The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series

by Jacki Delecki

  The fir floor creaked. Heavy footsteps moved toward her. Her heart bolted from her rib cage into her throat. The old floor creaked again.

  She ran into the darkness toward the front stairwell.

  Her harsh breathing reverberated in her head. Out of the darkness, massive hands clamped down on her arms, hot breath on her neck.

  She twisted, trying to use her weight to break the grip. The grip tightened.

  “Going somewhere?” His rough laugh grated against her ear, her skin. Shivers of revulsion rolled through her body. He lifted her off her feet.

  The stench of alcohol, sweat and tobacco enveloped her. Repulsed, she fought the bile that rose up in her throat. Her feet hung in the darkness. Cold sweat dripped down her back. She had panicked but needed to get back in control.

  With his hands pinning her arms to her body, he held her over the top of the stairs. “If you don’t stop moving, I might drop you,” he snickered.

  She relaxed into his hands. She couldn’t break his grip, but she could kick him, force him to release her. And then she would fall down the twenty wood steps.

  “If you had just learned to stop sticking your high and mighty nose in places it didn’t belong, I wouldn’t have to hurt you.”

  Her feet dangled in the air. She waited, marshaling her energy. His hands squeezed tighter, his nails digging into her skin. She ignored the pain and waited for the moment.

  “You need to forget the wharf. Get my meaning, bitch?”

  He shook her hard, hard enough to make her teeth hurt. His fetid breath blew across her neck.

  “Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “If you know what’s good for you and your fuck buddy, Davis, you’ll forget our little conversation. I’d hate for something to happen to the almighty fire investigator.” He placed her on the edge of the steps. This was the moment.

  The back of her knees and her stomach fluttered. Her heart sprinted, speeding out of control.

  He pushed her forward. “This should help your memory.”

  He let go. She teetered, twisted in mid-air, lashed out with a kick. She felt and then heard the snap of his knee. The thrust of her movement pitched her faster into the black emptiness. Her shoulder hit first. Unable to stop, she tucked her head and rolled into a tight ball.

  As if in one of her nightmares, she waited for the void to take her. Aware she was falling, she couldn’t stop. The sound of her shoulder striking each step echoed in the silence. Eventually sweet darkness came.

  * * *

  She lay on her side, afraid to make a sound, but she didn’t know why.

  Then she remembered. She’d been attacked, knocked down the stairs.

  Was he still there? Waiting?

  She rolled to her side. Pain shot down her right arm. She had to move, had to get out of here.

  She struggled to a sitting position. A wave of nausea hit. Dizzy. White dots paraded before her eyes. Leaning against the bottom step, the queasiness went away.

  Everything hurt. Her head throbbed. Her neck was sore. Taking deep breaths, she palpated each rib. No sharp twinges, no rib fractures.

  Her teeth chattered, and she realized she was cold. Way too cold. She clenched her jaw, tried to keep her teeth from chattering, but couldn’t.

  She shivered and shivered. Had to get warm.

  Her thinking was muddled. She knew she was in shock. And she knew she had to get out of there. Had to go home, to reach safety.

  She pushed herself to her knees, sharp pain shot through her arm again. Nausea threatened. She bent to pick up her purse. Another wave of nausea. She stood, motionless. If she sat down, she wouldn’t be able to get back up.

  The pain and her churning stomach receded enough for her to open the door. She wanted to go home. She waited for her intuition to alert her if he waited outside.

  She didn’t perceive any threat. He had delivered his message, loud and brutal. Exiting, she turned to lock the door. She wanted to laugh at the idea of locking the door, but it would hurt too much.

  A bath, a hot bath to wash away his touch. The thought of his breath on her neck sent waves of revulsion down her body.

  Getting into her car was torture. Every part of her body screamed. She checked her rearview mirror for him. His words, threatening retribution if she told Davis, were embedded in her brain. The man was filled with rage, rage capable of murder.

  If she called the police, they would contact Davis. Tomorrow she would think about who to call. Tomorrow she would treat herself with acupuncture. Tonight, she needed an Epsom salt bath and some serious western pain killers.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The ringing phone woke her from a deep sleep. Grayce rolled over. A stabbing pain shot down her arm. Remembering last night’s assault, she wanted to put a pillow over her head and pretend it was all a nightmare, a nightmare that didn’t end with intense pain and threats.

  Her cell sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and her entire body rebelled. Everything hurt. The cold floor jolted her fully awake. Napoleon jumped from the bed—breakfast time. At least someone was functioning.

  She stood, all her muscles tightened. The phone’s insistent ring continued. Napoleon wrapped himself around her ankles, purring in anticipation of his kibble.

  The journey from bedroom to kitchen, all five steps, hurt as if she were eighty years old and racked with rheumatoid arthritis. The bright sunlight burning her eyes intensified the throbbing in her head.

  She searched for her phone in her polar fleece draped over the chair. The ringing stopped.

  She leaned on the chair. The only person who would call at this hour was her mother. She squinted at the missed call; Davis called at 12:10pm. She had slept until noon—courtesy of over-the-counter sleep aids.

  She couldn’t bring herself to talk, feeling as if she had been hit by a Mack truck. If Davis showed any concern, she might let down her guard and tell him about the attack. She hadn’t had time to think through what she should do about last night’s threat. She needed to shore herself up with a Diet Coke and another hot bath, and a few acupuncture needles, and, most likely, a few more pain pills.

  By the time she got herself together enough to talk with Davis, the day would be over and she still wouldn’t know if they had a date for tonight.

  Pushing away from the chair, wincing from the sudden jolt to her shoulder, she walked to the refrigerator, reaching for a Diet Coke. Daunted by the idea of having to stretch to reach for a glass, she drank out of the can. The cold liquid was soothing on her dry lips and throat, a side effect of the PM in the medication.

  She walked the three steps back to the table. Sitting down, she reached for the pill bottle, inclined to sleep the afternoon away. She put down the bottle and dialed Davis.

  “Grayce, how are you?”

  “Great.” She tried to sound chipper.

  “You sound funny. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “The week caught up with me.” If he only knew who caught up with her.

  “You’re still planning on coming to tonight’s department party?”

  She heard the uncertainty in his voice.

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to come. I was an ass.”

  Exhausted from last night’s episode, she was too tired to discuss the finer points of whether Davis was an ass. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about his feelings the night Mitzi was poisoned. She understood about not wanting to talk when you’ve been through hell.

  “I feel really badly about not wanting to talk about what happened to Mitzi. Can we sort it out?” Davis asked.

  His sincere apology tempted her to divulge the assault. The memory of the threat stopped her. “Of course.”

  “Great.” His voice was lighter. “We may have to be a little late for the party. I’ve got a meeting at five with a fisherman from the wharf.”

  Suddenly she was wide awake. “Really?”
>
  “Yeah. The guy’s being kind of strange. He doesn’t want to meet at the wharf, but at some hole-in-the-wall bar in Georgetown at five. I’ll just have time to get home and shower before I pick you up.”

  “I thought you already met with the suspicious kid from Alaska.”

  “This guy rents the shed next to N-4. Hopefully he’ll show.”

  “What do you mean?” Uneasiness pulsed in her stomach.

  “I spent days tracking the representative of the company who rented the N-4 shed. The port only had the company name with a PO Box in Alaska for the rental agreement. I finally talked to a guy who said he worked for the company and he agreed to a meeting. He never showed. You’d think he’d want an explanation about the fire and how the investigation was going.”

  “But what did he say about not showing up?”

  “Can’t find him. He’s gone, disappeared.”

  Disappeared? Her hands trembled. She didn’t know if it was the side effects of the pain meds or the apprehension that sank in her stomach making her feel quivery. “You said that you couldn’t talk to the men because they’re out fishing?”

  “But why would the company phone be disconnected?”

  Prickles of hot then cold flashed across her skin, as if she had influenza with a high fever.

  “This is the strangest case I’ve ever worked on. Every time I think I’ve got a lead, it evaporates as if someone is ahead of me, anticipating my next move.”

  The words of her assailant drummed in her ears and his threat of what he would do to Davis, the star investigator.

  “I would love to skip the whole party, but the guys have spent tons of time organizing. We don’t have to stay long.”

  She swallowed against the lump of fear that moved from her stomach into her throat. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She could barely walk, hardly talk, but she would be social at a fire station party. She didn’t know what else to do. She needed to be with Davis.

  “I’ll pick you up at 7:30 or so.”

  “Davis…” She had difficulty forming the words. They came out as a whisper, “Be careful.”

  “I’ll try.” His voice sounded strained when he said good-bye.

  Grayce reached for the Tylenol. She needed pain relief and sleep before the party.

  * * *

  Davis hung up the phone. Grayce worried about him, had told him to be careful. No one ever worried about him. Since his mother died, he’d spent his life convincing everyone including himself that he was invincible.

  He didn’t know how to proceed with a woman like her. She was straight-forward, honest. No games, no secrets with Grayce Walters. She wasn’t anything like the lying Daphne.

  This was totally foreign territory. He had no idea how his apology would go tonight, but he was eager to try. All because one ethereal woman worried about him.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A crew of beefy firefighters huddled around Grayce. Davis’ colleagues exuded testosterone, intense male energy. She had covered herself in long sleeves, tights, and high boots to hide her bruises. From the frequent glances, she surmised that the men approved of the outfit or at least the short skirt.

  The firefighters joked, pushed, and jabbed each other with insults. They mocked Davis’ usual serious veneer. She smiled and nodded, allowing Davis to do the talking. The men hooted loudly, entertained by the idea that Davis was dating Mitzi’s vet.

  The men quickly dispersed once the buffet line opened, leaving Grayce and Davis alone.

  “Are you hungry, Grayce?”

  “I had a late lunch. What about you?”

  Davis watched her as if she had an answer to a problem he needed to solve. “I can wait.”

  He was different tonight, more relaxed, openly affectionate, touching her at every opportunity, a brush across her back, a hand briefly on her shoulder. His gentleness was helping her forget the assailant’s brutal hands.

  Davis shifted his weight from side to side and looked directly into her eyes. “I want to apologize for the other night. I know you were trying to help.”

  Like in his childhood picture at his aunt’s house, Davis’ face was open, vulnerable. Mesmerized by the emotion in his voice and his unguarded look, she wanted to touch him, to run her finger along his rugged cheekbone, to soothe away his troubles.

  “When Mitzi almost died…I felt like I let her down. She saved me, you know that.”

  She wanted to tell him that he hadn’t failed Mitzi, but he wouldn’t want easy words of reassurance.

  “It felt like when my dad died. I couldn’t save…”

  “What do we have here?” An older officer, with multiple ribbons on the blue suit of the fire department, inspected her from her blond hair to her black leather boots. “Am I interrupting?” He feigned concern, but his tone wasn’t the least bit regretful.

  “Oh, hell,” Davis said it loud enough for his superior to hear.

  “Davis, introduce me to the lovely lady. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.” He stretched the word pleasure with sexual innuendo.

  “Grayce, this is Assistant Chief MacLean. Maclean, this is Dr. Grayce Walters.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am, excuse me, I mean doctor.”

  The assistant chief’s slip was intentional. The grooves around his thin lips and above his eyebrows were deep from years of scowling in dissatisfaction.

  “What kind of doctor?” Like a child with a stick, Maclean needed to poke everything and everyone in his vicinity.

  Davis moved closer to her. He and Mitzi made a great pair of a watch dogs.

  “Grayce is a vet.”

  “Your name sounds familiar. Are you the one who saved the poodle?”

  “No, a colleague took care of Mitzi.”

  “How did you hear about my dog?” Davis’ voice was sharp. He angled his body toward Maclean, ready for a face off.

  Maclean ignored Davis but stared at Grayce. “I make it my business to know everything.”

  Did he know she had been on the wharf? Was Davis not supposed to be dating a witness?

  “Do you have any pets, Officer Maclean?” She asked.

  Maclean gave Grayce an oily smile. He stepped closer, too close, invading her personal space. “With such attractive animal doctors, I might have to reconsider.”

  “Maclean.” Davis loomed over his superior, his body tight, ready to defend.

  Maclean’s lips and face moved in an imitation of a laugh. “How archaic, Davis. I’m sure Dr. Walters has many admirers.” Another smarmy smile.

  She touched Davis’ arm. “I’m starving and, by the looks of these firefighters, the food will go fast.”

  “You’re right. Let’s get in line. Excuse us, sir,” Davis emphasized the sir.

  “I wouldn’t want to detain you.”

  Davis pulled Grayce to his side and moved them away from Maclean. “Are you all right? He’s such a…”

  “Does he know I’m a witness?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “He was so antagonistic. I thought you might be in trouble for bringing me to the party.”

  “He doesn’t know. And there’s no policy that prevents me from dating you. He treats everyone badly. He enjoys goading people, getting under their skin.”

  “It seemed more personal,” she said.

  “You’re probably right. When I first arrived, he wanted us to be buddies over our shared Scottish heritage, and I wasn’t interested.”

  “He holds that against you?”

  “And that I’m an investigator. We’re known for our attitude, not kowtowing to the brass.”

  She shivered. Her own energy was depleted from last night and Maclean’s primitive aggression drained what little she had left.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Just a bit.”

  Davis placed a warm hand on her back, guiding her. She scanned the room for the assistant chief. He stood engrossed in conversation with a large blond woman in a revealing black dress. She
had her hand on his arm and the assistant chief was focused on the woman’s exposed cleavage.

  Grayce looked down the long table, filled with egg rolls, sushi, barbeque ribs, salads, a smorgasbord of Seattle’s ethnicity. “Wow, a lot of food.”

  “The guys usually choose quantity over quality, but this looks decent.”

  Davis held her plate. She chose from the assortment of salads. He looked at her heaped plate. “Lucky you had a late lunch.”

  She laughed and looked up at Davis to share the joke. His eyes were warm, light.

  “We’ve made our appearance. Let’s get out of here.” He bent over her, as if he were about to kiss her in the buffet line.

  “Davis.” Someone behind them murmured his name in a low sensual tone.

  Davis straightened.

  The same blond she had seen with Officer Maclean.

  “Toni.” Davis’ relaxed teasing was gone, his shoulders hunched.

  “How are you, Davis? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Great.”

  The woman had the stature and presence of a Wagnerian soprano. Everything about her was larger than life.

  “Grayce, this is Toni Williams from Ladder Seven. Toni, this is Grayce Walters.”

  Grayce smiled, ignoring Toni’s open perusal. She wasn’t good at these female games, never knowing how to respond to the layered subtext.

  “Are you a new firefighter?”

  Davis’ burst of laughter at the idea of Grayce as a firefighter didn’t help her mood. She wished she had worn her Jimmy Choos so she didn’t have to look so far up at Toni. “I’m a veterinarian.”

  “You take care of Mitzi?” Toni made it sound as if she groomed dogs.

  The three proceeded down the buffet line.

  “Toni is part of an elite group of firefighters. They do the rescues the regular guys can’t do—high angle rescues, confined space. They’re also trained as divers.”

  “Impressive.” She could imagine the gargantuan woman pulling someone out of a burning building. Toni radiated the same physical confidence as Davis. Grayce tried to stand taller, all five feet of her.