by R. T. Wolfe
They stood talking as if she or their butler hadn't entered the room. Like they didn't know it was their daughter who was the Detective Nickie Savage making a house call.
Neither the forbidden room nor their reaction altered her cloud. It wasn't heavier, sadder or even more defiant. It was just there. Much like her past. Duncan was right. It wasn't something a person got over. But it was something she could learn to live with. And it was the reason she was here.
As she and the butler waited, her parents finished their conversation. It had something to do with a remodel they had planned for the horse stalls in the back. Nickie had always assumed the only reason they kept the horses was the hope Nickie would someday give in to their demands and learn to ride English. Guess not.
They looked the same, just older. Same large, blonde hair for her mother. Medium brown toupee on her father. They were larger people, both pushing 250. They never exercised. Never cared about what they put in their bodies. She had a sudden urge to eat some celery.
She knew what they were doing. And she knew they knew that she knew what they were doing. None of it mattered. Nickie's only purpose was to fully close this door in her life so she could truly open the one she promised Duncan.
When they were good and ready, they stopped talking and turned expectantly toward their butler. "Detective Nickie Savage to see you, sir. Ma'am." He didn't wait for a response and Nickie knew he wouldn't get one anyway. He did his bow thing and left her standing there.
"Nicole," her mother said as half question/half disdain.
"Ivanna," Nickie responded knowing her informal address toward her mother would put her deeper into the worthless daughter category.
Her mother held out her hand, then flicked her wrist toward a circle of stiff backed upholstered chairs. "Shall we?"
We shall, Nickie thought.
The chairs were arranged in three sets of twos around a tall glass table. They took two next to each other and Nickie sat across from them.
She refrained from taking the deep breath her lungs told her she needed. "I'd like you to tell me about the missing crime scene file from the night I was abducted."
Their expressions were unreadable as they so many times were in her years growing up under this roof. "Missing?" her father asked.
So, that's how this was going to be. She was sure the first thing he would do the minute Nickie walked out their door was to contact the person they had hide the hard copy of the file to see if was still there. Leslie Jacobsen may soon be in trouble.
Which meant this might be her only chance at getting them to talk.
"What are your intentions here, Nicole?" her mother asked emphasizing each word. "Are you have some nostalgic issues regarding your childhood? Some guilt, possibly?" Her voice remained carefully composed.
Don't fall for it Nickie. Keep it together. "It's a question the media would have been interested in." Nickie made sure to use past tense. No reason to threaten so early in the conversation.
Unfortunately, her mother noted the threat and countered with her own. "Despite your stellar upbringing, you were a belligerent child. The media would have made a circus out of the... the things a Maryland Monticello did while she was away. The spoiled runaway story fit. It saved us all the humiliation." What her mother didn't understand was that her threat was empty. Nickie could care less what her mother said about her past to the media, the governor or the President of the United frigging States. She had nothing to hide anymore.
Thinking she'd taken the upper hand, her mother shook her painted nail between Nickie and herself. "We decided together it was best if you finished your upbringing in a home... more suitable to the choices you made. When we learned of your relationship with the Hollywood artist, we'd so hoped our daughter had come to embrace the culture we provided."
"Choices? I chose to be abducted at gunpoint and forced to be repeatedly beaten and sold?"
Her mother curled her nose. Not like a mother who couldn't bear to hear what her daughter had been forced to endure. More like she'd smelled something rotten. Her father maintained his composed Maryland Monticello expression.
Nickie nearly spat. "You've answered my question. I have nothing further." She said it like a cop, and she meant it as a permanent end.
* * *
Duncan grabbed another small table as soon as it was unoccupied, pulling it next to the ones he'd already arranged. Nickie stood and reached for the matching chairs. "I can get those," he said.
She smiled. "My arm's not broke." Her sarcasm came as a relief. She'd been oddly serene since she came back from her short trip to Maryland. He tried to convince her they could do this another time, but she insisted. She'd said this was family and important to her. He could assume the reason why.
It was a busy Friday night, but that couldn't be helped. Gil and Teresa created quality background music as they performed in their minute triangle corner stage at The Pub. Their waitress dodged tables and patrons as she juggled a tray full of pitchers of beer and two tall stacks of plastic cups.
Nickie sat down on the front edge of her chair turning her focus to the music. He paused before gathering more chairs and sat next to her. Keeping her eyes on the music, she reached over and took his hand. It both eased his worry and sent a wave of anticipation through him. He replaced the hand she'd taken with the one farther from her and slid his other over her shoulder. "You're beautiful," he whispered close to her ear.
Without moving her eyes from Gil and Teresa, a smile slowly spread across her face.
"Rose texted me," she said. "They're almost here but can only leave baby Andrew with the new sitter for a few hours."
He nodded and pulled her closer. Turning her cheek into his shoulder, she sighed. "You are stuck with me now, Duncan Reed."
"A life sentence I gladly accept." He kissed her forehead and stood to arrange a few more chairs around the outside of the line of tables. The spot he'd chosen was near the stage. Still, when the door opened, a waft of cold air mixed with the smell of cigarette smoke brushed through the area.
"This is embarrassing, just so you know." She was on her feet and placing pitchers of beer on the tables.
"It's better than having my aunt find out from someone else. Or worse than that, Gloria."
She shuddered and nodded her head.
Andy and Rose arrived first, pulling off their scarves and gloves as they made their way to them. "What's with all this?" Andy gestured to the large group of tables.
Neither of them gave a second glance at the sight of him and Nickie back together. They were like that.
Rose. He was thankful she and Nickie had become friends for more than his own, self-fulfilling reasons. It was the first female friend he could remember she had. Now, she would be a sister. Family. Something Nickie needed. Something she deserved.
"Nickie's family is coming, too," he said to Rose. Nickie's cat eyes casually turned to his. He'd referenced Gloria and Gloria's children as family. Would she ever accept the fact that they were exactly that?
"Cool," Rose said and waved over her shoulder to Gil and Teresa. "Too bad they weren't with us the last time we were all here. The boys might not have ended up a bloody mess."
"We didn't start it," Duncan interrupted. He and Andy high-fived.
Nickie smiled. "Bloody almost made me lose my job for failure to report an attempted murder."
"Attempted murder? Nah." Andy shook his head. "Just a few punks taking advantage of three on one."
"Then three on two," Duncan added. "I've got your back, little brother."
Rose held up her hand like a stop sign. "Let's do shots and forget about it."
His aunt and uncle arrived next. They searched for only a moment before spotting him. Brie's green eyes warmed, then found Nickie's and lit. She picked up her pace, making as straight of a line toward her as she could in a crowded bar. "Nickie, dear." She hugged her like Nickie had come back from the dead. "It's good to see your pretty face." Brie pulled away and moved her eyes f
rom Duncan to Nickie, then to Nickie's bare left hand. How did she know everything?
A few more of Nickie's brothers and sisters arrived. They, too, didn't seem surprised at the sight of them together. Everyone waited patiently to learn the reason for combining the families at a bar on a Friday night. A group of twenty-somethings played pool. The dartboard stood unused as the place was too packed for pointed flying objects. Duncan ordered a new round of beer for all just as Gloria arrived.
Teresa finished her rendition of "Since U Been Gone," allowed time for applause, then announced a ten-minute break. Gil connected his prerecorded intermission playlist and made his way over. Duncan held out a beer for each of them as the group cheered and gave them room at the table.
It was now or never. He took a moment to recognize that not a single family in this group could be considered nuclear. He and Andy had been raised by their aunt and uncle, Rose by a mother and step-father and his detective by a foster family.
As he stood, the group became quiet, elbowing those who hadn't noticed as if they'd been expecting an announcement. "I'd like to make a toast," he said. "To family." He never saw the need for wordy speeches but was determined to do this right. The sound of plastic thuds clinked as they tapped their glasses together. "Thank you for gathering as one this evening. Nickie and I wanted you to be the first to know we've decided to marry."
They didn't seem surprised. Except that was precisely what Duncan felt. The cheers were more than supportive; they were positively electric. He supposed it mirrored his own emotions. Enthusiastic splatters of beer tipped at each table.
"Finally, you popped the question," his brother said and smacked his shoulder.
"Not exactly," Duncan said more to himself than to answer Andy.
Gil yelled over the noise, "Where's the ring?"
It was as if the room had darkened and a spotlight lit Nickie's left hand. An angry proposal in a restaurant? One as she cried in his arms in his foyer? During lunch at Mikey's Bar and Grill? "It hasn't been the right time."
"What the hell do you mean, 'it hasn't been the right time'?" It was Rose, of course. "You're not engaged without a ring."
He glanced at Nickie. She looked undeniably relieved to hear Rose say so. He hadn't intended to hurt or embarrass her. This was meant to be an evening of celebration.
"Whoa," Nickie said and held up both her hands. "One step at a time, people. How much do you think a girl can take at once?"
"Do you have a date?" Teresa called out.
This time, Nickie grinned at him. Her expression softened. "Soon," she answered for the both of them.
Chapter 13
Stuck at a dead end, Nickie pushed her laptop away and set her reading glasses on Duncan's desk. "Police work should be more like television," she whined. "Every case solved with fast action, loads of obvious clues and all in a half hour." Before her eyes crossed from staring at her screen another moment, she closed them and rested her head on the desk in his bedroom. He'd built a fire, the smell of burning wood taking her mind to a picnic in the woods with the horses.
It was a short escape. Even sealed, her eyes betrayed her. She saw the leads that still needed to be followed and reports yet to be completed. It had been way too long since William Juracek was murdered. She had a load of suspects and not a single piece of concrete evidence. The captain wouldn't assign her to anything bigger than a corner store robbery or working as resource for someone else's case. This was high profile for Northridge, and he wanted it solved. She could hardly blame him.
Strong fingers slithered up her shoulders, kneading the knots of tension in them, then traveled up her neck. How had she survived a single day without this? He laced his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp and making every muscle in her body turn into a puddle of mush.
Her body's reaction wasn't what she assumed Duncan had been aiming for. She lifted her head and spun her chair 180 degrees. Straddling his legs, she locked the tops of her boots behind him and pulled him to her.
The sharp lines in his jaw flexed and released. "A break from work?" he crooned low and sexy.
She didn't answer with words but slipped her fingers in his waistband. He tucked his magic hands under her backside and lifted as she wrapped her legs the rest of the way around him. Heat found heat.
He set her butt on his desk, and as if pulling them from nowhere, brought one of her necklaces and a pair of earrings from behind his back. He held them out to the side. It was her long, silver necklace. The one with a few dozen interlocking hoops. The matching earrings dangled between his fingertips. "You promised me a painting," he said as he dipped his head and grazed her neck with his teeth.
How could she possibly argue when he did this? Regardless, uncomfortable nerves erupted. Glancing down at the raspberry pink blouse she'd chosen that morning, she spotted the diagonal wrinkles beneath the line where her gun holster had laid from the day. Her pants were too tight, her boots too tall. She liked it that way, but for a Duncan Reed painting? His paintings hung in the homes of politicians, the dripping rich and people so famous even she knew who they were. She, on the other hand, was just... Nickie.
"Now?" she asked. "Wearing this?"
His eyes darkened. A smile, evil and glorious, slowly covered his face.
"Not wearing this." He tugged at the shirt, then brought her jewelry into the small space between them. "Wearing these."
Her phone buzzed on her hip. It was the ring tone for forwarded calls from the police station. "I've got to get this. I'm so sorry." Giving him the most apologetic look she could muster, she pulled it from her pocket and answered. "Savage."
"Savage," the voice on the other end repeated.
She didn't recognize it or understand why the nerves at the back of her neck came alive.
"You changed your name. I like it."
No. He can't have this number. He can't be at the station. Her eyes darted from one side of Duncan to the other, then her legs dropped from around him and hit the floor with a thud.
"You were never a Nicole Monticello. Nickie Savage. It suits you."
She remembered all right. Sixteen years couldn't erase the memory of the voice. She couldn't speak, couldn't move.
"I see you recognize me. Also, I like." He laughed. The same laugh haunted her dreams. The laugh he once used as he put the scars on her back.
Her head turned to a mixture of pissed off, defeated and encouraged. "Where are you, Zheng?"
The veins in Duncan's neck rose, and he began to scramble through his tech equipment.
"Is that your detective work, my savage? Ask me where I'm at so you can come arrest me?"
She closed her eyes. He was right. "How about, what the fuck do you want?"
"Temper." He was right again. "Mmm. How I loved that temper."
With lightning fast fingers, Duncan connected some electronic something to the back of her phone. Zheng wasn't that stupid, but she supposed she would have tried, too, if the tables were turned.
"I don't care what you think about my detective work or honestly what you want. And I'll find out where you are soon enough. Is there anything else?" There. That was better. He was silent long enough on the other end of the phone that she smiled and said figuratively to Duncan, "Do you think we lost him? I think we've lost him. Either that or he can't seem to think of a thing to say to a grown-up. That's right, Zheng. I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a trained detective, and you're an old man."
"I don't like little girls."
"No shit."
"You know I never touched them that way. But you. You are no longer a child."
Interestingly enough, she felt clearer. The conversation became familiar. "Really? This is how you're going to try and scare me? Is this all you've—" But the line went dead. As useless as it seemed, she glanced to Duncan. He shook his head and pulled away the device he'd placed on the back of her phone.
* * *
Nickie popped her head into Eddy's office on her way to check on the guys manni
ng the SS8 phone bug. She wondered how much longer the A.D.A. would give up man-hours for something that was coming up nil.
"Press conference in twenty," she said to him. "Coin toss?"
"No coin toss. It's your turn."
She sighed and placed the palms of her hands together.
"Fine," he said and dug in his pocket. Placing a quarter on his thumb, he looked at her and raised his eyebrows.
"Tails," she called.
He flipped and slapped the quarter in the middle of his desk. Heads. Damn.
"Fine," she said back to him. She hated talking to damned reporters. "I'm gonna check on the guys getting their rocks off listening to the SS8 bugs. I won't be late to the meet and greet and asking of questions we can't answer."
"You'd better be on time. The captain will have your ass if you're not, and I'm throwing you under the bus if you're late."
One more, "Fine," and she spun on her heels, heading for the closet Vaughn had made into what she and Eddy had affectionately named the bug room.
Two IT geeks crammed into the small space wearing enormous head phones. They giggled like schoolgirls, leaning closer to the equipment like they might be able to hear better if they did. One smacked the other's shoulder and snorted. Vaughn hadn't authorized two at a time. Nickie was sure she would come unglued if she knew. Nickie's butt barely fit between machines and tables. She maneuvered through to reach them and hit each on the back of the head. They grabbed their hair and spun around.
Slowly, they pulled their headphones off the rest of the way, then straightened. "Detective," they said in a collaborative greeting.
"What the hell, gentlemen?"
"Sorry, Detective Savage. I was just leaving." The stockier one tried to stand, but there was no room with her in there.
"Sit back down, and tell me what you've got."
"Mostly out of town stuff." The geek, who apparently was the only one actually assigned to be in here, held up his records. "No Joe Johnson. No Seneca Hotel and Casino, Guest House or Tommy Marino."