he never touches me first. If I never hugged him again, he wouldn't care. But you.... Just how soft his eyes are when you walk into the room... it takes my breath away."
It was a weird thing to say. It wasn't something a guy would think, it was something a woman would think... or an estranged mother.
I watched the tears slowly slide down his cheeks.
"And now there's Aja too. There used to be just you, but now she's here."
He wasn't really talking to me. I wasn't sure if he could even see me.
"I just wanted my life, Jory.... I wanted him back."
Crap. "Caleb?"
He looked confused. "No, Jory, it's me."
My stomach flipped over. He didn't think he was Caleb.
Jesus, who did he think he was?
"I thought when I found him... since his parents were dead... I thought he would need us—need me. But he didn't.
He didn't need any of us... because he had you."
When did he go from being Caleb to being whoever he was now? He had started out as Caleb but now....
"Why did you have to be there, Jory dear?"
Dear?
"Funny... you really are such a good boy."
He sounded just like... Susan. "Shit," I swore.
His head tilted like he was interested in what I was going to say, interested in what conclusion I would draw.
Holy crap. He thought he was his mother.
We stood there facing each other, him with his gun at his side, me ready to dart in the opposite direction of wherever he pointed the weapon.
"Why kill all those guys?" I asked him, trying to strike up a conversation.
"I didn't mean to." He smiled at me coldly. "I just—Caleb likes you, and he was supposed to help."
"Did Caleb do anything?"
"He called you after you got away from me."
"He didn't kill anybody."
"No—nobody."
"You're strong. They thought a man killed those guys."
"A man did."
I put it together. "Greg."
"Yes. Greg killed them, but when he found out about the detective—your man—he got cold feet."
I nodded. "You blew up Sam's car."
"I thought if I killed him that you'd be too overwhelmed with grief to do anything else."
"But he didn't die."
"No, and then you came looking for me, so Greg had to be there for you to find."
"He was somewhere else first," I put it together.
"Yes."
"You killed Greg's mother."
"And Caleb knew it."
So surreal to be talking to Caleb with him answering like he was his mother.
"He covered for you, grabbing the knife."
"Yes, he's stupid, but he's not a complete fool."
"Why would Greg Fain help you kill people?"
He arched an eyebrow.
"Please tell me."
His eyes narrowed. "His mother was a nun before she was raped. Who do you think bore the brunt of all her rage?"
Which answered my questions about why mother and son didn't live together.
"Who do you think was filthy and never loved?"
"I get it."
"Perhaps," he said, looking at me, "being an orphan is not such a bad thing."
"I'm not an orphan anymore."
"You're not going to be anything anymore," he said, raising the gun.
"Please don't, Susan," I pleaded, using the name he would recognize at that moment.
"I have to, I hate you. I want you in the ground."
I thought of Sam. I thought of Dane. My heart hurt. I could feel how tense my muscles were, heard the blood rushing like a train in my ears, tried to pull in air and found I could not. There had to be more. More love, more work, more time, more everything. I lunged forward without thinking, heard him yell from so far away.
His right shoulder exploded in blood and he screamed like a wounded animal as he crumpled to the floor in front of me.
I went to my knees beside him, whipping off my T-shirt, balling it up before pressing it to the wound, holding it there.
"Mr. Harcourt, stand clear!"
But how could I? Caleb was looking at me with such wounded eyes.
"Ohmygod, Jory." His voice was shaky; I saw the color drain from his face, saw his eyes get glassy, the beads of sweat on his forehead. "Are you all right?"
I nodded before I was suddenly grabbed from behind and thrown backward onto the couch. I watched the two officers that had been outside move in unison
, one kicking the gun across the room, the other with a shoe on Caleb's chest.
"No!" he howled as he was flipped over onto his stomach, his good arm twisted up behind his back. It looked rougher than it needed to be, more brutal, faster.
The two officers were on top of Caleb, holding him down, one pressing his face into the floor, the other cuffing him so tight, sitting on his legs. There was no way he was moving; there was no escape this time. I heard thunder in the hall before the front door was thrown violently open. More officers came through it, guns drawn, announcing themselves by yelling until they realized everything was fine. I heard that the scene was secured and was comforted.
I watched in a daze as they spoke into the radios on their shoulders, calling to tell whoever what had happened. I was eased to my feet, walked to the couch, and sat down. I was wrapped in a blanket before I was asked if any of the blood on me was mine.
I shook my head. "No."
They left me then as Caleb screamed my name. When I didn't hear it anymore, I closed my eyes and leaned back, letting the fear and cold and nausea roll through me. I couldn't stop shaking. I thought I had been cold before...
turned out I was wrong.
* * * *
They needed somewhere to take me. I didn't want to talk to anyone, so I elected to go to a hotel instead of someone's house. The room was checked, and double-checked, but I wasn't worried anymore. Everyone that wanted to kill me was in police custody. The officers that had brought me over were the same ones from outside my door earlier. The older one, Officer Fadden, had shot Caleb. He stopped me before I got inside and thanked me for worrying about him and his partner. I hadn't called to them to rescue me because I didn't want them to get hurt. Apparently they both knew it, and so did everyone else.
"Detective Kage will be here soon," he promised me, squeezing my shoulder.
I nodded, feeling like a zombie, and walked into the hotel room. A long time later I heard the bathroom door open even with the shower running.