The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series

by Jacki Delecki

  “The dream was an anxiety dream. We’re both worried about Davis. I doubt we’ll ever have to save him from falling. He’s a mountain climber.” Feeling a chill in the room, Grayce snuggled under the down comforter. Funny thing was, it hadn’t felt like an anxiety dream at all. It felt like impending disaster, like it was going to happen—a premonition.

  The ring of the office phone jarred her back to the present. She would let the message go to voicemail for Hollie. She had an early appointment with Dr. Z.

  “I’m seeing Dr. Z today. Do you want to stay in the office with Hollie or come with me? You won’t get away with your dramatics with Dr. Z. like you did with Mrs. Leary.”

  Mitzi stretched out her front paws and rolled onto her side.

  “Okay. I’m sure Hollie will be happy to have your company.”

  Mitzi and she communicated in dreams? One more little piece of information to keep to herself.

  * * *

  Grayce sat across from Dr. Z, with his shiny bald head and keen eyes.

  He poured tea from a 19th century teapot. His usually radiant face was solemn. “I’ve waited for you to come.”

  The fear and pain she had buried for so long poured out like the scalding tea. She couldn’t understand what was happening. The peace and contentment she usually felt in Dr. Z’s presence was gone.

  “The man with the scar?” He asked.

  She raised the cup to her lips. Her hand trembled. “I don’t know. I tried to help Davis, but I made a mess of it.”

  “I’m sure you did your best.”

  “Davis is angry and hurt. He doesn’t trust me.” She swallowed the hot tea in a big gulp. “He and his investigation have destroyed the equilibrium I’ve worked so hard to maintain.”

  “Your work has provided a safe haven to hide your gifts.”

  “I couldn’t tell him about my abilities.” Dr. Z knew how she had guarded her secrets, avoiding relationships, burying herself in her academics, then in her acupuncture practice.

  “You would like to be someone different, someone you believe this man would love?”

  Few words. They resonated deeply.

  She sat back in her chair. “I don’t know what I want.”

  “I think you know.”

  She sipped her tea, avoided looking at Dr. Z.

  “You’re done?”

  “He doesn’t want me interfering.”

  Dr. Z widened his eyes. “I can feel your loneliness.”

  A dull ache started in her chest. “I want what others have. I want something more.”

  Dr. Z shook his head. “More is being who you are, being truthful, truthful about your feelings for this man, truthful about your gifts.”

  She wanted to scream, shout. She had never gotten angry at Dr. Z before. She closed her eyes. She wouldn’t, couldn’t go down the path he was trying to lead her on, a path she had resisted all her life. “I can’t…it’s too hard.”

  “You’re afraid of revealing yourself, your gifts. You want to be like others, even when it is evident, even to your logical mind, that you’re different.”

  Dr. Z gently stripped away all of her self-deceptions. He wouldn’t allow her to hide.

  “My gifts didn’t help me. I almost got killed. And Davis doesn’t want my help.”

  “I don’t think your gifts are the problem.” Dr. Z smiled his first smile of the visit. “You’re still learning how to use your gifts, is it not true?”

  She nodded, remembering her dream about Davis falling into the void and her sense of impending disaster. Was it prescient or the result of anxiety?

  “Fear still rules your actions, your thoughts.”

  “I’m not afraid. I searched for the man who tried to stab Davis. I followed Davis’ boss, fought the man who attacked me, and escaped my burning house.”

  “I’m not speaking about your courage in the face of danger.” He placed his smooth brown hand over his heart. “The fear here. You’re afraid to love since it protects your heart from ever losing someone.” He smiled. “Your light is very strong. Once you embrace it, the fear will diminish. You’ll not be like others who spend many lifetimes resisting the light.” His face radiated as if a light shone on him from another source. “What are your plans?”

  “My plans?” She stared at the little man.

  He stared back. Dr. Z was a gently fierce warrior.

  “I can’t help Davis. I promised him I was done investigating.”

  Dr. Z waited.

  “I had a dream last night. I tried to rescue Davis from the top of the Space Needle but failed.”

  “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” He leaned forward and patted her hand. “You remember how much I like the poet, Lao Tzu, yes?”

  His eyes were deep pools of light. “I’m sure you’ll find your courage.”

  His words were like a child’s lullaby. Grayce felt herself floating, floating in space, their boundaries morphing, coalescing. Dr. Z was transferring his strength, his courage to Grayce.

  “Acupuncture will help, yes?”

  His tender smile lifted her spirits.

  * * *

  Grayce glided to the nearby coffee shop. After the intense acupuncture treatment, she needed time to reenter the physical world. She hovered between unconsciousness and reality. She sat at a table away from the bustle and stared out the window. Bridging the world of unconscious knowing to outer reality took quiet and patience. Matters of the heart couldn’t be forced.

  Deep in her acupuncture treatment, deep in the quiet space of healing, Cassie’s presence had enveloped her, bringing profound peace. The dark hidden caverns of her heart were filled with light by her sister’s presence.

  What had felt so difficult was easy now. None of the usual fear arose with the thought of revealing her gifts to Davis. Something inside had shifted, never to be hidden again. She was purging her fears of trusting, because of her love for Davis.

  Dr. Z trusted her to do the right thing. Cassie was with her. Grayce would reveal her intuition to Davis, her vision of the scar, and now her dream about him falling. Davis could decide what to believe. She walked to her car, ready to face her office and the upcoming confession.

  Her need for secrecy about her gifts wasn’t the most important thing. Davis’ safety had to take priority. Tomorrow, she would return Mitzi to his office. He needed Mitzi’s protection more than she did.

  She climbed the stairs to her office, two at a time, energized by her newfound determination. She wanted to talk with Davis but with clinic tonight, she’d have to wait to call and arrange to meet.

  She wasn’t sure if Davis could take a leap of faith and accept that there were illogical possibilities in the world. She felt the dull creep of pain. This was the problem with opening your heart. It hurt.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Oblivious to the blustery weather, Davis left his office and marched the three blocks to headquarters. The chance that Maclean had been caught on the security tapes at Benson’s storage unit was the hard evidence he needed to connect his boss to Benson. He had devised a logical plan; to pretend he had access to the tapes to entrap his superior. But he hadn’t anticipated the illogical emotions twisting in his gut. He was about to precipitate a major scandal and ruin an officer’s career.

  He had disclosed his suspicions to no one. He wasn’t ready to admit that one of their own was dirty. It violated every unwritten code of the department, every one of his values.

  Proceeding through the hallways, he acknowledged his colleagues with a brief nod. Headquarters was home—filled with loyal, dedicated people who risked their lives every day for the citizens of Seattle. And one of his colleagues was a traitor.

  He knocked on Maclean’s open door. “Got a minute?”

  In every direction of Maclean’s office, Davis was confronted with the fruits of Maclean’s twenty-three years of service. The walls were covered with awards, commendations and pictures. Davis focu
sed on the large black and white photo of Maclean with the chief. The two men had been friends for all those years.

  Temperament aside, this man was brass. Doubt ran through Davis like a chugged pint of beer.

  “What do you need? Have I missed a new fire?”

  Maclean knew there was no fire.

  “Still on the wharf fire,” Davis said.

  “Benson lit the damn thing.”

  “But why? What was in it for Benson?”

  Maclean laughed harshly. “You aren’t busy enough. Benson was pissed. He never got over being fired. He blamed the department. Who knows what else was going through his pickled brain?”

  “I think he was hired.”

  “Someone paid for one shed to be burned?” The assistant chief walked around his desk, moving closer. Davis didn’t budge. They were already facing off.

  Davis watched Maclean’s habitual scowl for a reaction. “But why a single shed on Fisherman’s Terminal? Benson always struck me as a three-engine kind of guy.”

  Maclean showed nothing except a deepening of the pitiless crevices surrounding his mouth.

  “This fire may lead to something big,” Davis said.

  “What in the hell are you talking about? The investigation is finished.”

  “Have you ever known me to chase half-cracked ideas?”

  Maclean leaned back against his desk and crossed his ankles. “What’s your theory?

  Davis withheld the mention of drug trafficking and the Russian connection. He wasn’t about to reveal his theory that Maclean was working with the Russians because of his gambling debts.

  “Get on with it, Davis.”

  “Don’t you find it strange that right when I’m thinking Benson could’ve done this job, Benson shows up dead?”

  “That’s your theory?” Maclean walked back to his desk. “Do you need to take time off? You’re losing it. Maclean spoke slowly, implying with each punctuated word the irrefutable truth. “Benson committed suicide, get over it.”

  “Did he?” Davis asked.

  Maclean sat down.

  “Maybe it was a set-up? Made to look like a suicide?”

  Maclean inspected the papers on his desk, never looking up. He opened his top drawer and shuffled through the contents. Maclean wasn’t reaching for a gun, was he? It was an absurd thought, but Davis’ body didn’t distinguish the difference. His heart raced, the adrenaline pumped into his blood.

  The assistant chief leaned across his desk and waved a stapler at him. “You’re always bloody sure of yourself. You didn’t get it right this time. Benson’s death has nothing to do with your fire. The drunk went over the edge. Did you know he dyed his hair red to look like some god dammed comic book super villain?” Maclean stapled papers together. “Bought himself a red Corvette. I can see him thinking it was a fitting way to go out, in his brand new car. He was nuts; end of story.”

  “But that’s my point. Where did Benson get the money to buy an expensive car? His wife said he had a new job.”

  “You interviewed his widow?” Maclean slammed the stapler down on the desk. “Benson’s death is official police business.”

  Davis couldn’t look at Maclean when he delivered the coup d’état. His heart thumped in his chest. It was easy to intimidate punks, but trying to trap his boss wasn’t as easy. “I spoke with the owner at the storage unit where Benson kept his car. I’m going to review the DVR tapes. He’s willing to have me look at the security tapes.”

  “Bullshit. The tapes are evidence.” Maclean stood up. “Benson’s death is under police jurisdiction. The dicks hate our investigators involved in their crimes. You piss them off and the chief will get a call.”

  Davis slowly inhaled and then exhaled, trying to keep to his planned script. “The cameras are at the entrance of the storage units. I want to make sure Benson was alone when he went into the unit.”

  Maclean’s face didn’t move—the same pig-headed stare. “The police have the tapes. If there was anything on them, we would’ve heard.”

  Davis felt like a rookie in his first interrogation. Was Maclean bluffing? Had Maclean wiped the tapes clean? With all of his investigative skills, Davis couldn’t tell if his boss was lying. The man was a gambler. He knew how to hide his emotions.

  “Drop it, Davis. That’s an order.”

  Davis stepped closer to the desk. “Why? I’ve got the time.”

  “Just leave Benson’s death the fuck alone.” Maclean shoved his chair back and stood up. “And since you’ve got time, I’ve got a job for you. Show up for Ladder Seven’s technical rescue tomorrow on the Space Needle. Bill Summerton’s wife went into labor.”

  Maclean leaned over his desk. “Whit recommended you. Heard you’re quite the mountain man. This will give you a chance to prove it.”

  The tiny hairs lifted on Davis’ neck. “What time?”

  “The schedule is posted. You’ll be in the second group. I’ll need you to dangle from the Space Needle.”

  Maclean’s smirk was in his voice. The bastard was hoping to scare him.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “And Davis, drop the wharf fire. Let the insurance company waste their money trying to figure it out.”

  Davis turned and walked out. Frustration surged through him. His bluff to identify Maclean on the DVR tapes had failed. He didn’t have access to the security tapes or the police reports. Maclean did.

  He doubted the boys downtown would share their investigation. Damn turf wars between the FI’s and the police.

  Maclean wouldn’t try to harm him on the Space Needle in front of the entire crew of Ladder Seven. Or would he?

  * * *

  Davis needed to put some distance between himself and headquarters. He raced down the steps, wanting to move, to shake the bad feeling about the department’s traitor.

  Grayce had accused him of delusions of invincibility. If only she could see him now, in deep shit and nowhere to turn. The department had no guidelines for accusing a superior of heinous crimes.

  He would need to confide in the chief that his close friend and colleague had ties to the mob and might be a murderer. But he had no smoking gun to link Maclean to Benson. And no proof that Maclean had ties with the Russians.

  If he spoke with the chief, he would precipitate an investigation by the feds with no loyalty to the department. He could see the media circus if there was a federal investigation of the fire department.

  The rain had intensified since he left his office. Head down, he walked straight into someone. He felt the give of a plump body and heard a whoosh of exhaled breath.

  “Davis, what the hell? Are you still in a bad mood about the Huskies’ loss? Or should I say slaughter?”

  Niles hovered over Davis. The tall Dane made Davis’ six foot two inches feel short. As the biggest man in the department, Niles was also the softest. His round face, although lined, glowed with the exuberance of a puppy.

  Davis’ feelings of paranoia grew when he looked up at headquarters. “Don’t remind me of the Huskies.” He shook his head. “It’s worse than the damn football game. There’s someone dirty in the department.”

  Nothing registered on Niles’ face when Davis blurted the shocking allegation. As the chaplain, Niles must be immune to bad news.

  “Let’s get out of the rain.” Niles pointed to their coffee shop across Jackson. “You look like you could do with some java. If you’re going to accuse someone in the department, you’re going to need an ally.”

  * * *

  Niles folded his oversized body into a beat up chair. He put half of a glazed doughnut into his mouth. He spoke while chewing, “Best doughnut in town.”

  “You eat too many of those and you might have to start working out.” Davis tried to lighten the serious mood. He regretted his outburst and wished he could escape Niles’ grave looks.

  “What’s this about someone being dirty?” Niles wiped his hands on the napkin.

  Davis damned his impulse to confide in the chapl
ain. Now, he was trapped.

  Niles’ round face was filled with concern, his familiar calm voice reassuring. “You can trust me.”

  “I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but a higher-up may be involved in arson for hire. There may be a connection between the wharf fire and the Russian mob’s drug trafficking. Once I bring in the feds about the drugs, I lose all control of the investigation. I’m trying to find evidence to take to the chief before the feds take over and it becomes a bloody mess.”

  Niles kept his eyes trained on him. “What made you suspect someone in the department?”

  “A friend was suspicious and alerted me to the possible connections with the brass.”

  “A friend in the department?” Niles asked.

  “No. Someone outside.”

  Niles shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone outside understands how we work.”

  Davis felt defensive when Niles put it that way. Davis gripped his thighs. He sat forward. “She’s very insightful.”

  “She? Meaning Grayce Walters?”

  He hadn’t planned to mention Grayce, but if he couldn’t trust the chaplain, who could he trust? He couldn’t grasp why he was hesitant to talk with Niles. He needed to bounce his ideas off of someone in the department, someone who understood the taboo about raising the possibility of a traitor.

  “She doesn’t know anyone in the department, does she?” Niles asked.

  “She met him at the party. I don’t know what alerted her, but she followed him to a Casino.”

  “A witness followed one of our officers?”

  He had the same shocked reaction as Niles when Grayce described following Maclean. He still didn’t understand why she had followed him.

  “Our man has a gambling problem, might be bartering his skills for his debts.”

  “Does Grayce work as an investigator? I thought she was a vet.”

  “She went off and followed…” Davis almost slipped and said Maclean’s name.

  Davis told Niles about the threats against Grayce and his suspicions about Benson’s death. He hadn’t planned to replay Grayce’s close brush with death or his failure to protect her. He felt better recounting the entire case. Niles was a good listener with his quiet acceptance.