Truth or Consequences

by Diana Duncan

  “I’ve sat next to worse, believe me. They’ll let us on.”

  He studied her, his expression intrigued. “You always see the glass half-full, Zagretti?”

  “The woe-is-me gig is a real bummer. Been there, done that, sniveled into the T-shirt. Occasionally, I get down in the dumps.” She glanced around, giggled. “Present circumstances not withstanding. Keeping a positive attitude takes practice—and sometimes grim determination—but it beats the alternative all to heck.”

  His sideways glance brushed her with admiration, and her insides glowed with warmth. “Refreshing.”

  He fell silent as they walked through rows of garbage, his expression growing pensive. Heading toward the landfill’s entrance, they passed a tweed upholstered loveseat and rocking chair that had minor wear and tear.

  Zoe frowned. She would gladly have used the still-nice pieces in her apartment. “Amazing what people toss out.”

  Aidan walked a few more steps. Suddenly, he stumbled, and the bag fell to the ground. Startled, she turned and glanced up at him. Frozen, he gazed blankly into the distance, his stricken face bleached of color.

  “Aidan?”

  He swayed. Then his mouth wrenched in pain, and he dropped to his knees.

  Sharp fear arrowed into her. She cupped his face in her hands. His blind gaze stared through her as if she wasn’t there and instead, he saw something too horrible to bear. “Aidan, are you hurt? Are you sick?”

  “Chair.” A fragile thread of sound. A whispered breath.

  Had he been hit in the head by falling debris and just now manifested concussion symptoms? She stroked his hair, carefully checking for injuries. He was shivering. “Aidan, look at me.” He did, and the raw anguish in his eyes slammed into her heart, stole her breath. His distress wasn’t physical, but emotional. “What’s wrong?”

  “Pop’s chair.”

  Understanding hit, bringing more pain. He must be having a flashback. “That furniture reminds you of your father’s chair?” She kept her voice soft, her tone gentle. “But it can’t possibly be. Not after all this time.”

  “No.” His voice sounded oddly detached. “There’s no blood.”

  Tight and aching inside, she knelt in front of him and gripped his shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Never have.” She saw his internal battle to recover, to distance himself from the hurt. But he was losing the fight. “Not to anyone.”

  “Maybe you should. It’s not good to keep hurt trapped inside for so long.” She should know. She’d longed for another person to connect with, someone to halve her sorrows and double her joys. Instead, she’d been forced into solitude. Aidan didn’t have to go it alone, but he’d chosen to. Why? “All those feelings fester and then explode when you least expect it.”

  He swallowed hard, struggling for control. “I had to be strong. For the others.”

  Her heart splintered. He’d protected his family, at his own expense. “You don’t have to be strong for me. Let it out. Pain shared is pain halved. You’ll feel better.”

  His shadowed gaze finally settled on her, but there was no recognition. His wary expression looked like that of a little boy who’d been told the antiseptic wouldn’t sting, but didn’t quite believe it. “Will I?”

  “Yes, you will. Let me help you, Aidan.” Kneeling face-to-face, she briskly rubbed her hands up and down his arms, hoping the warmth would soothe him. “Tell me.”

  He sucked in a shuddering breath. The story emerged slowly. Reluctantly. As though he didn’t want to speak, but couldn’t stop the words from leaking out. “We went to a soccer game that day. Grady was a senior in high school—state championships.”

  He faltered, and she touched his cheek. “I’m listening.”

  “It was supposed to be a family event, but Dad had the flu. He didn’t want to miss the game. He insisted on going. Mom wouldn’t let him.”

  “Your mom sounds like a very sensible woman.”

  “They were great parents. Both attended games and school events, and Pop did all the Boy Scout stuff. Work was the only thing that ever kept him away.”

  “That’s nice, they were so supportive.” She’d never had that. Her mom had worked two, sometimes three jobs, and even if Rita could have afforded the time, she couldn’t afford extras for Zoe. Zoe was fiercely glad Aidan had grown up with both family support and confidence-boosting activities.

  “Grady’s team won, and he got MVP. Liam, Con and I carried him into the house on our shoulders. Mom brought up the rear with his trophy. We were yelling a cheer. Halfway across the living room, we noticed the house was wrecked. Stuff missing.”

  Zoe bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She’d had no idea the family had walked in on the carnage. Could only imagine their shock and horror.

  “We instinctively split up to search. Mom ran upstairs to the master bedroom. Grady and Con rushed to the kitchen. Liam and I tore into the family room.” He covered his face with his hands. His voice was no longer detached, but raw with torment. “It was…the murder had happened in there. I’ll never forget the way that room looked. Even sick and weak, Pop had fought like hell. There was blood all over. Everywhere. So much blood.”

  “Oh, Aidan. Oh, no.” She hugged his trembling body, and tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away by sheer force of will. She’d be no use to him if she fell apart.

  “Con and Grady ran in, and we didn’t want Mom to see the carnage. Con and I had to hold her back at the doorway…it took both of us to keep her out. She was screaming. The sound didn’t even seem…” He swallowed again and it sounded as though it hurt. “Human.”

  She heard screaming echoes in her head. Felt confusion and roiling terror, as if she shared the awful memory. Disoriented, she pushed the frightening déjà vu aside. Aidan needed her. “That had to be so hard. I’m so sorry.” She hugged him tighter.

  He let her hold him. “We had to take her forcibly to our neighbor Letty’s house. Grady was the most shook up, so I told him to stay with her. While the CSI team worked, I kept Con and Liam from falling apart. After the investigators removed the evidence they wanted, Grady came back. I went to the store and bought cleaning supplies. Told my brothers what we had to do. The four of us cleaned up the mess. Scrubbed away the gore.”

  “That was incredibly brave.”

  “No. We just couldn’t let Mom come home to that.”

  Her heart breaking, she rubbed his back. Even caught in the grip of shock and grief, he’d thought of others first. Taken charge and done what had to be done.

  His body rigid in her arms, he shook harder. “It took us the entire night. We ripped out the remaining carpet and took it and Pop’s ruined chair to the dump. None of us said a word. None of us showed any emotion. Until we threw that torn, lumpy, recliner away. We stood in the back of Con’s truck and looked at our father’s chair sitting in the garbage, bloody and battered. Then we broke. Wrapped our arms around each other and cried.”

  A sob stuck painfully in Zoe’s throat, and she swallowed it. Silent tears leaked from her eyes as she stroked his hair. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not nearly enough, but I’m so sorry.”

  “That was the only time I cried. Not even at the memorial service.” He drew a ragged breath. “They never found his body.”

  “I know,” she murmured.

  “We couldn’t have a funeral. There was no coffin to drape the flag over. After the honor guard played ‘Taps,’ they just handed the folded flag to mom. I was so proud of her. She stood tall and straight and accepted the flag with quiet dignity. But the devastation in her eyes killed me. I would have done anything, given everything to make it better.”

  “There’s nothing you could have done.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.” His voice caught. Still shaking violently, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her shoulder.

  She held him, rocked him. “You’re safe with me. Let go. It’s okay to cry if you need to.”

 
; “I don’t cry. Tears are useless.” His anguished words wrenched out through clenched teeth. “And that bastard DiMarco isn’t worth it. He’s going down.”

  Had DiMarco not only murdered Aidan’s father, but also crippled Aidan emotionally? Hot anger surged, burning away her sorrow. “You bet he is. Big-time. I’ll do everything I can to help you put him away.”

  He raised his anguished gaze to hers. He gripped her shoulders. “You stay away from him, do you hear me? He’s an animal. He tortured Bailey, was going to torture Letty. He tried to kill Con, and he’ll kill you too…with less thought than squashing a bug.”

  “I won’t give him the opportunity.”

  He shook her. Even devastated and angry, he still tempered his strength. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him—away from the case.”

  “I can’t do that.” Not even to relieve the torment in his eyes.

  “Then I will have to make you.” His breath caught. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

  She appreciated his compulsion to protect her, but could not let his fear stop her from doing her duty. She would never ask him to hold back on his job. “Aidan, I know how much he hurt you and your family. I can help. I have lots of connections at the station and with several newspapers.”

  He blinked. Blinked again. Shook his head. Like fog blasted away by a strong wind, the haze cleared from his eyes, the dazed look faded from his face. He surged to his feet, and dark fury flared. “What did you do?”

  Startled at the abrupt switch, in both topic and tone, she slowly stood to face him. “What?” Did he mean taking the hard drives and documents? She furtively checked her bag. The tear was still facing away from him. He couldn’t possibly know about the evidence. “I don’t—”

  “Nobody has ever— How did you get me to spill my guts like that?” he ground out. “Some reporter’s trick?”

  Taken aback, she stuttered. “N-no. I didn’t do anything. You needed to talk, I listened.”

  “Everything I said is off the record. Not for quoting.”

  Hurt spiraled inside her, and she tamped it down. His anger was not personal. He had good reason to lash out. Reporters had exploited his family, caused them undue anguish. And he was scared after opening up to her. Shaken by exposing private grief he hadn’t even shared with his loved ones. He didn’t understand she would never take advantage of his pain. “Of course it is.”

  He snatched up the bag of shredded files, turned and strode out the gates. “Let’s go. I’ll see you safely home. But after that, don’t follow me. Don’t hound me. If you show up at an incident site, I will arrest you for endangering an ongoing investigation.”

  Deep down, she knew he wasn’t mad at her. His raw, exposed emotions had caught him off-guard and upset him. And being a big, strong, he-man, the perception of weakness probably embarrassed him. He didn’t mean to be insulting. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help feeling bruised inside.

  It was gonna be a long bus ride home.

  Chapter 6

  4:00 p.m.

  After a strained, silent twenty minutes, Zoe and Aidan stepped off the bus. The number twenty-two line ended across town from her place and miles from where she’d left her car by the Dumpster. She’d used all her tickets procuring them a ride from the landfill. No biggie. Exercise might calm her turmoil.

  She took the bag of shredded files from him. “Bye, Aidan. Hope the wedding goes well.” She pivoted and walked away.

  “Hey.” In three long strides, he caught up to her and grasped her arm. “Where are you going?”

  She turned around, and he released her. “To get my car.”

  “It’s a long way.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay.” She wasn’t holding a grudge. After the difficult confrontation, she suspected they would both benefit from time to regroup and gain perspective. Or would time and space widen the rift? She had too little experience to dance this complicated tango. One misstep could easily land her flat on her face. “I like to walk.”

  Regret stamped his handsome features. “Look, I was a complete jerk. It’s not your fault being at the landfill motivated a melt-down.” He exhaled a slow, controlled breath. “I’m sorry. I had no right to take out my angst on you.”

  Relief trickled through her, dissolving the tight knot in her chest. She hated being at odds with him. Worse, the tentative bond they’d forged—first with shared humor, then shared pain—had been broken. She’d received a compelling glimpse of the sensitive, compassionate man behind the mask before he’d again walled off his heart. “Was that your first time at the landfill since your dad was killed?”

  Shadows lingered in his eyes. “Yeah.”

  “It was clearly traumatic for you. Apology accepted.”

  It was his turn to express relief. “Thanks.” He spread his hands, a fluid, masculine gesture. “I live a few blocks from here. Let me give you a ride home.”

  He got super-size brownie points with chocolate sprinkles for admitting to utter jerkiness with unabashed sincerity. “I doubt you want me in your beautiful car all grody and smelling like last week’s trash.” She smiled. “I can walk.”

  He gave her a cool, polite smile in return, and her heart clenched, longing for the return of his teasing grin and deep laughter. “You can clean up at my apartment. I have a washer and dryer, and it won’t take long.”

  Guilt or chivalry? His hospitable offer didn’t appear overly eager. The easy, comfortable choice was to refuse. To leave, and allow him to retreat into his emotional fortress. To feign casual chitchat next time they met and pretend as if he’d never spilled out his private agony while trembling in her arms.

  No way. Coy games were not her style. She valued open, honest expression and always laid her cards on the table. She wasn’t about to throw away an opportunity to spend more time with him. Surely, his reticence wasn’t personal. He was withdrawing out of fear, using aloofness as a shield. If he got to know her better and still gave her the big brush-off, then she’d have a reason to be hurt. If she didn’t risk the pain, she’d never have the opportunity to know him better.

  Besides, she despised being filthy. Hated the thought of contaminating her car and the resulting cleaning chore. Washing her clothes at his place would save bucks at the Laundromat, and every penny counted. Rationalization? Maybe. Oh well, who was keeping score? “All right. Lead on.”

  After a careful, innocuous conversation about the nice weather cooperating with the wedding, they arrived at Aidan’s condominium complex. His spacious high-rise with a breathtaking river view was as different from her studio as Trump Plaza from the projects. The apartment told her a lot about her cop. Not into showy expense, he appreciated good quality. No single director’s chair for him. A polished cherry dining table was surrounded by enough chairs to seat his entire family, whose framed pictures lined the fireplace mantel. The muted sand, sapphire and dark-green palette drawn from forested seascapes on his walls indicated a love for nature. The chocolate-brown leather furniture and plush rug revealed his sensual side.

  She pictured him lounging beside a crackling fire on rainy evenings. He’d wear black silk pajamas and sip wine while reading one of the many books aligned in glass-fronted bookcases. She just as easily pictured herself snuggling beside him, or maybe challenging him to a game of chess on the exquisitely carved teak set by the window.

  “You can clean up first.” Shattering her silly daydream, he pointed down a long hallway with gleaming oak floors. “Set your clothes outside the bathroom, and I’ll toss them in the washer while you shower. You can use my robe hanging on the back of the door.” His manner remained courteous and distant, as if she were a stranger he’d accidentally jostled in a crowd.

  Zoe nodded. The mirror over the mantel caught the movement, snagging her attention. A smudge streaked her nose and right cheek. Her hair stuck out in stiff spikes, and her blouse was splotched with heaven only knew what. She self-consciously smoothed her sticky hair and stared down at her stained clothing…a grubby urch
in spoiling the beauty of Aidan’s serene, classy living room.

  She didn’t belong here. Solitaire, not chess, was her game.

  Dejection dogged her footsteps as she trudged down the hall, careful not to touch anything. Putting out her soiled clothing for Aidan to wash felt awkwardly personal. Nobody else had washed her undergarments since before she’d started doing her own laundry at age seven. She’d ridden the highs and lows of an emotional roller coaster since early this morning, and was now suffering the disorienting effects.

  She spared a longing glance at the huge whirlpool tub before hurrying through a shower in the luxurious bathroom. Hot water was probably plentiful in a place like this, but she didn’t want to chance shorting Aidan.

  Bundled in his thick white terry robe, which smelled enticingly like its owner, Zoe exited the bathroom. She didn’t find Aidan in the living room or kitchen.

  The door to his bedroom gaped open, and she glanced inside. He wasn’t in there, either. She studied the big four-poster cherry bed neatly made with royal blue linens. Classic, traditional furniture for a classic, traditional guy. Like her, he preferred extra pillows. Though she doubted he had the same reason. She never felt secure unless pillows surrounded her body. Hugging one to her chest eased her fear of the dark and nighttime loneliness.

  Another door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar. Through the narrow opening, she saw that the room was bare of furniture, the walls painted warm gold. Swords hung in brackets on the far wall. Aidan balanced in a half-crouch, facing away from her. Stripped to the waist and barefoot, he wore only black draw-string pants tied low on his lean hips. Perspiration glistened on his tanned skin. Hard muscles bunched as he circled in controlled movements, and light danced off the sword gripped in his right hand. Not a wimpy fencing sword, a long, lethal weapon. In slow motion, he advanced, then retreated, the blade whirling in a shining arc as he fought an invisible opponent.

  She watched, mesmerized as the fluid attack flowed from one graceful maneuver to the next. The man was a living, breathing weapon. All rippling muscles and coiled strength—a stalking wolf, cornering his prey. His sheer animal power and beauty stole her breath, and she gasped.